Simple Seasonal Supper: Pasta with Rapini & Pork

This time of year, when tender spring greens are bursting with flavor, the best meals are often the simplest. I agree with contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food that the combination of the inflorescences of various brassicas are fabulous combined with a good pasta (fresh or dried) and pork (fresh or cured).

It's officially spring and we can't seem to leave the farmers market without bundles of "spring raabs." Whatever you call them, we love to eat them.

Pasta with Rapini & Pork

Rapini and pork make a delicious combination—served over pasta it is a classic southern Italian dish.

The slightly bitter turnip greens are also called brocolli raab, cima de rape (head of the turnip), brocolli di rapa, or rape, and they're members of the Brassica family of cabbage cousins.

A quick bath mellows the bitter tang of rapini, and then it’s dragged around a skillet in plenty of olive oil and garlic. [If you like that bitter tang, like I do, omit the next step, chop them and go straight to the skillet after washing. - KB]

First, cook the rapini in well-salted boiling water for about 4 minutes; fish it out with tongs and let cool in a bowl.

Cut the rapini stems and flowers into pieces about 2 inches long, add them to a skillet (with the water clinging to them) with extra virgin olive oil and a few cloves of chopped garlic, and cook for about 5 more minutes.

Put the cooked rapini in a bowl and set aside.

Use the same skillet to cook a pound of ground pork with some olive oil over high heat until browned, then add a good pinch of oregano, another of fennel pollen, a teaspoon of fennel seeds, and a good pinch of sea salt. Stir in the cooked rapini and turn off the heat while the pasta cooks.

For 4 servings, cook a half pound of pasta in salted boiling water for about 12 minutes [I'd normally use a full pound of dried pasta for four servings, but we're hungry folks. - KB], Using a slotted spoon or small sieve, scoop the pasta into the skillet with the pork and greens; add a big spoonful of the pasta water and cook everything together for a couple of minutes. I like to serve this with a drizzle of good olive oil, some grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Pecorino Romano, and a pinch of flor de sal with piri piri chile. [Red pepper flakes or other ground hot peppers like cayenne are also great. - KB]

You can get the following from Jim at Real Good Food, online or at his store: Pollinaria's whole grain extruded pastas, made with an organic heirloom durum wheat variety called Senatore Capelli, carry the flavors nicely. Pantellerian oregano has an out-of-this-world flavor that makes the bulk stuff at the store pale in comparison. Jim also carries Burlap & Barrel Desert Fennel seeds, Necton’s flor de sal and the piri piri chile.

In Season: Into Inflorescence & Other Spring Things

in·flo·res·cence
noun 1. The complete flower head of a plant including stems, stalks, bracts, and flowers. 2. The arrangement of the flowers on a plant. 3. The process of flowering.

Spring is officially here. Not only is the light sticking around longer in the evening, but it's not pitch black when I wake up, stumbling half-awake in a coffee-deprived stupor around the yard with the dogs every morning. More light means more warmth, said Josh Alsberg, owner of Rubinette Produce, the greengrocer inside Providore Fine Foods, and that means we'll be seeing a lot more early spring greens popping up in store aisles and at local farmers' markets.

Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce.

"The thing that signals spring to me is purple sprouting broccoli," he said, pointing out that the seed for this variety was developed to provide an overwintering crop for farmers to take to market at a time of the year when there aren't a lot of other greens available. Another new-ish sprout that serves the same purpose are kalettes (top photo), a cross between broccoli and brussels sprouts that was developed by a British plant breeder.

All of the large family of brassicas—think cauliflower, broccoli, mustard greens, arugula, bok choy, turnips, rutabagas, kales and cabbages—send out sprouts when it starts to warm up, which means you'll see lots of raab (aka rabe or rapini) coming from area farms like Groundwork Organics, DeNoble Farms and Gathering Together Farm, among many others. (Read a complete treatise on raab, rabe, rapini and broccolini, then check out these recipes.)

Castelfranco chicory.

