Creamed Leeks with Gorgonzola

 
The humble leek – often relegated to the back of the produce drawer, upstaged by the potato, or simply forgotten – deserves a bit of time in the spotlight.

But,when this mild-mannered allium is at its best, it’s deliciously sweet and well-behaved.

So, why not take advantage of its seductive charms and make a little bit of side dish magic?

This happens to be one of our favorite ways to use leeks, and it’s as simple as it gets.  First we sauté those tender spring leeks in butter until they’re soft and sweet.  Then we embellish them with a whorl of cream and a crumbling of the best and mildest gorgonzola we can find.

If you follow our lead, you’ll find that the cream complements the leeks’ sweet flavor, while the gorgonzola kicks the dish up a notch with its deliciously funky salty flavor.  And, what’s even better, this simply decadent side goes perfectly with just about everything – seared scallops, baked potatoes, grilled fish, poached chicken breast, or even steak.

According to Paul, the only thing that could have made this dish better would have been the addition of bacon. And he just might be right.

Creamed Leeks with Gorgonzola

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Best of Spring: Roasted Radishes with Tarragon Butter

 I'm not sure what your feelings are about radishes. But, I'll share with you that mine are often mixed.

I love the IDEA of radishes -- their petite frames, their crispness and crunch, their deceptively vibrant skin providing coverage to the purest white of flesh.

I like the occasional radish plucked from the relish tray and dipped in salt.  And I enjoy the bite of radish in a hearty chopped salad, especially when it's paired with sweet corn or something that provides a bright foil for its peppery bite.

But sometimes, I must admit, I struggle with what to do with all the bunches of spring radishes that show up in our CSA box.

Yet, radishes are worth eating.  It turns out they're a relatively good source of Riboflavin, Vitamin B6, Calcium, Magnesium, Copper and Manganese, and a very good source of Dietary Fiber, Vitamin C, Folate and Potassium.

So, I've made it my mission to rediscover these pretty little vegetables, and get a little creative about it in the process.  So, I decided to roast the little suckers.

Now -- hopefully you'll agree when I declare that tarragon is one of the brightest and freshest-tasting of all herbs. Bold, but not brash, it exhibits a faint hint of anise that tends to please –yes-- even the most licorice-hating palate.

However, much like a radish, tarragon's flavor is deceptively strong, and too much of it can ruin a dish. But when used judiciously, a little tarragon is like springtime on a plate.  Similarly – and maybe unexpectedly – the roasting process renders radishes particularly sweet, succulent and mellow, very unlike their raw counterparts.  (Grilling works similarly well, so if you're inspired to cook out of doors, this recipe works there too!)

As it turns out, the two, paired together, make a truly unique spring statement.  The subtle flavor of the radishes pairs beautifully with the sweetness of the tarragon. The dish is simple, fresh, and light – a perfect reminder of just how fantastic quality fresh vegetables can be.

In order to mix the tarragon butter successfully, you will have to make more of it than you are likely to use on a batch of roasted radishes. The wonderful thing is that you’ll have plenty of tarragon butter left to add to grilled meats, scrambled eggs, or, for a real treat, to spread it on a piece of toasted crusty, chewy bread.  

Try it; you’ll thank us.

Roasted Radishes with Tarragon Butter

 ©BURP! Where Food Happens

Pickled Red Onions: Summer's Prize & Winter's Bounty

As I glanced at the pantry shelves in our basement over the weekend, I realized that we canned up a small storm this summer.  And I'm pretty pleased.  We've got a nice selection of items stowed up down there - and every single one of them is going to be a pleasure to crack open in the middle of our Wisconsin winter.

The corn relish we made reminds me of something I'd imagine they made back in the 1950's -- when every summer picnic included deviled eggs, cold-cuts, homemade lemonade, and a small vat of sweet & sour relish.

The pickles, on the other hand, hearken back to my childhood days. Back then, it was my mother who spent her spring and summer making jams and jellies and filling jars with tomatoes and peaches.  She also made these amazing dill pickles. They were spicy and garlicky, and they made your tongue tingle, your eyes water, and your breath smell... well, garlicky.   My pickles this year are pretty close, I think. And I'm pretty excited.

