In Which I Attempt to Keep Up My Blog While Starting a Business

Stoneledge Farm began our CSA deliveries this week, which means that summer is essentially here. As usual, week 1 was full of leafy greens, and also a helping of rhubarb. It all feels very familiar and comforting.

But something IS different this year: I am in the process of starting a business, the Astoria Bookshop (scheduled to open in mid-August). Which means that I have considerably less time to spend in the kitchen, but also considerably more reason to appreciate the fresh and very cheap produce that I’ve come to love. For the time being, life as an entrepreneur is awfully busy but in a somewhat flexible way. Since the store isn’t yet open for business, I can choose to go to a networking event at a karaoke bar on Friday afternoon, and then spend a Saturday afternoon baking a tart before heading out to look at a table someone is selling on Craigslist.

About that tart: like I said, we got rhubarb this week. We never get very MUCH rhubarb from the farm, but one advantage of being a Core Group member–and also helping clean up at the end of our distribution period–is that you can sometimes snag extras of things that you especially like. So I managed to get enough rhubarb to bake a pie. Then I grabbed a couple of pints of strawberries from one of the produce carts in the neighborhood (their stuff is usually slightly overripe, but/and it’s also incredibly cheap). And then I looked for a solid recipe.

It turns out that strawberry-rhubarb pie is so pedestrian that none of my contemporary cookbooks bother to include a recipe. Luckily, I have a my grandmother’s 70-year-old copy of The Joy of Cooking to fall back on.

I started with my sister’s (not technically) patented instant pie crust recipe, using coconut oil instead of olive oil. It’s stupidly simple–mix flour, salt, a little sugar, oil, and water together with a fork, and press it into a pan with your hands.

Then, two small bundles of rhubarb + 1 pint of strawberries, mixed with sugar, flour, cornstarch, lemon juice, and cinnamon. Pour it in the crust:

Bake at 450F for 10 minutes, then at 350F for another half an hour.

The lesson of the day is that 4 generous cups of fruit is maybe a little much for a shallow 9″ tart pan. But I was smart enough to put a baking sheet underneath, so the fruit juices that overflowed are not crusted on the bottom of my oven. AND I now have a freshly made strawberry-rhubarb pie to enjoy. Hallelujah! Summer may now begin.

First Lady of Pie (or, First Pie of the Lady)

This was not my best pie ever, which is not to say that it was not enjoyed thoroughly.

But see, it was the Friday before my first CSA delivery, and I was antsy for all things fresh, local, and seasonal. And there were these gorgeous strawberries and these huge bundles of rhubarb for sale at one of my favorite greenmarket stands. And so what if a nasty, early heat wave had only just broken and it was maybe warmer in my kitchen than you might want for rolling out pie crust? When pie beckons, you just have to answer. So I pulled out my trusty, only slightly altered Martha Stewart pâte brisée recipe (with 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour and 1 cup whole wheat), and my gorgeous French rolling pin, and the damn thing just wouldn't cooperate. Even after sitting in the fridge for a good two hours, it was just too soft to roll properly. So I smooshed it together where it ripped, and patched it up with the scraps, and made a semblance of a lattice, and said no one would ever know the difference. Or at least, no one who was sharing the pie with me would say it out loud.

Speaking of people who were sharing the pie, while I was fighting with the crust, I had C. chopping up rhubarb

and hulling strawberries

which we tossed together with a little lemon juice, some cardamom, a lot of sugar, and quite a bit of flour. I neglected to add any cornstarch, which was probably my second mistake. 

But in any case, into the oven it went, with a little milk brushed on the lattice & some sugar sprinkled on top. We munched on the last of the crust scraps, dipped in cinnamon sugar, which is how we do it in this house. And about 40 minutes later, we had this come out of the oven:

The flavor, I concede, was fantastic, because it's really hard to screw up a strawberry-rhubarb combo. But even after being IMPOSSIBLY patient and letting the damn thing cool for a half an hour before cutting the first slice, it was still very, very runny. 

Ah, well, better luck next time, with apricots. Or peaches? What comes first?

You Say Bruschetta, I Say Crostini

A while ago, I went to a class at this chocolate store in the Village (which I won’t name, because I don’t have the best things to say about it) that was supposed to include a session of make-your-own-bark, i.e. pick some dried fruit & nuts, pour melted chocolate over them, let it harden, and voila! Bark! That you get to take home! It did not exactly play out that way, though. Instead, there was a wine tasting, with chocolate pairings, and a cooking demonstration, all of which was very pleasant. And the class cost me a grand total of $10, so I really had nothing to bitch about.

Only here’s the thing: they tried to pass off celery as rhubarb in the recipe they made. Now, I do not have the finest palate of anyone I know (hi, dad!), but I can tell the difference between celery and rhubarb, even when it’s been stewed with jalapeño, shallot, cider vinegar, and chocolate. Admittedly, the staff at this particular store didn’t even know if their pre-made bark contained sweet or sour cherries, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And maybe I should retract the earlier statement about not bitching…

In any case, shortly after this class, we got a little bunch of rhubarb in the box.

It was not enough to make a pie, and the fruit share hadn’t started yet so I couldn’t do a combination rhubarb/berry thing, so I decided to stick it in the freezer until such time as I might be able to make the ACTUAL recipe, which they’d nicely given us on glossy printed cards. And that time finally arrived Wednesday night, when I., K., and M. came over for dinner. 

