Asparagus to the Rescue!

This time last week, we were all but drowning. A series of powerful storm cells had been pounding California one after the other bringing sideways rain, fierce winds and temperatures far below normal. My garden, the one I'd promised to the local garden tour for its May event, was literally underwater and all the new spring growth was in danger of freezing back. In my vegetable beds, I could hear my new lettuces gasping for air, and I was helpless to save their young lives. I'd have to start all over again.

Most of the country suffers through nasty weather in March, but I felt we had been singled out. On the first sunny Sunday, after way too many days of torrential rain, I took my deflated spirits to the local farmer's market to see what produce had survived the wreckage. Strawberries looked a little battered. Spinach didn't look too bad, and the citrus was fine. And then there was the asparagus. Tough enough to survive all manner of bad weather, tender enough to be picked, and ready to be eaten.

White asparagus, cultivated asparagus, and wild asparagus.

One of the harbingers of spring, asparagus is a seasonal treat I look forward to every year. When it is first available, I like to make an asparagus soup, and later in the season I love it roasted in the oven or grilled outdoors. One of my favorite marinades combines 3 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar, 2 tablespoons of lemon juice, 1 tablespoon of soy sauce and a little black pepper. I marinate a pound of asparagus for about a half hour, then toss them on a well-oiled grill for about 5 minutes on each side.

At the market, I grabbed a few pounds of the spears and, spirits lifted, headed home to make my favorite spring soup.

Cream of Asparagus Soup

1/4 Cup unsalted butter
1 Onion, chopped
3 Stalks celery, chopped
3 Tablespoons all-purpose flour
4-5 Cups low sodium chicken broth
1 small-medium Russet potato, peeled and diced
1 Pound fresh asparagus, trimmed and coarsely chopped. Reserve 6 tips for garnish.
3/4 Cup half-and-half
1/4 Teaspoon white pepper

Melt the butter in a stock pot. Add onions and celery and saute under tender, about 4 minutes. Stir in the flour, mixing well. Cook for about a minute, stirring constantly. Add the broth and stir until smooth. Bring to a boil. Add the potatoes and asparagus. Reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes.

Puree the soup in a food processor and return to the pot, or use an immersion blender right in the pot.

Stir in the half-and-half and the white pepper. Bring soup just to a boil, adjust the seasonings and serve hot, garnished with the reserved asparagus tips. Serves 6.

The potato, onion and asparagus give this soup an earthy taste that I love at this time of year. Getting back to the earth, welcoming the growing season -- it's just right for me. This soup pairs well with the grassy, herbal notes in a Sauvignon Blanc.

The Blood Orange

First, a disclaimer. It is not my intent to post too often about citrus. It’s just that spring is when so many varieties are in season around here and it’s hard to ignore them. Especially when they are putting on such a splendid display in my very own back yard.

Today I’m besotted with the vibrantly colored -- albeit unfortunately named -- Blood Orange. Remarkable for a deep garnet flesh and a skin blushed with red, Blood Oranges can also sport a mottled orange-red flesh and a plain orange skin. They all look a little different, but they all share a common health benefit: That red pigment is an antioxidant, so if you have a choice of orange varieties at the store, choose Bloods for good health.

Blood Oranges are a great choice for just about any recipe that calls for orange juice, orange segments, or orange zest. Their juice lends spectacular color to Sangria and Mimosas, and their segments brighten up salsas or green salads. I’ve read that in Sicily, where the Sanguinello and Tarocco varieties are grown, a favorite winter salad is made with sliced “arancias rossas,” sliced fennel bulbs, and olive oil. Bloods make a beautiful marmalade, sorbet, tart, and vinaigrette-style dressing.

One lesson I’ve learned while pondering the many ways to enjoy Blood Oranges, is that -- pretty as they are in a fruit bowl -- they don’t keep very well at room temperature. It’s better to keep them in the refrigerator and use them within a couple of weeks. Or, let them hang on the tree where they’ll stay nicely until about May.

Pixie Tangerines

Lumpy, dumpy, and a little bit frumpy. There's no other way to describe them: Ojai Pixie Tangerines are not the glamorous cousins in the citrus family.

