This is the Single Most Delicious Thing to do with Turnip Greens.
Now, I know you’re saying: There ARE no delicious things to do with turnip greens. But you are wrong. Trust me. Dead wrong.
There are many delicious things to do with turnip greens: Cook them with bacon and garlic. With olive oil and lemon. With smoked paprika and ham.
BUT THE MOST DELICIOUS THING OF ALL TO DO WITH TURNIP GREENS IS AS FOLLOWS:
I discovered this wholly by accident. It was a really hot day, and I planned on cold noodles with a Japanese dipping sauce for dinner. But what vegetable? There were LOTS of turnips in the garden. So I made a grated turnip salad, and then I had all these greens. And there, in Elizabeth Andoh’s Japanese Cooking, was a recipe for spinach with sesame seeds. Nothing to lose, I figured. I replaced the spinach with the turnip greens. It was transcendent. Really, truly. And simple. The only odd thing you need for this dish—and you really do need it—is a Japanese suribachi, which is a grooved mortar with a pestle. There’s just no other way to mash the sesame seeds to a paste.
This is how you do it for two people:
¾ to 1 lb. of turnip greens. I just eye-balled my batch; you don’t need to be too precise. This will look like a lot of greens, but will cook down to practically nothing by the time you’re through. No yellow or tough leaves, get rid of the stems. Bring big pot of water to boil, salt it, add the turnip greens. Cook till tender. Drain and immediately rinse with cold water to stop cooking. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out every bit of water you can from the greens. Chop.
Three tablespoons of sesame seeds. Roast at 300° until toasty—watch carefully, it takes about five minutes, but then they blacken fast. They’ll smell sesame-ish when done.
Put them in the suribachi and mash them until pasty. Add 1 tablespoon of sugar, keep mashing till pastier. Slowly add 2 and a half tablespoons of soy sauce.
Add the chopped greens to the sauce (just add them to the suribachi; that’s easiest). Toss. Chill.
Serve. Watch as your loved one gets a kind of “oh, well, greens are good for me” look on his face, and then watch that look turn slowly to pure delight as the taste sinks in.
(For lunch the next day, I tried it with chicory, which I couldn’t even remember why I asked for it to be planted. I held my breath, sure I was pushing my luck, and discovered that sesame seeds mashed with soy sauce and sugar make any greens taste like a Japanese dream. But it was the turnip greens that tasted best of all.)
Then there’s a turnip omelet . . . which, when the turnips are young and sweet, is one of the most delicious things you will ever taste. [This is still so, so true.]
Grate about a pound of peeled turnips. Salt and leave in a colander for about twenty minutes, then squeeze out any bitter juice.
Toss the grated turnip in a quarter cup of butter on medium heat until tender. Add a little chopped herb. I used marjoram; Richard Olney (whose recipe this is) specifies savory. Thyme would be good, too. Add a quarter cup chopped parsley.
Then, for two people, blend five eggs. (I used four eggs and an egg white, because I used the fifth yellow for a mayonnaise. That worked splendidly.) Mix with cooled turnip mixture, salt and pepper, and then cook as you would your favorite frittata. If you don’t have a favorite way, here’s how I do it:
Heat a tablespoon of butter in a skillet (nonstick is easiest, ceramic is best). When hot enough to make a drop of water sizzle, pour in the egg/turnip mixture, spread it around in the pan. Lift edges up, let egg slide around and fill up spaces. Cook on medium heat until bottom is browned. Meanwhile, heat up broiler. Stick under low heat broiler for a minute or two, until the top is cooked. Not too cooked, mind.
When done, turn over onto a dish, so the brown side is up. Serve warm or room temperature.
Now, what I did with that extra yolk . . . I made an aioli, which, as you already know, is a mayonnaise with crushed garlic. Lots of crushed garlic. I cooked a cup of chickpeas, and when they were done, tossed them with the aioli and lots and lots of chopped parsley. We had this with the turnip omelet.
A green salad to start.
Alex murmured all the way through, the way he does when I know I’ve made a hit. And then he said: that was one of my favorite dinners ever.
Of course, he was the one who grew the turnips. But still.
Then there’s the squash issue. It comes up every year. The zucchini/yellow squash population explosion, both in the garden and at the store. The stuff’s so fresh, and cheap, I want to use it everywhere, but there’s so much of it. I have to admit it, there are times when the beautiful emerald and yellow piles make me feel helpless. Hopeless. Like I can’t effect change.
But there is something I can do. I can take direct action, and yet enjoy the zucchini/squash crop to the utmost . . . and I can do it without making zucchini bread!
As my husband’s yellow crookneck squash plants throw out the ominous dozens of fruits that form at the ends of the dozens of vines, I make up my mind to conquer rather than be conquered.
For example. Let me tell you what we had for dinner one of those nights in squash season:
Crookneck squash with mushrooms and chipotle chile.
Avocado, tomato, chile, scallion, and cilantro salad w/lime.
Garlic-infused brown rice.
Shredded Monterey Jack cheese.
Heated corn tortillas.
This is a lovely dinner. The garlic rice is from a Diana Kennedy recipe (you just whirl garlic cloves and a bit of green pepper in the food processor with a little water, and add that first to the rice, before adding the rest of the water and settling it to cook). The Avocado etc. salad is my chunky version of guacamole, which, due to our tastes, generally ends up as a cilantro salad flavored with the other ingredients. The shredded Jack cheese needs no other description.
The squash dish is fabulous (this for two people with enough left over to make tacos for next day’s lunch). (Feel free to use zucchini, yellow squash, crookneck squash, pattypan squash . . . etc. I know I would.)
I finely minced a half red onion and added 2 minced chipotle chilies with it to a wide skillet heating a bit of sunflower oil. Cooked this on low heat just to wilt. Meanwhile, I diced about 6 or 7 squash, and when the onion was cooked but not browned, I added them to the skillet with some salt. Coated them with the oil, then covered and turned the heat to low. I cooked for ten minutes, till squash was tender.
In another skillet (this is a Diana Kennedy idea, and it does make a difference to the taste), over medium high heat, I tossed about a ¼ pound cremini mushrooms, quartered, in a little oil and salt, until they were browned and mushroomy, about five minutes. I did this while the squash were cooking and the tortillas heating in the toaster oven.
Then I tossed the mushrooms with the squash. You can cover it all with chopped cilantro now, if you like—if you don’t think that’s too much cilantro for one meal. Definitely cover it with shredded cheese, reserving some for the table. Then cover and turn off the heat while you get everyone to sit down.
Once the cheese has melted, serve.
This looks nice on the plate: a crescent of brown rice. On one side overlapping the rice, a helping of squash. Overlapping the other side, a helping of guacamole.
Serve with the tortillas, reserved shredded cheese, and hot sauce.
Also—if you’re so inclined—BEER.
And for one day, that harvest of squash is beautifully under control.
Three new big squashes. Better pick them before they become watery monsters. What to do? As usually happens in periods of garden anxiety, a quick look at Richard Olney’s Simple French Food saves the day. Reading it, one has the impression that Olney spent all of his time mulling over the most individual and creative ways to deal with the market, the garden, the kitchen, the table. He’s persnickety, but my, the persnickety-ness comes with the attention that only accompanies True Love.
Anyway, he had three recipes for zucchini gratin. I slightly adapted the third for our crookneck squash . . . easy, and so delicious I used it again another night with the yellow squash.
This was how:
1 lb. squash (yellow, zucchini, etc.) sliced thin. (Olney uses a mandoline; I, hearty West Coast lug that I am, don’t bother).
Toss over high heat in a little olive oil till slightly browned and limp.
Oil a shallow gratin dish.
Soak about 2 ounces stale, crustless bread in hot water, drain, and squeeze out as much liquid as you can.
Dice about 3 ounces Swiss cheese . . . small dice is good because it melts in better.
Mash two cloves of garlic in a mortar. Chop lots of parsley. Mix with the garlic.
In a bowl, mix 1 egg with the bread, the garlic and parsley, the cheese, salt and pepper. When the squash is cool, add that.
Spread into gratin dish, smooth out, dribble a little oil on top.
Bake in top third of 425° oven for half an hour.
We had this with sautéed potatoes and peas from the garden.
Sometime I’m going to try the same dish, but with whole wheat bread. Then again, I might add a little rice. Maybe Parmesan instead of Swiss cheese? And then, there’s so much basil, maybe instead of the parsley . . . or better with the parsley . . . or . . .
There’ll be plenty of chances to experiment. There’s a lot more squash to come.
In squash season, it’s not just Alex’s garden I have to deal with. I have The Indigo Ray’s squash plants, too. And whenever I go over to her five acres of organic garden, I come home with bags and bags of the stuff. And not just squash stuff, either.
The other night, I was looking at what I’d so casually picked in her garden: a huge heap of green beans, a monster orange tomato, herbs, and a couple of zucchini.
So this is what we had for dinner:
Warm salad with curly endive and walnuts. (I shredded the endive; I like that better with a warm salad of bitter leaves.)
A tomato clafouti.
Green beans tossed in pesto.
Zucchini tian, adapted from a Deborah Madison cookbook.
The zucchini tian (to continue an utterly squash themed summer) was the most memorable item.
Slice an onion and two garlic cloves. Chop a handful of whatever herb you have around (I used, at Deborah Madison’s advice, a combo of thyme, rosemary, and sage.) Sauté onion and garlic and half the herbs with a little oil until translucent. Or browned. Or whatever you like, as long as not blackened.
Spread these on the bottom of a gratin dish.
Slice the zucchini thinly. In the same pan, toss with a little oil and the rest of the herbs, until starting to brown (about ten minutes).
Put this on top of the onions.
Then slice whatever spare cherry tomatoes you have around, or Romas, or whatever. (I used some green cherry tomatoes that fell early, along with a couple of orange ones for color.)
Tuck these and some torn up, pitted olives in with everything else.
It’s great warm or at room temperature. And Alex got the rest of it for his lunch the next day, with toast and ricotta salata, while I ran some errands in town.
And finally, a small but significant victory over squash—for one person:
An eight inch yellow squash or zucchini or gnarled crookneck squash, sliced, diced, or dealt with in whatever way you like.
One garlic clove, minced.
Some fresh mint, minced, about a tablespoon.
A half a large tomato, diced.
Warm some olive oil in a sauté pan. When it’s hot, turn heat up to high, and throw in the squash (or zucchini or etc.). Toss for a moment until it starts to brown. Throw in the minced garlic and mint, turn the heat down, add the tomato. Cook for a few minutes on medium low, until tomato mushes into the squash, and the squash is tender. Salt and pepper. Serve.
This is particularly good with bacon and creamy fried eggs served atop sourdough toast . . . for a solitary supper.
It would have been delicious at room temperature, too, as a salad with a lemon wedge on the plate, but I didn’t wait that long to find out.