In Season: Check Out Chicories!

In the most recent Beaverton Farmers Market newsletter, market manager Ginger Rapport shared a comprehensive compendium of one of my favorite winter salad greens—though some tend to the reddish end of the spectrum. Their slightly bitter edge can be mitigated by soaking the chopped leaves in cold water for a couple of hours ahead of time, a trick I learned from Nostrana's Cathy Whims. Scroll down for a fantastic and slightly sweet dressing to serve on a salad of these lovelies.

Chicories are closely related to lettuces, but are heartier and have a bitter edge. They are cool weather crops that come into season in late fall and some are starting to appear in our grower’s stalls. They include Belgian endive, curly endive, escarole and radicchio.

Belgian endive.

Belgian Endive is grown indoors, in the dark, to maintain the extremely pale yellow, almost white, tightly packed head of leaves. Red Belgian Endive is technically a small, forced radicchio. They can be used interchangeably with traditional Belgian Endive.

Curly Endive (a.k.a. Frisée) has tightly closed, frizzy heads most commonly used in salads but it is also tasty when quickly sautéed with a bit of vinegar, such as sherry vinegar or balsamic.

Escarole.

Escarole is crunchy, green and bitter. It stands up to bold dressings in salads but is also good grilled or broiled for a powerful accompaniment to roasted or grilled meats, and is fabulous creamed or in soups.

Radicchio, possibly the most well-known chicory, grows in small heads that are brilliant magenta. It is often used in salads but also shines when cooked a bit. It pairs particularly well with assertive ingredients such as olives, blue cheese, apples, figs and walnuts.

Speckled Radicchio is a cross between radicchio and escarole. It has a mild flavor with delicate leaves that can be used in salads but is sturdy enough to stand up to a little cooking.

Arch Cape chicory from Ayers Creek Farm.

Treviso Radicchio is similar in flavor to regular radicchio but is a little sweeter and grows in longer, looser-leafed heads. One unusual type, developed from an Italian variety and available locally in early March, is the Arch Cape chicory developed by Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm. Use treviso leaves in salads. Whole heads can be quartered and lightly grilled, or even stuffed and sautéed.

Fig Balsamic Salad Dressing

1/3 c. balsamic vinegar
1/3 c. olive oil
1 Tbsp. fresh chopped shallots
6 small brown turkey figs
4 tsp. honey, or to taste
1/8-1/4 tsp. salt, or to taste

Put all ingredients in a blender and blend on high until emulsified.

Top photo of chicories from Flying Coyote Farm at the Hollywood Farmers Market. List of chicories was distilled and edited from The Spruce Eats.

Farm Bulletin: 1. Allegretto—Spritely Cheerfulness

I can't tell you how much I've missed contributor Anthony Boutard's missives from Ayers Creek Farm the last couple of months. It's a privilege to welcome him back, and we will continue to enjoy them as he and Carol finish up their tenure at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market (they are scheduled for the markets of Nov. 15th and 22nd and Dec. 6th and 20th). And I can testify from a day spent "helping"—they kindly let me come out occasionally and ineptly struggle through chores—that the escarole and chicories are, indeed, as magnificent as described below.

We buttoned up the harvest just a few days ago. In between, the wheat for next year's frikeh, the barley and favas were planted; all are emerging well. We finished our processing at Sweet Creek and now have the full range of preserves. The rhythm of the season is important, and this year it allowed us an easy gait through the fields and chores. Still some odds and ends left to finish, but we are happy albeit a little tired.

Blueberry, cherry tomato and escarole salad.

As the notation indicates, we approach tomorrow's market with a healthy measure of cheer even if the weather offers little comfort. It will be good to see you all again. The van will hold a full complement of beans and a lot of cornmeal, both Roy's Calais Flint and Amish Butter. We will also carry pickling lime and whole kernels for those wanting to make hominy. The popcorn needs several more weeks before it will pop, though. We will have pumpkin seeds and squash, sliced and whole.

