May Magic in the Kitchen

 

The magic begins outdoors.

Look closer. What do you see?

Dew clinging to petals of deep purple violets.

It was a heavenly Memorial Day morning, with sunshine and dew and a fresh, light breeze. I don't know that I have ever had such a blissful harvest before in my life. Or a more beautiful one. Or one that cost me less in effort, since there had been no planting or watering involved. Nature did all the work until it was time for me to pick the flowers.

Once the flowers are picked and rinsed, an infusion (or tea) is made by pouring boiling water over the blossoms and letting them steep for "several hours." What does "several" mean in a recipe? Another recipe said half an hour would suffice, but I had work to do, so my violets steeped for three or four hours. Doesn't that sound like "several" to you? The magic begins right away with the boiling water, which turns a beautiful shade of blue. 

Next step is to drain the tea, leaving the infused blue tea behind. (Could this be used to color hard-cooked eggs? Wouldn't they be lovely?) 

Violet infusion

By now you have squeezed a fresh lemon, strained that juice, and it's time to add lemon juice to your violet infusion, which turns it from blue to what some call purple but what looks like fuchsia to me. Magic!

Lemon juice changes the color of the violet tea.

From here on, it's jelly-making as usual. Bring to a boil with pectin, add sugar, bring to a boil again, ladle it into jars, and admire the rosy magic (it changed color again!) you have created. 

From Forest to Table

 

A fiddlehead is a fern in early spring, before the front unfurls. The name comes from its resemblance to the scroll of a violin. Picked at that stage, steamed and then sautéed, it has a flavor somewhat similar to asparagus but much more subtle. This was only my second year harvesting them, and I carefully cut only one or two per clump (sometimes only one if there were only two or three), wanting to anticipate fiddleheads for many years to come. 

I am not one to sneer at conventional wisdom when it comes to wild foods, so I followed online instructions and steamed the fiddleheads for 10 minutes before draining and patting them dry and adding them to butter and olive oil in a skillet I had already used to sauté sliced mushrooms. Added the mushrooms back to the skillet to warm them before serving. Topped with freshly grated Parmesan and freshly squeezed lemon juice. That was the first course one night.

I had gathered enough fiddleheads that we didn't eat them all the first night, so the next evening I sautéed additional mushrooms and made a cream sauce, resulting in the perfect accompaniment to panfried fresh lake trout. I didn't realize until I looked at the photo later that the chicken on the dish looked like it was falling off a cliff. Oh, well. Dinner was good!

Soon the toothwort blossoms will be open, and I'll gather leaves and flowers for salad.

Post-Halloween Pumpkin

 

Such a cutie pie!

Draw it or bake it?

Sometimes nothing takes the place of a cleaver.

Clean out the seeds...

rinse the seeds....

While pumpkin is roasting,

spread the seeds to dry.

Roast pumpkin smells SO GOOD!

Roast the seeds with spices,

and that's good, too.

What next? Pie or soup?

To be continued....

La salsa verde: mi primera vez

Gift horse: box of tomatillos

 

After husking

After roasting with onions, garlic, and jalapeños 

Blended

Into pot with salt, pepper, cumin,
cilantro, and lime juice

In process

El producto acabado

Bounty of the Season

 

Kolarik farmstand on M-22 (yes, peaches, too)

Sweet corn season is here at last--the fresh, local sweet corn we wait for eagerly all summer--and this past weekend I was inspired to do something different with it. For some reason, the idea of corn pudding came to mind. I'll let you look up recipes for it yourself, as there are many, and maybe you even have a favorite family recipe, something your mother or grandmother made for special occasions.

Most of the recipes you'll find in cookbooks or online call for a combination of canned whole kernel corn and canned creamed corn. My inspiration was to forget the cans. I can't give a recipe because I didn't measure anything, but you can consult recipes and adapt my changes to them. I am big on kitchen improvisations. I love to consult more than one cookbook and then look online, also, and combine the ideas that appeal to me, winging it as I go.

Steam the corn for around 5 minutes, let it cool enough that it won't burn your fingers, and cut the kernels off the cob. Put about half of that corn into a food processor with either milk or cream and buzz it to the texture you want. You're done with the food processor now and can mix by hand your creamed corn and whole kernels, enough flour to bind, as many eggs as you think you'll need with as much corn as you used, and a sweetener.

I used evaporated milk for the creamed corn, almond flour to bind, and pure Michigan maple syrup for sweetener.

Evening porch light

More table flowers

The first batch of corn pudding I baked in a large casserole dish. Be careful if you're using a recipe, though, because at 350 degrees my corn pudding en casserole certainly did not need to bake for 75 minutes! It would have been burnt to a crisp! You can see from the serving below (next to peach-glazed salmon) that it was definitely not underdone. The grated Parmesan topping could be added earlier than I added it, and you could use more Parmesan, too, but I was leery of drying out the pudding by baking it much longer than 30-40 minutes (even after reducing the heat).

Peach-glazed salmon & baked corn pudding

The second batch, two evenings later, I baked in little ramekins for individual servings, and instead of Parmesan on top I grated the merest light sprinkling of fresh nutmeg.

It would be impossible to duplicate this dish in midwinter. In fact, right now is about the only season it's possible at all, so run out to your nearest neighborhood farmstead for that fresh local corn and try this at home yourself. Then let me know how heavenly yours turns out!

Corn pudding: individual serving

Rhubarb-Apple Chutney

 

Once established, rhubarb pretty much takes care of itself. Water if rain is not abundant, harvest when stalks are firm and tall. Pulling rather than cutting is recommended, but I cut stalks and have had no problems. I don't want to pull out an entire plant by accident. You will have to decide for yourself.

Fresh ginger root is a kitchen must (as is whole nutmeg, not used in this recipe). There is something very satisfying about peeling and slicing and mincing and breathing in the aroma of fresh ginger. Powder from a can doesn't even come close.

Aroma? Oh, my! Rhubarb, tart apple, golden raisins, red onion, fresh ginger, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, a smidge of allspice, some pickling spices, red pepper flakes--cook it all down and ladle hot into sterile jars. This chutney will be delicious on turkey or pork or certain fish or roasted root vegetables. And the glow of satisfaction those jewel-like jars provide will last much longer than satisfaction of having swept your floors.

You wouldn't believe how good this is!