Summer Discoveries: Cicely Straws, New Greens and…Fries with Eyes?

Though I love to travel to faraway locations as much as anyone, I don't have to go far from home to make some (potentially life-changing) discoveries. We're only a little over a month into the summer—in the Pacific Northwest the good weather can extend well into September or October—and it's been a banner season so far for eye-opening experiences.

Along with making my own infused vinegar and oil from the spiky pink pompoms in my chive patch, I've had three other new-to-me revelations.

At the Hoodland Farmers Market.

While I was planning a week-long sojourn in a cabin on Mt. Hood, I heard that the Hoodland Farmers Market in Welches had launched its first season and would be open during our stay. Being the farmers' market obsessive that I am, it was immediately put on our schedule. The day after we arrived, I had picked up a few greens to tide us over for the week when a small pile of green stick-like bundles caught my eye.

A hand-lettered sign said "Sweet Cicely Straws 10¢," so I asked the tall bearded fellow standing behind the table what they were like. He said they had a mild, slightly sweet flavor and that they'd be good with light sodas, but when he mentioned he preferred them with gin and tonics, I was sold. A little research revealed that cicely is related to anise, fennel and caraway—it's sometimes used to flavor akvavit—and that the leaves, seeds and roots are all edible.

In the interest of science, on our return to the cabin we immediately tested them with gin and tonics, served al fresco by the river, and while the flavor was subtle, indeed, they were a perfect (and perfectly local), functional garnish.

* * *

Confession time: My name is Kathleen and I have a greens problem.

There. I said it. I can't pass by a pile of leafy vegetation at a market without stopping and admiring the fluorescent light green, dark green or medium green hue, caressing a leaf to find out whether it's thick and substantial or soft and ephemeral. I imagine what it would be like to cook with (or not), whether to steam, chop, chiffonade or leave it whole, what preparation would bring out its best flavor.

Like I said, a problem.

So, of course, when Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce mentioned in passing that he'd just received some sweet potato greens from Groundwork Organics north of Eugene, it was all I could do not to grab him by the lapels—Josh with lapels is an odd image, but an apt metaphor for my mania—and insist he give me some right away.

But I held myself in check, picked up a bunch (well, two) and brought them home. Fairly substantial, the deep forest green leaves seemed like they would hold up to a quick stir-fry, so I threw them into a hot pan already heaped with sautéed spring onions and green garlic, spritzed them with tiny bit of chive vinegar and served them alongside rotisserie chicken.

So, you might ask, am I going to try to free myself of this greens obsession? Um…no…not anytime soon, as a matter of fact.

* * *

It started with a dinner on the garden-like patio at Burrasca with owners Elizabeth Petrosian and Chef Paolo Calamai. Elizabeth had posted photos of their Tuscan artichoke dishes made with organic purple Italian artichokes, grown by Tom and Patreece DeNoble of DeNoble Farms, which included a salad of raw shaved baby artichokes, tiny and tender fried baby artichokes and a creamy, delicate artichoke sformato.

Over the fire.

Another dish on the menu was frittura con gli occhi, amusingly translated as "fries with eyes," which was, to me, an irresistible must-have, not only because of the name but it also being fresh West Coast anchovies simply breaded and fried whole. (Yes, whole, as in heads on.) Tiny, crispy and tasting of the sea, I was entranced.

Tiny, tender and delicious.

So it was fortuitous when, the very next day, I stopped by Flying Fish, Lyf Gildersleeve's outpost for sustainably sourced fish, and what should be in the fresh case but some of those very same fresh anchovies. I bought a pound and brought them home, breading half of them in a flour, salt, pepper and pimenton mixture and the other half in a panko, salt and pepper mix.

Frying them in olive oil on a cast iron skillet on the grill, the flour breading coated them more completely and gave the little fish some extra crunch, while the panko was a bit scanty and not as crispy. But oh so fun and so delicious! (Plus I got to say frittura con gli occhi several times that evening.)

"Watch Anchovies Fly!"

"Looks so good and smells even better!"

This could have been uttered at many moments during my marriage, and this video, courtesy my friend Holly Heyser, of her mate, Hank Shaw, a prolific author, blogger, hunter, forager and cook, is a testament to the patience (and sense of humor) it takes to live with a cook. Thanks, Holly!

More Hanksperiments.

Bitten Again

Mark Bittman must be a really busy guy. Aside from his weekly Minimalist column in the New York Times, he has a very active blog, regular speaking engagements that take him around the country and one of the hottest apps on iTunes based on his book, "How to Cook Everything."Not that he had much to do with the app…it was written right here in Portland by my friend, fab programmer and co-founder of Culinate.com, James Berry.

He used to have his own blog on the New York Times site, Bitten, but it's since been mooshed in with the newspaper's other food blogs and retitled Diner's Journal. (One might wonder if the Grey Lady was a little jealous of his traffic numbers and wanted to draft off his success. But I digress.)

Our own black cherry tomatoes simmering to perfection.

