Ramp Fest 2013

May 4, 2013, was the 2nd Annual Ramp Festival in Hudson, NY.  Held at the Basilica, a reclaimed 19th century factory converted into a cool art/performance/production/event space, it drew 30 chefs from the Hudson Valley and New York City.  The guest of honor: ramps.

Ramps -- aka spring onions, ramsons, wild leeks, wild garlic.

It was a day of eating...ramps were featured in a seemingly endless array of dishes, all of which I sampled at least once.  The feast included socca crepes with lamb tongue, grilled ramps, and romesco sauce; smoked bluefish with pickled ramps; charred ramp and Carolina rice custard with ramp pesto; ramp and duck tacos with tomatillo salsa; crawfish remoulade salad with hickory smoked ramps and sea island purple cape beans; wild blueberry flapjack sandwiches stuffed with maple ramp sausage; beef carpaccio with ramp coulis and pickled ramp; gin and ramp tonic; semolina and ramp biscuits with pulled rabbit and ramp agrodolce; and crispy morcilla topped with ramp kimchee and ramp ash -- to name a few.  Chef Rei Peraza from Panzur told me how to make the ramp ash, but my head was spinning from all the ramp dishes such that I have no recollection of what he said.  Nonetheless, the ramp ash was creative and delicious.

After a great day of eating, I've come to the conclusion that the ramp's subtle onion-garlic flavor is best appreciated when treated simply.

All I've done today is a quick scramble of eggs (with a few splashes of cream).  The ramps were lightly sauteed, the eggs briefly whisked and added, and then the pan quickly pulled off the heat.  The residual heat from the hot pan cooks the eggs, resulting in soft and creamy eggs.  This is an easy preparation for scrambled eggs and a foolproof way to ensure your eggs are not overcooked.  Also sauteed a few ramps -- in olive oil, salt, and pepper -- on their own because you can never have too many ramps on your plate.

This dish just screams "spring on a plate" -- from the chive blossoms to the [purple and green] asparagus to the (duck) eggs, and even a few radish sprouts I grew on my windowsill (will be posting about microgreens  soon).  A French rosé to rounds things out.

Don't you just love this time of year...

Love the vibrant, bright orange color of these yolks.

Here are a few photos I snapped of the event (when I wasn't too busy stuffing my face)...

Any favorite ways to prepare/enjoy ramps?

Braised Leeks

Come this time of year, you'll hear people singing the praises of ramps (myself included, love them; recently  took a road trip to Hudson, NY, for a ramp festival); which are also referred to as spring onions, ramsons, wild leeks, and wild garlic.  Ramps appear for a short window between late April and May, and have a delicious onion-garlic flavor.  If you are not one of the very fortunate few who have ramps growing wild on their property (or are in-the-know regarding an undiscovered plot), they tend to be on the expensive side, but are worth a splurge. 

Today, I do not wish to draw [more] attention to ramps, but rather to highlight the plain-Jane, cultivated  spring leek -- readily accessible, inexpensive, and plentiful this time of year.  Cultivated leeks may seem  boring compared to the elusive, highly sought after ramp; but, after a braise in white wine and butter that renders the leeks tender, caramelized, and sweet, then under the broiler where the freshly grated cheese gets all gooey and browned, maybe, just maybe, you might forget all about ramps.

I first browned the leeks in a combination of olive oil and butter, the latter is a superb grass-fed cow's milk butter from these guys.  The grassy, earthy notes of the butter heighten the flavor of the leeks.  As you can see, I  have an affinity for cheese, and have accumulated a small collection of odds and ends.  I used a combination of Parmigiano Reggiano and Piave (Piave has a nutty flavor profile similar to Parmigiano Reggiano).  I urge you to freshly grate the cheese rather than using pre-grated (there's just no comparison from a flavor standpoint).

The hardest part of preparing this dish is cleaning the leeks.  Because leeks grow underground, their layers tend to accumulate a fair amount of dirt.  You just need to soak them in cold water and rinse very well.  From there, it's pretty much smooth sailing.

