These photos date from July 11, 2009, so I’m a bit off in my date matching (today being the 18th). Early that morning Eduardo, my cousin Natasha’s husband, led us up their neighborhood “hill.” Tom, Ed, and the dogs made it up easily… I huffed and puffed and really wished I hadn’t been wearing hot and sticky blue jeans. This week in Minneapolis that’s a pretty familiar feeling.
I make as much an effort as anyone to feign enthusiasm for ramps, but the real excitement of spring and the produce it brings doesn’t begin for me until I see the first spears of asparagus at the farmers market. Asparagus is a bellwether crop, like the late summer tomato, that signals the arrival of the season. More importantly, asparagus is delicious; while a single bunch of ramps usually satisfies my seasonal curiosity, I’ll keep buying asparagus each week by the several pounds (10# this year so far) until that sad week in June when it disappears from the farmers market for another year. Like the year’s last tomatoes or sweet corn, the departure of asparagus fills me with deep sense of loss — as opposed to, say, kohlrabi, which frankly I could take or leave. And while eating winter squash for five days straight feels like some kind of satanic trial, I could shove asparagus down my throat for days and weeks on end without getting sick of it. And since it’s in season for just a few short weeks, that’s more or less what I do.
When the first stalks of asparagus crop up at the market, I rush them home and into a pot of heavily salted water (I’ve read Thomas Keller recommends blanching vegetables in the equivalent of seawater). The hurry is not simply enthusiasm to finally be eating asparagus again: asparagus, like sweet corn, continues to process its sugars after picking, losing sweetness by the hour post-harvest. Asparagus also gets less sweet as the season goes on as sugars in the rhizome that produces the stalks are depleted (for more information see Harold McGee, On Food and Cooking). You can partially combat this by keeping asparagus cold and hydrated. I’ve been keeping my latest haul in the refrigerator in a vase of water.
But better than storing asparagus is to eat it right away. Boil it so briefly that the stalks are still crisp and green and serve it warm with a generous dollop of lemony homemade mayonnaise. Strict locavores might poo-poo my use of lemon, but there are some pairings in this world that were just meant to be, and asparagus and lemon is one of them (asparagus and eggs is another, so with mayo you get a twofer). This is really the only recipe needed for asparagus all year; I would be happy eating it with breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Speaking of breakfast, asparagus is one of the best vegetables for the morning meal. A quick asparagus frittata or scrambled eggs with asparagus are regular, quick breakfasts during the season. If I’m feeling ambitious enough to make pastry, asparagus is also excellent in quiche. I used Cook’s Illustrated’s Thomas Keller-inspired Deep Quiche Lorraine recipe, but added asparagus in place of the onion.
For the Pastry
For the Filling
Pastry: Process flour and salt in food processor to combine. Add butter and pulse until butter is in pea-sized chunks. Mix sour cream and 1/4 cup water in a small bowl. Add half of mixture to flour and pulse to combine. Repeat with remaining sour cream and water. Add additional water as necessary to hydrate flour.
Turn the dough out onto a floured counter and form it into a six-inch diameter disk. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least one or up to 24 hours.
Cook’s suggests linking a deep cake pan with a foil sling to facilitate removing the quiche later; I had a lot of luck with a spring-form pan. Whatever vessel you use, roll the dough out into a 15-inch diameter circle and place in the pan. Allow the dough to overhang the pan slightly to anchor the sides. Refrigerate the pan for 30 minutes and then freeze it for 20 minutes.
Heat the oven to 375ºF. Line the dough with parchment and fill with pie weights, beans, or loose change. Bake until edges begin to brown, 30–40 minutes. Remove pie weights and return shell to oven until bottom is browned, 15–20 minutes more. Brush baked crust with egg white.
Filling: Cook bacon in a 12-inch skillet until crisp. Remove bacon bits and cook asparagus in bacon fat until browned. Set aside.
Whisk together cornstarch and 3 tablespoons of milk in a large bowl. Add remaining milk, eggs, yolk, cream, and spices and whisk till smooth.
