by Suvir Saran
Serves 6
1 tbsp kosher salt
1 lb/455 g medium red potatoes, halved
1 tsp Herbes de Hebron or herbes de Provence
5 tbsp/70 g unsalted butter
1 cup/240 ml canola oil
½ cup/80 ml extra-virgin olive oil
11 fresh sage leaves
1½ sprigs fresh rosemary
1½ sprigs fresh thyme
2 heads garlic, top one-third cut off so cloves are exposed
Bring a large pot of cold water and 2 tsp of the salt to a boil. Add the potatoes and Herbes de Hebron and return to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer until a paring knife easily slips into the center, about 15 minutes. Drain through a sieve and set the potatoes aside.
Preheat the oven to 350°F/180°C/gas 4. Melt the butter in a large cast-iron frying pan over medium heat. Add the canola oil and olive oil, 8 sage leaves, 1 sprig rosemary, and 1 sprig thyme. Carefully turn the potatoes into the frying pan and bring the liquid to a simmer. Turn off the heat and place the pan in the oven for 30 minutes. Remove the frying pan from the oven and add the garlic along with the remaining 3 sage leaves, ½ sprig rosemary, and ½ sprig thyme. Sprinkle with the remaining 1 tsp salt. Return the pan to the oven and continue to roast until the potatoes are deeply browned and crisp and the garlic is tender, another 30 to 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool for 10 minutes before serving. Be sure to offer a few roasted garlic cloves along with each serving of potatoes.
Warm Egg Salad on Croissants with Country Bacon and Arugula
This is basic country food at its finest. Lisa Smith, the executive chef for Central Market supermarkets in Texas, was visiting us at the farm, and one morning we brought her to Max London’s in Saratoga Springs for breakfast. Their croissants blew her away and she called them the best she ever had (and Lisa knows croissants—she studied under the wonderfully gifted chef-teacher Madeleine Kamman and worked in France). She bought a few to bring back to the house and, upon arrival, said to Charlie and me, “Guys, today you rest. I’m making egg salad for lunch!” Of course, Lisa’s egg salad isn’t just egg salad—it’s creamy and warm and punctuated by the slight bite and crunch of arugula and smoky country bacon.
Serves 4
8 strips good-quality thick-cut bacon
8 cups/2 L water
¼ cup/60 ml white vinegar
8 large eggs, at room temperature
4 butter croissants, halved
¼ cup/60 ml mayonnaise, store-bought or homemade (see recipe)
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
16 leaves baby arugula
Preheat the oven to 350°F/180°C/gas 4. Lay the bacon on a rimmed baking sheet and cook in the oven for 10 to 20 minutes, depending on how crisp you like your bacon. Remove the pan from the oven and use tongs to transfer the bacon to a paper towel–lined plate to drain and cool. Set aside. Reduce the oven temperature to 200°F/95°C.
Pour the water and vinegar into a large pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and use a slotted spoon to gently lower the eggs into the boiling water. Simmer the eggs (reduce the heat to mediuwm-low if necessary) for exactly 12 minutes.
While the eggs cook, set the croissants on a rimmed baking sheet and place them in the oven to warm (reassemble the croissants so they are whole—you don’t want the interiors to get toasty and hard).
Transfer the cooked eggs to a sieve and place them under cold running water until they’re cool enough to handle (you don’t want the eggs to be cold—they need to be warm). Peel the eggs, place them in the bowl of a food processor, and purée until they’re creamy. Add the mayonnaise, season with salt and pepper, and continue to process until the mixture is well combined.
Divide the egg salad among the bottom halves of the croissants. Top each with 4 pieces of arugula and 2 pieces of bacon. Cover with the top halves of the croissants and eat immediately.
Farm Yarn:
Drop-Ins Welcome!
Part of the fun of having an opendoor farmhouse is that we never know who is going to stop by. One afternoon, it could be an Emmy Award– winning television director; another day, it could be a narcotic-toting hippie. While all is quiet during the winter, spring is the time when people start stopping by—announced, unannounced, and sometimes even unbeknownst to us. Often it’s the baby goats and the goslings that draw them in. Other times it’s just our wooden sign for fresh farm eggs.
