(Green) Coriander?

Yes, green coriander, and I'm not talking about cilantro, the first stage of the Coriandrum sativum plant. Cilantro is quite common and pops up in a variety of cuisines, in the fresh bunch of herbs accompanying Vietnamese dishes, chopped into a stellar guacamole, as garnish for a salad and so on. Coriander, which is less commonly known, is the later stage of the same plant, after the leafy cilantro turns yellow and the plant develops seeds.

Since D. planted coriander in the garden I was able to follow the entire life cycle of the plant, which meant for me...the discovery of green coriander. You can't find fresh coriander seeds in the market, due to the short lifespan of the fresh seeds so it was a novel experience for me. Even on the plant, the seeds quickly dry into a nutty, brown striped seed that is typically ground into powder.

After checking online to make sure that the green seeds are not poisonous (doubtful, but D. wanted to be sure), I popped one between my molars and it erupted in a bright, tangy spray of flavor. It was a shocking discovery, combining the freshness of cilantro and the mellow toasty warmth of dry coriander. I'm absolutely hooked. We played around with different uses for this new secret ingredient, my favorite was lightly grinding it in a mortar and pestle with oil-packed anchovies and mixing it with olive oil as a savory dip for bread. The saltiness of the fish was balanced by the sharpness of the seeds' green flavor. We also pickled a cucumber with whole garlic and some blanched green beans from the garden in a spice combination of dill flowers, green coriander seeds, salt, sugar, and vinegar. It makes a great side to a sandwich. (Or for snacking on before making the sandwich when I'm starving).

I started writing this post a week ago and was distracted from finishing. In that time, the green coriander has pretty much disappeared. D. has tied up a large bunch of the seeds to dry under the back porch and the seeds are drying out nicely.

Chilled Zuke Soup

It's hard to fully appreciate the prolific nature of zucchini until you actually grow a plant or two for yourself. Starting from the beginning of summer and still continuing strong, our two plants produce nearly a squash a day. The life cycle of the vegetable is incredible to witness - wake up to gigantic blossoms in the early morning and come home to small budding squash that same afternoon. The question reemerges time and time again, what to do with nature's bounty?

The summer days are finally beginning to heat up, much to the tomatoes' delight. Recently, after sweating out an afternoon of weeding and planting in the garden, my mind was focused on a cool, light zucchini soup that had caught my eye in a Food and Wine article. The recipe by Alain Coumont uses fresh vegetables and herbs to create a simple and visually stunning, chilled soup. I was delighted to find that all the ingredients except for an onion could be gathered straight from the garden including one gigantic zucchini D. had allowed to grow to a monstrous size.

I picked arugula flowers, mesclun, cherry tomatoes, and shaved some remaining zuke to recreate Coumont's elegant garnish. It was a refreshing meal for a summer evening, followed next time perhaps by a slice of zucchini bread.

The Thriving Garden in Summertime

Organic, Pear-sized Figs

There are many legendary spots around town I've yet to visit as a Berkeley student (and am constantly teased about this by a particular friend). The Rose Garden and Botanical Gardens are still on my list, but I finally managed to hike my way up to the "big C."

Over the weekend I was able to check off another destination from my list when L. brought D. and I to the Student Organic Garden. From outside the fence overgrown with vegetation it's hard to make out the garden. However once inside, we faced a rambling overgrowth of heavy sunflowers drooping with half-eaten seeds, squash beds, blackberry brambles, several strawberry patches, colorful sprays of rainbow chard, and a sharp, ubiquitous scent of mint. It was obvious that the whole place needed a bit of upkeep, but it was still managing to produce edibles despite this. Smack in the center of the garden was a stately fig tree, which we naturally migrated towards for shade. I was taken aback when I saw figs budding from the branches like dark green water balloons. They ranged from the size of golf balls to small Barlett pears; I've never seen anything like it. About half the figs were spitting with nectar from their seams and were indescribably sweet, fresh, and perfectly soft. We harvested well over $50 worth of fruit (total head count 84 figs), not including the dozen or so we ate on site.