Chicories are another hardy crop that grows slowly over the winter and is ready to harvest when the ground is still muddy and wet. The dark red blades of Arch Cape chicories from Ayers Creek Farm have come and gone already, but some pale yellow and white heads of Belgian endive have been seen hereabouts, and Josh said escarole and treviso radicchio will be plentiful in a couple of weeks.

So-called "baby roots" were a new thing to me, but Josh said that they're gaining a foothold on restaurant menues around the city and in bins and baskets at our farmers' markets. Look for teeny versions of radishes, Hakurei turnips (also called white salad turnips), kohlrabi and other roots to show up soon, usually appearing fresh in salads and slaws because of their sweeter flavor and crunchy texture.

Calçots on the grill.

One other group that's on the way are the alliums like green garlic, spring onions and those delicacies from Spain, calçots. I'm definitely planning another calçotada in the back yard with plenty of the traditional Salbitxada sauce to dunk them in.

Filling out the soon-to-be-an-avalanche of fresh from the farm goodness that's coming our way are salad greens and braising mixes of kales, chard, mizuna, traditional mustard greens along with a new variety, Tokyo Bekana, a small Chinese type mustard-cabbage with bright lime green leaves and ruffled edges. Fast on their heels will be lettuces, early spinach, all kinds of microgreens and leaf herbs like tarragon, sorrel and chervil. There's not a lot of fruit due right away, but you'll see blazing red ribs of rhubard piled up soon. Sadly, Josh said the first strawberries are going back to their usual schedule, holding off until late April or May (which is still early in my book).

Excited yet? I sure am!

In Season NW: Broccolini, Raab, Rabe, Rapini

This week's newsletter from the Beaverton Farmers Market had some valuable information for market shoppers who might be asking, "What are those bundles of greens and why are they all called something different?" Market manager Ginger Rapport gave me permission to reprint the answer here in case you were wondering, too.

Do you get confused when you hear the words “rabe,””raab,” “rapini” or “broccolini” used in recipes? Let us help you sort this out because you will find some of these green vegetables in the market this weekend.

First, a little taxonomy: Cruciferous vegetables are vegetables of the family Brassicacae, known as Brassicas or Crucifers. They include: cauliflower, broccoli, mustard greens, arugula, bok choy, kales and cabbages to name a few. Now, a little clarification.

• Broccolini is not baby broccoli. It is a cross between regular broccoli and Chinese broccoli with long stems, larger florets, and less leaves. It is less bitter than some of its relatives which is why it is often thought of as baby broccoli.
• Rapini and broccoli rabe are close cousins and are often used interchangeably. They are in the same subspecies as the turnip, hence they have the characteristically slightly bitter taste of this group. They do not form the large heads that we see in broccoli.
• The flower buds of brassicas from the turnip family are often referred to as rabe, or raab, derived from raps, which means turnip in Italian. This time of the year, you will find the rabes of many types of brassicas in the market—kale, mustard greens, Brussels sprouts, turnips, bok choy and Chinese cabbage.

While each of these are from a common family there are slight differences in taste between them. With each, you are meant to eat the stems, buds and leaves, making them very easy to prep for cooking. Don’t be alarmed if the buds have begun to show their yellow flowers. Some feel that the flowers are a sweeter version of the parent plant.

All of the aforementioned brassicas are excellent roasted, sautéed or lightly steamed. We don’t recommend boiling because it is easy to overcook the leaves in boiling water. The usual additions of garlic and a pinch of red pepper flakes makes for an easy and delicious preparation. Finish your dish with salt and pepper to taste and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice.

We also suggest that you try tossing your raabs with a Balsamic vinegar reduction. The reduction’s sweet finish balances the bitter quality of the greens. We like to keep a balsamic reduction in the refrigerator to have on hand as needed. It is delicious drizzled on salads, fresh vegetables, fish and meats.

Basic Balsamic Vinegar Reduction

2 c. balsamic vinegar*

Boil in a small saucepan until reduced by half (one cup). You can continue to boil for a thicker glaze type consistency. You may add a clove of garlic, minced, or fresh herbs such as thyme. Be sure to strain those out before storing.

