A Festival to Celebrate Winter (Plus Celeriac Soup)!

Just about exactly a month ago I posted about an event called the Fill Your Pantry and Winter Vegetable Sagra, a gathering of farmers, ranchers, plant breeders and folks who care about where their food comes from and how it’s grown. It offers the community a chance to order in bulk from local producers and pick up those orders at the event, but since most of the producers bring some extra meat, produce and bulk items along, it becomes a giant community farmers' market.

Mona Johnson and her heavenly celeriac soup.

Portland chefs known for their support of local producers—Chef Timothy Wastell; Katherine Deumling of Cook With What You Have; Jaret Foster and Mona Johnson of Tournant; Jim Dixon of Real Good Food; and Lola Milholland of Umi Organic Noodles, among others—cook up samples of dishes like radicchio Caesar salad, yakisoba with vegetables, bean and cabbage stew and creamy celeriac soup (recipe below).

So much goodness!

This year the event was literally packed cheek by jowl with people shopping, eating, talking and, in some cases, even singing the praises of our local bounty. I can't tell you how uplifting and inspiring it is to see your community come together to enjoy and celebrate the goodness that is produced here. The atmosphere was absolutely electric!

Thanks to Friends of Family Farmers, the Culinary Breeding Network and Oregon State University Small Farms Program for sponsoring this outstanding gathering.

All in the [Apiaceae] Family Celeriac Soup
By Mona Johnson and Jaret Foster of Tournant

This creamy, comforting celeriac soup is served with a supporting cast of characters from the same Apiaceae family to which it belongs. Celery, parsley, fennel and caraway all play a role in complementing celeriac's mild, earthy flavor. If time is short, feel free to top with only the ghee or gremolata, or skip both and just swirl in a dollop of creme fraiche or a drizzle of brown butter.

For the celeriac soup:
3 Tbsp. butter
2 medium leeks (white and light green parts only), halved lengthwise, sliced into thin half moons, rinsed and drained
2 medium fennel bulbs, halved lengthwise, thinly sliced
2 medium celery roots (about 1 1/2 lbs.), trimmed, peeled and chopped in 1/2" dice
1 c. dry white wine
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus more to taste
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh thyme
6 c. water
1/2 c. heavy cream

For the smoky caraway ghee:
4 Tbsp. ghee
1 tsp. caraway seeds
1 tsp. smoked paprika

For the celery gremolata:
1/4 c. finely chopped Italian parsley
2 cloves minced garlic
2 Tbsp. finely diced celery
Grated zest of 1 lemon

To make the soup, melt butter in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add leeks and cook until beginning to soften, about 2-3 minutes. Add fennel and cook until softened, stirring occasionally, about 8-10 minutes. Add the celery root to the pot along with salt, bay leaves and thyme, stirring to combine. Add wine and simmer until mostly evaporated. Add water and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to low and continue simmering until all vegetables are soft enough to purée, about 10-12 minutes.

Purée soup with an immersion blender (or in batches in a blender) until very smooth. Heat purée over medium low heat, then stir in heavy cream. Taste for seasoning and consistency, adding more salt, cream or water if needed for desired taste and texture.

To make the ghee, melt ghee in a small saucepan over low heat. Add caraway seeds and smoked paprika and cook, stirring occasionally, about 4 minutes, being careful not to scorch spices. Remove from heat, let cool, then strain through a fine mesh strainer, discarding solids.

For the gremolata, add all ingredients to a small bowl, mixing to combine.

To serve, ladle soup into shallow bowls, swirl with infused ghee and sprinkle with gremolata.

Black Radishes, Outrageous Salad!

Known to contain vitamin C, potassium, iron and magnesium as well as vitamins A, E and B, the black radish also possesses an ability to fight off infection and promote healthy digestive function. Dried and powdered, it's found in herbal supplements and is used in homeopathy to treat thyroid imbalances and improve liver function.

Not being a big one for stuffing myself with lots of supplements, preferring instead to fill my belly with delicious things in their more natural state, I was pleased to discover that the black radish lends a peppery bite to a root slaw. Having volunteered to bring a salad to a crab feed and inspired by the two black radish salads concocted by Linda Colwell at this year's Ayers Creek Farm Ramble, I hauled out our trusty mandoline and went to town.

I wasn't sure how many radish fiends were in the crowd and didn't want to overwhelm the crab with the sometimes strong heat and bitterness that some of these members of the brassica family carry. Following Linda's lead, I salted down the julienned radishes and let them stand for a couple of hours on the counter, which tames some of their harsher, peppery tendencies. A quick rinse to wash off the salt, draining them well and then drying them in an absorbent dish towel and they were ready for the salad bowl.

There were a couple of small globes of celery root (right) in the vegetable bin that hadn't gone into a root vegetable stew the week before, so while the radishes enjoyed their salty spa treatment I julienned those as well, figuring their mild celery flavor and crisp texture would add a nice touch to the finished salad.

Since for once I was running ahead of schedule, I made up a quick lemon vinaigrette and doused the rooty mixture, tossing it well and putting it in the fridge so that the flavors could mingle until we left for dinner. A couple of tosses in the interim and then a final toss before serving, and this simple salad was declared the belle of the ball.

Simple Black Radish Salad

4 large black radishes
2 small, peeled globes of celery root (or one large), optional
2/3 c. olive oil
1/3 c. lemon juice
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 c. plus 1/8 tsp. kosher salt

Scrub radishes to rid them of any dirt or dust, but don't peel. Using a mandoline, julienne them into matchstick-sized pieces. Put the julienned radishes into a large bowl, add the 1/2 cup salt and stir to combine. Let sit on the counter for a couple of hours.

While waiting for radishes, make the dressing by whisking lemon juice, oregano and 1/8 tsp. salt into olive oil.* Set aside. When salted radishes are ready, rinse them well under running water, drain in a colander and dry them with an absorbent dish towel (I love flour sack dish towels for this purpose.) Add them back to the bowl, julienne the celery root (if using) and add them to the radishes. Pour the dressing over the top, stir to combine and put the salad into the refrigerator. Stir occasionally. Serve.

* You can also add a tablespoon of Dijon mustard and a crushed garlic clove to make a mustard vinaigrette.

Farm Bulletin: Black is the Color

This week contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm extolls the virtues of root vegetables eaten raw in salads, a crisp, sweetly crunchy pleasure that I've become an advocate for, as well.

Not just less than lovely to look at, black radish a strong, coarse creature with a harsh bite best tempered by salting first. In northern Europe, it is served in beer halls, where the root is sliced paper thin and generously salted for about 20 minutes to an hour. The Boutard children grew up eating it that way, even before beer graced their evenings. It is amazing what a transformation a sprinkle of salt accomplishes.

Black radish seedlings.

We also prepare a couple of salads/relishes by running the radish through the medium julienne blade of a Benringer mandolin and salting it for an hour. We peel it in a desultory fashion, pulling off the coarsest parts but leaving some of the black peel as decoration. When wilted, we rinse off the salt and dress it with lemon juice and olive oil, or sour cream. Both are delicious. Anthony enjoys it by the plateful as a salad while Carol prefers it in smaller doses as a relish.

Black radish is one of those very healthful vegetables that has a dedicated subterranean following, but no commodity commission loudly promoting its benefits. For what its worth, the root is high in vitamin C and is regarded as a good stimulant for liver regeneration. Both welcome at this time of the year.

Celeriac aka knob celery aka celery root…all delicious!

Knob celery, aka celeriac, was another regular winter vegetable in the Boutard house. Anthony's mother cubed and cooked the root until just tender, and then dressed it with a vinaigrette while still warm. At Ayers Creek we most commonly eat it as a raw salad. We julienne the roots and dress them in lemon juice and olive oil with a generous amount of freshly ground cayenne. We also follow James Beard's celeriac remoulade recipe where he dresses it with mayonnaise seasoned by three different mustards: sharp English, Dijon and sweet German. We make generous portions of these salads and enjoy them over a two or three day period. A sprinkle of caraway is also nice variation.

When it grows large quickly, the root can develop a pithy heart. We generally plant our knob celery later than recommended so it grows slowly in the cool autumn weather, giving it a crisp texture all the way through. In trimming the roots, we retain the topknot of greenery whenever possible. It is not just that it looks like standard desert island cartoon image from the New Yorker, we like to chop up the green part into the salad.

Get a recipe for a Celery Root Remoulade.

Top photo from Heirloom Solutions. Photo of seedlings from Horizon Herbs.

Getting to the Root

Contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood has been a big influence on me, especially when it comes to root vegetables. Growing up in a family where a can of creamed corn qualified as a vegetable, it's been refreshing to get comfortable with these ultimate comfort foods. Below you'll find Jim's recipes for a celery root and sweet potato gratin and one for creamed kale, both of which I've been working on here at home (a photo of my dish using kale, above; recipe to come). Great minds think alike!

Celery Root and Sweet Potato Gratin

Celery root looks awful and requires serious (but easy) paring to get to the good stuff, and the results are worth the effort. I’ve used a swivel peeler, but I think the best approach is slicing away the exterior with a chef’s knife. The root end holds a lot of dirt, and while I’ve carved around the crevasses, these days I don’t try so hard to save every little morsel. However you choose to attack the thing, you want to end up with mostly creamy looking interior. Cut into chunks.

For this gratin, I use white flesh sweet potatoes (as opposed to the sweeter orange fleshed varieties often sold as yams, but really just different varieties of sweet potato).   Peel and cube as much as you need to yield about the same amount as the celery root. Steam them together until tender, then mash coarsely. [They're also terrific if you take the cubes, toss 'em in olive oil and roast in a 350° oven till tender, about 45 min. Then mash or leave them cubed. - KAB]

Add a generous pour of olive oil (start with a few tablespoons or so; add more if it seems dry), a few shakes of pimenton (smoked paprika from Spain), and salt. Spread into a baking dish, top with bread crumbs, and bake at 350° until nicely browned.

Creamed Greens

Inspired by the way Jason French cooks this at Ned Ludd, I’ve been making creamed greens for the past few weeks. I’m pretty sure Jason’s have some pork parts, but I kept things a little more simple. A splash of fish sauce provides an extra hit of umami. At Ned Ludd the greens go on brioche toasted in the wood oven; at my house (and for the ski weekend) it’s New Seasons’ wheat levain.

Chiffonade a bunch of collards by rolling several leaves in a tight bundle, then slicing across the stem into half inch ribbons. Cut these into slightly shorter pieces. Chop an onion and cook it in a bit of olive oil for a few minutes. Add the greens, a shot of fish sauce (maybe a tablespoon or so), and maybe a half cup of water. Cover, reduce heat to a simmer, and cook for at least 40 minutes.

When the greens are very tender, remove the lid, add about a half cup of cream (or creme fraiche), bump up the heat to medium, and let them cream bubble away gently for another 15 minutes or so. Serve over root vegetable gratin (recipe above) or toast or, if you don’t want to use a knife and fork, cut the bread into cubes and put the creamy greens on top.