Just Add Salt

Every so often, there is a vegetable in the weekly share that you either don't know or don't want. At the end of the season, I've been wowed by tomatoes, tickled by jalepenos, charmed by melon and persuaded by kale (which I now purchase regularly, even when it's not in our share). Call it harvest fatigue, but who wants to learn about a new vegetable right when we are supposed to be turning to our pantries, preparing soups and comfort foods, making use of bought legumes and anything we froze or canned in August?

So I'll admit that it was with a twinge of annoyance that I read, in this week's Wild Carrot: watermelon radishes. Come on! I'm not even that fond of watermelon, as melons go, and then radishes are nice, but . . . well, they are nice. But what is this thing called watermelon radish? Dessert or salad ingredient? Could I throw it in a soup? A stir fry? Would it take to the slow cooker? Plop it on pasta? Fearing I was condemning it to a slow and withering death in the back of the fridge, I chucked a bunch in our bag at pick up.

And then I peeled one. Wow! Look at these beauties! With slightly less bite than a tiny, red, summer radish, and a hint of sweetness that salt brings out nicely.

Peel, slice, and pass with a bowl of kosher salt for dipping. So delicious!

Tuesday's Child

I don't know what Tuesdays are like in your house, but in our house, they are nuts. This distinguishes them not one bit from the other days of the week (also insane) but for the fact that Tuesdays are our pick-up day at Rushton Farm. So, on top of that other "To Do" list -- you know, the one you never fully get through before adding additional items -- Tuesdays find us adding "Clean and prep vegetables from Rushton Farm." And then, because there is always that one amazing looking item from the weekly pick-up that you just have to eat that very night, we must add "Prepare dinner on the fly, incorporating whatever to-die-for veggie you happen to bring home."

This step has dissuaded many a family from joining a CSA: Who can keep up with all the vegetables? At the height of the growing season, there is no doubt that eight pounds of tomatoes slung at you on a given weeknight can feel daunting. And then there is that runaway sweet pepper, forgotten and crammed at the back of the crisper, that you find weeks later and must mourn its having passed, unused, into a liquid form that will now have to be mopped up. Keeping up with the bounty can feel like a part-time job, even if you are putting no labor into the farm itself. Families with small children, in particular, seem to be intimidated by the volume of produce they anticipate receiving from a CSA, worrying not only about the time involved in food prep but also the fact that there is no guarantee that your kids will even try what you bring home.

I would argue, however, that far from being a deterrent, our Tuesday ritual injects an element of calm and an aspect of thanksgiving into our weekly family chaos. We have no choice but to take Tuesday evenings off, and dinner will not be chucked straight from the microwave onto the table, eaten standing up, or thawed from a cardboard box. On Tuesdays, we drive to the farm, no matter how tired or crabby, no matter the weather, no matter what sort of junk we consumed the previous day. We go.

We arrive in shambles; sometimes, there are tears. But soon, they dry, as the children take off at a sprint and seek out their favorite things. Charlie heads for the sugar snap peas or the raspberry patch, depending on the month, and Margaret looks for Ashley, each child towing oversize bags behind them. We collect our produce, making sure it is carefully counted, weighed and distributed evenly among the bags. We name the vegetables and talk about how we will cook them and eat them. There is sniffing, some tasting, some jockeying over who puts what in which bag. And there is an awareness that you will not get at any store in the country. The potatoes are dirty because they just came out of the ground, right over there. Swiss chard looks like both rainbows and the feathers from the birds in the movie Rio. Bell peppers really do look like bells, but quieter. Chives are spicy; mint is sweet; don't even touch the little peppers because they will sting you.

On Tuesdays, in addition to our weekly share, we find small moments of grace, like the pinkish-orange butterfly who seems to have a distinct taste only for pink flowers. As the sun moves west, we follow the butterfly east, tracing the row of flowers and noting her preferences. We pick small bouquets and take only a few, so other families can enjoy the flowers, too. We share raspberries with the bees and then purchase honey to drizzle on tomorrow morning's toast. "Will the honey taste like raspberries?" wonders Charlie, learning at five the unique joy that comes from posing a question to which you can find an answer only through your own, subjective discovery process.

And it is not just the land but the people that cast a spell over my children, causing them to try foods they would never otherwise seek out. Our daughter worships "Farmer Ashley", and she has only to be told that Ashley planted or picked a certain vegetable to taste it eagerly. She has named a doll "Ashley" in her honor, and she now serves carrots and leeks at her tea parties. ("Organic Farmer Barbie" is surely in the works by some enterprising and foresighted toy company!) In the Spring, Charlie was persuaded by "Farmer Fred" to try Tat Soi, and by the time we got home, he had chomped up the whole bunch of it, raw, like a rabbit. This from a child who used to think pizza was a food group.

The Harvest Celebration at Rushton Farm is our favorite family event of the year, and the children have been anticipating this coming Saturday with an eagerness usually reserved for holidays that revolve around sugary foods (Easter, Halloween). Charlie has assured Margaret that if the scary ghosts are there again this year, he will protect her, and he informs her that this year, she will be big enough to carve her own pumpkin. I am quite certain that not a vegetable will pass their lips on Saturday night, and they will drink only cider, eat only marshmallows and other people's desserts. (Sorry in advance; that was my kid who stole your cookies.)



So be it. Guess what they ate last night? Leeks sauteed with garlic and Swiss Chard. And mashed celeriac. And to my great delight, there were no leftovers.

Leeks Sauteed with Swiss Chard
The recipe is both imprecise and can't-fail, making it perfect for a Tuesday. Or any other day, for that matter. Have more chard than leeks? Just change the name of the recipe: "Swiss Chard Sauteed with Leeks"

Ingredients

4-8 medium Leeks, washed carefully, halved lengthwise and then sliced into half-moons
1 large and colorful bunch Swiss Chard, stems finely chopped and greens cut into chiffonade (finely sliced)
2 medium cloves of garlic, minced
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1/3 cup chicken stock

Melt butter and olive oil over medium heat in a saute pan with a lid. Add leek and chopped Swiss Chard stems and saute, 5 minutes, until color deepens. Add garlic and saute an additional 3 minutes, until quite fragrant.



Add the Swiss Chard greens, stir to combine, and then add chicken stock. Cover and simmer, about 5 minutes, until vegetables soften but retain a slight bite. Salt and pepper to taste.



As an option, you can add some freshly squeezed lemon juice and lemon zest or some freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese off the heat. Leftovers would make a nice filling for a quiche or frittata.