Eating field garlic

So, that was our field garlic in the...er...field on Sunday. Inwood: northwestern corner of Manhattan Island. A subway and a river later we were back on Long Island, in Brooklyn, thinking about dinner. Post about the gathering of, here.

The horrendous Key Food on Atlantic had not a single organic chicken or organic chicken part, not even Murrays (new management, possibly scalier than the old management), so I resorted to some nice little frozen baby ribs I'd been hanging onto for a rainy day. That would be dinner.

But first. I had garlic to clean.

...the prospect of which was made much easier by a nice little Gimlet. Note the pickled onions.

Some Brooklyn tap water and my Opinel knife later, the bulbs were sparkly white. Not difficult, really. Each onion had an outer skin that slipped off like a little coat, then I rinsed for a second time, and cut off the roots.

I kept a large handful aside of pickling. Apple cider vinegar, water, pepper corns, mustard seeds, salt and sugar for the pickling, and I brined the onions first.


For the ribs, I chopped up the green parts of a large handful of field onions and reserved the stems and bulbs. Tossed the greens with the ribs, a lot of black pepper, about 2 teaspoons of brown sugar, and enough salt. Squeezed over a small lime and let it all sit in the fridge for few hours. Then I put the bulbs directly in the bottom of my cast iron pan, with the ribs on top.


Heated the oven to roaring and cooked till each side was very sizzlin' brown. I added no water, though I was expecting to. There was enough juice. After the ribs were cooked I let them rest for about fifteen minutes, covered under a foil tent that allowed steam to escape.

I know I'm prejudiced, but I do love ribs, and these were absolutely, phenomenally good. The onions were not acrid at all; mellow and sweet, with lots of depth.

MUST have more.

Next day. I had promised the Frenchman pancetta and field garlic and so we had a decadent breakfast.

Pan fried, with poached eggs, on flat white pita from the Damascus Bakery. Good coffee.

I am hooked. I'll go farther and say that I prefer this field garlic over ramps. Until ramp season, of course.

Maybe.