One morning, a seemingly nice-enough guy stopped by the farm asking about our eggs. Charlie explained that heritage birds are heirloom chickens, that they’re not commercially bred to lay eggs religiously, that they lay eggs in a rainbow of colors, et cetera. He also told the stranger how much we charge for a dozen ($5 in the country, $10 in the city). Then the man asked Charlie for a few samples. This odd request took Charlie by surprise. It’s not cheap to raise and house the chickens, and we generally keep the eggs for ourselves or sell them to very appreciative friends and locals. A sample? Nearly unheard of! But Charlie, being the generous soul he is, went to the henhouse, pulled a few eggs, and handed them over. The man responded, “Thanks for the eggs. Here, let me give you a joint!”
On another occasion, during our first spring at the farmhouse, I noticed a man trespassing on our land near the stream. Any other morning, I might have blown off the incident—especially since our stream is a sight to behold this time of year with Canada geese, wood ducks, blue herons, and other wild animals enjoying the water—but it just so happened that we had just purchased our “protection” (yes, a gun—see “Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels,”, for the story behind that one), and I was a tad on edge because of it. So Charlie and I put on our most menacing scowls and stomped to the stream in our bathrobes and slippers. We approached the man and asked him what he was doing. He said that for the past few years, he had come to our stream every spring to fish for trout. We told him that this is fine with us, just to please let us know in the future. Charlie and I crunched through the dry grass back to the house and went about our business. At the end of the day, we had a lovely gift awaiting us on the porch—six glistening, freshly caught, scaled, and gutted freshwater trout from our own stream. This man and his gift of trout have now become, like the returning geese, a sign of spring’s welcome return.
Uninvited visitors also come in the form of animals. In this case, ravens. It all started when Charlie and I were in London, where we fell in love with the beautiful inky birds that called the Tower of London home. Back on the farm, we prayed for ravens and, miraculously, they arrived! We were so excited to watch the beautiful, glorious creatures coast through the sky. And then one day I saw a flying raven carrying one of our precious goslings in its beak and I looked on in horror as it dropped the baby to its death. My heart sank and my eyes welled with tears. We lost about fortyfive baby ducks and geese to those black birds that year.
Now, we try to one-up nature. We steal the babies from the mothers the very minute they emerge from the shells and bring them into the coop so they might have a better chance at survival. We don’t want to shoot the ravens—they weren’t spotted for a long time in our area—so it is a somewhat melancholy excitement with which we now greet them. It’s gratifying to see an endangered bird, but not so gratifying when that endangered bird goes and kills one of my endangered birds! Such is the reality, the double-edged sword of spring, and the vagaries of farm life.
Maryann’s Stuffed Grape Leaves
I used to be suspicious of dolmas, a Mediterranean hors d’oeuvre made from rice stuffed into grape leaves. They often have a tinny smell and briny flavor that does nothing for me. When MaryAnn, one of my dearest friends, gave me one of her homemade dolmas to eat for the first time, I made sure to have water nearby with which to choke it down. But instead of gagging, I experienced a dolma revelation—the flavor was sweet-sour, not pickle-y, with pomegranate seeds and dill for color, crunch, and a lovely fresh flavor.
MaryAnn supplies herself with g
rape leaves often foraged from vines that grow alongside a Manhattan brownstone. But if you can’t find them fresh, try to buy the Orlando brand of canned grape leaves. I planted grapevines on the farm just for MaryAnn—they didn’t take, but I haven’t stopped trying. My goal is to one day grow enough to always keep MaryAnn in constant supply of fresh leaves so that she doesn’t have to steal them from homes anymore!
This recipe is also inspired by one from Jon Andrew Wolohojian, a dear friend who is no longer on this earth.