This is the season for, and the year of, escarole (top photo). The best we have grown. This chicory is good for both salads and as a pot herb. The Portuguese make a traditional soup of white beans and escarole. Jacob Harth, chef at Nonna, treated us to a lovely version earlier this week. Also good in chicken soup. And any soup benefits from a bit of grated horseradish.

Creamed escarole with polenta.

Shortly after agreeing that marriage might work out, we took a trip with Cecil Boutard to introduce Carol to the various far flung members of the clan. It was early April and, on a whim, Cecil decided he wanted to swim in the Mediterranean because, apparently, all members of the family had done so before him. We drove from his brother's summer house in southern Switzerland, it was the ancient farmhouse where Lenin lived during his exile, down to Nice via Italy.

On the return we decided to travel through the southern French countryside and cross the Alps around Grenoble. The road to the resort area was well developed, and then it turned into a glorified goat path and very slow going in the dark drizzly spring weather. Late in the evening we stopped at a bar in small mountain village for a bite to eat. The owner brought out a plank of wood for each of us with two walnuts, a slab of bread, a chunk of cured sausage, a knife and an apple. The flavor and texture of that apple stayed with us. It had been in a cellar for nearly six months and its flavor was full and complex. In the The Anatomy of Dessert, Bunyard describes the contemplative joy of eating a really great apple, and that dingy little russet was of such pleasure that it lingers 39 years later.

For us, the plums were nowhere to be seen, but we have a good supply of russets. Growing apples for us is an indulgence rather than a commercial venture. We don't worry about the grubs or scab, and we prefer small fruit as the flavor is in the skin. This year, the apples received no irrigation. It was not due to some droughty virtue on our part, we just didn't have time to get the water to the orchard. We keep the apples in an unheated room and enjoy them through March. If you want more flavor from an apple, these russets might please, so long as you are willing to share with the occasional grub. After all, if a grub is not enticed by an apple, how good  can it really be? Certainly not the fodder for a 39-year-old memory.

Check out these delicious escarole recipes including Blueberry, Cherry Tomato and Escarole Salad; Creamed Escarole with Polenta; and Bean, Escarole and Polenta Soup.

Read the second installment in this series, 2. Vivace—Lively.

Counting My Blessings: Salads with Blueberries, Peaches

I will often begin dinners, not with the holding of hands and the saying of grace, asking the deity to please sprinkle holy fairy dust over the bounty of which we are about to partake, but with an apology. As in, "Please forgive me, my dear family members for whose digestive systems, indeed whose entire well-being, I am responsible for from now until I shuffle off this mortal coil, for I have no roughage or greenery to offer and thus have failed in my duties."

Or something to that effect.

A proper meal.

The guilt induced by these failings haunts me, brought up as I was was by the duty, indeed the holy orders, to build a pyramid based on the trinity of protein, carb and veg. Which means that often you will find me, while the casserole is baking or the chicken is roasting or the pasta is boiling, head down in the vegetable bin searching for anything that might allow me to be redeemed in the eyes of my family.

Peaches add a je ne sais quoi quality.

Recently that redemption has come in the form of little green hallocks of fruit brought home from the farmers' market, specifically some blueberries and peaches, that, when combined with leftover cabbage from tacos the night before or extra leaves not used in an escarole salad, gave me the benediction I was seeking.

Peach and Pepper Slaw with Mint

1/4 head green cabbage, sliced thin
1/4 head red cabbage, sliced thin
1/2 red onion, sliced thin
1/4 c. Mama Lil’s mixed peppers, chopped
2 medium-sized ripe peaches, chopped in 1/2” cubes
2 Tbsp. chopped mint
1/2 c. olive oil
1 tsp. salt or to taste

Combine all ingredients in salad bowl and toss.

* * *

Blueberry, Cherry Tomato and Escarole Salad

1 pint cherry tomatoes
1 pint blueberries
1/4 finely sliced onion
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
Several leaves of escarole, roughly torn
Salt to taste

Put cherry tomatoes, blueberries, onion and vinegar in a zip-lock bag. Shake to combine and place bag in refrigerator for at least 30 min. to marinate. Remove from refrigerator and empty contents into salad bowl with torn escarole. Toss to combine. Adjust salt to taste and serve.

