"Where the Grapes Can Suffer" (But We Don't)

Here's a droll little anecdote I like to relate: I was browsing the shelves at the Solo Vino wineshop in Saint Paul a few years back, and came upon a bottle from the Alexis Bailly Vineyard in Hastings, Minnesota. In spite of my enthusiasm for all things local in the world of food and drink, I had been slow to embrace the offerings of our local winemakers. It was a thoughtless prejudice to which I must confess flat out: I just didn't think that wines from this climate could be any good, and so I hadn't really tried them.

But just prior to my visit to Solo Vino I had had occasion to try some ABV wines, and I'd been pleasantly surprised--their Leon Millot and Seyval Blanc wines had really impressed me as serious, distinctive wines. So upon noticing the Bailly wine on the shelf I picked it up and, turning to one of the store's proprietor's, Sam Haislet, I said: "You know, this stuff is actually pretty good."

Sam sort of cocked his head to the side, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Yeah, it's not bad."

What I didn't know at the time was that among the many hats Sam Haislet wears--wine expert, artist, raconteur, bon vivant--he is also, how one might say, Mr. Nan Bailly. Nan Bailly being the owner and winemaker at, of course, the Alexis Bailly Vineyard.

I'm glad I had something nice to say....

(Here's Nan tending shop on a typically busy day at the open house.)

And indeed, the intervening years have given me many nice things to say about Nan and Sam, ABV wines, the charming vineyard and winery, as well as about Sam's current vinous endeavor, Sam's Washington Avenue Wineshop . (It usually bores me silly listening to "experts" talk about wine, but I could listen to Sam all day...well, maybe not all day; I get thirsty listening, is the problem. But Sam's unpretentious passion for wine is a rare and wonderful thing.)

The occasion of these current nicenesses was a visit to ABV for Nan's spring open house. We heard our friend Naomi Karstad sing, sampled the current line-up of ABV wines, heard Sam's hair-raising tale of a fall down a cellar staircase that left him with a fractured wrist, played a little bocce ball, petted Nan and Sam's new pup, and just had a wonderful, relaxing afternoon. Brought home a case of wine. A good day.

Nan's website has lots of great info on her wines, so I'll simply say that we have truly enjoyed the current Seyval Blanc and Rosé Noir. Both are excellent wines for summer menus, the Seyval dry, elegant, and refreshing, the rosé a bit more informal, with a touch of sweetness--either would go well with those pizzas I keep writing about. On the red wine front, Nan's new Voyageur has been a resounding success. (It goes really well with Smoke-Grilled Chicken Thighs, recipe below.)

The ABV motto, "Where the Grapes Can Suffer," is of course a reference to the French notion that great wine can only come from vines that face adversity. The Minnesota climate certainly provides that sort of context. Sometime too much so: The Leon Millot wine I mentioned above, which was, to my taste, the perfect wine to match with local gamebirds, is, sadly, no longer made here. Apparently even a grape vine can only stand so much suffering.

Applewood Grill-Smoked Chicken Thighs
Serves two

4 chicken thighs, bone in (about 1 ½ pounds)
Juice and zest of ¼ lemon
1 large clove garlic, crushed & chopped
1 Tbsp olive oil
A few sprigs of fresh thyme, chopped (or rosemary, oregano, or sage—what you have and like)
A few grinds from the pepper mill
Salt

Either grate the lemon zest or remove it with a peeler and mince. Combine everything but the chicken and salt. Smear the mixture on the chicken. Salt the chicken. Refrigerate for a couple of hours or overnight.

Prepare the coals. Natural chunk charcoal is the way to go. Push the coals to one half of the grill. Grill the thighs over direct heat for about five minutes each side, till nicely browned. Then move the thighs, skin side up, to the side of the grill away from the coals. Place a chunk of applewood on the coals. Close the lid and smoke-roast for 25 minutes. Raise the lid and return the thighs to the direct heat to crisp them up, a couple of minutes each side.

