Cook and Destroy

In my farmshare today I picked up a watermelon.

NOT a pumpkin.

There were also peaches, corn, tomatoes and squash. SUMMER squash.

Put that pumpkin-scented crack pipe down, now.

I keep accidentally posting my C&D blather to my other blog, and rather than root out all the links and repost here, I’m’a just leave this link right here.

In this week’s episode of What Hath My CSA Wrought:

Clockish from top left: a pair of kohlrabi, sweeties, a sextet of Grimes Gold apples, rosemary, bag of Mystery Salad (”mixed Asian greens”, more turnips than I know what to do because they’re turnips, one ginormous savoy cabbage, and at center square some skinny-ass bok choy.

Though I may not have the slightest clue what to do with all the abundant green, this guy certainly has ideas: 

Rosemary, baby! (I had to sequester that fragrant sprig right after snapping this, as the cat was about to make it his bitch.)

Apples and sweet potatoes I can always Do Unto, and a wad of fresh herbs never goes to waste in my kitchen (at the very least I can dry it, but the cat can get just about anywhere in the apt and then I come home to find he’s been doing bong hits of it all day), but I’m honestly stumped about what to do with All. These. Focking. Greens. 

Bok choy is fairly easy to stir fry with anything, and I’ll cook the tonic & kohlrabi greens with some bacon and vinegar. The Kohlrabi I’ll risk effing up by peeling it and grating it into the Mystery Salad ... and then I’ve still got that enormous mf’ing cabbage, assuming I’ll actually eat all of the other green stuff. Oh, and there’s the uckfing turnips, and it’s too early for Jarramplas. 

So I neglected to post any blathering about my fabulous CSA farmshare gleanings, as I’ve been running around with a case of The Crazy, finishing up teaching my summer course, keeping the dojo operating, and averting technology disasters at the library through the use of zip ties and toy dinosaurs.  This past weekend’s haul was magnificent, though, and also the first one from Greensgrow West’s new digs.

So we had this oodle of stuff that used to be just a pile of dirt and a few pellets of genetic matter, lovingly watered and solarized and not allowed to be eaten or otherwise savaged by feral cats just yet:

a bag of Tokyo Bakana (in the back), which is apparently a Japanese salad green and will be gone by the time you read this.

a whole mess of tomatoes, including a bigass heirloom beefsteak which I already ate the hell out of, the rest of which are salsa-bound and/or ratatouille-destined.

poblano peppers, which are going to be roasted and added to the salsa made from the surviving tomats (the remainder may be used for chilaquiles).

an eggplant and a few zucchini. if it cools down enough I’ll make ratatouille. If not, I’ll make ratatouille and curse a lot.

a hunk of Yukon gold potaters. (Already eaten, mashed with ghee & garlic, sorry.)

two onions. they’ll be used.

That watermelon, though. ALL MINE.

4 ears of Sweet Mirai corn, which did not make it to the photo because I was hungry (roasted in the husk, elote-style, on the grill; some of the kernels made it into the salsa but feck they were good).

This is the first week in a while that it’s been temperate enough to do more in the kitchen than stand in front of the open door and pour seltzer over my head, so there’s more cooking for me to screw up in the next day or two.

While searching for softish foods that my recently deconstructed face can chew upon without aggravating my stitched-up gums (periodontal surgery; not at all fun but afterward they give you nice drugs and an excuse to savage your Netflix queue), I saw what could not be unseen: Burger King has toyed with the natural order of things and rolled out a limited edition deepfried mac & cheese coated in crushed Cheetos.

Now I know why they gave me extra Percocet.

Two takes on this (other) Orange Horror:

Kotaku: The King thinks Mac n’Cheetos is something you might eat (”Burger King is out of control and doesn’t care who it hurts.”)

Nerdist: Mac n’Cheetos are a nightmare snack (”a desire to render the stygian, eldritch creations of H.P. Lovecraft in fast food form”)

BERRIES ARE GO GO GO

(NOTE: actionable recipes appear way down at the bottom after the wording. But read it anyway, it’s nice.)

