I actually was a little disappointed that the lima beans didn’t retain the hues they showed when they first came out of their pods (see below), but the earth and woodsy tones of their river stone disguises pretty much made up for it.

I was new to cooking this ancient South American vegetable as a fresh ingredient, having limited myself until now almost exclusively to working with its frozen form, and that was decades ago.  When I picked them up at the Union Square Greenmarket I thought preparation would be a cinch, but once home I found almost nothing about limas (or butter beans, an alternative name for the legumes) in any of my cookbooks and, as I was interested in something minimal, almost nothing useful on line.  To illustrate my dilemma, one site outlined at least three major steps for extracting the bean, and a cooking process that would have stretched on far beyond an hour’s time.  It was only when I turned to my half-century-old copy of  Craig Claiborne‘s classic opus, ‘The New York Times Cookbook’ [$25 new here; $10 to $15 here, at Strand], that I was finally reassured about both the ease and the simplicity with which these delicious beans could be prepared.

Both peas and beans can vary in size, tenderness, and freshness, so it may not always be easy to prescribe cooking times or amounts to buy (especially when they are being purchased in the shell or pod), and there is also the question of individual tastes. Claiborne’s short entry reads, simply, “Place the [shelled] beans in a small amount of boiling water, cover and boil rapidly until tender, about twenty to thirty minutes.” [Note: I checked the beans while they were boiling, and ended draining them after something closer to fifteen minutes]  He advised allowing two pounds – or more – for four servings.  I bought a pound of unshelled beans, and that would have been more than enough for the two of us, except that they were so good; even as little as half of a pound might have been enough if there were another vegetable on the plate.

I decided to do little to interfere with their natural flavor, but, in addition to some olive oil, I did go for the addition of some chopped mint (Claiborne had suggested butter and thyme), and, naturally, a squeeze of lemon, perhaps thinking the three might convert the very American lima bean into an Italian dish.

One more thing.  Squid remains one of the least expensive of any seafood available today;  the cost of two generous servings was far less than the cost of this excellent vegetable (a price I was totally happy to pay, even before their goodness had been fully confirmed and enjoyed).

• tiny squid bodies and tentacles from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, marinated for about half an hour (half of that time in the refrigerator) in a mixture of lemon zest and lemon juice, thinly-sliced garlic from Keith’s Farm, olive oil, pungent dried Italian oregano from Buon Italia, salt, and pepper, then removed from the marinade and pan-grilled briefly over high heat, arranged on plates, sprinkled with fresh lemon juice and some chopped parsley from Stokes Farm  [a recipe for the squid, with more specific instructions appears here]
• fresh organic lima beans from Norwich Meadows Farm (Im tasted one at the stand, and was immediately sold on them, although I had not cooked these particular legumes in many years, parboiled until tender (about 15 minutes here), drained, dried in the same glass pan, then mixed with olive oil, salt, pepper, and peppermint from Phillips Farm
• the wine was an Italian (Campania) white, Falanghina Feudi di San Gregorio 2014
• the music was excerpts from the album, ‘Steven M. Miller: Between Noise And Silence‘

 

The pictures below show the beans as they appeared at the Greenmarket, and then as they looked after podding and before cooking.

It was a pretty colorful meal, and a tasty one, but, while enjoying the herbs – and the savory buds – I could not help thinking of all that I will miss once this summer is past.

 

• two thick loin lamb chops from 3-Corner Field Farm (two servings), thoroughly dried, cooked on a very hot enameled cast iron grill pan for about 4 minutes on each side, seasoned only after having been seared, then removed from the pan and each topped with about a dozen slightly-crushed ramp fruit from Berried Treasures, the ‘buds’ having been heated earlier in a bit of olive oil, the chops finished with a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of olive oil

• yellow flat pole beans from Norwich Meadows Farm, blanched, drained and dried, then reheated in oil, finished with salt, pepper, and fresh fennel seed from Lani’s Farm

• orange and green (two kinds) heirloom tomatoes from Berried Treasures, sliced thinly and arranged in low bowls with a bit of good olive oil, white balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, and torn local (Brooklyn) basil leaves, Gotham Greens Rooftop packaged basil, from Whole Foods