Pixies are considered a specialty crop. Here in Ojai there are some 3 dozen growers harvesting about a million and a half pounds from just a few hundred acres. There may be more growers outside the Ojai Valley, but the local growers insist it's the Ojai microclimate that makes Ojai Pixies so unique. So naturally, Pixies have become the darlings of our local citrus industry, lumps, bumps and all. Around town, you're likely to see a bumper sticker on cars that reads "Ojai Pixies: Sweet, Petite, and Easy to Eat," the tag line of the Ojai Pixie Growers Association.

A few years ago, in a fit of horticultural xenophobia, I planted an Ojai Pixie Tangerine tree, and couldn't wait for the first crop. You can imagine my crushing disappointment when the single fruit that appeared during the next growing season was a naval orange! Next time, I'm going to order a bona fide Pixie directly from my longtime pals Tony and Anne Thacher at Friends Ranch, or Jim Churchill who grows them certified organic.

Pixie season starts in March and goes until the crop runs out, usually sometime in May. After that, they are hard to find. I can't imagine anything better than eating a Pixie Tangerine right off the tree, but here's a recipe from Melissa's Produce, the Los Angeles-based distributor that ships the fruit far and wide.

Ojai Pixie Tangerine Cake

For the Cake:
1 Box white cake mix, your favorite brand. Substitute freshly squeezed Pixie Tangerine juice for the water specified in the cake recipe.
1/2 Cup Macadamia nuts, toasted and chopped
1/2 Cup dried tart cherries
1 Tablespoon Pixie tangerine zest

For the Topping:
1/3 Cup brown sugar
3 Tablespoons butter
1/4 Cup Pixie tangerine zest and juice
6 Pixie tangerines, peeled and sliced into rounds

Prepare the cake according to the directions on the cake mix box, substituting tangerine juice for the water. Add nuts, cherries, and zest. Bake according to the cake mix directions and let cool.

Heat sugar, butter, juice and zest in a saucepan, bringing it to a boil. Lower heat and simmer for 20 minutes. With a wooden skewer or fork, poke holes throughout the top of the cake. Pour sauce over cake and top with Pixie tangerine slices. Broil in oven under flame for 2 minutes to brown.

Ahi Marinade: Lost and Found

A couple of summers ago, I got hooked on a marinade for ahi tuna that my friend Alicia -- who owns Ideal Seafood in Ojai -- had given me, and I used the recipe at least a million times during the grilling season. And then I didn't. The seasons changed, I got out of the habit, and I guess the hand-written recipe just disappeared into an unmanageable pile of loose recipes in my kitchen.

All it took was for me to spy a perfect piece of ahi in the market the other day, and I was suddenly lusting for that marinade. I spent the morning shuffling through the recipe pile to no avail, started to contact Alicia and suddenly found it safely tucked into a binder, filed exactly where it belonged.

Tuna Marinade

2 Tablespoons balsamic vinegar

2 Tablespoons lemon juice

2 Tablespoons soy sauce

1 teaspoon fresh garlic, chopped

2 teaspoons sesame or olive oil

Blend all ingredients and marinate fish in the mixture for at least 15 minutes. Sear the tuna in a very hot pan or over high heat on the grill for about 30 seconds on each side. Reduce heat, pour a little extra marinade over the tuna, and cook on low about 3 minutes, turning once. The ahi is done when it feels soft when prodded with a fork and is still pink on the inside.

Strawberry Salsa

There’s nothing like a visit to the local farmers’ market in the spring. Even in California where the markets stay full of produce throughout the year, spring is a sensory treat. When I moved to the Golden State some 44 years ago, the new strawberry crop heralded the coming of warmer weather when the fields were picked in late February or early March. For three or four months my family and I gorged on strawberries to consume as much as we could before the growing season ended.

But now, strawberries are grown year-round in various locations, so some of the thrill of the opening of strawberry season is gone. But it all came back to me this morning when I spied a farmer’s booth absolutely groaning under the weight of plump, bright red, voluptuous strawberries!

These gems were grown up in Santa Maria, a couple of hours north of Ojai where the climate is always a little cooler and the rich farmland yields a bumper crop year after year. “March is when they’re really the best,” said the grower, so I treated myself to a 3-pack which is a lot for one person, but I will use them at every possible opportunity.

