Mushroom Hunting: What a Trip!

So, it's been rainy round these parts. No complaints - the rain is a welcome sight, and hey, let's face it, Napa Valley is no Minneapolis. Things could definitely be worse.

I bring up the rain because here in Northern California, rain means one thing and one thing only to a select group of diligent, fungus-obsessed souls: mushrooms! A good friend of ours, John, is one such fervent mycologist, and lucky for me, he often invites Randall along for his foraging adventures. Such was the case last week. The duo was out the door at the crack of dawn to an undisclosed location somewhere along the Sonoma coast to a site where John has been successfully gathering mushrooms for decades. I think he made Ran wear a blindfold to the secret spot. I'm not exactly kidding. (Mushroom hunters are VERY territorial - I am jeopardizing my relationship with John by the mere fact that I mention the coast - to him, "Northern California" is entirely too precise when describing his hunting grounds.)

Now, I wasn't there (I just got to reap the rewards!) - but apparently the day involved miles of hiking, soaking wet clothing and mud up to there. And the mushrooms don't just jump out and scream "Hey there! Here I am!" - no no. They lie in wait under the duff and dirt of the forest floor, beneath the protective canopies of certain species of trees. Finding them takes skill and practice. I believe it was Michael Pollan in one of his books that described the ability to see mushrooms in the wild as a learned knack he called "getting your mushroom eyes on" - or something to that effect. The clever fungi use all of nature's camouflage tricks to stay as hidden as possible, when in fact, they are just about everywhere underfoot. (Bit of trivia: the single largest living organism on the planet is, in fact, a mushroom.) And then there's the whole component of actually knowing - really, truly knowing - which mushrooms are safe to consume, as opposed to which ones are toxic. It's a fine line - but one you don't want to find out the hard way. One mistake will cost you your life - or at the very least, a vital organ or two. John, thankfully, is one of those people that really, truly does know the difference. I've personally trusted my own life to his mushroom identification skills many a time - and I'm still here.

Now - the types of mushrooms that the boys were hunting that day were varied: black trumpet, hedgehog (above), other varieties that I'd never heard of (like that big yellow one pictured below)... but mainly, the prized matsutake. (Chantrelles and morels - my absolute favorites - will be a different trip.) If you ever want to know what money smells like, just take a big whiff of a matsutake. The matsutake are highly prized in Japan where they can go for almost $1,000 per pound. Here, they don't command quite a sum, but you can still expect to pay anywhere from $25-$50 per pound if you can find them fresh (usually at a farmer's market).

Here's a bit of good info, excerpted from The New York Times:

"The name matsutake means 'pine mushroom' in Japan, where the local species grows in association with Japanese red pines. About 15 other closely related species occur worldwide, including the American matsutake, which flourishes in coniferous forests across North America (and particularly in the Northwest and Northern California) [in association] with fir, spruce and pine, as well as tanoaks.

"Japanese pay a premium for young, unopened matsutakes, before the veil between the cap and the stem breaks, which stay fresh better than more mature ones. (Matsutakes at this stage have a phallic appearance, and women at the imperial court at Kyoto once were forbidden to speak the mushroom's name.) However, there's no difference in flavor.

"The price and availability vary considerably, depending on the domestic and international harvests and demand from Japan."

Bless them, the boys brought back two bushels full of the gems. And that was after a really sweet bargaining trade on their way home. They stopped in Bodega Bay and greeted the Dungeness crab fisherman pulling up to the docks. A few rare and prized mushrooms go a long way toward negotiating a killer deal on the freshest crab imaginable.

So guess what my dinner was that night? You got it - heaps and heaps of sauteed mushrooms with fresh cracked crab. (I kept the mushrooms really simple to let their natural flavor shine through. I sauteed them in a combination of olive oil and butter - small amounts of both, just enough to coat the pan - and drained the juice as the mushrooms released their water. Salted them lightly. In the end, they were caramelized, tender and almost steak-like). Heaven!

So boys - when the next hunting trip?

Ran's pictures from the harbor in Bodega Bay...

Impluse Buy

This little guy made me take pause. I had to buy him, just because its shape was so darn cute. I'm a sucker for a cute veggie. Cute veggie, meet my grill....

So Long Tomatoes, See You Next Year

Even now, as I look out the window and watch the colorful fall leaves swirl in the wind and the barely-there spittle of rain stipple the sidewalk, I can't believe it's over. Tomato season, that is. Summer? I can take it or leave it. (Probably because here in Napa Valley, Autumn is the coveted season. Gorgeous temperate days; cozy sweater-wearing, fireside-lounging nights; harvest, color, evening's slanted golden light .... mmm. I'll take Fall any day.) But what I will miss - perhaps more than stone fruit, plump berries or 100-degree temperatures - are fresh tomatoes.

