Winter Greens

Efficiency in the garden is a subject I think a lot about through the winter. The ideal is a perfectly tended set of beds that rarely, if ever, lies fallow and is always producing something edible. This ideal seems so simple while leafing through the garden books and catalogues tucked away in a warm corner chair. My well intentioned seasons in the garden end up as haphazard as planned, but at least there is a plan. The plan at the moment involves trying out winter greens so that next January there will be leafy crunchy things to pick out of the snow and put in a pot for dinner. Winter greens have never really made it onto my table though, so the past couple months we've been trying them out to see which is tastiest. The winner is kale.

Collard greens, mustard greens and kale both belong to the "cabbage" family, the Brassica genus, which includes broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and cabbage. Kale has the classic blue-green leaves of cabbages, and was actually a staple of the common European diet until the middle ages when the more tender and compact cabbage was bred. The richly dark and frilly leaves of kale are stunningly nutritious, with high levels of Vitamin A and C, and calcium. It is widely available in a variety of markets and often the crispest looking green around in January.

Cooking kale is outrageously simple. Remove washed leaves from the tough stems and toss in a pot with about half an inch of lightly salted boiling water then cover and steam for 10 to 15 minutes. The greens wilt down a little like spinach, but there is a hearty flavor and backbone left to the kale. I was expecting a bitter flavor, which I found in the mustard greens we tried, but was surprised just how tasty and tender the kale was. Although most cookbooks I referenced were largely silent on the subject of cooking greens, collards and kale, the cooking times I found varied widely, up to an hour in some recipes. Starting at the minimum of 10 with my first batch of kale, I liked it so much I did not try any longer cooking. It strikes me that kale leaves chopped would be a lovely addition to rustic winter soups and would stand up well to an extended simmer.

Delivered Temptations

The catalogues have begun arriving again. I mean, of course, the seed catalogues, those visions of wonder and delight wherein every page is a summer day in a perfect garden. Temptation begins in early January and continues until May. They are such a joy to browse through as the wind shakes the downspouts and the cold really takes hold outside. It is easy to slip into the fantasy of the catalogue photos, stepping into a garden where seeds always sprout easily and there is always time to feed and water when needed. These tender shoots never suffer destruction by rabbit or insect and there is a big and beautiful crop unblighted by armies of unknown bugs.

This year I'm debating whether to try a new lettuce or a kale. Lingering over the tomatoes makes me think it might be time to try one of the yellow heirloom varieties; Pineapple, Persimmon or Gold Medal. They promise to be intriguely sweet with a rich flavor. These pictures of gorgeous red fruits lead to daydreams of fresh salsa, tomato salad, tomato sandwiches, and stewed tomatoes. In these pages I forget for a moment that last year was my worst tomato crop ever because each and every perfect tomato was tested by a squirrel first. After watching them for weeks ripening from green to red I would come out to discover the horror of tomatoes with weeping, insect covered ragged holes. Ah, but that was last year. As more catalogues come the disappointments fade and hope for the new season returns. After all, the tomatoes salvaged were wonderful.

New Year's Eve

After the excited rush and colorful bustle leading up to Christmas, the final week of the year is a dull stretch. Once all the presents have been opened and the holiday feast is over, a disappointment sets in. Suddenly all the best cookies are gone, the greens are looking dry and tired, and we all just want the new year to begin already. There is a weariness palpable in the people in this last week, as if these days were the last days of a punishment. It has reminded me of how winter can feel for the gardener sometimes, like something to be endured with a resigned sigh.

As the year fritters down to it's last hours I usually give some thought to how the year has been, what has happened that I'm proud of and what I'd like to avoid repeating. In the next couple weeks I'll begin doing the same thing for the garden as the new catalogues with all their lovely temptations slip into my mailbox. But for the moment, it is time to relax, reflect and savor the year that has been.

Happy New Year!