Of course, I’ll do the usual: slice them over my breakfast cereal, and make simple desserts of sliced berries sprinkled with a little lavender sugar, or slathered in whipped cream on shortcake. But tonight I’m going to make a batch of strawberry salsa that will be tasty as a garnish on grilled salmon.

Strawberry Salsa

Prepare at least one hour before serving.

1 Seedless cucumber, finely chopped

1 Green onion, thinly sliced

1 Tablespoon cilantro, chopped or cut into thin strips

1 Yellow pepper, finely chopped

4 Tablespoons rice wine vinegar

2 Cups (about a pint) fresh strawberries, hulled and diced small

Mix the cucumber, green onion, cilantro, yellow pepper and vinegar. Cover and chill at least one hour. Just before serving, add the strawberries. Serve over grilled fish or any poultry that begs for a little crunch and color. This is a very light salsa, not one that will hold its own against strong flavors like barbecued beef.

When Life Gives You Lemons…

I live in Ventura County, California’s number one lemon producer.  The annual lemon crop is worth many hundreds of millions of dollars annually, employs legions of farm workers, and creates a greenbelt of hundreds of acres around our towns and cities. In the spring when the lemon trees are in bloom, the air is fragrant with a light citrus scent.

Most home gardeners around here like to have a token lemon tree in their gardens, and when I started my family-size citrus “orchard,” I put in a Meyer lemon because it stays a manageable size with pruning and is a prodigious producer. 

Meyer lemons are believed to be a cross between a true lemon and a mandarin, which would account for its sweeter taste, compared to the lemons found in the supermarket. You won’t find Meyer lemons in the large chain markets because their thin skins mean they don’t travel well, so they are considered a specialty fruit. Where you will find them in the spring when the trees are laden is in farmers’ markets and in baskets on store counters with a hand-lettered sign that says “FREE,” the gift of a home gardener trying to share the bounty.

Because I can hardly keep up with the amount of fruit my one little tree produces, I use fresh lemon in everything. Most recipes using lemon don’t require any more than a small amount of juice, so I’m always on the lookout for ways to use as much as possible. Here are two simple recipes that help make a dent in my lemon inventory at this time of year.

Meyer Lemon-Vanilla Vinaigrette

2 Meyer lemons, juiced

¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

¾ teaspoon Dijon mustard

½ teaspoon mashed anchovy fillet

1 teaspoon minced shallot

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup canola oil

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Stir together the lemon juice, vanilla, Dijon mustard, anchovy and shallot until smooth. Slowly whisk in the oils. Season with salt and pepper. Use to dress a spring salad of greens and tangerine segments.

Meyer Lemon Marinade

1 cup Meyer lemon juice

½ cup extra virgin olive oil

¼ cup drained capers

¼ cup fresh dill, chopped

1 Tablespoon dried oregano

1 Tablespoon grated lemon zest

Lightly whisk together all ingredients in a bowl, and set aside to at room temperature for about ½ hour before using, which will help develop the flavors. Use as a marinade for fish, chicken, or pork tenderloin.

Lavender, Sugar?

I'm blessed to live in a Mediterranean climate where lavender thrives. There's something so nostalgic and sentimental about the scent of lavender that I've heard people say the fragrance reminds them of their grandmother, or the family farm, or a terraced hillside in southern France in the summer. Lavender is all of those things, but they are also more trouble for the gardener than anyone likes to admit.

Young lavender plants are spectacular, pungent, and romantic. But when they have been in the ground a few years, they tend to get woody and start dying back and you need to start cutting out large clumps in the hopes that they will fill in and look fresh again. Sometimes they do, and often they don't.

In my garden, I have drifts of English lavender (Lavendula angustifolia), French lavender (L. dentata), and Spanish lavender (L. stoechus), a dwarf Lavendula munstead, and probably a few hybrids that never had a botanical name bestowed upon them like L. whatever. Regardless of their pedigree or lack thereof, all my lavenders are visual and olfactory delights.

