Homemade Pickles, Rick Moranis, and a Season Called Sprinter.

Successful Pickling Dabblage.

I was caught off-guard by the beginning of Spring this year.  I completely forgot about it, happy to live in my on-again, off-again sun-drenched-quick-melting-snow-filled-Denver-winter for a bit longer, I suppose.  Suddenly, Roman's class was taping paper flowers all over the school hallways and I was being asked questions about possibly acquiring a "blood-drinking plant that eats flies." Roman has an obsession with Venus Fly Traps ever since he caught me recounting to Matt the plot of Little Shop of Horrors a couple of weeks ago as I waxed nostalgic about my own love of Rick Moranis.  I suppose that's as cool as Spring gets for a 4 year-old boy.

Pretty dapper, I'd say.

It doesn't mean I'm not ecstatic to be out of winter, though, as I have been, admittedly, reading gardening books and websites for weeks.

Maybe it's because this is the first year ever when I have a piece of land to call my own, to mold and prune and plant and sow however I want (Matt is strangely happy to follow my lead on the garden, actually).

Maybe it's because I'd like to delay decisions on things like the color of the Wisteria I'll choose, whether or not I'll plant hydrangeas this year (our wedding flower), or what type of grapevines to purchase for our gazebo (learning toward Sauvignon Blanc and possible Merlot or Cab).

It all seems so exciting and overwhelming at the same time.  I should be glad, then, that in Denver one does not actually plant things until after Mother's Day.  Last year it snowed on Roman's birthday (May Day) and apparently that falls within the absolute norm for the high desert country we live in. 

Roman's favorite vegetable.

So maybe this half-way reluctance to usher in Spring is the reason why I've been cooking half-Spring, half-Wintery things the past few weeks. I can't quite commit to grilling yet, and still, I can't quite let go of the barely dormant excitement at fresh squash coming into the supermarkets.  I want to turn away from the winter crops, but I still find myself loading up on grapefruits and the last of the Brussels sprouts.  And maybe all of this is why I was suddenly inspired to make a batch of quick-fridge-pickles yesterday with a bag of mini cucumbers I purchased at Costco.  A warm-weather crop being preserved for winter, just before the summer.  Makes no sense and I don't care. It's not really Spring. And it's not really Winter.

It's Sprinter.

*  *  *

It's Fish Friday - and I'm hoping I can make it through the whole day without eating meat
(a sad, probably heretical ongoing joke between me and Matt).  Last week I accidentally ate a chicken nugget, the week before that I inhaled a breakfast taco with sausage at McDonald's before realizing my heathen ways.  And I still haven't given anything up for Lent, except maybe thinking about Lent.  But today I'm committed!  I went and got some lovely Cod fish yesterday and my plan is to make homemade fish and chips and serve them with homemade tartar sauce and homemade dill pickles.  And since Matt lives in perpetual fear of botulism from my home-made-preserves I decided to make those pickles in the fridge rather than jarring them for the winter to come.  They don't keep as long (they have to be refrigerated) but I don't think we'll have a problem finishing off a 1-quart jar in the next couple of weeks.

Here is the recipe I found and slightly modified from a blog called "Mountain Mama Cooks." Matt thinks they are a bit too sweet (which is odd because they contain no sugar) so my next attempt will be at making SOUR dill pickles.  And here also are the pretty pictures of the pickles that resulted from my 30-minute dabblage in pickle-making.

Happy Sprinter - for those of you who, like me, still haven't fully transitioned. :)

*  *  *

Quick Homemade Refrigerator Pickles 

Makes a 1 quart jar, tightly packed

 

Ingredients

1/2 head of garlic, unpeeled
5 cups water
2 1/2 cups vinegar
1/8 cup + 1 tbsp pickling salt
1 lb of mini cucumbers sliced in half lengthwise (look for the really thin-skinned ones as they absorb the pickling juice better)
1/2 serrano pepper (or to taste)
1 tbsp dried dill (or 1-2 large fresh sprigs)
1-2 tsp whole peppercorns
1-2 tsp whole coriander seeds
1-2 tsp yellow mustard seed

 
Method

1. Bring water and garlic to a boil.  Allow to boil and cook for five minutes.

2. Add the vinegar and salt and stir until dissolve.  Take off the heat.

3. Sterilize your jar and fill with all the other ingredients, tightly packed and artistically if you so desire.

4. Bring the pickling juice back to a boil and pour into the jar, completely covering the veg and filling to the brim (ideally without burning your hand, as I did).

