Take big deep breaths.

Maybe spend a few minutes looking for frogs…

Bask in the glory of warm sun on your shoulders…

Am I living in a dream world?

Sometimes I think I must be.

–

The Weston Family Quarry Garden is a 43 hectre park behind Evergreen Brick Works. There are boardwalks and trails overlooking the restored quarry ponds. It’s the perfect place for turtle watching, frog catching, meadow frolicking and a great view of the skyline up the north slope.

When the first spears came to market, I was first in line for a bushel. After such a long winter, it was such a treat to have something fresh and green. I’ve been eating asparagus with every meal – grilled, sauteed, steamed, boiled, roasted, with garlic, with horseradish, with onions, and more!

Now that I’ve had my fill and am down to the last stalks, it’s time for asparagus to take on a supporting role. And why not with my favourite grain, rice!

This lovely rice pilaf dish from Nigel Slater’s Tender | Volume I features not only asparagus, but early broad beans, spring onions and fresh herbs.

I substituted the broad beans for some of last year’s peas that were hanging out in the freezer. I also added some caramelized shallots to the dish, and instead of the suggest mint-yoghurt accompaniment, I sprinkled the mint right on top for a fresh finish.

Pilaf of asparagus, broad beans and mint
A Recipe adapted from Nigel Slater’s Tender | Volume I

Slater’s original instructions are to soak the rice for an hour, then cook it on low for a time. The first time I did this, it resulted in a still-wet texture rather than a dry fluffiness – pilaf requires a method of cooking that leaves every grain separate, almost dry – no mush, no stickiness. As such, I’ve used my friend Mojgan’s technique for Iranian-style rice here. It’s produces amazing results.

Yield: 2 big servings

2 handfuls of broad beans, podded (I used spring peas)
12 thin asparagus spears, cut into short lengths
120 grams white basmati rice
50 grams of butter or oil
3 bay leaves
6 green cardamom pods, lightly crushed
6 black peppercorns
1 cinnamon stick
3 cloves (no more)
pinch, cumin seeds
generous pinch, salt
2 sprigs of thyme or savoury
2 spring onions, finely sliced
4 teaspoons of chopped parsley
2 teaspoons of chopped mint

Method

1. Wash the rice very well. While it’s tedious work to have to continuously run water over rice, it’s important to take the time. Take a deep breath, and listen to the calming sounds of water running. I give myself plenty of time and start by soaking the rice for 15 minutes, then straining it through a fine-mesh sieve and running it under the tap a few turns. The trick is to do so until a lot of the starch is gone and the water runs near-clear.
2. Bring a medium-sized pot of water to boil (don’t worry, you don’t have to measure). Add a teaspoon of salt to the boiling water. Tip the washed rice in, and allow it to come to boil again. Moj noted this process is much like cooking pasta. After approximately 6 minutes, try a grain – it should be al dente (soft but with bite). Strain the rice back through the fine-mesh sieve, run under cold water for 10 seconds, and leave it off to the side for all the water to drip off.
3. Place the medium-sized pot back on medium-heat. Add the butter/oil to heat. Once it bubbles, add the bay leaves, cardamom, peppercorns, cinnamon, cloves, cumin, salt and thyme/savoury. Stir everything round in the oil for a minute or two, until the fragrance wafts up.
4. Tip the rice into pan. Now here’s where Moj’s second technique comes in. Before you cover the pot, add a thick(ish) tea towel underneath, being sure to tuck the edges in (photo below). The reason you do this is to allow the tea towel to absorb all the extra liquid, leaving you with perfect granules.
5. Once the funny lid is on, turn the heat down to low (2-3 on an electric stove), and allow the rice to cook for approximately 30 minutes.
6. While the rice is cooking, bring out a small sautee pan, bring it to high heat and add a drizzle of oil. Sautee the asparagus and broad beans/peas until tender. Season with a little bit of salt. Set the vegetables aside.
7. After 30 minutes, open up the lid and try a bit of rice. It should be cooked through but no longer wet. If it’s still soppy, turn up the heat a little bit and cook for another 5 minutes.
8. Once the rice is cooked, add the cooked asparagus and broad beans/peas plus the spring onions, parsley and mint.
9. Serve as a side dish, or eat it straight out of the pot with your lover.

I topped the dish with caramelized shallots. What a treat!

Want to read more about pilaf? Check out this article in the Guardian.

Every morning I’d wake up to the whirrrrrrrrrrrr and gggrrrrrrrrrr of the juicing machine. When I got down to the kitchen there she was, ready with a smile and a shot glass of the bloody stuff.

I both loved and loathed it. There was so much pressure to shoot it quickly: you didn’t want it getting warm, and as she always reminded me, vegetables lost half of their nutrients within 5 minutes of juicing. I had to brace myself like it was cheap tequila on a sloppy Friday night – head back, eyes closed, glass tilted up to the ceiling – the sweet severe tang would hit my insides with such intensity it made me both cringe and jump into action.

I couldn’t eat beets for a couple years after that…

I’m happy to report I’ve opened up to them again, and smiled when I saw their fierce colour peaking out amongst all the green leafy vegetables at the Farmers’ Market.

As for how I’ll eat them, it certainly won’t involve that juicer that’s been collecting dust.

Nigel Slater’s beautiful vegetable-focused cookbook Tender | Volume I offers some great beet recipes, including a moist chocolate beetroot cake with crème fraîche poppy seed frosting and a beet raita for lentil curry.

From Slater:

“Beet’s concentrated jewel-like colour is both its joy and its downfall. It is sod’s law that it should marry so happily with the virginal white of goat’s cheeses, mascarpone and thick puddles of crème fraîche, none of whose looks are improved by a pink stain curdling the outer edge. Unable to take baby-pink food to heart, I make a habit of mixing the scarlet roots with dairy ingredients only at the last minute, often passing a bowl of soured cream and chopped dill around for everyone to annount their own salad at the table.”

So far, all C. and I have managed to do is goof around with them.

Happy Saturday!

― “Asparagus Superhero” by Phoebe Nobles, from “Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One”, edited by Jenni Ferrari-Adler

― Yoshi Yamada’s “Ravenous for Ramps”, Gourmet

Sometimes we forget that vegetables come from the dirt, that healthy soil make healthy greens.

C.’s chums shared some of their foraged ramps and fiddleheads, and I took them out to prepare them for a photo shoot, but stopped when I realized there was something perfect about their just-picked state.

Here are the ramps after a bath: perfect creamy bulbs, magenta mid-sections, and broad green leaves.

You can’t tell from the picture, but their glorious pungent stink filled the room.

― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

It’s been a very busy few weeks, and somewhere between packing house and moving across town, spring came along.

C. and I found pockets of time between our work schedules and the piles of cardboard boxes to get away, pick a direction, hit the road and get a little lost.

We found an amazing old growth forest just an hour north of the City.

It seemed that no one else knew about it, for we were the only ones there…

We stumbled upon hillsides of trilliums, their perky three-petaled faces basking in the morning sun.

We stood still in the hum and buzz of the forest as the trilliums, trout lilies and ferns swayed and sighed in the warm wind.

I am so thankful for these moments out of doors in nature: the journey and the discovery, the curious and free exploration, the reaffirmation that we are all part of something much bigger than ourselves.

I wish you a very Merry May.

x

mky.

This is a poem for these difficult times.

*

Thanks
A poem by W.S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is