Black is beautiful

| Green Card Gardener

Lentil Bell Pepper Salad

One of the things I strongly dislike in cooking is removing the skins from roasted peppers. I always end up with chunks of peppers to which the skin sticks stubbornly. I tried roasting them over an open flame on the gas stovetop once; it was messy and rather unsuccessful so I went back to broiling them in the oven. Also, I do not like the idea of letting the peppers sweat in a zip plastic bag, like some recipes tell you. I try to avoid generating non-biodegradable waste whenever I can.

As I was browsing through the freezer last night thinking what I could bring to Phoebe’s Pure Food vegan/raw food potluck tonight, I knew I had to make something with bell peppers: the freezer is filled with them. So I made a veganized version of a lentil salad recipe a relative gave me many years ago.

After letting the peppers thaw slightly and pressing them flat, I broiled them until their skins were really charred.  I stood in front of the oven and fought against my instinct of rescuing the peppers, to which I had tended to all summer in the garden, from cremation. Then I stacked them in a plastic food storage container, which works great as a sweat box.

As for removing the skins, it was a cinch, they all came off beautifully. Now I can only hope the salad tastes as good as I feel about my newly overcome kitchen pet peeve.

Lentil Salad with Red Bell Peppers

1 cup brown or green lentils

1 teaspoon vegetable soup base

3 red bell peppers, halved, stems and seeds removed

3 tablespoons lemon-infused extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 garlic clove, passed through the garlic press

1 teaspoon ground cumin

¼ teaspoon chili powder

¼ teaspoon ground mustard

1 teaspoon salt, more to taste

Freshly milled black pepper

1. Rinse lentils and put them in a small saucepan. Dilute vegetable soup base in 3 cups water, add it to the lentils. Bring to a boil, then, reduce the heat and cook, covered, for 15 to 20 minutes. Towards the end, check for water and add a bit more if necessary. Do not overcook the lentils; they should still have some bite. Drain the lentils and rinse under cold water, drain again.

2. Place the peppers on a cutting board and press them down with your hands to flatten, trying not to break their skins. Place them on a jellyroll pan under the broiler and broil until the skin is charred and forms blisters. Turn the pan around if necessary to ensure even broiling. Place the peppers in a food storage container with a lid and let them sweat for 10 to 15 minutes. When they are cool enough to handle, remove the skins. Chop the peppers coarsely.

3. In a small bowl, whisk the olive oil with the lemon juice, garlic, spices, 1 teaspoon salt, and pepper.  Toss the lentils with the peppers, then, add the dressing and toss again. Season with salt and pepper and refrigerate until serving.

Makes 6 servings 

Basil jungle

| Green Card Gardener

This year I overplanted the basil. I gave away lavish bouquets of Genovese and purple basil, made large batches of pesto, and froze basil leaves using Margaret Roach’s ingenious “log technique”, (which of course works great for other leafy herbs as well) yet it just kept growing and my basil patch still looked almost untouched.

I eventually cut down all the basil before the onset of cold weather. After stripping the leaves off the stems, I washed and spun them dry in the salad spinner, and spread them out on trays lined with kitchen towels. After the leaves were completely dried and brittle I crumbled them finely. The mix of green and purple looks especially nice. However the crumbling process created quite a bit of “basil dust” that made me gasp for air so I am seriously thinking of wearing one of those disposable air filter masks next time.

A basil jungle is not such as bad thing after all. Now I have a jar of dried basil that I am portioning into pouches to send as little favors to friends and family who did not get to taste fresh basil from my garden this summer.

A big bread for a big storm

| Green Card Gardener

 

Baking bread is always a comforting thing do to, especially in the wake of an upcoming monster storm like the one that will hit the East Coast of the United States tonight.

I just pulled a large loaf of bread from the oven. This is a new variation with pumpkin seeds and pumpkin seed oil, my latest culinary discovery and a specialty from Austria. I was lucky enough to find the real thing at our local supermarket for a decent price.

A small bottle of the intensely flavored dark, nutty oil goes a long way. Pumpkin seed oil is only drizzled onto salads, soups and desserts. I have also added it to a homemade pumpkin frozen yogurt and will post that recipe soon though that will have to wait. Now I better bring in the potted plants and help with the other storm preparations…

Whole-Wheat Pumpkin Seed Bread with Pumpkin Seed Oil

I let the dough rise in a bread rising basket sprinkled with cornmeal. You can also shape it into a large round loaf, or divide the dough in two and bake it in two greased loaf pans.