This floundering blog has been on hiatus due to a bout with SAD, which you might popularly know as Seasonal Affective Disorder but in this case stands for Sucks Ass, Dude. I’ve avoided this venue for every procrastinating reason under the sun and clouds (mostly clouds until few weeks ago), channeled my efforts into the pursuit of an illusion of joining a meritocracy that does not exist, bounced through a string of budding relationships that failed to launch or just plain vaporized before my eyes, sulked under a month of grey damp that was abruptly followed by blistering swelter (in literally one day we went from 55 degree overcast drizzle to 90 degree blue skies punctuated with thunderstorms), fended off mood swings that thought they were qualifying for the olympic halfcrackpipe skateboard team and bouts of inflammation in nearly every quarter of my body, sat in meetings gripping the arms of my chair lest I jump on the table and either start swinging or, worse, start monologuing. 

Mostly, I have not been cooking. And that has not been good.

So what’s different today? Simple: This morning I picked up my first farm share from the Greensgrow CSA (Community Supported Agriculture, not the Confederate States of America; don’t be an idjit). This wasn’t even the first week: I’m in for a half share, which means I pick up every other week, and I missed my first pickup due to some miscommunication on both ends. But in order to get to karate class on time I headed out early, picked up a fat bag of greens and roots and sweet things plus a dozen eggs at Greensgrow West and stashed them in the fridge - only to learn that karate was cancelled for the day due to the dojo getting its floors refinished. So I spent my afternoon sorting through the bounty and plotting acts of pickling and muddling and cookery, also while doing this: 

(They’re strawberries. They’re really fucking good strawberries.)

After another run to the coop and the State Store (that’s a liquor store for those of you outside PA; wine and spirits must be purchased from the loving graces of state employees who urge you not to drink too much whilst either ignoring you or pouring you a freebie) before the mercury broke 90 and in time to beat the soothing afternoon downpour (which never came. Fuck you, fickle sky gods!) I found myself surrounded by absolute bounty and the will to do something with/to/about it.

So far I’ve pickled a jar of Hakurei turnips, the only sort of ‘neeps I know of that can be eaten raw (but why would you want to?). This is the end of their spring season, and I managed to glom one of the last bunches at the CSA (it was either that or rhubarb, and I don’t understand rhubarb). I started defrosting some Stryker Farms Italian sausage to use with the gigundo head of escarole in today’s haul, and by the time I’d done all the prep for storming the produce fortress, I needed a nap (shut up. Naps are good, and it was 88 degrees and humid).  

This evening (already topping 90) I had a go at the bunch of mint and quart of Esh’s strawberries. After all, they are the two items in this week’s haul that are most perishable, and I cannot allow waste.

(A dozen or so shy of what I brought home. Forgive me, but someone had to suck the juices out of their little fruiting bodies.)

(Yes we can ... make mojitos! And try to keep it away from the cat, who cannot distinguish this from catnip.) 

Before I embarked on any mixological experimentation I managed to pickle the turnips: 

(They’re ugly, but they’re turnips. What did you expect?)

The kind juxtaposition of mint and ‘berries, coupled with the fact that I’d remembered to pick up limes and also that my favorite Haitian rum was on sale led to some afternoon mixperimentation with the day’s booty. But by the time I’d gotten the ‘neeps put up and get my intention for tomorrow’s cookerlympics,  I realized that I felt better than I had in weeks. And yes, this was before I’d even had my first strawberry mojito. 

By now it should be obvious that reconnecting to the natural world, wherever you can find it, is a core component of lifting one’s human mood out of the shitstorm of modern life. It’s also too easy to forget when you’re pummeled down in the pit of said doldrums that you can just get off your SAD ass and go inhale the growing things, even if that includes the ornamental pear trees that stank like semen (because it’s actually tree cum. Yes, really, look it up: Callery Pears. Also, thank you City of Brotherly Luv for planting so many of those horndog trees that don’t even bear edible fruit so that our spring sidewalks reek like the end of a bukkake shoot). 

So if you see me occasionally rolling in a patch of catnip, please don’t call 911 on me. I’m just trying to stay healthy.

Tomorrow I’ll have at the escarole (with cannellini and Italian sausage and maybe some smoke), garlicky beet & turnip greens with bacon, weird lettuce & spinach salad, first tomatoes & fresh mozz salad in balsamic dressing with whatever herbs I can scrounge, and pickled beets. But for now here’s the day’s doings: 

(Thus endeth the blather; actual recipes to follow.)

