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Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Farmers Market Kitchen Farmers Market Kitchen: Pan-Seared Venison With Oyster Mushrooms
Posted
By Hannah Palmer Egan
on Tue, Nov 24, 2015 at 1:19 PM
One of my favorite things about Thanksgiving week is that it falls toward the end of deer season. Where I live in Orange County, most of the guys I know are avid rifle hunters — many of them bring home a buck or two every year.
When the new animal comes in, it means cleaning out the freezer to make room for the fresh meat. More often than not, hunters give packages left over from last season's hunt to friends and neighbors. So, whether or not someone in your household got lucky in the woods this fall, there's always lots of wild meat to go around.
This time of year is also when the late fall oyster mushrooms really blossom. They form massive white columns on the sides of hardwoods, sometimes three or four feet high. In town or along the roads, you can spot them from far away, and it's easy to harvest several pounds while still leaving plenty on the tree.
Wild mushroom foraging is tricky, and if you're not comfortable picking fungus from trees, several local farmers sell oyster mushrooms at farmers markets and co-ops. What's more, most big grocery stores sell them alongside shiitake, maitake and other gourmet fungus. And if you don't have a friend handing out packages of venison, ask your local butcher — Vermont is home to several deer farms, and it's not uncommon to find venison at the meat counter if you keep an eye out for it.
When the new animal comes in, it means cleaning out the freezer to make room for the fresh meat. More often than not, hunters give packages left over from last season's hunt to friends and neighbors. So, whether or not someone in your household got lucky in the woods this fall, there's always lots of wild meat to go around.
This time of year is also when the late fall oyster mushrooms really blossom. They form massive white columns on the sides of hardwoods, sometimes three or four feet high. In town or along the roads, you can spot them from far away, and it's easy to harvest several pounds while still leaving plenty on the tree.
Wild mushroom foraging is tricky, and if you're not comfortable picking fungus from trees, several local farmers sell oyster mushrooms at farmers markets and co-ops. What's more, most big grocery stores sell them alongside shiitake, maitake and other gourmet fungus. And if you don't have a friend handing out packages of venison, ask your local butcher — Vermont is home to several deer farms, and it's not uncommon to find venison at the meat counter if you keep an eye out for it.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Farmers Market Kitchen Farmers Market Kitchen: Smoky Rutabaga Bisque
Posted
By Hannah Palmer Egan
on Tue, Nov 17, 2015 at 2:48 PM
It's been a warm month so far, by November standards. But it's still soup season, and root vegetable season, and I find few lunches more gracious than a well-garnished bowl of bisque and a hunk of crusty bread.
This recipe adds a touch of garlic and smoke to the rutabaga's subtle, earthy sweetness. It's a rich and roasty soup that's smooth and calming and loaded with flavor. But it's not heavy. I added half a cauliflower because I had it, but it's by no means essential, and it's a cinch to make a vegan version.
Usually bisques are weighted with heavy cream. Since rutabaga will soak up a lot of liquid before it thins to a proper bisque, I used half and half instead. Dairy-free folks could swap coconut milk for a similar effect. And, while most soups are only as good as the stock that grounds them, this one works as well with water as the other base liquid. Salting and roasting the roots first gives the purée ample flavor to withstand dilution.
What's more, the roasted roots, puréed with just a little water or cream, make a lovely mash that would side well with a roast chicken, duck or turkey, since Thanksgiving's coming.
Not sure where to find rutabaga? Mine came from Full Moon Farm, but they vegetable is widely available at winter markets, or at your local market.
This recipe adds a touch of garlic and smoke to the rutabaga's subtle, earthy sweetness. It's a rich and roasty soup that's smooth and calming and loaded with flavor. But it's not heavy. I added half a cauliflower because I had it, but it's by no means essential, and it's a cinch to make a vegan version.
Usually bisques are weighted with heavy cream. Since rutabaga will soak up a lot of liquid before it thins to a proper bisque, I used half and half instead. Dairy-free folks could swap coconut milk for a similar effect. And, while most soups are only as good as the stock that grounds them, this one works as well with water as the other base liquid. Salting and roasting the roots first gives the purée ample flavor to withstand dilution.
What's more, the roasted roots, puréed with just a little water or cream, make a lovely mash that would side well with a roast chicken, duck or turkey, since Thanksgiving's coming.
