Iced Tea and the "Linda Lee"

When my sister and I were teenagers, and my kid brother was barely old enough to help, my dad would drag all of us to the boat yard on Long Island Sound where he kept a 28’ sloop that always needed work. We’d spend an entire day in the hot sun scraping the wooden hull, polishing brass, and cleaning every square inch of the “Linda Lee” so we could spend the summer weekends sailing.

Our mother made gallons of the most thirst-quenching drink I’d ever tasted: a blend of half iced tea and half orange juice. We’d never heard of an Arnold Palmer, that half-iced tea-and-half-lemonade drink marketed these days by Minute Maid and Trader Joe’s, and we never gave Mom’s unique concoction a name. We also never saw how she blended the ingredients, but it’s a good bet that Mom used powdered tea mix and frozen orange juice concentrate, things I’d avoid today. But I remember the smell and taste of that refreshing drink even now, so many years later, whenever I am working outside on a hot summer day.

Nowadays, the boat is gone, my father and my mother are both gone, and my siblings never mention it any more, but much of what it means to me to be a family spending the summer together is blended into a simple mixture of iced tea and orange juice.

Today’s Iced Tea

Always start with freshly brewed tea. Basic iced tea begins with your choice of black tea. Pekoe is good and robust, especially when adding juice to the blend. I recently used whole-leaf black tea flavored with ginger for a pleasantly zippy flavor.

6-8 tea bags

4 Cups hot water

4 Cups (1 quart) cold filtered water

½ cup sugar or ¼ cup honey

Brings 4 cups of water to a boil. Tie the tea bags together and drop in the water to steep for 5-8 minutes. Any longer and it will get too strong and tannic tasting. After steeping, take out the tea bags and discard. While the tea is still hot, sweeten with granulated sugar or a sugar substitute like Stevia, Agave, or Truvia. Use a light hand with any sweetener if you plan to add juice, which will automatically sweeten the tea. Place the hot tea in a glass pitcher and add the remaining cold water. When the brew has cooled down, cover the container to keep other flavors from the fridge from affecting the tea and place in the refrigerator. Makes 2 quarts.

To this basic tea, add fresh squeezed orange juice to taste. If you live in New England, you may want to defer to a regional favorite and add cranberry juice instead of orange juice. Southerners may want to use lots of mint; others might try fresh raspberries.

Some other tips I’ve learned about iced tea:

• When serving, make sure the ice cubes you add are fresh, not cloudy or “old” looking, as they will affect the bright flavor of the tea.
• Always use a glass container; plastic and metal imparts unwanted flavors to the tea.
• Don’t try to keep any batch of iced tea longer than 2-3 days, as the flavor goes off after a while.

You Say Basil, I Say Basil

Herbs were a scarcity in my childhood home. Fresh herbs were virtually unknown, neither grown in the backyard garden nor cultivated in little pots in the kitchen window. The only fresh herb I remember any of us picking was the wild mint that grew rampantly next to the hose bib, and that was reserved for my parents’ gin and tonics during the summer. Spices were limited to paprika to add color to potato salad, curry powder for my mother’s curried shrimp, nutmeg for eggnog during the holidays, and whole cloves and dry mustard for glazing the Sunday ham.

It was this paucity of experience that led to my confusion about Ocimum basilicum. I assumed the green, leafy herb I first discovered on pizza must be pronounced ‘BAZ-uhl,’ as in Basil Rathbone the actor, but later learned that ‘BAYZ-uhl’ was more common.

Much later in life, when I had my own backyard, I learned that basil is one of the easiest and most prolific of plants any gardener could hope for. And there are many varieties and hybrids that not only become lovely landscape plants, but give the cook endless reasons to use basil in hundreds of dishes. The French nailed it when they dubbed basil “l’herbe royale.” For me, basil is the quintessential scent of summer.

This year I planted Sweet Basil and a cultivar called African Blue, and after a few weeks of good heat, they were approaching three feet in height. Last week, my friend Jorge and I whacked them back and we each took an armload of fresh basil, he planning on tomato-basil sauce for pasta, I ready to make pesto.