I'm not discriminatory - I love tomatoes of all shapes, sizes and varieties. The uglier the heirloom, the quicker it winds up in my market basket. So as I find myself straddling the divide between tomato glut and tomato drought, I've shored up the pantry for the winter ahead. Sauce, salsa, soup... I've got a few goodies stashed away that capture that summer-fresh ripeness. But my favorite preservation method, hands-down, is slow roasting them in the oven.

Slow, oven-dried tomatoes have an amazing concentrated flavor that I find irresistible. It's a method that works really well with Roma tomatoes; they're the right size and sturdiness, and they pack a wallop of intense flavor when perfectly ripe. Lucky for me, Randall brought home a bounty of the red beauties from the last day of this season's Napa Farmer's Market.

There's not much to it. Slice the tomatoes in half lengthwise, lay them in a single layer on a baking sheet, dribble them with some good olive oil and a sprinkling of Kosher salt, and put them in a 200-degree oven for a nice long, warm nap. I let mine roast for about four hours - maybe longer, depending on the size of the tomatoes. I roast them until they are just this side of completely dried; I like them to still be a little plump. Once removed from the low heat, I just let them cool before loading them into canning jars and covering them with a layer of good olive oil. I don't even bother heat-sealing the jars (at least this time around, since I only wound up with four small jars) - I've just stored them in the fridge, and it will be all I can do to not eat my entire stash before month's end.


The oven-dried tomatoes are an amazing addition to salads, awesome when tossed with pasta, or a great base for tapenades or spreads. I use them just as I would use sundried tomatoes - the possibilities are endless. So I'm set for a little bit - I don't have to let the delight of vine-ripened tomatoes go just yet.

And speaking of vine-ripened tomatoes, I wasn't the only one enjoying the summer's finest. My mom's garden back home in Salt Lake apparently was overflowing this year (see all the pictures she sent me below); she's still harvesting the last of her tomatoes and has been stockpiling them as well. Here's her method for making tomato puree that is the base for her off-the-charts good tomato soup; she freezes the puree in quart-sized Ziplock bags (thanks mom, for the great instructions!).

Tomato Puree and Tomato Soup
Contributed by Judy Angell

This base freezes well, up to a year, and when I need a fresh tasting marinara, soup, juice, or anything else using tomatoes, I pull out one or two bags depending on how much I need. It always tastes like it just came from the garden.

• Gather and wash tomatoes.
• Put in 8-quart pot with lid on to slowly cook over medium to medium-low heat (add about 1 cup of water so the bottom tomatoes don't burn)
• Clean the garlic shallots; chop and put in pot with tomatoes (My mom grows garlic shallots in her garden, pictured below; regular shallots will work as well. Add to taste.)
• Cool when all is cooked
• Ladle cooked mixture into blender; puree
• Pour puree through a small wired strainer into another eight quart pot to catch seeds and small pieces of tomato skin

To make tomato soup, here's where you can go wild and crazy:

• Start with a base of the tomato puree
• Add to it what you like: noodles, rice, meats, variety of vegetables (celery and onions chopped fine are my favorites)
• Simmer 20 minutes
• Salt and pepper to taste
• For an extra zing, add one to two tablespoons of sugar (this is the real secret that gives the soup just a little extra uniqueness)
• Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream and cheese crackers

Eat Orange Food, Part 2: Turkish Orange Eggplant

This is another case of a vegetable purchase made solely on good looks. My nephew Michael had these beautiful little heirloom Turkish Orange eggplants, which he had grown and was selling at his Sun Born Organics booth at the farmer's market. I snapped them up, eager to see how they compared to the other varieties of eggplants I had been devouring this summer.

I've gotten into a bit of an eggplant rut. Every week, I'll come home laden with eggplant from the market - Thai eggplants; bulbous, shiny aubergines; creamy white albino eggplants... whatever looks good. I load up my BBQ with eggplant slices, and add the grilled results to salads and sandwiches for lunches all week long. Sometimes, I just eat the grilled eggplant mezza style- plain, but alongside tabouleh, hummus, grilled peppers, olives and pita. Or, I'll roast it in halves (rather than slices), and make a baba ganoush-style spread. I can't seem to get enough. so when I saw these stunning specimens, I knew I had to throw them in the mix.

They were too small to slice, so the went onto the grill cut in half. When they were soft and charred, off they came for a taste test. I found the skins to be very bitter - too bitter for my taste, even after having been heavily salted*. But once I slipped the skins off, the flesh was as delicate and tender and tasteful as any other. I commenced eating them one by one.

