Allium
The Onion Family
garlic, scallions, onions, leeks, shallots, chives

I credit this humble tribe for waking me up, turning me around, and nudging me in the right culinary direction, oh-so many years ago. Once an affirmed picky eater, I had disliked ‘most everything. I had heaped onions and their ilk into my big pile of things never-ever to eat.

It wasn’t until I lived in Holland that I became enlightened to their beneficent ways.

I was an exchange student, just out of high school. Gert, my Dutch mother, was a kind and patient woman who allowed me to accompany her on her daily round of shopping for the meals. Together we’d choose vegetables, a bit of meat, potatoes–of course!–and a hearty loaf of bread. I would help her wash and cut carrots, peel the spuds, trim the white endive.

She understood that I was picky, and that I was trying to push past the barriers I’d long entrenched for myself. Working together on the meals not only helped me to better learn the language and culture, indeed it forged a loving bond, easing me into the fold of her family.

Maybe she sensed that, deep inside me, there was a burgeoning chef, the anti-picky eater.

In any case, it was her skillet thick with sliced onions, simmering in butter, softening, then gaining that rich caramel glaze that I recognize as my revelatory moment: what my writing teacher calls a “Shimmering Image.”

I had come home from a class late one afternoon, and Gert had already done most of the dinner preparations. I don’t remember what the skillet of caramelized onions was for–could have been a base for a soup or stew. It doesn’t–and didn’t– matter. What mattered was the smell. It filled the kitchen with a pungency that was heady and earthy and sweet and compelling. It touched on something–a memory? a desire?

I wasn’t sure. It was nothing I would ever have attributed to onions. I had to have a taste, pickyness be damned!

I grabbed a spoon and dug in. Mercy, what had I been missing?

It’s funny how change occurs. Often it is slow, almost imperceptible in its unfolding. And then there are those Great A-Ha’s! A dramatic turn, where nothing is the same as before. After my indulgent spoonful of sweet sauteed onions, I opened my senses to the world of food.

In no time, the disdained became the embraced.

This simple hearty soup is a celebration of that first skillet of Genus Allium. I’ve put in most of the family—I love ‘em all—each contributing a lush layer of savory-sweet bite. It’s vegetarian, although you could make it with chicken or beef stock, if you like. I prefer the straightforward vegetable. Delete the butter, and it becomes vegan.

Farro, that wonderful nutritious and nutlike grain, cooks up beautifully in the soup. It adds body, and a pleasant chewiness. Serve the soup with crusty bread—or try this easy, airy spoonbread. Essentially, it’s a cornmeal mush souffle—and it is divine.

FIVE ALLIUM FARRO SOUP
2 medium Yellow Onions, sliced “pole to pole”
2 Leeks, cleaned, cut into 1/2″ pieces
2 large Green Onions or 1 bundle thin green onions, cut into 1/4″ pieces
1 large or 2 medium Shallots, diced
5-6 cloves Garlic, chopped
2-3 T. Olive Oil
1 T. Butter
Sea Salt
Black Pepper
Red Pepper Flakes (optional)
a few sprigs fresh Thyme (optional)
a few sprigs of Chives, finely chopped
1 quart Vegetable Stock
1 cup Farro, briefly soaked in water and drained

Heat a stockpot and add olive oil and butter. Add your cut onions, leeks, shallots, and garlic. Stir well to coat the pieces. Sprinkle with salt and black pepper. Cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally. After 15 minutes (or so), the onions will begin to release their natural sugars and caramelize.

Pour in vegetable stock and stir well, scraping any browned bits on the bottom and sides of the pot. Add the farro. Cover and simmer for 30-40 minutes.

If the soup get too thick, add water–2 cups–to thin. You will not sacrifice flavor. Check seasoning—add some red pepper flakes, and fresh thyme at the end of the cooking cycle, if you like.

Spoon into bowls. Garnish with chives and serve.

Serves 4

Have you ever eaten spoonbread?

It is a Southern delicacy, light–airy—so like a souffle.

Some recipes call for separating the eggs, beating the whites and yolks separately, and folding into the mix, just as you would for a souffle. This recipe, based on the famous one served at Boone Tavern in Berea, Kentucky, calls for whole eggs, beaten into the cornmeal mush for a long time.

