Dragon’s Lingerie—which could be a provocative line of ladies’ underwear— is the whimsical name of this heirloom snap bean. Long, flat, rumpled like a dragon’s tail, its pale yellow-green pods are curiously streaked and speckled in periwinkle. So, these are not of the fearsome and fiery St. George-slaying sort—more the fanciful stuff of a benevolent fairy tale dragon.

Its nature is ephemeral, making a brief end-of-September garden appearance. Like many beans of special and mottled color, its particular beauty is found in its raw state. Fleeting, that dappled dragon vanishes, goes all plain after a plunge into simmering water.

What retains, though, is as distinctive: meaty pods cradling small beans that pop with sweetness.

I wanted to cook these mythic beans with another end-of-September harvest: Tomatoes. Telltale of the tail of summer! I have but a few Bradleys, small and gnarled, that have ripened, and still-prolific cherry tomatoes–bright reds, sungolds, a couple of blushed peach.

I imagined that the Dragon’s initial frilly look belied its sturdy character.

And, that a quick saute of a lots of garlic and cherry tomatoes–shaken in the skillet to light char—would bring complementary assertive notes to the beans. Simple and rustic seemed to be calling. How about introducing a pasta–and elevate this from a side dish to a meal?

Rachel over at Rachel Eats has often sung the praises of Garofalo pasta that she finds in Rome. Recently I was surprised (and oh-so-pleased!) to come across Garofalo’s whole wheat penne at my neighborhood grocery, and should you find it at your market, by all means, make the buy! The flavor is excellent–hearty, with good “tooth,” an ideal match for our beans.

I’ve kept the recipe very basic. You are welcome to embellish with fresh herbs–thyme or basil are indeed naturals—and a few shreds of pecorino romano could be quite nice, too.

But, I was in a mood…the herbs and the cheese seemed predictable….maybe it was time to Not rely on them…let the veggies speak for themselves…a kind of “let’s see what these dragons lingeries are all about.”

Flavor-wise, they’ve got a lot to offer. I really enjoyed those dragons covered with sauteed garlic and acid-sweet tomatoes. They paired well with the Garofalo penne. I think they’d be grand in a soup.

Too bad those periwinkle streaks and speckles can’t remain.

But, I suspect that makes them rather fun to grow.

GARLICKY DRAGONS LINGERIE SNAP BEANS, TOMATOES, AND WHOLE WHEAT PENNE
1 lb. Dragon’s Lingerie Snap Beans
1 pint Assorted Cherry Tomatoes
1 small head Garlic, slivered
Olive Oil
Sea Salt
Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 lb. Whole Wheat Penne, such as Garofalo

Clean and snap beans, removing stems. Fill a skillet with water, several slivers of garlic, a little salt and bring to a boil. Plunge in the beans and cook for about 5 minutes. All the purple will disappear before your eyes!
You’ll also hear the pods make a POP sound as they cook.
Remove the beans–they should be tender-crisp.

Cook penne according to package directions, about 10 minutes in lightly salted water. Drain, reserving a little pasta water.

Pour olive oil into gently heated skillet. Increase heat to medium and add tomatoes, garlic, salt, and a few sprinkles of red pepper flakes. Shake the skillet vigorously as the tomatoes char, some releasing their juices. Take care that the garlic does not burn.

Toss the beans, pasta, tomato-garlic saute together, so that the oil and juices coat the beans and pasta well. Taste for salt and heat.

When my daughter Madeleine was nine years old, she gave me an electric waffle iron for Christmas. This always makes me smile to think about, because, waffle lover that she is, the iron was really as much a gift for her as it was for me.

In those days, mornings were hectic. I would get Madeleine off to school, then race to the cafe, or the catering kitchen, so we reserved waffle making for Sundays or special occasions. I can remember numerous birthday slumber parties followed by big birthday breakfasts. I’d set up my work station, and the girls, a bit bleary-eyed from all-night Twister, giggly Truth or Dare, or a staged production of “Murder, She Wrote” would shuffle into the kitchen as I turned out waffle after waffle after waffle.

Waffle making diminished after Madeleine went off to college. The trusty iron, with drips of batter permanently annealed to its sides from overzealous pours, got relegated to the stove’s bottom drawer. Whenever she was home for the holidays, though, I’d rifle through the collection of cookie sheets and pot tops, and resurrect the maker.

Waffles had become part of a homecoming tradition.

Even in recent years. Bill would ask, “Why do we only have waffles when Madeleine is here?” I’d have to smile and shrug.

