The Omnivorous Fish

So, if you’ve ever planted mint, you know that you can’t kill it. Mulching, acid, weeding, DDT, whatever, that mint, much like dandelions, is coming BACK. And although it is a pain, when I weed the garden, I leave the mint, the dandelions and the purslane until last. Know why? They all taste great. They’re like free money. The purslane can get dropped into any salad. The dandelions can join the salad, or hop into pasta, risotto, or just get cooked by themselves with some fatback or – especially good with dandelions- chicken skin. The mint isn’t always as easy to use up, but if you can put together a pint or so of it, then, as they say, when life gives you mint, make mint ice cream.

Ice cream is a joy when made at home. Ice cream from the store can, frankly, suck it, because that’s what it does. It’s lower in fat than it should be, and often in industrial dairy, the milk that’s too old for yogurt gets made into ice cream since its flavor will be obscured by god only knows what fruit, nut, marshmallow, peat moss, plus good old-fashioned cold.

That doesn’t cut it for me.

Generally speaking, ice cream is a light custard, sweetened and flavored with myriad possible things, and stirred in a freezing environment, to slowly chill and permeate it with air. I have made ice cream with cream, milk, eggs, yolks and prayer in every possible combination, but the most reliable recipe I’ve had is from the Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, and it comes from a recipe for Honey Ice Cream. I like it because unlike many recipes that call for milk, I can get consistent results using supermarket dairy. Ultra-pasteurized cream behaves reasonably well when there’s enough fat to help the mixture along. If I can’t get cream I’m really thrilled with, but I still want ice cream, I add clarified butter to the custard, about a third cup.

The original recipe calls for strong-flavored honey, and makes a fine ice cream all by itself. I, however, almost always use honey for ice cream, because I like the flavor, and it lowers the freezing temperature of the custard, making it easier to scoop later. You could substitute so many things for the mint: Rose petals, lavender flowers, bay leaves, basil, cloves, orange blossoms, ground pistachios, or a plain old vanilla bean. You would not want to use as much lavender or cloves as the mint, but taste the custard as you go. If it’s getting too strong, strain it out, if it’s not strong enough, add some more. It’s ice cream, no one’s going to get hurt. Just keep in mind the custard will taste somewhat less strong when it’s frozen.

Mint Ice Cream
4 cups heavy cream
5 egg yolks
½ cup mild-flavored honey, like clover or thyme, NOT buckwheat or thistle
1 1/2 cups loosely packed mint thinnings, stems and all
2-3 oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped (optional)

Heat the cream slightly in a heavy saucepan, or in a double boiler if you’re squeamish. Beat the egg yolks in a medium bowl. Add some of the warmed cream and stir it in quickly. Add the honey, mint and the egg yolk mixture to the cream, and stir it in well. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heatproof spatula, over hot water or medium-low heat for about ten minutes, until the consistency of a very light custard sauce is reached (it thoroughly coats a spoon). Be sure to scrape the sides and bottom of the pot as the mixture cooks. There is also a smell associated with a ready custard… but I’m at a loss as to how to explain it. Keep your nose out for it, and you’ll know for next time. Cooking is more than a recipe, after all.

Pour the mixture into a bowl set in a larger bowl of ice and water. Stir occasionally until cool to the touch, then strain it- pressing on the solids to milk out that green elixir- and put it in the refrigerator. Chill for several hours, or overnight.

Put the chocolate and the custard in the freezer while you dig out the ice cream machine. After about ten minutes, process the custard in the ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the frozen chocolate about halfway through the process.

Freeze the ice cream until firm, then it’s ready when you are.

Listening: This American Life

This whole eating from the garden thing is blowing my mind. I know; Captain Obvious rides again. The spinach loves getting thinned, and exploded after its last trimming.

There are a number of ways to cook spinach, and they can really influence the nature of its flavor. Spinach is one of the most distinctly flavored greens, but that flavor can run the gamut from a bright omigawd to a subtle what-is-this-kale? kind of reaction. A salad of young, tiny spinach with a light sherry or balsamic vinaigrette could practically get up, walk around and tell you how good and fresh and vibrant it is. Blanched, pureed and cooked in beef stock and butter, spinach has a very deep voice and the character of an ent. Chopped and added to something like risotto, spinach can play both roles, adding both freshness and earth to a dish.

So, there’s this boy who’s been around for a few months now. I kept waiting for him to wise up and move on, but I guess there’s no judging taste: he seems to like me. And good thing, too, since he’s a Green Lantern. So, blog, Green Lantern, Green Lantern, blog.

Anyway, when he’s not saving the world, he works one of those grown up jobs. You know, the kind where you go every day, and it’s always Monday through Friday. I’ve heard about these, but I’m not anxious to try one. Sometimes I treat him after a long day with something like this:

Pantry and Garden Thinning Risotto

Er, uh, I mean:

Risotto of Spinach with Porcini

Serves 4 as a first course, 2-3 for dinner

½ cup dried porcini mushrooms, morels or others would be good
2 cups hot water

four slices bacon, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
salt, pepper, freshly grated nutmeg

1 cup short-grain rice, arborio or carnaroli for example
1 cup white wine (or pink wine)
2 cups (or more) stock, water or other flavorful liquid (dried mushroom soaking liquid, cheese rinds (not wax ones) simmered in water for a half hour, half-strength bouillon from Knorr brand cubes, water from cooking vegetables, almost anything) In this case, water from soaking the mushrooms simmered with some bay leaves.