5. Seal the jar, allow to cool completely, and refrigerate.

These pickles are ready to eat as soon as you like and depending how the intensity of the picklage you crave.  I liked trying them a few hours in when they are still really crunch and taste like a cucumber salad. Today I'll enjoy the more intense pickling flavor and softness that reminds me of Saturdays at the movies in Texas. :)

Invoking Spring: Barrafina's Chorizo & Watercress Sandwich

Barrafina-inspired Chorizo Sandiwch with Watercress salad

Sometimes in the Spring, ever-so-fleetingly, I get nostalgic for London.  This year that was the case last week when I re-experienced the frustration of it being too cold to wear anything but a sweater in the middle of April.  It's just not right.  And it's just what I experienced every single spring in Londontown.  Even now, I shake my head at my British / UK-residing friends' facebook statuses about how they're almost convinced the sun will never shine again, that the weather will never warm up.  I shake my head in dismay, but also in solidarity.  I know their pain.

So this post is about invoking Spring in an otherwise un-spring-y circumstance.

I remember the first time I heard about the then-new Barrafina restaurant in London's west end back in February of 2007.  My hellacious boss (who I'll refer to as " Luca Delcattivo" here for the sake of anonymity) had taken a client to lunch there one day and came back to our offices raving about it.  Tapas.  New, delicious, refined Spanish tapas in London like none he'd ever had outside Spain.  I drooled at his brief but poignant descriptions.  Shortly thereafter, in March or April, Matt and I went there and we were so blown away that we insisted on taking most of our guests there too when they came to visit.  And a couple of Marches and Aprils later, they were all blown away too.  It's such a nice place to eat, but best in the Spring, when the window-walls fly open and you're left to enjoy the ambiance of Soho, crowds toasting glasses of wine as they wait patiently outside the door, wafts of gambas and garlic filling the air.

*  *  *

Top Things that Invoke that Springtime Spirit 

at Barrafina

watercress in a snowy garden

1. A Glass of Cava
 Maybe it's the stark, modern decor or the white-marble countertops, but, to me a glass of bright, bubbly Cava is the best-fitting drink to start your meal at Barrafina.  There is always a queue so forget the fantasies of walking in to a lovely white-linen-lined table and eating a leisurely meal.  Tables don't exist either (except for a few impossibly-small ones on the sidewalk outside if my memory serves).  You get there, you get a drink, and you stand outside with the rest of the world on the street, drinking, toasting, and feeling bubbly.  The cava brings the sunshine to you.

2. The Ooey-Gooey Tortilla Española (with shrimp)
The Spanish Tortilla is a thing of beauty.  Eggs and potato combined into round sublimity.  At Barrafina they cook individual-sized tortillas in tiny cast-iron pans, finishing them under the broiler so that the outside is set but the inside is an ooey-gooey, runny, eggy mess.  A revelation. Completely, absolutely, delicious.  They offer many different variations - often using seasonal ingredients (perfect for a time like Spring).  We especially enjoyed the one with shrimp.

3. The Pan con Tomate
Dreams of sun-ripened tomatoes haunt me at this time of year.  If you've never tried this uber-simple Spanish-staple, you must.  You will never look at a tomato and piece of bread the same way again. 

4. The Seafood
Nothing screams warm-weather and better-days more to me than a well-cooked piece of seafood.  Barrafina excels at taking fresh fish and highlighting its best aspects.  Get the octopus, the clams, the razor clams - or any of the fish.  They are all cooked simply and perfectly.

5. The Cheery Ambiance
The seating in Barrafina and the fact that you can't make reservations will either make or break the experience for you.  It's hard to sit at a long bar when you're with more than one person.  You are always seated next to a stranger.  There is no privacy because the cooks, the bar staff and chef are all running around in front of you, making food, drinks, taking plates and glasses, offering another round of painfully expensive Jamon Iberico which you will not be able to resist after a certain number of alcoholic libations.  But that's ok.  You'll feel shocked the next day when you remember the total cost of the meal, and marvel at how, truly, you're probably still hungry after having had 6 plates between the two of you.  But that's ok.  Sometimes its worth it just for the ambiance and for a couple of truly amazing bites of food.

*  *  *

Last week I decided to invoke the spirit of Barrafina by making what was one of our favorite dishes there (though we admittedly loved them all): Chorizo and Watercress sandwiches.  I'm not sure whether they still serve the chorizo sandwiches or not as it has been about four years since we've been there but judging by the reviews on Urbanspoon, whatever they are serving is still as good or better than what we had several years ago.  We loved the sandwich both because of its simplicity and its seamless fusing of Spanish and British cuisine: the Spanish chorizo and bread together with a quintessentially English crop - peppery watercress.

Bolillo and Chorizo

The chorizo I used is Mexican (I like it hot, what can I say?), and I simply formed small sausages from loose chorizo, grilled them, and paired them with a lightly toasted (grilled) Mexican bolillo.  I then placed a small helping of a watercress salad dressed simply with lemon juice, fresh garlic, salt and pepper on top.

Spring in sandwich-form. :)

Snowy-Spring-Equinox-Hope: In Crafty Form.

The storm of March 23rd and the Metaphorical Red Birdhouse.

"Spring is when you feel like whistling, even with a shoe full of slush."

Doug Larson

*  *  *

I can't take much more of this.  When I said I loved Denver's seasons I had no idea they would involve snow post-spring-equinox.  Eff that.  I'm over the snow.  I did more than my time with four years in the frozen tundra.  I'm done with the ski season (even if Matt intends to try to drag me out there again today and on Easter against my will).

In truth, despite having enjoyed our first Colorado winter thoroughly, I've been complaining about the cold ever since we had one utterly glorious 70-degree day a week ago.  Roman played outside (without complaining once!) for 5 hours.  We had margaritas on the porch.  We got the outdoor speaker-system working and, as if a sign from the Gods above, the first song to play was Abba's Waterloo.  I bought Roman a straw fedora.  Spring was nigh, dammit!  And I, for one, believe that once the flip-flops have been brought out, one simply cannot go back to the Joan of Arctics.  The absurdity of having to bring my newly-planted rosemary bushes inside, covered in snow and frozen, is not lost on me.

I've been so busy springing forward that I actually briefly believed I could will the snow away.  But, no, as I sit here typing, hot coffee in hand, it is a full-on blizzard outside my window.  At least I can cling to a few little projects I've been working on as a source of Vernal hope.  Time to share.

*  *  *

Snowy-Spring-Equinox-Hope

In Crafty Form

1. Krista! Spoiler Alert: Evangeline's Little Outfit.

The Pinafore

My friend Krista just had a little girl (three months ago!) and her name means "bearer of good news."  Fitting for this post.  
I've been toiling away on this homemade project for her

Evie's Ruffle-y Bloomers.

based on this "cross-over pinafore" tutorial and this bloomer tutorial, (the package should be with them any day now along with some other surprises).
I found the awesome vintage fabric at an estate sale months ago and loved it immediately.  It screams spring.  I chose this outfit because the pinafore serves as a dress for a baby but can be used later as a shirt for a toddler.

It came out really nicely despite being more involved than I originally thought it would be - I swear to never attempt to make ruffles out of linen again - and I hope little Evie gets some use out of it once she's a little bit older. :)


2. Kitchen-Door-Melted-Crayon-Stained-Glass.

Roman's Melted-Crayon Creations and the Snow

We have an almost-all-glass door in our kitchen - our back door, technically - that I use as our seasonal decoration door.  We've had hand-cut snowflakes on it for months, and a few days ago I decided it was time for a little rejuvenating spring-time beauty.  I found several tutorials on how to make melted-crayon stained glass and thought Roman would enjoy it.  I didn't have a warming tray (though I'm seriously considering getting one, now), so I went with the old wax paper and hot iron trick.

Working on the Easter Egg

 We grated and chopped up some crappy crayons Roman got in a birthday goody bag recently, and this was the result: one crazy Easter egg, and two beautiful stars.  I would say that chopping the crayons roughly works significantly better than grating them.  I used colored crepe paper to make the borders.  Roman also did a free-style piece which ended up looking like a tree.  He hung it on his bedroom window so he can "look at it when [he] wake[s] up." :)


3. The Formicarium.
 Roman got an ant farm for Christmas.  I wouldn't be lying if I said it was partly a gift to myself because I've always wanted an ant farm.  I find ants fascinating.  They are intelligent, tidy, empathetic and organized. Some of them are even farmers.  Pretty much a lot of what I aspire to in a nutshell. :)  So when we finally got our ant shipment from Uncle Milton a couple of weeks back, I was thrilled.  It also helped to slightly ease the pain of Frankie's untimely death.

Three tunnels complete; the height of the dynasty.

The Formicarium - God, I love that word - sits in our kitchen.  The ants have managed to make three connecting tunnels and have kept me occupied for many an hour.  Sadly, of late, the whole thing has gone downhill and the undertaker has had more than enough work for his liking.  I don't know if it's too cold, too wet, too much food, but the ants are dying slowly but surely.  Still, they have been a lovely reminder that warmer weather is on the way, what with their industrious and tenacious ways.

Still not sure if I'll order another vial of ants when these are gone.  The fact that it's illegal to ship queen ants means that the formicarium is, essentially, a tomb from day one.  Maybe sea monkeys are next? 