In Season NW: Creamed Escarole

For some people, the solution to an attack of the doldrums is a trip to an exotic locale to see new sights, smell new smells, hear new sounds. For others, shaking out the cobwebs involves clearing the house of clutter, joining a gym or buying a new wardrobe. Me, I'm a little less dramatic…less shopping my way to happiness or, heaven forfend, facing the demons that have accumulated in my basement, and more taking on a new food challenge.

Cichorium endivia var latifolia, aka escarole.

A few years back the task I assigned myself was learning to cook large hunks of meat, a reaction to both my mother's tendency to turn protein into shoe leather as well as a bad vegetarian patch in my 20s (think clumpy brown rice and you'll get it). That was followed by conquering my fear of leafy greens more complicated than lettuce (once again, upbringing and the 70s play a part here).

Now I'm focused on those foods derisively lumped into the dreary category of "winter vegetables," the sodden, muddy group that is the staple of Grimm brothers soup pots and the bane of seasonal eaters. But I'm bound and determined to find the sunshine in these maligned characters, starting with an easy one, a winter green called escarole.

A member of the endive clan and related to chicories, cichorium endivia var. latifolia looks like a big, hearty head of lettuce rather than the pale bullet shape of its cousin. It's also slightly less bitter than endive and is good in salads—I paired it with some radicchio I'd soaked for an hour or so to leach out some of the bitterness, then tossed it with a hearty Caesar dressing.

It's also hefty enough to use in cooking, though it gets a little mushy and grey in a long-simmered soup. Better to simmer it until just wilted, then serve immediately to preserve its vibrant color and crunchy texture. I'd been experimenting with creamed greens after having some divinely comforting creamed kale at Ned Ludd, and the escarole worked really well with a brief sauté with onions, garlic, bacon and a stir of sour cream.

And dreary? Not according to the licked-clean bowls were cleared from our dinner table!

Creamed Escarole

1/4 lb. bacon slices, cut into 1/4" strips
1/2 onion, diced finely
2 large cloves garlic, minced
1 large head escarole, roughly chopped, about 7 c. or so
4-8 oz. sour cream
1/4 tsp. Worchestershire sauce (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste

Sauté bacon in deep skillet until fat is rendered. Add onions and garlic and sauté till tender. Add chopped escarole and quickly sauté till just wilted. Add sour cream and stir to combine along with Worchestershire if desired. Adjust salt to taste and serve.

This also works with kale if escarole isn't available. I've served it as an entrée with puréed squash, polenta and roasted delicata and it's garnered raveds, but rice would be fine, too. It would make a nice side dish on its own with grilled or roasted meat.

Farm Bulletin: A Connecticut Yankee in Chef Barattini's Kitchen

This year's fall colors have been particularly magnificent due to high summer rainfall causing leaves to lose their chlorophyll more slowly in the fall, resulting in increased intensity of color in the foliage. These facts don't diminish our enjoyment, as contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm demonstrates most ably in this treatise on flint corn.

Our 2003 order to High Mowing Seeds included five pounds of 'Roy's Calais Flint' corn. The catalogue offered a simple endorsement: "Makes good cornbread." It reminded us that we had not enjoyed flavorful cornbread for a long time, and that the yellow stuff in a box was little more than a gummy matrix for cheese or a substrate for savory toppings, itself bereft of any semblance of true corniness. Ours was a classic impulse purchase, with no clear idea of what making cornmeal entailed, or whether the catalogue entry was just another gross exaggeration aimed at rank sentimentalists.  As it happened, the flint corn yielded a good crop that September, we learned to grind corn with a stone mill and flavorful cornbread returned to our kitchen.

A flint corn kernel.