And that's it for eggplant for me until next season. It can't come soon enough!

*If you're not an eggplant fan because you find the flesh to be bitter: heed my advice. Salt the eggplant slices liberally in a colander and let sit/drain for an hour or so before attempting to use in any recipe (rinse the salt prior to using). The salt will leach out the bitterness, leaving you with perfectly palatable eggplant.

Eat Orange Food, Part 3: Butternut Squash Salad with Warm Apple Cider Vinaigrette

This recipe is one of those that can satisfy quite a few things: a healthy dose of leafy greens; comfort food in the form of warm, roasted butternut squash; seasonal, fresh ingredients; and a burst of flavors guaranteed to satisfy. There's really not much more to say. Curl up with this salad alongside a warm bowl of soup and some crusty bread - heaven. My version was inspired by an Ina Garten recipe; hope it inspires you as well.

Butternut Squash Salad with Warm Apple Cider Vinaigrette

• 1 to 1-1/2-pounds of butternut squash, peeled and cubed
• Olive oil
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 1/2 cup pomegranate seeds
• 4 ounces baby arugula, washed and spun dry
• 1/2 cup walnuts halves, toasted
• Parmesan cheese, freshly grated

Vinaigrette

• 3/4 cup apple cider
• 2 tablespoons cider vinegar
• 2 tablespoons shallots, minced
• 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Place the butternut squash on a sheet pan; coat with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast the squash for 15 to 20 minutes, turning once, until tender.

For the vinaigrette, combine the apple cider, vinegar, and shallots in a small saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Cook for 6 to 8 minutes, until the cider is reduced to about 1/4 cup. Off the heat, whisk in the mustard and olive oil; season with salt and pepper.

To assemble, place the arugula in a large salad bowl and add the roasted squash, pomegranate seeds and walnuts. Spoon just enough vinaigrette over the salad to moisten and toss well (the warm vinaigrette will wilt the arugula). Garnish with the grated Parmesan cheese.

So Much Sorrel, So Little Time, Part 1: Pan-Seared Halibut with Sorrel Sauce

Any sorrel fans out there? I'm a big fan, but my affection for the leafy herb is still young. The first time I ever had sorrel was a scant year ago when my friend Jane made sorrel soup as her contribution to the Fare to Remember cookbook. She made the elegant yet simple soup from sorrel grown in her own garden, cultivated from seeds that had been lovingly been brought from France by another mutual friend.

The soup was a revelation. I learned that I've been missing out my entire life! Ever since, I can't get enough of it. I promptly bought a seedling, and when my herb beds were completed last Spring, the seedling had a permanent home where it has grown and grown...and grown (sorrel is know for its propensity to grow like a weed). No matter. Sorrel has a bright, verdant flavor that requires little else to spruce it up - so I've been using it in salads and oftentimes in place of spinach in certain recipes. It's divine.

This recipe came about simply because my garden was brimming with both sorrel and parsley. And after reading up about sorrel, I learned that pairing sorrel sauces with fish is very traditional in French cooking. Well ooh la la... saisissez le jour!

As for the soup that started it all... there's plenty more sorrel in my garden, just waiting for "soup weather" to arrive. Any day now... any day.

Pan-Seared Halibut with Sorrel Sauce

• 2 pounds of fresh halibut filets, skin removed and cut into portion-sized pieces
  
• 2 shallots, minced fine
• 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil (maybe more to pan-sear the fish)
  
• 1-1/2 cups dry white wine (I used a chardonnay - a typical "fat" Napa chard with lots of buttery/oakey flavors... not what I like to drink, but perfect for this recipe.)
  
• 1/2 cup nonfat sour cream (or go for broke and use creme fraiche or heavy cream)
• 2 cups fresh sorrel leaves, rough chopped
• 2 cups fresh parsley, rough chopped
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Place the shallots and olive oil in a small saucepan and cook over low heat until the shallots are soft. Add the sorrel and parsley; cook gently until the herbs are wilted. Add 1/2 cup of the wine to deglaze the pan; cook until reduced by 1/4. Transfer everything to a blender; blend until smooth. Return to saucepan and add the remainder of the wine; bring to a simmer and reduce again by 1/4. Add the cream and continue to simmer until the sauce naps a spoon. Do not allow to boil. Season with salt and pepper to taste; remove from heat.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Meanwhile, lightly brush the halibut with olive oil on both sides. Preheat an oven-proof skillet on the stove with a coating of olive oil in the bottom of the pan. When the pan is smoking hot, drop in the filets in a single layer and sear each side until caramel in color. Transfer to hot oven and continue to roast until done (about 10-12 minutes per inch of thickness).