4. Tree-Climbing & Soccer

Nothing says spring more to me than playing outside.  We're lucky that in Colorado, even when there's snow on the ground, if the sun is shining it's warm enough to play outside.  Roman and I have been taking advantage of this and I've even started trying to teach him how to climb trees (something that I rarely see kids do these days).  He hasn't had much success doing it on his own yet, but I am hopeful because the trees in our neighborhood are still young and suited to his height.  Here's a picture of him on one of his first attempts.

 

We also signed Roman up for the spring session of Lil Kickers Soccer, an indoor soccer program at a local gym which provides me with many child-obsessed-photo-ops and Roman, the long-sleeve-hater, with a weekly chance to wear shorts and a t-shirt in the winter.  Oh and Matt gets to indulge his inner-coach.  Win-win-win.

5. Sneak-Peak: The Upcoming Birthday Party

R-Man.

Boom: The Big 4.

As everyone close to me knows, Roman's May-Day birthday always provides me with 3-4 months worth of craftiness.  It always keeps me occupied during the generally-dreary winter months, a distraction that is particularly welcome this year.  I have, admittedly, gotten a particularly early start this year.

If you know us well, you know that I have good reason for looking for projects to keep me distracted so please don't judge me when I tell you that I've already chosen and embellished Roman's birthday outfit and started on the rather-involved project of making Buzz Lightyear wings out of cardboard boxes and duct tape for each child who will attend his party.  No, I have not even sent out invitations.  No, I am not insane.  Just really, really restless.  Oh, and highly efficient. :)  Here's a sneak-peak of what's to come:

 

And here's to Spring showing up.  For reeeeeals, y'all.

Popsicle Adventures.

Shameless refreshment.

I love ice cream.  I love cake. But when it comes to hot weather, there's only one thing I want: a popsicle.  And while I have great love and respect for popsicles of the ice cream truck variety, or even the store-bought kind that you pull apart, that's not the kind of popsicle I truly crave on a hot summer day.  What I want is something homemade, and full of fresh, fruity flavor.  Matt doesn't like popsicles.  But I think that's because he's never had mine. :)

 

Raspberry, Lime & White Wine Popsicle for Mommy

In Mexico, Paletas are commonly sold in every neighborhood.  They are made from fresh fruit purees mixed with either water or cream.  I prefer the ones mixed with water and my favorite flavor is lime (though I have been known to dabble in the pineapple realm on occasion).  They are perfect on a hot day, but also hit the spot after a long walk or a day at the pool.  They are brightly colored, healthy and truly delish. 

Blueberries & Sliced Strawberries

So, what is the closest thing to paletas here in Maine? I came upon this blog entry and felt it was the perfect way to use the bountiful springtime berries of Maine and combine them with a Mexican Agua de Limon (click link for my recipe) for a fresher, wholer version of a Paleta.  It was an awesome success.  And as a special treat to myself, I also mixed some white wine into my popsicle. :)

My favorite part of this is that it is a super easy "cooking" project to do with a 3-year-old.  I set three containers of berries in front of Roman - raspberries, blueberries and sliced strawberries and let him pick which ones he wanted to put into each popsicle mold.  Then we poured the limeade in together and let the freezer do the rest.  Some were all blueberry.  Some were a combination.  But they were all yummy and very pretty to look at.  And they kept the Strawberry Monster happy, which is priceless.

  

Today after a long walk around Back Cove after school - during which Roman decided he was too tired to continue and threatened to mutiny - we were both so thankful those little guys were in the freezer waiting for us!  They were the reason Roman kept walking.  And once we'd kicked off our shoes and sat on the porch, everyone was all-smiles once again.  The giant bites of berry are SO much more delicious than any store-bought popsicle I've ever had.  

And the great thing is, the flavor combinations are endless.  Just chop up some fruit and make an agua fresca (method & recipe here) to go with it and you've got yourself the perfect hot-weather treat.  Here are some flavor combos I'd like to try, just to get your creative fresh-fruit-juices flowing:

Brenda's Future Fresh Fruit Popsicle Adventures

Hey, a girl can dream.

* Sliced Kiwi, Blueberry and Pineapple with Mango Agua Fresca *

* Watermelon chunks in Watermelon Agua Fresca *

* Melon balls in Melon Agua Fresca *

* Sliced Strawberries in Pineapple Agua Fresca *

* Blackberries in Lime Agua Fresca *

* Sliced Cherries in Lemonade *

* Pomegranate Seeds in Pomegranate-Strawberry Agua Fresca *

* Raspberries and Strawberries in Lime Margarita *

 * White Sangria Popsicles *

The Art of Mothering and Salsa Verde: Tomatillos Milperos & Enchiladas Suizas

Enchiladas Suizas & Salsa Verde in the background.