We are often asked what "flint" means. The bulk of the corn kernel is the starchy endosperm; the carefully stored source of energy and nutrition for the new plant when it germinates. The starchy endosperm ranges from soft to hard, depending upon how much protein is packaged up with the starch. Popcorn and flint corn have the hardest kernels because they have a lot of protein packed among the starch granules. The primary difference between the two is that popcorn kernels are smaller, about half the size of the flints. Popcorn and flint corn are the most flavorful and nutritious types of corn. Dent and flour corn form the other end of the spectrum. They are soft and much easier to mill, and definitely sweeter, yet we find they lack the satisfying flavor we seek.

Flint corn leaf.

"Roy's Calais Flint" belongs to a cluster of flint corn varieties that are collectively called the "Northern Flints," originally found on both sides of the Appalachian range, extending from the mid-Alantic states northwards to the Gaspé Peninsula in Canada. The Northern Flints first show up in the archeological record around 1000 AD, and were a staple in New England before the Pilgrims arrived. Because Northern Flint remained isolated from other corn races, the variation was derived from selection of mutations within the population, rather than a genetic exchange with other corn races from other places. Consequently, there are several characteristics which allow a person familiar with the race to identify it wherever it is growing. The plants are short, three to six feet high, sometimes beautifully pigmented and produce one or more side shoots, called tillers, that often terminate in an ear with a kernels. The cylindrical ears are long with eight rows of kernels typical, though sometimes there are ten or twelve rows. All of the kernels on the plant are the same color, and the yields are crappy.

Color variations in flints.

The meal produced by the Northern Flints is either pearly white or yellow-orange, with the white meal types often associated with the coastal regions where fish dominated the diet. The yellow meal is rich in beta-carotenes which accents its corny flavor. Kernels with a red skin (pericarp)  have better cold soil germination and ripen earlier, so they are favored in cooler areas and higher elevations where the season is short. Red kernels produce yellow meal with the red flecks you see in our cornmeal.

In 1924, the Connecticut Agricultural Station published a report on corn in the state. The report evaluated 42 named varieties of flint corn collected from 70 farms and seed stores across the state. Although unintended, Bulletin 124 provided the obituary for flint corn in New England. In fact, its primary author, geneticist D.F. Jones, was one of the architects of the F-1 Hybrid Corn Belt Dents that dominate modern corn production. In a decade or so, the Northern Flint corn would be functionally extinct in its original range, with a few examples preserved by the odd dogged traditionalist. For the most part, modern New Englanders have no idea about this legacy and have never tasted a good flint corn, with the possible exception of Rhode Islanders who have preserved their "White Cap" flint in statute as the legally correct corn for making Jonny Cake.

Various forms of Queen Ears.

Roy Fair of Calais, Vermont was one of those traditionalists, and following his death local farmers provided Tom Stearns of High Mowing Seeds with some his flint seed. In our experience from working with this corn for nine seasons, what makes Roy's remarkable is that fact it carries a genetic library of the Northern Flint genetic code, rather than a tightly drawn selection of traits, such as those found in other flints like King Phillip, Longfellow or "Rhode Island White Cap." In our seed production, we have tried to preserve as much of this genetic exuberance as possible while seeking out desirable commercial characteristics. To ward off the displeasure of the gods, ancient pottery makers created a deliberate flaw in their work so as to avoid the harsh penalties of perfection, likewise we include in Roy's genetic mix, or grex, the occasional "queen ear," one that bears several branches and odd kernels. Many years ago, our staff explained to us that queen ears provide good fortune to the milpa (the corn field), and we don't want Ceres angry either.

Italian mais otto file.

Although few people in its natal land are familiar with Northern Flint, various selections of this landrace are considered culinary treasures in northern Italy, Rhine Valley of Austria, Switzerland (especially in the cantons of Ticino, St. Gallen and Graubünden), on the Japanese island of Hokkaido where it is too far north for rice cultivation and in many other places. The white flint selection grown in the Rhine Valley of Switzerland is called Rheintaler Ribelmais and is protected with an AOC (Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée) designation. In the northern Italian valleys and southern Switzerland, Northern Flint corn is mais otto file, or eight row corn. At regional fairs, selected Northern Flint ears are proudly displayed along with the ground corn.