• the wine was a luscious super California red, ROX Scott Peterson All Blacks Sonoma County 2013, which includes five different black grapes from Sonoma; when I tasted it I thought that it almost certainly included some Zinfandel, but not in the usual heavy, scary California form which is incompatible with almost any food, and I just learned on line, from Scott Peterson, the maker, that it’s close to these percentages: 34 % Sonoma Coast Syrah; 
44% Old Vine Zinfandel Russian River/Dry Creek Sonoma County;
 11% Petite Sirah Dry Creek Sonoma County; 
6% Grenache
; 5% Mourvedre

• the music was from the 2015 Nordic Affect album, ‘Clockworking‘

Prior to the meat course, there was a primi, a revisit of a pasta from three days earlier boasting the addition of some fresh herbs (spearmint from Lani’s Farm and summer savory and lovage, both from Keith’s Farm) and a drizzle of good olive oil.

• the wine with that pasta was a French white, Hecht & Bannier Blanc Languedoc 2014

There was also a cheese course, which included two cheeses from Consider Bardwell, ‘Manchester’ and ‘Slybro’, both made from goat milk, served with some very, very thin slices of ‘Integrale’ bread from Eataly, toasted in our McGraw Electric Toastmaster (introduced in 1936, the year our apartment building was completed).

It was a cauliflower, frittata, and we both love anything cauliflower, including this dish.  Apparently not everyone shares our enthusiasm, because, in his description of this primi, which I used as my rough guide, Kyle Phillips tells us that the great Italian cookbook author Pellegrino Artusi definitely did not think much of the vegetable, writing in an introduction to his nineteenth-century recipe, “You will need to know the quantities if you are to make a good frittata with a vegetable as insipid as this.”

• one 21-ounce head of golden cauliflower from Norwich Meadows Farm, separated into flowerettes, sautéed in butter and olive oil in a 12-inch cast iron pan until beginning to carbonize, seasoned with salt and pepper, some of the torn green pointed leaves which enclose the head added near the end, then, once the vegetable had begun to color, eight small-ish eggs from Millport Dairy beaten with a bit of grated Parmesan cheese from Eataly, seasoned with salt, pepper, and some very good cayenne from Spices and Tease in Chelsea Market poured into the pan, followed by the addition of thin slices of one ripe red heirloom tomato from Norwich Meadows Farm placed on top, the mix allowed to cook, unflipped, on top of the range until done
• the wine was an Australian sparkling rosé, Taltarni Taché 2011, a blend of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier, from southeastern Australia
• the music was the second half of Vivaldi’s ‘Atenaide’, in a performance by Modo Antiquo, conducted by Federico Maria Sardelli

I thought, if dry fennel seed is great on a tuna steak, why not fresh?  And then I thought, maybe fresh fennel seeds would be spoiled with as much direct heat as I need to grill the surface, so I ended up sprinkling them over the steaks after they were grilled, and just before finishing them with a drizzle of olive oil.  I now think I’ll try replacing dry for fresh altogether the next time I have them available.

• one 13-ounce tuna steak from Pura Vida Fisheries, rubbed with a mixture of fennel seed and one dried peperoncini, ground together, additionally seasoned with salt and pepper, then pan-grilled for only a minute or so on each side, finished with a good squeeze of lemon and sprinkling of fresh fennel seed from Lani’s farm and a drizzle of olive oil
• two Pozzano plum tomatoes from Norwich Meadows Farm, sliced in half, placed face down on a plate spread with salt and pepper, dried somewhat before placed on a hot grill pan, turned once, removed, finished with a bit of olive oil and balsamic vinegar
• a handful of Jamaican Burr Gherkins from Norwich Meadows Farm, sliced very thinly and tossed with small farmed ‘wild’ arugula from Eckerton Hill Farm along with ten or twelve husk cherries from Oak Hill Plantation, dressed with salt, pepper, good olive oil, and fresh lemon juice
• the wine was a New York Cabernet Franc rosé, Schneider & Bieler Rosé “le breton” 2014 from the Fingerlakes region
• the music was Vivaldi’s ‘Atenaide’, in a performance by Modo Antiquo, conducted by Federico Maria Sardelli

I never thought I’d find the elusive ingredient, fresh fennel pollen, in my kitchen, but one of our creative local farmers made it possible this week. For more on the delights and the use of this extraordinary, very Italian seasoning, see this Honest-Food.net discussion of fennel in high summer.

As I write this I can still taste what the Wall Street Journal food writer called culinary ‘fairy dust’.