* Bottles of balsamic vinegar on store shelves labeled "Balsamic Vinegar of Modena" are a commercial grade product made of wine vinegar with the addition of coloring, caramel and sometimes thickeners like guar gum or cornflour. Authentic balsamic vinegar, labeled "Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena," is produced from the juice of just-harvested white grapes (typically, Trebbiano grapes) boiled down to approximately 30% of the original volume to create a concentrate or must, which is then fermented in a slow aging process which concentrates the flavors.

Raab, Rabe, Rape, Rapini…It's Time!

A day or two of sunshine and 50-plus degree weather, and my kale plants were busting with buds, aka raab, rape, rapini or rabe.

As Jim Dixon said in his rant on the subject, these greens are the immature buds of various cruciferous plants like chard, kale, collards and broccoli. They pop out in the spring for a short period, then flower and set seeds to make more of their kind. Like their adult versions, they're packed with vitamins and nutrients and, as I constantly tell my son when I serve them, "Your colon will thank me when you're my age."

I like them simply sautéed with a little olive oil and garlic, maybe some bacon if you've got it, and served as is, maybe as a bed under meat or fish. Though they're terrific blanched and chopped into salads and pastas or sprinkled on pizza, too. If you don't have any in your garden, not to worry…there are scads of all kinds of them at the farmers' markets.

Remember: your colon will thank you…

Pickled Buds of Joy

You know the post I wrote about the lacinato kale in the garden that I can't seem to pull out? The one that recently started producing, as contributor Jim Dixon would call it, "immature flower buds from various cabbage relatives" that are commonly called (cover your ears, Jim) raab, rabe or rapini.

Not to get off topic, but my son has been expressing an interest in making pickles for some time. So I consulted my favorite pickle meister, Kevin Gibson, who makes some of the best pickles in town at Evoe, as to what book might be the best introduction to the art. He suggested a slim volume titled Tsukemono: Japanese Pickling Recipes by Ikuko Hisamatsu, which contains lots of quick pickle recipes using relatively common ingredients. What's even better is that my son happens to love Asian flavors, so I immediately ran next door to Powell's on Hawthorne and picked it up.

In that book is a recipe for Rape Flowers in Mustard or Nanohana Karashi-zuke that require just 45 minutes from start to finish, the main ingredient of which we could get by stepping out the back door. It did require a trip to our neighborhood Asian grocery but, as promised, within 45 minutes of starting the prep, we were munching on some surprisingly tasty green pickles. Excellent!

Rape Flowers in Mustard (Nanohana Karashi-zuke)

Adapted from Quick & Easy Tsukemono: Japanese Pickling Recipes by Ikuko Hisamatsu

1 lb. rape, raab or rapini
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1/2 Tbsp. hot mustard paste (karashi)
1 Tbsp. mirin
1 Tbsp. light soy sauce
1 dried chile pepper

Cut off any tough stems of rape flowers. Tear off leaves. In a pot of lightly salted boiling water, cook leaves and flowers briefly just until the color changes. (We chopped up the stems and threw them in first to cook a little more before we added the leaves and buds, and they worked fine.) Plunge into cold water to stop cooking. Drain and squeeze out as much water as possible.

Place in bowl, pour 1 Tbsp. soy sauce over the green and combine. Squeeze again to remove moisture. Mix with remaining seasonings and stir well. Remove seeds from chile pepper and mince. (We left the seeds in.) Add to greens mixture and combine. Take a small plate that will fit inside the bowl and place it over the greens. Take a jar filled with water (or a pint glass) and place it on top of the plate, pressing down the greens. Let it stand for 30 minutes. Serve.

I Say Raab, You Say Rabe

When I planted those lacinato kale seeds in the garden last spring, I figured I'd get some good eating from their greens later in the summer. Indeed, that did happen until they became infested with aphids and the dusty grey bugs and their residue couldn't be washed off the leaves. At that point I thought they were pretty much done and it was time to pull them out.

Then Anthony Boutard mentioned that he prefers these greens in the winter, when the cold weather causes the plants to produce sugar as a kind of anti-freeze. So I left them in, pulling off the leaves for salads, soups and sides and discovering, by golly, that Anthony wasn't pulling my leg. There was a definite sweetness that crept in as the winter progressed.