As an aside, I learned today that the bottom part of my (apartment rental) oven is a broiler, and while not strategically placed for the home cook, does in fact work!  Am embarrassed to mention that I've lived in my apartment for nearly two years and just figured this out.  Oh well, you learn something new everyday.

This batch disappeared quickly.  Will definitely be picking up some more leeks to remake this dish very soon...so simple, so good, you may just develop a new found appreciation for leeks (I certainly did). 

Fiddlehead Ferns -- Sea Scallops, Opah, and Fiddle

I was seduced by a fiddlehead fern (aka ostrich fern)...

Maybe I've been watching too much Andrew Zimmern as of late, but somewhere along the way I've developed an affinity for 'bizarre' foods.  Just can't seem to resist when it comes to somewhat off-the-beaten-path finds.  Curiosity always gets the best of me.  Have gone so far as to inquire about getting a whole pig's head from a local farmer to make head cheese; unfortunately, it was way too expensive (close to $100 for the whole head).   

Debated whether to even post this, as I recognize that fiddleheads are not something most will readily come by.  Ultimately decided that even the 'strange' or unfamiliar deserves a little recognition from time to time.  If nothing else, fiddlehead ferns highlight nature's vast biodiversity.  Besides, fiddleheads are one of spring's quintessential vegetables that deserve a little press.

Until today, had never tried a fiddlehead fern (or at least I can't recall doing so).  However, while in upstate New York this past weekend for a fantastic Ramp Festival (more on that in the near future), we stopped at the Hudson Farmers' Market, and this rather unusual plant and I crossed paths (along with some burdock root; grabbed a few of those as well).  Had nothing specific in mind for these fiddleheads; nonetheless, I found myself grabbing a few big handfuls to bring back to D.C. 

First, you should not eat fiddleheads raw.  In the raw, they may contain a toxin; however, boiling deactivates this toxin and renders fiddleheads safe to eat.  I've also read [on the CDC website] that while some common ferns may be poisonous or carcinogenic, ostrich fern is considered to be non-toxic.  Either way, it's better to be safe then sorry.  So, plunge them into salted, boiling water for a few minutes, then transfer to an ice water bath so they remain crisp and retain their bright green color.  After that, you can lightly saute in olive oil or butter; with peace of mind that they are safe to eat.

What do they taste like?

I was expecting bold flavors, but fiddleheads are subtle, with a crispy texture.  A milder version of asparagus or even artichoke comes to mind.  My plan was to do a simple preparation with the fiddleheads.  Perhaps, simply sauteing them in butter, or maybe brown butter, my latest discovery (after a quick blanch), with garlic and shallot.  Somehow, as is often the case, my simple ideas morph into something a bit more elaborate.

Finally decided on...fiddleheads over a bed of black (beluga) lentils (with Serrano ham) and sauteed maitake mushrooms.  You can top with a few seared sea scallops, seared fish (used Hawaiian Opah [aka Moonfish], but any firm fleshed fish would work well), or even a poached/fried egg.  Indecisive as always, I prepared one with seared scallops and one with fish.  Always good to have options, right?  If you can't find fiddleheads, you can still enjoy this dish, just replace the fiddleheads with more readily available spring asparagus.

A bit more on fiddleheads...

This type of fern is referred to as the ostrich fern Matteucia struthiopteris.  It's  young, tender shoots are  referred to as fiddleheads, as they resembles the top of a fiddle.  They may be found in spring and early summer, and grow wild, predominantly in the Northeast.  If foraging for fiddleheads, be sure you know what you're looking for; as there is another fern, called the Bracken Fern, which looks nearly identical, but is poisonous.

A word on Opah...

Opah, also known as Moonfish, comes from Hawaii.  You cook Opah like you would a piece of ahi tuna, quickly seared on both sides, rare to medium-rear in the center.

Chocolate Beet Amaranth Cake

I have a new love...

Amaranth, have you tried it? It's a tiny, little, minuscule "pseudo-grain"with a lot of character and a robust nutritional profile.  Find it in the bulk aisle at your local Whole Foods or, perhaps, other health food/natural grocery store.