• fresh bucatini pasta from Eataly (they’re sold in neat 1/3-pound ‘nests’, and it seemed to me that two of them would be inadequate if the dish was not going to include any other substantial ingredient, and that the three which I purchased might be too much; I was right, so we ended up with enough to visit this aromatic primi on another day), served with a simple sauce of olive oil heated slightly with one pretty seriously hot, but still described as Italian, pepper (unusual in its maroon color), from Oak Grove Plantation, then combined with one sliced red heirloom tomato from Berried Treasures, both fresh fennel seeds and fresh fennel pollen (from a generous-size bouquet of fennel flowers I had purchased from Lani’s Farm this week), and a bit of torn spearmint, also from Lani’s Farm
• the wine was an Italian (Umbria) white, Orvieto Classico Superiore Castagnolo Barberani 2014
• the music was Morton Subotnik’s ‘The Wild Bull’

This is the revisit of a frittata I had put together about a year ago.  What might have made it stand out a little this time, aside from an expected variation in the peppers I chose to incorporate in it, was the fact that I also included some beet juices which remained from a salad a part of a meal prepared a few days back.  The deep red liquor meant a subtle tweaking in both the taste and the color of this otherwise very Italian ‘omelette’.

• small multi-colored bell peppers, plus one Hungarian sweet pepper (light yellow-green in color), all from Lani’s Farm, sliced, sautéed  in a large cast-iron pan until partially caramelized, along with one sliced shallot from Phillips Farm, some sliced garlic from Berried Treasures, and half of one pretty seriously hot, but still supposedly Italian, pepper (although unusual in being maroon in color), from Oak Grove Plantation, added near the end, then 10 small-ish eggs from Millport Dairy, seasoned and fork-whipped, poured into the pan, everything sprinkled with chopped fresh oregano from Stokes Farm, then cooked on a medium flame until the eggs had begun to set halfway into the center depths of the frittata, finished under the broiler and let stand for a few minutes before serving
• the wine was a French (Provence) rosé, Château Saint Baillon 2014 Côtes de Provence
• the music was Mahler’s Symphony Number 5, performed by the Philadelphia orchestra under James Levine

 

We rarely have a dessert course, unless we count cheese, but this evening we enjoyed a favorite, and quite simple, treat, fresh peaches and a great gelato, for the second time in four days (yup, the little spots in the ‘ice cream’ are from the really excellent vanilla)

 

• freestone peaches from Kernan Farms, sectioned, topped with a scoop of Madagascar Vanilla Ciao Bello gelato, drizzled with some Toschi Orzata Orgeat syrup

Note to self: This was my second outing with sea robin, and the result was even more delicious than the last time.

 

I absolutely do not understand the fact that this fish is still so unappreciated.  My memory of sea robin goes back to my first and only experience of fishing in Atlantic waters.  It was over 25 years ago, a company outing, a day trip, on a small party boat running off Long Island, and while we were hoping to haul in fluke, we were just as likely to hook a sea robin.  Sadly, or not, I think these fascinating little ‘winged’ creatures were all returned to the sea that day.  I took home the fluke.

I’m not even going to dwell on the fact that a generous serving for two will set you back little more than $5, or the fact that it is one of the easiest fish to prepare.  I’m thinking of the taste and the texture, and, as always, the aesthetics of its appearance on a plate.

My next assignment is to come up with alternative preparations for this delicious fish, since I’m certain we will be enjoying it again and again.

Oh, the thyme branch sticking up out of one of the tomato slices? A momentary absence of mind as I rushed from counter to table, since it had nothing to do with the tomatoes, and everything to do with the tapenade, where it should properly have been planted.

• eight quite small sea robin ‘tails’ from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, rinsed, pat dry, then placed in a pan of sizzling olive oil and sautéed over medium-high heat for barely 2 minutes on each side, transferred to two plates, a little lemon squeezed on top and a bit of a tapenade sauce spread over the fillets, which were then garnished with fresh buds of basil plants given to us by a friend with a garden in Garrison, New York [the tapenade was prepared by hand rather than a blender, chopping the ingredients, which included Gaeta olives from Buon Italia, a little Rocambole garlic from Keith’s Farm, one rinsed chopped anchovy, also from Buon Italia, salted rinsed capers from Buon Italia, ground black pepper, olive oil, and fresh thyme from Phillips Farm]
• tiny, very tender haricots verts from Norwich Meadows Farm, blanched in salted water, dried and reheated in butter which had warmed a little bit of chopped shallot from Keith’s Farm, some ramp fruits from Berried Treasures, dill flowers from Crock & Jar/Rise & Root, and parsley from Paffenroth Farms
• two heirloom tomatoes from Berried Treasures, sliced, drizzled with good olive oil, sprinkled with Maldon salt, and tossed with some torn basil leaves clipped from a Full Bloom Market Garden plant in a south window, which had originated in Massachusetts and arrived in our rooms via Whole Foods
• slices of a small sourdough baguette from Barbara Olson of Buon Pane
• the wine was a New Zealand white, Tablelands Sauvignon Blanc Martinborough 2014
• the music was the symphonies Number 2 and 4 of Robert Schumann, conducted by Roger Norrrington