The White Carrot

A cousin to the carrot, parsnips are a vegetable that is often overlooked by gardeners and chefs alike. They are as easy to grow as carrots, only needing some extra time in the ground to get a good frost to sweeten them up. I planted my seeds in the summer along with the carrots and have left them in the safety of the vegetable bed, pulling up a half dozen good sized ones every week or so for dinner. It is a shame the sweet and earthy savor of this root is enjoyed by so few. They can be a little heavy on the calories, but that may have something to do with them being so delicious with a blanket of butter and cream. They tend to be very bulbous on top tapering to long and thin which can make it challenging to cut them into uniform size for cooking.

Parsnips with cream

6-8 parsnips
1/2 cup chicken stock or water
1-2 T Butter
1-2 T Cream
salt and pepper to taste

Peel and chop parsnips into approximately 2" lengths. In a pot over medium high heat, place parsnips the stock or water. Bring to a boil then reduce heat, cover and and let simmer for about 10 minutes or until tender when pierced with a fork. Drain off liquid. Add butter, cream, salt and pepper then return to a very low heat for a minute or two just to warm the cream. Stir and serve with well flavored meat,
poultry or fish.

An Apple a Day

One day, I'd like to live in the country and have a vegetable garden bigger than the two modest 4' x 4' raised beds and long, thin asparagus bed that I now tend in our little suburban yard. This future garden will be big enough to grow all the things that won't fit now, the space hogs, the sprawling vines and all those things I'd like to try because I've never tried to grow them before. Somewhere by the garden an orchard will fan out over a hill, lines of fruit trees that turn to a blizzard of white and pink in the spring. I will have apples.

Apples are fruits that speak of autumn, heaping baskets of greens, golds, and reds capture the colors of the trees as they turn and hold them for us to contemplate through the winter. Apple cider is a distillation of the crisp and snap of chilly days. Also a comfort from the cold, heated and spiced cider warms you on a bitter night like nothing else, except perhaps for a roaring fire, a soft, thick blanket and a couple cats.

In the fall and winter I usually eat an apple a day. This year I'm spending time getting to know apples and other fruits and vegetables that I know of but never come across in the supermarket. Apples are in high season at the farmers market. Early in the season, I tried a couple Ginger Gold apples, a pale yellow skin blanketed a spicy and delicately sweet fruit. They only appeared for a week or two and as soon as I tried them, they were gone.

Winesap, Honeycrisp, Pink Lady and Stayman apples are some I've recently sampled. This week I plan on trying some Mutsu apples, their bright green skins reminding me of tart Granny Smiths. Granny Smith apples are my favorites to use when baking and my favorite treat to make I stumbled on years ago in The German Cookbook: A Complete Guide to Mastering Authentic German Cooking by Mimi Sheraton. Using Pumpernickel bread crumbs adds a heavenly richness to the tang of the apples.

Apple and Black Bread Pudding

For making crumbs out of a moist and chewy bread, toast and cool 6 to 8 slices of pumpernickel then run through a food processor using the chopping blade until you get fine crumbs.

1/2 cup raisins
4 T dark rum
1 1/2 cups pumpernickel bread crumbs
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
6 T butter (4 T melted butter & 2 T butter to dot top)
4 or 5 tart cooking apples
1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 1 1/2 quart souffle or pudding dish. Soak raisins in rum for about 20 minutes. Peel, core and slice apples lengthwise, making slices about 1/4" thick. Mix breadcrumbs with sugar and cinnamon, then sprinkle with rum that has been drained off raisins and melted butter. Stir well, adding a couple drops of water if necessary to make a mixture as moist as wet sand.

Place about a third of the breadcrumb mixture in greased baking dish, followed by half of the apples. Sprinkle with half the raisins and nuts if you are using them. Add another layer of breadcrumbs, apples, raisins and nuts, topping with everything with the remaining crumbs. Dot well with butter. Bake about 30 minutes or until apples are tender and crumb topping is crisp and brown.

Enjoy warm with vanilla ice cream. Makes a stunning side for roast pork.

