Showing posts with label sweet potato. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sweet potato. Show all posts
Monday, November 11, 2013
Sweet on Sweet Potatoes
If you want to incorporate healthier options than the usual rice/pasta/potatoes in your dinner rotation but you're afraid it'll take too much time or trouble, you'll love Jim Dixon's easy-to-fix, delicious sautéed sweet potatoes.
Since it’s that time of year, Real Good Food now offers Starvation Alley organic cranberry juice. Freshly squeezed and unsweetened, it’s not the stuff you swill for breakfast, but it’s great in all kinds of cocktails, with a splash of fizzy water or as a tart, acidic flavor note in all kinds of savory dishes. Like this one.
Cranberry-Roasted Sweet Potatoes
I got these nice little sweet potatoes (top photo) from my friends at Groundwork Organics, but the jewel or garnet versions sold in the produce section will work just fine. Fun fact: even if they’re called yams, all of them sold in these parts are Ipomoea batatas, aka sweet potatoes. True yams only grow in the tropics. Get a couple of pounds.
If your sweet potatoes are big, cut them into chunks about 3/4 of an inch thick (don’t peel, just scrub). Arrange them in a single layer in a heavy skillet or roasting pan, add a sliced onion and toss with extra virgin olive oil.
Mix about a half cup of the cranberry juice* with a couple of tablespoons of sorghum syrup (order via e-mail), honey or maple syrup. Pour it over the vegetables and sprinkle liberally with salt. Roast at 350° for about an hour, tossing the vegetables at least once so all sides spend some time in the juice. It's done when the sweet potatoes are tender; serve the reduced cranberry juice from the pan in a bowl at the table and spoon it onto the sweet potatoes.
* You can find other brands of unsweetened cranberry juice at New Seasons, Whole Foods and other markets.
Labels:
cranberries,
Jim Dixon,
Real Good Food,
recipe,
sweet potato,
yams
Friday, December 02, 2011
Farm Bulletin: Roots and Tubers
Much as I try to avoid publishing gossip and innuendo, in this essay contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm makes a convincing case for a heretofore unacknowledged familial connection. Please try not to be too shocked.
Books on food take pains to point out that the potato (Solanum tuberosum) and the sweet potato (Ipomea batatas) are not closely related. In a true/false test, the books are correct. The potato belongs to the large, economically important family that includes tobacco, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers, and many important medicinal plants. The sweet potato is a member of the morning glory family, and is the only food plant in a family better known for its weedy and toxic members, a belle among ne'er-do-wells and brigands. Moreover, the potato is a tuber that develops from the stem, whereas the sweet potato's tuber is a root. But the lack of a relationship is a dull thought, a conversational dead end. Certainly, there are something that links them if, at least since the time of Gerarde's Herbal (1597), both have been called potatoes.
The winter roots and tubers on our market table, and prepared for our holiday feasts, deserve a closer look. They evolved within two separate traditions of agriculture that arose independently about the same time, roughly 7,000 to 10,000 years ago. The American and Eurasian foods are very different from one another in a way that reflects the differences in how agriculture developed on the two land masses.
The Eurasian roots on our table evolved from temperate biennial plants—plants that produce vegetative growth during the growing season of the first year, and in the early spring of the following year produce a flowering stalk for seed production. The root stores the energy and minerals needed for flower and seed production, nothing more. When the seeds mature and disperse, the original plant is dead. All of these plants are perpetuated by seed alone and, because they cross pollinate, each generation has a new combination of genes.
These biennials, also called winter annuals, are clustered in four economically important plant families. The beets belong to the Amaranthaceae; radishes, turnips (right) and swedes belong to the Brassicaceae; carrots, parsley root, celeriac and parsnips belong to the Apiaceae; and gobo, salsify and chicory belong to the Asteraceae. In fact, other biennials from these four families account for most of the Eurasian vegetables familiar to us, including lettuce, spinach, chard, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, celery, escarole, fennel and endive.
In marked contrast, the American cultivated "roots" are perennial tuberous plants, mostly originating in the tropics, and they are scattered hither and yon among various plant families. The tubers allow the plant to enter complete dormancy during dry or cold periods, and resume growth when conditions are favorable. Although they will produce seed, cultivators perpetuate the variety by replanting the tubers, called clonal reproduction, and each generation is substantially identical to the previous ones.
