CSA Week Four. Kale with a side of Vandaveer.

A confession. I missed last week's CSA delivery. Mind you: I was back the next day and managed to cook every morsel, but the day of delivery? When I normally cannot wait to get home to see what goodies await? Did not happen.

All that work that happened and happened and happened and happened finally drove me to need to run far, far away. I needed my family, I needed my oldest friend, I needed a night of not working. I knew, under no circumstance, could I enjoy such a night in my home, so, on a Tuesday morning, I drove to BWI airport, boarded a just-purchased Southwest flight to my hometown in Louisville, and enjoyed 24 blissful hours not working (or at least not working much). What did I do? I saw my oldest friend in the world -- one of my two Caras -- and her garden. What does she grow in her garden?

That, lovely people, is. An. Entire. Garden. Of. Kale. KALE.

KAAAAAAALE.

I mean, kale that you can eat raw. Kale that you cook the same day it is in the ground. Kale that you spy in the backyard and know it was grown by awesome, amazing people I love. Is any kale in the world more delicious?

In a word, no.

I stood in that kale garden, drank a beer, exhaled, loved my oldest friend in the world, and then her daughter -- her beautiful, hilarious, sweet little girl, complete with princess outfit! -- bent down, plucked kale leaves from her garden, and handed them to me for munching.

I mean. Can you stand it? Are you weeping from joy yet? I sure could, even now, just remembering. I am the luckiest gal in the entire universe.

Because then? Not only did I get to eat dinner with my brother and dearest Suz at the new locally grown joint downtown (creatively called "Harvest"), which EVEN managed to have ginger beer for a dark and stormy ....

... but THEN, then, thanks to my strategic timing, I headed to see two amazing friends play amazing music that nourishes the soul the way kale nourishes a body. In my home town. For heaven's sake. For a Tuesday, I was doing pretty damn well. I even had my camera with video capability handy!



Meanwhile, back home, Karl's Farm was delivering to me the following:

• Green cabbage
• D'Avignon radishes
• Spring onions
• Mustard greens
• Hakurei turnips
• Zucchini

Luckily, most of these were repeats, so I had little to contemplate -- though I also now have little to report. Also luckily, all survived the overnight without me well. Most importantly for me, I had the best 24-hour excursion imaginable, and with deliciousness waiting for me at home. Like I said, the luckiest gal in the universe.

The cabbage is the thing, #1.

So, here is what might be the biggest not-secret of my life: I work quite a bit. Quite. Some would say too much. This past week has been illustrative of all the good and all the bad that come with participating in a CSA. Work happened, and happened, and happened, and happened, and before I knew it, I was staring down the day before a new delivery with half the share sitting in the fridge. And on a night when ALL I wanted was to head to ol' Rigyalas, or order Indian food, or just eat peanut butter on toast. But, I am nothing if not determined, and dammit to hell if I was about to let any of this delicious food go to waste.

I took stock. Left this week: an enormous Napa cabbage, kohlrabi, snow peas, radishes, spring onions. Time to pull out the wok.

Now, I have a go-to cabbage preparation. All I could think to do to use all of these vegetables was to expand my go-to to include them, timing appropriately, then add the secret ingredient that makes everything a meal.

First, I prepped the cabbage per usual, trimming and washing in several changes of water. Then I tried to figure out kohlrabi. Which came with a friend.

Kohlrabi is not anything I had heard of. It looks -- best as I can describe -- like a Muppet. I mean, it should stand up and dance and sing. Apparently I am not alone in thinking this, as a bit of Web research pulled up the following.

Also considered "sputnik-shaped," kohlrabi is apparently German for cabbage turnip. These little critters can be eaten raw or cooked and are described as tasting like "broccoli stems," which, um, are not my preference. It is also commonly used in Indian food. This was going to be an experiment. Once I disposed of the squirmy tag-along, I got to peelin' and choppin'.

 

Kohlrabi reminds me of raw potato, which, to the horror of many, I found delicious as a wee child, when my father and I would steal a slice as my mother cooked, sprinkle with pepper, and crunch away. The thought of doing so now makes me cringe, but the kohlrabi makes for a nice, non-cringeworthy substitute.

To add to the kohlrabi and cabbage, I prepared the radishes, the snow peas, and the spring onions. In other words, I washed them. With a veggie brush. Those suckers were dirty. Then I sliced the radishes and the spring onions -- white AND green parts.