It, too, results in a Grand Puff.

You’ll enjoy dipping your spoon into this special treat–a bit elegant, but rustic at its roots.

SPOONBREAD, SIMPLY

2 cups Lowfat MIlk
1 cup Yellow Corn Meal
1 t. Salt
3 T. Unsalted Butter, plus 1 T. for coating baking dish
3 lightly beaten Eggs
1 t. Baking Powder

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In a saucepan, heat milk. Stir in cornmeal and salt. Cook on medium heat, stirring continuously, until mixture thickens, but becomes smooth—corn meal mush. Stir in butter until it is melted. Remove from heat.

Place eggs into a stand mixing bowl. Add baking powder. Begin beating. Gradually add cornmeal mush. Keep beating—up to 15 minutes total. This seems long—but it beats sufficient air into the batter, which will make a delectably light spoonbread.

Pour batter into buttered baking dish or casserole.

Bake for 25-30 minutes, until spoonbread has risen, with a browned top, and a toothpick, once insert, removes clean.

Serve immediately. Serves 3-4.

Decisions, decisions!

Dijon Country Mustard, Stout Ale Mustard, or Honeyed Apricot Mustard

Which would you like slathered on your ham sandwich today?

How about a little swipe of each?

I was so pleased when I churned up this sunny trio yesterday. Each with a different hue, texture, and bite! Have you ever made your own mustard? I’d been wanting to for quite some time. Now that I know how ridiculously easy the process is, I am chagrined that I waited so long to do so.

What’s amazing is that these mustards, each with a distinct and delicious flavor profile, began with these three basic ingredients:

Yellow Mustard Seeds
Brown (or Black) Mustard Seeds
Powdered (Dry) Mustard

Plus, an array of pantry staples: Vinegars, brown sugar, honey, dried apricots, allspice, kosher salt…

In short order, your kitchen counter becomes a mustard laboratory. You’ve got a lot of creative license here. Maybe you’d like to add tarragon to one of your batches. Or lemon juice instead of vinegar. Or habanero peppers (whoa!) Or peach preserves.

Check your fridge for a stray bottle of beer or the last few swallows of Sauvignon Blanc. White wine mellows in the Dijon style mustard. A bit of Guinness enlivens the Stout brown.

The beauty is that THERE IS NO COOKING REQUIRED!

No! In fact, heating the mustard can destroy its heady properties.

Instead, a lengthy soaking time—48 hours—-in whatever compelling acid and spice infused liquid you create is what coaxes out the intense flavors. Yep, that’s what ultimately “cuts the mustard.”

Mustard-making harkens to ancient Roman times.

My online research led me to two terrific sites: Hunter Angler Gardner Cook and Kiss My Spatula. Hunter Angler includes the condiment’s fascinating history with some essential recipes. Kiss My Spatula has beautiful photographs with the tutorial. I think you’ll enjoy visiting these blogs.

I derived my inspiration from both places.

After you assemble your ingredients, you simply mix them together in a bowl. Cover, and let the acids go to work on the seeds–softening and plumping them. Over the two day period, you’ll notice changes–a natural thickening. (If it gets too thick, you can always add more liquid–even plain water—-before you process it.)

Mustard, especially when vinegar-soaked, has anti-bacterial properties. It is its own natural preservative. It can keep indefinitely in the refrigerator after you make it. It may, over time, dry out or get bitter—but that takes a while. Likely you’ll use it all before that happens.

It feels like magic when you churn that mixture with an immersion blender. (Of course, you can use your food processor, or go old school with a mortar and pestle!)

It all comes together in a savory coarse-grain kind of way.

But the real magic is when you spread your homemade mustard on a ham sandwich, or over a grilled sausage. Or whisk it in a vinagrette, dollop into deviled eggs. Or glaze a pork roast, or a warm salty pretzel! Not only will you think, “Why did I wait so long?” but “Wow. There’s no need to buy mustard ever again.”