I typically make a humble porridge out of it, along the lines of polenta.  When cooked, amaranth takes on a creamy texture (in a fraction of the time it takes polenta to cook), with an earthy, nutty flavor.  You can go sweet or savory with amaranth.  I have a savory amaranth porridge in the works...but today decided to indulge my sweet side, with a chocolate amaranth beet cake.  I typically don't make a lot of desserts, but when I do, you can bet it will include dark chocolate in some way, shape, or form :-).  There's espresso in the cake too, my other love.

Chocolate Beet Amaranth Cake ...

I've been wanting to make Nigel Slater's chocolate beet cake ever since I purchased his lovely book, Tender: A cook and his vegetable patch.  But my never ending list of dishes to prepare had put it on the back burner.  Today, I finally took the plunge.  Slater calls it a, "seductive cake, deeply moist and tempting" and I couldn't agree more.  In honor of my new found love, thought I'd put my own spin on things, utilizing amaranth flour in place of all-purpose flour.

Nigel recommends topping the beet cake with  crème fraîche and poppy seeds.  He writes, "The serving suggestion of  crème fraîche is not just a nod to the sour cream so close to beets' Eastern European heart, it is an important part of the cake."  While I initially resisted shelling out the extra cash, my curiosity got the better of me.  And I must confess, he's spot on!  The  crème fraîche adds that extra little something. 

Grinding amaranth seeds to make flour... 

Since I had a bunch of amaranth seeds on hand, decided to improvise a bit and make my own amaranth flour by popping the seeds in a hot pan (wok) to bring out its inherent nuttiness.  It's fun to watch the seeds pop all over the place, turning from their natural brownish color to white, like little firecrackers.  Just make sure to pop in small batches otherwise the amaranth will burn.  Once they get going, it takes just seconds, and then the "fireworks" are over. 

After popping the amaranth, I ground the popped seeds in a spice grinder (since I don't own a seed mill/grinder).  I like the nutty notes amaranth imparts to the overall flavor of the cake/cupcakes as well.

A bit on amaranth...

Amaranth actually is not a "true" cereal grain like oats, wheat, and most other grains given that amaranth does not stem from the Poaceae family of plants.  However, because of its overall nutrient profile is similar to that of cereals, amaranth has been lumped in with this group.

Amaranth has been utilized in traditional diets spanning thousands of years.  However, unlike other grains, amaranth contains more than three times the average amount of calcium, and is also high in iron, magnesium, phosphorus, and potassium.  It is also the only "grain" documented to contain Vitamin C.  At about 13-14%, it easily surpasses the protein content of most other grains.  The protein in amaranth is considered “complete” because it contains all essential amino acids (the building block of proteins), including lysine, an amino acid missing or negligible in many grains.

Amaranth's unfortunate past...

Amaranth is thought to have been domesticated 6,000 to 8,000 years ago.  Amaranth has long been eaten in Mexico and is considered a native crop of Peru.  The Aztecs relied on amaranth as a food staple and used it in religious rituals, earning amaranth the names, “super grain of the Aztecs” and “golden grain of the gods."  However, when Cortez and his Spaniards landed in the New World in the sixteenth century, they outlawed such foods involved in religious festivals, as they set out to convert the Aztecs to Christianity. Amaranth crops were burned and possession of amaranth was cause for severe punishment.

Luckily, some seeds survived, and we are fortunate enough to continue to enjoy this super grain of the gods today (lets hope Monsanto doesn't get their hands on it)! 

Had just enough batter for a 9x5 loaf pan, and two extra cupcakes...

Lamb and Flowering Rabe Stir-Fry

Come spring, can't wait to get my hands on the likes of favas, morels, ramps, asparagus, strawberries, and green peas...some of life's simple pleasures.  Freshly shucked green peas, which bear no resemblance to their mushy, canned counterparts, are simply divine when cooked in a little butter.  Notwithstanding, when I look beyond these spring favorites, open my eyes to what's already right in front of me, I see spring's early arrivals a la flowering rabe.  You may be more familiar with broccoli rabe (aka rapini), but you can also find flowering turnips, kale, Chinese broccoli, garlic mustard, and collard greens this time of year.

