fermented beets

I've made fermented beets before, and last time I made them I used shredded beets; the catch being that they felt like a condiment when shredded and fermented. Wanting more of a pickle, this time I peeled and then chopped the beets in chunks (two-and-a-half pounds) and mixed then with 2½ tbsp salt, 1 tbsp caraway seeds and a dozen or so lightly crushed (maybe more bruised?) juniper berries.

I packed these into a crock (above, in green), added just enough water to cover and weighed them down so that the beets were submerged in brine.

Fourteen days later they were tender yet crisp and had a nice zing to them. They are delicious, and have turned a deep purple color (the jar behind is clear but packed with beets and brine after fermentation).

kimchi jjigae

I recently made kimchi that was about equal parts burdock (gobō), carrot and napa cabbage. I also included dried shrimp for the first time. Like adding anchovies, it adds a je ne sais quoi to the kimchi: you don't notice the shrimp, but it improves the flavor.

I asked a friend how to make kimchi jjigae, a soup made with kimchi.

I sautéed some cubes of pork belly in sesame oil (my friend suggested bacon or spam, and I had belly in the freeezer with is just uncured, unsalted bacon) and took them out. I then added a good deal of kimchi and sautéed that. I added water, cooked for a bit and added the pork and some cubed tofu. My friend suggested dashida, which I didn't have, so I threw in a sqaure of kombu (kelp) and two anchovies. I also didn't have hot pepper paste so I squirted in a nice dose of sriracha. I let that cook on lowish until my brown rice (started while the pork was getting its first cooking) was done.

And it is delicious. The pork belly soaked up so much flavor. The broth is deep red, like a tomato sauce. And not having scallions, I topped it with pickled ramps.

bettara-zuke

This is another pickle from Ikuko Hisamatsu's tsukeomono book. Bettara-zuke (べったら漬) is one of the most exciting ferments I've done: it's like nothing I've heretofore done. Daikon radish are peeled and heavily salted. They are pressed until covered in their own brine. They sit like that for a total of three days. They are then re-salted, re-pressed and sit for two-to-three days.

Meanwhile, cooked sweet rice is mixed with koji (as one would to start miso or amazake) and ferments for 20 hours at 140ºF (± 4 hours, basically until it's converted the starch in the rice into sugar). That is allowed to cool. (If you cooked this to stop fermentation and puréed it, you'd have amazake).

While the rice and koji at first seem dry, it comes out very wet after fermentation. Mirin and sugar are added once it has cooled. A small sqaure of kelp is cut into strips and dried chilis or, in this case, chili flakes, are prepped.


A layer of the rice mixture is spread across the bottom of a crock. Here the daikon, in chunks, (well drained and patted dry) is added. Keep layering, sprinkling chili flakes and adding strips of kelp. This is then covered with a small plate and weighted like any brine pickle.

And one-to-two weeks later, it's done (day 10 is shown). The rice seems to pack down and form a gelatinous bed in which the daikon pickle while a sweet brine rises up. No problems with any mold at all, which was impressive. The pickles are mostly sweet, which was a surprise considering the amount of salt used at first. They have a subtle, sweet flavor. Something hard to describe: sweet like a young miso with some of the tang of fresh daikon. It lacks the pungency of other pickled daikon I've tried (like daikon in a nuka bed) and is wonderfully crisp.

fiddleads, duck & brussels sprouts

Last time A. came to visit she was very pregnant. This time she was with her adorable six-week old. Something special was in order. We had duck breast marinated in red wine and ground mustard seeds (brown/yellow) with a raspberry melomel (mead) reduction, fiddleheads sautéed in duck fat and a few pickled brussels sprouts (they were embedded in some sauerkraut from the fall!). I was quite happy with the result.


A. also brought Prosecco and pomegranite juice which were mixed to create a cocktail that went wonderfully with the duck. It was really good. And that we finished off with a pear-hazelnut torte (from Deborah Madison's Local Flavors):

miso

This is why miso age is counted in summers: at 6 months — a winter — it doesn't look like much. I re-packed it and I'll re-check it on it's first birthday (my 28th, this was started on my 27th). This miso is mostly soy, and some brown rice. It has a nice aroma, but a mild flavor.

racking

I've had a raspberry melomel and a braggot with cranberries going for a few months now, and today I racked them for the second time. Also, a cider racked for its first.

The melomel — just mead with fruit — is raspberry blossom honey, water, some champagne yeast (plus all the wild ones in the honey and on the fruit, since nothing was heated) and a few quarts of raspberries. The raspberries were added a pint at a time throughout the raspberry season at my farm share. Once those seemed spent, I racked the melomel and let that sit for a few months. And here we are. It tastes like — to be honest — a raspberry cough syrup, without sugar. It has a lot of punch, even with less fruit that many formulæ call for. This one will do well with aging. As in maybe a few years. (See bottom left: looks like Kool-Aid.)

The braggot — malted mead — is also raspberry blossom honey (got a bucket from Warm Colors) plus amber malt, some bog myrtle and a little fresh sage. I used some generic wine yeast with it, which has left some sweetness. After that had finished its primary fermentation I racked it into another carboy with some cranberries (frozen and thawed to soften them). That top photo is the spent cranberries flosting on the last bit to be sucked out into a clean carboy. They add some tannins to the braggot. This seemed to be the more far-fetched of the meads but already has a nice flavor. I'm hoping it'll be superb by the fall.

The cider is a basic cider. I added some champagne yeast this time, whereas my last two were all by spontaeous fermentation. I've also relly made cyser in the past, a mead-cider, so this tasted much cleaner. I'm not sure which I'll prefer. My cyser that's coming up on a year of aging is quite nice. I'll bottle and prime this in a month or two. And then we'll see.

kimchi!

In my last post I started making kimchi.

Here it is:

Eating a decent amount feels quite good. It's tart, quite spicy and just wonderful. The eggplant in the kimchi keeps its texture and form, as if raw, but it looses all color, taking on the pink of the pepper and the flavor of the brine. Straight-up delicious.

And here is David, a few days ago, trying it as a condiment for sautéed cucumber, zucchini and Japanese eggplant with rice:

mixed vegatable kimchi

This is a kimchi inspired by, — once again — by Sandor Katz's Wild Fermentation. This is a cross between baechu (cabbage, as in napa cabbage or Chinese cabbage) and a mixed-vegetable ferment.

Take one small head cabbage, sliced in ribbons, toss it with two thinly sliced carrots, a sliced onion and two of those thin, long eggplants, also sliced. (Radish is nice, I'm out):


Cover with a brine of 4 tbs sea salt to one quart water. Let rest a few hours. (Or overnight):


Make a paste of ginger (a decent knob), maybe 7 cloves garlic, a small onion, two anchovies and 1 ½ tbs Korean hot chili pepper (my past experience shows this to be a must — you can buy it by the pound in a Korean market):


Drain the vegetables. Taste for salt. Usually should be fine. Add the ginger-garlic paste:


Mix very well:


Pack into a crock:


Cover with a saucer or some other non-reactive object of the right diameter:


Place a heavy object (like a Ball jar filled with water) on the saucer, and cover with a cloth to allow air (but not bugs) to circulate:


Taste after a few days. Then each day after. Make sure the saucer is covered in 24 hours by liquid. If not, add brine.

Refrigerate when it's crispy and sour and all stained with chili pepper. This won't take long in the summer. If you have a cool place (or want to bury it in the ground, which I hear is traditional), it can age for months.

I'll post the results. (Nota bene: as this was a small head of cabbage, and I used a lot of garlic and ginger, this'll be more of a condiment than the last kimchi that I made that I devoured simply sautéed with rice.)

(see my first, second and third attempts at kimchi)

pickle project 2008

(I sprinkled salt on the sides to help keep it from inviting the wrong flora)

I haven't had pickles since finishing of last year's this winter. The CSA had a good deal of pickles this week so I chose some pickles in lieu of eggplant or extra carrots (you get a ½ bag of vegetables, a full of greens, etc.). Using Sandor Katz's recipe from Wild Fermentation as a guide, I started my first of the season with dill, yellow and brown mustard seeds, garlic and peppercorns. I almost added a hot pepper, but I'll wait. Maybe I'll pickle peppers next week?

And finally, tomatoes are in season. These orange-fleshed tomatoes were incredible with olive oil and fleur de sel. First fresh tomatoes I've had in 2008, I think!

strawberry ale

The last week of June, with strawberries abound and more coming, I decided to try a go at making a strawberry wheatbeer. I started with a 2 gallon batch of wheat beer (in a 3 gallon carboy). It included: 1 pound Munton's light malted barley, 2 pounds Munton's wheat malt and a pound of unmalted wheat flakes. It is lightly hopped. I let it cool, overnight, protected by cheesecloth — hoping to excite and invite the various microflora of my neighborhood.