Test for doneness: Poke with a skewer; the juices should run clear. Cook a little longer if needed.

We served this over a lightly dressed salad of mixed young garden greens—lettuce, kale, mustard, radish leaves, turnip greens. A spinach salad with the excellent spinach now available at the market would be equally fine. A few sautéed snap peas and a piece of grilled bread will round out the plate very nicely.

Text and photos copyright 2008 by Brett Laidlaw

This Is Our Farmers' Market...

...the Midtown Farmers' Market, upon the summer solstice, 2008.

A bread's-eye view of the Real Bread stand:


Super Farmer Girl Julie Pflaum, a mainstay of the market:


This is Bob's ear as he writes out the creperie sign. The market opens at 8:00, and Mala's line forms at five 'til.


The spring and early summer have been cool. Good for bakers, lettuce, peas, radishes, and the like. The tomatoes and peppers will welcome warmer weather.


These lovely lettuces are from our organic grower, Jackie Kujak of Sylvan Hills Farm near Menomonie, Wisconsin.












These are the hands of Mala, turning market produce into the makings of some truly amazing crepes. You shouldn't be able to get food this good in a parking lot.








This is some more of Julie's beautiful produce:

This is what Mary and I do Thursday night, all day Friday, and from very early Saturday till we leave for the market.

The Solar Oven Society visited.

Susan brought her beautiful Burgundian basket.

The Fireroast Mountain-eers, who keep us in beverages, tasty treats, and good spirits--Lisa and Dave:

This International Man of Mystery visited our booth (that handsome lad is Theo, the son of Super Market Supporters Hillary and Andy).

Another bread shot:



And one more. (Can I help it if I find bread particularly attractive?)

See you at the market~

Brett & Mary

Text and photos copyright 2008 by Brett Laidlaw

The Last Pizza Post

I never would have thought that in the first six months of Trout Caviar I'd do three pizza posts, but there you go. In the previous post I mentioned an idea for a grilled dessert pizza topped with rhubarb compote, and that idea came to fruition so successfully, I have to share the results.

So: You make the pizza dough from this entry (you need to scroll down a bit). Three-quarters of it you use for the main-course pizza, the rest becomes dessert. (You can make the dough, any of the three options, the morning or even the night before you plan to use it; refrigerate, punch down a couple times till it stops overflowing the bowl, take it out a couple hours before dinner to let it warm up.)

As topping I made this simple, delicious rhubarb compote:

Rhubarb-Honey-Thyme Compote

1/2 pound rhubarb (about six stalks)--cut into 1/2" pieces
1/4 cup honey
1/2 cup water

Combine in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Turn down and simmer 10 minutes. Remove from heat and add:

A few sprigs fresh thyme
Pinch salt
A couple grinds black pepper (this was a nice touch of spice)

A few drops lemon juice, if you like

Cover and let the thyme steep for at least an hour.

This can then be used on the pizza, on a buttermilk shortcake, over ice cream.

Continuing with the pizza: Shape the remaining dough into a 10-inch round. Brush the top with a neutral oil like canola or grapeseed.

Prepare a glaze: Mix two teaspoons honey with one teaspoon of rum (or brandy, or water in a pinch).

Have your coals ready, as in the previous post. You can, and should, grill the dessert crust right after you're done the main-course pizza, while your coals are still good. Then it can just sit until you're ready to top it.

Brush the grill grate with oil, and slide the dough on. Grill for three minutes, watching to be sure it doesn't burn. Flip the dough over, and bake for two minutes. Then flip again, brush the top (you once again have the original top facing up) with the honey-rum glaze, flip it once more, and cook for another minute-and-a-half or so--BE VERY CAREFUL not to let it burn. With the honey it will burn very quickly.

But a little focused attention will produce something like what you see above, which would be good enough to eat as is, or with a dusting of powdered sugar, like a county fair funnel cake. Topped with the rhubarb compote and some whipped cream, it becomes an elegantly rustic dessert.