The sweet potato (left) originated in the lowland tropics of Central America, where there is a dry season. The Andean potato, or the spud, evolved in the region around Cuzco, Peru, at approximately 11,000 feet in elevation, but still within the tropics, an area also marked by a dry season when the plants go dormant. Oca, Oxalis tuberosa (Oxalidaceae), ulluco, Ullucus tubrosus (Basellaceae), yacón, Smallanthus sonchifolius (Asteraceae) and ysaño, Tropaeolum tubrosum (Tropaeolaceae) are four other perennial tubers of local commercial importance originating in the Andes. Alan Kapuler of Peace Seeds in Corvallis has done a fair amount of work promoting oca for the Pacific Northwest.
The cultivated perennial tuber that has its origin outside of the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn is Helianthus tuberosus, the Jerusalem artichoke, a member of the Asteraeae. This is the one American tuber that grew in New England at the time of the Mayflower's arrival and most certainly graced the table of the ship's survivors, yet it is unlikely to find its way onto Thanksgiving menus today. The name is probably a corruption of Terneuzen, the Dutch port where vegetables from the fertile lowlands were shipped to England. (Why can't the English teach their children how to speak…)
So what do we make of these two clusters, the temperate biennials of Eurasian lands concentrated in four families, and the American perennials originating mostly between the tropics and all belonging to different families?
Eurasian agriculture developed simultaneously with iron and draft animals. These were essential for the plowing necessary for the preparation and maintenance of a seed bed, originally to plant small grains such as barley and wheat. Annual cultivation was conducive to the growth of small-seeded biennials, first as volunteers and then as cultivated crops. For the most part, plowing works against the growth of perennial plants.
In contrast, pre-Columbian American agriculture employed neither iron implements nor draft animals. This agriculture was swidden-based. During the dry season, fire is used to open areas for cultivation (left), and these patches are maintained for a few years until the fertility released by the burning is depleted. The land is allowed to revegetate with woody perennials and the cultivator moves on to a new patch. The shrubs and vines that recolonize the untended swidden bring up a fresh load of minerals from the deep within the ground. Often the first plants to grow in the opening are nitrogen fixing legumes, further restoring fertility to the ground. The land is not abandoned. The cultivators return to forage for quelites [edible greens] and, after a few more years, to reclaim the lands again for cultivation. The cycle is on the order of three to four years of cultivation followed by ten years of rest. Within this form of agriculture, perennial tubers survived the dry season burning and sprouted with the return of the rain. Just as the Eurasian biennials, initially volunteers, were eventually domesticated in the plowed fields, a similar pattern followed with the American perennial tubers in the swiddens.
Despite the attempts of aid agencies and modern agronomists to eliminate shifting cultivation or swidden agriculture, it persists in many places, including Central America, Asia, Africa and parts of Northern Japan. Although traditional agronomists cast swidden agriculture as wasteful and polluting, the modern farm field spews forth far more pollutants, albeit invisible, than the farmers tending their milpa in Oaxaca or yakihata in the mountains of Japan. Their external combustion methods consume but a few years of accumulated wood, while our internal combustion engines and synthetic fertilizers have burned through whole geologic epochs. And the plant remains we burn in fossil fuels return no minerals and nutrients to the land.
The roots of winter provide the wonderful illustration of how agricultural practices lend shape to our foods. And when someone tells you the sweet potato and the Andean potato are not related, you will know that the story has a more interesting wrinkle rarely discussed in general conversation.
Photo of burning milpa from Dr. Darlene Applegate of Western Kentucky University.
Books on food take pains to point out that the potato (Solanum tuberosum) and the sweet potato (Ipomea batatas) are not closely related. In a true/false test, the books are correct. The potato belongs to the large, economically important family that includes tobacco, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers, and many important medicinal plants. The sweet potato is a member of the morning glory family, and is the only food plant in a family better known for its weedy and toxic members, a belle among ne'er-do-wells and brigands. Moreover, the potato is a tuber that develops from the stem, whereas the sweet potato's tuber is a root. But the lack of a relationship is a dull thought, a conversational dead end. Certainly, there are something that links them if, at least since the time of Gerarde's Herbal (1597), both have been called potatoes.
The winter roots and tubers on our market table, and prepared for our holiday feasts, deserve a closer look. They evolved within two separate traditions of agriculture that arose independently about the same time, roughly 7,000 to 10,000 years ago. The American and Eurasian foods are very different from one another in a way that reflects the differences in how agriculture developed on the two land masses.
The Eurasian roots on our table evolved from temperate biennial plants—plants that produce vegetative growth during the growing season of the first year, and in the early spring of the following year produce a flowering stalk for seed production. The root stores the energy and minerals needed for flower and seed production, nothing more. When the seeds mature and disperse, the original plant is dead. All of these plants are perpetuated by seed alone and, because they cross pollinate, each generation has a new combination of genes.