So Much Sorrel, So Little Time, Part 2: Sorrel Pesto

If you read Part 1 of this little sorrel series, you know that I have too much of a good thing: a garden overflowing with beautiful French sorrel. Yumm-o! By overflowing, I mean more sorrel than my little household will ever use in a timely or realistic manner. So, pesto to the rescue!

I have been making pestos right and left with all of the bountiful herbs in my garden. Pestos are one of my favorite things to do with copious quantities of fresh herbs. They last and last (you can freeze or can them); are extremely versatile (I use them on pastas, meats of all kind, grilled veggies, sandwiches, omelets... too many uses to list!); and can be made in an endless variety of ways (just made a sage/walnut pesto that is amazing, if I say so myself). Pestos are a great way to brighten up your meals any time of year... but I know come January when fresh herbs and veggies are limited, I won't be hurting for vibrant flavors since I can just bust out a pesto or two from my frozen stash.

This sorrel pesto is a simple take on the classic basil pesto, using pinenuts, Parmesan cheese and olive oil. It is pictured served with a grilled tri-tip steak. Simple, and so, so good.

Bring it on January. Bring it on.

Sorrel Pesto

• 2 cups fresh sorrel leaves, rough chopped
  
• 1/2 cup pinenuts, toasted
• 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
• Kosher salt, to taste
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus 1-2 tablespoons olive oil for drizzling into food processor
  

Add all ingredients to a food processor fit with the flat blade. Blend until smooth, adding the reserved olive oil by drizzling into the pesto as it is being blended. The oil will act as an emulsifier and the finished project should be creamy, but not necessarily smooth, and have a thick, paste-like texture.

Sage Advice, Part 1: Windowpane Potato Chips

My dear faithful readers - remember that herb garden I planted several months ago? The one with all the adorable little seedlings and nothing but potential? Funny how a little water and sun can work their magic, because I now find myself with more mature herbs than really is fair. Not complaining - in fact, I'm loving it. Pestos are lining my freezer for the winter ahead, and I'm freezing various herb combinations with chicken stock into ice cubes for future use as handy seasoning for soups, stews and sauces. But honestly - I'm either going to need a bigger freezer, OR, I'm going to have to start using up my fresh herbs right now, in pretty much everything I make.

So, the next couple of posts you'll be reading all have a theme: using my garden's bounty in fun and delicious ways. The most prolific of the herbs right now are my two sage plants. I have a pineapple sage and an elephant sage, and my weekend was devoted to getting them reduced to a manageable size.

First up: after seeing the recipe in Cooking Light for these stunning windowpane potato chips, I knew I had to make some, simply for the WOW factor. I mean really - aren't they gorgeous? Like little stained glass windows - that you can eat! (Petty aside: is it just me, or is Cooking Light magazine often anything but? Maybe I'm missing what "Light" is intended to mean? To their credit, it's not Cooking "Lite".... but I digress.)

At any rate, I followed their recipe to a T (once I actually unearthed two baking sheets of approximately the same size - difficult in my non-baking arsenal of cookware), and they turned out beautifully. It's a bit labor intensive, albeit simple, but see for yourselves - the results are elegant. Almost too pretty to eat. Notice I said "almost"....


Windowpane Potato Chips

• 2 medium baking potatoes
• Cooking spray
• Assorted fresh herb sprigs (such as dill, chives, and sage)
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Set mandoline on thinnest slicing setting. Cut each potato lengthwise using the mandoline. Arrange potato slices in a single layer on several layers of paper towels; cover with additional paper towels, and press lightly. Let stand 5 minutes.

Arrange half of the potato slices in a single layer on each of two baking sheets coated with cooking spray. Place a small herb sprig on each potato slice; cover with another potato slice. Press gently to adhere. Coat potato stacks with cooking spray. Sprinkle evenly with salt. Working with one sheet at a time, cover potato stacks with parchment paper. Place an empty baking sheet on top of parchment paper; set a cast-iron or heavy ovenproof skillet on second baking sheet to act as a weight (will keep the potato chips flat). Bake for 25 minutes.

Remove skillet. Remove baking sheets from oven; remove top baking sheet and parchment paper. Remove browned potato chips from pan; place on a wire rack. Turn any unbrowned potato chips over on sheet. Replace parchment paper and top baking sheet; return pan to oven. Replace skillet on top of baking sheet. Bake 5 more minutes or until browned. Cool chips on wire racks. Repeat procedure with remaining potatoes. Store chips in an airtight container up to 2 days.

