Green risotto for a green day

Last week I posted various links with information on how you can get more green in your life. Today I'm going to post about getting more green in your diet. I don't mean the sustainability kind of green (though of course it can be that, too); I mean the crisp, lively, juicy spring green that's so welcome when you're starting to have had your fill of root vegetables.

The look of my local farmer's market is changing rapidly these days, exchanging the warm yellows and oranges of winter citrus for the vibrant greens of spring vegetables. Gone are the blood oranges and cara caras; in their place are tables overflowing with fresh peas. Last weekend we even got our first fava beans, and I was ready with a recipe. A green recipe!

This risotto has been on my to-do list ever since I came across it in Alice Waters' Chez Panisse Vegetables last summer (after the favas had disappeared from the markets, naturally) because it combines one of my favorite things about spring (fresh peas) with one of my favorite things in general (risotto). But it's not just peas, and this is where we really get our green on. This risotto takes the best of the spring green vegetables: peas, fava beans, and asparagus.

That might sound like a lot--indeed, done poorly, I can imagine the result feeling clumsy--but Waters incorporates the vegetables in such a way that none of them steps on another's toes. And although in my mind risotto falls squarely in the warming, cozy "comfort food" category, this risotto manages to be at once comforting and refreshing. I don't know how better to describe it than to say that it tastes of spring. And if that doesn't chase away the winter doldrums, I don't know what will.

Green Risotto with Fava Puree, Peas, and Asparagus

Adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables

Serves 6, or 4 generously

Ingredients

• 1/2 pound young fava beans (weighed in their pods)
• Olive oil
• Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
• 3/4 pound fresh green peas (again, weighed in their pods)
• 4 spears of asparagus
• 1 medium onion
• 7 to 8 cups good stock (vegetable or chicken, as you like)
• 4 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 cups arborio rice
• 1/3 cup dry white wine
• 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving

Directions

1. Bring a large pot of water to boil. While you're waiting for it to boil, prepare an ice bath, and shell the favas. Discard--or compost!--the pods.
2. When the water's boiling, add the favas and let them cook for one minute before draining them and shocking them in the ice bath to stop the cooking.
3. Drain them again, then peel them by piercing the outer skin with your thumbnail at one end, and squeezing the bean out with the thumb and forefinger of your other hand.
4. Place the peeled beans in a small pot with a glug of olive oil, a dash of salt, and just enough water so that they're almost covered. Cook them over low heat, slowly, until they're squishably soft but haven't lost their bright green color. This should take about 15-20 minutes. If the pan goes dry and the beans start to stick, add water a bit at a time. Drain them once more, then either puree them with a food processor or pass them through a food mill.
5. While the beans are cooking, prep the rest of the vegetables. Shell the peas and prep the asparagus. Trim the ends of the asparagus, then slice the stalks thinly on the bias. Chop the onion into small dice.
6. When all of your vegetables are ready to go, heat the stock in a large pot and keep it at a bare simmer.
7. Place another large, heavy pot over medium heat and add the butter. When the butter is melted, add the onion and cook until it is softened and translucent, about 5 minutes.
8. Add a pinch of salt and the rice and cook, stirring frequently, until the rice is also slightly translucent, about 3 minutes.
9. Increase the heat to medium-high as you pour in the white wine. Stir constantly until the wine is absorbed, then reduce the heat and add just enough stock so that the rice is covered.
10. Keep stirring, adding more stock by the ladleful when the previous addition has been absorbed. Keep the rice at a low simmer.
11. After 10 minutes of cooking, add the peas and the sliced asparagus, then continue with the stirring and adding of stock.
12. After another 5 minutes, or when the rice is al dente to taste, add the fava puree, the cheese, and the remaining butter. Stir well, adding more stock if necessary to achieve the consistency of a thick sauce. Taste and adjust the seasoning, then serve immediately, with the extra cheese as a garnish.

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Earth Day link farm

I'll have a lovely, spring-green recipe coming your way soon, but in the meantime, let's take a quick look at a different kind of green. In celebration of Earth Day, here are some links to help you get your earth love on. Happy browsing!