Not sure where to find rutabaga? Mine came from Full Moon Farm, but they vegetable is widely available at winter markets, or at your local market.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Farmers Market Kitchen Farmers Market Kitchen: Shiitake-Sage Pork Liver Mousse
Posted
By Hannah Palmer Egan
on Tue, Nov 10, 2015 at 2:12 PM
My friend Ben raises pigs, and this fall, my husband and I split half a hog with my mother. On slaughter day — also Halloween, by happenstance — several of our friends got together at Ben's to kill, gut and hang the pigs. (I was approximately zero help in this effort.) When it was all said and done, we were left standing in the kitchen with five pig hearts and livers to divvy up.
The hearts were an easy sell: lean and mild in flavor, steaky — even tender — if handled correctly. But the livers... Mature pigs' livers are big — several pounds each and large enough to overflow a dinner plate. And few people are fans of the organ's iron-soaked tenor and pasty texture. I took home at least a liver and a half myself, resolving to find something tasty to do with them.
Then I made this mousse — with sage and Champlain Valley pears and cider and a few shiitakes from Colchester's AH mushroom — and it was good: porky and a little sweet and just the tiniest bit tangy. So good, in fact, that I'm excited to share it, and make it again. And, now heading into the holiday hors-d'oeuvres gauntlet, I'm guessing I'll have the chance.
The hearts were an easy sell: lean and mild in flavor, steaky — even tender — if handled correctly. But the livers... Mature pigs' livers are big — several pounds each and large enough to overflow a dinner plate. And few people are fans of the organ's iron-soaked tenor and pasty texture. I took home at least a liver and a half myself, resolving to find something tasty to do with them.
Then I made this mousse — with sage and Champlain Valley pears and cider and a few shiitakes from Colchester's AH mushroom — and it was good: porky and a little sweet and just the tiniest bit tangy. So good, in fact, that I'm excited to share it, and make it again. And, now heading into the holiday hors-d'oeuvres gauntlet, I'm guessing I'll have the chance.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Alice Eats Alice Eats: Erica's American Diner
Posted
By Alice Levitt
on Mon, Nov 9, 2015 at 5:31 PM
The photo above looks familiar, right? You may know the building pictured as the Country Pantry, Vermont Breakfast Company or AJ's Country Pantry. Since September, it's been called Erica's American Grill, under the same ownership as Linda's in St. Albans. I know it as the first place I had a real Vermont meal.
The first thing I ever ate in the Green Mountains was an unmemorable chicken Parm at Alfredo's on Church Street, now long closed. The next day, April 20, 1996, my mom and I joined my brother and his realtor for brunch at the dyed-in-the-wool Vermonters' favorite restaurant, the Country Pantry.
The fields across the street were being manured, but that didn't stop kids from playing softball just feet away. And it only made my introduction to rustic diner fare more enjoyable. It was vast miles, both physical and spiritual, from the metal-sided Greek diners I'd known before. Two years later, I'd become a regular when I moved 15 minutes away, beginning my 17 years as a Vermont resident.
The first thing I ever ate in the Green Mountains was an unmemorable chicken Parm at Alfredo's on Church Street, now long closed. The next day, April 20, 1996, my mom and I joined my brother and his realtor for brunch at the dyed-in-the-wool Vermonters' favorite restaurant, the Country Pantry.
The fields across the street were being manured, but that didn't stop kids from playing softball just feet away. And it only made my introduction to rustic diner fare more enjoyable. It was vast miles, both physical and spiritual, from the metal-sided Greek diners I'd known before. Two years later, I'd become a regular when I moved 15 minutes away, beginning my 17 years as a Vermont resident.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Farmers Market Kitchen Farmers Market Kitchen: Shakshuka
Posted
By Hannah Palmer Egan
on Tue, Nov 3, 2015 at 11:58 AM
Shakshuka is a simple, stove-top dish of eggs poached in tomato sauce. A breakfast standard in the Middle East and North Africa, it's one of those traditional comfort foods that lies at the intersection of easy-to-make and impressive-to-look-at. Tangy and spicy and rich with aromatic spices, it's an excellent wake-up call, but I'd eat it for dinner, too.
As for ingredients, it's kind of an every-season dish: great in summer and fall when tomatoes are ripe, peppers fresh and laying hens are popping out eggs by the dozen. We're at the tail end of tomato season now, but many farms — including my local favorite, 4 Corners Farm in Newbury — still have vines fruiting in greenhouses. So I used fresh tomatoes and peppers (and eggs from Betseyfield Farm in the Intervale).
When the summer produce quits, you can swap the freshies for canned tomatoes and hold the bell peppers; the recipe is still very doable and really just as tasty. Many versions call for tomato paste, so if you like a denser sauce, you can add a tablespoon or two. You could also add a teaspoon or so of harissa, if available.
The recipe below is made for one, but it's endlessly multipliable, provided you own a skillet large enough to accommodate eggs for a crowd.
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