These biennials, also called winter annuals, are clustered in four economically important plant families. The beets belong to the Amaranthaceae; radishes, turnips (right) and swedes belong to the Brassicaceae; carrots, parsley root, celeriac and parsnips belong to the Apiaceae; and gobo, salsify and chicory belong to the Asteraceae. In fact, other biennials from these four families account for most of the Eurasian vegetables familiar to us, including lettuce, spinach, chard, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, celery, escarole, fennel and endive.
In marked contrast, the American cultivated "roots" are perennial tuberous plants, mostly originating in the tropics, and they are scattered hither and yon among various plant families. The tubers allow the plant to enter complete dormancy during dry or cold periods, and resume growth when conditions are favorable. Although they will produce seed, cultivators perpetuate the variety by replanting the tubers, called clonal reproduction, and each generation is substantially identical to the previous ones.
The sweet potato (left) originated in the lowland tropics of Central America, where there is a dry season. The Andean potato, or the spud, evolved in the region around Cuzco, Peru, at approximately 11,000 feet in elevation, but still within the tropics, an area also marked by a dry season when the plants go dormant. Oca, Oxalis tuberosa (Oxalidaceae), ulluco, Ullucus tubrosus (Basellaceae), yacón, Smallanthus sonchifolius (Asteraceae) and ysaño, Tropaeolum tubrosum (Tropaeolaceae) are four other perennial tubers of local commercial importance originating in the Andes. Alan Kapuler of Peace Seeds in Corvallis has done a fair amount of work promoting oca for the Pacific Northwest.
The cultivated perennial tuber that has its origin outside of the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn is Helianthus tuberosus, the Jerusalem artichoke, a member of the Asteraeae. This is the one American tuber that grew in New England at the time of the Mayflower's arrival and most certainly graced the table of the ship's survivors, yet it is unlikely to find its way onto Thanksgiving menus today. The name is probably a corruption of Terneuzen, the Dutch port where vegetables from the fertile lowlands were shipped to England. (Why can't the English teach their children how to speak…)
So what do we make of these two clusters, the temperate biennials of Eurasian lands concentrated in four families, and the American perennials originating mostly between the tropics and all belonging to different families?
Eurasian agriculture developed simultaneously with iron and draft animals. These were essential for the plowing necessary for the preparation and maintenance of a seed bed, originally to plant small grains such as barley and wheat. Annual cultivation was conducive to the growth of small-seeded biennials, first as volunteers and then as cultivated crops. For the most part, plowing works against the growth of perennial plants.
In contrast, pre-Columbian American agriculture employed neither iron implements nor draft animals. This agriculture was swidden-based. During the dry season, fire is used to open areas for cultivation (left), and these patches are maintained for a few years until the fertility released by the burning is depleted. The land is allowed to revegetate with woody perennials and the cultivator moves on to a new patch. The shrubs and vines that recolonize the untended swidden bring up a fresh load of minerals from the deep within the ground. Often the first plants to grow in the opening are nitrogen fixing legumes, further restoring fertility to the ground. The land is not abandoned. The cultivators return to forage for quelites [edible greens] and, after a few more years, to reclaim the lands again for cultivation. The cycle is on the order of three to four years of cultivation followed by ten years of rest. Within this form of agriculture, perennial tubers survived the dry season burning and sprouted with the return of the rain. Just as the Eurasian biennials, initially volunteers, were eventually domesticated in the plowed fields, a similar pattern followed with the American perennial tubers in the swiddens.
Despite the attempts of aid agencies and modern agronomists to eliminate shifting cultivation or swidden agriculture, it persists in many places, including Central America, Asia, Africa and parts of Northern Japan. Although traditional agronomists cast swidden agriculture as wasteful and polluting, the modern farm field spews forth far more pollutants, albeit invisible, than the farmers tending their milpa in Oaxaca or yakihata in the mountains of Japan. Their external combustion methods consume but a few years of accumulated wood, while our internal combustion engines and synthetic fertilizers have burned through whole geologic epochs. And the plant remains we burn in fossil fuels return no minerals and nutrients to the land.
The roots of winter provide the wonderful illustration of how agricultural practices lend shape to our foods. And when someone tells you the sweet potato and the Andean potato are not related, you will know that the story has a more interesting wrinkle rarely discussed in general conversation.
Photo of burning milpa from Dr. Darlene Applegate of Western Kentucky University.