Last summer, I picked a generous bunch of lavender blooms, removed the flower heads from the stem, and let the flower buds fall away from the flowers. Because I don't spray my herbs, I was very comfortable adding the flower buds to some sugar for flavor. I used enough sugar to almost fill a quart-sized glass jar, and filled in the rest with lavender buds. The proportions were roughly 3-1/2 cups white cane sugar (the molasses in brown sugar will overwhelm lavender) and 1/2 cup of lavender buds. Cap the jar and give it a good shake, and store the jar in a cool, dry place, shaking the jar every few days for a couple of weeks. Your lavender sugar is ready to use when you get a good, strong, unmistakable whiff of lavender when you open the jar. If not, store it a little longer.

If you're queasy about having dried lavender buds mixed into your white sugar, just sift them out and save them for the next batch. Or, you can tie up the lavender buds in a muslin or cheesecloth pouch, bouquet garni-style, and bury the pouch in the sugar, removing it when you're ready to use the sugar.

There are all kinds of culinary uses for lavender sugar in baking: cookies, cakes, scones, etc. You can even use a few drops of food coloring to tint lavender sugar for frosting.

At the end of the summer, my neighbors planned a block party and it was my job to bring a family-friendly non-alcoholic beverage. I filled a large decorative glass urn with homemade lemonade, sweetened with lavender sugar. Because I was hoping to avoid exclamations of "EWWWWW!" from the kids, I had strained out the lavender buds before I filled the urn. For dramatic effect, I added a few long sprigs of lavender to the jar, and everyone was duly impressed, even the kids.

Plum good eatin'

Last week, less than six weeks after my friend Carmen pruned all my fruit trees, the Santa Rosa plum tucked way in the back next to the fence, started budding out. That's the way it is in southern California gardens: dormancy is very short-lived. This week it is in full bloom and the honey bees, like this little guy in the photo, are already putting in long days.

Santa Rosas (Prunus salicina) are self-pollinating, so there's no need to plant a second one to get a crop, and this little beauty never disappoints. By mid-June this semi-dwarf tree will be laden with more plums than I can handle. I've learned to cook many ways with plums and have compiled what I think one day will be a cookbooklet, but I prefer Santa Rosas right off the tree. If a basketful actually makes it into the kitchen, I slice a couple and add them to a simple Waldorf salad, topped with yogurt.

Dependable Rosemary

I have a lot of rosemary in my garden, at least three or four different kinds, and they all are trouble-free and dependable, practically bullet-proof. With their woody branches, gnarly trunks, and pine needle-like leaves, they withstand winter's frosts and summer's scorching heat.

This one is probably Rosmarinus officanalis 'Ken Taylor,' a stalwart soldier that blooms year-round, even in the winter before anything else dares. Rosemary blossoms are tiny, but the plant covers itself in a blanket of blue which makes a beautiful showing in the garden. It is very drought-resistant -- a good thing in California's Mediterranean climate. Every 3-4 months, I take the electric hedger to it and whack it back into shape.

I like to throw a sprig or two on the barbecue when I'm grilling lamb chops or lamb burgers. Rosemary's pungent fragrance is a wonderful flavor addition to these meats. Once, in an effort to impress guests, I copied a trick I'd learned from Martha Stewart: I selected several straight and sturdy rosemary branches, stripped off the leaves, and threaded chunks of lamb shoulder on them to make a marvelous shish kebab.

Welcome to Flower Buds

I guess I just had to do it eventually, and I will blame it all on Facebook. Because in the end, Facebook just wasn't enough. FB is great if all you want to share is a single thought at a time, a mere snippet of what's going on in your life. And forget Twitter, which I haven't attempted yet because I'm not sure I could limit my statements to a simple headline. I can hear my high school English teacher's voice now, counseling me to be succinct and stay focused on the topic sentence. I can also hear my own magazine editor's voice challenging my writers to tighten up, edit out the fluff, and pay attention to the word count.


Write tight: an honorable goal, and an excellent training tool for writers of all stripes. But I've been yearning for another forum for my thoughts and opinions, and so I finally created this little blog to let me spread my wings a bit more. Here is where I will post about my garden, my successes and foibles in the kitchen, my life in this bucolic California valley, and the friends that contribute to my happiness. "Flower Buds" will not be limited to floral phenomena; they will also include the new and promising things and people I discover along the way.