PICKLED HAKUREI TURNIPS:

These ‘neeps are about the only ones you’ll find that don’t require heavy stewing and seasoning and other tricks to convince you that they are not in fact turnips. Hakureis can be grated raw in salads, but they do tend to have a tad more of that “Hey! I’m turnip, bitch!” flavor than the radishes that will be ready to harvest a week or two later. So smack their shit down thusly: 

Ya needs:

A bunch of Hakurei turnips (duh)

1 tsp kosher or coarse sea salt (more is fine, just don’t go apeshit)

1 tsp sugar (adjust to taste or insulin sensitivity; stevia or other sugarless sweeteners will work here but not nearly as well as the real deal crack cane)

4-6 oz rice vinegar (or white vinegar, but it won’t be as good. I know, I was all out of rice vinnie, so I used 1/2 oz sherry vinegar + ~4oz white vinegar. See below...)

A pint canning jar or other non-reactive and tightly sealable container

Optionals (but good):

fresh ground black pepper

thin sliced fresh ginger

a dash or two of mirin

whatever flavorings float your boat. Just make it count.

Start by washing and gently peeling the turnips (’neeps’ is what we calls ‘em) and then slicing them thin (as thin as you can without cutting your fingers. Use a mandoline if you have one, or get righteous with your knife technique). Toss to coat with a teaspoon or better of coarse salt in a bowl and let sit for 30-40 minutes, shaking the mixture up every 10-15 minutes or so to ensure even coating until those fuckers get nice and tired.

Drain the salty water from the ‘neeps - they should be fairly limp by now. You can squeeze excess water from them but it’s not essential. It is fun, though.

Jam ye the flaccid ‘neepies into a pint Ball jar or a tightly sealable container (glass is best; metal adds flavor that you won’t want; plastic is forever bullshit). Add the sugar (or whatnot), seasoning (I used 1/2 tsp black pepper and four slices of fresh unpeeled ginger plus a dash of mirin), and enough vinegar to cover. Seal and shake the fuck out of it, then settle it in the ‘fridge for at least 90 minutes. It’ll be ready then, but peak flavor happens after a day or so. These pickles will keep for up to a week. They’re better than you think they’ll be.

NOTE: this is almost identical to the quick pickling method I use with various radishes, especially Korean or daikon radishes. That’s where the additives make the difference: for Korean pickled moo you’ll want a whiter vinegar and maybe some chiles in the mix. But we’re not dealing with them right now, so go enjoy the Hakureis, because they’ll be outta here in a week or so.

STRAWBERRY MOJITOS

Gotta have: 

fresh mint. As much as you can stand.

fresh strawberries on the verge, or at least ripe as fuck. Only local ones will do for this; ‘berries trucked in from Cali won’t have the flavor you crave for this and will be too tart to make it work. Either go local or don’t use them at all - but see below.

rum (any white or aged type will do for this; I used Rhum Barbancourt. Avoid “spiced” rums or the super dark variety like Myer’s or Gosling’s. If you omit the strawberries, you’ll need a lighter rum to balance the lack of tartness those lovely red juicebursty critters will bring to the party.)

juicy limes

some sugar, not much, or another sweetener if you roll that way

ice, ice, baby

a muddler or a sturdy spoon and some elbow grease

Make it: 

In a shaker or heavy glass, muddle the following:

2-4 sprigs of mint

1/2-1 tsp sugar or sweetener. (Yes, you’ll need it, even if you don’t have a sweet tooth; the sugar brings it together but if you can’t tolerate sucrose use the equivalent of stevia or whatever you like.)

A fistful of strawberries that won’t survive the night, stems removed and sliced roughly but lovingly (I have big hands, so you might want to go two fistfuls if yours are normal sized, or if you really, really loves those melting late season ‘berries.)

the juice of a healthy wedge of lime. (As much as you like, or about 1/16 of a normal sized lime. If it’s a Key lime, you are in for a treat: use more of it, up to 1/4 of the fruit.)

Muddle that sucker into submission, pouring a few slugs of rum as you go until the sugar (or whatevah) is dissolved, the mint is a mere shadow of its former self, and the berries are slurring, “no más, no más”. And also it should smell good, minty and sweet and tart and the berries are yelling about a rematch but could they please just get a clean towel and lie down for a while.

Let it sit a minute or two. Don’t get anxious, it’ll be fine.

Strain that ambrosia over a tall glass packed with ice, mashing the solids into the mesh of the strainer until they give up their delightful jazz, dripping through into the cold places below. Add more rum/rhum/RUM! to taste (but don’t go nuts or you’ll be a wreck and no one will like you ever again. Moderation; add the fermented cane juice a dab at a time until you find the right balance).

