First Home Harvests 2016

One swallow does not a summer make, the saying goes, nor does a warm, sunny day or two in March guarantee that spring is here to stay.  April came in with cold, blustery winds, lashing snow squalls, all kinds of drama from the skies.  Then a day of mellow warmth, but overnight, a hard freeze, and in the forecast, more wintry weather.  It makes for lively conversation at the dump or the hardware store, but overall, it’s pretty much same as it ever was.  Maybe there are actually regions where spring slides mildly into place in a calm and predictable progression, but this ain’t one of them….

However:  there has been enough spring-like weather that the ground has thawed, and warmed enough to push forth a few greens shoots.  Chives are always the first things to come back in the herb garden, and stinging nettles take the vanguard among the wild edibles.  I was able to gather a handful of each last evening, and we added them to a simple dinner comprised of recombined leftovers:  lentils, some chickpeas in a spicy broth, to which I added some of the excellent German wieners that we picked up at the Chetek Café.

I started by dicing up and rendering off a some homemade salt pork, and to the drippings added diced potato, carrot, some chopped celery and shallot.  Browned off the sliced wieners and then in went the lentils, chickpeas and broth.  Simmered for 10 minutes, until the potatoes were just cooked through.  Then just before serving I brought it back up to a simmer and added the chopped nettles—baby nettle tips, really, the most delectable kind of nettles.

I enjoyed the fact that lentils and nettles are almost anagrams.  And we enjoyed immensely a warm and comforting plate of food that far transcended any usual notion of leftovers.  I sprinkled some chopped chives over the soup, and they added a fresh, vibrant pop—the first chives of the year are definitely the best.  They had me thinking a baked potato dinner later in the week might be a good idea.

Chives also went into a simple salad dressing along with—get this—Wisconsin-grown Meyer lemon.  You read that right.  On a quick getaway to Madison this past weekend we visited the Dane County winter farmers market.  And while this indoor market is a tiny fraction the size of the magnificent summer market that sprawls all around the capitol square, its grass-roots populism making a mockery of the craven shenanigans that miserably unfold beneath the capitol dome (ahem), there was still lots of great meat, cheese, and produce.  We didn’t buy a lot, but came away with some beautiful lettuce and a Meyer lemon that we purchased from a honey vendor.  It came from a tree that I think he said was planted in 1964, in a pot, of course, to shelter indoors during the Wisconsin winter.  Not exactly the kind of thing you expect to find at a northern winter farmers market, but a lovely surprise.  We were lucky to be at the market early enough to score one.

The first green harvests are always such a delight, even if they are small, scarcely more than garnish.  A chef writing in the New York Times recently, trying to sell the idea that hard, pink, winter tomatoes were worth your money and cooking efforts, went so far as to argue that we live in a “post-seasonal world."  Uhn-uhn, chef, you’re wrong.  Maybe you live in a non-seasonal food world, but only because you’re not looking, or trying, hard enough.  Out here in the frigid sticks, the "seasonal world" is pretty hard to avoid.  Not that I would want to.


Text and photos copyright 2016 by Brett Laidlaw

Petit Salé aux Lentilles

This will (probably) conclude the late winter pork fest, and end it on a lovely note, indeed. Petit salé aux lentilles-- simmered salt pork on lentils--is a traditional preparation from the Auvergne region of France, which is situated pretty much smack in the middle of the country, just a little south of center. The Auvergne is the source of some of the most celebrated French cheeses, including Bleu d'Auvergne, Fourme d'Ambert, Salers, Saint-Nectaire, and Cantal. It also produces some wonderful charcuterie, as Mary and I were forcefully informed by a rather aggressive Auvergate sausage vendor at the marvelous National Antiques and Ham Fair which we attended a few years ago on the Ile de Chatou just outside Paris.

I think the music of the name itself is as appealing as the comforting combination of savory pork and lentils. And I think it has intrigued me these many years because, well, it's not the sort of thing we eat around here--except that it is, since it's not that far a stretch from something like lentil soup with sausage, my old-time favorite dish at the Black Forest Inn, back in my Whittier days (I liked it because it was good, and because I was poor; good to see  it's still on the menu, and still cheap at a mere $4.50 a bowl).

Petit salé, "small salted," refers to the salt pork, and the recipes I've consulted indicate that this could be one or more of several cuts--pork belly, shoulder, hock, country-style ribs. The dish also usually includes smoked sausage--I'm a big fan of the uncured smoked bratwurst from Pastures A Plenty. The key to this dish is to make your own salt pork, and this is complicated, so please pay close attention:

Step one: Apply salt to pork.
Step two: Wait.