Sprinkle bacon and asparagus on pastry shell. Slowly pour egg mixture over top. Run a fork through the eggs to evenly distribute the bacon and asparagus and remove air bubbles.
Bake at 350ºF for 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours, until center is set and registers 170ºF. Allow to cool to room temperature, remove from pan, and cut into wedges to serve.
If a quiche with more than a cup of cream strikes you as a little rich, you’ll be relieved to know that asparagus also makes a perfect salad ingredient. Thin stalks can be broken, raw, directly into a salad. Even more fun is to take slightly thicker spears of asparagus and — very carefully if you value your fingertips — running them down a mandoline. The resulting asparagus ribbons are beautiful and have a lot of applications, but one of my favorites is to toss them in a salad. For some contrast, I also roasted a few spears of asparagus in a hot oven until they were deeply caramelized — almost burnt — and nearly disintegrated. It is astounding that the two flavors come from the same vegetable: the roasted asparagus is sweet, smoky, and a very soft, while the asparagus ribbons are crisp with a green, grasslike flavor.
Balsamic Vinaigrette:
For the dressing: Mash the garlic with the salt in a medium bowl to form a paste. Add yolk, mustard, and vinegar and whisk to combine. Slowly drizzle in oil, whisking constantly, to form an emulsion. Taste for seasoning and adjust consistency and acidity with additional vinegar.
For the salad: Boil potatoes until nearly done. Cut in half. Toss 1″ pieces of asparagus in oil and roast in 450ºF oven until deeply caramelized, about 30 minutes. Set aside. Toss potato halves in oil and roast, cut side down, until cut side is deep brown.
Toss asparagus ribbons, greens and lettuce with an appropriate amount of the dressing and place in serving bowl. Toss potatoes and roasted asparagus with dressing and arrange over top of the greens. Shave cheese over salad and serve.
Early season asparagus is so sweet and tender that it barely needs to be touched, but as stalks get thicker and starchier more aggressive techniques, like the roasting above or grilling/broiling become useful. If you’re reluctant to introduce delicate spears of asparagus directly to the intense heat of the grill or broiler, you can always wrap them in something – preferably a pork product. I would be letting down the Internet if I didn’t mention that you can wrap asparagus in bacon and grill it. For a subtler pleasure, wrap to-be-grilled asparagus in prosciutto. Not good prosciutto — that should be wrapped raw around spears post-cooking — but lackluster supermarket prosciutto is great for high heat. You don’t need to use any additional fat as the fat in the ham will render out during cooking and coat the asparagus in its porcine glory.
Enough with novel treatments; take a break for some simple asparagus again. A few spears steamed, dipped in cheaters aïoli: jarred mayo, a garlic clove and some lemon juice. Ah, simple pleasures.
By the time I was about half way through the recipes for this post (4# of asparagus later, if you’re counting), this post appeared on Serious Eats. (I promise I had the idea of writing this post well before that particular Food Lab was published!) J. Kenji Lopez-Alt covers a lot of the great preparations for asparagus that I already knew and loved, but also introduced me to a new one: braised asparagus. Following Kenji’s lead, I peeled some of the larger spears I had and sauteed them in a large pat of butter before adding a couple of cubes of frozen chicken stock, covering the pan and letting the asparagus cook well longer than I would if I were interested in preserving green-ness and crispiness.
Braised asparagus is rich and warm, imbued with mature asparagus flavor without the grassy freshness of lighter techniques. A great side dish with simply cooked meat.
There are (hopefully) a few more weeks of asparagus ahead of us, and perhaps the most exciting thing to look forward to in the world of asparagus is the potential combinations with other produce that is just about to come into season. Herbs are already beginning to flourish, radishes must be right around the corner, and spring peas cannot be too far off. The latter combines beautifully with asparagus. Peas are not available at the farmers market yet, so I resorted to using frozen for this risotto, but believe I’ll be making this all over again — and again and again — when peas return to Minnesota’s gardens and farms.