Top off with seltzer or club soda or, hell, use tonic water for all I care, it’s your drink. Stir gently, stick a long sprig of mint in there and look fabulous, querida. 

My kitchen has been largely dormant these last few weeks. Usually the onset of autumn triggers my culinary gland into action and pushes me to max out every square cubit of counterspace and all four burners. But this season has been a slow one for a few synergistic reasons. I’ve been deep into three projects, essentially working a job and a half under deadline while driving to the cusp of publishing my first poetry collection (out on Kindle now, soon to be in print). Along the way, I found myself considering starting up a small publishing company based on the response I got from two colleagues at a recent reading, both of whom asked how I got into self-publishing and wound up asking if I’d make their books happen. So I have another project churning even as I put the print edition to bed and prep for a minor book tour, with LLC papers to file, workspace to secure, plans and plans and plans.

Also, I reincarnated TreeHouse BrewWorks, which is a schmancy way of saying I whipped up two batches of homemade beer over the last two months, and keeping the kitchen at a steady temperature has been essential to not having either of them (a hybrid porter/winter ale called Volar Portex plus one currently in the fermenting tank that should come out as something like an ESB with the malt turned up a little) turn skwonky. Tomorrow is bottling day, and the next batches will use a lager yeast that loves lower temperatures than my standard ale-making critters, which means I can move the fermenters into a cooler space that keeps at a steady 60-65 degrees - and allow the kitchen to go a little infernal when needed.

Thanksgiving weekend, though, is a time for cooking one’s ass off, and I managed to stumble through a Bien Cuit-style loaf of bourbon bread (which I nearly burnt but managed to save through some intensive crust intervention), some emergency cornbread in the event that I couldn’t save the bread and which my 15 year old son described as tasting like plastic on top of cardboard, and the cranberry-orange relish/sauce/jam that used to get me laid on a regular basis (and yes, when it’s good it’s that good). And although I broke my favorite coffee mug in the process, I was able to remember that a lame day cooking is better than a good day being lame.

At the moment the low-bid contractor crew is renovating the apartment upstairs, the landlord’s brother having vacated it. They’ve been going at it for about a week now, and I’ve got right of first refusal on it once it’s done (and after they’ve stopped knocking the building’s wi-fi offline by unplugging the router every now and then). It’s about the same size as my current place, but with a deck out back, and possibly an open kitchen. Next week I’ll have a look at it, so I will hold off on starting my next two beer things (a black IPA and another attempt at making a Gruit) in case I need to transport the fermenting tanks upstairs (they don’t like traveling while incubating the Precious). 

Today’s plans are more of the same: tweaking the layout on the book and sending off for a proof copy, collating proposal info for next year’s contract negotiations at the college, looking at workspace options and small business banking and submitting some new(er) poems for publication and not giving a flying fahrvergnugen whether or not they get accepted, because soon enough I’ll be able to to publish them on my own. Then it’s off to the Clark Park Farmer’s Market, a date with Don Memo’s taco truck, and before the cold rain comes I’ll be cooking what needs, demands, aches to be cooked this afternoon while bottling the ESB and maybe even designing some labels for the bottles (so I don’t confuse the winter/porter with the malty bitters).

Today I exercised some kitchen mojo between bouts of couch sloth and bursts of physical therapy exercises. The result is, well, let’s not call it fusion, because that would imply that I couldn’t make up my mind and still thought I was giving birth to Aphrodite herself. Instead I made a few items from some of my favorite culinary traditions, some of which I’ve never tried before and all of which simply needed to go into the bowl or wok or pan. Here’s the day’s tally:

One tortilla española with Andouille sausage, grated Grana Padano, sweet potatoes, Hungarian peppers, red onion, Roma tomatoes and red garlic. The eggs and veg were all from West Philly or Lancaster County.

Tempeh & mixed veg stir fry with every sauce-potion from the Korean grocery store.

Pai huang gua (Szechuan style garlic and sesame smashed cucumbers).

Pickled French Breakfast radishes with red chiles.

Roasted pepitas with nary a trace of the dreaded pumpkin spice.

One bigass salad.

One liter of sangria (Argentine tempranillo, Valencia oranges, lemons, Zestar apples, peaches, Italian plums, Knob Creek bourbon & seltzer). L’Chaim, byotches!