Sorrel. Not to be confused with squirrel.

Let me get right to the point and save everyone some time. This is one of the most delicious things I have ever made with my own two hands. Outrageously delicious. Tortious, some would say (and you know who you are). And absurdly easy. Plus, vegetarian friendly! 

The last major hurdle* for this past week's CSA stared me down over the holiday weekend.  Sorrel.  A green leaf that, according to my sweep of short Web-based articles, is most often either (a) added in salads in small amounts -- and if you read my last post, you know THAT was not going to happen; (b) cooked down into a particular French-ish soup requiring many steps and perhaps copious amounts of cream -- NOT going to happen the weekend I am preparing a filing (plus, cream? meh); and (c) traded with a portion of spinach -- say, 1/3 sorrel to 2/3 spinach -- to add flavor.  Apparently it is a very bitter leaf.

[* Note: smaller hurdles remained, and by "smaller" I mean hurdles that I would not weep over if I failed to surmount. Luckily, I had help from the farm in the form of a recipe that made the smaller hurdles manageable, described in brief after I revel in the sorrel surprise.]

There comes a time in lawyering when one simply must stop researching -- cases begin to quote each, citations point to the same case law, nothing new comes with added hours lost in Westlaw.  Turns out, when researching farm food, there also comes a time when one simply must stop reading. For sorrel, it is this moment on Wikipedia: "The plant's sharp taste is due to oxalic acid, which is a poison. In small quantities sorrel is harmless; in large quantities it can be fatal." Um. Really?

Lucky for me, I had only only bunch.  But what to do with it?  No salad, no creamy soup (in the midst of a heat wave, no less), and no spinach in the house.  I finally had to embrace my next best option: quiche.

Now, I have always been afraid of quiche, both to eat (so much egg!) and definitely to make (so much egg!). Maybe it is the Q and the scarcity of words in my native tongue that rhyme with "eesh," other than "eesh." This holiday weekend, however, I was determined. Besides, it involved goat cheese, and I looooooove me some goat cheese. 

First, a trip to the grocery store for my one cheat: a frozen pie crust. I am not opposed to making my own pie crust (I have before, after all -- see post one of this here blog), but sometimes a gal just wants to eat. And familiarizing myself with sorrel was enough for one morning, especially if simultaneously conquering my fear of quiche. 

Turn the oven to 375, then bring together The Ingredient Collection:

Sorrel bunch

4 ounces goat cheese

a few scallions

eggs

mik

Parmesan cheese

First, set out the pie crust to thaw (takes about ten minutes -- and the great thing about frozen pie crust is the chance to squeeze together those breaks once the thaw is complete). Then, chop and rinse the bejesus out of the sorrel (I used three bowl changes of water, then spun the leaves dry) and chop a few scallions. 

Next, assemble: (1) spread the goat cheese, (2) add the sorrel (it looks a bit like it won't fit in the pan), (3) add the scallions, (4) beat three eggs in a separate bowl with a cup and a half of milk and maybe 1/4 teaspoon salt plus some pepper, (5) pour over sorrel-ed goat cheese pie crust, and (6) sprinkle parmesan on top. 

Bake until it looks done. Online suggested 35-40 minutes, but I am quite sure I need additional time. And let me tell you something. It was freaking worth it.

I do not have words to describe how delicious this little nugget of sorrel goat cheese quiche turned out. Suffice to say that, as of this writing, the quiche is long gone, and I am eager for another bunch of sorrel to make a repeat. I might do a few things differently -- maybe a hotter oven. Perhaps a pinch of cayenne for a kick. Some method of helping contain the liquid when the sorrel cooks. If I changed nothing at all? Then still divine. Ten stars.

* Now, about those smaller hurdles. There were three. Cabbage (which will be the subject of a post next week), lemon balm, and radishes. To prepare the radishes, I scrubbed and scrubbed [aside: for a CSA share, perhaps the most important tool is a vegetable brush -- nothing gets those dirty rascals cleaner, and bare hands don't compare].  Slice kind of thin. Chop the lemon balm (I had about six leaves) and a bit of fresh dill if you have it. Steam the radishes until soft (maybe four or five minutes, depending on how thinly sliced). In a separate pan, heat a touch of olive oil and/or butter (I am not a fan of the butter, but others love it), toss in the radishes with a big pinch of dill, the chopped lemon balm, salt, and pepper. Heat. Eat. Enjoy. When paired with the as-yet-to-be-described cabbage and a grass-fed steak (adequately treated with garlic salt and Penzey's Bavarian seasoning), the outcome is a little something like this: