sprung

This year, April was in like a lion, out like a duck. April showers didn’t just bring May flowers, they brought a friggin’ flood. And it’s still raining. Our lake is swollen with rain and runoff, its cup runneth over into parking lots and basements, across lawns and roads and ferry docks. But it’s finally, fully spring—that’s rain, not snow, falling from the sky. Trees are shaggy with nascent leaves, the dark purple cones of lilacs are opening their tiny florets, there’s asparagus to be had at the farmers market.

This being Vermont in May, asparagus is just about all there is to be had at the farmers market, but I’m not complaining. Instead I’m browsing months-old “spring” issues of cooking magazines that arrived in my mailbox when the sidewalks were still covered by a carapace of ice, I’m flipping past recipes that call for fava beans and strawberries, English peas and new potatoes—the only potatoes at my farmers market are old potatoes. Asparagus is the star of the show right now, and since I know we have awhile to get reacquainted, I’m keeping it simple to start off.


Asparagus, raw, shaved into silky ribbons. A dressing of lemon juice and olive oil. Parmesan cheese. Salt and pepper.

The recipe I found for shaved asparagus salad is from Bon Appetit. When I described it to my stepmom, she said she’d made something similar after reading about it on Smitten Kitchen. Smitten’s version includes toasted pine nuts, which I think would be a nice, if expensive, touch, but what I love about this recipe is its simplicity—I don’t have to cook anything (or, the way it usually goes when I toast nuts, burn anything). And I love it’s taste, of course. The shaved asparagus is delicate, almost creamy, complemented but in no way overpowered by a simple dressing. Be liberal with the salt and pepper. And don’t be nervous about the fact that the asparagus is raw; there’s nothing woody about it, nothing tough. Winter’s over, and this recipe is pure, tender spring.



Notes: I ate individual portions of the salad for lunch over several days—3 spears of asparagus and ¼ of the dressing. While the dressing can be made ahead of time, I don't think I recommend peeling the asparagus in advance. And I used a combination of Parmesan and Locatelli cheeses.

Shaved Asparagus Salad

Adapted from Bon Appetit

12 large asparagus spears (about 1 pound)
¼ cup finely grated Parmesan plus a piece for shaving
1½ tablespoons fresh lemon juice
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Peel off the outer, dark-green layer of asparagus using a vegetable peeler, and discard it, along with the ends of the spears if they’re tough (mine were not). Use the vegetable peeler to shave the spears into long, thin ribbons, saving the tips as they break off. Transfer shaved asparagus and tips to a bowl.

Combine grated cheese, lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper in a small container with a tightly fitting lid. Shake vigorously until the oil is emulsified and season with additional salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle vinaigrette over shaved asparagus and toss to coat. Divide asparagus salad among plates. Use peeler to shave more cheese over salad.

this time with pasta

I don't have a lot of original ideas right now, because I'm too busy proofreading other people's original ideas. So this weekend when I finally had a spare hour to cook, I opted for an ingredient combination I've relied on heavily this spring, asparagus and pancetta.


Asparagus and pancetta! Two great tastes that taste great together! You've got your crisp, fresh vegetable and your salty, cured pork; your green stem and your pink flesh; your vitamin provider and your artery clogger. We know they pair well in hash, they're delicious together in soup, and I can now vouch for their union in pasta.

But the dish I made on Saturday wasn't just any pasta (keep reading, my vegetarian friends, my asparagus-hating frenemies, there's something here for you, too!), it was absorption pasta. Perhaps you've heard of it? Sometimes referred to as cooking pasta "risotto style," the absorption method uses a small amount of stock instead of gallons of water, which produces creamy, al dente pasta in a flavorful pan sauce. I chose this particular recipe because of my lack of originality, but the pancetta and asparagus could be substituted with just about anything edible—I found recipes online for absorption pasta made with everything from mushrooms and chicken to chocolate and zucchini. The recipe I worked from suggested using pancetta and asparagus in the spring; roasted squash, sage, and walnuts in the fall; sausage and kale in the winter; heirloom tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella in late summer. What I'm getting at here is that the technique is versatile.

And the technique is easy, too. Calling it "risotto-style pasta" is misleading, because making risotto is a pain in the ass, while making risotto-style pasta is not. There are variations, but here's the gist: heat some oil in a pan; add and sauté shallots or garlic or onions; add the dry pasta and a cup or two of liquid (broth or water);


bring the liquid to a simmer and cook, adding more liquid as necessary, until the pasta is done to your liking.

