8 oz. whole wheat spaghetti, cooked, drained but not cooled
5 cups broccoli florets, lightly blanched, drained but not cooled
2 cups matchsticked carrots
3/4 cup thinly sliced green onions
1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
3 Tbsp. toasted sesame seeds
Sauce:
2 Tbsp. tahini
2 Tbsp. water
2 Tbsp. rice wine vinegar
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
1 1/2 Tbsp. dark sesame oil
2 tsp. honey
1/2 tsp. grated fresh ginger
1/2 tsp. chili paste with garlic (sambal oelek)
2 cloves garlic, minced
Combine noodles and broccoli; sprinkle with remaining ingredients. Whisk sauce ingredients together in a small bowl. Drizzle over noodles and toss to coat.
Adapted from: Cooking light, Apr. 2007
I prepared this post for the Tumwater Farmers' Market blog before it switched editors. There are several of these, which will appear this winter when I'm feeling particularly cold and uninspired.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
16 October, 2018
01 October, 2018
Prawn and Galia Melon Salad
1 small galia melon, seeded, rind removed and flesh chopped or flesh removed with a melon baller
about 3 1/2 oz. cooked and peeled prawns
scant 2 1/2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh mint leaves
scant 1 1/4 Tbsp olive oil
scant 2 1/2 lemon juice
scant 1 1/4 tsp wholegrain mustard
Mix ingredients and season. Serve in melon rind halves if desired.
Adapted from Recipes Plus
I haven't tried this one yet -- it's been a bad summer for melons here -- but it sounds intriguing.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
about 3 1/2 oz. cooked and peeled prawns
scant 2 1/2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh mint leaves
scant 1 1/4 Tbsp olive oil
scant 2 1/2 lemon juice
scant 1 1/4 tsp wholegrain mustard
Mix ingredients and season. Serve in melon rind halves if desired.
Adapted from Recipes Plus
I haven't tried this one yet -- it's been a bad summer for melons here -- but it sounds intriguing.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
18 September, 2018
Potato harvest time
Fried potatoes with fennel
1/2 to 1 bulb fennel, to taste
a handful of potatoes (i.e. as many potatoes as you care to hold in one hand -- one big one, two medium ones, several small ones)
butter or oil for cooking
a little salt and plenty of pepper
Remove stalks and fronds from the fennel (save them for your next fish bake or some other use); separate the bulb into ribs, trim, and wash. Slice across the ribs, rather like chopping celery, to make strips no more than 1/4 inch wide (that is, the pieces should be the width of the fennel rib by about 1/8 to 1/4 inch); set aside. Scrub or peel the potatoes, depending on their age and your preference, and slice them no more than 1/4 inch thick. If desired, cut cross-wise into french-fry-like sticks, but they can also be cooked as disks or half disks. Get the potatoes cooking over moderate heat in the butter or oil, season, and add the fennel strips. Spread out the pieces as much as possible so they get a chance to brown, especially the potatoes, and turn them frequently until done and lightly browned in many places. Serves one as a meal, 2-3 as a side dish.
The rest of the story
Last weekend I helped harvest potatoes for the food bank, getting covered with dirt in the process and pulling a few muscles. I love digging potatoes -- well, technically someone else did the actual digging, I got to crawl around in the dirt collecting them as the shovel exposed them.
Digging potatoes is a bit like hunting for buried treasure, only the result is more certain. Or maybe more like a subterranean Easter egg hunt; in any case, I had a couple of hours of fun and the food bank got crates of lovely red-skinned potatoes. So I thought I'd post a nice simple recipe.
There should still be fennel available; if not, you can always bake them in cream instead.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
1/2 to 1 bulb fennel, to taste
a handful of potatoes (i.e. as many potatoes as you care to hold in one hand -- one big one, two medium ones, several small ones)
butter or oil for cooking
a little salt and plenty of pepper
Remove stalks and fronds from the fennel (save them for your next fish bake or some other use); separate the bulb into ribs, trim, and wash. Slice across the ribs, rather like chopping celery, to make strips no more than 1/4 inch wide (that is, the pieces should be the width of the fennel rib by about 1/8 to 1/4 inch); set aside. Scrub or peel the potatoes, depending on their age and your preference, and slice them no more than 1/4 inch thick. If desired, cut cross-wise into french-fry-like sticks, but they can also be cooked as disks or half disks. Get the potatoes cooking over moderate heat in the butter or oil, season, and add the fennel strips. Spread out the pieces as much as possible so they get a chance to brown, especially the potatoes, and turn them frequently until done and lightly browned in many places. Serves one as a meal, 2-3 as a side dish.
The rest of the story
Last weekend I helped harvest potatoes for the food bank, getting covered with dirt in the process and pulling a few muscles. I love digging potatoes -- well, technically someone else did the actual digging, I got to crawl around in the dirt collecting them as the shovel exposed them.
Digging potatoes is a bit like hunting for buried treasure, only the result is more certain. Or maybe more like a subterranean Easter egg hunt; in any case, I had a couple of hours of fun and the food bank got crates of lovely red-skinned potatoes. So I thought I'd post a nice simple recipe.
There should still be fennel available; if not, you can always bake them in cream instead.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
11 September, 2018
Nectarines
native to: probably China
in season in the Puget Sound region: July-August
Contrary to rumor, nectarines are not a hybrid of peaches and plums. Their scientific name is Prunus persica var. nucipersica or nectarina, meaning that taxonomists consider them a variety or breed of peach. They're a member of the Rosaceae family, related to plums, almonds, and damsons. Their flesh can be golden yellow or creamy white. As with many fruits and vegetables, white nectarines are generally sweeter while yellow-fleshed ones have more flavor. Most of the nectarines you'll find for sale are clingstones, meaning the flesh does not readily separate from the pit, but freestone varieties do exist. Nectarine trees require a cold winter to stimulate blossom production.
Nectarines originated in China at least a millennium ago and spread to Persia (hence the "persica" in their scientific name), then to Greece and Rome. The reached Great Britain around 1600 and were brought to the Americas by the Spanish.