We also managed to put up a boatload of jalapenos.  Nearly 20 pounds this year. From that, we ended up with 14 half-pints of candied jalapenos, and almost double that of pickled slices and spears... which means we'll be all set for making nachos, pulled pork sandwiches, and jalapeno-studded corn bread for the next 8 months!

Interestingly enough, one of the real pleasure of the summer turned out to be pickled red onions.  We found this recipe over at one of my favorite cooking blogs, Voodoo & Sauce.  And, in fact, her description of these pretty much guaranteed we were going to try them out.  Just read this:

The hot brine takes the edge off the onions, and though the natural sweetness of the onions is enhanced, these pickles do not cloy. I boorishly ate half a jar of these with country pâté on a bagel, I admit it. My new favorite lunch is a cheese and sweet onion pickle sandwich on rye, but these are also wonderful on a hot dog or a steak taco. They pair well with salmon and rosé, and not just aesthetically. They are pretty in pink, and a perfect way to kick off any canning season.

Yeah. Really, how can you resist?

We followed Heather's recipe almost exactly on our first try. But, now that we've gotten our hands dirty, we'll be ripe for experimenting with the flavors next time.  And there definitely will be a next time -- probably before the end of the harvest season.
 
Sweet Onion Pickles c/o Voodoo & Sauce

And just in case you're wondering what to do with a jar of pickled onions, let me give you a short (but delicious) list:

• Give your tail-gating hot dog a grown-up twist.
• Add a few to your next grilled cheese sandwich.
• Make your favorite breakfast sandwich even better - egg, prosciutto, and avocado with pickled onions on rye, maybe?
•  Pair with smoked salmon for a delicious winter appetizer.
• Serve alongside pork, or other roasted meats.
• Eat out of hand - yes, I've done this, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

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Roasted Vegetable Chicken Pot Pie

Is there anything more comforting than a chicken pot pie?

In my book, there are a number of things that conjure up the warmest of feelings -- a roasted chicken, a baked winter squash, a warm bowl of soup, and a pot-pie.

I have childhood memories of pot-pies. But, these pot-pies weren't homemade. They were the Banquet pot-pies that you find in your grocer's freezer case. And we were only allowed to have them on special occasions. Namely when Dad went out of town and Mom didn't feel like cooking. On those special nights, we'd find ourselves snuggled on the couch with a rented movie and pot-pie -- hot from the oven, and flipped out (upsidedown) into a soup bowl. I liked to eat the filling first, saving the crisp, buttery top crust for last.

Oh, yeah. I have great memories of those trans-fat-filled treats. But, these days, I think I can do them one better. By making my own.

This weekend's pot-pie making affair started with a load of chopped vegetables -- some carrots, a few tender white turnips, a butternut squash, and a few freshly dug Yukon Gold potatoes. You can see that our grown-up version already beats out those Banquet pot-pie imposters -- and we haven't even gotten past the first step!

But, don't think that I'm entirely virtuous. These vegetables went into the oven to roast with a splash of bacon fat (oh, yeah! that's for flavor, babe) and a bit of dried thyme.
Meanwhile I chopped up some previously roasted chicken and put together a nice sauce. Some sauteed onions, a nice roux, and some flavorful chicken broth. When the vegetables came out of the oven, we put the whole shebang together.
The next step is to stir everything together. And this is no small feat... after all, the smell is already too intoxicating to resist.
Once everything is adequately combined, I haul out my trusty 10-inch cast-iron pan. This is one tool with which an ordinary pie plate can't even begin to compete.
I roll out my first round of pie crust, and lay it down into the pan, tucking it nicely around. I might be tempted to stop to admire my work... but the smell of that pot-pie filling is making me hungry. So, I pour it in on top of the crust.
I roll out a second crust, place it over the top, crimp the edges, and give the pie a few slash marks in the top for good measure. After about 40 minutes in the oven, the pie is nicely browned and ... almost... ready to eat.
After waiting patiently for 10-15 minutes while the filling sets up, I allow myself the indulgence of cutting the first slice. And then another for Peef. We sat down with our pot-pies and watched a movie. Just like old times. Well... almost.

Roasted Vegetable Chicken Pot Pies

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