chickpea & purslane salad

So I guess you could say I’m on this kick of trying green things I’ve never heard of (see fiddlehead ferns). Maybe it’s some post-graduation void I’m trying to fill, some thirst for adventure that I’m finding hard to satisfy within this town that is home, yes, but oh so familiar. Who knows why, but last week I took home another strange plant from the Co-Op produce aisle.

Purslane. No, I’m not mispronouncing parsley. Or saying “porcelain” in some horribly nasal Midwest accent. Purslane is a plant in the succulent family (as in cacti — crazy, right?) with small, smooth, paddle-shaped leaves and a reddish stem. It has a mild taste. Fresh. Just crunchy enough. And just interesting enough to not overwhelm but complement a chopped salad of simple but loveable veggies.

Gorgeous, right? Here’s the part you won’t believe: in the U.S., we consider this delicate green lovely a weed. How we got this idea into our minds, I’m not sure, but we seem to be largely alone in our delusion. This plant is put to tasty culinary use across Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and Mexico. Time for America to get its purslane act together.

And here’s the other part you won’t believe: purslane contains more omega-3 fatty acids than any other leafy vegetable plant. Omega-3: that much sought after, super essential, super healthful star of foods like fish and walnuts. Here we’ve got this delicious veggie bursting with the stuff and we continue to call it a weed! Tsk tsk. Read on to help save purslane’s tarnished American reputation.

chickpea & purslane salad

1 bunch of purslane, chopped
1 can chickpeas
1 roma tomato, chopped
1/2 red onion, chopped
1 small cucumber, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
juice of 1 lemon
salt & pepper

Okay, this salad is super simple. Start by chopping everything. I liked to keep things nice and small and uniform.

Drain your chickpeas and combine in a large bowl with chopped veggies. Add lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. And that’s all. And it’s fresh. And totally tasty. Spot some purslane at the market or in the store? Make sure you grab some. You won’t regret it!

foraging for ferns

Previously on the Sprout Diaries, I shared my first-ever experience with fiddlehead ferns. What’s really wild about these edible earthy swirls is that, with the right timing and the right knowledge, you can wander out into the woods and pick some for yourself! Unfortunately, I realized this too late in the season to do my own gathering. However, I did have the opportunity to learn a thing or two about ferns from a true fern expert. Last week, I followed Anthony’s dad around the arboretum he tends to in Kalamazoo, MI, and gained a greater appreciation for those tasty treats called fiddleheads.

According to Mr. Chase, Michigan’s ferns unfurled early this spring. Thankfully, we were still able to spot a couple fronds young enough to demonstrate how a fiddlehead gets its spiral shape.

The fiddleheads sold in markets come exclusively from the ostrich fern, which grows in a fountain-like formation (not unlike ostrich tail feathers) in woods all over the Great Lakes state. Eating the young of other varieties of ferns is very dangerous as they can be harmful to humans. Still, one can marvel at the rich variety of fern types by feasting with the eyes and not the stomach. Mr. Chase effortlessly identified twelve-or-so species growing in Briarwood Arboretum’s Fern Garden. Pictured below from left to right: Braken Fern, Sensitive Fern, Japanese Painted Fern, Tongue Fern (love the appropriateness of this name), Royal Fern, and Maidenhair Fern.

The Arboretum had other wonders to share, too, besides the ferns. Did you know ginger root grows natively in Michigan soil? You can identify the plant by its beautiful (and very geometric) russet-red flower.

We also saw a paw paw tree (still in its flowering stage!) and a lovely lake.

Thank you, Mr. Chase, for sharing your fern wisdom!

the funny fiddlehead fern

Have you ever seen a fiddlehead fern? Spotted them, maybe, at the market or in your natural foods grocery store? Perhaps you’re one of those people I admire who has eaten them and who knows they are simply very young ostrich ferns, foraged in spring before getting a chance to unfurl their fronds. When I first stocked fiddlehead ferns at the People’s Food Co-op a couple weeks ago I was, to quote F. Scott Fitzgerald, “simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of (plant) life.” They look like little green aliens. They look like headless snails. They look like the Incredible Hulk’s cochlea. But guess what? They are food. Tasty food, too.

Shamefully, I’m bringing you this recipe a couple weeks too late. Most if not all the ferns in our Michigan woods have reached maturity by this point and you’d be hard pressed to find these little treasures in stores. Please accept my apologies for my tardiness and keep the little guys in mind next April!

sauted fiddlehead ferns with lemon
Adapted from Norma’s Journal

a big handful of fiddlehead ferns
1 tablespoon of butter
juice of 1 lemon
salt and pepper

Wash your fiddleheads well and trim the tails.

Boil for about 5 minutes and drain. Note: the fiddleheads gave off a very interesting smell as they boiled. Some might call it loamy. Others might call it swamp-like. I thought it smelled of the earth and loved it. You decide.