Nectarines are rich in vitamins A, several Bs, C, E, K and also provide minerals and electrolytes such as potassium, phosphorous, magnesium, iron, zinc, copper, and calcium. They have antioxidants like polyphenols and carotenoids such as beta-carotene and cryptoxanthin, and their fiber is good for digestion. They also contain anthocyanins, catechin, chlorogenic acid, and quercetin derivatives, which combat obesity-related problems, and their vitamin C aids in the absorption of iron, helping fight anemia. Their lutein and beta-carotene are good for the eyes, while their vitamin C, zinc, and phenolic compounds support the immune system. Nectarines are even good for the skin, providing bioflavonoids and anti-oxidants that protect against damage from UV exposure (making their availability in July and August particularly appropriate).
Nectarine allergies are rare, but nectarine pits should not be eaten -- they contain substances that can metabolize into cyanide and sicken or kill someone who eats too many.
Read more:
label-style nutrition information
Spoon University
Nutrition and You
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
in season in the Puget Sound region: July-August
Contrary to rumor, nectarines are not a hybrid of peaches and plums. Their scientific name is Prunus persica var. nucipersica or nectarina, meaning that taxonomists consider them a variety or breed of peach. They're a member of the Rosaceae family, related to plums, almonds, and damsons. Their flesh can be golden yellow or creamy white. As with many fruits and vegetables, white nectarines are generally sweeter while yellow-fleshed ones have more flavor. Most of the nectarines you'll find for sale are clingstones, meaning the flesh does not readily separate from the pit, but freestone varieties do exist. Nectarine trees require a cold winter to stimulate blossom production.
Nectarines originated in China at least a millennium ago and spread to Persia (hence the "persica" in their scientific name), then to Greece and Rome. The reached Great Britain around 1600 and were brought to the Americas by the Spanish.
Nectarines are rich in vitamins A, several Bs, C, E, K and also provide minerals and electrolytes such as potassium, phosphorous, magnesium, iron, zinc, copper, and calcium. They have antioxidants like polyphenols and carotenoids such as beta-carotene and cryptoxanthin, and their fiber is good for digestion. They also contain anthocyanins, catechin, chlorogenic acid, and quercetin derivatives, which combat obesity-related problems, and their vitamin C aids in the absorption of iron, helping fight anemia. Their lutein and beta-carotene are good for the eyes, while their vitamin C, zinc, and phenolic compounds support the immune system. Nectarines are even good for the skin, providing bioflavonoids and anti-oxidants that protect against damage from UV exposure (making their availability in July and August particularly appropriate).
Nectarine allergies are rare, but nectarine pits should not be eaten -- they contain substances that can metabolize into cyanide and sicken or kill someone who eats too many.
Read more:
label-style nutrition information
Spoon University
Nutrition and You
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
01 September, 2018
Mammy's banana cake
1 c sugar
2/3 c butter
2 eggs
1 1/2 c flour
1 tsp. baking soda
4 ripe bananas
1/2 c chopped nuts (optional)
Mix in the usual fashion for a cake*. Bake in an 8- or 9-inch square pan at 350F for 35-40 min.
The rest of the story
This recipe originally came from my mother's "Mammy" (grandmother), who would have been cooking for children in the early 20th century in, approximately, Arkansas. Mom would have eaten this in the 1930s-1940s. I'm not sure which grandmother "Mammy" was -- 50% chance it was the one on whose farm my mother grew up during the Depression as part of a multi-generational extended family -- but I do remember my mother's delight at getting her hands on this recipe. We made it together within the week.
Then I misplaced it. I'd been looking for it for awhile now, because I was pretty sure I'd had it at some point. I particularly wanted it because the food bank almost always has bananas, but they're often very ripe and/or badly bruised (bananas bruise incredibly easily) -- perfect for banana bread (meh) or Mammy's banana cake! So now I'm almost as delighted as Mom was to have it again. Even if it did mean going through an entire file box of old printouts and photocopies.
As a side note, my family seems to have a tradition of losing and rediscovering grandmothers' recipes, and I am extremely grateful for the rediscovery part of that. And... let's see, my soapbox has to be around here somewhere... Labor Day weekend is coming up, a nice three-day with few socially-mandated activities connected to it; why not take this time to gather your favorite recipes from any remaining parents, grandparents, or even great-grandparents? And if you're a parent/grandparent/great-grandparent, why not gather up your descendants' favorite recipes into a notebook or (well backed-up) computer file as a first-apartment-warming gift? Your descendant is only six? Well, put it somewhere safe until it's wanted, but write 'em out now; your survival is not guaranteed. Your descendants are already on their second mortgage? Well then, it's about time they had their culinary birthright!
*There are about three different ways to mix cake batter, depending on the age of the recipe. When I make this cake, I just go with the given order of ingredients: cream the butter, sugar, and eggs, add the flour and baking soda, then the bananas and nuts. I need to do more research on this topic; I vaguely remember reading about a "new" method of mixing cake batter that appeared in the mid-20th century and made the process much easier, but recall none of the details (how frustrating).
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
2/3 c butter
2 eggs
1 1/2 c flour
1 tsp. baking soda
4 ripe bananas
1/2 c chopped nuts (optional)
Mix in the usual fashion for a cake*. Bake in an 8- or 9-inch square pan at 350F for 35-40 min.
The rest of the story
This recipe originally came from my mother's "Mammy" (grandmother), who would have been cooking for children in the early 20th century in, approximately, Arkansas. Mom would have eaten this in the 1930s-1940s. I'm not sure which grandmother "Mammy" was -- 50% chance it was the one on whose farm my mother grew up during the Depression as part of a multi-generational extended family -- but I do remember my mother's delight at getting her hands on this recipe. We made it together within the week.
Then I misplaced it. I'd been looking for it for awhile now, because I was pretty sure I'd had it at some point. I particularly wanted it because the food bank almost always has bananas, but they're often very ripe and/or badly bruised (bananas bruise incredibly easily) -- perfect for banana bread (meh) or Mammy's banana cake! So now I'm almost as delighted as Mom was to have it again. Even if it did mean going through an entire file box of old printouts and photocopies.