That waffle iron began showing its age, and got rather “tippy.” One of the feet had broken off in an accidental nudge off the counter. At some point, the hinge mechanism had sprung, so it was a balancing act, trying to level the iron, prop the lid, and pour the batter. Eventually, waffles would mercilessly stick, and after a twenty year run, we retired the iron.

But the tradition? No way! A new waffle iron appeared under our tree a couple of Christmases ago, courtesy of the waffle-loving girl. And, because today is that girl’s birthday, I’ve made some waffles—easy, healthy, delicious—for all of us.

Happy Birthday Madeleine!

These waffles are embellished with some butter, yogurt, and strawberries in syrup

HONEY BUCKWHEAT WAFFLES

1/2 cup Buckwheat Flour
1/2 cup Unbleached White Flour
1/2 t. Baking Powder
1/2 t. Salt
1/4 t. Baking Soda
1 large Egg
1 c. 2% Milk
2 T. Vegetable Oil (I used Olive Oil!)
1 T. Plain Yogurt (Greek Yogurt is extra nice!)
1 T. Honey

Regular Waffle Iron, heated

Butter
Maple Syrup, or
Strawberries in Syrup

Sift dry ingredients into a mixing bowl. In a separate bowl, beat the egg with milk, yogurt, and honey. Add this to the dry ingredients, stirring so until well combined. Do not overbeat.

Spoon onto heated waffle iron and cook.

Makes 6 luscious waffles.

When my mom was a little girl living on Long Island, summers meant vacationing out the island’s North Fork, on a little strip of smooth-stoned beach along Peconic Bay called Breezy Shores. Facing the waterfront were dollhouse cottages, white-washed clapboards with dark blue trim, each cottage hand built and a little different from one another.

Some had screened porches, perfect for starlit sleeping; others had small flowerbeds where scrappy rosebushes ambled up their windswept trellises; most had blue painted wood chairs, cracked and peeling, placed out front overlooking the bay.

You could see fishermen in the early morning make their stealth way in small boats, on their quest for a good catch. You could see Shelter Island and watch the ferries make their hourly chugs from the mainland and back. You could watch weather.

I know all this, because when I was a little girl living on Long Island, summers, too, meant vacationing at Breezy Shores. Often, we would stay in the same cottage that mom had. My sister and I would collect smooth stones on the strip of beach, hunt hermit crabs in little sand mounds, rig cryptic messages in bottles and clumsily launch them into the bay.

Breezy, in 1965, was not very different from Breezy in 1935.

After we moved to Nashville, visits to that charmed spot became infrequent.
I went a couple of times in my teens and later brought my daughter–ten months old at the time–for her first salt water and beach experience. Not far from Breezy we discovered a little seafood restaurant. It was near the legendary Soundview, but it was more of a shack. It might have even been called The Shack–thirty plus years ago, memory is not clear on that detail.

No matter, the food memory is everclear! For five dollars, you could get bay scallops, sweet, small as the tip of your pinky, broiled in a buttery broth, served in an oval gratin. It came with slaw, steamed local corn on the cob, and a soft roll to mop up all that buttery broth. It was simple and fresh, gently sea-perfumed and bursting with sweetness.

I was reminded of that place, and that sumptuous dish, over the Labor Day weekend. Something about the crisp quality of the September air–at last no humidity–the end of summer conjures memories, and I saw some bay scallops, wild caught, for sale at the market.

That little seafood place doesn’t exist anymore, but miraculously, Breezy Shores does…in much the same way as it always has…and holds many stories for future posts….

MY NORTH FORK BAY SCALLOP GRATIN
with thanks to Joseph and LeCreuset for the Enameled Fish Gratin

2 T. Butter
1/4 cup diced Onion
1 clove minced Garlic
1 T. Flour
1/2 c. White Wine
1 cup Milk
1 lb. Bay Scallops
Paprika
Chives
Salt ‘n Pepper
handful of soft Breadcrumbs

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Coat the bottom and sides of a gratin dish (or small casserole, baking dish) with soft butter. Place uncooked scallops in the gratin.

In a saucepan or small skillet, melt the butter. Saute onions and garlic until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add white wine, a little sea salt, a few grindings of black pepper, and simmer for 5 minutes.

Mix flour into milk until well blended, and pour the slurry into the saucepan. Stir until mixed well with the wine and onions. Add snipped chives and a few pinches of paprika. Taste for seasoning. Remove from heat when slightly thickened, and pour over scallops in the gratin.

