Choose your pepper wisely

 I didn't grow up with hot food. The spiciest it ever got was a single, intact chile (which would have been spelled chillie, in South Africa) in a curry—accompanied by strenuous warnings to the effect of, Watch out, there's a chillie in there somewhere! Perhaps a whole chillie in a bottle of sherry used for cooking. Surprisingly effective, actually. My mom added it to soups.

So where and how did I convert? This country. Living with a food-loving Mexican for four years may have had something to do with it. New York City, and it's plethora of Southeast Asian eateries. And simply being on the continent in proximity to so many forms of fresh and dried chiles had significant powers of persuasion.

I like heat, now. A lot. But there's heat and there's heat. For my recent experiments making shatta, a gently fermented and staple chile condiment eaten in Palestine (and other Eastern Mediterranean countries), I learned that long red cayenne peppers make a fantastic shatta—sweetly hot and mellow. But that compact Scotch bonnet peppers (I know, what was I thinking?) blew the house down.

I have been eating a dab of shatta almost daily, especially on lunchtime eggs. (The eggs above were for a picnic after a plant walk, and there were no complaints.)

And atop labne, with an egg and some crisp celery and mint? Delicious, and pretty darn healthy, too. 

My shatta recipe is up on Gardenista.

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Citrus Candy, But Real

A sweet flood of tiny-tiny Kishu mandarins arrived at our door some weeks ago, a gift from a citrus grower. I had been making all things citrus - candied pomelo peel, fermented yuzu syrup - but this windfall led to an interesting discovery: they can be dried, whole! I made a first, tentative batch, and then, when I had eaten that entire dried batch in one sitting, I made some more, taking notes.

After peeling, I placed them in the lowest of ovens, on a parchment covered baking sheet. I wasn't sure at what point they would seem "done," but learned that there is a cusp of perfection, achieved just before their sugars begin to darken and turn them a little bitter.

It is not easy to convey their flavor: Mandarin, yes, but deeply intensified. Later, I played with other seedless, easy-peel citrus fruit, and now find it hard to choose which I like better. the whole fruit, or the segments, which become chip-like and crisp.

You decide. My method is now up on Gardenista: Dried, Naked Citrus. I believe it will make you very happy.

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American burnweed - a herb to eat

We lurch from apocalypse to apocalypse. Choking wildfire smoke, and now, unprecedented rainfall. Brooklyn escaped Sunday night's flooding rain; in fact, it has been drier than usual, while just an hour north, where we hunted chanterelles over the weekend, mild creeks and tame streams turned into torrential monsters, and cliffs into cataracts.  

It is very hot, and meals have been cool. Above? Slivered baby cucumbers atop labneh, with Palestinina olive oil, New Jersey peas and...an indigenous plant foraged in Brooklyn.

In season now is an unheralded aromatic herb of North America: Erechtites hieraciifolius - known commonly as fireweed, American burnweed, or (ahem) pilewort (it has a long history of traditional medicinal use) is a soft, annual herb of deep summer. It is ultra-floral, very strongly herbal, and slightly bitter. I love it.

You can read all about American burnweed in my story for Gardenista (and snag a cooling-zinging mango salad recipe) and I hope you pounce on it when you see it, soon.

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Chickweed

Chickweed, a luscious, cool-weather green, has a unique flavor. Read all about it and get my super-easy chickweed recipe on Gardenista.

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How to grow ramps - and why

What is that green shoot? It has four friends, too. They are all - well, cough, all five - ramps, just up in a pot on our terrace after a curious winter (deep freezes in December, thaws, record-high February temperatures, more freezes, and a lot of rain).

When you have seen a mountainside green with ramps, five plants in a pot might not seem like much. But when you have seen a forest where ramps used to grow, and that is now bereft of their green leaves in early spring... those five cultivated ramps are a big deal.

Ramps are a wild onion - Allium tricoccum and A. tricoccum var burdickii, and they are a beloved wild, native, edible plant; so loved that they are being harvested into oblivion in some US states, and in Canada. 

But they are not hard to cultivate. Love ramps? Have some land or a pot or a garden?

Find how to grow them in my Ramp 101 story for Gardenista. At least, that was the original title - it has been modified. I do harvest wild ramps in a place where they are abundant - leaves only. 