As a side note, my family seems to have a tradition of losing and rediscovering grandmothers' recipes, and I am extremely grateful for the rediscovery part of that. And... let's see, my soapbox has to be around here somewhere... Labor Day weekend is coming up, a nice three-day with few socially-mandated activities connected to it; why not take this time to gather your favorite recipes from any remaining parents, grandparents, or even great-grandparents? And if you're a parent/grandparent/great-grandparent, why not gather up your descendants' favorite recipes into a notebook or (well backed-up) computer file as a first-apartment-warming gift? Your descendant is only six? Well, put it somewhere safe until it's wanted, but write 'em out now; your survival is not guaranteed. Your descendants are already on their second mortgage? Well then, it's about time they had their culinary birthright!
*There are about three different ways to mix cake batter, depending on the age of the recipe. When I make this cake, I just go with the given order of ingredients: cream the butter, sugar, and eggs, add the flour and baking soda, then the bananas and nuts. I need to do more research on this topic; I vaguely remember reading about a "new" method of mixing cake batter that appeared in the mid-20th century and made the process much easier, but recall none of the details (how frustrating).
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
18 August, 2018
Using those blackberries
Cold-Process Blackberry Shrub
5 cups blackberries, gently rinsed
4 cups sugar
4 cups balsamic vinegar
Combine blackberries and sugar, stirring to produce some juice and coat berries. Cover and chill for 24 hours. Strain out the berries, gently pressing out any remaining juice. whisk in the vinegar, stirring until most of the sugar dissolves. Pour into a clean glass bottle and chill for 4 weeks before using.
Notes:
The original recipe called for red wine vinegar. I checked at the store, and what they had was the same acidity as the balsamic I used, 6%, so the result should be much the same (I'm just not that fond of the whole spoiled grape thing).
In my attempt, most of the sugar settled to the bottom of the berry glop, so at the very least you should probably give the berries a good stir before straining them.
I used my usual pseudo jelly bag technique like I did last year making blackberry juice concentrate, letting it drip all evening.
Next time I think I'll try mixing some of the vinegar into the berries before straining them to see if I can dissolve more of the sugar. My result seems sweet enough (before aging), so possibly some of the sugar is supposed to be filtered out with the berries. More experimentation is definitely called for!
Adapted from Port and Fin
So in a month or so, I'll be ready to try:
Blackberry-rum shrub
4 Tbsp. dark rum
1 Tbsp. blackberry shrub syrup
club soda to taste
Combine ingredients and serve over ice.
Adapted from Saveur
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
5 cups blackberries, gently rinsed
4 cups sugar
4 cups balsamic vinegar
Combine blackberries and sugar, stirring to produce some juice and coat berries. Cover and chill for 24 hours. Strain out the berries, gently pressing out any remaining juice. whisk in the vinegar, stirring until most of the sugar dissolves. Pour into a clean glass bottle and chill for 4 weeks before using.
Notes:
The original recipe called for red wine vinegar. I checked at the store, and what they had was the same acidity as the balsamic I used, 6%, so the result should be much the same (I'm just not that fond of the whole spoiled grape thing).
In my attempt, most of the sugar settled to the bottom of the berry glop, so at the very least you should probably give the berries a good stir before straining them.
I used my usual pseudo jelly bag technique like I did last year making blackberry juice concentrate, letting it drip all evening.
Next time I think I'll try mixing some of the vinegar into the berries before straining them to see if I can dissolve more of the sugar. My result seems sweet enough (before aging), so possibly some of the sugar is supposed to be filtered out with the berries. More experimentation is definitely called for!
Adapted from Port and Fin
So in a month or so, I'll be ready to try:
Blackberry-rum shrub
4 Tbsp. dark rum
1 Tbsp. blackberry shrub syrup
club soda to taste
Combine ingredients and serve over ice.
Adapted from Saveur
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
15 August, 2018
Blackberry foraging
It's blackberry season again! Blackberries are a sort of "gateway food" for foragers, being familiar, easy to recognize, and fairly available even without driving somewhere and hiking five miles into the wilderness. So, here for your consideration are my personal foraging guidelines:
Practice gratitude
Thank the plants and/or your preferred deity, or just take a moment to contemplate the marvel of bio-machines that convert earth, water, and sunlight into food. If you're setting out to collect a lot of berries, why not take the plants a little gift, like some water or weak worm/compost tea? Yes, the plants won't really understand what you're doing, it's all symbolic, but there are some indications that plants can sense our emotions or intentions, and anyway being nice to other living things is a good habit to get into.
Share
Take what you'll use, but don't pick too closely -- that is, leave the berries that will be at their peak tomorrow -- and try to leave some for the next forager (human or not). If you're young and athletic (or even just not all that ancient and reasonably vigorous) why not leave the easy-to-reach stuff for casual nibblers and the less agile? If you end up with more than you want, offer some to friends and neighbors or run it down to the Food Bank.
Especially, remember that humans aren't the only berry-lovers around, so if your patch is anywhere there might be wildlife, plan accordingly. Bears are particularly fond of berries, so go into the woods with plenty of friends and make some noise so other critters will know you're there and try to avoid you.
Expect scratches
Respect the plants, try not to trample or break more than absolutely necessary, and don't go berrying the day before you want to look stunning in a sun dress or show off your carefully cultivated muscles at the beach. Wear heavy clothes and plan to sweat, or dress more lightly and plan to bleed (no, that's not a threat; I personally always choose the second option and come home all scratched up -- but I have cats so I'm used to a certain amount of that anyway).
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
Practice gratitude
Thank the plants and/or your preferred deity, or just take a moment to contemplate the marvel of bio-machines that convert earth, water, and sunlight into food. If you're setting out to collect a lot of berries, why not take the plants a little gift, like some water or weak worm/compost tea? Yes, the plants won't really understand what you're doing, it's all symbolic, but there are some indications that plants can sense our emotions or intentions, and anyway being nice to other living things is a good habit to get into.
Share
Take what you'll use, but don't pick too closely -- that is, leave the berries that will be at their peak tomorrow -- and try to leave some for the next forager (human or not). If you're young and athletic (or even just not all that ancient and reasonably vigorous) why not leave the easy-to-reach stuff for casual nibblers and the less agile? If you end up with more than you want, offer some to friends and neighbors or run it down to the Food Bank.