Heat butter in a pan and add fiddleheads. Saute for a minute or two.

Transfer to your serving bowl. Toss with lemon juice (I didn’t use all the juice in my lemon; as my mother would say, use your nursing judgement).

Add salt and pepper and serve warm. These fiddleheads provided an interesting and conversation-sparking side dish to the pot pie shared with my siblings. We agreed they tasted like a mild hybrid of asparagus and artichokes, not nearly as alien a taste as their appearance would suggest. If you’re so lucky to spot some late-season stragglers  at the market, pick ‘em up and give them a go!

Special thanks to Mary Lew and Lisa for suggesting I do a post on fiddleheads!

spring vegetable pot pie

Spring can be sunshine and sundresses and walks through Ann Arbor’s peony garden. Spring can also be rainy and dreary and what-the-heck-I-thought-it-was-May. On days like the latter, you may want to cook up a pot pie to warm up your insides and pass the time while you wait for the sun to reappear. This pot pie acknowledges the season with fresh asparagus and leeks while providing rainy day comfort with sweet potatoes and a couple of yukons. Grated ginger and a generous amount of creamy ricotta sets this pot pie apart from what is otherwise stereotyped as a rather humdrum entree. We start, as always, with some beautiful veggies.

spring vegetable pot pie
Adapted from What’s for Lunch, Honey?

1 package puff pastry
2 leeks,  thinly sliced
6-8 asparagus, cut on the diagonal
3-4 carrots, sliced
1 sweet potato, diced
2 small yukon gold potatoes
about 1 cup ricotta cheese
1 teaspoon ginger, minced
3 garlic coves, minced
1 small onion, finely chopped
15-20 peppercorns
salt and pepper
a little dried oregano and thyme
2-4 tablespoons vegetable stock
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 egg
1 teaspoon cream or milk

Preheat oven to 300 F. If you’re using frozen puff pastry, make sure you’re letting it thaw in the refrigerator well before you start cooking.

So we’ve got some vegetable prep before us. Start by blanching the asparagus. Wash, trim and chop the spears while boiling a pot of water. Toss in the asparagus for one minute then drain and set on a bowl of ice to stop the cooking. This will help the veggie retain a bright spring green complexion.

Chop chop chop! Your potatoes first, as you’ll have to cook them too. I steamed them in the microwave, though there’s probably a better way to do this. Place the potatoes in a bowl with a little water and microwave for 5-7 minutes, or until soft but still a little crunchy.

Chop your leeks, your onions, and your carrots, too. Might as well mince the garlic and ginger, as well. Whew!

Add a little olive oil to a big pan and start by sauteing the onion, garlic and ginger until the onion is translucent. Add the carrots and saute a little more.

Throw in the potatoes, asparagus, leeks and peppercorns. Add a little salt and pepper and whatever other herbs (oregano and thyme, perhaps?) suit your fancy. Remove from heat and stir in the ricotta. If you like your pot pie filling a little juicier (I do) add some of the vegetable stock at this point.

This next part is a little bit determined by the hardware on hand. If you have good-sized ramekins for making individual pot pies, I am 1) jealous and 2) certain you could make about four adorable servings. If you’ve got a 9×9 dish, that will work. If you have a deep circular dish like I found in our chaotic pots and pans cupboard, that’ll work too.

After lightly oiling my dish, I divided the puff pastry in half and lined the bottom of the dish with dough. Next, I added the filling. Finally, I carefully (but imperfectly) covered the top with the other half of pastry.

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and cream. Give the top of the pastry a nice egg wash to make it golden as it cooks. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until it looks totally scrumptious.

Anthony helped me make this for Annie and Andrew. We served it with a green salad (greens, cucumber, scallions, red pepper, feta, walnuts) and some zany-looking fiddlehead ferns (recipe coming soon!). Between the four of us, the pot pie disappeared pretty quickly, and we still had room for Anthony’s layered mango cake.

Happy spring and happy spring eating!

pomp & circumstance

Well, it’s been a while!

During my unintended hiatus from the blogosphere, some important events have taken place: the month of May has dawned quite gracefully, asparagus and rhubarb season has arrived full force, France got a new president, and I’ve become an alumna of the University of Michigan. Yes, on April 28, I donned the ol’ cap and gown and took my place among the college grads of the world. (Michigan’s Big House alone sent off about 10,000 that day!)

