Roasted Carrot, Celery and Acorn Squash Soup

This soup really hit the spot for the past few rainy, then chilly, spring days. I roasted two acorn squash, a big bunch of carrots, and celery. Yes, roasted celery is delicious! I especially like to add it to sweet vegetables like carrots and squash, because it balances it out with its green parsley-ish taste. I sauteed onions in olive oil and then added all the roasted vegetables, added water and simmered to make sure it was all nice and soft. I added a small amount of fennel seeds, instead of the usual nutmeg or ginger. Then I got out the trusty immersion blender and went to town on it. It was perfect topped with crème fraîche and fresh chives.

And in local rhubarb news, I've been obsessed with my rhubarb plants these days with good reason. They are huge and by far, the most exciting plant in the garden at the moment. But even still, they are such vigorous and beautiful plants, and not to mention I love me some rhubarb, that I love them all year round. My plants just started to flower, and they looked incredible and alien, but due to my greedy need for more pieplant I had to chop the flowers down to encourage more stalk growth. I can't shut my piehole!

Garden Greens and a Pickled Egg

It's so exciting to eat fresh, green things from your own garden again. I feel so rich when I sit down to a plate that looks like this. And it all came from thinning my seedlings. I hate pulling seedings, unless I know that I'm going to eat them. These are from a mixed asian greens, arugula, and little baby radishes. There are slices of non-local fennel that I couldn't resist putting in, there-by sullying my hyper-local fare. It's okay by me. The sweet anise went well with the spicy bite of the rest of the greens. Topped with extra-virgin olive oil (I'm a little heavy-handed on that), salt, pepper and a pickled egg (courtesy of my chickens, and pickled in my carrot daikon brine). It was pouring while I ate it, and now the sun has broken out and the sort of crummy mood I was in is now lifting. Thank you sun!

And how's this for a mood-lifter? My first bunch of rhubarb laying amidst the passel of herbs I have waiting to go in a bed. This is from last week and is already steeping in what will become rhubarb liqueur. Sort of crazy that I didn't make jam from it, but that liqueur had me dazzled! I can't wait to pull more because there are tons of rhubarb-y things to make!

N.B. Those stumpy things are scallions that I stuck in some dirt. I've read about this in a bunch of places, but I finally did it with inspiration from Brooklyn Forager. It's amazing how fast these guys grow! And you just need a pot of dirt, really. It's a great gardening experiment for kids as you can see results daily. (Though, I'd warrant that adults like to see daily results, too.)

Bitters Syrup

When you start thinking about herbs as a focus in your eating life, you find them everywhere. I made some tarragon white wine mustard, yesterday, for example. And dinner was pasta with peas, and a gorgeous bunch of fresh chives, with crème fraîche.

This little jar of syrup has been on my mind for a while. I've been thinking about bitters, a preparation of herbs in alcohol, which is a simple or complex operation depending on how you look at it. I opted for the simple, of course, and instead of being steeped in alcohol, I opted for a syrup. Which may or may not eventually get steeped in alcohol. (Not that syrups are any easier than a true bitters. But check out this recipe. This guy is serious.)

What I like about this syrup is that, mixed with seltzer and on ice, it's like a drink without the alcohol, and as a digestif, there are health benefits as well. Now, why bother, if there's no alcohol, you ask? Good point. I think it would be great with gin, as well. But sometimes, with lunch al fresco, you want a little something to drink but don't want to nap just yet. This is lovely. The wormwood is very bitter, so don't add any more than that teaspoon. The hibiscus give it that pretty color, and a little acidity. Think campari and soda. Go outside and sit on your café chairs and enjoy.

2 cups of water

2 cups of sugar

1 tablespoon of nettles

1 teaspoon of wormwood

10 whole cloves

1 teaspoon of fennel seed

a stick of cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon of hibiscus

Boil water and steep with herbs overnight. Strain and add sugar. Boil for ten minutes. You can process this in a boiling water bath for ten minutes to make it shelf stable. Otherwise, put it in the fridge.

Serve over ice with seltzer, and lemon peel.

Dandelion Honey

Nothing is a fail. Let's remember that, shall we? I'd like to have you think that I made up the idea of dandelion honey, but I didn't. It was a miracle of mishap. The way great things happen. By mistake.

I wanted to use all these lovely flowers that dot the grass. When you get down on your hands and knees and start picking them, you remember how special they are.

And why you were enthralled with them as a child. Bright yellow and fuzzy. A special and important name. They were everywhere, and your mother would let you pick them. All of them, if you wanted. There were games to play with them. There were wishes to be made with them.

It really didn't take that long to pick a lot of them. And, of course, I didn't need a scissor.

