Spinach Empanadas and a Few Tips on Rolling out Short Crust Dough

Earlier this week I taught a class featuring recipes that use produce available during late spring and early summer at the farmers' market—lettuces, spinach, spring onions, new potatoes, summer squash, young root vegetables and blueberries. There were of course other things I could have included ...the market is truly exploding with variety right now.

One of the recipes was for an entrée-sized spinach empanada. Empanadas are savory turnovers. Many different cuisines have traditional empanadas—Spain, Portugal, Argentina, to name a very few. The shape, fillings and type of dough used will vary from country to country. I am most familiar with empanadas of Spanish origin that utilize either a short crust pastry (like pie dough) or a yeast dough (like pizza dough).

As I prepared the small tasting-sized empanadas for my class, I was reminded of what was probably my first "on the job" lesson in the pastry kitchen at The American Restaurant. One of the first tasks I was given was to roll out and blind bake individual tart shells. While I rolled out the empanada dough the other day, it occurred to me that my first lesson contained valuable information that I could pass along on my blog.

If you work with pastry—pie dough, pâte brisée, etc.—very much, you are aware that one of the secrets to light, flaky pastry is minimal handling of the dough. If the dough is handled excessively, too much gluten will be developed. Gluten is a protein that is formed when two proteins that are present in wheat flour come into contact with a liquid via a mechanical action (mixing, kneading, rolling out, etc.). The more gluten that is developed, the stronger the dough. Gluten development is necessary for yeast doughs. Some gluten is needed for pastry—there should be just enough gluten to keep a pastry shell from falling apart when filled, for example. But typically, this is not discussed since it's almost impossible to mix up the dough without developing some gluten. The problem one usually hears about is the tough or hard pastries that are produced when a dough has been over-handled.

Most pie dough/crust recipes direct you to make the dough and roll it once. It is a generally understood that the scraps or trimmings should not be "re-rolled". This is fine if you are making a large pie and are making just the right amount of dough to roll and use (with just a few trimmings left over to bake with cinnamon-sugar for a snack!). It also is not a problem if you are making a few large empanadas or turnovers because you can cut the dough into the number of pieces you need and roll each out. In either case, very little waste, in the form of scraps of dough, results.

But what if you need to roll out small tart shells, or--as I did for my class--small cutouts of dough for empanadas? In these situations you will produce lots of trimmings, or scraps. For a pastry shop or restaurant, if all of these trimmings were discarded, the waste and therefore the cost, would be large. The trick of course is not only to not waste them, but to somehow use them to good effect.

Dough that has never been rolled out before is referred to as Virgin Dough. If well made, it is light, flaky and tender. As I mentioned earlier, it can also be somewhat fragile. Because of gluten development, dough that has already been rolled out once is not so tender and flaky—but, it is no longer fragile. So, if you take a small amount of dough that has been rolled out once and combine it with a larger amount of virgin dough, you get the best of both worlds: tender flakes with a little bit of underlying strength to keep your pastries from falling apart. You have also solved the problem of having a large amount of waste.

In a professional pastry kitchen, each time dough is rolled out the scraps are gathered together and chilled. Then when the next batch of crusts are rolled out, some of this scrap dough is rolled out with some virgin dough. You would never use scrap dough by itself—and frankly, in a working kitchen it would be the rare occasion when virgin dough alone would be used. In practice, each time dough is rolled out, it is probably made up of about a quarter to a third scrap dough.

So at home, if you are making small empanadas (or mini tartlets, or fruit turnovers) for a crowd, begin by rolling out a small, manageable portion of your virgin dough. Cut out the dough,

gather the scraps and set them aside with the remainder of your fresh dough (in the refrigerator if your room is warm).

Form the first batch of empanadas. 

Scrape any bits of dough or filling off of your work surface. Take another manageable piece of virgin dough (smaller than the first since you now have scrap dough to add) and press the scraps neatly onto the dough.

Roll out this new piece of dough. Repeat the entire process until all of your filling is used. There will always be some scrap dough that you end up throwing away (or freezing—make sure it is labeled as "scrap") because your collection of scraps will grow as you work and you never want the dough you are rolling to be mostly scrap.

In a home setting, knowing how to make use of your scraps of dough is a nice convenience. In a professional setting, learning how to use up and make money off of "waste" (scrap dough, excess egg whites, etc.) can keep your business in the black. I heard Martha Stewart say one time that a pastry shop that is using all of its egg whites is probably making money. I don't know if this is always true—there are many things that go into running successful businesses—but surely a business that is making efficient use of their raw materials has a big head start.

The spinach empanadas—loaded with leeks, mushrooms and goat cheese—make a satisfying and filling entrée. If you are feeling industrious, make a large batch and freeze some. They take only 5 or 10 minutes longer to bake from frozen and make a luxurious and nourishing dinner at the end of a busy day.

They also make a great appetizer for a party. Like the large ones, the miniature ones freeze beautifully. You can make a big batch, freeze them, and then have hot fresh hors d'oeuvres inside of 20 minutes for your next impromptu gathering of friends.