This isn't just a slightly more complicated way to cook your spaghetti. Pasta made this way tastes different than the kind that's boiled in a vat of water—better, in my opinion. Closer to the texture of fresh pasta, and much more flavorful. The pancetta and asparagus didn't hurt, either, of course.

Absorption Pasta With Asparagus and Pancetta
Adapted from a recipe by Kate Flaim on design*sponge

2 tablespoons olive oil
3 slices of pancetta, chopped
2 shallots, finely sliced
¾ lb. penne
3–4 cups stock [I used Imagine's No Chicken Broth]
1 pound of asparagus, woody ends removed, cut on the bias into penne-sized pieces, with the tips kept separate


zest & juice of 1 lemon
feta cheese
s&p

1. Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven or large saucepan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook until crisp. Remove the meat with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel.

2. Add the shallots or onion to the warm oil (and um, rendered pork fat) in the Dutch oven and cook until soft, just a minute or so. Throw in the pasta and stir to coat with oil.

3. Add 1–2 cups of stock to the pot, enough to not-quite-cover the pasta. Bring to a simmer but keep from boiling.

4. Cook, stirring frequently and adding more stock in half cups as necessary: The pasta should be neither soupy nor dry.

5. Begin tasting the pasta after 5–7 minutes. When it is tender but with a tiny bit of crunch, add the asparagus stalks. At this point, you'll want to stir quite frequently and monitor closely so the pan doesn't dry out, continuing to add liquid as necessary. When the pasta is nearly finished, add the asparagus tips and cook another minute or two until the pasta is done to your liking (keep in mind that it will continue to cook after you take it off the heat, and err on the side of al dente).

6. There should be some reduced stock at the bottom of the pan: When tossed with the pasta it becomes a silky sauce. Add the pancetta, lemon zest, and 1 tablespoon of lemon juice (or more to taste). Add freshly ground pepper, but taste again before salting—the pancetta added plenty of saltiness to mine, and keep in mind that you'll be adding feta, which can be salty, as well.

7. Serve topped with feta cheese.

good things

1. Asparagus with walnut crema. Remember asparagus with walnut crema? I posted about it a year ago today, and after that went on to make it approximately twice a week until asparagus went out of season. If you came to my house for a meal last spring or early summer, you ate asparagus with walnut crema. And you liked it. Not just because I told you to, but because it's really, really good. It's my favorite aspragus dish, in fact, or perhaps asparagus is my favorite vehicle for walnut crema (which I've also eaten on toast, vegetables, and the end of my finger). Whatevs, just make some. This weekend, please.

2. Personal assistants.

I don't make him sit back there, he does it by choice, probably to avoid doing any work.

3. Husbands.

Mine cleaned the apartment last night while I went out for (a delicious) dinner with the lovely Li-Ry. If you had any idea how filthy our house was, you would be very, very impressed.

Happy weekend, bitches.

the mark bittman minimalist club: asparagus pesto; hmmm...

If not for the fact that I am its founding and only member, I might just quit the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club right about now. But not only am I the sole member, I am also the club's president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer. So I will carry on—for the sake of the club, for Mark Bittman, for the children, for the "Clubs, Associations, and Secret Societies" section of my résumé, and, dear GFDers, for you.

Asparagus. So delicious. Why not turn it into pesto? I'll tell you why: Because the pesto will taste mostly like Parmesan cheese. Or mine did anyway. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not so good that it's worth buying a very expensive pound of local asparagus, hauling out the Cuisinart, and repeatedly pressing pulse.

Mark Bittman says the pesto should taste like "asparagus with additional punch." He also says that "pesto means paste." Mine tasted more like paste than extra punch. Perhaps I did something wrong?


In my role as the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club's senior recruitment officer, I would like to invite you to join this elite society. Here is your initiation rite: Make Mark Bittman's asparagus pesto, but don't follow the recipe exactly, and taste as you go along. Puree the asparagus, half the amount of called-for cheese, the oil, the pine nuts, the garlic, the s&p. Taste. Add more cheese, asparagus-cooking liquid, and s&p, as needed. Finish off with a generous squeeze of lemon juice. When you've completed this ritual, we'll meet in a firelit cave (I'll be the one with the paper bag over her head), you'll spread pesto in stripes across your cheeks and take a vow of lifetime loyalty to the club and its president, and then I will teach you the secret handshake. Good luck! And by the way, how'd that pesto turn out?