And that is my mantra: #rampleavesonly

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New Forage Classes - March, April and May

 

Tulips: week in, week out

Tulips and books. Read all about both, how to choose (the tulips), how to make them lean (or stand to attention), and...how to eat them. In my story for Gardenista.

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Book: My NYBG class, 4 March 2023

Radishes - it's time

 

I love radishes.

They have a remarkable affinity for eggs - high on my list of Loved Things. Also, toast. (Perhaps everything has an affinity for toast?)

They were the first vegetable I ever grew, as a very small person living in Bloemfontein, in the heart of South Africa. So there is that, too. 

In our Cobble Hill days (the terrace of the original 66 square feet size) I raised them on our so-called roof farm - a collection of pots where fava beans, peas, tomatoes, aubergines, peppers and raspberries grew. And this year I will sow them again, this time in the windowboxes on our Windsor Terrace...terrace (the neighborhood name makes its Instagram hashtag a cinch - #thewindsorterrace). 

It's been years since I grew and harvested my own radishes, so recently I spoke to two vegetable gardeners - Hemalatha Gokhale and Randi Rhoades - whose work I admire a lot, and listened to their radish-growing wisdom, for a story for Gardenista. You will find it in this link: Radishes: Early, Easy, Delicious.

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4 March - my NYBG Foraging Class

Wood ears and winter

A wood ear's point-of-view, during a recent forage class in Prospect Park. The wood ears studied the humans, the humans studied the wood ears.

The texture of fresh wood ears (species of Auricularia mushrooms) is extraordinary. Silky, soft, alive. And to eat? A little like oysters, in terms of slitheriness, but with a snap. They are one of the oldest mushrooms in cultivation. Maybe you've had them in spring rolls, or in a glass noodle salad, or in hot-and-sour soup. 

Medicinally, they work like aspirin, as a blood thinner. 

And they like logs and injured trees, surrounding us even in cities.

Their characteristic, textural snap works beautifully in meatballs (although...possibly anything works well in meatballs?), and I also add whole mushrooms to the pan-sauce because they act as pliant sponges for flavor. The Frenchman adores them. So do I. Neither of us had eaten them fresh until a few years ago. 

And now, in late November, the simmering and the bubbling, the kitchen-sounds of early evening in winter (is it winter, if it's late November? I never know), the scents of slow food returning, include these cool-weather 'shrooms. 

Read more about the mushrooms in my story for Gardenista (and snag my very easy and delicious one-skillet chicken and wood ear dinner).

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Private Walk Bookings for 2023 are Open

Candied crabapples

Crabapple season.

Birds prefer them after a real cold snap, when they are less tannic.

And I like them fat and tart, to be candied.

 

Get my easy candied crabapple recipe - plus an excellent cocktail -  on Gardenista. They're deliiiiiicious.

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Summer savory: You can't buy it, so grow it!

Last week I cut down the mini hedges of summer savory in my windowboxes. I felt a bit bad about it because bees really love their tiny flowers.  But they have other tiny flowers to plunder.

I wanted to dry the herb while it was still very leafy. It dries quite fast, spread out on a counter or on baking parchment. 

After a few days I crush it, remove the stems, and squeeze it all into the designated container in my spice collection. Overflow goes into a mason jar. It keeps its strong flavor for many months.

And the flavor of summer savory is...? Similar to oregano, but not quite. Throw in a pinch of thyme. A whiff of bee balm. 

One of the ways I like to use it is to help turn ordinary cheese into fancy cheese: fresh goat cheese, say, with good olive oil and summer savory becomes very delicious, overnight (this is not something to leave out on the counter, by the way, unless you like botulism - keep it in the fridge)

My whole story, with growing tips, food ideas and a recipe, is on Gardenista.

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Beach plum gin

August in Brooklyn feels like January in Keetmanshoop, right now. Oven-hot. But New York also slings a bucket of soapy mugginess at you to make sure you will really, really look forward to September. And I do. Look forward to September.

There are compensations. For me, they are fruit. Beach plums are beginning to ripen. Elderberries (the ones that have not shriveled on the parched shrubs) are turning purple. And Aronia is ready, too.

