the beans

The other day I mentioned our greens. And how we've been gobbling them up at every turn (and we're still not sick of them, thank you very much).
But what I didn't mention were the beans that I've made twice now in two weeks.
These wonderful beans.
I ask you, is there anything more homey, more satiating than a big pot of slowly simmered, perfectly seasoned (and I'm not talking just salt here), soft-to-the-tooth beans? The kind that sit on the back burner, gently bubbling and filling the house with a soft, spicy aroma for two - maybe three - hours on a Sunday afternoon?
I miss his restaurant that has been closed for several years now, but some time ago I picked up a copy of Mark Miller's Red Sage cookbook and was thumbing it through the other day when I spied his base recipe for black beans (or, as in this instance, the mottled beauties shown above). As I've been true to the recipe, aside from substituting those pretty heirloom beans and maybe adding a pinch more of salt, I won't be copying it here (so pick up a copy of the book).
I will, however, describe the idea and tell you that it starts with these:
Sticky-sweet and smokey from a nice charring under the broiler, these tomatoes are made into a puree and added to a pot of beans covered in cool spring water. After several hours, simmering with roasted garlic, fresh thyme, white onion, chipotles and jalapenos, the beans are finished off with fresh cilantro and salt.

It's so simple, really, but...

Something wonderful happens next:

You get to eat them!
(even if it's breakfast time...)

greens for breakfast

We've been eating our greens.
By the basketful.
Repeatedly.
For a few weeks now.
Even for breakfast.
I love it.
After a leisurely cup of coffee (tea, if you like), stroll through the dewy grass out to the garden - basket, bucket, or apron folds in tow. Stand in the doorway to breathe in the last of the cool air before the humidity sets in. Stroll over to the spinach rows and pinch a few handfuls of the shiny leaves. Cross the center (tomato alley) to the back corner to steal a bit of baby sorrel, then head for the door, pausing to snag the smallest of the borage leaves, tucked deep in the center of each plant (they grow so quickly!).
Spin, spin, spin the leaves almost completely dry after a good rinsing and set them down while you fetch three garlic scapes (spring onions are good too) from the fridge. Heat a large wok, or deep pan over medium heat and drizzle in a bit of olive oil to warm while you chop the scapes. Toss them in and stir them about while you reach for the greens with your other hand. Begin to add the leaves in fistfuls, stirring in between to wilt them and make room for the next bunch. Sprinkle a pinch of salt into the mix, and when the greens have all just wilted take the pan off the heat.
Pull the one remaining clean dish from the cupboard and spoon a good helping of last night's beans (re-heated) next to a pile of the garlicky greens. Finish the greens with a sprinkling of smoked paprika and a dash (or three) of hot sauce, if you dare.
Sit, contented, and ponder how to spend the remainder of the day.

catching up

So...
It's been a little quiet around here this month.
Behind the scenes, however, things have been happening.

No thumb-twiddling here.
In fact, lists are disappearing and little things are growing into much bigger things.
The garden has its door (and fence, thank goodness!).
And the stone has been laid underneath the hose spigot.
I've even just spied a little glimpse of promises to come.
Best of all, soon I'll be among old friends in one of my favorite spots.
Maybe I'll even find some time to cook a dish or two...

gather ye oregano while ye may...

...in bright, glowing orange buckets,
for stringing along and drying in the filtered sunlight of a kitchen window.

(I've barely made a dent in the patch)

pho ga

May has brought with it the sun and a weekend of unusually warm (dare I say hot?) temperatures. So in the midst of this heat wave I'm making soup.
Why?
Well, because I believe in chicken soup. And if I have to be plagued by a nasty little head cold on the nicest weekend we've had in weeks, I'm going to need it. In quarts.
Begin this soup early in the day (or even the day before). Make the broth and set aside the chicken. Then just before you are ready to re-heat the broth, gather whatever condiments strike your fancy and have them at the ready for a speedy assembly. This allows for plenty of time in between to stare listlessly outside in the fog of sinus-relief pills - or - to accomplish something much more productive...

Pho Ga
(Vietnamese Noodle Soup with Chicken)
-adapted from Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet

Fetch that large cast-enamel pot from its resting spot above the stove. Rinse a 3 1/2 pound organic chicken and place it in the pot along with its neck and giblets. Add to this 3 quarts of spring water and bring it all to a boil over medium-high heat. While the stock is coming to its boil, heat a dry skillet over high heat. Peel and quarter one large yellow onion and peel a thumb-sized knob of fresh ginger. Add these to the hot skillet and allow them to char, turning periodically to blacken bits on all sides. Once the stock is boiling, add the charred onion and ginger and a teaspoon of whole black peppercorns. Skim off any foam that may be accumulating, reduce the heat to gently simmer the stock, and partially cover the pot with a lid. Continue to simmer for 45 minutes more. Remove the chicken to a platter and allow to cool a bit, then remove the meat from the bones and pull apart to shred with your fingers. Set aside. Strain the broth through a cheese-cloth lined sieve into a large bowl (or another soup pot), then transfer to containers and refrigerate. Once the broth is cooled, skim off and discard (or reserve for another use) the fat that will have separated out on the top.
When ready to assemble the soup, re-heat as much broth as you like in a stock pot over medium-high heat, adding a bit of fish sauce to taste (I used about 1 teaspoon for 2 cups of broth, or 2 tablespoons for all 3 quarts - but this is all subject to taste). Cook an appropriate portion of cellophane noodles in a pot of boiling water until just translucent and softened - about 1 minute. Drain and rinse with cold water.
Find a wide, deep bowl and fill it with a handful of the cooked noodles and some of the reserved chicken. Ladle over as much hot broth as desired and serve with any combination (or nothing else at all) of the following:

crispy fried shallots (thinly sliced shallots fried in hot oil and drained on a paper-towel lined plate)
dried wood ear mushrooms (reconstituted by soaking in hot water and thinly sliced)
fresh bean sprouts
charred ginger paste (a knob of ginger charred (as above) and bashed into a paste with a pinch of salt)
lime wedges
sprigs of fresh herbs (cilantro, rau ram (Vietnamese cilantro), basil, and/or mint)
siracha