I've read that strawberry ales need to be enjoyed young, and that strawberries do poorly with fermentation — with all that activity and release of CO₂ the strawberryness escapes. So I brewed that for a week and then added maybe 4 pounds of strawberries — whole and crushed — for a second fermentation for two-and-a-half weeks.

It then spent a week in the bottle with some more light malt for a final fermentation/conditioning.

And it's wonderful. It has a nice berry tartness with a slight acetic tartness — nothing overwhelming, nowhere near a wild-fermented cider —, it's light and it has an aroma that really is of fresh strawberries. The carbonation is light and has the fine bubbles of a sparling wine. And the tartness with that is magnificent.

asparagus

I've eaten asparagus probably two-to-three (maybe sometimes four) times a week for the last month. It's everywhere, it looks so good, and it's the only local vegetable at the moment.

Asparagus frittata (made with the stalks and a small potato) topped with asparagus tips marinated in a vinaigrette:


Asparagus, steamed, tossed with penne, ricotta and capers:


(Even better, but not pictured: grilled asparagus with penne, capers, preserved lemons and pine nuts).

Tonight I made buckwheat noodles with bean curd and asparagus.


This was some of the best asparagus I've had all season, that wild looking asparagus that will have three, maybe four, heads per stalk, small satellite flowers branching off the main stem. This bunch was from Intervale Farm who has a stand at the Easthampton farmer's market.

For four people:
- 1 bunch (1 - 1½ lbs) asparagus
- 1 package pressed marinated bean curd
- 2-4 bunches buckwheat noodles (they're usually bound with paper ribbons "per serving")
The sauce: 2 T. tamari, 1½ T. rice vinegar, 1½ t. mirin, 1½ T. sesame oil, 1-2T chopped or grated ginger root.

Make the sauce. Let it sit. While pasta cooks, steam the bean curd and asparagus. I steamed until the asparagus was just hot (but barely cooked -- this is best with very fresh, tender stalks). Top the pasta with the bean curd and asparagus. Pour sauce over it all. Enjoy.

Lastly, since I can't resist the temptation to ferment:


This started a week ago as one bunch asparagus, cut on the diagonal, 2 T. kosher salt, one small onion, sliced, some coriander and yellow and brown mustard seeds, 3 cloves garlic and some pepper. In a two liter crock I placed everything but the salt and placed a saucer over. I then made brine with 3 or 4 cups of water and the salt. Test every day or two, and then store in a covered jar in the fridge once it tastes "right" (i.e., to your taste). They're crunchy and tangy and delicious. I'm very excited.

Lastly, Flayvors of Cook Farm in Hadley (I used to get raw milk there) has, I've been told, "Hadley grass" ice cream. (Hadley grass being a play on Sparrow grass, being a corrupted vernacular for asparagus that dates to at least the 18th century.)

I'm also excited that next week my CSA share starts next week!

alemaking

I'm trying a go at beer making today. I made mead once and cider twice (almost, the 2nd batch of cider is still fermenting) with good, although maybe not predicable outcomes (all three of those were started with wild yeasts).

This time I'm trying an IPA style ale: the whole house smells like hops. I hadn't realized that the hop flower would smell exactly like you'd expect: it's exactly like the hop aroma you get in th finished beer. I'm using two hops -- Northern Brewer with Cascade for finishing -- as well as crystal and toasted malted barley. We'll see how it goes. It's from Papazian's Joy of Homebrewing (3rd ed.), which seems to be a good starting point save it's trite maxims and platitudes throughout.

mustard. & black radishes.

Two small, but wonderful discoveries. It's been cold, wet: not quite winter, not quite spring. Work's been quite busy, with some afternoon shifts, so I've not been cooking or eating as regularly. All of that notwithstanding, here are those two things.

Homemade mustard.

D. brought me some of his horseradish mustard the other day -- it's slightly sweet with a real nice kick. I tried it with some sauerkraut braised in a bit of stock with a seared fresh kielbasa. Not quite a choucroute garnie, but with two quite small roasted potatoes it was the perfect winter lunch. I still have about a quart of sauerkraut and maybe a bit less of sauerrüben that I ought to consume by spring.