KQED's Bay Area Bites has a list of things you can do to make your kitchen a little less wasteful and a little more environmentally friendly. If you're already doing most (or all) of the things on the list, give yourself a pat on the back. If not, perhaps you'll learn something new. Everybody wins!

iPhone-wielding fans of the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch now have a handy way of keeping Seafood Watch's sustainable seafood recommendations handy: a free iPhone app with region-specific seafood information determined by your phone's GPS function.

If you haven't seen Food, Inc., do. Seriously. It's an eye-opening, heart-breaking, blood-pressure-raising 90 minutes chock full of information on where our food originates. Netflix account holders can have it streamed to their tv or computer.

I doubt that anyone reading this blog doesn't know where to find locally grown produce, but just in case, U.S. readers can find a wealth of local market and producer information through Local Harvest.

This isn't food-related, but NASA/Goddard's Flickr photostream has some pretty neat images of this blue planet of ours.

And finally, also not food-related but filed under "neato," some awe-inspiring new images of the star that makes it all possible: our sun.

Anything to add? Drop your links in comments. Happy Earth Day!

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Preserving the best of winter

Before we begin, I must beg your pardon. I've waited so very long to share this recipe with you that at this point, I fear you'll have some difficulty in obtaining the ingredients. But it would be a shame to have to wait until next winter to make this marmalade, so I'm going to post it anyway. I hope very much that, what with California often being on the leading edge of the change in the turnover of seasonal produce, the bright hues of winter citrus are still in abundance at your local markets.

Personally, I've missed my window. I made only a small batch as a test run, and as it often does, life (*cough* grad school *cough*) kept me from making another, larger batch before kumquat season came to an end. Now that that one small batch is long gone, I find myself pining for it.

I still love orange marmalade, but after making and tasting tangerine-kumquat marmalade, I admit that I'm spooning ordinary orange marmalade onto my toast with a little less enthusiasm than I used to. There might even be a sigh now and then as I remember that what I have left in my pantry for the next nine months or so is not, in fact, tangerine-kumquat marmalade.

Most marmalades succeed reasonably well in striking a balance among sweet, tart, and bitter flavors. None, in my experience, does it with the grace that this one possesses. As Thomas Keller notes at the beginning of the recipe, this marmalade is at home aside an elegantly prepared duck as it is atop a humble bagel with cream cheese.

Marmalade skeptics might look askance at the relatively large pieces of rind suspended in the jelly. Indeed, the marmalade does have a substantial (in my opinion, very pleasant) chew, but the rind's bitterness mellows with an overnight soak in water, so those large pieces are not as bold as they otherwise might be. In fact, other than the color, there's not much about this marmalade that is bold. But don't let that dissuade you. It doesn't need to be bold. It's perfectly content to wait, earnest and smiling, for you to discover its virtues in your own good time. And I'm sure you will--assuming you can find some kumquats.

Tangerine-Kumquat Marmalade

Adapted from Ad Hoc at Home

Makes about 2 1/2 cups

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 pounds kumquats
• 6 tangerines or other mandarin oranges, or enough to provide 1 cup of juice
• 2 1/2 cups sugar

Directions

1. Quarter the kumquats lengthwise, and remove the stems and all of the seeds. (If you prefer your pieces of rind to be smaller, cut the kumquats into eighths instead.)
2. Put the kumquat pieces in a large bowl, and pour in enough cold water to cover by about 2 inches. Place the bowl in the refrigerator, and chill for at least 18 hours, or up to 24 hours. This soak and chill will temper the rind's bitterness.
3. When you are ready to make the marmalade, quarter the tangerines and pour the juice from the cutting board into a 1-cup (or larger) measuring cup. Working with one quarter at a time, cut the tangerine flesh away from the skin (being careful not to cut into the pith). If you encounter any seeds, remove and discard them.
li>Squeeze the tangerine juice into the measuring cup. Discard the rind, but reserve the juiced flesh. Continue until you have 1 cup of juice, then set the juice aside.
4. Gather up the reserved tangerine flesh, chop it, and transfer it to a medium-sized pot.
5. Add the kumquats, the juice, and the sugar, and stir to combine. Affix a candy thermometer to the side of the pot.
6. Bring the mixture to a simmer and cook, skimming off as much foam as you can, until it registers 215-220F (100-105C) and a small amount dribbled onto a chilled plate sets nicely and wrinkles when pushed with your finger. Remove the pot from the heat.
7. Ladle the marmalade into clean jars, cover, let cool to room temperature, and chill. The marmalade should be chilled for at least 2 hours, and ideally for 24 hours, before being served.