What to do with such a lovely, unexpected find? I am normally too protective of certain favorite fruits to cook with them - persimmons, figs, peaches, papayas - their flavor, texture, and image are ideally captured as fresh fruit. They're also expensive to experiment with. However having foraged more figs that we could manage to eat fresh, D. suggested I make jam from the overly ripe ones (about a quarter of the harvest). Nothing's easier than mashing figs together with some sugar and a splash of water, a quick boil before simmering for two to three hours until it reaches a thick consistency. I like mine more saucy than jammy so I omitted pectin called for in some recipes. I also added a quarter of a vanilla bean in towards the end for good measure. Some recipes call for cinnamon and / or a touch of lemon juice if desired, but I wanted to maintain the purest fig flavor possible.



The next morning I enjoyed a breakfast of plain yogurt topped with crumbles of soft chèvre and a few teaspoons of the fig sauce. I experienced the figs on a whole new level with this combination. The tangy chèvre was enhanced by the condensed sweetness of the figs and its small chunks contrasted with the creaminess of the yogurt. I made a second serving after finishing one small bowl and decided to have this dish for dessert later on in the week.

Other plans for the remaining figs:
- Crusty bread smeared with goat cheese and topped with fresh figs
- Goat cheese tart baked with halved figs
- Fromage blanc bavarian cake with fig sauce - recipe from the Tartine Cookbook

Fruit Tree Lane

Early summer reveals all sorts of growing wonders. On a one mile jog down one of the quiet avenues in my neighborhood, it has become clear that the landscaper in charge of this stretch of road had a fondness for fruit trees in public spaces. A scattering of loquat, apples, pears, and a variety of small plums can be found in a bee-line path bordering the road. Aside from providing shade and a return-to-nature feel, these trees offer ripening orbs of sweet and tart fruits available for the taking. The satisfaction of plucking fresh plums, deep purple, bright yellow, or light green, trumps buying any produce in a market, never mind their slight mushy imperfection or irregular shapes.

(Hunter)-GATHERER
Urban foraging has gained popularity amongst chefs and community members. This article from the New York times describes how the phenomenon has taken off.

Foraging is fairly straightforward. A set of rules describing what is public versus private domain set the guidelines for what falls within the playing field. Mostly even when the foragers are "caught" snitching from privately owned trees whose fruit happens to hang over publicly shared space, most owners are more than happy to contribute their bounty once the foragers' mission is announced.

Other websites have emerged to facilitate the exchange of home-grown fruit. Neighborhood Fruit is a community organizing website that allows people to register their fruit trees on their site and enable other members to find donated fruit in their area by variety and quantity.

PASTORALIST
A few weeks ago, I pulled the first of 98 carrots from its patch in the garden. It was a premature harvesting but delightful in every way nonetheless. This was soon followed by a tightly woven, gorgeous monster of a cabbage, zucchinis whose delicate flowers have slowly ballooned into deep green squash, a few precious strawberries protected from slugs...the garden was transforming with the arrival of warmer weather.



Many others before me have described the elation of planting their own vegetable garden and harvesting from it. I'm not merely talking about small windowsill herb planters (I've kept several), this is my first real garden complete with aligned planting rows and tomato bushes with upside down hoop-skirt supports. My mom's green thumb and knack for keeping most plants healthy and beautiful never took much interest in growing edible things. However only the sower of the carrot seed can best understand the satisfaction of dislodging a mangled, stunted root from the dirt behind his or her dwelling. (The carrots had developed into a mystery patch of artistic sculptures, a casualty of transplanting rather than sowing directly into the ground; you never know what life form you're going to pull up next). What first began as an interest in the produce I bought to cook my meals, developed into a curiosity about the background of these ingredients, urged me into the back kitchens of a restaurant committed to supporting local farmers (including a woman who had raised a pig in her Bay Area backyard), and has most lately left me digging my fingers into the dirt to nurture my own plants.


(Crossing her legs)

The journey is cyclical and unending, always spurred by curiosity. Curiosity in a new ingredient, where it is grown, how it is grown and how it can be prepared. One thing I've come to realize is that the snails and caterpillars who nibble on my mesclun have got it right, this stuff is damn tasty.

Indian Beans: Returning to the Kitchen (& Recipe)

The wonderful thing about coming home after being away for a stretch is that you realize the former thread of your "home" life has persisted in very much the same manner as ever before. Things around you are the same, your knife, the shadows in the kitchen, the hum of the water heater; same and yet different. (Different as in the nonstick saute pan that was mistreated as a cutting board!!) One thing remains wholly unchanged, I have been back in the kitchen daily since returning.