Sage Advice, Part 2: Fried Herb Leaves

I don't know about you, but whenever I eat out and discover something that I like that seems as though it would be easy to replicate at home, I try it. Such is the case with fried herb leaves. Years and years ago, I fell in love with the crispy fried basil leaves that would accompany certain dishes at my favorite Thai restaurant. They were such a delightful addition to an already scrumptious Pad Thai or Som Tum salad, and their vibrant green translucent color was a stunning way to brighten up a dish. Nothing to it, I thought.

And then I tried it.

In attempt after attempt, my results were simply awful. No matter the herb, immediately upon being placed into the hot oil, they would turn black and bitter. I tried everything: changing the types of oil, changing the oil temperature, praying... nothing worked. I very nearly gave up.

But lo and behold, an aspiring chef wandered in and out of my life at just the right moment. I couldn't even pretend to recall his name, but as a result of our brief interlude, I walked away with the secret to making beautiful, delicate, colorful fried herb leaves. Which I will graciously now share with you because that's the kind of girl I am. So here goes....

Egg wash.

That's right. Simply dunk the raw herb leaves in egg whites that have been diluted and whisked together with a little bit of water before frying them. The oil doesn't matter (I use EVOO), and the heat only needs to be just shy of the oil's smoking point. Other than that - super easy!!

So, since I've got a wealth of herbs exploding in my garden right now, this is one method I'm using to put them to good use. Most herbs are delicious when prepped this way, but my favorites are basil and sage - any variety. I like to eat them all on their own as a little snack. Some of the sturdier herbs - like sage - can even be used for a dip-shoveling device, much like a potato chip - although the technique is more dunking than scooping (my favorite combo is to dip fried basil leaves in my homemade Tzatziki Sauce). But you could also use them to top my Drunk and Stuffed Pork Tenderloin, or my Thai Cucumber Salad.

Sounds good, huh? I hope you find this tip helpful and go home and pull out your Fry Daddy at once! (Now that's not something I normally say, is it?)

Sage Advice, Part 3: Pineapple Sage Iced Tea

I'll admit it. I planted a pineapple sage seedling this year for one purpose, and one purpose only: Pineapple Sage Mojitos. Now that's all well and good - and delicious! - but as my seedling got bigger and bigger, it struck me that cocktail hour just doesn't occur often enough at our house to ever make enough mojitos to keep up with the prolific plant. (I find that both heartening and sad... not sure if I should celebrate my cheap date status, or pine for the party girl that never was.)

At any rate, I had to find other ways to use this incredibly aromatic, yet subtle herb. So where did I turn? Why, to the internets, of course. When you search that wide world web for pineapple sage recipes, the first 831,072 returns are for pineapple sage tea. So there was my answer. I would make tea. And since it was going to be a hot weekend, the tea would be of the iced variety.

Turns out it was simple to make, and extremely refreshing. I went a step further and made pineapple juice ice cubes to serve with it - a nice touch if I do say so myself. I liked it so much, that I think as long as my little plant will churn out the goods, I'll have a batch of this tea on hand at all times. Come on over - we'll share a sip!


Pineapple Sage Iced Tea

• 1 quart water
• A heap of fresh pineapple sage leaves, roughly torn (I'm guessing about 3 cups, roughly packed)
• The juice of two limes (about 1/4 cup)
• 1/4 cup honey
• Pineapple juice for ice cubes (optional)
  

Boil the water; pour directly over the pineapple sage leaves in a pitcher. Add the lime and honey; stir to combine. Let steep at room temperature for 2 hours; transfer to refrigerator and let continue to steep overnight. Strain the tea to remove leaves. Serve over pineapple juice ice cubes and garnish with a fresh spring of the pineapple sage.

Sage Advice, Part 4: Drunk and Stuffed Grilled Pork Tenderloin

Drunk and stuffed. Sounds like how I've felt after many a good dinner party. Overindulgence... I've sure experienced my fair share. But in this instance, drunk and stuffed are actually really good attributes. They refer to a marinade built around a hard apple cider base, and a stuffing loaded with both sweet and savory ingredients - fresh pineapple sage being one of them.

This dish came about in true Fare to Remember fashion, where good food always means good company, and cooking equals community. My friend Hetta - a stellar cook and fellow shutter bug - was coming to spend the afternoon, and we were going to enjoy it by whipping up something fabulous for lunch. But not just any something - there were criteria: it had to be worthy of a blog post, and it had to utilize the fresh herbs in my garden, particularly, sage.