Dandy Lion. I know that's not where the name comes from, but isn't it perfect? It comes from dentes de lion, french for lion's teeth.

Here's the hard part. Taking the petals from the flower. Make sure no green gets in! Which I didn't. There were a few in there. It's hard, meticulous work. And I didn't mind a little bitterness. Isn't that what dandelions are all about? Bittersweet.

Initially, I had intended to make a jelly. But after a long day, my mind was wandering, and as the temperature of the mixture grew higher and hotter, I wondered to myself, why isn't this jelling? I used an apple jelly base and knew it should work. I was staring at the bubbling pot wondering, wondering. Then it hit me like a smack on the forehead: you forgot the lemon juice! That's like a baker forgetting the salt. A little detail that is so important but easy to overlook.

So, immediately I poured in a tablespoonful of lemon juice and it bubbled up furiously, and I let it boil (now at 224 degrees) until it threatened to boil over the pot. It wouldn't simmer down even with stirring. I turned it off and let it settle, hoping for the best. What happened was this: the set was thick and viscous, not a syrup, somewhat jellied, but not a firm jelly. Not even what they call a "tender" set. The next day when I tasted it cooled it took a while to let the thick sweet sunniness of it settle on my tongue, and I realized that what I had was dandelion honey. Sweet!

The only problem? How to recreate it? You could add the lemon juice at the end and hope for the best. Or maybe cook it to 218 or 19 degrees, though I often find that you get just a thick syrup. Here is my initial recipe for the jelly. I do think it would've been a great jelly had I followed my own recipe! But I'm pretty happy with dandelion honey.

2 cups apple pectin stock

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 1/3 cups sugar

1 cup dandelion petals (only the flowery fluff, no green bracts!)

Add sugar, lemon and apple in pot. Heat to dissolve sugar. Add flowers. High heat to boil. Reach jell stage, or 220 degrees. Ladle into hot half-pint jars and process for ten minutes.

N.B. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Well Preserved's great post on dandelion wine, jelly and coffee. You would be remiss if you didn't stay there and check out all the spring preserving entries they did for Edible Toronto. It's jam-packed with great ideas and stylish graphics. And do peruse a great post on the beauties of dandelion jelly by Yummy Supper.

Hibiscus Jelly

For this month's Tigress' Can Jam, Marisa at Food in Jars has declared the focus to be on herbs. An excellent choice that opened the doors up wide to experimentation. Herbs are what make hundreds of preserves into thousands of preserves. Their inflections bring about completely different flavors. To sound just vaguely drippy: herbs bring excitement. (I'm pretty excited. Drippy? Dorky? Maybe.) I have a bunch of herbal things to post, this is only the beginning, as they say, so stay tuned.

Flowers fall under the herb rubric which suited me just fine. I had been thinking about hibiscus for a while. Certainly not local, but I did get organic hibiscus petals purchased in the health food store. Did you know that hibiscus tastes nice and chewy when it's cooked? Toothsome is the word. And of course, it makes a great tea. While researching hibiscus stuff, I saw this recipe for Hibiscus Flower Margaritas and one for Hibiscus jam (no-sugar, but you can sub). And Kate, from The Hip Girl's Guide to Homemaking, and fellow jammer, made a gorgeous Rhubarb Hibiscus Preserve you should check out. If you have hibiscus plants, well then, hooray for you! There's a lot to do with them. A natural diuretic and high in vitamin C, you can read more about hibiscus flowers here. Now, on with the jelly!

Really, this is a very straight-forward jelly recipe in which apple jelly gets a hibiscus boost. But something about the color just made me thrilled with the result. You know when you make something and you think, meh, it won't work out, and then it does, totally!? And you think: why didn't I make more!! So, that's what happened. I didn't care much about what happened, it was an experiment, blah, blah, and I ended falling in love with it. I put it in a pint jar like a fool (shoulda put it in two half-pints. What was I thinking? I do this sometimes.) But whatever, I'll make it again. I really think it's the color that had me hooked. It's tastes delicious, though, apple-y but with a tarter citric kick. But that color! I took a billion pictures, but you don't need to see them.

2 cups of apple pectin stock

1 tablespoon of lemon juice

1 1/3 cups sugar

3 tablespoons of dried hibiscus flowers

Bring all to a boil, dissolve sugar and bring temperature up to 220 degrees until jell stage is reached. Ladle into hot jars and seal, process for ten minutes. I left the flowers in the jelly, because they taste good. You could strain them if you want. Or you could visit Shae at Hitchhiking to Heaven and see what she says about the Artful Suspension of Flowers in her April canjam post. In a nutshell, it ain't so easy!