With that, I minced my garlic and ginger. Do you know the easiest way to peel fresh ginger? It does not involve a knife. Simply use the back of a spoon to scrape scrape scrape. Then mince. I then collected my necessaries: mirin (or rice vinegar if no mirin), soy sauce (or Bragg's amino acids -- WAY less sodium), canola oil (I highly recommend investing in a 79-cent squirt bottle for such a purpose), toasted sesame oil, and, lately -- though by no means is it necessary -- I have enjoyed adding Penzeys Chinese Five Spice Powder.

My dear friend Sarah gave me an electric wok when I got married.  Now, this may seem one of those things that ladies ooh and aah over, only for the gift to require adequate storage for an annual use. But that is not the case. I use the HELL out of this thing. It is a great size, non-stick, minimizes oil needs, heats up fast, cools down faster, and is a zillion times easier to clean than any pot I own. It fits perfectly in the cabinet atop the fridge. In the summer especially, I use the electric wok several times a week, essentially whenever I cannot grill due to weather or the absence of slabs of meat. Bonus: the wok does not heat up the house. I love love love love it. Run get one for yourself and see what I mean.

I never use it on high when cooking veggies. I turned it to maybe a six, waited a minute or two, drizzled in a TINY amount of canola oil (less than I would use in a pan), and added the onion. My senses began to sing. Once the onion heated up (remember, these are spring onions that will cook much faster -- normally I use a regular white or yellow onion, which requires more cooking), I added the garlic and ginger. Then the kohlrabi.

Normally, the only two items that hit the wok are onions and cabbage. With so many vegetables awaiting my belly, I worked in the rest with some guesstimate at how long each needed to cook. About this point in time, I changed my mind about adding the radishes since I had zero clue how long the radishes would need in a wok, and I was a bit concerned that the radishes would be strange with the Chinese Five Spice. So, into a steamer went the radishes. And to the wok went several healthy shakes of Five Spice, the cabbage, then the snow peas. To the concoction I added about a teaspoon of mirin and a good few squirts of Bragg's (maybe a tablespoon). The thing was so full I had potential for a true mess on my hands.

The cabbage requires massive amounts of turning. It does not cook down nearly as quickly as other greens. I mean, it's CABBAGE. But once it is done, it is done. After 5 or so minutes had passed, it was ready.  I drizzled a dab (less than a teaspoon) of the toasted sesame oil over the cabbage concoction, then gave it one lass thorough toss about before removing it to a bowl. Time for my final ingredient for the wok. Even on number six, the cooking liquid was bubbling away. Waiting patiently.

The perfect receptacle for fresh shrimp! Shrimp complete any meal! Protein! Low-fat! Delicious! And fast!

While the shrimp cooked for the few minutes necessary, I heated a touch of olive oil in a nonstick pan (again, minimizing the oil use) and tossed in my now steamed radishes, to which I added just a hint of salt and pepper. Voila.

Finally. A meal made from five vegetables from the farm. This was a record for me. And so freaking delicious.

Onions are not always for crying.

One would think it easy to know what to do with a spring onion. But has one ever seen onions as massive as these?

I remember last year debating with certain individuals the part of the onion to use versus discard. Whelp, I am a big believer in using as much as possible -- white AND green parts -- so I knew this would be some serious onion going on in whatever I threw together. Here's the thing about spring onions: sooooo mild and delicious and sweet. I ripped off the scragglies, cleaned the suckers with a veggie brush (which inevitably means allowing the outermost layer to peel off), and chopped -- white AND green parts. I like to cut the green parts straight and then get all slanty with the white parts. I only wish I could add the smell to the Internet. Yummy. And no tears!

Then I whipped out my friendly turnips. These fellahs came with beYOOtiful greens, so to store, I had removed the greens from the turnip, ensuring their freshness come time to cook them up.

The turnips needed peeling and the greens trimming and washing (no spinning). Once the onions started to cook (the smell people! the delicious smell!) and turn translucent, I added a spattering of sweet curry powder and the turnips. Then, as they softened to the point of near completion, I added the greens. Total time in the pan -- less than ten minutes.

Meanwhile, I had asked my husband to bring home some fish. The great thing about cooking fish? Easiest thing imaginable. Easier than a PBJ. Easier than a burger. Easier than onions and turnips. It truly is the safest thing to send Brandon to the store in search of with minimal direction, allowing him to choose, since any fish can be cooked in one of several easy breezy ways. On this particular night, he brought home a fish that was very white. After seasoning with a bit of salt, pepper, lemon juice, and fresh dill from the garden, all it needed was a hint of olive oil with garlic in a pan, then, once the fish was added, a mixture of water and veggie broth for poaching liquid. Again, if only I could capture the smell on the Internet.  Instead, you will need to imagine ....