I can go through that again, more slowly, if you like.

Since I was on a mission to use up excess pork belly, that was my choice for this dish--also because it was the versions using salted belly that originally caught my interest. When we talk salt pork we're once again in the realm of a traditional method of preserving meat--as with bacon, ham, rillons and rillettes, confit of goose, duck, or pork--which we now appreciate for the unique flavors that those methods impart. We don't really put up a barrel full of salted fowl sealed in fat to last us through the winter, or have a slab of bacon hanging in the rafters. But to look at the amount of salt used in many recipes for this type of thing, you'd think we were still trying to preserve these meats for posterity. I see books and websites that literally call for burying duck legs in salt for days, curing pork belly in massive amounts of salt for days prior to smoking, and I just consulted a website where the recipe for salt pork called for over half a cup of salt per pound of belly--I used one tablespoon per pound....*

To make the salt pork, then: you'll need a piece of pork belly. I used a pound, and while I was thinking the finished dish would serve four, it was really more like three hearty servings; you'd want to do a pound and a half of belly for four servings. You'll want fairly lean belly for this--look for a piece that's about half and half lean and fat.

Starting with a pound and a half of pork belly: Cut the pork belly into three pieces. Sprinkle 1 1/2 tablespoons of salt evenly over the meat on all sides. Cover and refrigerate for at least 24 hours, turning it over a couple of times if you think of it. Mine wound up sitting in the fridge for six days; the delay was the result of various life complications including the move, and a dog who for some reason enjoys consuming various utterly indigestible items, such as dish towels and bike gloves. But since it wasn't buried in salt, it did not become too salty. It was, in fact, perfectly seasoned after that time, but probably didn't change much after the first couple of days.

The simmering of the pork takes a while, an hour and a half to two hours, so plan ahead. You could also simmer the pork a day or two ahead, in which case cooking the lentils and finishing the dish will take around an hour.

I took one liberty with the classic method, which was to slice and fry the pork belly after simmering to brown it well, but on one side only. This gave an attractive appearance to the browned side, rendered a bit more fat, and lent a lighter texture to the belly. The veritable Auvergnate version would not be fried.

Petit Salé aux Lentilles
Serves four

1 1/2 pounds salted pork belly, in three pieces
1 small carrot, chopped
1/2 small onion, chopped
1/2 a rib of celery or a bit of peeled celery root, chopped
some leek tops, chopped, optional
2 whole cloves
½ teaspoon whole black peppercorns

Place pork and aromatics in a large saucepan with water to cover. Bring to a boil and simmer for an hour and a half to two hours. (Strain and save the flavorful stock; you'll need a cup of it to finish this recipe, and the rest will make the base of an excellent soup, maybe using leftover lentils.)

For the lentils:

1 1/2 cups green French lentils, such as lentilles de Puy
1 medium carrot, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
1 rib of celery or a bit of peeled celery root, chopped
some leek tops, chopped, optional
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Rinse the lentils and place them in a saucepan with water to cover. Bring to a boil, blanch for one minute, then drain and rinse the lentils. Return them to the saucepan (it should be large enough to accept the expanded lentils, pork belly, and a couple of sausages). Add the carrot, onion, celery or root, optional leek tops, a solid pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Cover with water by two inches, bring to a boil, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Finishing:

3 smoked sausages, like smoked bratwurst (smoked polish or andouille would also be good)

Remove the pork belly from the pot where it has been simmering and drain well. Cut each piece in half, as if you were cutting very thick slices of bacon. Heat a skillet and brown the belly slices well on one side only. Add the belly to the lentils, along with the sausages and a cup of the strained belly-simmering liquid. Simmer for 20 minutes. Taste and adjust for salt and pepper. Remove the sausages and slice them on the diagonal 1/2-inch thick.

Use a slotted spoon to place a bed of lentils in a large, wide bowl. Add a little broth, if you like. Top with a piece of pork belly and two or three slices of sausage. Serve with good mustard (grain or dijon), cornichons, and crusty bread or toast.



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* Looking critically at recipes and methods is something I always try to do, rather than just following instructions slavishly, even though the preparation may be long-established and time-honored--well, actually, especially in those cases. Those are the dishes that often need updating. One of the things I'm most proud of in my book is the streamlined, accessible instructions for smoking, fermenting, making confit, mayonnaise, etc.


Text and photos copyright 2012 by Brett Laidlaw