The Groaning Board

Another Thanksgiving, the great American feast, has come and gone again. Last year we got together with friends, each bringing a dish to a scenic house in the woods with a roaring fire. This year we had a nice little one at home, a turkey roasted with herbs fresh from the garden. My garden isn't large enough to provide much more than herbs and carrots for the table on turkey day. I have to visit the greater garden of the farmer's market and even the grocery store. Now that the leftovers are stored and dishes washed I have some time to share a few of my thoughts from this last week about feasting and what it has meant to humans through the ages.

The myth of the first Thanksgiving is as deeply ingrained in our culture as the myth surrounding those colonists who found their way to Plymouth, Massachusetts. For the pilgrims a day of thanksgiving meant giving thanks to god, usually through fasting and prayer, only rarely followed by a feast. After the colonies of New England grew, public holidays or days of thanksgiving were declared in honor of battle victories, those back home across the sea and those won against Native Americans. What is often taken as the first thanksgiving was part of a period of peaceful gestures by one tribe of Native Americans seeking an alliance with the early settlers, sharing food in the spirit of peace and a demonstration of goodwill towards new friends. It is an ancient action full of grace and hope, symbolic of bringing together new members of a family by sharing a meal. This generous spirit is what we tend to focus on today when we gather around a heaped and groaning table in late November.

But our modern Thanksgiving is more than a modest and symbolic meal, the volume of food on the table and the late fall timing always make me think of pagan harvest festivals. I think of other feasts too; the rugged Greeks in Homer's Odyssey, slaughtering beeves and offering wine to the gods, the Romans lounging in great halls around tables of decadence, and kings and queens feasting in drafty castles on boar taken from the surrounding forest. There are thousands more, feasts going back further than literature and known history.

Here we are in the twenty-first century gorging on turkey then digesting all afternoon in front of an enormous television, still gathered together for the feast.

Sage Advice

Now that we've finally had a good frost, the garden is looking a little barren. The root vegetables are still safe, sleeping in their dark beds until called in for supper. All those tender green shoots that had been lingering have suddenly withered and shriveled, wiped out overnight by the hard hand of a killing frost. What remains is a sobering scene, dried husks and brown twiggy masses that will remain until spring. Luckily there are still a few survivors, wisps of green which may endure the winter, the hardier herbs: savory, rosemary, thyme, chives and sage.


Herbs are one of my most satisfying gardening experiences. Most common herbs hail from the Mediterranean and will flourish in poor soil and a harsh, dry climate, making them fantastically easy to grow. Most do not grow very large and take well to growing in pots and window boxes. Salvia Officinalis or common sage has a rich history as a culinary and medicinal herb. A must to grow in the cook's garden, its distinctive flavor pairs exceptionally well with fatty meats and poultry. Purple, gold and tricolor sage varieties can make a colorful mix in the garden, but do not vary much in taste. We use sage when grilling pork chops in the summer, but late fall and winter is when sage really takes the main stage in the kitchen. A handful of sage and thyme stuffed in turkey or chicken before roasting makes a deliciously simple center of a meal. Musky sage bunches can add savor to any cut of pork and are essential to sausage. What would Thanksgiving stuffing be without sage?

I love stuffing! Here's one of my takes on a classic:

Cranberry Potato Bread Stuffing

1 Pkg. (12oz.)
Martin's Famous Potatobred Soft Stuffing Cubes (or other bread cubes)
2 T Butter
1-2 cups hot chicken broth
1 cup dried cranberries
1 large yellow onion, chopped (1 1/4c)
4-6 celery stalks, chopped (1 1/4c)
2 tsp fresh sage (1 tsp dried)
1 tsp fresh thyme (1/2 tsp dried)
1 tsp salt (kosher if possible)
1/2 tsp pepper (freshly ground is best)

Soak dried cranberries in 1 cup hot chicken broth for about 15 minutes (while you chop the onions, celery and herbs). Melt butter in a large skillet. Saute onions and celery until translucent and tender, not brown. Add herbs, seasonings, cranberries and soaking broth. Stir, then add bread cubes. You may need a little more broth to moisten bread cubes. Stir over medium heat until well mixed. Let cool before stuffing, will fill a 10-12lb turkey.

Add a second cup of broth for a moist dressing to bake separately in a buttered casserole dish, 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes or until the top begins to brown.