MORE WAYS:
Invite more roots: Swap out some of the celery root for potatoes and turnips to add both complexity and creaminess. If you have any truffle butter, this is the place to use it.
Bake with cheese: Spread the mashed celery root in a shallow baking dish, add a layer of Taleggio cheese, goat cheese, or Parmigiano-Reggiano, top with some breadcrumbs, and bake.
Make a smooth soup: After pureeing, loosen the puree with water, a touch of cream, or some broth (or a combination) to make a silky soup.
Celery Root, Cracked Wheat, and Every-Fall-Vegetable-You-Can-Find Chowder
Any and all fall and winter vegetables work well in this soup. The celery root puree keeps the overall flavors from becoming too sweet and one-note. You could use farro or another grain in place of the cracked wheat, but the soup’s consistency will be thicker and more porridgelike . . . not necessarily a bad thing on a cold day.
» Serves 8
1 small celery root (about ¾ pound)
½ pound onions, sliced
3 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup cracked wheat
Several sprigs thyme
1 stalk celery, diced
1 small carrot, diced
1 big turnip, diced
1 medium potato, diced
2 cups shredded kale
1 big handful arugula or other spicy or bitter greens
Using a sharp paring knife, cut away all the tough exterior of the celery root; if there are dark fissures remaining, cut those away, too. Cut it into chunks.
Put the celery root, onions, 1 garlic clove, butter, and ½ cup water in a medium pot with a lid. Add 1 teaspoon salt and about 20 twists of pepper, cover, and bring to a simmer. Cook until everything is thoroughly soft, 20 to 25 minutes depending on the size of your chunks. Let this cool for a few minutes, then puree it in a food processor or blender. Set it aside.
Heat the olive oil in a big soup pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the remaining 2 garlic cloves and gently toast for a few minutes to begin to soften the garlic. Add the cracked wheat, reduce the heat to low, and cook, stirring frequently, to gently toast the grain and deepen the flavor, 7 to 8 minutes—you’ll smell the grain getting toasty; take care not to burn the garlic. Add the thyme to the pot.
Add the celery, carrot, turnip, potato, and 1 teaspoon salt. Cover and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are soft and fragrant but not at all browned, 10 to 15 minutes.
Add just enough water to cover by ½ inch, adjust the heat to a lively simmer, cover, and cook until the vegetables are all tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Add the kale and cook for another few minutes—the kale should keep a bit of bite to it.
Stir in the celery root puree. The final soup should be nicely thick, but if it seems too thick and porridgelike, add more water. Taste the soup and add more salt if you like, then add lots and lots of pepper so the flavors are mellow and sweet from the vegetables with a bit of heat from the pepper.
Right before serving, reheat the soup and toss in the arugula. Serve hot.
Fried Celery Root Steaks with Citrus and Horseradish
Even without the salad on top, these golden crisp disks are scrumptious—they have the comfort-food appeal of fried mozzarella sticks but are infinitely more nutritious and refined. Serve them as a vegetarian main dish or a side dish to roast pork. The two-step cooking process may seem fussy, but it ensures the celery root is thoroughly cooked, and it minimizes the actual frying time.
» Serves 4
1 large celery root (about 2 pounds), peeled and cut into ¾-inch-thick disks
Extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg, beaten
1¼ cups panko breadcrumbs
½ teaspoon ground coriander
1 cup citrus segments (see sidebar): choose from blood orange, tangerine, navel orange, or Meyer lemon to make a nice mix
½ cup lightly packed roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley leaves
¼ cup sliced pepperoncini
Fresh horseradish root, for grating
Heat the oven to 400°F.
Brush or toss the celery root steaks with some olive oil, season with salt, spread in an even layer on a baking sheet, and roast until tender but not at all mushy, 15 to 20 minutes. Let the steaks cool.
Meanwhile, set up your work station like this: a plate with the flour; a shallow bowl containing the beaten egg; a shallow bowl with the panko and ground coriander tossed together; a wire rack or small tray; a tray lined with paper towels; and the final serving dish.
Gently dip a celery root steak into the flour and then into the egg, letting the excess drip off. Next dredge through the crumbs so that it is fully coated, patting to encourage the crumbs to stick. (This process gets messy, so try to use only one hand.) Transfer to the rack and continue with the rest of the steaks.
Pour ¼ inch of oil into a medium skillet and heat to about 375°F. Add as many steaks as will fit comfortably and cook, turning once, until both sides are nicely browned, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Transfer to the paper towels.
Toss the segmented citrus with the parsley and pepperoncini. Season generously with salt and pepper. Arrange the celery root steaks on plates or a platter and top each with some salad. Grate a generous amount of horseradish over all and serve while the steaks are still hot and crisp.
Segmenting Citrus Citrus fruit is a wonderful companion to many winter vegetables, bringing both bright flavor and juiciness to the table. Use this same technique whether working with a softball-size grapefruit or a teeny Persian lime. Provided your knife is sharp, this is an easy and pretty cool technique.
Cut a slice off each end of the citrus fruit to flatten. Stand it on the work surface on one of its flat sides. With a sharp knife, slice away the peel, including all the white pith, cutting from the top to the bottom and following the contour of the fruit. Take your time and work in wide strips. If any white pith remains, just slice it off.