You could also top it with strawberries--a strawberry shortcake-type variation--fresh peaches in season, grilled apples tossed with a little more of the honey-rum glaze and a few leaves of fresh thyme or mint. Knock yourselves out.

This really is worth doing. The glaze baked to a lacquered, glossy finish, keeping the dough nice and crisp and light. The compote had the right tart-sweet balance, the thyme and pepper adding complexity, and the Cedar Summit whipped cream--I could eat a bowl of that straight up.

And thus concludes the pizza posts.

Text & photos copyright 2008 by Brett Laidlaw

Another Springtime Pizza

Because spring just keeps going here this year, and there's still great asparagus at the market, and this was my first experiment with pizza on the grill, and it turned out really well.

When I wrote the recipe for the fiddleheads and ramps pizza I said asparagus could stand in for the fiddleheads if you couldn't get them. That sounded so good, I had to try it once asparagus made it to the market (ours is the Midtown Farmers' Market , of course). We've been really lucky this year to have lots of great asparagus in the market, first from new vendor Honey Creek Farm, then from our old friend Alvin Schlangen .

I've always thought the idea of pizza on the grill was kind of dumb, to be honest. Pizza should be cooked at 800 degrees Fahrenheit in a brick, wood-fired oven, or at 550 on a stone in your home oven. Cooking bread dough over the direct heat of a charcoal fire seemed a dubious proposition at best. But I kept seeing references to this peculiarly American dish, and with my various interests in bread and in grilling, I guess it was only a matter of time before I gave it a try.

It made a different sort of pizza, but a very nice one. There's no cheese but the cream cheese in the topping you dollop on to melt slightly at the end. The smoked fish really is purely optional--this was really good with or without. Made ahead and then brought to room temperature, this would make an unusual and delicous brunch dish.

Grilled Pizza with Asparagus and Herbed Cream Cheese

serves three or four
Dough for one 14" pizza--use the recipe from the fiddleheads and ramps pizza , or another that you like. (My dough made a fairly thick-crusted pizza; use less of the dough if you like a thinner crust. For instance, take away a quarter or a little more of the dough, and make a mini-pizza with that after you've cooked the big one. How about a dessert pizza, topped with a little rhubarb compote and some good whipped cream? I like the way you think!)

Shape the dough into a roughly 14-inch circle. Place on a wooden peel dusted with cornmeal or on cornmeal-dusted parchment paper on a baking sheet. Brush the top of the crust with olive oil. Let rise while you prepare the vegetables.

Prepare your coals. (I can't emphasize enough the importance of using natural chunk charcoal, or if you can't find that, natural wood briquettes. The smell of lighter fluid and those name-brand briquettes used to be the smell of summer on suburban Saturday evenings; now when that chemical aroma wafts into our yard I think, You would eat something cooked over something that smells like that?)

8 spears asparagus, about 6 ounces

Toss the asparagus in olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill, turning frequently, until just tender and lightly browned, four to five minutes.

10-12 medium sized ramps--or an equivalent amount of spring onions or young leeks, about 3/4 cup, chopped (We still had ramps, the wild leeks, when we made this the first time--the second time, with spring onions, it was even better)

Slice the ramps or onions--use only the whites and a little bit of the greens. Sauté in one tablespoon olive oil over medium low heat until soft and slightly brown. Leave them in the pan but set aside.

The cream cheese topping:

2 ounces cream cheese, at room temp.

¼ cup plus 2 Tbsp cream
Juice of ¼ lemon
Some zest, if you like.
1 Tbsp each chopped dill, chives and/or tarragon.
freshly ground black pepper

Blend the cream a little bit at a time into the cream cheese until smooth. Add the lemon juice, herbs and freshly ground pepper. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Once the asparagus is grilled cut it into 1 ½ inch pieces and toss with the sautéed ramps or onions.