Especially, remember that humans aren't the only berry-lovers around, so if your patch is anywhere there might be wildlife, plan accordingly. Bears are particularly fond of berries, so go into the woods with plenty of friends and make some noise so other critters will know you're there and try to avoid you.
Expect scratches
Respect the plants, try not to trample or break more than absolutely necessary, and don't go berrying the day before you want to look stunning in a sun dress or show off your carefully cultivated muscles at the beach. Wear heavy clothes and plan to sweat, or dress more lightly and plan to bleed (no, that's not a threat; I personally always choose the second option and come home all scratched up -- but I have cats so I'm used to a certain amount of that anyway).
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
11 August, 2018
(Red) amaranth leaves
Red Amaranth with Garlic and Oyster Sauce
1 bunch red amaranth, washed, shaken dry, picked over, and larger stems removed
2 Tbsp. cooking oil
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 Tbsp. oyster sauce
2 tsp. sugar
2 tsp. cornstarch mixed with 2 Tbsp. cold water
Chop amaranth leaves and small stems into bite-sized pieces. Heat oil and gently cook, stirring, until it begins to color. Add amaranth, increase heat to medium, and toss until wilted. Add oyster sauce and sugar, cover, and steam for a minute or two. Stir in cornstarch mixture and allow to boil until it thickens.
Spicy Amaranth
2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 clove garlic, minced or crushed
1 tsp. minced fresh ginger
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
1 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. ground cardamom
1 lb. red amaranth leaves, washed, larger stems removed, torn as needed
1 tsp. salt, or to taste
1 Tbsp. lime juice
2 Tbsp. water
Heat oil, add the garlic, ginger, and jalapeno; toss for about 10 seconds. Stir in remaining spices and briefly continue cooking. Add amaranth leaves, salt, lime juice, and water. Stir-fry until the amaranth starts to wilt.
Adapted from Seasonal Chef
The long, chatty bit
native to: South America, probably Peru
in season in the Puget Sound region: August
I saw these at the
Olympia Farmers' Market (Piece by Piece Farm of food bank CSA fame had them, just lying there beside the lettuces) and they were so beautiful I just had to try them. And photograph them; they've motivated me to get back into putting photos in my posts.
It's been awhile since I posted a recipe, so I decided that would be my focus here (and it promptly turned too hot to cook without air conditioning, so I haven't actually tried the recipes yet). However, I did my usual internet reading and learned a few interesting things.
Amaranth is more familiar as a high-protein, gluten-free grain, and sometimes you have to read pretty carefully to determine if a website is talking about the leaves or seeds. The leaves are more common in Asian cuisine, often appearing in stir-fries and curries. There are some 60 species of Amaranthaceae. The common wild one is one of several weeds called pigweed, which, yes, is also edible. Other varieties can be used as a red dye and as ornamentals -- Love-lies-bleeding is an amaranth.
Amaranth "greens" (mostly red to purple) are also called Chinese spinach, although it's not a close spinach relative. Amaranth has a stronger, more bitter flavor and tougher leaves than spinach -- only the youngest leaves should be eaten raw. The larger leaves are better cooked, but should not be reheated or their nitrates could get converted to nitrites. The root is also eaten, but less commonly.
Amaranth is nutritionally similar to beets, chard, and spinach, but with more protein, vitamin C, carotene, iron, and calcium. A couple of sources mention it as a good source of lysine, but I think they're talking about the seeds rather than the leaves. It stimulates growth and healing, reduces inflammation, supports the immune system, and may help lower blood pressure.
The most interesting thing I learned is that amaranth leaves are good for skin and hair. The leaves can be applied to patches of eczema and their juice, used topically, revitalizes hair follicles and fights baldness. I've not looked into the idea, but it might be useful against mange as well -- but check with your veterinarian before trying it. I've no idea whether dogs and cats can safely eat amaranth; and if you put it on them, you know they'll eventually lick or chew it off.
Read more:
label-style nutrition information for cooked amaranth leaves
Organic Facts
Innovate Us
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
1 bunch red amaranth, washed, shaken dry, picked over, and larger stems removed
2 Tbsp. cooking oil
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 Tbsp. oyster sauce
2 tsp. sugar
2 tsp. cornstarch mixed with 2 Tbsp. cold water
Chop amaranth leaves and small stems into bite-sized pieces. Heat oil and gently cook, stirring, until it begins to color. Add amaranth, increase heat to medium, and toss until wilted. Add oyster sauce and sugar, cover, and steam for a minute or two. Stir in cornstarch mixture and allow to boil until it thickens.
Spicy Amaranth
2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 clove garlic, minced or crushed
1 tsp. minced fresh ginger
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
1 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. ground cardamom
1 lb. red amaranth leaves, washed, larger stems removed, torn as needed
1 tsp. salt, or to taste
1 Tbsp. lime juice
2 Tbsp. water
Heat oil, add the garlic, ginger, and jalapeno; toss for about 10 seconds. Stir in remaining spices and briefly continue cooking. Add amaranth leaves, salt, lime juice, and water. Stir-fry until the amaranth starts to wilt.
Adapted from Seasonal Chef
The long, chatty bit
native to: South America, probably Peru
in season in the Puget Sound region: August
I saw these at the
Olympia Farmers' Market (Piece by Piece Farm of food bank CSA fame had them, just lying there beside the lettuces) and they were so beautiful I just had to try them. And photograph them; they've motivated me to get back into putting photos in my posts.
It's been awhile since I posted a recipe, so I decided that would be my focus here (and it promptly turned too hot to cook without air conditioning, so I haven't actually tried the recipes yet). However, I did my usual internet reading and learned a few interesting things.
Amaranth is more familiar as a high-protein, gluten-free grain, and sometimes you have to read pretty carefully to determine if a website is talking about the leaves or seeds. The leaves are more common in Asian cuisine, often appearing in stir-fries and curries. There are some 60 species of Amaranthaceae. The common wild one is one of several weeds called pigweed, which, yes, is also edible. Other varieties can be used as a red dye and as ornamentals -- Love-lies-bleeding is an amaranth.
