Greening things
It's a curious start to spring. I'm marking the change in seasons by eating the color of the season – and embracing renewal.
Happy spring, evolving reader!
With friends over for dinner on the first official day, I threw soft herbs around with abandon. Today I walked on our trail, watching a songbird carry a twig in its beak up to its nest-in-progress. Here in North Texas, the season sprung earlier than normal. Already most of the blossoming trees have started to leaf out, and the extravagant scent of mountain laurel has given way to wisteria, heavy with luscious pale violet cluster-blooms. Now I’m sitting on my balcony in the treetops, marveling at the song of a ruby-crowned kinglet and wondering how it can already be in the 90s.
For that first spring dinner, the supermarket didn’t present the hoped-for start-of-spring lineup. No fat asparagus, just the scrawny, skinny ones; no lovely radishes; no slender leeks — just absurdly bulbous fat ones.
I did find generous bunches of dill, though, and mint and parsley and chives — which I used to blanket my favorite cold springtime soup, the Greenest Gazpacho. It’s a vegan concoction of my own devising, a lovely way to kick off the season. It holds its appeal all the way through summer.
Roasted leg of lamb was the main event, served with Tangy Green Everything Sauce.
Asparagus is a must in my world for the first day of spring, even if scrawny. Normally this time of year I peel big, fat spears, then poach them and bathe in butter sauce.
In possession of those skinny spears, I flexed, cutting them into three-inch-ish lengths and tossing them with tender, young halved radishes (rescued from my crisper drawer), salt and a drizzle of olive oil, and roasting them till the spears were tender.
Also: an improvised potato salad (tiny red new potatoes, rinsed raw shallots, whole-grain mustard vinaigrette, copious herbs). It was similar in spirit to this one:
Now I can’t get all those delicious green things out of my head.
Honestly, all I feel like doing is eating handfuls of herbs. Maybe this week I’ll make a Sabzi Khordan — a Persian herb platter — dedicated to my dear Iranian friends, who celebrated Nowruz on Friday (or today, as the case may be for those in the restaurant biz who couldn’t manage it on Friday). Happy Nowruz, lovely friends!
A few years back, Nilou Motamed, the former editor-in-chief of Food & Wine magazine and “Top Chef” judge, shared with me her super-easy recipe for nan-e barbari (Persian flatbread) made from frozen pizza dough. Here’s her method:
Nilou Motamed’s Nan-e Barbari (Persian Flatbread)
Buy some pizza dough, and stretch and pull a one-pound (454 g) ball of it into a big rectangle to cover most of a sheet pan. Using your fingers, press five or six deep, lengthwise channels into the dough (don’t worry if it tears a little). Whisk together 3 tablespoons of whole milk yogurt and 3 tablespoons of water, and brush the surface with that. Sprinkle with nigella seeds, sesame seeds and salt. Bake in a 450 F / 230 C oven for 20 to 25 minutes, till it’s nicely browned. Serve the flatbread with the Sabzi Khordan.
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A few things to tell you. Thierry and I are heading to France in 10 days, to celebrate his father’s 100th birthday. We’ll also swing over to Genoa to spend Easter with friends, soak up copious amounts of pesto culture, and spend a couple nights in Milan.
I’m evolving this newsletter — as you may have noticed from its new name. The new direction reflects my own evolution as a writer: I want to expand my writing out from food. Sure, I’m a cook and will always be, as long as I can shop for veg and stand at the stove. But I began my career writing about lots of things. I did an MFA in Fiction Writing once upon a time, published a well received novel, intended to continue with that more literary kind of writing, but life and work intervened.
Next week (I hope!), in Part 2 of How I became a writer, I’ll tell you more about that. In case you missed Part 1:
That’s all for now. Thank you for being here with me. I promise that unless I’m getting on a plane, boat or train, I’ll never use the word “journey.”
Lots of love,
Leslie
Thank you, Janet!
Such lovely descriptions of spring produce Leslie! Your trip sounds wonderful (100!) - enjoy.