Back to the grill: You don't want the coals too hot. You should be able to hold your hand over the fire and say One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi, Ouch. Make sure the coals are spread out over the whole area the dough will cover!

Brush the grill grate with oil. Slide the dough off the peel or parchment directly onto the grill and cook for three minutes, standing close by to make sure it doesn't burn (a little charring is fine, and to be expected). Flip it over and cook for three minutes more.

Note: If the pizza is getting too brown (i.e., burnt to a crisp), you can place a sheet of aluminum foil between the dough and the grill.

Take it off the grill--put it back on the peel or baking sheet. Add the toppings: Scatter the asparagus/onion mixture evenly over the surface. Dollop teaspoons-fulls of the cream cheese topping around. Return to the grill. Cook with the lid down for about 5 minutes until the dough is done and the toppings are warm.

(Oh, and I mentioned smoked fish above: We had some smoked salmon in the fridge, the odds and ends of smoked sockeye from Whole Foods. We brought that to the table as additional garnish--good but not required.)

With the pizza we had a salad of Honey Creek spinach from the market:
Wash and drain well the spinach.

Render some lardons of good bacon reserving the fat.

Put 1 Tbsp of the fat in a bowl, add 1 tsp buckwheat honey (or other well flavored honey of your choice), 1 tsp grain mustard, 2 tsp red wine vinegar.

Toss the spinach in the dressing, top with the lardons. You can make this a warm salad by using the fat right away, or you can let it cool to make a regular vinaigrette.

The pizza turned out better than I expected. I was quite prepared for the dough to fall right through the grate, or for the pizza to come out half burned and half raw. Mine did get a little charred, but once it rested, even those parts were tasty, and very crisp! The wood coals imparted a pleasant smokiness. The asparagus pieces bathed in that slightly melty, creamy, herby topping were absolutely delicious.

I would actually classify this as more of a tart than a pizza. Or maybe a flatbread with toppings...which pretty much defines a pizza, come to think of it.... Call it what you like, it's worth adding to the summertime rotation. Other vegetables could take the place of the asparagus as their season arrives: summer squash, eggplant, even green beans, and later maybe winter squash roasted in the coals before being diced to top the pizza? Grilled apples and honey on a dessert version? We'll certainly try it with heirloom tomatoes from our garden.

That will depend on summer arriving, as it is currently reluctant to do. That's okay. For the time being we'll say, Vive le printemps!

Text and photos copyright Brett Laidlaw 2008

A Weed is Not a Plant

It is an idea about a plant.

Spring Lamb's Quarters and Dandelion Salad with Chive-Dill Dressing

If you have a garden in Minnesota, you have lamb's quarters. If you have a yard, you have dandelions--unless you poison them with chemicals. In which case, do not attempt to gather salad from your yard. Needless to say, only gather wild edibles from an area you know to be chemical-free.

Gather sufficient young, tender lamb's quarters and not-too-bitter young dandelion greens to feed however many you have to feed. Look for dandelions that have not yet sent up a flower stalk. Taste a leaf. You will know if it is too bitter. It will taste too bitter. The lamb's quarters I used were tiny plants just coming up. Later in the summer you can use the tender top leaves for salad. Larger leaves can be cooked. By that time all the dandelions will be too bitter.

Make this dressing, or another one you like. This dressed a salad for two:

Glug, glug of grapeseed oil or an oil of your choice (a little flavorful walnut oil would be nice)

Splash and a half red wine vinegar (or white, it doesn't matter that much)

Drizzle of honey

Pinch of salt

Grind grind grind fresh pepper-stop, that's enough

Chopped chives and dill, as much as you please (or another herb that you like)

Make a salad. Decorate with a few pansy blossoms, if you have them and you feel like it. You could use other edible flowers--violets, nasturtiums, marigold. Not all flowers are edible, however.