Notes

• The marmalade keeps, refrigerated, for 1 month--that is, if you can make it last that long.
• Alternatively, you can use the hot pack canning method for shelf-stable jars.

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Sprung

As of this past weekend, it's official. Whether or not it looks like it outside, the calendar and the laws of celestial mechanics tell us that spring is here.

Here at the Beyond Ramen household we have hopes that the coming months will be ones of repair, renewal, and a return to what we left behind last year. There are encouraging signs, but like the seasons, these things won't be rushed. Patience.

All around us, we're reminded of what we'll earn for our patience. Plum, peach, and apricot trees show us in their quiet way what we'll reap if we watch, wait, and take care.

In the meantime, we find joy in small signs of progress. It's early yet, and we have a while to wait before they hit their stride, but they're coming. Spring is on the march.

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Chocolate cream pies for Pi Day

Please allow me to brighten up this historically ill-fated day for you. Chocolate! Cream! Pie! Pi!

Wait, what?

Yesterday* was 3/14, Pi Day, that under-appreciated holiday on which we gather together to eat pie and give thanks for our ability to calculate the area of a pie plate. Well, maybe you don't. But even if you don't care much about the math, I think we can all agree that an excuse to eat pie is worth celebrating.

Unlike with some pies, there's really no way to convince myself that chocolate cream pie is good for me. It consists entirely of cookies, butter, pudding, and cream, so there's no getting around it: this is one of those desserts you can't justify making for anything other than a special occasion. I've been waiting months for a good excuse to make it, so when someone reminded me that Pi Day was coming up, it didn't take me long to decide. Chocolate cream pie was the one.

And what a pie it is. A pulverized chocolate cookie crust, chocolate pudding for filling, and whipped cream to top it all off. What's not to love? No doubt about it, this pie will turn your frown upside down.

Even the preparation will elicit a smile, especially from those for whom success with traditional pie crusts remains elusive. You'd have to try hard in order to overwork this crust, which comes together quickly and is simply pressed into place. The only aspect of the pie that might give one pause is the pudding. To that I say: arm yourself with a whisk and a sieve, and all will be well. By the time you've finished, you'll realize that the hardest part is being patient enough to let it chill for six hours before you dive in.

Hungry for more Pi Day fun? Head on over to Amy's, where fall flavors made a guest appearance for this late winter celebration. Did you make a pie for Pi Day? Please share with us in comments!

Chocolate Cream Pie

Adapted from Gourmet, February 2004

Makes one 9-inch pie, or a few smaller ones

Ingredients

For the crust:

• 1 1/3 cups chocolate wafer crumbs
• 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1/4 cup sugar
• Dash of cinnamon (optional)

For the filling:

• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 4 large egg yolks
• 3 cups whole milk
• 5 ounces bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened)
• 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

For the topping:

• 3/4 cup heavy cream, cold from the fridge
• 1 tablespoon sugar

Directions

1. Place an oven rack in the middle position, and preheat the oven to 350/175C.
2. Combine the cookie crumbs, butter, sugar, and ground cinnamon (if using) in a bowl and stir until uniformly mixed. Pour the mixture into a 9-inch pie plate, pressing on the bottom and sides of the dish to compact the mixture into an even crust. Bake the crust for about 15 minutes, or until crisp, then set on a rack to cool.
3. Meanwhile, place the two chocolates in a large, heatproof bowl and place over a pan of barely simmering water (the bowl should not touch the water). Stir the chocolate continually until it is melted and smooth. Remove the bowl from the heat, place a fine mesh sieve over the bowl, and set aside.
4. In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch, and salt until thick.
5. Heat the milk in a heavy 3-quart saucepan until just simmering. Ladle some of the milk into the egg mixture, whisking vigorously, to temper the yolks. Once the tempered mixture is smooth, pour it into the pot with the rest of the milk, whisking as you go.
6. Cook the custard, whisking constantly, until it thickens and reaches reaches a boil. Turn the heat down slightly and cook, still whisking, for another minute.
7. Pour the thickened custard through the sieve into the chocolate. You might need to help it along with a spatula. Whisk the chocolate and custard together until they're evenly mixed, then add the vanilla and the softened butter, and whisk to incorporate. Butter a piece of waxed paper and place it, buttered side down, on the surface of the custard. Let cool completely, roughly 2 hours.
8. Spoon the chilled filling into the prepared crust, then loosely cover the pie and place it in the fridge to chill for at least 6 hours, or up to 1 day.
9. Just prior to serving, place the cream and sugar in a large bowl and beat just until the stiff peak stage. Spoon the whipped cream on top of the pie, and serve.

Notes

• Make-ahead: as noted in the recipe, the pie can be made and filled (but not topped) up to 1 day ahead.
• If you'd like to reduce the amount of sugar in the filling, go ahead. I wouldn't cut it by more than half, though.

* Yes, I'm a day late with this, and here's why. I dare you to be annoyed with that face.

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How I learned to love sweet potatoes

Somewhere in my past, I got off to a bad start with sweet potatoes. This is no great surprise: after all, I got off to a bad start with a lot of vegetables. But unlike with most other vegetables, I only overcame that bad start recently--as in, a few months ago rather than a few years ago.

And it's silly, isn't it? I don't know if I ever actually tried many sweet potato dishes before before digging in my heels about them. I don't even know what it was (is?) I didn't (don't?) like about them. I just had it in my head that they were... you know... ick.

Well, all that's changed, and I have Wendy to thank for it. The recipe that changed my mind, a sweet potato gnocchi with sage and brown butter, was Wendy's contribution to the inaugural round of the Cross Country Cooking Parade (CCCP) recipe exchange. In the CCCP we each submit one savory and one sweet recipe, we make all eight of the recipes, and we share with each other our thoughts on the recipes and the results.

One of the ideas behind the CCCP is that we'll be encouraged to cook foods that we might be hesitant to try, and I'm thrilled that I'm already benefitting from it. These gnocchi have not only revived my faith in my gnocchi-making abilities, they've sold me on sweet potatoes. Even if this is the only sweet potato dish I ever make, I'll be perfectly content, because I'm not sure how anything else involving sweet potatoes is going to top it. That's probably due at least in part to the fact that they involve a sage brown butter sauce, but really, they made a convert out of me even before I tossed them in the butter.

I suppose they fall under the "time consuming" label, but to be honest, they didn't feel like a lot of work. The sweet potatoes can be roasted a little while ahead of time, and roasting them is no trouble at all if you already have the oven on for, say, baking yourself a buttery, flaky croissant for breakfast. (Seriously, remind me to gush about those croissants in another post and make you all green with envy.)

Once you're to the step of making up the dough, keep a light hand. The less you work the dough, the lighter and more pillowy the gnocchi will turn out, and the broader your smile will be when you finally sit down to eat them. (Or don't sit down, just eat them straight out of the pan in the middle of your kitchen. Who am I to judge?) In my experience--which, granted, has a sample size of only one--the dough is very soft and delicate, and sticky when bare, but not prone to absorbing additional flour. As a result, while you do need some extra flour while you're rolling and forming the gnocchi, you don't have to use a lot. One good dusting should be plenty.

And speaking of plenty, a final note: the recipe calls for boiling the gnocchi for 10 seconds after they float to the top, and says that this should be about 5 minutes. Mine floated after 2 or 3, and, worried that they weren't done yet, I tried to let them cook the full 5 minutes. Big mistake--one that left me with a pot full of disintegrated gnocchi. If they float after 2 minutes, fine, that's plenty. Cook them for a further 10 seconds and get them out of the water. Then bathe them in brown butter and enjoy!

Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Sage and Brown Butter

Adapted from Marcella Hazan and The New York Times

Makes 6 servings

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, sifted, plus up to 1/2 cup for kneading
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons minced fresh sage
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 350F/175C. Poke a few holes in each sweet potato to let steam escape, then place them on a baking sheet. Bake them until they're tender, about 45 minutes.
2. When the potatoes are cool enough to handle, peel them and pass them through a ricer, or a food mill with a fine grate.
3. Place the puree in a large bowl and add the flour, 2 tablespoons of the sage, the salt and pepper, and the cheese. Mix gently until just combined.
4. Flour a work surface and scoop the dough out onto it. Dust the top and sides of the dough lightly with flour, and perhaps rub some flour between your hands so that they don't stick to the dough.
5. Divide the dough into 6 equal pieces. Roll each piece under your palms so that it forms a long rope. [The original recipe says that the ropes should be about 1 inch wide and 20 inches long, but your mileage might vary.] Go ahead and sprinkle the dough with a bit of extra flour if it's sticking. Cut the rope into 1-inch segments, and roll each segment over the tines of a fork to form the characteristic indentations. (Use a gnocchi board if you're lucky enough to have one.) Collect the formed gnocchi on a baking sheet.
6. When you've finished forming the gnocchi, bring a large pot of water to boiling and salt it generously. Drop several gnocchi into the boiling water (you'll need to work in batches so that you don't crowd the pot). Cook them for about 10 seconds after they rise to the surface. This could be only a couple of minutes, or up to five minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the cooked gnocchi to a clean baking sheet, and cool completely.
7. Place a large, heavy saucepan over medium-high heat and add the butter. Melt the butter and cook it, swirling occasionally, until the milk solids have turned a lovely chestnut color and smell nutty, about 5 minutes. If you plan to add fried sage leaves as a garnish, go ahead and fry them.
8. Once the butter has browned, add the remaining chopped sage and turn off the heat. The mixture will bubble up, so don't be alarmed.
9. Add the gnocchi to the sage butter, place over medium-high heat, and cook until the gnocchi are heated through, about 5-6 minutes. You might have to do this in batches, in which case it's useful to have the oven preheated to 300F/150C so that your earlier batches don't get cold. Divide the gnocchi and sauce among bowls, garnish with sage leaves (if desired), and serve.

Notes

• Make-ahead: the gnocchi can be boiled up to 4 hours ahead, and kept at room temperature.
• I haven't tried freezing these gnocchi, but based on this recipe I'm going to say go ahead and freeze them (prior to boiling) if you'd like to make them ahead of time and cook them later. Freeze them on a baking sheet, then transfer them to a zip-sealed plastic bag and freeze for up to 1 month. When you're ready to cook them, just dump them into the boiling water without thawing. They'll rise to the surface when they're done, just as with fresh gnocchi.
• Wendy suggested, and I loved, a tart apple grated or cut into matchsticks and tossed with the gnocchi. I think it's a great variation.

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A different kind of post-op pudding

The last time we visited pudding, it was in preparation for a liquid diet after having a couple of wisdom teeth yanked. I'm happy to say that this post has nothing to do with wisdom teeth, and in fact nothing to do with oral surgery. What I'm not so happy to report is that it does have something to do with surgery, at least in some tangential way.

The Suitor, you see, is like a German Shepherd--or so his orthopedic surgeon tells him. As it turns out, he has hip dysplasia, and years of high-impact activities like running marathons have accelerated the inevitable deterioration of his hip. It was time for hip surgery. I'll spare you the gory details; suffice it to say that he avoided a full hip replacement, but he did need some work done.

And work is what they did. The surgery went well, and the recovery is going well; but for the poor Suitor, surgery meant a return to the self-sufficiency of a toddler. If something was going to get done, I was going to be the one doing it--and that included everything from running errands to helping him in and out of his socks. Which, believe it or not, I have thoroughly enjoyed. For someone who doesn't have much interest in having kids, I sure do take to playing the mother hen.