Amicable Alimentations: A series of posts with no predictable order or timing dedicated to a delicious food and the friend who most reminds me of it or inspired me to love it.  Here's the link to posts number one and number two from waaaay too long ago, and this, of course, is post number three in the series.

*  *  *

Today I was going through my blog photography archives looking for inspiration.  Sure enough, I came across some photos of tomatillos I had taken almost a year ago.  Their presence began to nag at me, reminding me I still hadn't posted two recipes I've been dying to share ever since I first started my blog, two recipes that remind me of my mother and her mother (and her sisters).  All of this, coincidentally, on the week of Mother's Day. It was meant to be!

My mom sword fighting with Roman.
Sorry mom but this is you in a nutshell :)

Happy Mother's Day to my wonderful mom, her wonderful mom, my godmother (who is also a great mom and brought me my first-ever tomates milperos!), my sister, my mother-in-law and all my mother-friends!  It's nice to have a day of indulgent recognition, but it's also nice to have a day to remember the special maternal figures in our lives and what they have done to enrich our existence.  Wish I were in Texas! 

*  *  *

Growing up, there were a few recipes we could count on my mom making on any given week: picadillo, chicken soup, guisito de chipotle con papas, tortitas de atun, milanesas, and, my favorite, flautas and/or enchiladas suizas.  The last two were and continue to be my professed favorites.  Maybe it's because my mom has small cigar-rolling fingers, or maybe it's just that special touch that all mom-made food tends to have, but I swear her flautas are the best out there!  And her enchiladas suizas are not too far behind.  Maybe because they are a combination of both of my favorite recipes into one.

Flautas

Granted, I will eat enchiladas any day, anywhere, anyhow.  Red, green, mole, whatever and with any filling (maybe except cheese-only-enchiladas which I am not a fan of).  I always get excited when I see them on a menu, but more times than not I leave restaurants disappointed and disgusted at the strange, flour-tortilla-with-marinara-sauce concoction I am served up.  I can't help but compare them to those my grandmothers and mother make. Crunchy, but deliciously slathered in green sauce, sometimes mixed with the cream, sometimes not.  Always delicious.

 Please Just Kick Old El Paso to the Curb Already.

The trick to a good enchilada is a good salsa, and as luck would have it, a good salsa is just not that hard to make.  It does sadden me that I cannot spread the word quick enough to avoid people continuing to buy those horrible looking jars (or worse yet, cans) of red "enchilada sauce" sold at the supermarket.  It's not so much that the fact that they are in a jar or can that bothers me (though it kind of does, as salsa is meant to be fresh in my mind) as much as it is just that the flavors are so boring and wrong.  Old El Paso enchilada sauce is like eating a spoon full of tomato sauce and a spoon full of cumin at the same time.   Mexican salsas are not only more complex in flavor, they are comprised of the infinitely simple, fresh, delicious ingredients vital to Mexican cuisine: onion, garlic, cilantro and chile.

Salsa Verde of the Real Persuasion.

My favorite salsas of all are green salsas, made with Mexican green tomatoes.  You can buy these tomatoes in their normal size, or, in Latin American markets you can also find them in a diminutive version that my Tia Ita brought me when she came to visit Maine a month or so ago.  She called these mini-tomatillos "Tomatillos Milperos" and after doing some research I found that their namesake comes from the word "milpa" in Spanish which refers to corn fields.  Apparently these small tomatoes are commonly found in between rows of corn in cornfields and are also called "miltomates."  The delicious tomatillo, which comes in delicate, paper-like husks, is called a few different things in Mexico.  Here's a quick explanation I found online:

"[In Spanish] 'miltomates' and their bigger cousins (what most call "tomatillos") are just 'tomates.'  And regular RED tomatoes are 'jitomates.' This nomenclature is pretty standard all over the interior and south of Mexico."

I generally make a simple green salsa with my tomates, which can be eaten raw or cooked.  You can also blend avocado with a raw green salsa for a wonderful dip.

*  *  *

My Mom's Enchiladas Suizas

Serves 4 

I needed more sauce on mine, but they were still awesome.

Enchiladas Suizas are a traditional Mexican dish.  The name, translated "Swiss Enchiladas," refers to the white cream and cheese sauce that covers the top of the enchiladas, and also harkens the Swiss immigrants who established dairies to produce cream and cheese in Mexico.  Basically, instead of just topping the enchiladas with the salsa, you make them, top them with salsa and cream, then cheese and then bake them in the oven.  The flavors meld beautifully and the cheese is soft and melty.  I also like to fry the tacos until crispy like flautas whereas traditional enchiladas are more soggy - it's a personal preference!