One of my first market trips upon returning home was to an unexplored gem recommended to me by a friend who had recently discovered its bounty. Monterey Market sits on a corner of Hopkins and Monterey in North Berkeley. The small market reminisces of what Berkeley Bowl on the south side of town might have been a few decades back; quaint, pleasantly quiet, a gentler pace of life. Both markets stock an impressive display of fresh fruits and veggies in varieties unheard of, as well as a fair selection of dry goods. Their philosophy of creating a community oriented exchange between local farmers and consumers felt unpretentious and really followed through for me at Monterey Market. The prices are also hard to beat - $1.79 per pound for Ranier and Bing Cherries!



BEANS BEANS!
Towards the end of the excursion I happened across some beautifully toasty looking dried beans in a sack labeled "Indian Beans." A pound or so of these rattled home with me as my companion and I plotted the best uses for them. Unsurprisingly (yet also unappetizing to hear) most of the beans you buy from the store, the pre-bagged mundane pinto, black, and kidney varieties, are ten years old or more on average. It seems though they've truly squatted out their existence without expiration on the shelf. It became clear to me with my deeply tanned beauties in hand that a host of other exquisite and intriguing choices eagerly await discovery.

From our one pound purchase we have so far produced:
- a version of rice and daal (lentils) with Indian spices, saffron rice, and fried scallions
- slow-cooked bbq beans with smoked pork shoulder, onions, and a sweet vinegar base
- 15 bean plants (an impatient peek under the soil revealed that 6 have sprouted)
A little goes a long way. About a third of the beans await a future use.



FOR THE GREEN THUMBS OUT THERE
Growing a few bean plants really could not be an easier, more rewarding feat (Discounting your future struggle with the deer who also love your bean plants). Simply bury the dry beans under an inch or so of moist soil in a pot and wait a few weeks for the seeds to sprout through the dirt. After your saplings have grown to 4-6 inches, transplant them to the ground along a fence or some stakes to allow the vines to crawl up. (Mid-late spring to early summer)



THE RECIPE
Spiced Rice & Indian Beans
(2 servings with leftovers)
Rice:
- 1C Basmati or Jasmine long grained rice, rinsed
- 1 1/4C water or broth
- 1 tsp olive oil
- few saffron threads
- bay leaf
- salt
- 1/4 tsp turmeric
- few shakes of cayenne
- few shakes of smoked paprika
*spice amounts are very flexible according to your preferences, experiment - add, subtract, omit, create

Fried Scallions:
- 1 scallion chopped into ringlets
- flour for dusting
- canola oil, for frying (reserve the oil)
- salt

Beans:
- 1/3 lb dried beans, pre-soaked overnight or at least a few hours
- olive oil
- 1/4 onion, med-fine chop
- garlic powder
- scallion oil (from fried scallions above)
- salt

1) Add all rice ingredients to a rice cooker, stir and cook according to machine directions; fluff with a fork afterwards
- OR add all ingredients to a pot and cover, bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer for 15-25 min until rice is tender
- salt to taste
2) Using a sieve, coat scallion rings with flour
- heat up oil about 1/8" deep in a small pan (test with a piece of scallion, if it begins to sizzle and bubble the oil is hot enough
- fry scallions in the oil until golden
- strain out scallions and drain on paper towels, lightly salt immediately
- reserve scallion oil for the beans
3) Drain the beans
- heat up olive oil in a saute pan
- add onions, saute until translucent but still slightly crunchy ~ 5 min
- season with garlic powder, salt, and a small amount of scallion oil (~1/2 tsp)
- mix in the beans and then spread into a single flat layer over the pan
- without stirring, allow the beans and onions to caramelize and develop crusty brown edges ~ 5-7min
- stir gently and redistribute in a single layer to allow the other sides to caramelize
4) Remove from heat
- gently mix in the rice
- top with fried scallions

* I paired this dish with Indian-spiced roasted game hen - rub a whole bird with a ground spice mix of cardamom, garam masala, coriander, sea salt, cumin seed, cayenne, a touch of cinnamon. Cover with plain yogurt (~ 1.5 C) and marinate for 30 min to an hour. Roast in a 450F preheated oven for 45-50 min, turning halfway.