2 cups, loosely packed, chopped fresh spinach or thinnings or young shoots from any garden green, like dandelions, arugula or sorrel (yes, if you don’t use pesticides in your garden, you can absolutely use the dandelions you pull out of the flower beds)
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup grated pecorino romano cheese

Pour the hot water over the mushrooms and allow to soak while you prepare the rest of the ingredients. When they are thoroughly softened, remove them from the liquid, chop them coarsely and set them aside. Strain the soaking liquid, or allow the grit to settle to the bottom.
Heat the stock in a pan adjacent to your risotto pan, you will be ladling from one pot to another almost continuously. It should barely simmer.
Cook the bacon over medium heat in a heavy, nonreactive pot, like copper lined with tin or stainless steel or enameled cast iron. Aluminum may darken the risotto. When it begins to crisp, add the onion and sweat, stirring frequently. Sweating means to cook without browning, so keep your eye on it, you want to cook the onions until they are just softened. Season onion with salt and pepper. Add the rice and stir well. When the liquid from the onions has evaporated, the rice will begin to brown, stir frequently and listen for the rice to begin to whistle. No, I’m not kidding. When the natural moisture in the endosperm of the rice breaks out it will make a little whistling noise. This means the rice grains are getting in the mood.
After the rice has been whistling for a minute or so, add the wine all at once. When wine is mostly evaporated, add half the mushroom soaking liquid. Stir it in well and adjust heat so that the mixture bubbles excitedly but not vigorously while you stir. From this point on, the risotto must be stirred regularly. Stir, and stir with a purpose, scraping the bottom and corners to avoid the risotto scorching. When there is just barely enough stock in the pan to keep all the rice submerged, add the rest of the liquid and the reserved mushrooms. Again, when that liquid is almost gone, add a half cup of stock and continue stirring, adding stock every few minutes as needed. Meanwhile season the risotto with salt and pepper.
In about eight minutes (or longer, depending on your rice), start tasting a grain or two of rice to determine its consistency. Much like pasta, the rice should be neither crunchy nor mushy, and that last little white pearl of starch should remain inside the rice. This is not fluffy white rice with a stir fry, don’t expect it to be. This whole process will take from 15-20 minutes, depending on heat, rice and humidity. When the rice is almost there, add spinach to heat through and season with some nutmeg. When the spinach is wilted, adjust the seasoning with salt, pepper and nutmeg. When you believe it to be thrirty seconds from being done, add the butter and cheese and stir thoroughly. Add stock to adjust the consistency to your liking and serve immediately. It’s not as urgent as it is with pasta, but don’t wait around. Get everybody sitting down before you add the cheese.

We drank this with one of many refreshing but unremarkable pink wines that we drink so much of this time of year. The Chateau D’acqueria Tavel is ubiquitous and good, the Tin Roof Pinot Noir Pink is really nice, and I had an Umbrian pink the other day that was great, but I forget the name of the producer (but it had Umbria in the name, like Azienda Umbria or something, although it wasn’t that). This time of year, I’ll try anything pink that’s under ten bucks. Ha ha ha.

Listening: NPR: national. public. radio.

What do this spinach and arugula have in common? Yes, they are both organic. There’s something else. Yes, they’re both green, duh. Yes, they’re both grown in California. But you know what else? I grew them both.

Whoa.

I have often said that time and distance are reflected in the food we eat, so something flown in from Chile last week will never be as good as something picked yesterday on the local farm. Well, try picking the salad on your way inside from work. I’m not saying it was the best arugula I’ve ever tasted, but I will say that it had a taste and a vibrancy unlike anything else one can eat. Even a tomato eaten warm from the sun- one of the best things you can do with clothes on- as beautiful and explosive as that experience is- and it is- there is an urgent greenness inherent to salads and herbs this fresh that eclipse even the sacred tomato.

So I called up some of the crew and had them over to try it, and to help clean out the fridge from earlier in the week. The cupboard was relatively bare, but here’s what I came up with:

Bruschetta with Ricotta Salata and Oregano- that’s the recipe, essentially. Toast some bread with olive oil on both sides in the oven, grate over ricotta salata and sprinkle with chopped oregano- preferably from the garden.

Arugula (and spinach) Salad with Eureka Lemon Segments (god I love lemon segments in a salad)

Fava and Tuma Ravioli from Easter with sage butter… guess where the sage came from

Apple Tart- courtesy of Laura

I also had guacamole and chips out. Fresh fresh fresh guacamole and blue corn chips, THAT is MFing snack food. Boo-YA.

Listening: A soundstage. Oh jeez.