Now, if you own a copy of the Fare to Remember cookbook, you'll note that Hetta has a fabulous recipe therein for Pear, Gorgonzola and Sage Pizza (if you don't own the book - buy one - the pizza recipe alone makes it worth the price!). As much as I love that pizza, I put the kibosh on making it for her visit, really prefering to A) -try something new, and B) -grill something since it was Labor Day weekend. (Isn't grilling required the first weekend in September? I thought so.) So she and I got busy and bounced some ideas off of each other. She had just made a stuffed pork loin roast for hoardes of friends, and announced that it had been a huge success. Not only super tasty, but also an extremely affordable way to feed a crowd. Hers was marinated in a teryiaki sauce, stuffed with bread cubes, dried fruit and herbs, and then glazed with her homemade apricot jam. That got my wheels turning....

With her recipe as inspiration, I did a little train-of-thought reasoning: if pineapple sage was the herb I wanted to use, the dried fruit would naturally have to be.... (wait for it).... pineapple. The fresh fruit would then have to be... apple (like pineapple, but without the pine - no?). And since this whole apple theme had reared its head, a hard apple cider seemed only befiting as an ingredient around which to build a tropical/Asian/fusion marinade. Beyond that, I knew I wanted to use toasted oats in lieu of bread for the stuffing (I'm aiming for more whole grains in my diet). Logical, right? (Don't answer that.)

The result is this gorgeous tenderloin, literally exploding with flavor. We wound up using Hetta's homemade peach jam for the glaze, and the combination of flavors really turned out to be killer. The fruit was a wonderful sweet counterpoint to the savory pineapple sage, and the oats in the stuffing were a brilliant, nearly indistiguishable sustitute for bread. As you can see from the photo below, we had ourselves quite a little feast out on my patio, just the two of us. We may not have walked away drunk, but we sure stepped away from the table stuffed.


Drunk and Stuffed Grilled Pork Tenderloin

• Two 1-pound pork tenderloins (or one 2-pound pork loin roast); butterflied and pounded flat
• 1/4 cup peach jam, thinned with a tablespoon or so of pineapple juice or water, to be brushed on as a glaze
  

Marinade

• One 12-ounce bottle of hard apple cider (can be substituted with non-alchoholic apple cider)
• 1/2 cup soy sauce
• 1/4 cup pineapple juice
• 2 tablespoons Chinese five spice sauce
• 2 cloves garlic, pressed
• 1 cup fresh pineapple sage, chopped (can be substituted with regular sage)
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Combine all marinade ingredients and mix well. Pour the marinade over the pork tenderloins that have been placed in a deep casserole dish. Cover and refrigerate a minimum of 4 hours (I let mine marinate overnight). When ready to stuff the tenderloins, reserve the marinade for use in the stuffing and for basting.

Stuffing

• 1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored and diced small
• 1/2 cup dried pineapple, cut into small pieces
• 1/2 of a small red onion, diced small
• 1 cup whole oats, toasted (simply toast them in a pan on your stovetop over low heat)
• 1 cup fresh pineapple sage, chopped (can be substituted with regular sage)
  
• 1/2 cup pineapple juice
• Approximately 1/2 cup of the reserved tenderloin marinade (enough to make the stuffing moist)
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Remove the tenderloin from the marinade and lay flat. Spoon the stuffing mixture onto the loin; roll to assemble, taking care to tuck the ends in as you go. The end result will look like a fat little log - or the tenderloin before you butterflied it. Truss it with string so that it won't fall apart on the grill. Sear the loin on all sides over high heat on a grill that has been brushed with oil. Once seared, remove from direct heat and cook under a closed lid, turning/basting every 3-4 minutes until done, approximately 25 minutes. (Regarding direct heat: my grill has three burners. I cooked this tenderloin on the center burner. After the sear, I turned the center burner off completely, and turned the two side burners to medium. That was enough to provide good indirect heat with the lid closed to cook the tenderloing to its carmel-colored perfection.) For the final 5 minutes of cooking, brush with the peach jam to glaze.

Note: Since the tenderloin has been pounded thin, there's really no point in using a meat thermometer to gauge the internal temperature. You really just have to go on instinct to know when the tenderloin is perfectly cooked. It's a fine line between juicy and a little pink, to dry and overcooked. I can usually tell by feeling the meat if it's ready. My trick: Pinch the fatty tissue in that little gap between your outstretched forefinger and thumb; once the pork has a similar consistency, it's perfect!