Makes 50 to 60 dolmas
½ cup/95 g long-grain rice
50 to 60 fresh or jarred grape leaves (preferably Orlando brand)
5 large yellow onions, very finely chopped
½ cup/70 g toasted pine nuts
½ cup/85 g raisins
½ cup/120 ml fresh lemon juice (from 2 to 4 lemons)
¼ cup/60 ml canola or grapeseed oil
¼ cup/60 ml extra-virgin olive oil
1 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp plus 1 tsp kosher salt
¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
Pomegranate seeds for serving
Fresh dill fronds for serving
Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Add the rice and cook until it is just shy of al dente, about 10 minutes. Drain through a fine-mesh sieve and set aside.
Place the grape leaves on your worksurface. Using a paring knife, remove the stems from the leaves and then place the leaves in a large bowl of warm water to soak while you prepare the filling.
In a large bowl, mix the parboiled rice with the onions, pine nuts, raisins, lemon juice, canola oil, olive oil, sugar, salt, and pepper. Set aside.
Drain the leaves into a colander, and then transfer them to a large plate lined with paper towels or a kitchen towel. With another towel, pat the leaves dry. Place 25 leaves on your worksurface, ribbed-side up, stem end pointing toward you. Add 2 tbsp filling to each leaf, placing it just above the stem and gently arranging the filling so it spreads horizontally. Fold the sides of one leaf over the filling and then, while holding the sides, fold the stem end up and over the filling. Continue rolling the grape leaf somewhat loosely until you reach the end of the leaf. Set the stuffed grape leaf, seam-side down, in a large Dutch oven or other heavy pot. Repeat with the remaining leaves, fitting the first 25 dolmas into the Dutch oven or pot in a snug single layer. Fill and fold the remaining grape leaves, arranging the second batch of dolmas in a snug second layer directly on top of the first.
Cover the second layer with a flat plate that covers all the dolmas. Pour in enough cold water to cover the leaves, and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 40 minutes. Turn off the heat but leave the pot covered. Let the stuffed grape leaves rest in the covered pot for at least 4 and up to 8 hours at room temperature.
Use tongs to carefully transfer the dolmas to a platter (or to an airtight container; the dolmas can be refrigerated for up to 5 days). Sprinkle with pomegranate seeds and dill and serve.
Thin-Crust Pizza Margherita
Pulling a bubbling-hot homemade pizza from the oven and transferring it from the pizza peel to a cutting board, where all my guests can ogle it, yields such great pleasure! I happily credit both Zoë François, author of the cookbook Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, and Mark Bittman, the New York Times columnist and How to Cook Everything author, for being the catalysts behind my expeditions in bread baking. Following their leads, I make the dough using a food processor, making it nearly foolproof. Sometimes I’ll make the dough a day ahead and let it sit in the refrigerator overnight. The flavors develop, and the resulting crust is unbelievably light and crisp (and infinitely better than any pizza we have out here in the country). To keep the crust crunchy, I keep the toppings to a minimum— just a nice herb-loaded sauce and some good fresh mozzarella.
Makes 2 pizzas
FOR THE DOUGH
3 cups/385 g all-purpose flour, plus extra for kneading
2 tsp instant yeast
1 tbsp kosher salt
1½ tsp roughly ground black pepper
4 tbsp/60 ml extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup/240 ml lukewarm water
FOR THE PIZZAS
Semolina or cornmeal for the pizza peel
All-purpose flour for shaping crust
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup/240 ml marinara, store-bought or homemade (see recipe)
1 lb/455 g fresh mozzarella cheese, sliced into ¼-in-/6-mm-thick rounds
1½ cups/135 g finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
¼ cup/10 g basil chiffonade (about 18 leaves, stacked, tightly rolled, and thinly sliced crosswise)
To make the dough: Place the flour, yeast, salt, and pepper in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add 3 tbsp of the olive oil to the lukewarm water and, with the food processor running, begin adding the liquid in a slow, steady stream. Once all of the liquid is added, let the machine run until the dough forms a ball, 10 to 15 seconds. Grease a large bowl with the remaining 1 tbsp olive oil and set aside. Generously flour your worksurface and hands, and transfer the dough to the floured surface. Give the dough a few kneads just to bring it together, and transfer it to the oiled bowl. Cover the top of the bowl with a sheet of plastic wrap and set it aside in a warm and draft-free spot until it has doubled in size, about 2 hours.