Often grown for ornamental purposes, African Blue Basil is also great in a multitude of recipes. If left long enough in water, it will grow roots and could be transplanted into pots for growing indoors in the winter.

Basil Pesto

1/3 Cup pine nuts or walnuts

3 medium garlic cloves

2 Cups fresh basil leaves, packed

½ Cup extra virgin olive oil

½ Cup fresh grated Parmesan-Reggiano or Romano cheese

Salt and fresh pepper to taste

Everything goes into the food processor, in this order. If using walnuts, pulse them first with the garlic, then add the basil. Slowly add the olive oil in a constant stream while processor is on. Stop to scrape down the sides with a rubber spatula. Add the grated cheese and pulse again to blend. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Yield: 1 cup. Serve with pasta, over baked potatoes, or spread over toasted baguette slices.

Basil is not limited to Italian or Asian food, nor should it be limited to savory dishes. A few years ago, my son and I embarked on a culinary adventure we will never forget. We indulged in a very elegant dinner at Chef Michael Schlow's Radius in Boston. Oddly enough, neither of us can recall what we ate for our entrees, but we both vividly remember the dessert we shared: basil ice cream. It was ecstasy, and we are still talking about it today. I’m not ambitious enough to make ice cream, but here is something I’m going to try next time I pick basil:

Balsamic and Basil Marinated Berries

4 Cups fresh berries (strawberries or blackberries)

¼ Cup fresh basil leaves, chopped. Save a few for garnish.

2 Tablespoons honey

2 Teaspoons balsamic vinegar

Wash berries and place in a large bowl. Set aside. In a small bowl, macerate the basil and honey together with a pestle. Add vinegar and whisk to combine. Pour basil mixture over the berries, toss to coat, and let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes until softened. Serve over ice cream or pudding. Garnish each serving with a tiny basil leaf.

Ojai Weekend: A Perfect Pairing of Food, Wine & Music

In his farewell comments from the stage Sunday evening, the Artistic Director of the Australian Chamber Orchestra said it best: “We’ve had an amazing six months this weekend in Ojai.”

The packed amphitheatre roared its approval for the charismatic violist and his extraordinary musicians, but the bonhomie was meant to be shared with all the musical geniuses who had played or sung during a jam-packed schedule at the 65th Ojai Music Festival in Ojai’s newly refurbished outdoor bowl.   

As if six concerts in three days weren’t enough to dazzle the senses, the weekend also included a culinary experience in between Saturday’s musical events. I joined about 40 others on a Farm-to-Table Tour co-hosted by The Farmer & The Cook restaurant and The Ojai Vineyard. Farmer Steve Sprinkel showed us around Rio Gozo Farm, where he farms 12 acres of organic vegetables. Our group comprised several home gardeners, a few good cooks, a landscape architect or two, and one lady who braved the furrows in high-heeled open-toed sandals. Steve gave us plenty of information on organic techniques, seasonality, natural pest control and distribution, and soon enough we were eager to start tasting some of the bounty before us.

Off we went to the cafe/store Steve and his wife Olivia Chase have in Meiners Oaks, The Farmer & The Cook. Guess which one is which. As a patron of this favorite local spot, I was expecting an outdoor buffet of salads and cooked vegetables. What I didn’t expect was a sit-down five-course, organic feast accompanied by superb local wines served by the winemaker himself, Adam Tolmach.

We began with a sparkling cucumber KeVita Water garnished with a pickled carrot stick and garlic scape. Refreshing and delightful. At the table in their new dining room, Adam poured his Ojai Vineyard 2009 Sauvignon Blanc to accompany the first course which was flatbread topped with cherry chile aioli, thinly sliced potato, roasted cippolini onions and a lightly sautéed and seasoned squash blossom. The salad course came in a colorful bowl of radicchio, figs, salted walnut halves and orange slices dressed with honey and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar.

The next two courses were paired with an Ojai Vineyard syrah that Adam described as “perhaps our best syrah to date,” his 2006 Syrah Presidio, an absolutely superb wine that is made from biodynamic grapes grown in Santa Barbara County. It was complex and robust and paired perfectly with Olivia’s rye and rosemary biscuits topped with horseradish cream, and the main course, grilled Jimenez Farms leg of lamb.

