Cook Your Harvest

I had the pleasure of working our market booth with Sally DeCardy last Thursday. For the last four markets of the season, the market is located on the strip now between the Community Center and the ball fields, and this is my favorite part of the market season. Perhaps because the booths are a bit closer together, our neighbors are shopping nearly tush-to-tush, and warm conversations and greetings abound. Not to mention that September is really our bounty time, our abun-dance! But back to Sally. So many silly things happened while we worked the booth, from keeping the band and the story-teller mollified with sharing space and time (again, abundance), to running out of our fantastic “Beet the System” t-shirts in sizes that suit anyone (we are still prepared for the very large and very small), that we hardly got to talk about what we really wanted to: oh, how to take advantage of the late-season peaches, strawberries, heart-shaped plums — I thought we would have to eat them immediately!

Sally, it turns out, is a true peach. Aficionado. A peach-preserving aficionado. And by the end of our fragmented conversation on this topic, she had persuaded me to buy a case and put them up. She gave me these instructions when I told her that I am not a fan of cooked peaches, only fresh. These tips help you have “like fresh” peaches until your freezer is empty.

So, after a committee meeting that ran until near midnight, I came home and did just what she said:

Put a big pot of water on to boil and sink a colander down into it. (Or be prepared to lift them out in batches with a slotted spoon or wire dipper). Once it boils, put the whole peaches down into the colander (as many as will fit and be immersed in the water) but only for TEN SECONDS! Bring out the colander and gently pour the peaches into a big bowl of ice water. Start another batch of peaches on a TEN SECOND boil, remove the first batch from the ice water to a cutting board and repeat until your entire kitchen counter area is covered in peaches ready to be skinned.

Now, for this skinning part, I am sure Sally said something like “it’s like peeling off a pair of pantyhose” and many readers have perhaps never had the pleasure of peeling off a pair of panty hose. But the skin will happily come away (unlike what I seem to remember about trying to get out of those torture devices so many years ago).

Once all the skin is off, cut the peaches as big or small as you like, being sure to remove the pit and anything else you don’t want to eat later, and then stuff it all into Ziploc bags or other freezer containers (Sally recommends small bags or containers because when you defrost, you want to use it all very quickly, so pack some small bags for pieces to put in your yogurt and some larger bags to make pies, tarts, jam or salsa batches). I seem to remember Sally saying something about how several days after defrosting it all looks like soggy paper bags or something, so be prepared to quickly use up what you defrost.

Voila, another beautiful bounty “put up” to share with and dazzle friends as the winter months approach. Here’s what my kitchen looked like at about 12:30 AM. Move over, Barbara Kingsolver!

Near closing time at the Queen Anne Farmers’ Market each week, a couple of volunteers walk through the market carrying large plastic bins, and ask the farmers if they have any produce they’d like to donate to a charity. Many of the farmers are quite generous, and give large quantities of highly perishable vegetables and fruits. We’ve been taking the surplus produce to the Seattle Children’s Home, just a few blocks from the market, but last week, the home was unable to take all of the produce that we’d collected. There was no backup plan for the donated food (who’d have thought that a facility on a tight budget would turn down such a bounty?), so we distributed some to families in the neighborhood, and took some home ourselves. And that’s how our little family of two came to have several pounds of summer squash and eggplant, a couple of cauliflowers and a dozen ears of corn crowding our refrigerator.

One of the ways that my mother used to coax her young daughters to eat summer squash was to cook it in a casserole, gooey with yellow cheese, bound with eggs. I haven’t had squash casserole in years, but when faced with several pounds of squash, and a cool, rainy weekend (quite a change from last weekend’s heat!), I reached for my copy of the Treebeard’s cookbook, and made some old-fashioned Southern comfort food from local Northwest ingredients.

Squash Casserole

3 pounds crookneck, zucchini or other summer squashes, sliced
1/4 cup butter or olive oil, or combination of two
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium onions, chopped (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 bell pepper, chopped
1 cup cheddar or other hard cheese, grated
1/4 cup parsley, chopped
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, or to taste
3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup bread crumbs (I made crumbs from a homemade English muffin)
3 eggs, beaten

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large saucepan, bring 3 quarts water to a boil. Blanch squash until cooked but still firm. Do not overcook. Drain squash well.

In a large skillet, heat butter and/or olive oil. Saute garlic, onion and pepper until vegetables are softened, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl; add remaining ingredients. Add drained squash and stir to blend completely. Pour into a large casserole dish.

Bake at 350 degrees until bubbly around the edges and browned on top, 30 to 45 minutes.

Feeds 8-10 as a side dish, or 6 as a vegetarian main dish.

To accompany the squash casserole, we had cauliflower roasted with mustard, lemon and butter, and sweet corn sauteed with onion, garlic, chopped serrano pepper and tomatoes. Good thing that I really enjoy all of these dishes, ‘cuz we have lots of leftovers.

Many thanks to the farmers at the Queen Anne Farmers’ Market for the food that they provide, both for my family and for those less fortunate.

GNG Cofounder Nancie Kosnoff’s ripped strip is pumping out gorgeous, tricolor pattypans faster than she can foist them on her neighbors. What are her squash plans this week?

“Zucchini and other summer squash are great stuffed and baked, sautéed with a little olive oil and soy sauce, or even shredded and added to meatloaf for a higher nutritional value. But on a cold, dark, rainy late August Monday afternoon, my vote is for . . . . chocolate zucchini cake.”

Yum, Nancie! I’ll be right over.