The best part about April 28 was undoubtedly the Residential College ceremony, during which each of us 80-or-so RC seniors took the stage for a full minute to do, say, sing or dance whatever kind of message we wished to share with our families, teachers, and peers. Posted below is the short piece I wrote and read for my 60-second stint:

“Class of 2012:

You are seeing everything for the last time, and everything you see is gilded with goodbyes. The buildings that were the background of your world for the past four years. The barista who made your coffee. The man on the corner who asked you for change; the preacher on the corner who begged you to change. That table in the cafeteria. That bench in the courtyard. That person next to you without whom you could not have survived the limbo between child and adult, or become who you are at this moment. Today is the last day. All the unspoken words if you do not speak them today will never be spoken. All the life within you, if you do not live it today will never be lived.

But it also the first day: of real life, of next steps, of the future you always knew would come. So what’s to be done on this day, the last and the first?

Only be alive in every moment of the day.

Thank you family, thank you friends, thank you Residential College for teaching me how to be alive in every moment.”

Stay tuned, folks. I aim to make up for the recent Diaries drought with some exciting springy recipes over the next couple of weeks!

radish, asparagus & blueberry salad

My absolute favorite blogger, Joy the Baker, reminded me last week that inspiration matters, and that as a food blogger I should share what inspires me with my dear readers. So here goes: the tale of how a slow morning at work gave birth to the salad of my dreams.

In the beginning, there was a local, pesticide-free spring mix from Needle Lane Farms (in Tipton, Michigan):

As a produce stocker at People’s Food Co-op for over a year now, I’ve packaged this lovely spring mix countless times and have always admired it (who wouldn’t?). This past Saturday morning, I decided it was time to make the spring mix mine. I’ll admit I spent a good three hours of my workday dreaming up which salad accessories would be worthy of these greens. And I’ll also admit, I’m pretty pleased with the results.

radish, asparagus & blueberry salad
makes 2 large salads

a few big handfuls of spring mix
6-7 spears of asparagus
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
salt & pepper
1 bunch of radishes, sliced into thin coins
blueberries
sunflower seeds
shredded parmesan cheese

buttermilk herb vinaigrette

1/4 cup buttermilk
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
salt & pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon oregano

Make the vinaigrette ahead of time and chill in the refrigerator for at least hour. Simply combine all the ingredients and whisk till well-blended. Depending on how creamy you like your dressing, add more or less buttermilk.

Preheat the oven to 400 F. On a baking sheet, drizzle asparagus (washed and trimmed, of course) with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast for 10 or so minutes, or until desired roasted-ness. Once cool, slice into one-inch pieces on a diagonal (for the fanciness factor).

Note: you may want to toast the sunflower seeds. Once the asparagus is done, throw the seeds on the same pan and put back in the oven for 3-4 minutes. Be careful. You don’t want these babies to burn!

Slice the radishes. Wash the blueberries. Yada yada.

Wash the spring mix and divide between two plates. Add the asparagus, radish coins, blueberries, and sunflower seeds, and sprinkle with cheese. Drizzle with buttermilk herb vinaigrette. Dive in. Be inspired.

I shared this pretty salad with Anthony who claimed–despite disliking radish, asparagus, and blueberries–to thoroughly enjoy it. As suspicious as this sounds, I think he told the truth (he cleaned the plate!). Moral of the story: find a loved one, make a loved salad. Maybe it won’t look like mine; most likely it won’t. But it will mark a moment that is special and important and delicious, and that is worth getting inspired for.

springtime orzo salad

Because this orzo salad brings together a trio of delightful spring vegetables (radish, snap peas, and green peas), I wanted to begin with a few lines of springtime poetry, perhaps a nice Mary Oliver or a pensive Robert Frost. But unfortunately, the poetry class I’ve taken this semester on W.B. Yeats, T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound has the verse part of my brain consumed wholly with the work of these three gentlemen. All three are geniuses, of course, but they don’t always (or ever) deliver the flowery, sunshine rhymes one wants in April.

Alas, all I can think of is the opening lines of Eliot’s “The Wasteland”:

“April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.”

Beautiful, disturbing, and not at all related to orzo. Oh well. On to the good stuff.

springtime orzo salad
Adapted from Running with Tweezers

1 cup orzo, uncooked
14 or so ounces plain Greek yogurt
zest of 1 lemon
1 bunch fresh chives, chopped
1 bunch of radishes, washed, trimmed of leaves and sliced into thin coins
1 cup frozen peas
1 cup sugar snap peas, cut in half
salt & pepper to taste

Okay, so instructions for this dish are pretty simple. First cook the orzo to a state of al dente-ish (8-9 minutes worked for me). Two minutes before the orzo’s done cooking, throw in the frozen peas. Drain and let cool.

In a medium bowl, combine lemon zest, chives and yogurt. Add orzo and toss to coat.

Mix in radishes and snap peas. Salt and pepper to taste. Best served chilled or at room temperature.

This amount serves about eight as a side dish. Crunchy, creamy, chewy, and (are you tired of this word yet?) springy, the dish did well on our Easter Sunday table. As always, let me know if you give it a go!