In Mexico people would use "crema" in this recipe,  but since I can't get that in Maine I just use plain yoghurt or sour cream (if I'm feeling decadent).  It's easy enough to make at home - just a combination of heavy cream and sour cream, but I don't usually want the calories. :)

As for the cheese, I've seen people use Manchego, Monterrey Jack, Oaxaca, or, in my case, plain old mozzarella, but pretty much any mild white cheese would work well.

Also, in terms of technique I must admit that my mother and I take a couple of liberties to suit our needs: in Mexico enchiladas are made by frying the tortilla in oil, rolling the chicken in it, and then topping it.  My mother taught me to heat the tortillas in a microwave thereby foregoing the extra oil - it's healthier and far less messy but not very authentic :)

*  *  *

Ingredients

Salsa Verde

- 12-18 tomatillos (green tomatoes, peeled of their shell, washed and halved)

*use double the amount if using miltomates / tomatillos milperos
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1 medium onion, chopped into quarters
- cilantro (probably 10-12 stems-worth)
- 1-2 Serrano chiles or more (optional & to-taste)
- salt, pepper to taste

For the Enchiladas / Flautas:
Ingredients:
2-3 chicken breasts (if you use bone-in and skin-on you'll get an awesome broth out of the deal with which to make chicken soup to go with the meal, which is what I generally do)
1/2 onion
2 cloves garlic, whole & unpeeled
10ish stems cilantro
5 or 6 peppercorns
20-25 corn tortillas
corn or canola oil (about 1 cup)
salt, pepper

1 cup or more of plain yoghurt or sour cream

1 cup or more of grated cheese of choice (I use mozzarella)

- 1 large rectangular casserole dish

1. Cook the chicken breasts in simmering water along with the onion, garlic, cilantro, peppercorns and a pinch or two of salt until tender (45 minutes).

2. Meanwhile, make the salsa: take all the ingredients and put in a blender.  Blend until smooth and adjust seasoning.  Set aside.

3. Remove the chicken from the pot and shred it by hand, discarding skin and bones if necessary.  Also, discard the onions, peppercorns and cilantro if you want to save the chicken broth for soup.

4. Pour the salsa into a pan with about 1 tsp of corn oil.  Allow it to come to a boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes, not allowing it to reduce too much.  If the sauce gets too thick, add a little more water.  Adjust the seasoning with salt or chicken bouillon.  Turn heat off.
Optional: At this point you can mix the cream into the salsa or leave it to be put separately on top of the salsa.  Traditionally they are combined.

5. Making the enchiladas:
Easy (and less oily) route: Wrap the tortillas in a paper towel or two and microwave for 1 1/2 or 2 minutes, until tender, then make the tacos by placing a small amount of chicken on the edge of the tortilla and wrapping tightly.  Meanwhile, heat oil in a pan on medium-high heat (make sure it's not so hot that it will burn the tacos though).  Gently place the tacos into the pan one by one, tightly so they don't unroll and fry until golden on all sides (salt while hot).  Place on a plate with paper towels on it to drain the excess oil.

More traditional route: Heat the oil in a pan.  One by one place the tortillas in the oil until softened, then lay in a pile on a plate.  Once all the tortillas are cooked, make the enchiladas just as above by rolling a small amount of chicken in each one.

**I pack the rolled tacos into a casserole dish while I'm waiting to fry them.**

Note: If your tortillas are not cooked enough they will break like cardboard.  You will know they are ready if they roll up easily and tightly - the tighter the better. 
 

6. Once the tacos are ready, transfer them back to the rectangular casserole dish arranging them into just one layer.  Pour the salsa-cream mixture on top, covering them entirely, then sprinkle with the grated cheese. Bake at 400F for 15 minutes or until the cheese is golden and melted. and the sauce is bubbling.

I usually serve rice and refried beans with this meal as well. :)  Provecho!

Spring Greens: Pollo en Salsa Verde

Tomatillos.

I've noticed that the majority of the places and cultures I love most have several things in common: their family-centeredness, their focus on communal eating, their unabashed pride in their cultural heritage, their generosity and welcoming of guests, and their love of good, fresh, home-cooked food.  Add to this the culture and generational expertise of foraging and home-gardens and you nearly get the definition of what I aspire to in my life.