 

 

the sea robin, out of water, “Caught in New Haven Harbor”

 

[the image at the bottom is from Wikimedia Commons]

Lately it looks more and more like I’m trying to break ethnic cooking traditions.  At least until recently, I seemed to be entertained enough by (mostly) observing formulas which had been honored by generations immersed in a single tradition. I’m not sure what, if anything my loosening up might portend, but I’m going to be watching any developments.

I have always liked working with restraints in areas in which I have never had formal instruction, partly because I’m a perfectionist. Along those lines, I’ve never designed or built a new house, but I know the huge pleasure which comes from carefully and fully restoring one.

In the kitchen, I’ve very slowly become more confident about some very modest talents, and I’ve always done some improvising, so maybe my cooking is just becoming a little more free-range than it has been until now.

First it was about fooling around with a fine fish fillet and its contorni; then it was about playing with most of a classic German plate; this time it’s about tampering with spaghetti, an particularly iconic element of Italian cooking.

 

 

It was to be a simple pasta dish which would be assembled from some ingredients I had lying around the kitchen.  Normally it would be a simple Italian-ish dish, meaning the list of separate ingredients, if not the ‘recipe’, would at least sound Italian, but I ended up slipping out of the tradition, just a bit.

I included the small amount of red amaranth microgreens I still had sitting on the counter, and also a drizzle of an aromatic seasoning blend with the proprietary name, L’eKama, which would be pretty exotic in any Italian kitchen.  The amaranth got in largely because it was there, but also because it would work as another finishing herb, and because it’s so beautiful.  The oil and spice mix was added because the fresh red Italian pepper I included turned out to be so mild it had almost had almost disappeared when I tasted the finished dish; it gave a depth to the taste of the dish way out of proportion to the amount I added.

• three small leeks from Ryder Farm, sliced into half-inch sections, sautéed in olive oil until softened, one chopped fresh red Italian ‘roaster pepper’ from from Oak Grove Plantation added near the end, the mix combined, when partially cooled, with sectioned ripe Maine cherry ‘cocktail’ tomatoes from Whole Foods and shopped slices of Colameco’s prosciutto, additional olive oil added, the sauce then tossed with spaghetti, and a little warm cooking water, placed in bowls, and sprinkled with parsley from Paffenroth Farms and a tiny amount of amaranth microgreens from Radicle Farm (the last drops from a tiny jar of L’eKama aromatic seasoning was added to the bowls when they were on the table)
• the wine was an Italian (Umbria) white, Melini Orvieto Classico 2014
• the music was streamed from Q2 music, and it included Huang Ruo’s Violin Concerto No. 1, ‘Omnipresence’

I tweaked my German.

Meaning the cookery.  I bought some frozen Vermont ‘beer brats’ on a whim while I was at the Greenmarket on Wednesday.  My enormous family is from Sheboygan and Calumet Counties in Wisconsin, where ‘brats‘ are an obsession, and the sausages played a huge role in our enormous annual family reunions.  For perspective, note that I have approximately 100 first cousins alone, and at the last reunion of my Mother’s Franconia-rooted family, when we signed in, each branch of the Woelfels was given a name tag with a different color code (I did say my family was German).

I know brats.  And I know Bratwürste.

I like German food, and I take enormous pleasure in it on visits to central Europe, and occasionally at home.  Most of the time the plates don’t stray far from tradition, if at all, but this time I found myself moving beyond it just a little.  The occasion was both necessity (the ingredients on hand and not on hand, the time available, and the summer heat of a kitchen).