I could have ended the evening right there with that magnificent syrah’s finish lingering on my tongue, but out came dessert: little cupcakes made with local tangerines and pistachios, soaked in a jasmine and orange blossom syrup and garnished with labneh, a tart, strained yogurt. Dessert was paired with a 2008 Viognier ice wine that Adam makes with Ojai’s Roll Ranch viognier grapes that are put in a freezer, returned to the winery for pressing and barrel fermented. The result: fruity and flowery and served ice cold with the petite cakes.

I was reluctant to tear myself away, but I had just enough time to make it to the next concert, where I sat, sated and dreamy, full of excellent food, superb wine and magnificent music. Now that’s what I call a weekend to remember. I’ve already bought my concert tickets for next year, and if they do another farm-to-table tour, you can bet that I’ll be there with my bib on.

Rediscovering the Joy of Rhubarb

When I spotted them at the Ojai Farmers’ Market, all but hiding in the corner of a table covered with fresh vegetables, I grabbed them: a small pile of rhubarb stalks ignored by the throng of shoppers. I assume they had been overlooked because they were mostly pale green, not the deep rosy red of rhubarb that has been grown in a hothouse, which most customers prefer. The truth is, color does not matter when it comes to cooking rhubarb.

Another truth: I have not cooked with rhubarb for years. When I lived in Maine, I had an ancient rhubarb plant in my garden that yielded tough and stringy stalks that I couldn’t convince myself were suitable for the cooking pot. Somehow, it survived winter after winter of brutal cold to spring back to life every May and spread wider than ever, taking up valuable garden space. I finally pulled the entire thing out with a little help from my friend with the pick ax. Throughout New England, rhubarb is enormously popular; rhubarb-strawberry pie competes with blueberry pie and Boston cream pie for top billing on dessert menus. So rhubarb pies became my default for indulging my love for this tart fruit.

Back in my Ojai kitchen, I decided to replicate the simple way my mother used to make stewed rhubarb. Several times every spring she used to boil up a pot of rhubarb, adding nothing but a little water and tons of sugar. This was our favorite early season dessert and I can see in my mind’s eye the red chunks of rhubarb piled into individual bright yellow Fiesta Ware cereal bowls (this was the fifties, remember). We kids liked to pour a little milk over the fruit and watch with fascination as the milk started to ooze through the threads of rhubarb.

If my grandmother had lived with us, I’m sure she would have found a variety of ways to use rhubarb other than eaten out of a bowl. Stewed rhubarb is delicious baked into cakes and muffins, breads and tarts, cheesecake and coffee cake, fools and puddings, jams and marmalade. If you leave out most of the water and let the rhubarb cook slowly in its own juices, the result is a thicker sauce that is marvelous with pork tenderloin and other meats as well as fish.

Here’s my take on humble stewed rhubarb, kicked up a notch for a more complex flavor.

 Stewed Rhubarb, Only Better

12 medium small rhubarb stalks, chopped (about 2 cups). Remove any leaves; they’re toxic.

1 Cup granulated sugar. Use more or less according to taste.

2 Cups fresh strawberries, chopped

½ Teaspoon vanilla

¼ Teaspoon each ground cinnamon and nutmeg

1 Tablespoon cornstarch (optional)

The rhubarb I bought at the farmers’ market was field cultivated, not grown in a hothouse, so the size of the stalks varied a lot. Use as many stalks as it takes to get about 2 cups, chopped into 1-inch pieces. Place the chopped rhubarb in a heavy pot and barely cover with water. Stir in the sugar. Bring to a boil then turn the heat down and simmer 6-7 minutes before you add the chopped strawberries. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until all the fruit is soft but not mushy, about 10-12 minutes total. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla and the spices. If you want to thicken the mixture, blend 1 tablespoon of cornstarch in a little water until smooth and stir into the hot rhubarb mixture. Serve warm or at room temperature, but store in the refrigerator. Wonderful over vanilla ice cream, or served with a generous dollop of either plain yogurt or creme fraiche.

Yield: 3½ cups