As the plant grew, looking like a Dr. Suess illustration of a tiny palm tree, the leaves became smaller and smaller, and again I thought about pulling them up. About then I noticed that little heads were forming with buds that looked like the raab I love at the spring farmers' markets. I picked one off and tasted it…nutty, green, sweet…woohoo!

So about the time the raab runs out it'll be time to plant new seeds and get a whole new year's worth of eating. Who knew?

For more, read Jim Dixon's rant about the "immature flower buds from various cabbage relatives."

Immature Cruciferous Flowers or: Raab Rant Redux Reconsidered

Call them what you will (or, like contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood, just get annoyed), but these flowering tops are all over the farmers' markets in colors from green to red and from plants as varied as brussels sprouts, broccoli and kale. And I agree with Jim—a simple sauté or stir fry and you've got yourself a seasonal treat!

Actually, I’m sticking with my original cranky take on misuse of the language re: the rape/turnip/raab issue, but I needed one more r-word for the alliteration. Despite my writer’s irritation with all of the Spring “raabs” at the market, I love to eat them. Cabbage tops, brassica buds, or whatever (might as well just call them “raab” like everybody else), these immature flower buds from various cabbage relatives taste great. They’re more tender than the leaves and stalks from the same plants we’ll be eating later, so quicker cooking works well. Brussels sprout tops are really good; I like kale and collard tops, too.

I drop whole bundles (can’t seem to buy just one) into boiling, well-salted water for a couple of minutes, then fish them out with tongs and drain. While an ample pile of chopped garlic cooks in extra virgin (carefully; don’t let it brown), I’ll cut the “raab” into manageable lengths (about 2 inches), then add them to the skillet with any water left clinging. Another 10 minutes over medium heat, and the greens are ready to eat. Bump things up with a few shakes of your favorite hot red pepper.

Not surprisingly, this same approach works perfectly with real rapini (aka broccoli raab). The greens are great on their own, but a poached or fried (in olive oil, natch) egg on top makes them a meal.

Touching Up My Roots, Part 2

You won't be surprised to hear that I fell for Dave when he cooked dinner for me. After all, what young woman wouldn't love a man who cooked for her?

It was at his place, a tiny converted outbuilding, maybe even a garage, behind a house in The Dalles. We were both working at the local paper, he as a writer/photographer in his first real newspaper job out of J-school, me in the ad department doing paste-up while I lived with my parents, trying to earn enough money to go back to school and finish my degree.

We'd gone on a couple of photographic forays in his 60s-era Chevy pickup with the bench seat. We'd shared a few beers (pre-microbrew, though we rebelliously chose Miller over Bud), but when he invited me to have dinner at his place I knew it was an official "date."

When I arrived the lights were dimmed, the table was set and wine was poured. But forget any formal images that conjures. The table was a low coffee table and we sat on the floor leaning against the paisley-embossed blue and green plastic couch as we sipped our wine. The plates were plastic, the silverware mix-and-match from Goodwill.

But as far as I was concerned it was all candlelight, gleaming silver and Limoges. And when he brought out our plates, it wasn't filet mignon seared to medium-rare perfection with tiny roasted potatoes bathed in butter that made me melt. I fell for the broccoli he'd lovingly steamed and laid over a mound of brown rice, then smothered in a tuna, cheese and cream of mushroom soup sauce, a dish he called "Broccoli Surprise."

Needless to say, I was in love. We made that dish often in our early days, but it'd been years since we'd had it. Then I saw some spring raab at the farmers' market and decided it was time to revive the dish that wooed and won me. I pulled out a package of roasted wild mushrooms from the freezer, a tin of Oregon albacore from the pantry and we were back in business.

Though now the crystal's from Ikea and the plates still aren't Limoges, the candlelight sparkles in Dave's eyes just like it did back then. And, like many things in a long marriage, the Surprise is that much better.