(Confession #2: I combined 1 cup of arborio with 1 cup of generic long grain rice in order to avoid a trip to the store. I am almost too ashamed to type this, but there it is. Don’t judge me too harshly.)
(You can use any white wine, but vinho verde makes this risotto that much more verde.)
Bring stock to a bare simmer in a medium saucepan with any extra asparagus ends you have lying around. In a large skillet or dutch oven, heat two teaspoons of olive oil over medium high heat. Add asparagus (and peas, if using fresh) and saute until bright green and slightly cooked, about five minutes. Remove vegetables from pan and set aside. Add another 2 teaspoons of oil and add onion. Cook until softened and just beginning to brown. Add rice and cook until grains become mostly white. Add white wine and cook, scraping browned bits off the bottom of the pan, until wine is totally absorbed by the rice. Add about 3 cups of stock (strain out the asparagus ends) and bring to a simmer. Simmer ten or so minutes, stirring occasionally. After stock is mostly absorbed, begin stirring risotto constantly and adding more stock as necessary until the rice is cooked to the point you like it. Add salt and pepper to taste. Add asparagus, peas, and butter and cover. Let sit (off heat or over very low heat) for five to ten minutes. Add herbs and a healthy pile of parmesan cheese and stir. Taste for seasoning. Serve.
There was just ½# of asparagus remaining in my fridge, but another three pounds came from the market today, so there are many more asparagus preparations on my horizon. But springtime is off to a great start!
Having missed last week, I was determined to get to Midtown Farmers Market with Tom despite this morning’s stay-in-bed weather. We suited up in rain pants and rain coats and made our way into the downpour. In exchange for soggy feet Tom found eggs, asparagus, and rhubarb. I picked up a zeppolo for my mom, who’d seen a picture of Rebecca’s doughnuts in our last post.
As I photographed the first asparagus of the season, I felt as if I were in the woods after a storm. I enjoyed the droplets of water on each asparagus crown, and I can’t wait to see what creations Tom brings to the table with these slender green beauties.
Last Wednesday night I hustled from a meeting near the Mississippi to Cooks of Crocus Hill in Edina before their 9 o’clock closure, refusing the freeway. Our tropical jewel fruit share had arrived. I had called the shop earlier to find out exactly how long I had to drop in and pick up the fruit and after explaining their lack of refrigeration, etc. etc. it became apparent I really ought to come that night, so I made it work. From the original agreement from Cooks:
Nature can be fickle. We have tried to be as precise as possible when listing delivery dates of our crop shares to you [ours was advertised as mid-January, so these will definitely wobble a bit]. We will be notifying you as soon as possible regarding your pick up date and time. Please make arrangements to stop by for your share no later than 24 hours after the confirmed delivery time.
This all seemed like a bit of a pain until I arrived at Cooks to find my glorious, giant box of fruit. All is forgiven. “This is all for us?!” I blathered. I smiled! I was the only one picking up at the Edina location, so yes, it was all ours. This was no small box—it’s a good thing I had found a nearby parking spot.
I arrived at home still grinning from ear to ear with our little bounty from the non-frozen world. Thus began the bigger question: what are we going to do with all of these lemons and limes? So far they’ve brought a great deal of inspiration and cheer to this Minnesota-kitchen-in-February. Naturally, our plans around them are fueled by a lurking anxiety that we’ll fail to use our new citrus friends until they’re past their prime.
Lemon curd, tacos with lime, lime sorbet, lemon vinaigrettes, lemon chicken, limeade, pies, cakes, lemon-in-your-tea (or water!). It’s all on the table. The best part? You’re all invited over for cocktails.
Cooks of Crocus Hill offers crop shares (some of which are fruit shares) throughout the year. Unlike a traditional risk-oriented CSA, they promise refunds on deposits in the event that shares aren’t delivered. Find out what’s available now: http://www.cooksofcrocushill.com/cropshare/shares
For our fruit share, Cooks worked with the always certified organic FruitShare. We’re thinking of ordering directly from fruitshare in the future. Here’s what’s in season at the moment: http://www.fruitshare.com/Featured-Product