Black Radishes.

Just about the only vegetable left in markets at this time of the year from New England (these from Vermont, actually), these back radishes that I found are really wonderful. They're crisp and pungent without any harshness of a red radish. With some dashi (Japanese style stock of bonito and kelp) on hand, all you really need for a fantatic soup is some noodles (buckwheat here), carrots, the aforementioned black radishes and some seasonings like tamari or a bit of mirin. South River's miso tamari is especially good. (And another incredible product made just a few miles away). I wouldn't cook either the carrots or the radishes, just slice them paper-thin.

bread

I made a Vollkornbrot -- a 100% whole rye bread with sunflower seeds. It's mainly a sourdough with a teeny bit of yeast (which I'll probably omit next time as it was probably not necessary). I used coarse whole rye (70%) and rye chops (30%). It made this one heavy loaf that was baked for about 80 minutes (470ºF for a quarter of an hour, 380º for the rest -- the initial heat helps it get lift since there's so little gluten). I let it rest for 48 hours, and then I cut into it:


It's been a week since I first cut into it and it's now as good as that first slice -- it may even be better. With time the rye gets a full flavor, almost spicy, and the sourdough element keeps its tang.

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On a very different note, the ultimate winter comfort lunch:



It's a grilled cheese of cheddar and sourdough semolina bread (this and the last from Hamelman's Bread) with an cream of tomato soup from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone. It leaves me with just a few jars of tomatoes from last year's canning madness, but was well worth it.

"vermont sourdough"

This one has a small percent of whole wheat. My sourdough culture has been particularly healthy (I've figured some things out, like cutting down on old starter that I save), so this one rose wonderfully and in a decent amount of time (the kitchen was also very warm: we were roasting pumpkin seeds). It was a relatively wet dough, so I used the food processor for kneading (I had to do it in half-batches to not kill the motor), and both things helped the crumb out a lot. It's quite good.

sour

Meanwhile, I've stared Hamelman's Bread: A Baker's Book of Techniques and Recipes and been working on my sourdough. I've been experimenting with oven moisture, among other thing. More moisture and steaming for the first few minutes really helps it rise more and get a better crust. It's a process. This one needed deeper cuts, I think. It split lower down, as you can see.

octoberish

It's been a busy few weeks with a handful of highlights foodwise. I'm making mead: it just went into a carboy today. My sauerkraut came out wonderfully -- it's really quite good. I also made sauerrüben -- fermented turnips, usually, but I used rutabaga since it's a cross between cabbage and turnips. To the right is sorrel soup: sorrel, potatoes, leeks and a duck stock from that roasted duck last month. It was real good.

Then LD wanted fried eggplant. Fried eggplant reminds me of soggy eggplant and other parmaseans -- all of which trigger my gag reflex. So I salted and drained the slices and tossed them in this batter (a departure from the fish batter I made with rice flour): two egg whites beaten until stiff into which two yolks, salt and half a cup of brown rice flour are folded. I battered the slices and fried them in grapeseed and sesame oil. They were really wonderful.

I also discovered this incredible Italian rabe at the farmer's market: I have no photo of it, but to the right is a tortilla of rabe and potatoes.

And this is beautiful purple cauliflower with lentils (it really does taste better than the white stuff, it's got more depth and nuttiness. It's just roasted on a bed of lentils cooked with celeriac and carrots and leeks) :

tomato season

It's that time of the year when there's so much food that's fresh and local that it's overwhelming. Part of this is that you know that in a month it could be snowing.

Between this week and last I've bought and used forty pounds of plum tomatoes, twelve pounds of cabbage and all sorts of other wonderful things. The tomatoes ended up as a tomato tarte tatin (no photo! and it was the best I've made!), twenty-two pints of canned tomatoes and probably twelve or thirteen pints of sauce (we had a housewarming that involved the tatin and lots of sauce with fresh pasta and olives). Best of all, forty pounds of fresh local tomatoes for a total of $25.

Sauerkraut is fermenting in the back room in what was the best birthday present ever: a two gallon "bluebird" crock. All twelve pounds of cabbage made it in there and it's now covered in it's own brine. (I only added salt, juniper berries and caraway seeds). It doesn't taste like it's there yet, but it's only been a week.

And that delicious savoy cabbage in the photo made it into a great Deborah Madison creation: savoy cabbage sautéed with lacinato kale and white beans. Very very satisfying.