And the beet goes on

It’s spring! And evey spring for the past two years I look forward to something I know to be most abundant and tasty this time of year: beets and greens.

I was never an adventurous eater as a child. I didn’t really learn to like and enjoy a lot of new foods until I went to college. You’d never know it now I’ve tried snails (in both garlic and tabasco sauces), elk, moose, deer, beef tongue, crickets and meal worms, octopus, and I’ve developed an affinity for kimchi.

Many of you have heard me talk about the CSA basket we subscribed to in Reno. Well, this is where I developed a taste for beets, thanks to a simple recipe from Tina Smith of HomeGrown Nevada Farms that combines roasted beets, beet greens and chevre. I remember being intrigued by beets long before that though after reading Tom Robbins’s Jitterbug Perfume.

I wanted to quote the introduction, for the book begins and ends with beets. But as usual, I can’t find it when I’m looking for it. It’s an odd book that way and has done this to me a couple of times. I misplace it, or lend it to someone. And then I get hungry for beets. Which means I get hungry to read Tom Robbins and his eccentric description of beets. And then I can’t find it. However, I did find the first couple sentences excerpted in a review of the book:

The beet,” begins this book, “is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.

It’s an odd and funny book, best read by people in their late teens and mid-twenties, and/or those who enjoy the quirky aspects of life and the symbolism that hides in the everyday. I’ve never heard anyone describe beets as Robbins does. I think that’s why he wrote about them – because no one ever has.

Beets are stubborn, vivacious, and very much of the earth. They come in an array of colors from white, to pink, to an almost midnight magenta. The strength and audacity of their color makes me laugh whenever I cook them. The way my fingers stay pink for days afterward no matter how much I scrub them tickles me, well, pink. The greens are mild and much sweeter than other leafy greens like kale or chard. No one sells beet greens though. That fact alone makes me hate modern supermarkets on some level. Most of the beets sold in stores are large and therefore tough. Those and canned beets I think are what give people such a bad impression of them. They remind me of those grizzled men that hide in the rural corners of the world. They appear dirty, tough, and unsavory from the outside, but for a few select people they reveal themselves as compassionate and tender beyond measure. If you’re going to eat them, humor me and get them from a garden closeby or local farmer’s market. Savor the sweet earthy taste. And as I’ve told a number of people, don’t be afraid when they come out the same color they went in (ya knew I couldn’t let the poop theme die so easily).

When I uncover Jitterbug Perfume I’m sure it will be well past beet season, but if I remember I’ll post additional excerpts. In the meantime here’s one of my other favorite beet recipes:

Dilled Cucumber and Beet Salad

 Beets

Cucumber

Salt and pepper

Olive oil

White vinegar

Sour cream

Fresh dill

 

I use about 3 beets and 1 cucumber, but this recipe does not have to be exact. Feel free to adjust any of the above ingredients based on your personal preferences. 

In heavy-duty tin foil, wrap trimmed beets and some olive oil (I like to add a little garlic as well). Bake beets in foil packet for at least 1 hour at 350 degrees. Beets take a long time to cook and I find that often longer is better, and it makes it easier to peel off the skins. After you pull the beets out of the oven, slice open the packet and let the beets cool. 

Remember that no other vegetable has the chromatic perseverance of beets. Beware any surface, be it cutting board or fingers, that you don’t want stained. The color is sensuous and vibrant. Enjoy it. Rub off the skins with a paper towel. Cut beets into wedges. Toss in a bowl with 1 tbsp oil and 1 tbsp. white vinegar, salt and pepper. In another bowl, toss sliced cucumber, 2 tbsp sour cream, 1 tbsp chopped dill, and 2 tsp white vinegar. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Place beets on a platter and top with cucumbers.

 This recipe is courtesy of Tina Smith of HomeGrown Nevada Farms, who writes the newsletter for the Great Basin Basket. The Great Basin Basket is a local CSA (community supported agriculture) that provides local organic fruits and vegetables to those in the greater Reno-Sparks area for 18 weeks every summer.

Sarma, and Kufta, and Lahmajoon – oh my!

Let’s face it, the economy sucks right now and everyone is trying to cut costs. Prior to the economic meltdown Mr. A and I had been trying slowly, bit by bit, to transform our eating and buying habits so they better fit a model of sustainability – that meant buying organic and/or buying locally produced meat and vegetables. While we were still living in Reno we got involved in a CSA (community-supported agriculture) basket, where once a week during an 18-week growing season we received mostly organic produce grown within 80 miles of our house. And let me just say it was fantastic! Eating became fun and interesting: “I’ve heard of fennel but I’ve never tasted it before. What can I cook this with and how?” We learned more about what grew well in our region and what didn’t. We learned new recipes and met new friends. It was a very community-driven and grounding (pun intended) experience.

