Edible Flowers

Late bloomer

| Green Card Gardener

The best I could do which chive blossoms in the past, was stick them in a vase. I am an admitted late bloomer when it comes to learning about edible flowers. This year I am at last discovering all the wonderful things you can do with them. I wish I had more chive blossoms right now.

The first bloom of the chives yielded just enough blossoms to make a tiny amount of chive vinegar. I absolutely do not like the taste, smell and especially aftertaste of raw onions. Letting a chopped shallot sit in vinaigrette for a mere hint of onion flavor, and strain it afterwards is my tolerance limit for raw onions. So I thought chive vinegar would be a good way to get the onion flavor without the onions.

Asparagus is one of the crops I do not grow in my garden because I can buy it super fresh from local farm stands. The asparagus was supposed to be for dinner tonight. Yet before I had even washed the dishes my husband and I had nibbled most of it for lunch before heading back to our offices.

No doubt, I will have to plant more chives for the blossoms alone, so I can make more of that vinegar.

Asparagus with Sauce Tartare

The formula for the vinegar is simple: Put freshly picked untreated chive blossoms, washed and drained, in a screw-top jar. Add apple cider vinegar, enough to immerse the blossoms. Cover and let sit at moderate room temperature, away from direct sunlight, for 5 to 7 days until the blossoms are completely discolored. Shake the jar once or twice a day. Strain and discard blossoms.

The Sauce Tartare is adapted from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

1 pound green asparagus

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Sauce Tartare:

3 large hard-boiled eggs

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

¼ teaspoon salt, more to taste

2/3 cup olive oil

1 tablespoon chive vinegar

2 tablespoons capers, drained

3 tablespoons finely chopped chives

Freshly milled black pepper

1. Wash the asparagus and trim the ends.

2. Bring water to a boil in a large deep skillet. Add the lemon juice and cook the asparagus uncovered at low to medium heat until it can be pierced with a kitchen knife. Drain, rinse with cold water, and drain again. Set aside.

3. For the Sauce Tartare, separate the yolks from the eggs, leaving the whites as intact as possible. Finely chop the egg whites and set aside. Mash the yolks with the mustard and the salt until no lumps remain.

4. Gradually add the olive oil and whisk thoroughly by hand until you obtain a thick smooth emulsion. Add the vinegar and whisk until fully incorporated.

5. Finely chop the capers and add them to the sauce with the chives. Season with salt and pepper. Spoon some of the sauce over the asparagus, and sprinkle with chopped egg whites.

Makes 2 servings

Turning scent into flavor, or: lilac for dessert

| Green Card Gardener

Lilac parfait
Lilacs, I was told a few years ago in gardening class, have so little wildlife value they might as well be made of plastic. Since I love lilacs, especially the Dwarf Korean lilac with its knockout scent, this was bad news. Ever since, I have eyed the lilacs around our house with a mix of doubt – whenever I spot bees swarming around a lilac bush, I am telling myself it cannot be that bad – and a bit of guilt, because every year I transplant lilac shoots and rejoice about them taking off so easily and growing fast with so little maintenance.

To put my scruples to rest, I am telling myself that we encourage a lot of wildlife on our property by providing shelter, food and a pesticide-free and insecticide-free environment. So the dozen or so lilac bushes really don’t matter.

Earlier this week, my favorite magazine arrived in the mail from Germany: Landlust, a stunningly beautiful yet very hands-on magazine about rural living, which The Economist described very aptly in a June 2011 article as the Germans’ “nostalgie de la boue”.

The latest issue had a recipe for lilac-infused ice-cream in it. I had no idea lilac blossoms were edible. After a bit of poking around on the Internet to make sure that lilac blossoms are indeed edible (not that I don’t trust the magazine editors) I decided to concoct my own recipe, a modification of the Honey Parfait from my cookbook Spoonfuls of Germany. I felt the airy consistency of parfait, which is made without an ice-cream maker, is a better match for the ethereal lilac aroma than a heavy, custard-based ice cream.

Now that I am on an edible flower roll, lilac syrup is next. The blossoms are steeping as I write this. It should be ready in about five days.

 

Lilac Honey Parfait

1 cup freshly picked lilac blossoms

1 cup heavy cream

3 large, very fresh eggs, separated

½ cup golden honey

Pinch of salt

Lilac parfait ingredients
1. Wash the lilac blossoms in cold water to remove any dust and insects. Drain in a colander and shake to remove excess water. Spread on a piece of paper towel, gather the edges and gently shake to dry even more. Place blossoms in a small bowl. Pour the heavy cream over the blossoms and push them down so they are fully immersed in the cream. Cover with plastic foil and refrigerate for 24 hours.

2. Strain the cream through a fine sieve. Push down the blossoms so extract as much cream from the blossoms as possible. Set the blossoms aside. Whip until if forms soft peaks. Refrigerate.

3. Beat the eggs whites with a pinch of salt until stiff. Refrigerate.

4. Put the egg yolks and the honey in a double boiler or a metal bowl place over a pot of gently boiling water. Whisk until the mix becomes thick and very foamy. At the end, add the blossoms and stir for another 1 to 2 minutes. Strain through the sieve and again squeeze down on the blossoms until no more liquid comes out.

5. Place the bowl over a bowl of ice water and continue stirring until cooled.

6. Fold the cream and the egg whites into the egg yolk mix. Pour the parfait in a pre-chilled container and freeze for at least 4 hours, or until firm.

Makes 6 servings