Spinach & Goat Cheese Empanadas

1 recipe Short Crust Pastry
2 T. unsalted butter
1 large or 2 small leeks, white & pale green parts only, halved and sliced cross-wise 1/4-inch thick (about 2 cups leeks)
3 or 4 spring onions, including a few inches of the green, trimmed and sliced (about 2/3 cup)
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 oz. bacon, cut cross-wise 1/4-inch thick
8 oz. white or brown mushrooms, halved and thinly sliced
10 oz. stemmed spinach, washed (Cook the spinach in the water clinging to the leaves in a covered pan. When the leaves have wilted, remove from the heat and cool. Squeeze out the excess liquid and roughly chop.)
1/4 c. toasted pine nuts
4 oz. goat cheese (soft or aged—as you prefer), crumbled
1 egg beaten with 1 T. water to make egg wash

Roll each round of dough into a thin round and trim to make a 7- or 8-inch round. Place the finished rounds on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap and chill until ready to use.

Melt the butter in a medium-sized sauté pan with a lid (you may use the same pan in which the spinach was cooked). Add the leeks, spring onions and garlic and a generous pinch of salt. Toss to coat the leeks and spring onions in the butter. Cover and reduce the heat and cook until the leeks are tender—10 to 15 minutes. Let cool.

While the leeks cook, render the bacon over medium or medium-low heat until crisp. Transfer the bacon to paper towels. Drain all but 2 T. of fat from the pan. Increase the heat to medium high. When the pan is hot, add the mushrooms and cook until tender and browned. Season with salt and pepper and set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, combine the cooked leek mixture, bacon, mushrooms, spinach, pine nuts and goat cheese. Season to taste with salt & pepper.

Spread the rounds of dough on the work surface. Place a fourth (or sixth) of the filling on one side of each round of dough in an even thickness, leaving a one inch border. Brush the edges with egg wash, fold the dough over and seal—you may do this with a fork, or fold the edges over and crimp. Spread the empanadas on a parchment lined baking sheet and brush them with the egg wash. With a sharp knife, cut 2 or 3 vents in the top of each empanada.

Transfer to a 400° oven and bake until golden brown and crisp and a few bubbles are visible at the steam vents—about 20 to 25 minutes.  Makes 4 large or 6 medium empanadas.

Empanadas freeze very well. Spread on baking sheets and freeze. When they are hard, transfer to freezer containers or freezer bags. Bake them from frozen. If you prefer, they may also be baked and then frozen. Thaw, spread on baking sheets, in a moderate oven.

To make miniature-sized Empanadillas:

Prepare 1 1/2 times the dough recipe and form into one large disc for chilling. When ready to make the empanadas, roll out 1/4 to 1/3 of the dough on lightly floured surface to 1/8-inch thickness. Cut dough into 3-inch rounds. Place 1 rounded tablespoon of filling in the center of each round. Paint edges with egg, fold dough over filling and pinch to seal. Gather the scraps and combine them with the next piece of fresh dough, rolling out and cutting as before. Continue to roll out and cut in this manner, always incorporating some of the scraps into the fresh dough. When done, spread the empanadas on parchment lined baking sheets and brush with more egg wash. Bake at 450° until golden brown—about 12 to 15 minutes. You should have enough filling and dough for 36 small turnovers. 

Variations & Substitutions: Variations abound. Use Manchego, Gruyère or Feta Cheese. Omit the bacon and mushrooms and add olives or raisins. Add some fresh herbs. Replace the leeks and spring onions with caramelized onions.  Omit the pine nuts.

Short Crust Pastry for Empanadas

1 3/4 c. all-purpose flour (200g)
1/2 t. salt
11 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces (150g)
1/4 to 1/3 c. ice water

Combine the flour and the salt in a medium-sized bowl. Rub the butter into the flour until the butter is in small pea-sized pieces. Drizzle 4 T. ice water over the flour/butter mixture. Using your hands, fluff the mixture until it begins to clump, adding more water if necessary. Turn the dough out onto a counter and form into a mound. Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps. Continue until all of the dough is flat. Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do. Divide the dough into 4 or 6 pieces and press each out into a disk. Cover and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Creamed New Potatoes and English Peas

New potatoes showed up at the farmers' market the week before last. Real new potatoes--the ones sold in the store as "new potatoes" are just miniature potatoes. True new potatoes are potatoes that have been freshly dug. Alice Waters in her vegetable book adds that they are technically immature—harvested while the potato plants still have green foliage and before the skins have hardened. You will recognize them at the market because their skin looks a bit translucent and is peeling or flaking away in spots. When you prepare them, the skins will literally come off with a little gentle rubbing.

Most of the time I am not a fan of boiled or steamed potatoes. But this is the way I like new potatoes the best. They don't fall apart when cooked this way and their hard flesh doesn't seem to absorb a lot of water. This method allows their delicate flavor to come through. Simply cooked, they are also best simply dressed—a drizzle of a fragrant olive oil, a film of melted butter or a blanket of heavy cream or crème fraiche along with a few herbs is just about perfect.

Last week the English peas arrived. English peas have a fleeting season here in the Midwest because of the early onset of summer heat. But during the short span of time that new potatoes and shelling peas are at the market at the same time, I have to prepare creamed new potatoes and peas at least once.

A preparation so ridiculously simple that it doesn't require a recipe, it is one of the finer things to sit down to in early summer. To prepare it, scrub the new potatoes well. Don't worry about the skin that remains after scrubbing—it is very tender. Place the potatoes in a saucepan and cover with water by about an inch. Salt the water. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat so that the water maintains a gentle simmer and cook until the potatoes are just tender—10 to 20 minutes, depending on the size of the potatoes. Drain the potatoes and set them aside until they are cool enough to handle.