Cut out the citrus segments by holding the fruit in one hand and cutting along both sides of each segment to release it from the membranes. Do this over a bowl to catch the juices. Put the segments into another small bowl and then squeeze the “empty” citrus membranes to get out more juice.
Dried Corn and Polenta
cornmeal
It might seem strange to include dried corn—in the form of cornmeal—in a book about vegetables, but dried corn is as much a product of its season as springtime’s fava beans are. Drying corn and milling it into meal is the way to bring one season’s bounty into the next. Plus, polenta is a natural partner for so many of the dishes in the book, and it’s at the heart of the Italian cooking I love so much.
Polenta
Polenta isn’t simply a recipe, it’s more like a religion. Fundamental, simple, and rustic, and yet a bowl of perfect polenta can be transformative. You’ll hear varying ways to cook it and most will get you where you want to go, but I’ve made a lot of polenta in my life and this is what I believe.
Six Steps for Perfect Polenta
Find the good stuff. Freshly milled from a local grower is the best, but there are plenty of other decent commercial options. The deal-breaker? Instant polenta. Do not use it. It has the mediocre flavor and texture of convenience. I’m lucky enough to get polenta from Ayers Creek Farm in Gaston, Oregon, grown by Anthony and Carol Boutard. Anthony’s a dried bean and dried corn guru in our region, and his flint corn polenta is as good as any I’ve had in Italy or elsewhere.
For the ratio of polenta to water, I use 5 parts water to 1 part polenta, which is wetter than you may see elsewhere. Too little water
makes a thick, underhydrated mixture. When in doubt, add more water and then cook it longer, because if the polenta can’t absorb any more water, the water will simply evaporate.
Add the polenta to boiling water, which will avoid lumps. Get your whisk in one hand, polenta in the other, let the polenta flow into the water in a thin steady stream, and whisk like crazy. I know there are other methods, but I believe in this one. And I make killer polenta.
Immediately reduce the heat to very low. This will prevent sticking and burning on the bottom, but most important, it will prevent the polenta from becoming a messy, hot, volcanic porridge that can bubble up and burn the cook.
Cook for a long time, and then cook some more. I cook polenta for hours, tasting along the way to determine doneness; a home-size batch might take as long as 2½ hours. I want every bit of crunch cooked out of the cornmeal, so that the finished result is soft—almost airy—moist, and creamy. Your goal is polenta that’s spoonable but doesn’t run to the sides of a plate. You can easily reheat polenta of this consistency by adding a little water and stirring over low heat.
Don’t season until you’re ready to serve it. Because you’re cooking for a long time and your cooking water is both being absorbed and evaporating, controlling the amount of residual salt is tricky. I prefer to add a pinch of salt and some cheese and butter right before I serve it.
MORE WAYS:
Stir in fresh corn kernels and top with grated cheese: One of life’s simple pleasures, doubled.
Mix with bits of savory ingredients: Cooked fish, chopped meats, pickles, and all kinds of different cheese. Fold in the ingredients, cool until stiffer, and then shape into little cakes and fry. Or make cakes with just cheese and butter, and serve alongside brandade, stewed meats, grilled fish, blue cheese, or runny cheeses of all kinds.
Top with a spoonful of ragu: And of course plenty of Parmigiano.
Top with braised greens and a poached egg: Add some smoky meat on the side, and don’t forget to grab the hot sauce.
Create a layer for a baked casserole: Top with crumbled sausage, cooked greens, and cheese and a touch of tomato sauce.
Add mascarpone and maple syrup, and top with some stewed dates: This can be breakfast or dessert.
Kohlrabi
Funny name, funny shape . . . but a seriously delicious vegetable! Crisp and juicy, a bit like a love child of a turnip and an apple, kohlrabi truly will be a revelation to those who haven’t cooked with it yet. I use it both raw and cooked, but even when I cook it, I like to maintain its juicy crunch.
Small is best. You’ll find both purple and green ones, so pick your favorite color because flavorwise, there’s no difference. Smaller is better because larger specimens can be woody or spongy inside. Sometimes you’ll get kohlrabi with branches and leaves still attached. If they look fresh, use them as you would any braising greens, like collards, kale, or chard. And as with a lot of winter vegetables, some time spent in the cold means more accumulated sugars and therefore a sweeter eat.
Easy prep. Most often the only prep required is trimming away the outer layer if it’s tough; very young kohlrabi don’t need peeling or trimming. Then just grate or julienne it for crunchy-sweet slaws (apple is a natural partner), shave it into salads, or cube it up and add it to soups and stir-fries.
Kohlrabi with Citrus, Arugula, Poppy Seeds, and Crème Fraîche
Get ready to fall in love. This simple salad shows off how sexy and delicious raw kohlrabi is. If you can’t find crème fraîche, sour cream will do just fine.