(The lovely bowl is from Utile Mud at the Midtown Farmers' Market )

I got a preemptive email warning from the Weed Police at the Dowling Community Garden where we're lucky enough to have a plot, requesting that I please look into my unintended early spring crop. As warnings from the dreaded Weed Police go, this one was quite pleasant, presented as it was in the form of a limerick which began:

There was a young fellow from Leeds,
Who lost sight of his flourishing weeds....

I'm not sure what Leeds has to do with it. I'm not from Leeds, which I believe is in England. Nevertheless. I was urged to take care of those weeds, which eight inches in height did exceed. I had it on my schedule to visit the garden that week anyway. I'm planting tomatoes and squash there, and with nighttime temperatures in the 40s and highs sometimes mired in the 50s, I'd been in no hurry to plant.

The garden was messy but not too much of an eyesore. I had most of the weeds out in an hour-and-a-half. In the course of which I realized that some of what I was tossing in the compost pile could be considered not weeds but salad. The young lamb's quarters were delicious, more flavorful than most lettuce. And the pansies which had migrated over from a neighboring plot were very pretty, but in this context they were weeds--except that they could also be garnish. With the spring as cool as it has been there were plenty of palatable dandelions to add variety.

In our home garden the dill plants reseed reliably, providing welcome early flavor in salad dressings, sauces, and mayonnaises. But they come up so widely and indiscriminately that when I'm ready to plant those beds they shift from herb to weed.

The chives are just chives. They stay where they're meant to be and don't cause anyone any trouble or epistemological worry. They are just good citizens of the allium sort.

Dinner at our house isn't always a wine-and-candlelight affair. Sometimes a bottle of beer and a grilled-cheese sandwich will do just fine.

(It's Roth Kase Wisconsin "gruyère" and seven-year-old Wisconsin cheddar on our olive oil-sage bread, with a little home-smoked bacon in there for added interest. What, you were expecting Velveeta on Wonder Bread?)

Text and photos copyright Brett Laidlaw 2008

Trout Stream Buffet

The forager must resist the temptation to think of the forest as a grocery store; however, if one is patient, observant, and a little bit knowledgable, there's a good chance that Nature will provide.

I've only fished one time this year. I loaded all my fishing gear one other time, and drove down to the Whitewater region--a considerable journey--but I forgot to fish. Well, I got distracted, is what. I went to a reliable spot for ramps and dug a few clumps, then I went to another woods where I had found a big patch of ostrich ferns last year, and there I gathered some fiddleheads.

The fiddlehead woods is also a popular spot for mushroom hunters, those seeking morels, specifically. I had run into a local forager at this spot a couple of years ago, and this year I met another local 'shroomer, a young guy who was frantically searching the grass for his lost cell phone. He was sure he'd had it with him in the woods, because he'd actually been talking on it while he was foraging. And now it was lost. I couldn't help thinking there was a lesson in there, somewhere.

But I helped him look for a while, to no avail. Then I went to gather my fiddleheads, and I wasn't going to look for morels, because I can never find them, and there are other ways to spend one's springtime hours in Great Nature's embrace, such as fishing. But on my way out I made the mistake of looking around a likely-looking tree (dead elm, bark just starting to peel), and I found a couple of very small morels. Then of course I had to keep looking, and at length I found a few larger ones. I was happy about that, naturally, but in the course of the hunt I had frittered away the afternoon. Any insect activity on the stream would occur in the heat of the day, this time of year, and it was already starting to cool. I took my foraged vegetables and headed home.

We had to settle for a pan-seared rib-eye from Greg's Meats on Highway 52 near Hampton, MN, instead of fresh-caught stream trout. Everyone has to make sacrifices, sometimes. (Greg's has really nice meat at very fair prices; we love their steaks, and their pork is also very good and cheap.)