While the potatoes cool, place the shelled peas in a sauce pan with some heavy cream and some salt. Bring the cream to a simmer and cook until the peas are tender—just a few minutes for freshly picked or market fresh peas.

If the peas are large and a little starchy, they will take longer to cook. You will need to regulate the simmer according to how long the peas will have to cook—if the peas are very tender and sweet, cook at a brisk simmer so that the cream will reduce quickly. If they are large and a bit starchy, cook at a slow, gentle simmer so that the cream will not over reduce by the time the peas are cooked. The cream should thicken just enough to coat the potatoes and peas in a fluid blanket. The starch from the potatoes will thicken the cream some more, so it's better to err on the side of under rather than over reducing the cream.

Slice (or cube) the potatoes 

and add them to the peas and cream.  Heat the potatoes through, simmering briefly if the cream needs to be reduced a bit more. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Add some minced fresh chives if you like.

For two of us, I used 12 oz. of potatoes, 3/4 cup shelled peas and 2/3 cup heavy cream—but this was easily enough to serve three.

Creamed new potatoes and peas would be good served with just about anything, but for some reason it seems a particularly appropriate dish to serve with roast chicken. To me, new potatoes, peas, cream and chicken seem like the makings of the quintessential early summer meal on a Midwestern family farm—all readily accessible and very good with little adornment.

For our roast chicken, I roasted a large (10 to 12 oz.) single breast. I slid some thinly sliced green garlic and picked thyme under the skin

and then carefully browned it in some olive oil and butter. I finished it in a 375° oven, adding a splash of white wine to the pan about 10 minutes before it was done. The total time in the oven was about 20 to 25 minutes—but this will depend on the size of the chicken breast that you use. I like to take my chicken breasts out of the oven when an instant read thermometer reads about 155°. The temperature will easily increase to the necessary 160° as the chicken rests. The pan drippings with the addition of the resting juices made a nice sauce.  With the inclusion of some of the first ripe tomatoes of the summer, we had a perfect early summer meal.

Butter Pecan Ice Cream

There are many foods that I truly love, but ice cream is probably at the top of the list. I am almost always in the mood to eat ice cream.   If I turn down an offer of ice cream, someone should probably take my temperature. Besides the fact that there is something about ice cream that is particularly satisfying (the cold, sweet, rich, creaminess perhaps?), I am certain that part of my attachment to it is rooted in a nostalgia for summers long gone.  Ice cream conjures up hot summer nights from my childhood—riding in the back of our family station wagon, with the windows down, gobbling up the ice cream as it melted and listening to Denny Matthews calling the play by play on the car radio....truly happy memories.

Most of the time I eat premium store bought ice cream and occasionally I will make a run to a local soft serve or traditional ice cream shop to satisfy a craving. I don't usually think to make it for myself. Then, a class or a private dinner that features ice cream will come up and I will have to make a batch. I am always struck by how easy it is to make homemade ice cream—and how very good it tastes. I always wonder why I don't make it for myself more often.

In a couple of weeks I am teaching a dinner class that features Butter Pecan Ice Cream with Peaches "Foster" for dessert, so I've been making (and eating) ice cream this week. Not only did I end up with what I think is the best butter pecan ice cream I have ever had, but I learned some interesting things in the process.

Butter pecan ice cream has a characteristic flavor that is recognizable as "Butter Pecan" to anyone who has ever tasted it. After examining several different recipes, it seems to me that there are four essential things that make up butter pecan's flavor profile. These are: pecans, butter (preferably browned), brown sugar and salt.

The addition of the pecans is obvious. I suppose that the butter should have been too, but for some reason it never occurred to me that there would be actual butter in the ice cream. As I mentioned, the flavor is best if the butter has been browned. Butter is made up of butter fat, milk solids and water. When butter is "browned" it is melted and brought to a simmer. As it simmers, the water percolates off and only the fat and milk solids remain. As the butter continues to cook, the milk solids begin to brown. The cooking process should be stopped before the milk solids blacken and burn. Browned butter has a rich, nutty flavor and aroma which provide a nice accent for the flavor of the pecans.

To incorporate the butter flavor into the ice cream, most recipes that I came across simply tossed the pecans with a small amount of melted butter and left it at that. I found a recipe at Simply Recipes that adds butter that has been browned to the ice cream base—but the pecans themselves are only optionally coated with butter. Another recipe that I found directs the cook to toast the nuts in melted butter (giving you actual "buttered pecans") but then inexplicably strains off the resulting pecan flavored butter, calling for it to be "reserved for another use."

To get the maximum amount of buttered pecan flavor, I combined these two ideas—I browned the butter and then added the pecans to it to let them infuse the butter with their flavor. 

Since the pecans themselves are only added to the ice cream at the end of the churning process, I then strained out and reserved the pecans and added the pecan flavored, browned butter to my custard base. Since fat carries flavor, this results in a richer pecan flavor that permeates the ice cream.

As for the use of brown sugar and a generous amount of salt, their addition gives a slight butterscotch-y note that is a hallmark of Butter Pecan. One warning about the use of brown sugar: Typically an ice cream recipe directs you to add half the sugar to the yolks and half to the milk and to then bring the milk/sugar mixture to a boil. You'll notice that in my recipe, all of the brown sugar is added to the egg yolks. The reason for this is that brown sugar contains molasses, which are acidic. When an acidic ingredient is added to milk and the milk is heated, as it nears the boil it curdles. This is actually a rough description of how the cheese making process starts. Since I was thinking about ice cream and not cheese making, I followed my usual method (just described) for my first batch. I was pretty dismayed when the milk curdled.