So the first step, aside from defrosting the rhubarb, is to caramelize some onion (I had a cippolini on hand, though the recipe calls for shallot) and minced garlic in a butter/olive oil mix.

This needs to be on a lower flame than you think, or it’ll just get all crispy, which isn’t really a BAD thing but isn’t what I was really going for.

Then, you toss in the rhubarb (diced), a bit of jalapeño (ditto), a bit of minced ginger, a tablespoon of brown sugar, and a little apple cider vinegar. Let all that stew together until it seems like a relish kind of consistency.

Add some cocoa nibs, and shaved baking chocolate, salt & pepper to taste, and you’re done. 

Or mostly done.  Last steps involve toasting some bread with olive oil,

spreading on some goat cheese, and adding a dollop of relish on top of each little crostini. 

And yeah, as witnessed with mole poblano, savory things made with chocolate are often very ugly (but good). Bruto ma buono, as the saying goes.

If you make this, an interesting game is to have your dining companions try to guess what’s in the relish.

Chocolate-Rhubarb Relish
enough for 15-20 crostini

1/2 tsp olive oil
1 tsp butter
1 shallot or small onion, sliced thin
1 small garlic clove, minced
3/4 c rhubarb, diced
1 small jalapeño, diced
1/2 tsp ginger, minced
2 tsp apple cider vinegar
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp + 1 tsp cocoa nibs
2 tsp shaved unsweetened chocolate
salt & pepper

baguette, cut into 1/4″-thick slices
olive oil for brushing
2 oz goat cheese

Heat a small heavy saucepan over medium-low heat with the butter and olive oil. When it’s melted, add the onion and garlic. Cook, stirring frequently, until they start to caramelize a bit, 10 minutes or so. Add the rhubarb, jalapeño, ginger, vinegar, and sugar. Cook about another 5 minutes, until everything has come together in a relish-y kind of way. (You don’t want the pepper to be raw, is sort of the point. The rhubarb will take care of itself.) Taste and season as needed with salt & pepper.
The relish can be made ahead of time and stored in the fridge for a day.
When you’re ready to assemble, brush the slices of bread with olive oil, sprinkle with more salt & pepper, and toast (the broiler works for this, if you’re good at keeping an eye on things and not letting them burn; otherwise a 375F oven for 10-15 minutes). When they’re nicely browned, spread each piece with a layer of goat cheese and top with a spoonful of the relish. If you’re inclined, garnish with some more chocolate shavings.

Labor of Love

Last weekend–or two weekends ago, by now–was the first night of Cook Club. As I mentioned in a previous post, M., L., P., and I have started this club, and I was the first to host.  And I just have to say, I have never prepared a meal quite like that before, and I’m not likely to do it again anytime soon.  Even when it’s my turn to host again, I don’t think 6+ courses for 8 people is going to happen.  After Sunday, I needed about 2 days to recover before my brain came back online.

But the truth is that I loved every moment of it, from the trips to the greenmarket, to waiting while the fishmonger gutted & scaled my red snapper, testing the cheese, wrapping each asparagus spear–it was an utter joy.  A labor of love, as the expression goes.  In part, it was love for my friends, my delightful dinner companions, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit that it was more for the love of food, the kitchen, the cooking process.  Or maybe it’s really the intersection, playing hostess, because that’s where I get to enjoy my food with my dear friends.  And nothing makes me happier than that.

I’ve done an overview of the menu already, but here are the highlights, in living color (not a terribly thorough documentation, I’m afraid, since we all got a little too caught up in the eating to remember to photograph the dessert course…).

Olives with almonds, blood oranges, dried red peppers, and thyme (Tyler Florence’s recipe), ready to go in the oven:

The table set with hors d’oeuvres (the olives, plus Smitten Kitchen’s cheese straws, and grilled asparagus wrapped in prosciutto or truffled cheese with pear mostarda):

 

Cucumber avocado soup with lime:

Ready to serve the soup course:

Spinach salad with pine nuts, golden raisins, and blood orange vinaigrette:

One of the two red snappers I cooked:

Same, after being stuffed with blood oranges, shallots, and herbs, crusted with salt & egg white and baked for a half hour or so:

And this is what was inside when we cracked open the crust:

Me, trying to portion out the tasty filets without butchering the fish too badly:

And here you can see not only both fish (one still crusted) but the potato ramp gratin in the background:

(There are loads more photos of the whole fish process at my flickr feed, courtesy of M., who served as my staff photographer for most of the night.)

And this, sadly, is the only evidence of the rhubarb tart.  The vanilla pink peppercorn ice cream went too quickly to show up on camera at all.

I think, though, that it is likely I will make the ice cream again.  The tart was good, for sure, but there is only so much time left in the rhubarb season, and if I’m going to make something else, I’ll want to try another recipe.

And so, almost 5 hours later, we declared Cook Club a success, and called our first meeting to a close.
And C. was a darling and broke the rules by doing almost all the dishes for me.  We’ve figured out the date for the next round (last weekend of June), and I for one can’t wait.  Playing hostess is the best, but being a guest can be pretty damn awesome, too.