I've referenced Bittman's recipes multiple times on this blog, and realized recently that there was one that I hadn't told you about. It's one of my favorite easy dinners, especially during tomato season, and it calls for garlic, anchovies and cherry tomatoes. Yes, really, just three ingredients. Well, and pasta to put it on, optional red pepper flakes for zing and some grated parmesan. But it's that simple sauce that's the beauty part, rich and flavorful and the perfect combination of comfort and freshness.

Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes, Anchovies and Garlic

Adapted from Mark Bittman's recipe for the New York Times

Salt
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
10 garlic cloves, peeled
2 or 3 dried red chiles, optional
20 anchovy fillets, more or less [I usually use 1 tin, drained]
2 cups halved cherry tomatoes
Freshly ground black pepper
1 pound cut pasta, like penne
Chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish
Grated parmesan 

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Put olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat; a minute later, add garlic and chiles, if using. Cook garlic so it bubbles gently. When it is lightly browned all over, add anchovies. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about a minute, until anchovies begin to fall apart, then add tomatoes. Adjust heat so tomatoes bubble nicely, and cook until mixture becomes saucy, about 5 minutes. Taste and add salt and pepper as necessary.

Meanwhile, cook pasta until tender but not mushy. When it is done, drain it, reserving a little cooking water to thin sauce if necessary. Pour sauce over pasta, sprinkle with parsley and serve with parmesan alongside.

Our Night on the Town

My poor husband. I mention that I've made reservations for a night at the Hotel DeLuxe downtown and his head fills with visions of a romantic evening with the sound of clinking glasses and the swelling strings of an orchestra playing in the background.

Happy hour at the Clyde.

What he gets is…surprise surprise…a list of happy hours as long as his arm, carrying batteries for my camera (the better to blog, my dear) and a walking tour of downtown and the Pearl. Though that's a slight exaggeration. We only hit one happy hour, one restaurant and one after-dinner event. But he did carry my batteries, bless him.

The Dissident.

Our happy hour choice was Clyde Common, where I was hoping to snag some of the whole fried anchovies that I'd had on our first visit. Alas, anchovy season had just concluded, but our bartender was happy to suggest the (happy hour) charcuterie board and the sherry vinegar with sea salt chips. Dave ordered his favorite cocktail and his measure of a good bartender, a dry martini served up with olives, and I had one of the $5 happy hour cocktails called The Dissident comprised of Becherovka, an herbal liqueur made in the Czech Republic, house-made tonic and lime.

Fratelli at dusk…romantic, no?

My drink was icy and refreshing, but with enough Czech bitters to give it a nice alcohol bite, its golden hue looking lovely backlit from the fading light outside. And, in a note to Mr. Bond, from the last two martinis Dave has ordered, bartenders are trending toward stirred, not shaken.

Fennel bruschetta.

We hadn't decided on where to go for dinner and hadn't made reservations, so with somewhat tremulous steps we headed a few blocks north to the Pearl. Fratelli was a place I'd heard about and referred people to based on recommendations, but hadn't yet tried myself. Since Dave is game for Italian (and there are usually Dave-safe options), he agreed and we walked in to the oblong, high-ceilinged space.

Gnocchi with favas.

After picking a wine, we ordered appies of a fennel bruschetta and gnocchi with favas, the sweetly caramelized fennel practically melting into the warm bruschetta slathered in aioli. The gnocchi was seared but still nicely soft, and the late-season favas were a nice mix of beany and buttery. To accentuate the emphasis on the market-fresh, seasonal ingredients that dominate the menu, the young green bean salad was mixed with mizuna, a green that is rapidly shooting to the top of my list and one I'll be planting in next year's garden.

A heavenly chop.

Our entrées, which at other establishments have sometimes not lived up to the punch of the appetizers on the menu, were astonishing. I ordered the double pork chop served with chickpeas, braised apricots and dressed with pesto, and have rarely had a chop this good and cooked this perfectly. Slightly pink inside and crusted outside, I was sorely tempted to pick it up by the bone and gnaw away at it till shreds were left but, since there were other people to consider, I used the appropriate utensils and enjoyed it immensely with its condiments, all excellently done.

Dave's albacore (top photo), meaty slices seared on the outside and rare inside, came with an incredible eggplant caponata, a combination that was so outstanding we'll be doing it here at home in the near future. At this point the restaurant was only about half full on a Thursday night, which left us wondering about all those folks who whine about not being able to find decent Italian downtown. Great food, great prices, great wine list, seasonal ingredients…what up?

Movies al fresco (though not au naturel).

We finished our wine and walked back to the hotel just in time to catch Jacques Tati's "Trafic," the rooftop movie in the NW Film Study Center's "Top Down" series. With beer and wine for sale to the appreciative crowd, we bundled up against the slight chill in the air and were thankful for the quick toddle across the street to our little home-away-from-home. It's the kind of stay-cation I could take on a regular basis!

Details: Hotel DeLuxe, 729 SW 15th Ave.; phone 866-895-2094. Clyde Common, 1014 SW Stark St.; phone 503-228-3333. Fratelli, 1230 NW Hoyt St.; phone 503-241-8800.

Bedeviled

What is it about eggs that has me all up-ons these days? Whether raw on beef tartare, mixed with hot bacon and pasta, scrambled almost before it leaves the chicken, poached or deviled, there is something about their ovoid perfection that rings my chimes.