Unfortunately, as pleasant as caregiving has been for the psyche, it was not what the doctor ordered for the clot-ridden lungs. According to my hematologist, my recovery is progressing at the normal pace; but that pace is a lot slower than I had anticipated, and until recently I haven't been up for much cooking or baking. (My parents were incredibly helpful, bringing over dinners for us, running errands, and so on.) But my lack of cooking in general didn't keep me from wanting to make myself a little treat for the calm moments when the Suitor was knocked out by the Vicodin and I could curl up for a rest on the sofa.

The trick, of course, was finding the right treat. Everyone has their favorite comfort foods, and specifically their favorite comfort desserts. I fall into two camps: when I'm feeling under pressure, sometimes the soothing familiarity of the creaming method brings me back down to earth, and I go for cookies or a cake of some sort. But when I feel like cozying up with a comforting dessert, I want pudding. And this time I wanted not chocolate pudding, but butterscotch pudding.

I first tried what was billed as a tried-and-true butterscotch pudding recipe. Despite my having every confidence in the source, I wound up underwhelmed. The texture was lovely, but the butterscotch flavor didn't exactly come out swinging. That's fine if you're going for subtle (and as subtle flavor goes, it was quite nice), but I wasn't. I was going for knock-out flavor.

Fortunately one of my favorite food bloggers had recently posted a recipe not for butterscotch pudding per se, but for butterscotch pots de crème. A glance at the ingredient list--including two kinds of brown sugar, a slew of egg yolks, and some fleur de sel--convinced me that I was on the right track. and indeed, I was. These little pots of butterscotch goodness are the very essence of comfort--at least for me. Your favorites might vary, but I suggest that you give this one a try. You just might find that you have a new favorite comfort food.

Butterscotch Pots de Crème

Adapted from Cannelle et Vanille

Makes about 8 servings, assuming that you use 6 oz. ramekins

Ingredients

• 500 mL heavy cream (about 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons)
• 225 mL whole milk (about 1 scant cup)
• 1 vanilla bean
• 1/2 teaspoon fleur de sel or other good sea salt
• 160 grams muscovado sugar (about 1 scant cup, lightly packed)
• 80 grams demerara sugar (about 1/3 cup)
• 8 egg yolks

Directions

1. Preheat the oven to 300F/150C. Get some water heating either on the stove or in the microwave. You'll need it for the hot water bath when the ramekins go in the oven.
2. Combine the cream, milk, muscovado sugar, and salt in a small saucepan. Split the vanilla bean, scrape the seeds into the pot, and add the scraped bean to the pot. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce (or turn off) the heat and keep the pot warm.
3. Get out a medium saucepan, and place it over moderate heat. Sprinkle half of the demerara sugar evenly over the bottom of the pan. It will begin to melt at the edges, at which point sprinkle the remaining demerara sugar into the pan. Stir or swirl until the sugar is fully melted and a nice, golden caramel.
4. Carefully (!) deglaze the caramel with the hot cream mixture, whisking in a little at a time. Keep whisking until you get all of the caramel to dissolve. If it's stubborn, return the pot to the heat and keep whisking. Those bits of caramel will work themselves out. Once it's smooth, take it off the heat if you like, but keep it hot.
5. Whisk the egg yolks together in a medium bowl. Temper the yolks by adding a little of the hot caramel mixture, whisking well, then pour the tempered yolks back into the caramel pot.
6. Strain the mixture through a fine sieve (or don't, if you're feeling confident or pressed for time), then portion it out into ramekins.
7. Place the ramekins on a baking sheet, and pour the hot water into the pan and place carefully in the preheated oven. Bake until the pots de crème are just set in the center, about 30-45 minutes. Let cool to room temperature, then cover and chill before serving.

Notes

• If you can't find muscovado sugar, use the darkest brown sugar you can find. Similarly, if you can't find demerara sugar, use light brown or raw sugar.
• Need something to do with all those egg whites? Marshmallows are a good choice, and Swiss buttercream keeps beautifully in the freezer for all your impromptu cake-frosting needs.

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