Amaranth "greens" (mostly red to purple) are also called Chinese spinach, although it's not a close spinach relative. Amaranth has a stronger, more bitter flavor and tougher leaves than spinach -- only the youngest leaves should be eaten raw. The larger leaves are better cooked, but should not be reheated or their nitrates could get converted to nitrites. The root is also eaten, but less commonly.
Amaranth is nutritionally similar to beets, chard, and spinach, but with more protein, vitamin C, carotene, iron, and calcium. A couple of sources mention it as a good source of lysine, but I think they're talking about the seeds rather than the leaves. It stimulates growth and healing, reduces inflammation, supports the immune system, and may help lower blood pressure.
The most interesting thing I learned is that amaranth leaves are good for skin and hair. The leaves can be applied to patches of eczema and their juice, used topically, revitalizes hair follicles and fights baldness. I've not looked into the idea, but it might be useful against mange as well -- but check with your veterinarian before trying it. I've no idea whether dogs and cats can safely eat amaranth; and if you put it on them, you know they'll eventually lick or chew it off.
Read more:
label-style nutrition information for cooked amaranth leaves
Organic Facts
Innovate Us
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
06 August, 2018
Galia melons
native to: Israel
in season in the Puget Sound region: August (mostly they're transported from central Washington; the Sound region doesn't really get warm enough for long enough to produce a good melon crop)
Also called Middle Eastern melon, Mediterranean melon, passport melon, honeymoon melon, or Israeli melon, galia melons are a cross between cantaloupes and honeydews. They look a lot like a smallish cantaloupe, with slightly paler skin that can take on a yellowish cast when very ripe and with somewhat less netting -- the network of little ridges that covers the rind. The flesh is where the real difference is, pale creamy yellow to bright green. They are sometimes considered a kind of honeydew but their flavor is more like a cantaloupe, if slightly milder and sweeter. If you want to get technical, they're a kind of muskmelon, a member of the Cucurbitaceae family known in scientific circles as Cucumis melo var. reticulatus. The seeds are also edible.
The main reason we don't see more of them is that they have a short shelf life, something like 2-3 weeks after picking (which in many cases would be just about the time it takes for them to reach a grocery store shelf). As longer-lived strains are developed, we're likely to see more of them.
They were developed in the 1960s by Dr. Zvi Karchi at the Ne´ve Yaar Research Center of the Agricultural Research Organization in Israel, named after his daughter, and released for commercial production in 1973.
Galias provide plenty of vitamins A and C, carotenoids, bioflavonoids, potassium, calcium, and iron, and also contain a fair amount of fiber, including pectin. They help with weight loss, promote digestion, and fight diabetes because of all that fiber; support the immune system with vitamin C and antioxidants such as bioflavonoids; work against certain types of cancer; improve vision with vitamin A and carotenoids; and protect the heart by reducing cholesterol and because their potassium acts as a vasodilator and lowers blood pressure. They have diuretic properties that flush sodium and toxins that cause kidney disease and eczema. They're low in carbohydrates and have alkalizing properties. In combination with lemons they can help cure gout. Their vitamins A and C, collagen, and basic high water content make them good for the skin. They even help bodybuilders, with their low fructose content, minerals, fiber, and moisture.
The only real health concern, minor as it is, is the high fiber content. Too much fiber can over-rev digestion, bind nutrients, and speed food through the intestines so things don't have as much chance to be absorbed by the body. This is only an issue if you eat a while lot of them, though.
Read more:
Only Foods
Organic Facts
Specialty Produce
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
in season in the Puget Sound region: August (mostly they're transported from central Washington; the Sound region doesn't really get warm enough for long enough to produce a good melon crop)
Also called Middle Eastern melon, Mediterranean melon, passport melon, honeymoon melon, or Israeli melon, galia melons are a cross between cantaloupes and honeydews. They look a lot like a smallish cantaloupe, with slightly paler skin that can take on a yellowish cast when very ripe and with somewhat less netting -- the network of little ridges that covers the rind. The flesh is where the real difference is, pale creamy yellow to bright green. They are sometimes considered a kind of honeydew but their flavor is more like a cantaloupe, if slightly milder and sweeter. If you want to get technical, they're a kind of muskmelon, a member of the Cucurbitaceae family known in scientific circles as Cucumis melo var. reticulatus. The seeds are also edible.
The main reason we don't see more of them is that they have a short shelf life, something like 2-3 weeks after picking (which in many cases would be just about the time it takes for them to reach a grocery store shelf). As longer-lived strains are developed, we're likely to see more of them.
They were developed in the 1960s by Dr. Zvi Karchi at the Ne´ve Yaar Research Center of the Agricultural Research Organization in Israel, named after his daughter, and released for commercial production in 1973.
Galias provide plenty of vitamins A and C, carotenoids, bioflavonoids, potassium, calcium, and iron, and also contain a fair amount of fiber, including pectin. They help with weight loss, promote digestion, and fight diabetes because of all that fiber; support the immune system with vitamin C and antioxidants such as bioflavonoids; work against certain types of cancer; improve vision with vitamin A and carotenoids; and protect the heart by reducing cholesterol and because their potassium acts as a vasodilator and lowers blood pressure. They have diuretic properties that flush sodium and toxins that cause kidney disease and eczema. They're low in carbohydrates and have alkalizing properties. In combination with lemons they can help cure gout. Their vitamins A and C, collagen, and basic high water content make them good for the skin. They even help bodybuilders, with their low fructose content, minerals, fiber, and moisture.
The only real health concern, minor as it is, is the high fiber content. Too much fiber can over-rev digestion, bind nutrients, and speed food through the intestines so things don't have as much chance to be absorbed by the body. This is only an issue if you eat a while lot of them, though.
Read more:
Only Foods
Organic Facts
Specialty Produce
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
22 July, 2018
Shrubs (not the kind sought by the Knights Who (Used To) Say "Ni!")
1/2 oz. (ca. 14.7 ml.) drinking vinegar/shrub
2 oz. (ca. 59 ml.) vermouth or sherry
seltzer or club soda to taste
Stir together and serve at once, probably over ice.
-------
2 oz (ca. 59 ml.) dark rum
1/2 oz. (ca. 14.7 ml.) drinking vinegar/shrub
3 oz. (ca. 88.7 ml.) club soda or seltzer
Stir together and serve at once, probably over ice.