Bean, kale and cornmeal soup.

On this month's menu at Chef Aurelio Barattini's restaurant Antica Locanda di Sesto in Lucca, you will likely find Infarinata, a soup of cornmeal, beans and kale. As he notes in his blog, he uses an eight row flint corn grown in the valley around Garfagnana. Some historians credit Giovanni di Verranzzano for bringing the Northern Flint to Europe. He was a warrior seeking fortune and fame, not agricultural improvement. I suspect the Northern Flint was sent back to family in Europe repeatedly by farmers and gardeners who enjoyed the grain in their new home.

In western New England, northern Italian immigrants, experts with stone, settled to work the marble and granite quarries. I grew up and went to school with their grandchildren and great grandchildren, and I prefer to think of those quarry workers sending back a package of beautiful and flavorful corn to their family. In fact, Oregon is just about as distant from the Northern Flints' origins as Gafagnana, and it took a while to show up here. Regardless of the how it got to Europe, it is great to see this Yankee grain treasured by farmers and chefs far distant from its land of origin. When in Lucca, be sure to stop and have a meal at Chef Baratinni's restaurant.

Addendum: Someone could write a book about how to grow and enjoy real corn, America's original grain. Unfortunately, the experts in publishing do not believe there is a market for such a book at the moment, so you all will have to settle for the corn itself. Costs less per pound than a book and you can eat it, nourishing both the body and mind, a better deal by far.

Bean, Kale, and Polenta Soup

          
There are various versions of this classic northern Italian soup, Infarinata, that bring dry beans, cornmeal and kale together with a bit of pork. In a conversation over lunch, Linda Colwell reminded us that La Jota of Trieste is also a variation on this rustic soup, using sauerkraut instead of kale, and fragrant with cumin. Our friend and former neighbor, China Tresemer, helped us put together this recipe.

The recipe calls for unsmoked but cured pork: guanciale or pancetta, but in a pinch, a piece of salt pork will do. You can make this dish without the meat as well. Likewise, savoy cabbage, rocket or escarole can be used for the greens. For beans, we use Borlotto Lamon which has a deep nutty flavor and pleasant sweetness. The water the bean cooks in yields a delicious broth. There are several reasons why this variety is not more available commercially: Pole beans cost more to grow. The Lamon must be handpicked and has just three or four beans per pod compared to the usual five to seven. It also ripens late, splits in the rain and is prone to viruses. Mere details—other than that it is perfect, the most glorious of the cranberry beans.

Serves 4

3 c. (525g) Borlotto Lamon dry beans
Water
4 oz. (100g) unsmoked but cured pork, minced
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 carrot, minced
1 onion, minced
1 stalk celery, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 sage leaves, fresh or dried, minced
1 c. canned crushed tomatoes, preferably your own
Salt and pepper
8 stalks of kale, collards or lacinato kale, rib removed, minced
1 1/2 cups (210 g) medium-coarse flint cornmeal
Good olive oil

Soak the dry beans in plenty of water overnight. Drain the beans, add fresh water to cover the beans by about 2 inches (5 cm), bring to a boil, then turn down the heat, and simmer until tender, 40 to 90 minutes.

In a soup pot, sauté the pork in the olive oil until it begins to turn golden. Add the minced carrot, onion, and celery, and sauté gently until the vegetables are soft. Add the garlic and the minced sage leaves. Add the tomatoes. Cook until the mixture thickens a bit, about 12 minutes. Add salt to taste. Chop the kale leaves and add to the pot. Add the beans and their liquor, topping the soup off with more water to create a good broth. Season with salt to taste.

Bring the soup to a gentle simmer. While the soup is simmering, trickle in the cornmeal and stir occasionally until the polenta is tender, about 40 minutes. Season to taste with salt.
          
Serve the thick soup in shallow bowls with a good ribbon of the olive oil on top.