Gadzooks-Too Many Cukes! Part 1: Tzatziki

Gardens are overflowing this time of year. It's a great dilemma to have, although sometimes it's daunting to try and come up with effective ways to take advantage of Mother Nature's bounty. I posted a great recipe a couple weeks back for Chocolate Zucchini Cake, a sure-fire method for using up the squash that seems to emanate from every fertile patch of soil known to man right about this time of year, but that post led to a series of inquiries from friends and readers about other rapidly multiplying veggies. Namely: cucumbers.

And I am not one to shrink from the task. Far from it. You called, dear readers; I will answer. What will follow is a three-part series on ways to relish in the season's cucumber cornucopia (ok, so not exactly relish... I'm not even going to touch on pickles this time around!).

Lucky for me, all of the cuke inquiries corresponded with a generous delivery of fresh lemon cucumbers from my friend Aerial. Her garden is, ahem, blessed with cucumber abundance, and she was more than happy to share. So we both went on our merry little ways - me, with a heaping of beautiful lemon cucumbers (the pretty ones in the picture above); she, with a lightened load and a good deed under her belt. And I got down to business.

First up: a batch of "spa water." My #1 favorite thing of all time to do with cucumbers is copy the Indian Springs Resort and Spa in Calistoga and whip up a batch of lemon/cucumber-infused water (if you've ever been there, I don't really have to say any more, do I?). At the spa, they have large, ice-cold batches of the infused water at the ready for parched spa-goers, and I swear, you've never tasted anything quite so refreshing. To make it at home, simply:

• Slice up a couple cucumbers and lemons
• Place them in the bottom of a glass pitcher
• Load up the pitcher with ice cubes (all the way to the top!)
  
• Fill with water
• Refrigerate for several hours to let the lemon/cucumber flavors infuse the water
• Drink up, and top off the water as you go (you can keep replacing the water until the cucumbers/lemon start to disentigrate; keep it in the fridge at all times)

Ahhhh....

With the spa water out of the way, next up was my #2 cucumber reduction remedy: Tzatziki sauce. This is the lemony, garlicky, cucumber-y sauce that you might associate with Greek gyros, and it is hands-down one of the tastiest, tangiest temptations to which a cucumber can contribute.

My love with tzatziki goes way back. Inexplicably, Salt Lake City, where I grew up, has a thriving and vibrant Greek population. Not only is there one of the most amazing annual Greek Festivals to be found located there, but the Greek restaurants in Salt Lake are numerous and good. Just writing about it makes my mouth water! My mom introduced our family to Greek cuisine when we were all very small - even became a talented Greek food cook herself - and managed to wind Greek food into so many of our family traditions and memories. One of those vivid memories was the tradition of going out for Greek food following a day of skiing. We'd be heading down the mountain, exhausted, but anticipating every bite of the gyro that was to come. I was so enamoured of Greek food, that I vividly recall that tzatziki sauce was the first recipe I ever attempted to deconstruct and recreate all on my own. I couldn't have been more than about 10 or 11 years old, but I loved that sauce so much, that my mom encouraged me to try and make it. We didn't have a recipe (or so she claimed), but she and I talked over the taste profile and she encouraged me to experiment. I think my young attempts used sour cream instead of Greek yogurt, but I eventually figured out a recipe with lemon, cucumber, garlic and dill that approximated the restaurant sauce. And I've been making it ever since.

These days, I do use Greek yogurt, but not much else has changed. And I love this sauce on everything - and I do mean everything. I slather it on grilled meats of every variety; douse grilled or roasted veggies with it liberally (eggplant, zucchini, peppers); spoon it over tabouleh or falafel.... you name it. To celebrate the batch of tzatziki I made with Aerial's cucumbers, I rolled out a killer Mediterranean meal of grilled lamb/veggie kabobs, flatbread, Kalamata olives, hummus and baba ganoush, served mezze style... each item lovingly smothered with the fresh tzatziki. If it sounds good, it's because it WAS! So, I suggest you do the same - this stuff is amazing. In fact, I'm going to go get leftovers right now....

Tzatziki Sauce

• 2 medium cucumbers, peeled, seeded and chopped (I also like to salt and drain my cucumbers for about 30 minutes to extract excess moisture)
  
• 2 cups plain Greek yogurt (or 2 6-ounce containers)
  
• 1-2 cloves of garlic, pressed
• The juice of 1 fresh-squeezed lemon (or about 3 tablespoons lemon juice)
• Fresh dill, finely chopped, to taste (I like to use a lot - probably 1/2 cup fresh); dry dill weed will also work - start with 1-2 tablespoons and taste as you go
• Kosher salt and fresh cracked black pepper, to taste

Add the cucumbers, garlic and lemon juice to a food processor with a steel blade; process until well blended. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the Greek yogurt and chopped dill. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Gadzooks-Too Many Cukes! Part 2: Thai-Style Cucumber Salad

One of the funnest parts about cooking for me is looking to other cultures for inspiration. I'm a huge fan of Thai food, and this simple cucumber salad is a good example of why: it explodes with flavor, and couldn't be any easier to make (I think I've got it down to under five minutes, start to finish). The cukes in your garden will vanish after you try this recipe; if you're like me, you'll make it again and again. And again. In fact, if you've got fresh cucumbers in need of a home, I'm currently taking donations. My stash from Aerial has vanished; this salad mostly to blame.