Sponge:

2¼ teaspoons active dry yeast

1 cup lukewarm beer (leftover beer is fine) or water

1 cup cracked wheat

2 tablespoons honey

1 cup whole-wheat flour

Dough:

2 cups whole-wheat flour

2 cups bread flour

2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons gluten

1¼ cups water

2 tablespoons pumpkin seed oil

¾ cup hulled pumpkin seeds

Cornmeal (optional)

1. Mix the yeast and the beer in a large bowl. Add all the other ingredients and mix well with a spoon. Cover and let rise for 1 hour.

2. Mix the flours, salt and gluten and add to the sponge. Gradually add the water and the pumpkin seed oil. With the kneading attachment of the electric hand mixer, or with the stand mixer with kneading hook set on low, knead until an elastic dough forms. At the end, incorporate the pumpkin seeds until well distributed. If the dough is too dry, add a little warm water; if it’s a little tacky, don’t worry and please don’t add more flour, otherwise the bread will be too dry.

3. Lightly oil a large bowl and place the dough in it. Turn the dough over once so it is evenly coated and cover with a kitchen towel. Let rise in a warm place for 1.5 hours.

4. Sprinkle a rising basket or a baking sheet with cornmeal. Knead the dough briefly but vigorously to remove any air pockets. Shape into a long log and place it in the rising basket.

5. Let rise for 45 minutes. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

6. Flip the bread from the rising basket onto a baking sheet lined with parchment or a baking mat. Place it in the preheated oven and spray the bread with water. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes. If the bread makes a hollow sound when you knock on the bottom, it’s ready. Remove from the pan and let cool on a cake rack.

Autumn in a jar

| Green Card Gardener

One of my favorite things in October are the crabapple trees on a sunny day like yesterday. With their branches bare of leaves, the tiny vibrant apples stand out even more against the blue sky. I wanted to spend more time taking in that stunning view. And since I had set my mind on trying out crabapple butter this year, what better way to spend time near the crabapples than picking!

Usually by mid-October we have already harvested a bucket of crabapples for jelly (what is left on the trees is eaten by the wild turkeys), only this this year we haven’t gotten around to it yet. Picking crabapples is a two-person operation – to reach the branches we have to drive the truck underneath each tree.

Yesterday I was home alone, and without the truck. I fetched a stepladder, fully aware of what I was doing was pretty risky business on that steep hill. I certainly did not want to get stranded with a twisted ankle or worse for a basket of crabapples so I was very careful and restrained myself from any climbing maneuvers. And I left alone the clusters of beautiful crabapples that beckoned to be picked but I could not safely reach.

I neither had the time nor wanted to spend hours standing by the stove stirring, therefore I cooked the crabapple butter in a cast-iron Dutch oven in the oven. In the summer I made plum butter that way and it turned out great. It was late when I finished so I did not can the jars until this morning. That was not a problem, I simply slowly reheated the crabapple butter, stirring constantly until the surface, which had dried out a bit overnight, became smooth again.

To prevent the surface from drying out in the jars, I added a tablespoon of juice to each jar on top of the crabapple butter. I happened to have some quince juice on hand so I used that but I think that apple cider or apple juice would be ideal, and orange juice would work just as well.

Crabapple Butter

4 pounds crabapples, stems removed and picked over

1 teaspoon cinnamon chips

2 cloves

4 cardamom pods

1 star anise

1 teaspoon dried ginger chips (or 1 thumbnail size-piece of peeled fresh ginger)

2 cups sugar

Juice to pour on top (apple cider, orange or apple juice)

1. Wash the crabapples several times in cold water. Put them in a large heavy pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then cook over medium heat for 30 to 45 minutes, until the apples are soft and can easily be crushed with a wooden spoon.

2. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Tie the spices in a piece of cheesecloth.

3. Pass the cooked crabapples through the fine sieve of a food mill. You should have about 4 cups of pulp. Return it to the rinsed pot and add the sugar. Cook over low heat and stir until the sugar dissolves.

4. Pour the pulp in a medium-size Dutch oven, or another ovenproof dish with a tight-fitting lid. The dish should not be too large, otherwise the butter will scorch. Add the mix from the pot and bury the spice bag in it.

5. Cover the pot and place it in the middle rack of the preheated oven. Set the timer for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, stir well and scrape down the sides and over the bottom of the dish. Repeat this every 30 minutes for about 3 hours, until the butter is so thick that a spoon leaves a trace.

6. Remove the spice bag. Fill the hot crabapple butter in sterilized canning jars and push it down with a knife to remove any air pockets. Pour 1 tablespoon juice on top of the butter in each jar. Process the jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.

Makes 4 to 5 8-ounce jars