I opened a 2020 bottle of beach plum gin the other evening. A maceration made in that first summer of pandemic. It is very good, but improved by a bitter strip of ruby grapefruit peel, with lots of dry tonic (Fever Tree Lite) and ice to make the glass bead. Perfect for this weather. This is the gin I refer to as Pits-and-Pulp, using the leftovers from a beach plum purée. I create another gin, too, that is redder and richer...

I explain that, with a recipe, in the recent story about beach plums I wrote for Gardenista, which you will find in that link. They are a wonderful East Coast fruit, and a very resilient shrub. I hope more people will grow them. 

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Cool flowers for hot nights

A potful of Silk Road lilies has opened. The darker it gets, the stronger their scent grows.

And salads are luscious with farmers market produce (the peaches - quick-pickled, the crunchy sugar snap peas and cucumbers), and small treats from the garden: Nasturtium leaves, and the Monarda flowers, which are finding their way into many meals. They taste like a cross between savory and oregano. The voluptuous burrata is wonderful with the medley of sweet, peppery, soft, and crisp. 

Much, much more about Monarda-slash-bergamot-slash-bee-balm in my story about this native North American herb for Gardenista. Plus recipes: for this salad, a drink, and for grilled feta (it might become your favorite thing to eat this summer).

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The bay tree that asked to come in

Our bay tree moved indoors! It is the tree in my migrating collection that has received the least attention and yet it has also been the least trouble. 

Anyway, despite being moved outdoors every spring this year the decision was made to reverse the process, for its own good. The bay tree wants to be inside. The story, with tips on growing bay indoors as well as root-pruning the potted tree is on Gardenista. With a very simple but delicious recipe for the fresh leaves. I use them a lot.

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Nasturtium capers

Have you made nasturtium seed capers?  They are delicious, with a mild, horse-radish zing. I think they rival the better-known, bottled version. There is still time to sow the flowers and gather their seeds in early fall. (Remember to plant them deep.) 

My recipe for nasturtium capers is on Gardenista along with some other very yummy ideas for eating the leaves, flowers, and fresh seeds. They are also good medicine.

The capers above are still in the process of lacto-fermenting (the linked recipe explains this - it's very simple) and were photographed on the kitchen table in Cape Town. My mom's rambunctious nasturtiums were shedding seeds like mad, and I pounced. 

Here in Brooklyn, my windowbox seedlings have just popped up and should be blooming in a few weeks. Something to look forward to.

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Prospect Park Tangles and Trees Walk - 18 June

Avocado ice cream

Yep.

And it's not sweet, either. It is creamily smooth and tart with a little tingle. (An MFK Fisher story does come to mind, though - about a man who ate his avocado packed neatly with powdered sugar...so it could be sweet. But I digress.)

If you like avocados, you will lap this up. And if you have a bowl of chilled gazpacho or cucumber soup, dropping a scoopful of the avocado ice cream into the middle is life-altering.

The necessary sour notes come from buttermilk and lemon juice, and the tongue-tingling from Sichuan pepper, or, in this case, prickly ash, its American cousin. My little tree is male so does not produce the "peppercorns" that are Sichuan pepper, but its leaves are very flavorful. 

I wrote a story about prickly ash and another native American herb-slash-spice, spicebush, for Gardenista. And that is also where you will you will find the divine and very easy avocado ice cream recipe.

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June 16, Alley Pond Pond Walk

5.30pn - 7.30pm

Spring's best trees

Umbrella magnolia are in bloom.

Historic Green-Wood Cemetery is an accredited arboretum and home to some of the oldest and most beautiful trees in New York City. Our proximity to this beautiful, huge green space was not something we appreciated when we signed the lease on our current apartment. We lucked out. Although Prospect Park is also very close by, Green-Wood's tranquility is quite different. It is quiet, clean, and its grass is the best for lying upside-down on.

I wrote about (some of) Green-Wood's trees in spring for Gardenista. 

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June 16th, Alley Pond Park Walk

Artichokes - flowers, or food?

 

These beautiful, meaty artichokes were grown by Ocean Mist Farms. 

In my story about artichokes for Gardenista I wonder whether it is more rewarding to grow the giant thistles for food or for flowers. There is also a very delicious recipe for the roasted buds, with hot butter. 