Adjust an oven rack to the lowest position, place a pizza stone on the rack, and heat the oven to 500°F/260°C/gas 10.
Use your fingers to punch down the dough. Sprinkle some flour on your worksurface, and transfer the dough from the bowl to the floured surface. Divide the dough into two equal pieces and form each piece into a round ball. Cover the dough with another sheet of plastic wrap and let it rise for 30 minutes (at this point, the dough can be placed in an oiled bowl, covered with plastic wrap, and refrigerated overnight).
To make the pizzas: Cut out a piece of parchment paper that’s about the same size as the surface of a pizza peel (or the flat underside of a baking sheet). Place it on the peel, sprinkle with semolina, and set aside. Place a small hill of flour on your worksurface, and set one piece of dough on top, turning the dough ball over in the flour to completely coat its surface. Gently toss the dough between your hands (or use a rolling pin) until it has flattened and widened into a 10-inch/25-cm circle. Place the dough on the pizza peel, and gently pull at its edges until it is stretched to about a 14- to 15-in/35.5- to 38-cm circle.
Use your fingers to spread 1 tbsp olive oil over the dough and then a rubber spatula to spread ½ cup/120 ml of the marinara. Top with half of the mozzarella, spreading it out evenly over the pizza’s surface. Evenly sprinkle with 1/3 cup/65 g Parmigiano-Reggiano, drizzle 1½ tsp olive oil over the top, and finish with half of the basil leaves. Bake until the cheese is bubbly and browned, 8 to 12 minutes. Remove the pizza using the pizza peel, and transfer it to a cutting board. Wait 1 minute to allow the cheese to set up, then slice and serve immediately. Repeat with the remaining piece of dough and toppings.
RECIPE NOTE: NO STONE UNTURNED
When Charlie and I first saw our turmeric-colored two-story farmhouse, with its gray slate roof and pretty porch, we knew that this was the country home we were meant to own. While everything about the house was lovely, from the clawfoot tub in the downstairs bathroom to the herons that lingered around the pond in the morning, the one thing that needed immediate attention was the kitchen.
During our first spring there, we broke ground on our state-of-the-art kitchen, with top-notch appliances and every modern convenience you can think of. We used a blue-gray soapstone material for the counters and apron sink, and had a small piece left over. I eyed it, wondering if it would fit in the oven—and it did, almost as if it were made to fit on our Viking oven’s shelf. It made an ideal pizza stone, yielding thin and shatteringly crispy-crusted pies, which have become a deliciously cheesy staple in our kitchen.
Charlie’s Herby Marinara
The end of spring is an exciting time at
the farm. Not only are there baby goats frolicking and goslings hatching, but once the threat of frost is gone, it means we can move our herbs from their potted winter homes back outside and into the herb garden that lines the stone walkway up to our side door. Though we don’t use a lot of herbs in our marinara sauce quantity-wise, by blooming the herbs’ flavors in hot oil before adding canned tomatoes, we get an intensely bold herb flavor. This sauce, one of Charlie’s specialties, is more robust than most traditional pizza sauces, allowing us to eke out big flavor in a pizza without weighing it down with a ton of cheese or meat. The marinara also makes a quick and wonderful pantry dinner when paired with good-quality pasta.
Makes about 2½ cups/600 ml
1 large sprig fresh oregano
1 large sprig fresh rosemary
1 large sprig fresh thyme
3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 dried red chiles
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 large red onion, finely chopped
2 tsp kosher salt
¼ cup/60 ml dry red wine (or cup/60 ml water plus 1 tbsp sugar)
3 cups/720 ml canned chopped tomatoes
Strip the leaves and needles off the oregano, rosemary, and thyme sprigs and place them in a medium saucepan. Add the olive oil, chiles, and pepper and cook over medium-high heat, stirring often, until the herb leaves have wilted and are beginning to become crisp, about 1½ minutes. Add the onion and salt and cook until the onion begins to soften, stirring often, about 3½ minutes.