The term summer squash refers to any squash with an edible skin. This includes pattypan, zucchini and yellow crookneck squash, as well as globe squash, scallopini and others. You can use them interchangeably in most recipes and they do well with strong flavors.

Chocolate Zucchini Cake
From Bon Appétit, November 1995

2 1/4 cups sifted all purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 cups grated unpeeled zucchini (about 2 1/2 medium)
1 6-ounce package (about 1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan. Sift flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt into medium bowl. Beat sugar, butter and oil in large bowl until well blended. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla extract. Mix in dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in 3 additions each. Mix in grated zucchini. Pour batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle chocolate chips and nuts over.

Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Cool cake completely in pan.

This summer the kids and I are making jam (raspberry, apricot, blueberry, and peach . . . so far!). We’re doing it the old-fashioned way, with no added pectin: just fruit, sugar and a whole lot of stirring. We use observation (does it gel on a cold saucer?) instead of a thermometer to judge its doneness.

We skim the foam, ladle the bubbling syrup into hot jars, cap them tightly and invert them, then after a few minutes, turn them right side up and listen for the ping, pong, ping of the successful seals.

Our son uses his best penmanship, if not spelling, on the labels (”apricot vannila” is featured in the photo). He and his sister carefully align the jars on the windowsill to admire.

Their delight in the process is surpassed only by their delight in the product, spread on buttered toast, glopped onto ice cream, or eaten straight off the spoon. They’ve invented an “Italian soda” using sparkling water and jam foam (too sweet for grown-ups).

How fortunate we are. Within an hour, we have wiped up the counters and turned to other activities.

While typing up a beloved aunt’s memoirs recently, I realized that I come from a long line of women who worked from sun up to sun down, and often beyond, growing, harvesting, and preparing food for their families, in addition to all of the other chores of tending to family and farm. Preserving food for the winter was a necessity, a stay against hunger. It was certainly not recreational.

If they didn’t plan ahead, and ran out of sugar or jars (as I’m wont to do), the fruit could go bad before the next trip to town. If they felt like blogging instead of making dinner, ordering pizza was not an option. Planning was essential. How little time they had just to themselves!

This summer as I practice that antique kitchen alchemy, I thank my mother, my grandmothers, my great-grandmothers, and all the women before them in a long chain of caring and lore. They bequeathed many skills to me that are no longer necessary for survival (or even for canning, e.g. paraffin). But their legacy of love is preserved. Generation after generation. Spoonful after spoonful.

I haven’t yet planted a vegetable garden in our yard. I’ve only recently figured out, after some careful weekend observation, which 25 square feet of the front yard get enough sun for enough hours of the day that vegetables might thrive there. That little patch of brown lawn is now covered with potted tomato plants, which are flowering like crazy, and have even set some fruit.

Three — count ‘em! — of my yellow plum tomatoes are almost ripe. They’re smaller than I’d expected, but a gorgeous sunny yellow. I’m giving them a couple more days before I pluck them off the plant.

Although the tomatoes I’m growing haven’t yet produced much food, the tomato growers at the local farmers’ markets have boxes and boxes of gorgeous fruits. Luscious and juicy, these tomatoes don’t need much more than a slathering of balsamic vinegar and a scattering of fresh basil to enhance their slightly acidic sweetness.

Is it any wonder that I’d want to hang on to that taste into the winter? Last fall, I “put up” tomatoes for the first time. In September, I cooked pounds of perfectly ripe tomatoes into a rich tomato puree. (The one jar remaining on the basement shelf will be gone by the end of the week.) By mid October, the tomatoes arriving at the farmers’ markets were not quite ripe — abundant still, but harvested just shy of perfection. Too impatient to wait for them to ripen on a windowsill that might not be sunny, I went looking for some other way to preserve them, while intensifying their flavor — and it seems that all the food bloggers I read were slow-roasting tomatoes.

Molly roasts tomato halves cut side up, for 4-6 hours, with coriander and sea salt, Kalyn for 9-11 hours, cut side down, with fennel and other herbs; the list goes on. The variables are herbs used and hours in the oven; the constants olive oil and low heat. After reading lots of blog posts and recipes, this is what I did:

Preheat your oven to 200 degrees. Slice tomatoes in half lengthwise, and arrange cut side up on a baking sheet. Using a pastry brush, lightly coat cut sides of tomatoes with olive oil. Sprinkle tomatoes with ground coriander and, if you wish, a little salt. (I did one batch with salt, the following six without.) Roast the tomatoes for 8-10 hours. This timing is ideal for overnight roasting; I put the tomatoes in the oven around 10 p.m., and take them out, perfectly done, the next morning.

A couple of these tomatoes and slivers of good, sharp cheese are the perfect topping for a toasted piece of chewy sourdough bread. Thinly sliced, they add a bright, fruity note to an earthy green lentil soup. But my favorite way so far of eating them (other than straight from the oven) is in a simple, quick, but delicious pasta.

Put some pasta on to boil. While it’s cooking, chop up a few overnight tomatoes and a handful of flat-leaf parsley. Strip the leaves off a couple of sprigs of thyme. Combine the tomatoes and herbs in a bowl, and splash in a little balsamic vinegar. Grate some nice Parmesan cheese. When the pasta is cooked to your liking, drain it, then return to the pan. Toss with a healthy glug of good olive oil. Mix in the tomato-herb-vinegar mixture. Sprinkle on the parmesan cheese, and grind some black pepper on top.

Yum.

It may seem a bit early yet for canning or roasting tomatoes, but that all depends on how large a supply you want to have on hand to tide you over from this tomato season to the next. This year, I’m not going to wait until September to start preserving some summer for winter’s cold, rainy nights.