CSA Week Three: What in the sam hill will I do with all of this food?

Oh, Karl's Farm. You spoil me.

I knew I was in for it this week when I saw those spring onions peeking out at me over the basket. Or, towering, more like.  This week's share:

• Kohlrabi
• Joi Choi
• Snow peas
• Spring/green onions
• Napa cabbage
• D'Avignon radishes
• Hakurei turnips

Little did I know that this week would epitomize everything wonderful and tragic about participating in a CSA.

That first night, I tore into the Joi Choi. A bit of research turned up that Joi Choi was a relative of bok choy (shocker) and fell under the category of Chinese cabbage. The leaves had a fairly significant change in thickness from stem to tip, so I knew that cooking these beauties would require some attention on the cutting board. But, really, look at this thing.

This was enough to feed quite a few folks, so good thing I was starving. And in a bit of a time crunch. After chopping, washing in about 4 bowl changes of water, and spinning (those leaves are super delicate), I wanted to stay basic so I could actually taste this bounty. Garlic, crushed red pepper flakes, and olive oil to the rescue .... and wow, did this thing change colors as it cooked.

Meanwhile, I had the grill heated up, a sweet potato stabbed with a fork a couple of times getting started in the microwave, and a grass-fed New York strip marinating in a variety of peppers (black pepper, lemon pepper, red pepper, white pepper) with Worcester. I added the steak and the potato to the grill while the leaves cooked down and ended up with a bit of Tuesday heaven.

Boring, and not so boring.

I have been super busy the past several days, and besides fantasizing of taking a leave from my job to follow favorite musicians around the country, I have dreamed of eating this meal again as soon as possible. This meal here:

Even staring at it now .... mmmm. Memories. Honestly? I threw this thing together in a whirlwind of frustration that I have no time. Zilch. Nada. None. To my rescue came the bounty of Karl's farm and this glorious creation.

Please. In the name of all that is holy. Stop reading, go to www.penzeys.com, and order yourself some sweet curry powder. The small jar is all of three bucks. Promise. Worth it. Go go go.

Now that you are back, let me explain this life changing moment, despite the scarcity of moments these days.  As a general rule, when I buy groceries on the weekend, I try to get three proteins that I can whip up without thinking -- some sort of fish, chicken breastesses, and steak/ground buffalo/kabobs/insert meaty meat here. And chicken breastesses, which last the longest, usually require digging deep within for excitement and creativity to go beyond Dad's Lemon Pepper Chicken. Now, I realize, as a general rule, one can do any of a bajillion things with chicken breastesses that will taste delicious, but me? I cannot. I get bored. And impatient. Perhaps this is why I call them breastesses.  So the nights I make chicken breastesses, the rest of the plate better be damn exciting.

Bless summer for the ability to grill and enjoy it.  I rinsed those breastesses, patted them dry, added salt, pepper, and Penzeys Northwoods seasoning, then off to the grill with me.  Done and done. 

Now the fun. Southern curly mustard greens! Hakurei turnips! A dark and stormy! ALL FOR ME!

Hakurei turnips are small, white, and edible raw. I prefer things cooked. The turnips would need the most time, so I started there. I had fabulous thoughts of roasting the turnips with the D'Avignon radishes and topping with this Dijon mustard concoction I read about .... only, no mustard? And no radishes? Siiiiiiigh. I did not want to cook the turnips the way I always had, which basically mirrored the way I braise greens. I vaguely recalled reading something from a vegetarian website and thought, why not risk it. Enter Penzeys sweet curry powder. 

After peeling, washing, and slicing the turnips to about ..... 

I sliced a small yellow onion, threw it in some heated olive oil, added the turnips after a couple of minutes, and then maybe a teaspoon-ish of the Penzeys. Holy wow. My senses were ALIVE.

I worried about the cooking proceeding too slowly, so I added a bit of vegetable broth, gave it a stir, and plopped a lid on it. Then I turned to the mustard greens. Have you ever seen anything more gorgeous?

Chopped, rinsed, spun, and ready, the mustard greens would soon join a pan full of white sweet onions turning translucent in a hint of olive oil, with a couple of cloves of minced garlic and splash of veggie broth.  A drizzle (tiny drizzle!) of sesame oil on these and done. Mmmmm.

When I checked back on my turnips, I was greeted by the most glorious sight on my stovetop --  and PERFECT with the greens.

That meal was a fave. I asked Brandon for a quote, but he was too busy eating to say more than "savory." At least I care less and less about making chicken breastesses more exciting. But I shall always call them breastesses.