I departed from standard Butter Pecan ice cream by substituting honey for some of the brown sugar. This is just my own personal preference—it's not traditional. I think the addition of honey gives a better texture and a better flavor and I frequently use part honey when I make ice cream.

I haven't fleshed out the "Peaches Foster" portion of my recipe yet (so I can't include it in this post), but a simple dish of the butter pecan ice cream on its own made a fine finish to a warm June evening.

Butter Pecan Ice Cream

4 T. unsalted butter
3/4 c. (3 oz.) pecan pieces, lightly toasted and cooled
1/4 t. salt
1 1/4 c. whole milk
6 egg yolks
1/2 c. golden brown sugar
1 1/2 c. cold heavy cream
1/4 c. (3 oz.) honey, warmed slightly if not pourable (I use raw honey)
1 t. vanilla

Melt the butter in a small, wide sauté pan set over medium heat. As the butter begins to sputter and pop, whisk occasionally. The butter solids will begin to turn brown. When the solids are golden brown and the butter has a pleasantly nutty aroma add the pecans and stir to coat. Continue to stir and cook until the nutty aroma smells distinctly of pecans—2 to 3 minutes. Do not let the butter burn!—it will continue to darken to a deeper brown, but if it appears to be darkening too much, remove the pan from the heat and continue to stir. Strain the butter into a heat proof dish and set aside. Toss the nuts with the salt and let them cool. Chill the nuts. Before adding the nuts to the ice cream, chop medium fine.

Place the milk in a medium-sized saucepan. Bring to a simmer. While the milk is heating, briefly whisk the egg yolks with the brown sugar until smooth. Add the hot butter to the egg-sugar mixture in a thin stream, whisking constantly—be sure and get all of the browned bits.

When the milk simmers, temper the egg yolks by gradually whisking in about 1/2 to 3/4 c. of the hot milk. Stir the tempered egg mixture back into the saucepan and place the pan over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly, until the custard begins to thicken and a path forms when you draw your finger across the custard-coated back side of the spoon—an instant-read thermometer will read about 175°. Immediately strain the custard over the cold cream in a chilled bowl. Stir in the honey and the vanilla. Place the custard in the refrigerator and chill until cold. (To speed up the chilling process, place the bowl of custard in an ice bath and chill, stirring occasionally.)

Freeze the ice cream in an ice cream machine according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the buttered pecans to the ice cream during the last few moments of churning. Transfer the ice cream to a chilled freezer container and freeze for at least an hour or two before serving. Makes 1 quart ice cream.

Variation: Substitute maple syrup for the honey to make "Maple Butter Pecan".

The First Zucchini of Summer in Deborah Madison's Penne Pasta with Green & Gold Zucchini and Ricotta

One of the things I look forward to the most at the Farmers' market in the summer is Thane Palmberg's summer squash. It's beautiful. He grows and sells green and gold zucchini and a wide variety of patty pan-type squash. But the fact that he grows a wide variety is not what makes his squash extraordinary. Rather, it is the size. All of his squash are harvested while they are very small—zucchini about the size of my little finger up to squashes weighing maybe 3 or 4 ounces at the most. The patty pan squash that he sells is similarly small. Because summer squash is notorious for growing fast enough to produce baseball bat-sized specimens seemingly overnight, I know this means that his squash vines are tended with care and regularity. The care that goes into growing these beauties is also evident by the fact that they arrive at the market in pristine and unblemished condition (summer squash bruises easily).

In addition to being beautiful, these squash are delicious. Since they are harvested small, their seed cavities are barely beginning to develop and their flesh is still fine-grained and firm. I am always looking for ways to use this exceptional squash—it can be roasted, steamed, blanched, baked in a gratin, added to summer stews (ratatouille!) or sautéed. The 3 or 4 oz. ones can be stuffed. I ran across a recipe for the classic Petit Farcis à la Provençale recently at Tartelette—definitely on my list to try out this summer.

I think summer squash is particularly good sautéed. The light caramelization produced by properly sautéing accentuates the squash's natural nutty character. It is difficult to obtain this golden color with larger squash because the flesh tends to be soft and watery. As it cooks it gives off excessive amounts of water which inhibits browning.  Since the flesh is softer and more porous to begin with, it cooks quickly.  Unless you are fairly skilled with a sauté pan you end up with overcooked, pale squash. Zucchini that has been cooked to sogginess in this way is one of the reasons more people don't like zucchini.

I am teaching a class next week about using the products that appear at the farmers' markets in the Midwest in early summer. One of the recipes that I will be teaching is a delicious pasta from Deborah Madison's Local Flavors. It is basically a dish of seasoned, sautéed squash that is tossed with penne pasta. I almost never teach a recipe that I haven't changed in some way, but this one will be taught as published—it is very good. Without the pasta and cheese, it would make an excellent summer side dish.

When I arrived at the market last Saturday, the first baby zucchinis of the year had arrived. This pasta dish was a perfect showcase for them. Be sure to add the herbs and garlic to this dish—they really compliment the squash. I'm normally not a huge fan of marjoram—it can be almost perfume-y—but its aromatic quality is perfect with the squash. Basil is a good second choice. If you don't have any basil, thyme is also excellent with summer squash.