• beer brats from Tamarack Hollow Farm, whose ingredients are pork, Vermont Harpoon IPA, salt, black pepper, sugar, garlic, and spices, pan-grilled (traditionally they would grilled on charcoal in the open, smoky air), and served with a real German mustard

Now the real tweaking begins.

• La Ratte potatoes from Berried Treasures (a small buttery and nutty tuber, more French than German), boiled until barely tender, drained, dried, rolled in a little butter, tossed with parsley and celery tops (the latter bit probably not very German)
• baby beets (‘baby beets’ doesn’t sound very German) from Tamarack Hollow Farm, whose tops we had enjoyed a few days earlier), steamed until tender, which is also not very German but I wanted to avoid the oven, then halved, mixed with a marinade of yoghurt, white wine vinegar, crushed caraway seeds, a pinch of sugar, red onion (not German) from John D. Madura Farm, and some amazing parsley [yeah, amazing parsley!] from Paffenroth Farms, and some lovage (not traditional) from Keith’s Farm, the salad allowed to chill for an hour or so before some French Valbreso sheep feta cheese from Whole Foods was turned into it
• tiny Mexican gherkins or ‘Sandita’, from Norwich Meadows Farm (not the ‘cukes’ my Mother used all her life), halved, then tossed with thinly-sliced red onion (un-German) from John D. Madura Farm, ground white pepper, a little sugar, and some salt, dill flowers from from Crock & Jar/Rise & Root, covered with a mixture of half water-half white organic vinegar, chilled for an hour
• the bottles of beer (truly German), each of which we shared, were, in succession, Spaten Münchner Hell, Weihenstephaner Vitus [damn good beer], Schneider Weisse; they are all from Munich, although the Weihenstephaner (established in 1040) is actually brewed a few miles north of that city, in Freising, one of the oldest settlements, or towns, in Bayern, and the seat of a bishop from 739, no doubt explaining the high quality of its beer
• the music was Ravel’s ‘Gaspard de la nuit‘, and Beethoven’s third piano sonata, both played by Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli

Note to self:  This was beyond any doubt, the most delicious hake I have ever eaten.

 

It was the chance assemblage of some very fine ingredients that made this terrific meal possible; that, and one very fine muse.

The hake was extraordinarily fresh, and although I have prepared slightly different versions of this dish in the past, none of them had involved amaranth microgreens, whose flavor seemed to have a special affinity with the sage leaves and lemon which were a part of the basic recipe.  In fact, it was my first outing with these beauties, which also provided a spectacular visual, both on the table and in the image on this blog post.

So, am I still in Italy?

The Mario Batali eggplant treatment brought me back to the boot, but the small salad which shared the plate as a third element still made it iffy. As with the hake, the grilled Japanese melanzane recipe was an old favorite of mine, but these three small fruits were juicier than any I’d had before, and seemed to have more flavor as well.

The single small orange heirloom tomato we shared was perfectly ripe, and was perfectly at home on a small collection of baby lettuce.

I just noticed that there are a lot of “baby”s and “small”s in my discussion of this dinner.  I hope it doesn’t make the meal sound too precious, because it certainly was not.

The plate was also a subtle rainbow of color;  the picture I’m using shows so much of the area above the food itself only because I wanted to include a bit of the color of the wine we enjoyed with it.

• hake fillets from Pura Vida Fisheries, dredged in seasoned flour and dipped in a beaten egg from Millport Dairy, sautéed in butter along with a handful of sage leaves from Norwich Meadows Farm, drizzled with lemon juice and the pan juices that remained, sprinkled with gorgeous Amaranth microgreens from Radicle Farm
• Japanese eggplant from Norwich Meadows Farm, split lengthwise, scored, brushed with a mixture of olive oil, finely-chopped garlic from Phillips Farm, and fresh oregano from Lani’s Farm, seasoned with salt and pepper, pan-grilled, turning once
• one orange heirloom tomato from Berried Treasures, sliced, placed on a bed of baby lettuce from Radicle Farm in the Union Square Greenmarket, drizzled with a small amount of some very good olive oil, lightly seasoned with Maldon salt and black pepper
• the wine with the main course was a delightful French rosé, Côtes du Rhone Parallèle 45 Rosé 2014
• the music was from the album, ‘Birds On Fire – Jewish Music For Viols’, performed by Fretwork

 

• freestone peaches from Kernan Farms, sectioned, topped with a scoop of Madagascar Vanilla Ciao Bello gelato, drizzled with some Toschi Orzata Orgeat syrup