The next time out, then, I left home a little earlier, headed for Wisconsin this time. I did gather ramps along the way, but I reckoned it too late already for fiddleheads. From the ramps woods I drove to the river, and stepped into the water a little after noon. Later in the summer, fly fishing for trout in a clear stream at midday would be generally futile. At this time of year the warmth of the day can bring hatches of caddis flies, small moth-like insects which, as they emerge from their immature, larval state, dashing toward the surface in the very midst of their transformation from odd little worms into wingèd beings, cause much excitement among the trout.

This is called a caddis hatch, and is something all fly fishers look forward to all winter. There wasn't a major hatch this day, but there were enough flies about to keep the trout interested, from time to time. I caught a few fish, all too small to keep, until a nine-inch brook trout came to hand and then to creel. I'd been out a couple of hours now. I had fished downstream as far as I intended to go. Where the river curved ahead of me I noticed a lot of dead elms in the woods along the bank. I went to have a look.

The first thing I found was the mushroom at the top of the picture. It's called a "Dryad's Saddle" (which is very poetic, mythological, even), or a "Pheasant Back" mushroom (more descriptively). It's a polypore, polyporous squamosus, to be exact, meaning that instead of the familiar gills of button mushrooms, its underside is covered with tiny holes, or pores. The reproductive spores come out here. Its an edible mushroom, and quite good when young and tender. All the guidebooks note its distinctive aroma--like watermelon rind. As a polypore it's in the same category as the esteemed boletes, what the Italians call porcini and the French know as cèpes. And the texture is very like those mushrooms, though the flavor is less compelling. Nonetheless, it's worth becoming acquainted with. It can be found in quantities in spring and early summer.

So I harvested the Pheasant Back, and then I flushed a grouse, like the bird on the plate above. Then I spotted a dead elm which looked to be in the perfect state of decay to host morels, and I propped my fly rod against a sapling and got down on my knees to peer into the dusky underbrush; the evidence of what I found is in the picture. I was pretty pleased with myself, and continued on the search around numerous other trees, also in that perfect state, and found absolutely nothing.

When I came back to the stream the insect activity had picked up, and trout were rising in response. I caught a few fish on dry flies, and two brown trout went into the creel.

As I walked back upstream toward the car I was thinking of a feeder stream I had passed on the way down, and planning to look for watercress there. But along the trail before I reached that point I saw a small patch of ferns, some still in the fiddlehead stage. That would round out the plate nicely.

This was one of those days that make me love our sometimes fleeting, often reluctant northern spring. It was a day that unfolded with some purpose and a lot of serendipity. You might say that the bounty of wild food I brought back was a matter of being in the right place at the right time, and there's some truth in that. But more, to me it's about just being there, with an open mind and open heart and open eyes.

That approach can lead to a day that unveils itself in wonderful and satisfying discoveries, and ends with a meal that is so much more than a meal, more than food on a plate no matter how delicious.

The trout was poached in court bouillon a la truite au bleu. It had been killed a few hours earlier, so it didn't curl in the classic manner. The ramps flavored sautéed potatoes. The fiddleheads blanched, tossed in browned butter. The mushrooms simply sautéed. All very simple, to taste the real flavors of woods and stream.

This is my favorite time of year for eating wild foods...until the next time of year comes along.

Text and photos copyright Brett Laidlaw 2008

Spring Green

Mother Nature is a pretty good gardener. While I'm still sorting through seed-starting supplies and flipping through seed catalogs, setting up lights in the basement, looking for lost tools, trying to remember what was planted where last year and what doesn't like to be where the other what was before, the Mother of Us All has her plan all laid out, and with the first breath of spring warmth is off and running.

So to find the first local vegetables of the spring I don't look to the garden or the farmers' market; I head for the woods.

Wild asparagus is an early crop, and an entirely mythical one to me. I only think of it in the autumn when I see the blown seed stalks and think I ought to make a note of the spot, to check back in the spring. But I don't. It was my friend Lynn Ann who told me what those tall, spidery stalks were, poking up from the sandy roadside ditches. She pointed them out as we drove home from a day of fishing, and she reminisced about asparagus-hunting outings with her parents when she was a kid, how jealously people guarded the locations of their prized asparagus patches. Now I always think of her when I see those very un-asparagus-like plants, those tall spindly weeds. If I never find fresh wild asparagus, that's okay with me.