Maybe it's the prize-inside-the-Cracker Jacks promise of the creamy, fatty yolk hidden inside its high-protein white jacket. Or its infinite variability. But when company's coming over, I take advantage of the opportunity to make one of my favorite appetizers ever. And, believe me, I've never had a guest say they only eat deviled eggs at summer picnics. These babies will disappear in wink and be replaced by contented smiles.

Spanish-style Deviled Eggs

6 hard-boiled eggs
2 anchovy fillets
4 Tbsp. mayonnaise
9 green olives, preferably anchovy-stuffed Spanish olives
Pinch of smoked Spanish paprika plus more for sprinkling
Moroccan harissa or other chile sauce for garnish

Halve eggs, putting yolks in small mixing bowl and placing whites on serving tray. Using long-tined fork, crush yolks until thoroughly mashed. Add anchovy fillets and mash into yolks. Chop six of the olives finely and add, with mayonnaise and pinch of paprika, to egg yolk mixture. Mix thoroughly. Fill whites with egg mixture and arrange on platter.

Slice each remaining olive into four rounds and top each egg with one, then put a small bit of the harissa on top of the olive. Put another pinch of smoked paprika into small mesh sieve and, tapping lightly, sprinkle platter with paprika. Serve.

The Basics: Caesar Salad

Salads rock. From a classic potato salad that is almost a meal in itself, to a fruit salad like a Waldorf, to the signature radicchio salad served at Nostrana, I love them all. And don't get me started on salads made with beans, pasta or grains or we'll be here all night. Crisp, fresh and crunchy, they can cleanse your palate or fill your stomach.

My all-time favorite, though, has to be the Caesar, with its creamy, deep flavor from the emulsification of oil, egg, lemon, garlic and anchovy. For me, the definitive version was the one served at Zefiro in Northwest Portland in the 90s. The spears of romaine were left whole and diners were encouraged to pick up the leaves with their fingers, always a plus in my book.

I've had awful versions, too, both in restaurants and in the bottled dressings, some of which bear no resemblance to the classic recipe. My friend Kim makes a fabulously lemony Caesar, crushing the garlic cloves and mixing the other ingredients by hand in a salad bowl before tossing it with the lettuce and parmesan.

But my day-to-day recipe comes from the old Silver Palate Cookbook and is made in about five minutes in a food processor. Plus it easily makes enough for a week's worth of salads and can double as a dip for crudités if friends drop over for a glass of wine.

Garlic-Anchovy Dressing
Adapted from The Silver Palate Cookbook by Julie Rosso and Sheila Lukins

3-4 anchovy fillets
1-2 garlic cloves
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 egg yolk
1/4 c. red wine vinegar or lemon juice
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 c. olive oil

Put all ingredients except salt, pepper and olive oil in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Then process, adding olive oil in a thin stream until the dressing becomes creamy. Add salt and pepper to taste. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one week.

Read more recipes in The Basics series: 20 Minute Tomato Sauce, House Vinaigrette, Chile Sauce and Strata.

The Art of Cooking Babies

As mentioned below, to me spring is all about babies. And no, I'm not talking about human babies or those little white fuzzy lambs you always see in ads, since spring lamb can actually be up to a year old and nearly full grown. But I digress. So let me start over.

Making the soffritto.

Spring is all about sweet young things, especially in the vegetable department. Baby greens, baby carrots, baby heads of romaine, baby bok choy. Tender, sweet and oh-so-fleeting. So when I saw a bag of 20 baby artichokes for five bucks at the Lake Oswego farmers' market, I grabbed them.

The finale.

Using a recipe from Mark Bittman's Minimalist column in the NYT dining section a couple of weeks ago, I made a pasta dish that, if I do say so myself, had a couple more cojones than Bittman's and was oh-so-seasonal. If you can get fresh baby artichokes, more's the better, but if you must resort to frozen, it's still going to kill at your next dinner party.

Baby Artichokes with Anchovies and Cherry Tomatoes

1/4 c. olive oil
4 cloves garlic, crushed, then peeled
6 anchovy filets
Fresh thyme or rosemary
1/2 c. black olives, pitted (I prefer oil-cured, but kalamatas work just fine)
Salt
10 baby artichokes
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 c. parmesan or romano, grated
1 lb. pasta, whatever shape you prefer

Boil salted water for pasta (a chef friend said it should be as salty as sea water). Combine oil and garlic in a large skillet over low heat. When garlic sizzles, add herb, olives, salt and anchovies.

Meanwhile, one at a time, prepare artichokes: remove hard leaves, then cut off spiky end; trim bottoms, cut artichokes in half and add them to pan as they are ready, cut side down. Raise heat so they brown a bit; move them around as you add remaining artichokes so that they brown evenly.

When artichokes brown, add tomatoes and a splash of water. Cook until chokes are tender, 10 to 20 minutes. Add water if needed. Adjust seasoning, then pour over hot pasta and garnish with cheese, with the remainder in a bowl for sprinkling. As artichokes are cooking, cook pasta. When it is done, drain and put in serving bowl. Pour artichoke mixture over top and sprinkle with parmesan.