Variations:
- Leave out the rum for a non-alcoholic version.
- Replace the club soda with ginger beer or tonic water.
Adapted from Serious Eats
The long, chatty bit
Vinegar is all the rage just now; would it be inaccurate to call it "the new milk"? Or maybe that's just the circles I move in; several of my friends are into the whole alkalizing thing, and apparently drinking vinegar, although it's an acid, has an alkalizing effect because of the way the body reacts to it ("nooo, don't give me acid! I'll just rev up my acid processing and base producing functions and make myself more alkaline instead, so there!" -- or am I the only one whose body is that contrary?).
Anyway, there was a new vendor at the Tumwater Farmers' Market this week, selling "sipping vinegar" -- try to say that 3 times without accidentally saying "sipping liquor" instead -- and giving out samples. The vinegar is called Wild Heart, but the company is called OH!SHRUBS.
I was vaguely aware of shrub as a kind of drink, something in the punch or cordial line, but after trying it, I was inspired to look a little further. Dictionary first: my aging Chambers defines a shrub as, in the UK, "a mixed drink of lemon or other citrus fruit juice, sugar, spices, and a spirit, esp. rum" (making it similar to the Rum Swizzle of Bermudian fame) and, in the US, "a cordial of fruit juice (e.g. raspberry) and vinegar." Seems the term comes from the Arabic sharab and the word is related to "sherbet." Further consultation tells me a cordial is not, as I'd always vaguely assumed, a liqueur-like drink of some sort, but rather a non-alcoholic refresher. Huh; well, there's my new thing learned today (I find I'm happiest if I can learn at least one thing every day).
But I kept thinking about that blackberry juice concentrate I have on my pantry shelf. Could I make my own "sipping vinegar" by mixing that with cider, or maybe balsamic, vinegar and possibly some cinnamon or grains of paradise? So off to the internet I went....
Wikipedia, which is quick if of dubious repute, adds that the first kind of shrub is a "fruit liqueur that was popular in the 17th and 18th century England, typically made with rum or brandy mixed with sugar and the juice or rinds of citrus fruit." It evolved from 15th century medicinal cordials and Persian sekanjabin and had fallen out of fashion by the late 19th century. The second kind is a "cocktail or soft drink that was popular during America's colonial era, made by mixing a vinegared syrup with spirits, water, or carbonated water." It originated from the 17th-century English practice of using vinegar instead of citrus juice to preserve berries and fruit (producing yet another kind of shrub) and remained common until refrigerators made it too much work. Drinking vinegar, Wikipedia says, is the sweetened vinegar syrup from which the cocktails are made, which can also be called -- you guessed it -- shrub. There are also "shrubs" made with alcohol and versions that use acidic fruit juices instead of vinegar, but for now let's look at the traditional vinegar-based shrub.
The idea of vinegar as a drink ingredient is very old, going back to at least 2nd century B.C. Rome, where posca was a popular soldier's and working-man's thirst quencher. Even before that, mixing sour wine or vinegar with herbs was a common medicinal practice.
Another vinegar-and-water drink worth mentioning is switchel or haymaker's punch, which was often flavored with ginger and in which sweetening was optional. I have heard switchel described as "colonial-era Gatorade," along with the comment that it only tastes good if you need the electrolytes the vinegar provides.
There are two ways to make the basic syrup kind of shrub or drinking vinegar. The more traditional way involves macerating (softening) the fruit in sugar for a couple of days, straining it, and adding approximately an equal amount of good vinegar (cider vinegar is traditional, although I've also seen balsamic mentioned); what might be called the quick-and-dirty method simply boils the fruit in simple syrup instead. There's a good description of both methods on the website Food52, and another version at The Spruce Eats. A long but interesting article at Serious Eats includes photos of the maceration process.
A very basic drink can be made by mixing 1 oz. of shrub (the syrup) with 5-6 oz. water, sparkling water, or club soda.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
2 oz. (ca. 59 ml.) vermouth or sherry
seltzer or club soda to taste
Stir together and serve at once, probably over ice.
-------
2 oz (ca. 59 ml.) dark rum
1/2 oz. (ca. 14.7 ml.) drinking vinegar/shrub
3 oz. (ca. 88.7 ml.) club soda or seltzer
Stir together and serve at once, probably over ice.
Variations:
- Leave out the rum for a non-alcoholic version.
- Replace the club soda with ginger beer or tonic water.
Adapted from Serious Eats
The long, chatty bit
Vinegar is all the rage just now; would it be inaccurate to call it "the new milk"? Or maybe that's just the circles I move in; several of my friends are into the whole alkalizing thing, and apparently drinking vinegar, although it's an acid, has an alkalizing effect because of the way the body reacts to it ("nooo, don't give me acid! I'll just rev up my acid processing and base producing functions and make myself more alkaline instead, so there!" -- or am I the only one whose body is that contrary?).
Anyway, there was a new vendor at the Tumwater Farmers' Market this week, selling "sipping vinegar" -- try to say that 3 times without accidentally saying "sipping liquor" instead -- and giving out samples. The vinegar is called Wild Heart, but the company is called OH!SHRUBS.
I was vaguely aware of shrub as a kind of drink, something in the punch or cordial line, but after trying it, I was inspired to look a little further. Dictionary first: my aging Chambers defines a shrub as, in the UK, "a mixed drink of lemon or other citrus fruit juice, sugar, spices, and a spirit, esp. rum" (making it similar to the Rum Swizzle of Bermudian fame) and, in the US, "a cordial of fruit juice (e.g. raspberry) and vinegar." Seems the term comes from the Arabic sharab and the word is related to "sherbet." Further consultation tells me a cordial is not, as I'd always vaguely assumed, a liqueur-like drink of some sort, but rather a non-alcoholic refresher. Huh; well, there's my new thing learned today (I find I'm happiest if I can learn at least one thing every day).
But I kept thinking about that blackberry juice concentrate I have on my pantry shelf. Could I make my own "sipping vinegar" by mixing that with cider, or maybe balsamic, vinegar and possibly some cinnamon or grains of paradise? So off to the internet I went....