Rabe (or raab) are the flowering tops of the Brassica family (i.e., cabbage family); rabe is derived from rapa, which means "turnip" in Italian.  The tiny yellow (and white) blossoms show up in early-spring.  The flowers, leaves, and stems are edible.  This time of year, the stems are slender and tender, the flowers sweet.  If you've tried broccoli rabe, you know it can be a bit bitter; on the contrary, these other flowering greens are more mild.

What better way to utilize these flowering greens than in a simple, quick stir-fry.  All you need is a hot wok, and you will have yourself a tasty, seasonal meal in a matter of minutes -- this is the way fast food should be.  I used ground lamb for this stir-fry.  It has a stronger, earthier (some say 'gamey') flavor compared to ground beef and mingles nicely with the bold Asian flavors (fish sauce, Thai basil and Thai chiles). I've made this with other types of ground meat (including bison), and I find that the strong lamb flavors work best.

A beautiful spring bowl of goodness in a matter of minutes...

I topped with some chopped Marcona almonds for crunch, along with a big handful of Thai basil, and finished with a squeeze of lime, all served over brown rice...

Stinging Nettle, Kale, and Green Garlic Soup

"It's not easy being green." -- Kermit the Frog

Am fascinated by the medicinal properties of plants. Stinging nettle is one of those plants with a long healing history. 

A little history on nettles...

Dating back to as early as the 3rd century B.C., Greeks prescribed nettle juice to treat snake and scorpion bites.  The Romans used nettles to treat stiff joints (i.e., arthritis).  Early European herbalists prescribed nettle to treat scurvy and asthma.  Native Americans prescribed nettle tea during pregnancy to help strengthen the fetus and ease delivery.  I could go on and on about the many touted benefits of nettles -- an all around super weed.

So what can you do with nettles?

You could make soup.  Or, you could make nettle pesto, nettle risotto, nettle pasta (ravioli too), use them as a pizza topping, nettle pie (i.e., spanikopita, but with nettles in place of or in combination with spinach and other greens), nettle tea, nettle beer (might need to try this)...just a few suggestions to get you started.

Today, nettle soup...

I bought the nettles at the farmers' market over the weekend with no real plan in mind. Just something new to experiment with at home.  Although, nettles grow wild, so you can forage for them as well; they like nitrogen, moisture and sun, and thrive along streams and rivers. They are mild in taste, along the lines of spinach, but slightly more herbaceous.

Love coming home with an unfamiliar ingredient and figuring out what to do with it.  Before long, found myself in the kitchen, chopping and slicing, transforming a few simple ingredients into a satisfying bowl of green nettle soup. 

It all comes together rather quickly to produce a light, delicate, refreshing soup that -- with the addition of green garlic, young leeks, and [red Russian] kale yells -- 'welcome spring.'  The green garlic, leeks, and shallot get a quick saute in butter, and are subsequently simmered in the pot with the rest of the ingredients for another 20 minutes or so.  Then, into the blender where the ingredients are transformed into a very smooth puree.  Doesn't get much easier than that. 

Be careful when handling nettles; there's a reason they're called stinging nettles.  The leaves contain tiny hairs (trichomes), which release a painful combination of chemicals, including formic acid, acetylchlorine, seratonin, and histamines.

Blanching nettles for 30 seconds deactivates the sting.  After a quick plunge in boiling water, transfer the nettles to an ice bath so they retain their bright green color...

Nettles grow wild, so you can forage for them...they like nitrogen, moisture and sun, and thrive along streams and rivers.

You can see the tiny little stinging hairs on the underside of the leaf. The leaves and smaller stems are edible; discard (compost) the larger stems, as they tend to be a bit fibrous.

To deactivate the sting, plunge the nettles into a pot of salted boiling water, then transfer to an ice water bath so they retain their green color...

You can swirl a dollop of yogurt on top if you so desire; the yellow flowers are from flowering turnip greens...