In spite of our move, we decided to make an effort to continue to eat mostly meat and vegetables grown and harvested within our region. This is not as easy as it sounds. Most people are becoming increasingly aware of how far their food travels from the ground to the dinner plate. The hard part in talking to people about this issue is that they assume that if you want to be more consciencious about what you eat you should buy organic. The problem being that organic can still mean that it was shipped, half-ripe from 1200 miles away. On average, it takes 87 calories of fossil food to get 1 calorie of food to it’s destination (Kingsolver). I’m a new convert – when money is tight (and even when it’s not) I’d rather my money go to supporting farmers than to supporting oil companies.

But I digress. With the goal of living local, it wasn’t  long after we moved that Mr. A got in touch with some local rancher/farmers about ordering a whole lamb. Given his Armenian heritage, and anyone who knows him, this is not surprising. Almost all Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cooking is centered around lamb, and Armenian dishes are no exception. In fact, upon first meeting Mr. A’s family (we’d been dating for maybe 6 months) I was warned that they would offer me raw lamb to taste, and my response was “likely to determine whether or not they approved” of me.  ”Just kidding,”  he said. But it was hard to tell if he was serious or not.

In Mr. A’s family there can never be enough lamb. And for the most part, I’m inclined to agree. So last winter we bought a 18.5 cubic foot freezer – to store lamb, any meat Mr. A brought home while deer hunting, and any fruits and vegetables we stocked up on during the summer. The behemoth is still not full but what we managed to put in it last summer has definitely supplemented our fridge during these tight times.

And did I mention the never-ending supply of lamb. We’ve gone through two already. Mr. A has found decently-priced, locally-raised sheep . . . and he is in lamb heaven. We make sarma (similar to Greek dolmades), lamb chops, lamb tacos, lamburger casserole, leg of lamb, lamb stew, lahmajoon (an Armenian pizza of sorts). Between the lamb, the one deer we got this season, and the 30 pounds of fish we brought back from Alaska I haven’t bought any meat except the occasional chicken in almost 5 months.

So, in the trend of sticking with what I know here’s a recipe for sarma, as Mr. A and I learned how to make it from his family. This was originally written for a photo-recipe project my friend attempted to put together last fall.

Armenian Sarma

 

2 lbs ground lamb

1 cup rice to start (Uncle Ben’s long grain original rice works best)

1 ½  small cans of tomato paste

1 bunch parsley, finely chopped

1 medium onion, finely chopped

4-5 cloves garlic, adjust to your preference

1 tsp salt (to taste)

1 small jar grape leaves

 

Optional:

Lots of friends and good wine

 

 

Put all ingredients, minus the grape leaves, together in a large pot or bowl. Squish with your fingers until everything is mixed together. If you’re a little squeamish about the squishing with your hands, I don’t know what to tell you, it’s really the only way to mix it all thoroughly.

 

This is a family recipe, passed down from my husband’s grandfather, who immigrated to the US from Armenia after the first World War. After escaping the Armenian genocide in modern-day Turkey, Mike’s grandfather wanted to make a new start. He wanted very little to do with Armenian traditions and customs. Except for the food. He passed down his favorite dishes, which we found out later are primarily appetizers. Sarma was one of his favorites, and it has become a family tradition to roll sarma and fix other Armenian dishes on major holidays.  

 

Once you’re done mixing, taste it. Don’t be shy. Add more salt or rice if needed. In our family, this recipe is always subject to individual tastes. Some like more garlic, some more rice; it’s your choice.

 

Open jar of grape leaves and wash under cold water to get all the brine off. Lay the grape leaves out flat on a cutting board or large, flat surface. Take one leaf and place it on the cutting board vein side up. Cut or pinch off stem. Grab a small handful of lamb and rice filling. Mold it into a hot-dog shape and place toward the top of the leaf (near where the stem was). Grape leaves are shaped like hearts. First fold the rounded tops-of-the-heart over the meat. Then fold in the sides. Now roll the whole thing tightly, as if you were rolling a cigar. In fact that’s what it should look like when you are done: a cigar. You want to roll the sarma fairly tight, or else it will unravel during cooking, but do keep in mind that the rice will cause the filling to expand slightly.

 

Now rolling the sarma is fairly time-consuming. This is not a dish to be prepared for a week-night dinner. It requires several hours, depending on the amount of sarma you’re making. The time obviously goes quicker the more people you have helping, and wine always helps. In the kitchen craze the evening before one of our Armenian feasts, you’ll find most everyone taking a break at some point to sit down, roll sarma and talk.

 

Once the meat is gone, Place the remaining grape leaves on the bottom of a large (16 qt) stock pot. This will help prevent the bottom ones from getting burned. Stack the sarma in the pot, alternating directions as you layer upwards. Fill with water. Place a plate on top to keep them from floating away. Set a glass jar (we always use the grape leaf jar) filled with water on top of the plate to provide additional weight.

 

Boil for about an hour. Drain the pot, but be very careful as the greasy water can inflict a nasty burn. We always serve them hot, sometimes with a side of yogurt to dip them in. But this is a family favorite so I can vouch for the fact that they’re just as good eaten cold the next morning. Surprisingly, they also freeze pretty well.