A phrase I never really appreciated until this year was the meaning of "spring greens."  Having just spent nearly a year in a land of deserts and non-greenness, I have truly begun to understand how much I personally love and revel in verdant landscapes and everything that goes with them.  This spring in Portland has been nothing short of magical for me, and I find myself marveling at the silliest things: the abundance of dandelions everywhere, the way birds are everywhere at all times of the day, the way that tree roots make the ground swell and drop, the acorns and squirrels who relentlessly scavenge them.  I was so starved of seeing nature - real, green, woodsy nature - that I'd almost forgotten what a miracle it is every single year to watch it come back to life after its long winter nap.  And I feel privileged to be able to further enjoy it in a very pedestrian city where, without plan or intention, even the spaces between two streets are painfully alive with all sorts of native wildlife - beautiful twisted trees, numerous wildflowers, wild - almost edibley green - grass.  Ah, grass.

And then I went to the grocery store and was almost blown away by the selection and availability of spring greens. Turnip greens, mustard greens, collard greens, Beet greens, Spinach, Arugula, a million lettuces, Broccoli rabe, the aforementioned Fiddlehead Ferns.  And dandelions, of course.  And thank God for the latter because it saved Matt the embarrassment of me returning to that street corner where I discovered a particularly prolific patch of dandelion greens the other day that I fully intended to pick and eat.  

Apart from it being my favorite color, I could eat greens every single day and not get sick of it.  I love them fresh, boiled, steamed, barely sauteed.  I'll take them almost any way they come and preferably with some lemon juice on top.  Hot, cold, or room temperature.  They are a Spring incarnation for me, and just one of the many things I love about this time of year.  Here is a list of five things that particularly take my breath away:

Top 5 Green and Spring-y Things I Love
because, frankly, what's not to?

Broccoli Rabe.

5. Budding Trees

It's a hopeful, almost incredible sight for me, every year, when I find there are tiny, perfect little leaves starting to sprout from what I swore was a dead piece of wood.

4. The Dandelions Before They're Fuzzy

I love and have always loved the simplicity and beauty of those little yellow flowers and their weed-like but beautifully green accompanying leaves, all of which (including flowers) are edible and very tasty.

3. Dew on New Leaves

It's still just cool enough that in the mornings the trees and grass are covered in beautiful sea-air dew.  I love feeling drops of it plop on my hair and seeing my shoes and pants stained with it, and knowing that Spring is here.

2. Herbs
 The herbs are back and all over the country people are planting beautiful new little gardens which will season and accompany their food all summer long.  One goal this summer / spring: to use parsley as a side dish or salad, all by itself.

1. Grass
It's just one of my very favorite things.  And it's brilliant and everywhere right now.


Today I decided to make a spring green stew that is a version of a Mexican recipe I love: Espinazo de Cerdo en Salsa Verde.  I used chicken instead and picked up some fresh tomatillos, some broccoli rabe (my substitute for verdolagas, or purslane, these days) and some bone-on chicken breasts. Enjoy this on a still-kind-of-chilly Spring day like the ones we've been having here in Portland.

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Pollo en Salsa Verde with Spring Greens

Serves 4

This dish is a comfort food for me.  A similar thing is often made in Mexico using pork spine - espinazo - and verdolagas, or purslane, which lend it a much heartier flavor.  I love tomatillos and they are a typically Mexican flavor which is fresh, slightly sour and pairs very nicely with slightly bitter spring greens, like broccoli rabe.

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Ingredients

2 tbsp canola oil

2 large, bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts (or 4 small)

6-8 smallish tomatillos, halfed or quartered depending on size

1lb of broccoli rabe, washed and cut in half (stems / leaves florets)
1 large-medium or 2 small-medium potatoes, chopped into medium pieces
3 cloves garlic, crushed and roughly chopped

1/2 of 1 large can of Crushed Tomatillo Salsa

1-2 chicken bouillon cubes or 1-2 tbsp salt

2-3 cups water (as needed)
ground pepper

Method
1. Add the oil to a large pot or dutch oven and heat over medium-high.  Add the onion and garlic then brown the breasts, skin side down, until the skin is crisp and golden brown, shaking the pot occasionally so the onions and garlic don't burn.  This should take 3-4 minutes.

2. Add the chopped tomatillos, potatoes, salsa, water (just enough to not-quite cover the chicken), bouillion, and pepper and give it a good stir; bring to a boil.

3. Turn the heat down and allow the stew to simmer for 40-50 minutes or until the meat is fall-apart tender.  Add the chopped broccoli rabe and simmer for 10 minutes before serving (to keep some crunch).  Or you can add it 30 minutes into cooking if you like soggier greens (which I do sometimes).

Serve alone or with white rice.

Singing the Praises of Fiddlehead Ferns (and New England).

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In the Words of Scarlet O'Hara: Oh Fiddle-dee-dee.