Much easier to locate, though equally short of season, are fiddlehead ferns, which are simply fern fronds that have yet to unfurl. Many kinds of ferns are edible in this young form, though some should be avoided. The safest and most abundant--and by many accounts most delicious--is the ostrich fern. You may have them in your yard. I do. That's where I picked the fiddleheads pictured here. Ostrich ferns grow in clumps, have smooth stalks (not furry), with a distinct groove on one side of the stalk.

As long as the leafy part is well-coiled, fiddleheads are edible and delicious, even if the stalk is several inches tall. They resemble asparagus somewhat both in texture and flavor. Asparagus would stand in admirably for fiddleheads in recipe offered below. Like most wild edibles, fiddleheads take a lot of washing. There's a papery brown husk over the fiddlehead as it emerges, and that needs to be removed. You can rustle the fiddleheads around in a colander or salad spinner to chafe off some of it, then washing in several changes of clean water will take care of the rest.

While some sources say fiddleheads can be eaten raw, others report digestive problems from undercooked ferns. I play it safe and blanch them in boiling water for a couple of minutes, regardless of how I intend to finish them. Go on over to the Google and search up "fiddlehead ferns ostrich wild edibles" and you'll find more info than you'll ever manage to read on the topic.

A natural companion to fiddleheads, both gastronomically and geographically, is ramps. These are the wild leeks or wild onions (allium tricoccum) that seem to be more and more common in our northern woods. They're a springtime staple in Appalachia, where some towns hold ramp and trout fests. They've become common on fancy restaurant menus, too, as the local-seasonal eating ethic moves up the food chain.

I associate ramps, fiddleheads, and watercress with trout fishing, because I find them all along trout streams. The cress lives in clear cold springs, the others like the damp, shady woods along the stream banks. A plate of grilled or fried trout over a simple cress salad, accompanied by sautéed ramps and fiddleheads, is a ritual meal in our house. It means that spring is really here. It means, as Mary remarked recently, that we can turn away from the sauerkraut, the last of last year's carrots at the bottom of the crisper, the winter squash, the frozen tomatoes, and look to spring green.

Thanks, Ma.

This tart, or pizza, highlights the spring flavors of ramps and fiddleheads in a fun and tasty package. It gets some richness from cream and a sprinkling of cheese--of course use your best local products. We made this tart (which is somewhat inspired by the Alsatian classic tarte flambée, or flammekueche in Alsatian dialect) with Cedar Summit Cream and Roth Kase Wisconsin "gruyere."

Because I think a great pizza depends on great bread, I've gone to some lengths in describing crust options. There are two long-fermented versions, and a shorter one. All will be great. If you're a bread fanatic, of course you'll want to try the long-proofed versions, which you'll find at the bottom of this post. You'll get the very best results baking this on a baking stone ("pizza stone," if you like) at high temperatures, but the lower-temp baking sheet method will make a delicious tart, too. If you have a favorite pizza dough of your own, go ahead and use that.

Ramps & Fiddleheads Tart
serves four as a main course

The dough:

The short version:

1 cup warm water
1 1/2 tsp active dry yeast

Stir the yeast into the water and let stand for about five minutes.