One last note: the way the ricotta is added to this pasta is a genius touch. If you have ever stirred ricotta cheese into a pasta, you know that it can create a thick, stodgy mass in short order. By simply spreading dollops of the room temperature ricotta over the finished pasta and serving family-style out of the sauté pan, the ricotta is blended into the dish just enough as people scoop out their individual servings.

Penne with Green & Gold Zucchini and Ricotta

1 c. whole milk ricotta (about 8 oz.)

2 lbs. small zucchini, mixed green & yellow

2 to 3 T. olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

3 T. mince marjoram or basil

Salt & Pepper

1 lb. penne pasta

Freshly grated Parmesan or Pecorino

Remove the ricotta from the refrigerator and spoon it onto a plate so that it will warm to room temperature.

Slice the zucchini on the diagonal a scant 1/2-inch thick, then slice into strips so that each piece resembles the quill shape of the pasta. (Since the squash that I purchased were very small, I simply halved them lengthwise.)

Set a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. When the pan is hot, add the oil. Add the zucchini and sauté until golden—about 5 minutes. The squash should be pleasantly al dente—definitely not mushy. If necessary, increase the heat to high to keep the squash from steaming.

When the squash is done, add the garlic and herbs and toss to combine. Remove from the heat. Season well with salt and pepper.

Drop the pasta into 6 quarts of rapidly boiling water seasoned with about 2 Tablespoons of salt. Stir to make sure the penne isn't sticking to the bottom of the pan. Cook until the pasta is al dente. Drain, reserving some of the cooking liquid. Add the penne to the pan of cooked squash. Toss, taste and season with salt and pepper if necessary. If the pasta seems dry, add a little of the pasta water. If desired, finish with a little bit more olive oil.

Dollop spoonfuls of the ricotta over the surface of the squash and pasta. Scatter the Parmesan over the top and serve from the pan. (Do not stir the ricotta in.) Serves 6.

(Recipe from Local Flavors by Deborah Madison)

Ricotta & Spring Onion Tart with Green Garlic & Herbs

The market was bursting with produce this week:

The first new potatoes (dug Friday!), broccoli, beets, turnips, early tomatoes, Swiss chard, baby summer squash, lettuces & herbs, strawberries, asparagus, spring onions and green garlic. It is so exciting to see the trickle of local produce become a torrent almost overnight. I bought too much...but it will be fun to see if I can use it all up.

When I went to the market, I planned on getting extra spring onions because I had seen a tart at David Lebovitz's blog that I wanted to try. The tart is a variation on a leek and goat cheese tart in Deborah Madison's Local Flavors. His variation uses spring onions and ricotta, which really appeals to me because spring onions are one of my favorite things at the farmers' market. By and large unavailable in the stores (our local Whole Foods carries something they call Spring onions, but they are nothing like the ones from the farmers' market—they actually seem more similar to leeks), spring onions are young onions with the greens still attached. Available only in the spring, they are the "thinnings" pulled from the main onion plantings to give the main crop room to grow. As the season progresses, they get larger and eventually begin to form a little round bulb—if they were left in the ground, they would eventually be a large onion. They are not the same thing as a green onion (or scallion); green onions will never form a bulb—they are bred specifically to stay straight and thin, probably to mimic the look of spring onions.

The entire spring onion—white and green—is usable. Spring onions are tender and cook quickly.  During their short season, I frequently use them in place of regular onions (in pastas, risotto, vegetable ragoûts, etc.). Not surprisingly, their mild taste is particularly well-suited to the young vegetables of spring.

I also found some green garlic at the market:

So called because it still has a green shoot or leaves, green garlic is to garlic what the spring onion is to an onion. Similarly, it is mild and tender. When it is very young, the entire white portion is edible. As it matures, the moist sheath, which will eventually become the papery skin, gets tough and must be peeled away.

I thought it would make a perfect impromptu addition to my tart (and it did), but if you can't find it, I'm sure the tart will be pretty wonderful without it.

In fact, this tart is amenable to all kinds of variations. As I mentioned, Deborah Madison uses goat cheese and leeks. In addition to the ricotta and spring onions that David Lebovitz used in his, he added some finely diced Spanish Chorizo. I think it would be good with some pine nuts sprinkled over the surface. Vegetables could be added too—maybe some wilted greens or some sautéed zucchini or summer squash—but I enjoyed it with the vegetables on the side. It made a nice, light, meatless meal for a warm spring evening. It would make a great first course with a small salad for a dinner party.

Ricotta & Spring Onion Tart
with Green Garlic & Fresh Herbs

1 T. unsalted butter
1 T. olive oil
2 large bunches spring onions, trimmed and thinly sliced (about 8 oz.)
1 head green garlic (about 1 oz.), husks removed if tough and thinly sliced
2 t. minced fresh thyme, plus more for sprinkling over the finished tart
1 t. minced winter savory
6 oz. whole milk ricotta
1 large egg (see note)
1/2 c. heavy cream
1/4 cup whole milk
salt and freshly-ground pepper
one blind-baked 9-inch Pâte Brisée tart shell (see below)

In a large sauté pan set over medium heat, melt the butter with the olive oil. Add the onions and garlic, along with a pinch of salt and cook until tender and cooked through, covering the pan if it seems dry. Remove from the heat and stir in the fresh thyme and savory. Let cool to room temperature.