Another good way to eat them is very simple. I stir a vinaigrette together and then divide it between the cleaned, cooked hearts. (Leftover dressing lasts well in the fridge.)

2 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
Pinch of salt
Larger pinch of sugar

1 Tablespoon finely chopped red onion
4 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

In a small bowl combine the lemon juice, salt and sugar and stir well. Add the chopped onions and leave to for 30 minutes. Just before serving beat in the olive  oil with a fork. Pour into cooked, cleaned artichoke hearts for dipping.

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It's lemon season!

It's that time, again: Meyer lemon season (indoors, and on the West Coast) coinciding with juniper pollen season. The juniper is foraged, and it is Juniperus virginiana, known commonly - and confusingly - as eastern red cedar. A cedar it ain't.

The pictured ferment is an outtake from my recent citrus piece for Gardenista (So You Grew a Lemon: Now What?). I have so many ways to use these precious indoor-grown lemons (or limes or makruts) that I ran out of space. And ferments take space to explain. So simple to make, so lengthy to write a How To. The trick is just to start. And then unfamiliarity gives way to wonder.

For this ferment I picked a handful of pollen-laden juniper (the needles and pollen are very aromatic), scrubbed 5 Meyer lemons and sliced them, popped those into a large, 6-cup Mason jar, added 2 cups of sugar and topped with water. Shook it all up to dissolve the sugar, then loosened the lid. After that it's a daily stir, to introduce even more air. After a few days it begins to fizz. That's the fermentation. I leave it another day or two and then strain, bottle, and keep in the fridge. It is divine in drinks - alcoholic or non - and requires dilution. I use maybe an ounce (about 2 tablespoons) at a time. 

It also works very well as an addition to a pan sauce (this is a very pan-saucy house). If I've seared-then-braised whole duck legs, for instance, a quarter cup poured into the pan halfway through makes them syrupy and delicious, with the slight bitterness and resin of the zest and juniper keeping things from being cloying.

But read the story. Lots more ideas, there. (If I had to pick just one, it would be the yuja-cha.)

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Spring Walks and Picnics

Oyster mushrooms, year-round

I wrote about oyster mushrooms for Martha Stewart Living. Did you know...they are carnivorous! Yup. And they are being made into vegan bacon, too. And they decompose just about...anything.

If you are not a regular mushroom hunter it may surprise you to learn that winter can offer choice edible mushrooms. In a thaw between freezes, oyster mushrooms may appear. These are in nearby Prospect Park. They always grow on dead or living (but wounded) trees, and here they are fruiting from a mostly-decomposed log, so they look as though they are growing on the ground.

And of course, oysters are now easily available at supermarkets (or are they, where you live?). 

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Growing citrus in pots

I gathered as many of my citrus-growing tips as possible for an article about growing indoor citrus, featured in the March edition of Better Homes and Gardens. The paper edition, hard copy only. I know! A real magazine. 

Here I am, reading the piece to the Thai limes. They had questions. 

These tips are hard-won, from personal experience (with some expert support along the way) and were written to answer - in one place - some of the frequent questions I am asked about growing citrus trees in pots. My trees have taught me a lot. I have also made mistakes, and learned how to recover from them (sorry about that over-watering, Ms. Meyer!).

In our bedroom right now it is citrus blossom season. Well, at least for the deliciously scented Meyer lemon. Sometimes the Thai limes are slower and only erupt once they are out on the terrace again, and that won't be for another six-ish weeks. 

The yuzu is still too young to bloom, and the fingerlime has a mind of its own, sometimes flowering hardest in the middle of the year! 

If you are in the US and looking for citrus trees to buy, my fingerlime and yuzu trees came from Four Winds Growers, while the Meyer lemon and Thai limes came from LemonCitrusTree. 

Canadians, you can pre-order citrus from Phoenix Perennials.

In my native South Africa, locals can contact the Stellenbosch Botanical Garden to see if they have Thai limes (Citrus hystrix) in stock (thanks to my friend Donovan Kirkwood, who is the garden's curator). And yes, they would have to be picked up in person. 

Our own citrus flock is a delight, but these are not low maintenance plants. Think of them as green pets, and you'll get along just fine.

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