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The whole "New England" thing has always kind of gone over my head.  I mean, I never refer to "New England."  I always just say "the east coast" when I talk about any state on, well, the east coast of the US.  I don't get the whole "Nantucket Reds" thing, I didn't grow up sailing or cheering for the Red Sox, and have always found the preppy boat-shoe / sweater-over-the-shoulders thing slightly nauseating.  It was always yadda yadda about the turning of the leaves in the fall, yakkity-yak on the idyllic summers on the Cape.  I just never got it.  Never had a particular inclination to get it.  In fact, I'm a little ashamed to say that it wasn't until 10 days ago as Matt and I made our trip to Portland for the first time that I was finally told that New England is strictly comprised of 6 specific states: Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine.  And in that 4-hour drive from Connecticut, we went through 5 of them.  Historic highways, railroad bridges, vast forests, rugged coastline and broken industrial cities all stretching through a piece of land that once belonged to the King of England, was host to some of the most pivotal moments in the American Revolution, bred some of America's boldest and brightest, and is still a melting pot of proud ethnicity and deep-rooted wealth.

But I have to admit that now that I live in Portland, Maine (even just after a week), I kind of get it.  Ok, I get it!  I really do.  It has been so beautiful here in Portland the past few days, I can hardly contain myself.  Roman's birthday was perfect - sunny, dry, breezy and full of spring.  As you walk on the Old Port, you can smell the sea in the air, hear the seagulls above you, and watch the ships and ferries go by.  You're a quick drive to the beach no matter what, and the seafood can't get any fresher than it does here.  The forests are astounding, the houses are charming, the people are kind, and the culture is alive and thriving.  As if I didn't need more reasons to love it here, today I had a random but welcome run-in with one of my long-time culinary curiosities that really drove home the whole "New England" thing: fiddlehead ferns.

I was driving back from grocery shopping, zooming down a street I though I'd never been down before, when suddenly, a few streets from one of the oldest, richest neighborhoods in Portland, I spot two men (in Boston Red Sox hats), a table and two giant cardboard signs propped by the side of the road that read "FIDDLEHEADS" in large black marker.  I immediately made a u-turn and went back, despite the two men looking less than savory.  As soon as I walked up, one of them called me "young lady," so all was forgiven. :)  They sold me a 1lb bag of freshly picked fiddlehead ferns for $5.00.  They had foraged them the day before and had several other such bags sitting on the table, waiting to be bought.  They told me to rinse them then either boil or sautee them and wished me a good day ahead.  I went home with a giant smile on my face because this was a quintessentially New England moment.  The beauty of small cities with an inseparable juxtaposition of working class and old money.  The greatness of foragers still existing in urban and suburban America, and taking the time and effort to handpick little ferns two or three weeks out of the year, then sell them on the side of the road for next to nothing (these ferns go for $20.00/lb on the West Coast!).  The delicious satisfaction of a region in the US that exemplifies a perfect blend of old and new, of rural and urban, of industry and sophistication, of smoke stacks and light houses, pizza and ports, fiddleheads and lobsters.  

I have to say, I like it here.

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New England's Finest Fiddles

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The first time I ever saw fiddlehead ferns was probably about 6 years ago in New York at Agata & Valentina, and they were too expensive for me to be willing to experiment with back then.  I didn't know then that they are a delicacy unique to New England (and especially prized in Maine and New Hampshire), and that their season is as frail and brief as they are, only lasting 2-3 weeks in May every year.  If the ferns, actually part of a plant called an Ostrich Fern, start to uncoil the plant becomes inedible giving foragers a 2-day window in which to pick them once they grow.  And they are only foraged, which only adds to the charm and appeal as far as I'm concerned.  All this means fiddleheads are scarce, coveted, and picked solely by hand and solely by people who know exactly where to look for them year after year.

I wanted to cook mine in butter and garlic but when I went to do it I noticed I'd used my entire stick of butter on dinner from two nights ago: steamed Maine Lobster with brown butter.  More on that later.  So I was forced to cook my fiddleheads in olive oil and garlic, but they were delicious.  I might have to go back to the little stand tomorrow, if the two guys are still there. 

I would recommend boiling them for 3-4 minutes in salted water, then placing them in an ice bath, and finally sauteeing.  Or you can sautee directly if you're into the whole brevity thing. :)  Either way, fiddleheads are a taste of real New England: woodsy and at-times elusive, but ever-so charming.

Amusing tips on foraging for and preserving Fiddlhead Ferns, from
Curiouslylocal.com

"You’ll know a patch when you find it because these fiddleheads are not hairy, like most others, and they have a deep groove in the stem like a stalk of celery. Leave several from each plant to grow to mature fern leaves, or the patch will disappear forever and you will go to Hell where you will eat blueberry poptart for all of eternity."