Wikipedia, which is quick if of dubious repute, adds that the first kind of shrub is a "fruit liqueur that was popular in the 17th and 18th century England, typically made with rum or brandy mixed with sugar and the juice or rinds of citrus fruit." It evolved from 15th century medicinal cordials and Persian sekanjabin and had fallen out of fashion by the late 19th century. The second kind is a "cocktail or soft drink that was popular during America's colonial era, made by mixing a vinegared syrup with spirits, water, or carbonated water." It originated from the 17th-century English practice of using vinegar instead of citrus juice to preserve berries and fruit (producing yet another kind of shrub) and remained common until refrigerators made it too much work. Drinking vinegar, Wikipedia says, is the sweetened vinegar syrup from which the cocktails are made, which can also be called -- you guessed it -- shrub. There are also "shrubs" made with alcohol and versions that use acidic fruit juices instead of vinegar, but for now let's look at the traditional vinegar-based shrub.
The idea of vinegar as a drink ingredient is very old, going back to at least 2nd century B.C. Rome, where posca was a popular soldier's and working-man's thirst quencher. Even before that, mixing sour wine or vinegar with herbs was a common medicinal practice.
Another vinegar-and-water drink worth mentioning is switchel or haymaker's punch, which was often flavored with ginger and in which sweetening was optional. I have heard switchel described as "colonial-era Gatorade," along with the comment that it only tastes good if you need the electrolytes the vinegar provides.
There are two ways to make the basic syrup kind of shrub or drinking vinegar. The more traditional way involves macerating (softening) the fruit in sugar for a couple of days, straining it, and adding approximately an equal amount of good vinegar (cider vinegar is traditional, although I've also seen balsamic mentioned); what might be called the quick-and-dirty method simply boils the fruit in simple syrup instead. There's a good description of both methods on the website Food52, and another version at The Spruce Eats. A long but interesting article at Serious Eats includes photos of the maceration process.
A very basic drink can be made by mixing 1 oz. of shrub (the syrup) with 5-6 oz. water, sparkling water, or club soda.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
07 July, 2018
Locavore, sort of
This week my favorite Food Bank had all-you-can-eat strawberries, plus an abundance of raspberries. Not thinking much beyond "yum!" I grabbed a bunch... and was reminded why I can sometimes be such a locavore. The strawberries were from California and just about had enough flavor to be worth hauling up the hill -- since I was going anyway -- but the raspberries were all seeds and red water, not really even worth carrying from bowl to mouth. Granted, some of that was my fault, since they got pretty squished riding home in my panniers.
The point is, the farther food travels and the longer it sits in a distributor's warehouse, the older it gets. And with any kind of produce, the older it's going to get, the earlier it has to be picked and the less flavor it has time to develop. This is the best reason to buy your food directly from local farmers as much as possible.
Other reasons include the economic -- buying locally keeps your money "at home" -- and the ecological -- all those interstate trucks and international planes do nasty things to the air quality.
Don't get me wrong, I still love the food bank and am grateful to them, they just sometimes have things that aren't much good. In fact, one of the coolest things about the food bank is the chance to try stuff you'd never risk spending money on.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
The point is, the farther food travels and the longer it sits in a distributor's warehouse, the older it gets. And with any kind of produce, the older it's going to get, the earlier it has to be picked and the less flavor it has time to develop. This is the best reason to buy your food directly from local farmers as much as possible.
Other reasons include the economic -- buying locally keeps your money "at home" -- and the ecological -- all those interstate trucks and international planes do nasty things to the air quality.
Don't get me wrong, I still love the food bank and am grateful to them, they just sometimes have things that aren't much good. In fact, one of the coolest things about the food bank is the chance to try stuff you'd never risk spending money on.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
08 June, 2018
Raspberry Goop
4-serving package of raspberry flavored gelatin powder
2 c whipped cream substitute such as Cool Whip or Dream Whip (or whipped cream if goop will be used up immediately)
up to a quart of fresh raspberries, gently washed and allowed to dry
Prepare gelatin according to package instructions and chill to a thick syrup; do not allow it to set*. Fold in the whipped cream substitute to make a slightly unappetizing pink fluff; fold in raspberries. Chill until completely set.
Summer comfort food
I scored a big package of raspberries at the Food Bank today (yum). I didn't have the other ingredients for this dish on hand, so I just ate them (Food Bank raspberries have to be picked over and the still-good ones eaten immediately). Whenever I so much as think of raspberries, though, I remember this treat.
You see, when my parents first put in their vegetable garden (this was in the Spokane Valley and produced a strong candidate for the title of World's Bitterest Lettuce, as well as two rows of corn that demonstrated admirably the value of composting, the stalks growing shorter and shorter the further they got from the spot Dad dumped the lawn mower bag... where was I?) they answered a newspaper ad and bought a dozen raspberry starts. The seller, who was clearing out his large raspberry patch, started digging and for every "good" start he dug, he found at least one that was "too small" but he threw it in as well. My parents, being unable to just throw out a healthy plant, ended up with a double row all along the back fence, in excess of two dozen plants that all settled in happily and began producing berries.
At first it was great, lots of lovely raspberries. By August of the third year, my mother (being equally unable to throw out good berries) began to get desperate, having frozen and given away as many raspberries as she could, and with more ripening. She came across this recipe -- I think it must have been on a box of Jello -- and it was a great success. Better, it used up lots of raspberries. I don't remember the official recipe title, we promptly started calling it "goop" and it remains "goop" to us to this day.
It can actually be made with any pairing of gelatin and fruit; peach with sliced peaches is another favorite of mine, but I can't recommend orange with canned mandarin oranges, that's terribly sweet. Best of all, making it produces very little heat, especially if you heat the water in a microwave; that alone would make it a great summer recipe.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
-------
*Chunks of Jello and raspberries in whipped cream substitute, while also good, is a different dessert.
2 c whipped cream substitute such as Cool Whip or Dream Whip (or whipped cream if goop will be used up immediately)
up to a quart of fresh raspberries, gently washed and allowed to dry
Prepare gelatin according to package instructions and chill to a thick syrup; do not allow it to set*. Fold in the whipped cream substitute to make a slightly unappetizing pink fluff; fold in raspberries. Chill until completely set.