Crack the egg into a large bowl and whisk to break up. Whisk in the ricotta, mixing until smooth. Add the cream and milk. Season to taste with salt & pepper. Fold in the cooked onion and garlic.

Scrape the filling into the pre-baked tart shell set on a baking sheet. Bake in a 400° until just set. The tart should be slightly browned on top and beginning to get puffy around the edges, about 20-30 minutes. If the tart is set, but not golden, run the tart under a broiler to brown it a bit.

Sprinkle some fresh thyme leaves over the tart and let it cool briefly. Serve either warm or at room temperature. Serves 6 to 8.

Note: The egg that I used was from a carton of "large" farm fresh eggs. I find that local, farm fresh eggs are not always true to standard size. This particular egg weighed 69 grams—a "true" large egg weighs only 50 grams. If I were to make this with a "true" large egg, I would probably use 1 whole egg plus 1 yolk.

Pâte Brisée (Short Crust Pastry)

1 1/3 c. all-purpose flour (150 grams)
1/2 t. salt
1 stick unsalted butter, chilled and cut into 8 pieces
3 to 4 T. ice water

Combine the flour and the salt in a medium-sized bowl. Add the butter. Rub the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Drizzle 2 T. ice water over the flour/butter mixture. Using your hands, fluff the mixture until it begins to clump, adding more water, a bit at a time, if necessary. Turn the dough out onto a counter and form into a mound. Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps. Continue until all of the dough is flat. Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do. Form the finished dough into a thick disk. Chill for at least 30 minutes.

To roll out: Let the disk of dough warm up for a moment or two. Butter a 9- to 10-inch removable-bottom tart pan. On a floured surface, using a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough until it is about 1/8-inch thick—you should have a circle of dough that is about 12 inches in diameter. Brush off the excess flour and transfer the dough to the prepared pan. Ease the dough into the pan being careful not to stretch it. Cut the dough off flush with the edge of the pan by pressing gently. Chill the shell for at least 1/2 hour.

To blind bake: Line the pastry with aluminum foil or parchment paper, pressing it into the corners and edges. Add a layer of pie weights or dried beans. Bake in a 400° to 425° oven for 10 to 18 minutes. When the pastry begins to color on the edges, remove the foil and weights and continue baking until the pastry dries out and turns a light golden color. Let cool before filling.

Note: The tart dough may be made ahead and frozen—raw in disk form, or rolled out in the pan (raw or baked).

A Busy Day, a Swiss Chard Frittata & Roasted Beets

Even though yesterday was technically a day off for me, in reality it was a busy "catch up" day.  I needed to clean out my freezer, put some fresh baked goods in the freezer (I would be lost without my morning coffeecake/scone/muffin...) and make jam with the extremely ripe strawberries that I had from my visit to the market last Saturday.

In addition, there were the ordinary chores that pile up for a day off and a garden that has become a jungle due to the abundant rain (not to mention a patio full of plants ready to be planted and waiting for the ground to dry out). I also wanted to post to my blog...  At the end of all of this there was dinner to prepare. And even though I was tired by the end of the afternoon, as always I wanted to feed myself something worth eating...something satisfying and nourishing.

When I finally did get around to cooking dinner, I had the evening news on and there was what has become the almost nightly report on how fat Americans have become—due in part to the terrible things that people are eating. The usual suspects of gargantuan portions of saturated fat-laden, chain restaurant foods were paraded across the screen (right after the obligatory camera shots of the large waistlines and behinds lumbering down our streets). It caused me to wonder, as it always does, why in the world people are consuming this junk when it is clearly so bad for us

There are of course lots of answers to this question. But the one that struck me yesterday was how easy it is at the end of an overly busy day (and most days seem to be overly busy) to go out and have someone make your dinner for you while you sit and relax. I toyed with the idea of going out for dinner last night myself. But I had food from the market in the refrigerator that will go bad if I don't use it and I don't like to waste food.

Because I do have food on my mind most of the time, by mid afternoon I was mentally arranging and rearranging the produce in my fridge with staples in my cabinet and freezer--trying to come up with dinner--while I was doing other things. I know this kind of mental activity is not something everyone enjoys, but you don't have to be a chef to come up with something that is simple to prepare from ingredients that you already have on hand. I mentioned in my previous post how during the market season, you can allow your market purchases to be your guide and inspiration when planning your dinner. If you are stumped for ideas, a quick internet search on a particular ingredient or combination of ingredients will produce several recipes—some of which are bound to be short and simple. Another good resource is Martha Stewart's Everyday Food.  This magazine is specifically designed to give you ideas for fast, healthy meals. If you don't get the magazine, the recipes can all be found at her website.

One of the many things that I hope to accomplish with this blog is to provide ideas and sometimes recipes for using the ingredients that you find at your farmers' market each week. I want to encourage people to cook and eat fresh, healthy food on a daily basis. Not diet food. Just real food made with real ingredients. If you don't know how to cook, the only way to learn is to start cooking. The more you do it, the better and faster you will get.

Last night I eventually decided to make a Swiss Chard Frittata. If you have never had or made a frittata, it is nothing more than a flat, open-faced omelet.  Frittatas are very easy to make and they are a great vehicle for cooked vegetables—this time of year cooked spring onions, wilted spinach or chard, blanched/sautéed asparagus or peas, sautéed/roasted artichokes, sautéed mushrooms, boiled or roasted potatoes, etc. They are usually topped with cheese.  They can also include cooked meats or fish, but I generally make mine with all vegetables since the eggs (and cheese) provide all the protein that I need.