Labels:
Anthony Boutard,
Ayers Creek,
Peace Seeds,
potato,
potatoes,
roots,
sweet potato,
tubers
Monday, February 14, 2011
Getting to the Root
Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood has been a big influence on me, especially when it comes to root vegetables. Growing up in a family where a can of creamed corn qualified as a vegetable, it's been refreshing to get comfortable with these ultimate comfort foods. Below you'll find Jim's recipes for a celery root and sweet potato gratin and one for creamed kale, both of which I've been working on here at home (a photo of my dish using kale, above; recipe to come). Great minds think alike!
Celery Root and Sweet Potato Gratin
Celery root looks awful and requires serious (but easy) paring to get to the good stuff, and the results are worth the effort. I’ve used a swivel peeler, but I think the best approach is slicing away the exterior with a chef’s knife. The root end holds a lot of dirt, and while I’ve carved around the crevasses, these days I don’t try so hard to save every little morsel. However you choose to attack the thing, you want to end up with mostly creamy looking interior. Cut into chunks.
For this gratin, I use white flesh sweet potatoes (as opposed to the sweeter orange fleshed varieties often sold as yams, but really just different varieties of sweet potato). Peel and cube as much as you need to yield about the same amount as the celery root. Steam them together until tender, then mash coarsely. [They're also terrific if you take the cubes, toss 'em in olive oil and roast in a 350° oven till tender, about 45 min. Then mash or leave them cubed. - KAB]
Add a generous pour of olive oil (start with a few tablespoons or so; add more if it seems dry), a few shakes of pimenton (smoked paprika from Spain), and salt. Spread into a baking dish, top with bread crumbs, and bake at 350° until nicely browned.
Creamed Greens
Inspired by the way Jason French cooks this at Ned Ludd, I’ve been making creamed greens for the past few weeks. I’m pretty sure Jason’s have some pork parts, but I kept things a little more simple. A splash of fish sauce provides an extra hit of umami. At Ned Ludd the greens go on brioche toasted in the wood oven; at my house (and for the ski weekend) it’s New Seasons’ wheat levain.
Chiffonade a bunch of collards by rolling several leaves in a tight bundle, then slicing across the stem into half inch ribbons. Cut these into slightly shorter pieces. Chop an onion and cook it in a bit of olive oil for a few minutes. Add the greens, a shot of fish sauce (maybe a tablespoon or so), and maybe a half cup of water. Cover, reduce heat to a simmer, and cook for at least 40 minutes.
When the greens are very tender, remove the lid, add about a half cup of cream (or creme fraiche), bump up the heat to medium, and let them cream bubble away gently for another 15 minutes or so. Serve over root vegetable gratin (recipe above) or toast or, if you don’t want to use a knife and fork, cut the bread into cubes and put the creamy greens on top.
Labels:
celeriac,
celery root,
creamed greens,
creamed kale,
kale,
recipe,
sweet potato
Monday, January 24, 2011
How Do I Love Thee?
Who doesn't love little fried cakes? Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food has been cataloging the many and varied forms that fritter love can take, and shares another one of them here.
As you may know, I like to make little fried things I call fritters, usually with some kind of vegetable. Sometimes I’ll cook the vegetable just to make the fritters, but more often I use whatever leftovers I have around.
This batch began as roasted sweet potatoes and parsnips, but would work with just sweet potatoes (either orange or white-fleshed, cooked just to make fritters) or any other combination of root vegetables. Roasting concentrates and caramelizes the sugars in the sweet potatoes, so the leftovers would be my first choice. The farro is a nice addition, but could also be left out.
Roasted Sweet Potato, Parsnip and Farro Fritters
Combine a cup or so of coarsely mashed leftover roasted sweet potatoes and parsnips with chopped shallot, a half cup of cooked farro, a pinch of sea salt and a quarter cup of freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano. Break an egg in to the mix and stir, then add a quarter cup or so of good bread crumbs. The mixture should hold together in a spoon; you can add another egg if too dry, more breadcrumbs if too wet.
Use enough extra virgin olive oil to coat the bottom of a heavy skillet; heat until the oil begins to ripple. Use a pair of spoons to form walnut-size fritters. Slip carefully into the oil and flatten gently. Cook until brown (these brown more quickly because of the sugars in the sweet potatoes, so watch them), then turn and cook the other side. Sprinkle with flor de sal and eat hot. Makes about 8-10 fritters.
Labels:
farro,
fritters,
Jim Dixon,
parsnip,
sweet potato
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