Dreams of Lunches Past
Today I pedaled back from my morning jaunt at the café down the street to find myself locked out of the house. I tried the front door, the backdoor, and seriously tried on the idea of going in through the open dining room window, before ruling it out on account of the thicket involved, the shortness of my dress, and the construction going on across the street. This would not have been so maddening had I not spent the last three hours inhaling the fumes of flakey biscuits and fried eggs and steeling myself from giving in to temptation with thoughts of how I could just fry myself an egg when I got home.
Alas, but no. Today I was doomed to eating the remnants of my refrigerator for lunch. It was cold food when all I wanted was something hot, Asian inspired when I craved something with some French flare. It's all I can do now at the library not to dream of better days, trying in vain not to drool all over my book, lest my fellow readers think that I find the cruelties of the communist regime in Rumania appetizing. (Which they definitely are not, even though, weirdly, the cover features an eggplant menacingly balanced on the tines of five forks.)
And so, I present to you not what I ate for lunch today--not even remotely close--but what I wish I had eaten for lunch today. It is a dish made buoyant by the bounty of the farmers market, a concoction created to let the ingredients shine, an arrangement inspired by the crates of vegetables lovingly packed into open-bed trucks in the sunshine and driven over roads made muddy by an onslaught of Oregon rain and--I might be getting carried away. But you would, too, if you were eating the belly of a salmon that had been caught twelve hours before you ate it.
The beauty of this dish is its flexibility: every vegetable loves being part of a ragout, which is a fittingly fancy, French name for sautéed vegetables that cling together with the barest hint of milk and cheese. I used fava beans, asparagus, sugar snap peas, spring onions, and carrots, but that's just what happens to be in season in Portland right now, and I'd never tried fava beans before. A warning: they're beans that require not one, but two shellings. I loved their buttery taste, but they're nearing the end of their season, so next time, maybe a handful of morel mushrooms, some fiddlehead ferns, a gaggle of baby squash...? I'm up for anything. The only thing that needs to change when the vegetables do is the preparation; some vegetables cook faster than others, so bear that in mind when wielding the knife. Also, have everything chopped and ready to go when you turn the burner on, because this is essentially a French take on stir-fry, so things might get a little racy in the kitchen. (Is it obvious that my blood sugar level is low?)
A Springtime Ragout
a handful of fava beans, wrested from 5-6 shells
extra virgin olive oil
fine grain sea salt
a few spears of asparagus, sliced into half-inch segments
a handful of sugar snap peas, strings removes and ends cut off, also sliced into half-inch segments
half a carrot, julienned
some lemon zest (or juice, if the former is lacking)
a splash of cream (or whole milk)
Parmesan or pecorino or similar hard cheese
First, the fava beans. Boil the shelled beans for about a minute in a pot of salted water, then drain and shock them with cold water. When cool enough to handle, shuck the second layer using a patented move I like to call the Pinch & Squeeze. Just be careful that you don't ricochet fava beans across the kitchen like I did. Put them beans in a cute little glass dish by the side of the stovetop, next to your other prepped vegetables, and get ready to fry.
Now that you're ready to get sautéeing, splash some olive oil, a big pinch of salt, and a tablespoon of water into a cold skillet, then turn the heat to medium-high. When the water starts to bubble, add the asparagus, carrots, and peas and cook, covered, for a little under a minute (or more, depending on the thickness of the asparagus spears). When the asparagus is bright green and just this side of tender, add the fava beans and cook for another thirty seconds, uncovered. Stir in the lemon zest, if using, a teensy splash of cream, grate the cheese of your choice on top, and slide them veggies onto a plate. Garnish with a big hunk of broiled fish caught the night before, and dig in.
(Oh man, I wish.)