If you have been following my blog, you may remember the recipe I posted for a Potato and Mushroom Tortilla Española and you may be wondering what the difference is between a Tortilla and a Frittata since both are basically flat cakes of cooked eggs mixed with other cooked ingredients. I had this very conversation recently with a chef friend (Margo). Margo said that to her a Tortilla put the emphasis on the filling ingredients with the egg acting as more of a binder and that a Frittata was more about the eggs with the other ingredients acting as the supporting players. This is probably an accurate observation. To me a Tortilla also has to include potatoes that have been poached in olive oil, but this may just be my personal bias. Another difference is that Tortillas generally don't contain cheese—I almost always put cheese in a Frittata. But I think it is actually safe to say that the biggest difference between the two is that one is Spanish and the other is Italian. In practice, they are both a flat omelet. Both are served hot or at room temperature. And they are both good cold the next day, too.

Besides bread, I always like to serve a salad of some kind with a frittata.  I had lots of salad greens from the farmers' market in my refrigerator--and a green salad would make a great accompaniment for a frittata. But I wasn't really in the mood for a green salad last night. Instead I served my frittata with some simply dressed roasted beets.

To roast beets: trim off the tops, leaving about a half inch of the stems, scrub them and place them in a roasting or baking pan with about a half inch of water. Cover them with foil and roast at 375° to 400° until they are tender to the tip of a knife—about 40 minutes to an hour. When they are cool enough to handle, trim the top and the root and rub the skins off using a paper towel. Cut them in halves, quarters or wedges—or slice or dice them. Dress them with lemon juice or vinegar to taste (start with a half tablespoon of vinegar or a tablespoon of lemon juice for every pound of beets).  Acidity accentuates the sweetness of the beets—keep adding lemon juice or vinegar until the beets begin to taste bright and a bit sweet. Then season with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil.

Roasting is the way I almost always prepare beets, so when I am really on the ball, I will roast them immediately when I return from the market. I then dress them and put them in the refrigerator to enjoy all week—in a salad or as a side dish. But even if I haven't planned ahead, they are easy to prepare while doing other things (like cleaning chard for a frittata)—especially if you don't need the oven for anything else. In addition to lemon juice and olive oil, I seasoned my beets with cumin and mint and served them chilled, drizzled with plain yogurt and sprinkled with toasted walnuts:

We ate all of the beets last night, so for my lunch today, I had the frittata with a little salad of cherry tomatoes dressed with olive oil and red wine vinegar and tossed with some arugula chiffonade. This was very good too and would be a nice option for people who don't like beets....

Swiss Chard Frittata

2 T. Olive oil
4 or 5 spring onions, minced (white and some of green)—about 1 cup
1 clove garlic, minced (optional)
5 to 6 oz. cleaned Swiss Chard, cut in a wide chiffonade
Salt & Pepper, to taste
7 to 8 eggs (room temperature), lightly beaten
2 oz. grated Gruyère, Fontina or Provolone
2 to 3 T. grated Parmesan

Heat 1 1/2 T. of oil in a 10-inch nonstick skillet. Add the onion and cook over medium heat until tender—about 5 to 10 minutes. Add some salt and the garlic and cook just until fragrant. Add the chard. Cover and cook until wilted and tender—another 10 minutes or so. Uncover and continue to cook until any liquid given off by the chard has cooked off.

When the chard is cooked stir it into the eggs. Season with salt and pepper. Wipe out the skillet and return it to the heat, increasing the heat to medium-high. Add the remaining ½ T. of oil to the skillet. When the skillet is hot, add the egg mixture. As the eggs begin to set, shake the pan back and forth and with a rubber spatula lift the edges of the coagulated eggs in order to let the uncooked egg run underneath. Continue cooking and shaking and lifting until the eggs are mostly cooked but still moist on top. This should only take a few minutes.

Place the skillet under the broiler and broil just until the surface is no longer moist—about 30 seconds. Sprinkle the cheese over the surface and broil again until the cheese melts—another 30 seconds.

Slide the finished frittata onto a platter or cutting board and let sit for a minute or two. Cut into wedges and serve. The frittata may also be served at room temperature. Serves 4.

Variations:  Substitute cleaned spinach for the Swiss chard.  For the frittata pictured, I added some whole milk ricotta, daubed over the surface of the eggs before covering with the Fontina and Parmesan.

Note: To make a frittata with any vegetable or meat filling, just remember that the method is always the same: Cook the filling. (It is easiest to sauté the filling in the pan the frittata will be cooked in, but it is not necessary. Fillings can also be roasted or blanched. Frittatas are also a great place to use up leftovers.) Stir the filling into the eggs. Cook as directed above. Top with the cheese(s) of your choice. You will need 1 to 2 cups of cooked filling for a 7 to 8 egg frittata. Possible additions include potatoes, mushrooms, squash, broccoli & cauliflower, artichokes, asparagus, bell peppers, onions, sausage, bacon, crabmeat, etc. Frittatas can be served with a salad and are frequently served as the filling for a sandwich.