Thai Cucumber Salad

• 1-2 cucumbers (depending on size), peeled, seeded and diced
• 1/2 of a small red onion, sliced
• 1/2 cup Thai basil, chopped (regular Genovese basil does the trick as well)
  
• 1/2 cup cilantro, chopped
• 2 tablespoons fish sauce
• 2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• Red pepper flakes, to taste
• Chopped peanuts (optional)

Add cucumbers, onion, basil and cilantro to a big bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the fish sauce, rice wine vinegar, sugar and chili flakes (you can double the ingredients if you're making a big salad, but a little of the dressing does go a long way). Pour the dressing on to the cucumber mixture and toss. Serve garnished with chopped peanuts.

Gadzooks-Too Many Cukes! Part 3: Gazpacho

As the last of this three-part installment on fab ways to make cucumbers disappear, allow me to introduce you to perhaps the most versatile concoction yet: Gazpacho! This recipe not only takes care of your copious cucumbers, but tames your torrent of tomatoes as well. The Spanish got it right: this cool soup is absolutely refreshing on a hot summer day, and is the ideal method to use up your garden's bounty, just as things are starting to get out of control (where did that cucumber come from? It wasn't there yesterday!). And it doesn't hurt that it's as healthy as all get-out (in my re-occuring theme of hiding veggies in your food, gazpacho tops the charts).

Although the recipe I include here is a fairly straight-forward and traditional rendition of the Spanish classic, it is wide open for interpretation and improv. Lord knows I've made it dozens of different ways, depending on what's the most abundant at the moment. Got extra zucchini? Throw em in! Tomatillas? Why not! Celery, fennel, carrots? In, in, in. I even like to roast my veggies first to achieve a different depth of flavors.

The versions are endless, so my rule of thumb: if it would be good in a tossed green salad, it would be good in gazpacho. And mix it up with the herbs and spices as well: basil and garlic for a more Mediterranean version; cilantro and chili for South-of-the-border flair. No matter how you blend it, the results will be delish.

Gazpacho

• 6 medium tomatoes, cored and seeded
• 1 cup tomato juice
• 1 red bell pepper, seeded, chopped
• 2 cucumbers, seeded, chopped
• 1/2 of a small red onion, chopped
• 2-3 thick slices of day-old or toasted country-style bread, rough chopped/torn (optional, but it gives the soup a bit of toothiness)
• 1/4 cup Sherry wine vinegar
• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1-2 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 cup fresh oregano, chopped

Add all of the ingredients to a blender, and puree until liquified and smooth. Chill well before serving.

Produce is Pretty

And there it goes, with an audible Whoosh. That would be my weekend that you're hearing rushing past. Although it's been a productive couple of days, all of my energy has been directed toward my actual JOB. I know I know - it's a hard life I lead when I have to spend an occasional weekend toiling away at a job I really love; everyone should be so lucky! But still - it's no consolation when hiking trails go unexplored, the dog goes unwalked, and the BBQ stands idle on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon while I'm squirreled away in the office working on my carpal tunnel syndrome.

Needless to say, I've got lots of great blog posts in the works... but it will be a day or two before I can even look a computer in the monitor for anything non-work related. So in the meantime, I thought you might like to feast your eyes on some pretty food pictures! These are images taken at a couple farmers markets over the past few weeks (San Francisco, Napa and San Rafael); images that might not find their way into a blog post, but worth sharing regardless. At least I think so.

And on that note, I'm shutting off the computer for the night and getting myself a refreshing adult beverage (mojito, if you must know, with fresh herbs from my garden). I'll get some fresh air after all - even if it is just viewing the sunset from my backyard. Cheers!

Carrots

Bell peppers, reddish colored - but it's hard to say...
Multi-colored peppers

Chinese long beans

Squash blossoms

Nettles

Canned pickled veggies

Any ideas? If you guessed Yugoslavian Finger Fruit,
you would be correct. It's a squash. Tastes like zucchini.

Greens with edible flowers

Baby cauliflower

Purple Easter Egg radishes

Chard

Sugar Dumpling winter squash