» Serves 4
1 pound kohlrabi, peeled and any gnarly bits cut away
½ cup crème fraîche
2 tablespoons poppy seeds
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 large handfuls arugula
3 oranges, tangerines, or other sweet citrus, segmented, juice reserved
2 to 3 tablespoons Citrus Vinaigrette
Cut the kohlrabi into little wedges about the same size as the blood orange segments. Toss with 3 tablespoons of the crème fraîche and the poppy seeds. Season generously with salt and pepper.
Spread a nice swoosh of the remaining crème fraîche onto each plate. Quickly toss the arugula with the blood orange segments and juices and the citrus vinaigrette. Arrange the arugula and oranges on each plate and top with the kohlrabi.
Kohlrabi Brandade
When I worked at Four Season Farm, the ocean breezes and the seaweed we tilled into the soil linked kohlrabi with brininess for me, so adding kohlrabi to salt-cod brandade, though not French, makes sense. Serve the brandade on toasted bread rubbed with garlic, or as one of the variations that follow. Note that you’ll need to start salt cod prep at least a day ahead.
» Serves 6 to 8
½ pound salt cod, thoroughly rinsed of all surface salt
1 pound kohlrabi, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice
¾ pound potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice
6 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
Whole milk
Freshly ground black pepper
1 bay leaf
1 dried chile, such as chile de árbol
½ cup roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley
½ lemon
Extra-virgin olive oil
Bread, toasted or grilled and rubbed with garlic
Submerge the salt cod in water and soak for at least 8 hours, changing the water every couple of hours. You can also soak overnight in the refrigerator, drain, and then do another 2-hour soak. Cut the cod into 1-inch pieces.
Put the kohlrabi, potatoes, salt cod, and garlic in a large saucepan. Pour in enough milk to come higher than halfway up the ingredients. Season with several twists of black pepper, add the bay leaf and dried chile, and bring to a gentle simmer. Partially cover to allow some but not all of the steam to escape, and simmer gently until the kohlrabi and potatoes are very tender and the salt cod is falling into flakes, about 20 minutes. Set a sieve over a bowl and drain. Return the milk to the pan and set the other ingredients aside; discard (compost) the bay leaf and chile.
Cook the milk at a lively simmer until reduced to about 1 cup. Taste and season with some salt if it needs it (the salt cod will have added saltiness). Return the vegetables and cod to the pot and simmer everything, stirring and folding so the ingredients break apart and the mixture starts to get creamy. You’re aiming for a chunky, creamy, stringy, lovely consistency.
Fold in the parsley. Taste and season the brandade with more salt if you like, plus lots of black pepper and a squeeze of lemon. Finish with a hefty splash of olive oil. Prepare the garlic-rubbed grilled bread, spoon on some brandade, and serve as a hearty snack or a light meal.
MORE WAYS:
Fry crisp brandade cakes: Mix the brandade with chopped rehydrated dried mushrooms, sliced pickled carrots or fennel, and an egg. Shape into hockey puck–size cakes and dredge through breadcrumbs. Shallow-fry, drain briefly on paper towels, and serve with simple wilted greens.
Bake brandade with a potato chip crust: Sauté some mushrooms and fold into the brandade; spread into a baking dish. Make a topping of 3 parts crunched-up potato chips to 1 part crushed torn croutons, a bit of chopped rosemary, and a handful of shredded sharp cheddar. Grate more cheese over the top and bake at 450°F until browned and bubbling.
Onions (Storage)
If ever there were an unsung hero of the vegetable world, onion is it. And yet plain, late-season storage onions are brilliant. By “storage,” I mean onions that are grown and cured (through drying) to have a long shelf life. Despite the stinging-eye thing, mature onions are full of sugars, and the texture of a slowly cooked onion is both silky and substantial.
By the time winter rolls around, most of what you’ll see are the mainstream varieties—white, yellow, and red onions and shallots. In some markets, sweet varieties such as Vidalia and Walla Walla are
still available, but they are much more perishable and therefore aren’t year-round. (See early-season onions.)
Get the right one for the job. White, yellow, and red onions can be used interchangeably, but each has its best purpose. White onions are a bit milder than yellow and finish with a clean bite, great for using fresh—think salsas and garnishes. Red onions are on par with white onions and best used fresh, especially since the anthocyanins that produce their red color can turn blue-gray unless mixed with something acidic, like vinegar. Best to save them for sandwiches, salads, and pickles. Yellow onions need no introduction: Sauté until translucent for a bright onion flavor, or cook long and slow to caramelize their sugars. And as for shallots, they’re in a class of their own, with a complex flavor that hints of garlic.
Keep them dry. Choose onions that are hard, with no soft spots, and tight, dry, papery skins. Give them a sniff: There should be no odor. If they are starting to smell like onions (or worse), they’ve started to rot. Heat and moisture are onions’ worst enemies, as heat causes them to sprout and moisture promotes mold. So keep them in a cool, dry place with plenty of ventilation—no plastic bags, no fridge. (Potatoes need similar conditions, but don’t be tempted to mingle the two, as onions give off a gas that encourages potatoes to sprout.)
Onion and Pancetta Tart
Unlike a quiche, this savory tart is filled with very little custard in order to let the sweet onions dominate. This is delicious reheated the next day, so it’s a good make-ahead dish for entertaining.
» Makes one 10-inch tart
Six Seasons Page 31