Market Inspirations—Asparagus, White Top Turnips, Wild Garlic & Early Green Beans

One of my favorite methods for preparing spring vegetables is to gently stew them in a bit of butter, olive oil or bacon/pancetta fat. Boiling or blanching can literally water down the already subtle flavors of spring vegetables. Gently cooking in fat with little or no added liquid enhances and concentrates flavor. This isn't to say that I don't blanch spring vegetables. Frequently I do. But if you have never had asparagus or a baby turnip cooked in nothing but a little butter and the liquid exuded by the vegetable itself, you will be amazed at the depth of flavor this method will produce.

At least once a week during asparagus season we eat some variation on a pasta primavera of gently sizzled asparagus and spring onions:

Sometimes enhanced with bacon or lemon zest. Almost always including herbs—ever changing combinations of chives, tarragon, thyme, parsley, arugula, or even sage (which is soft and delicate this time of year). Frequently sprinkled with toasted pine nuts. Almost always finished with cheese. Generally this means pecorino or parmesan, but this year I have been taken with placing blobs of whole milk ricotta over the dressed pasta in the pan and letting it sit for a minute or two to warm up—a trick I picked up from a summer squash pasta in Deborah Madison's Local Flavors . I don't stir the ricotta in, I just scoop the pasta out and we mix the ricotta in as we eat. 

For the last couple of weeks, Thane Palmberg has had white top turnips at his stand at the market. They appear for a short while during the spring and will return for another brief spell in the fall. They are pretty special turnips—tender, sweet, almost buttery in texture when cooked. I heard one of Thane's assistants tell a customer last week that they are good raw, but I love them so much cooked, I haven't eaten them raw....maybe next week.

For dinner last night, I cooked the turnips in some butter along with some spring onions and a little wild garlic and then tossed them with some blanched green beans. The wild garlic was given to me to try by the woman working at Thane's stand. I have never cooked with it before. It smells quite strong when raw, but the effect when cooked was subtle (but I only used one bulb since I had been advised that it was strong) and pleasant.

The green beans came from the same farmer who has been providing the beautiful strawberries I have been bringing home each week. Together with some simple sautéed pork chops, they made a lovely spring dinner.

To me, this is what local, seasonal cooking is all about. It is about going to the market each week and filling my market bag with the things that I love to eat. Then dinner is often just a matter of opening the refrigerator and allowing the ingredients to be my inspiration. Complicated methods and seasonings (while occasionally fun and interesting) aren't necessary.

Turnips with Spring Onions & Green Beans

Trim and peel some white top turnips. Cut them into wedges. Clean and mince some spring onions (and some wild garlic if you can get it—but don't skip this dish if you don't have any wild garlic). Melt some butter in a sauté pan over moderate heat. Add the turnips along with a pinch of salt and toss to coat in the butter. When the turnips begin to sizzle a bit, turn down the heat, cover and gently cook until the turnips are almost tender (10 to 15 minutes, or so). Add the spring onions and wild garlic and continue to cook at a gentle sizzle until the turnips and onions are completely tender. I generally uncover the pan for the last few minutes. It's OK if the turnips begin to caramelize a bit.

While the turnips cook, top and tail the green beans (use the same weight of green beans as you used of the turnips) and cut on the diagonal into 2- or 3-inch lengths. Drop the beans into boiling salted water and cook until tender (4 to 7 minutes, depending on how you like them done). Drain and add to the finished turnips and toss until the green beans are coated with the buttery spring onions. If you like, add some parsley or chives and a generous drizzle of olive oil. Taste and correct the seasoning and serve.

(Recipe adapted from Fresh from the Farmers' Market by Janet Fletcher)

Pasta with Asparagus & Spring Onions

2 to 3 T. olive oil or butter or a combination
2 to 4 spring onions, thinly sliced
grated zest of half a lemon (optional)
2 to 3 t. minced fresh tarragon, thyme or sage
6 to 8 oz. trimmed asparagus, sliced on the diagonal into 3” pieces
6 to 8 oz. linguine, fettuccine, penne, gemelli or farfalle
2 T. toasted pine nuts (optional)
¼ c. arugula chiffonade (optional)
2 T. minced chives or Italian flat-leaf parsley (optional)
Freshly grated Parmesan or Pecorino
2 chive blossoms, if available

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, melt the butter with the oil in a wide skillet over low heat. Add the spring onions, the zest and herbs (if using) along with some salt; cook slowly, stirring occasionally.

When the water boils, add the asparagus and cook until partially tender, 2 to 3 minutes. Scoop it out, add it to the spring onions, and continue cooking. Cook the pasta until al dente; drain, reserving some of the pasta water. Add the pasta to the vegetables along with more oil if the pan seems dry. Increase the heat and stir in the pine nuts, arugula, & chives, if using. If the pasta seems dry, moisten with a bit of the pasta cooking liquid. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Divide the pasta among individual plates and sprinkle with a little grated cheese and the chive blossoms.  Serves 2.

Notes:
• If available, stew a handful of peas or fava beans with the spring onions.
• If you prefer, don't blanch the asparagus. Instead, add the asparagus directly to the pan with the spring onions—it will take longer to cook, but will have a more concentrated flavor. When I do it this way, I cover the pan until the asparagus is about half to three-quarters cooked. I then finish cooking it uncovered. I generally start cooking the asparagus and drop the pasta when the asparagus is about half cooked. If the asparagus is tender and the pasta is not ready, just pull it to the side, off the heat, until the pasta is done.
• If you like, cook some minced bacon or pancetta first and use the rendered fat in place of some or all of the butter and olive oil.

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