Sprinkle breadcrumbs over the top, dust with paprika, and place into the hot oven. Bake for about 8 minutes–the top will get brown and bubbly.
Do not overcook–you want the scallops to stay tender.

Get out your best bread to mop up the rich goodness.

Serves 4

When Gigi planted a fig tree on the border of her urban garden four years ago, she had no idea that it would take to the place with such ardor. But the tree settled right in to its new home, rapidly spreading upward and outward: a sprawl of great leafed branches ultimately producing hundreds of honeyed knobs of fruit. “It seems very happy here,” we both observed. “This could be the year of the fig.”

Throughout July and August, I’d get calls from Gigi, field reports you might say, about the status of the figs.

“If these all ripen, well, this is one rockin’ fig tree,” was one update.

“Thousands of figs! I picked two 5lb. baskets in less than an hour.” was another.

Over weeks, and as the summer heat became more severe, Gigi cultivated a relationship with the beloved tree; to me, it was really a reverence:

“It’s unbearably hot, and I keep telling her how wonderful she is, making all this fruit.” She set up a special watering system, “I told her I’d take care of her. I know she’s thirsty.”

To date, She has produced enough figs to make 100 pints of preserves. One hundred pints from a four-year-old tree! It seems unimaginable—

but true! Despite temperatures stuck in the nineties and rainfall spare, Gigi’s mighty fig tree became so laden with plump fruit you could easily pick a basketful in no time at all.

Which, given the intense heat and the sticky milky mess that you get allover your hands and arms from picking, was a very good thing.

Gigi set up a system of ladders and planks within the inner sanctum of the tree, cloaked under the leafy branches. It was with childlike glee that I clambered up and around the limbs, concealed from the outer world, immersed in the heady enclave of fig leaves and fruit.

And, soon, I had picked a large bowlful of figs, most dark purple, some yellow-green with a flush of rouge, all exquisite, ripe, and beautiful.

It was time to try something new with my fig bounty. Last year, I made luscious preserves with Maggie. Gigi had already been playing with different recipes: cutting back on the sugar, adding ginger to some batches, orange juice in another, and white balsamic vinegar in yet another. All methods were cooked on the stovetop. While each batch was delicious, none had the figgy caramel syrup she was seeking.

Then, one afternoon, I got a text: “Roasting is the way.”

Why, of course! But wait, another text followed–

“No olive oil. Sugar and white balsamic vinegar only. 425 degrees.”

A-ha! (Love the economy of a texted recipe.)

After carefully rinsing my figs, I placed them on a baking sheetpan, along with a few wedges of lemon–my addition. Then, I dusted with sugar, sprinkled white balsamic vinegar over the batch, and put them into that hot oven to roast. It didn’t take long—ten minutes or so—and the figs got puffed and charred, coated in a rich caramel created from melting of the sugar, vinegar, and natural fig juices. It was amazing.

After scraping into jars, I processed some in a hot water bath, as I had with Maggie’s figs, but kept one jar in the fridge–ready for this pizza I’ve been dreaming about since we first made it last year, about this time.

Covered with roasted figs, shaved gorgonzola, leeks, and ripples of prosciutto, this is one dreamy pizza. And, don’t forget–A few sprigs of rosemary, and drizzle of the figgy syrup takes the dream to wonderland.

ROASTED FIG-PROSCIUTTO-GORGONZOLA PIZZA

PIZZA DOUGH:
1 pkg. Dry Active Yeast (2 t.)
1 c. warm Water
1 3/4 c. Unbleached All Purpose Flour
1/2 c. Rye Flour
2 t. Sea Salt
1 T. Olive Oil

Sprinkle yeast into bowl of water, stir well, and let stand for 5 minutes to activate the yeast. Combine yeast water in a mixing bowl with flours, salt, olive oil. Mix until it forms into a ball. It will be moist, but not sticky. Cover and allow to rise for one hour.

Transfer dough to lightly floured work surface. Divide into two and form into balls. Cover and refrigerate, if you are not going to use immediately.
Otherwise, let stand out for 30 minutes, then roll out into whatever pizza shape—round, oblong, rectangle—suits you. Use additional flour, as needed, to prevent sticking.

Cover with toppings, and bake in a very hot oven–450 degrees–until browned and bubbly–10 minutes.

TOPPINGS:
Roasted Figs and their syrup
Sliced Prosciutto
Diced Leeks
Shaved (or crumbled) Gorgonzola Cheese
Fresh Rosemary