1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 Tbsp olive oil
3 Tbsp whole wheat flour (we like Whole Grain Milling's whole wheat bread flour)
Unbleached all-purpose flour, around 2 cups

Stir in the salt, olive oil, whole wheat flour, and one cup all-purpose flour. Then add all-purpose flour to make a soft but workable dough. Knead for a couple of minutes. Leave it alone for 10 or 15 minutes. Then knead again for a couple of minutes, adding flour as needed, till the dough is nice and smooth. Place the dough in a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise till doubled, 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

The topping:

6 ounces ramps--10 to 20 depending on the size; once chopped, the white bulbs and red stems will measure about 3/4 cup
3 ounces fiddlehead ferns, a generous cup (or like amount of asparagus blanched and sliced into 1 1/2-inch pieces)
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/2 cup cream

2 ounces gruyère, parmesan, or other grating cheese (aged gouda, perhaps?), grated medium-coarse

Wash the ramps well, then slice the white bulbs and red stems on the diagonal into 1/4-inch pieces. Slice the greens into 1/2-inch strips. Melt the butter in a sauté pan, add the white and red parts of the ramps and a good pinch of salt. Sauté over medium heat for a couple of minutes, till wilted. Add the ramp greens and cook one minute more. Add the cream. Remove from the heat, let cool.

Wash the fiddleheads well in several changes of water. Bring a pot of water to the boil and blanch the fiddleheads for three minutes, then drain and refresh them under cold running water. Drain and set aside.

If using a baking stone, preheat your oven to 525 or 510 convection.

If you don't have a stone, preheat your oven to 450 or 425 convection.

Shape the dough into a roughly 12 by 14-inch rectangle. If you'll be baking the tart on a stone, place the dough on a cornmeal-dusted wooden peel. If you don't have a stone, place the dough on a cornmeal-dusted baking sheet. Spread the ramps and cream mixture over the dough, to within 1/2-inch of the edge. Distribute the fiddleheads over the top, just like pepperoni!

Let the dough rise for 20 minutes, then bake:

Stone users: Slide the tart onto the stone (make sure it's sliding freely on the peel before you stick your head in the oven!). Bake for three minutes, then sprinkle the cheese over the tart and bake for another three to four minutes, till the cheese is melted and the crust is brown.

Non-stoners: Bake your tart for five minutes, then sprinkle the cheese over the tart and bake for another four to five minutes, till the cheese is melted and the crust is brown.

Everyone, all together now: Remove the tart from the oven when it's nice and brown, let cool on a rack for a few minutes. Grind some fresh pepper over the top if you like. Slice and serve with a salad on the side, and a glass of chilled white wine, an Alsatian riesling or pinot blanc, or a dry vouvray from the Loire. Equally fitting, a light and lightly cooled red, a beaujolais or chinon.



Mixed-leaven dough (if you have a liquid sourdough starter around):

2/3 cup warm water
1 tsp active dry yeast

Mix the yeast into the warm water and let sit five minutes. Add:

1/2 cup liquid sourdough starter
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 Tbsp olive oil
3 Tbsp whole wheat flour (we like Whole Grain Milling's whole wheat bread flour)
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

Mix well, then add additional unbleached flour--up to one cup more--to make a soft but workable dough. Knead for a couple of minutes. Leave it alone for 10 or 15 minutes. Then knead again for a couple of minutes, adding flour as needed, till the dough is nice and smooth. Place the dough in a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for several hours, or overnight. Remove the dough from the fridge an hour before you plan to shape it.

"Poolish" Method (a poolish is a yeast sponge which somewhat approximates a sourdough):
1 cup warm water
1 tsp active dry yeast

Stir the yeast into the water and let stand for about five minutes. Add:

3 Tbsp whole wheat flour (we like Whole Grain Milling's whole wheat bread flour)
3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

Mix well, then cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let stand for several hours or overnight.

1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 Tbsp olive oil
Additional unbleached all-purpose flour, around a cup

Stir the salt and olive oil into the poolish. Add unbleached flour a bit at a time to make a soft but workable dough. Knead for a couple of minutes. Leave it alone for 10 or 15 minutes. Then knead again for a couple of minutes, adding flour as needed, till the dough is nice and smooth. Let rise for 1 1/2 to 2 hours at room temperature, or refrigerate, then remove from the fridge an hour before you plan to shape it.

Text and photos copyright Brett Laidlaw 2008