Broccoli Surprise Revisited

2 c. water
1 c. white, long-grain rice
4 Tbsp. butter or margarine
4 Tbp. flour
2 c. milk
2 c. sharp cheddar, grated
1/2 lb. wild mushrooms, roasted or sautéed
1 6-oz. can Oregon albacore canned in its juice (drain if it's in oil or water)
1 lb. broccoli raab or rapini

Bring water to a boil, add rice and cook.

While rice cooks, melt butter in medium saucepan over low heat. Remove pan from heat and stir in flour. Return to heat and cook until flour loses raw taste, approx. 1-2 min. Add milk, stirring while adding to prevent lumps. When it thickens, stir in cheese a handful at a time and allow to melt. Stir in cooked mushrooms and tuna with its juice. Cover and keep warm.

Bring 1/4" deep water to boil in medium saucepan. Add trimmed stalks of raab, lower heat, cover and steam till stalks are tender. On plate or pasta bowl, mound rice, lay stalks of raab over the top and cover with sauce.

See Touching Up My Roots, Part One, where I roast wild mushrooms and revisit the tuna casserole of my youth.

In Season NW: Rhubarb Over Raab

I love a good rant when it's well-informed and passionate. Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood goes off about labeling any flowering vegetable as raab, which kinda bugs me, too. Once he gets that out of his system, he goes on to discuss roasted rhubarb, a great addition to the spring repertoire.

Raab Rant

The tendency to use the term “raab” for the immature flower stalks of vegetables typically eaten during some other phase of their life cycle needs to be stopped. Raab is a corruption version of rapa, Italian for turnip. Broccoli is the plural of the Italian broccolo, which means the flowering head of a cabbage. Broccoli raab: flowering head of a turnip (aka rapini, another delicious member of the cabbage family Brassicaceae).

It’s probably too much to ask for a simpler approach. But I’d rather see the common names of the vegetables, mostly cabbage brethren, used instead. Maybe something along the lines of “collard tops.”

For a different take on raab, check out this post from the Portland Farmers' Market blog.

* * *

Roasted Rhubarb

I love the taste of rhubarb, and growing up I ate a lot of plain stewed rhubarb sprinkled with sugar. A few years ago I decided to roast some with olive oil. I liked how it kept its shape even though it got very tender. It still needed a sweetener, though, so next I drizzled it with honey, too, before roasting.

Cut 5 or 6 stalks of rhubarb into half inch pieces. Toss them with a healthy drizzle of extra virgin olive oil (a couple of tablespoons worth) and abut the same amount of honey. Spread on a baking sheet, sprinkle with flor de sal, and roast at 350F for about 20 minutes.

I eat this with yogurt, spooned over a slice of olive oil cake, or all by itself.

Olive-Oil Cake with Honey-Roasted Rhubarb
By Jim Dixon, from the Jim Dixon collection at Culinate.com

I adapted this cake recipe from Tenuta di Capezzana, the Tuscan olive-oil producer. It’s easy and incredibly delicious. The rhubarb, however, was my own invention. I started just roasting it with olive oil, then sprinkling it with sugar to eat, but the honey works much better. I also like how the rhubarb holds its shape, instead of breaking down like it does when you stew it. We ate a lot of rhubarb growing up, and it’s one of my favorite things, but I’m adamant about never mixing it with strawberries.

For the cake:
3 eggs
2½ c. sugar
1 1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 c. milk
Grated zest of 2-3 oranges or lemons
2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
Large pinch of salt

For the rhubarb topping:
6 stalks rhubarb
2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil1/3-1/2 c. honey

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 12-inch cake pan (I usually make this in a 12-inch cast-iron skillet).

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and granulated sugar. Add the olive oil, milk, and citrus zest.

In another bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the dry ingredients and slowly add the egg mixture, stirring just until blended. Do not overmix. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes. I let the cake cool in the skillet and serve it directly from the pan, but you could let it cool completely, loosen the sides with a knife, and invert onto a serving plate (hold the plate against the cake pan and flip; hopefully it will come out in one piece).

While the cake is baking, slice a half-dozen or so rhubarb stalks into half-inch pieces. Toss them with a few tablespoons of olive oil, then arrange on a sheet pan and drizzle with about ½ cup honey. Roast at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes. Let cool and spoon over slices of olive-oil cake.