Summer comfort food
I scored a big package of raspberries at the Food Bank today (yum). I didn't have the other ingredients for this dish on hand, so I just ate them (Food Bank raspberries have to be picked over and the still-good ones eaten immediately). Whenever I so much as think of raspberries, though, I remember this treat.
You see, when my parents first put in their vegetable garden (this was in the Spokane Valley and produced a strong candidate for the title of World's Bitterest Lettuce, as well as two rows of corn that demonstrated admirably the value of composting, the stalks growing shorter and shorter the further they got from the spot Dad dumped the lawn mower bag... where was I?) they answered a newspaper ad and bought a dozen raspberry starts. The seller, who was clearing out his large raspberry patch, started digging and for every "good" start he dug, he found at least one that was "too small" but he threw it in as well. My parents, being unable to just throw out a healthy plant, ended up with a double row all along the back fence, in excess of two dozen plants that all settled in happily and began producing berries.
At first it was great, lots of lovely raspberries. By August of the third year, my mother (being equally unable to throw out good berries) began to get desperate, having frozen and given away as many raspberries as she could, and with more ripening. She came across this recipe -- I think it must have been on a box of Jello -- and it was a great success. Better, it used up lots of raspberries. I don't remember the official recipe title, we promptly started calling it "goop" and it remains "goop" to us to this day.
It can actually be made with any pairing of gelatin and fruit; peach with sliced peaches is another favorite of mine, but I can't recommend orange with canned mandarin oranges, that's terribly sweet. Best of all, making it produces very little heat, especially if you heat the water in a microwave; that alone would make it a great summer recipe.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
-------
*Chunks of Jello and raspberries in whipped cream substitute, while also good, is a different dessert.
31 May, 2018
Three-layer chef's salad
This one isn't so much a recipe as a technique; the ingredients listed are what I usually have on hand to use. It's all about how to make a nice one-person, main course salad with just a nice amount of dressing and without all the goodies gone in the first half dozen bites, but not requiring climbing up for the big popcorn bowl from on top of the cupboards so you can toss the thing peoperly.
Here's what I use:
romaine lettuce
leaf lettuce, preferably either very ruffled or with lots of beautiful red in it
spinach
medium white cheddar cut into short slivers
celery chopped into about 1/2-inch pieces
sunflower seeds
sunflower shoots
quail eggs, hard-boiled
some kind of meat in small chunks, often surimi (fake crab) or shrimp if the food bank has any
caesar salad dressing
Place about a third of each ingredient in a big bowl (or a quarter, if you prefer an even number of layers). Drizzle with a small amount of salad dressing, if you want dressing. I put my dressings in those squeezable plastic condiment bottles if they're not too chunky, to get a nice thin line and therefore fairly even coverage without anything getting drowned. Repeat until your ingredients are in the bowl and you have the desired number of layers. Admire your salad for a moment, then stir it gently as you eat to distribute the dressing more thoroughly.
If you're using a (big enough) spinner to dry your greens, you can use the same technique in washing the greens and loading the spinner. Then you're ready to go and don't have to dig down for anything or unpack the spinner into separate piles or bowls. It's all about not making extra dishes to wash.
Wow, a food bank CSA
As if free food weren't amazing enough, this year the Thurston County Food Bank is trying out a mini-ÇSA, four "boxes" of lovely fresh veg in May and June donated by local farms. You have to apply, I suppose to convince them you like produce and will make good use of the goodies. So I applied on the off chance, figuring families with children would probably get them all, but I won! Well, technically I was accepted into the program, but it felt like winning.
This week's box included a package of sunflower shoots, one of my all-time favorite "salady things." I got kind of addicted to them last year, at least to the point that I consider them pretty much essential to a nice chef's-type salad. So thank you Black Hills Organics for donating them!
Another thing that makes this salad season is that the quail at Lost Peacock Creamery have started laying in earnest this month. Hard boiled quail eggs are the perfect size for a salad, you can use them whole and not have stray bits of yolk wandering loose in the salad, and they're a better source of protein than plain chicken eggs.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
Here's what I use:
romaine lettuce
leaf lettuce, preferably either very ruffled or with lots of beautiful red in it
spinach
medium white cheddar cut into short slivers
celery chopped into about 1/2-inch pieces
sunflower seeds
sunflower shoots
quail eggs, hard-boiled
some kind of meat in small chunks, often surimi (fake crab) or shrimp if the food bank has any
caesar salad dressing
Place about a third of each ingredient in a big bowl (or a quarter, if you prefer an even number of layers). Drizzle with a small amount of salad dressing, if you want dressing. I put my dressings in those squeezable plastic condiment bottles if they're not too chunky, to get a nice thin line and therefore fairly even coverage without anything getting drowned. Repeat until your ingredients are in the bowl and you have the desired number of layers. Admire your salad for a moment, then stir it gently as you eat to distribute the dressing more thoroughly.
If you're using a (big enough) spinner to dry your greens, you can use the same technique in washing the greens and loading the spinner. Then you're ready to go and don't have to dig down for anything or unpack the spinner into separate piles or bowls. It's all about not making extra dishes to wash.
Wow, a food bank CSA
As if free food weren't amazing enough, this year the Thurston County Food Bank is trying out a mini-ÇSA, four "boxes" of lovely fresh veg in May and June donated by local farms. You have to apply, I suppose to convince them you like produce and will make good use of the goodies. So I applied on the off chance, figuring families with children would probably get them all, but I won! Well, technically I was accepted into the program, but it felt like winning.
This week's box included a package of sunflower shoots, one of my all-time favorite "salady things." I got kind of addicted to them last year, at least to the point that I consider them pretty much essential to a nice chef's-type salad. So thank you Black Hills Organics for donating them!
Another thing that makes this salad season is that the quail at Lost Peacock Creamery have started laying in earnest this month. Hard boiled quail eggs are the perfect size for a salad, you can use them whole and not have stray bits of yolk wandering loose in the salad, and they're a better source of protein than plain chicken eggs.
Esperanta traduko: this post is also available in Esperanto, because Dana is a language geek.
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