COARSE GRAIN DIJON MUSTARD
1/2 cup White Wine
3 T. White Wine Vinegar
4 T. Yellow Mustard Seeds
2 T. Black Mustard Seeds
4 T. Powdered Mustard
2 t. Salt

Place all the ingredients in a non-reactive (such as glass, ceramic) bowl. Stir well and cover with plastic wrap. Keep at room temperature, and allow the liquid to soften the mustard seeds for 48 hours.

Uncover, and churn with an immersion blender until a smoother (but not entirely smooth) mustard. Taste for salt and spice. Place in a clean jar and refrigerate.

STOUT MUSTARD
1/2 cup Guinness Stout Ale
1/3 cup Red Wine Vinegar
5 T. Black Mustard Seeds
2 T. Yellow Mustard Seeds
1 T. Turbinado Sugar
1/4 t. Allspice
2 t. Kosher Salt

Mix all these ingredients in a non-reactive bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let it sit out, room temperature, for 48 hours.

Stir. Using an immersion blender, blend until fairly smooth. Place in clean jar and refrigerate.

APRICOT MOSTARDA
1/2 c. Dried Apricots
2 T. Honey
2 T. Turbinado Sugar
4 T. White Balsamic Vinegar
1/4 c. Water

5 T. Yellow Mustard Seeds
3 T. Powdered Yellow Mustard
1/2 cup White Wine
2 T. White Balsamic Vinegar
2 t. Salt

In one non-reactive bowl, soak dried apricots in honey-sugar-vinegar-water solution for 2 days, covered, room temperature.

In another non-reactive bowl, soak mustard seeds and powdered mustard in wine-vinegar solution for 2 days, covered, room temperature.

After two days, combine the ingredients of both bowls. Using and immersion blender, churn the apricots into the mustard. Taste for salt and desired sweetness.

Place into clean jar and refrigerate.

Today’s post is a bit of a departure. It is not focused on food or drink. There’s no stunning roast or plate of pasta. No cooling beverage. No beguiling dessert.

And yet, there is a recipe.

An easy one, too, using four items found in most pantries:

Apple Cider Vinegar,
Honey,
Ginger,
and Cayenne…

plus some water.

And, so quick to put together, so beneficial,
I had to share it with you. Pronto!

Combined, I learned from Maggie, that quartet of pantry ingredients creates a potent remedy to some of the ails of winter: Sore throat, hacking cough, tight congestion.

Combined, they turn into a curious orange syrup that can cut through the croup.

And, the taste is really good!

Like you, we’ve been trying to duck the dreaded cold germs: wash our hands, eat well, get enough sleep, stay warm. Sometimes even the most valiant efforts get foiled.

I first mixed up a batch for Bill over the holidays, when he caught a cold accompanied by a strangling cough. The Remedy went right to work, acting as both a calming agent and expectorant.

So, last month, when I felt run down, tight with a tickle in the throat, I shook up a little Remedy. A spoonful or two seemed to break its hold, suppress the devilish tickle.

Just last night, Bill came home after a long workday. His voice was spent, and he had that dull, woozy feeling you get when the onset of a cold is trying to make its way into your head. He snatched up the little bottle, gave it a vigorous shake, and poured a tablespoonful. “Ahhhh. This is the Good Stuff,” he said.

I’m not saying it’s a cure-all, or some homeopathic miracle drug. But it did a mighty fine job taking the place of store-bought cough suppressants, expectorants, decongestants…

Wouldn’t you rather have a dose of spicy honey-cider syrup from a little jar mixed up in the kitchen than any of those bottles lurking in the medicine cabinet?

I thought so.

Stay warm. Stay healthy.
Take good care. And, if need be, take your remedy.

MAGGIE’S COUGH REMEDY
¼ t. Cayenne
¼ t. Ginger
1 T. Cider Vinegar (an organic one, like Bragg’s, is preferred.)
2 T. Water
1 T. Honey (use a locally produced raw honey, if possible.)

Dissolve cayenne and ginger in cider vinegar and water. Add honey and shake well. Take 1 T. as needed for cough. Hoo-wee.

Blooming Daffodil, photographed Sunday, February 5, 2012. Beautiful, and the earliest I have ever had this flower bloom in my yard.