Asparagus Pesto
From the New York Times

Salt
1 pound asparagus, trimmed and cut into 2-inch segments
1 clove garlic, or more to taste
¼ cup pine nuts
¼ cup olive oil, or more as desired
¾ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Freshly ground black pepper
Juice of ½ lemon, or to taste

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Add the asparagus and cook until fully tender but not mushy, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain well, reserving some of the cooking liquid, and let the asparagus cool slightly.

2. Transfer the asparagus to a food processor and add the garlic, pine nuts, 2 tablespoons of the oil, Parmesan, a pinch of salt and a couple of tablespoons of the cooking liquid. Process the mixture, stopping to scrape down the sides of the container if necessary, and gradually add the remaining oil and a bit more of the reserved cooking liquid to moisten if necessary. Add the lemon juice and season with salt and pepper to taste, pulse one last time, and serve over pasta, fish or chicken (or cover and refrigerate for up to a day).

no gruel for brunch

I have some strong opinions about brunch. For example, I don't like the term brunch, which reminds me of hotel buffets and eggs Benedict. I also don't like hotel buffets or eggs Benedict. Which is not to say I have anything against fancy food at brunch. In fact, in my strong, and usually pro-gruel, opinion, there's no place at the brunch table (or counter) for gruel.

This appears to be one of the few areas of culinary common ground the yachtsman and I share: No gruel for brunch. We are not a yogurt and granola people. We'll pass on that fruit salad, thank you very much. Pancakes? Perfect, if they're of the buttermilk or, even better, gingerbread variety; the only whole wheat at brunch should be in the toast. Other than that, we're up for most anything: greasy egg sandwiches; fried chicken and waffles; cheesy scrambled eggs; huevos rancheros. We love coffeecake and pancakes, cornbread and biscuits, waffles and French toast. Potatoes are key, of course: home fries, hash browns, latkes. And the yachtsman will eat just about any breakfast meat, though I've never seen him take out a slab of scrapple, and that's probably for the best.

One morning of each weekend we eat out: The yachtsman prefers diners, I will never tire of the Penny Cluse. The morning we don't eat out usually involves bagels, but occasionally we actually crack a few eggs and cook something brunchy in our own kitchen. For example, the yachtsman makes a mean griddled egg sandwich, and I make a mean face while I wait for him to finish cooking my food.

This morning, to kick off Aspragus Week here at GFD, I made Asparagus and Pancetta Hash. This is not gruel, friends, it's brunch food: You've got your potatoes, your bacon (the Italian kind), and the one green vegetable glistens with fat. Yes, fat. Pancetta renderings. Also, this dish is salty. Also, it is fucking delicious. Whether you're a gruel lover or player hater, I'm pretty sure you'll like this hash. If you're a vegetarian, I feel sad for you, because not eating this hash is a real loss. And I fear that a vegetarian version of this would...well, I fear it would suck, frankly. See "pancetta renderings," above.

But all you no-gruel-for-brunchers should try this at home: Dice and sauté some pancetta, potatoes, onion, and asparagus. Serve with a sunny-side-up egg on top, as I did for brunch this morning, or eat it unadorned, as I will for lunch tomorrow.


Asparagus Pancetta Hash
From Smitten Kitchen

Makes enough to top with four eggs

¼ pound pancetta, cut into ¼-inch dice
Olive or canola oil
1 pound Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into a ½-inch dice
1 small yellow onion, chopped small
½ pound asparagus, tough ends trimmed and cut into 1-inch segments
s&p

1. Heat a 12-inch or larger frying pan over medium heat. Fry the pancetta, turning it frequently so that it browns and crisps on all sides; this takes about 10 minutes. Remove the pancetta from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain it on paper towels. Leave the heat on and the renderings in the pan.

2. If necessary, add some oil to the pan, enough so that between the pancetta renderings and the oil the bottom of the pan is coated (depending on how fatty your pancetta is or how well seasoned your pan is, you may not need any oil at all). Add the potatoes, season with salt and pepper, and let cook on one side without moving until they’ve started to brown underneath, then begin flipping and turning them, letting them cook again for a few minutes between turns, until they’re close to being browned on all sides, about 15 minutes.

3. When the potatoes are almost as crisped and brown as you’d like them, add the onion (if added too early, the onion will burn). Cook for an additional 5 minutes or so, until the potatoes are cooked through and nicely browned.

4. Add the asparagus, cover the pan, and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, or until the asparagus is tender but still crisp. Remove the lid and return the pancetta to the pan for another minute to reheat. Taste for seasoning and adjust if needed, then serve.