CSA Week Two. Green with envy! Oh, wait, these are all mine ...

This week is a bounty of greens.  Honestly, few things bring me joy like coming home to this bounty:

This week's share included the following delectables, appearing clockwise below: 

• Oregano and lemon balm
• Broccoli rabe (otherwise known as rapini -- and NOT a form of broccoli)
• Hakurei turnips
• Napa cabbage the size of me
• Southern curled mustard greens
• Mizuna
• D'Avignon radishes

Now, what to do, what to do.  Time this week is especially limited, and the farm is making next week's delivery a day early in order to celebrate the Jr's high school graduation.  So, I knew I needed to call on the creativity deep within.  I poured myself a dark and stormy.

The broccoli rabe, mizuna and mustard greens each can be prepared according to my standard formula: olive oil, garlic, crushed red pepper, salt.  [By the way?  Broccoli rabe? Not related to broccoli.  Actually closer to the turnip, of all things.]  I so enjoyed last week's radishes steamed and tossed in lemon balm ... so that takes care of that.  Cabbage is a meal in itself, especially when stir-fried in the electric wok (seriously people: life is better with an electric wok), and then the turnips can complement whichever meal follows the radishes. But how on god's green earth will I fit all of this in for the few days I am able to cook?

Time to get busy.

Tonight's kitchen quickly became a whirlwind.  I first turned to the fact that I had four different greens for what likely would amount to two or three cooked meals. Can't do that. Luckily, I also lamented the end of my sorrel quiche. Would mizuna turn out as well? Only one way to find out ....

Mizuna is one of those greens I had never heard of, let alone touched or tasted, prior to participating in a CSA.  Mizuna is otherwise known as Japanese mustard -- with pointy leaves, it has a sharper taste than most greens but not so peppery as arugula.  I have noticed a wider discrepancy between stem and leaf thickness -- this is important when cooking to ensure you have cooked everything evenly.  The stems should be cut very small, while the leaves cut in larger pieces.  Mizuna is also, in my opinion, very pretty.

So, first things first.  I put together a quiche along the lines of Sorrel Not Squirrel (this time with an extra egg and pinch of cayenne), and it bakes now even as I type.  Breakfast!  Ooo la la!!  Once that was in the oven, I set about to scrubbing the radishes, cleaning the broccoli rabe in another several changes of water, chopping garlic and lemon balm, and prepping the trout.  Yes, trout.

You people out there who think cooking is just so hard, so time-consuming -- you must understand that fish filets cook with the least amount of effort and in no time flat.  So long as you buy decent fish (I head either to the fish market in my neighborhood or one of a zillion Whole Foods in a three-mile radius and ask for what is fresh), have salt and pepper handy, maybe another favorite seasoning or two (paprika!), then you can eat healthy, delicious fish with minimal effort and pat yourself on the back.  Sprinkle with what you have to sprinkle, broil or slap in a pan with a tiny bit of olive oil, and voila, moments later, delicious, healthy fish.

Tonight, however, I grabbed the cast iron, the cornmeal, and the canola oil.  I had a hard day. Time to fry.

Here was my order of business, once the quiche was in the oven.  First, get the radishes sliced and on to steam.  Next, heat the canola in the cast iron (just enough to cover the bottom -- nothing too nuts), rinse and pat dry the fish, then sprinkle with salt, pepper, and Old Bay.  Coat the fish in cornmeal (I do this using a plate) and set each filet gingerly into the hot oil (medium to medium high flame).  With the fish bubbling away, heat my olive oil in an Al-Clad, add the garlic and a few crushed red pepper flakes, then the broccoli rabe and a dash of salt.  Turn, turn, turn to coat, and cover.  Medium, low-ish flame.  By now, my radishes were soft.  Chop up my lemon balm, heat olive oil and a SMALL dab of butter in another Al-Clad, add the radishes, a bit of dill (I cheated: I have freeze-dried fresh chopped dill in the fridge, which is a godsend in moments such as these), and the lemon balm, toss about with minimal splashing.  Uncover the broccoli rabe --yay, almost done! -- and turn down the flame after another turn turn turn with the tongs.  Flip the fish.  At this point, I stepped back and realized there is a hell of a lot happening on this stove.

And a quiche in the oven to boot!

In the end, the effort was well worth it.  And, truly, the effort was minimal, despite the knowledge that I have a cast iron pan to deal with (tips welcome here).  The only downside to such delicious food is that the preparation takes longer than the consumption, because let me tell you what, this did not last for long (and neither did the dark and stormy) ...

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: