Iron Cookware Series: Roasted Salmon & Spiced Rhubarb With Fresh Pea shoots

Rhubarb is more than just pie or preserves or crumble. It pairs wonderfully with salmon.  Yes, it must be sweetened in this savoury instance, but not as much as in a dessert. The saltiness and sweetness makes a perfect match.

Harvested fresh from our potager, rhubarb and pea shoots are a delight. The rhubarb will be sweetened with maple syrup and flavoured with allspice (a mix of ground cinnamon, cloves & nutmeg can be substituted), ginger, and vanilla.

For each serving, you will need a portion of salmon, a large rhubarb stalk sans leaves, a small bunch of pea shoots or other greens like arugula, vanilla extract, ground ginger, and allspice (or a mix of cinnamon, nutmeg & cloves, all ground).

Preheat oven to 23o degrees C (450 degrees F). Slice the rhubarb into small pieces. Put a tablespoon or two of maple syrup (depending on the amount of rhubarb, such as with exceptionally large stalks its better to err on the sweet side as rhubarb can be extremely sour on its own), tiny dash of vanilla, pinch of ginger and allspice (or a mix of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg) in a small bowl. Toss well. Pat the salmon dry with a paper towel. Preheat a slightly oiled iron skillet for about five minutes. Get it good and hot. Meanwhile season the salmon on both sides with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Sear it on both sides. Let a nugget of butter melt and add the rhubarb. Coat the rhubarb with butter and put in the oven. Depending on size and thickness of the salmon, cook from 6 to 10 minutes (mine took six). Longer cooking times will either require bigger rhubarb pieces or for smaller pieces to be removed while the salmon finishes roasting. When the centre can be flaked with a fork, it's ready. While it's cooking, thinly slice the pea shoots.

Spread the rhubarb on a plate. Place the salmon and top with pea shoots.

If desired, some fleur de sel can be sprinkled partout (everywhere).

Refreshing salmon with its subtle flavour, pea shoots with their grassy scent and natural sugars, and a-little-bit-gooey, pleasingly tart rhubarb made a very attractive trio indeed.

RELATED POSTS

Iron Cookware Series: Mashed Potato Cantal Onion Pancakes
Tuna Cakes with Gooseberry Sage Sauce
Rhubarb Crumble

À la prochaine!

Fruit, Veg, Flowers & Feline

Fresh April green here and there has morphed into verdant lushness all over. The first fig crop is forming while the second and more substantial one will happen in autumn.

Little fuzzy olive-green eggs are dotting the peach tree.

The strawberry harvest at present is enough for making a strawberry banana smoothie every other day. Peak production will be reached in several weeks.

Rhubarb is being picked now, the peas will be in a few weeks, and the potatoes at end of July.

The soft green of fennel (the herb, not the bulb) cosies up to flowering sage.

Comfrey is putting out young leaves and buds. It's an amazing plant for other plants as it is used as a fertiliser tea and a compost accelerator.

The weigela's flower-laden branches are draping the front garden in crimson.

The peony is continuing to set just a few blooms as I suspect the last couple of winters were too mild to give it the cold required for abundant flowering.

Hardy miniature gladioli loves to self sow where I dare not to as in smack up to this ivy-covered pergola pillar.

The Ferdinand Pichard Bourbon rose is paying no attention to Dirac the Cat napping in the southwest sous sol window as all of its blooms are leaning directly towards the south to get as much sun exposure as possible.

À la prochaine!

Pairing Roses With Ivy; Plus Lilies Of The Valley, Yucca, Tulips & Calla Lillies

Our garden seems to be the only one festooned with beautifying ivy in our quartier. Perhaps because so many think that ivy is the great destroyer of buildings? In the past, gardeners weren't frightened of its power to cover. It was well clipped. And that it what happens chez nous. I take the shears to it at least four times yearly. Its colour is quite dark and foreboding during winter, but when spring comes along, oh, such a bright, friendly green says, hello! I also hose down ivy covering the pergola and alongside one boundary fence about twice yearly. Become friends with your ivy, and the birds who eat its berries during winter when there isn't much else in the larder will thank you. In addition, roses look scrumptious against a background of ivy. 

Ferdinand Pichard (bred by Rémi Tanne France, 1921) is a fragrant, reblooming Bourbon rose. Its pink, cupped flowers are heavily striped with white, crimson, and magenta.

Next to it, is probably another old rose, but unfortunately I have yet been able to identify it. The texture and colour has a mysterious quality. Depending on the angle and distance from which it is seen, it shimmers between coral velvet and pink silk. Its blooms are quartered and huge with a stupendous fragrance. And it loves ivy.

My gardening approach is to watch plants grow so as to ascertain what the best interface with them is. In the process, I get to learn a lot. For example, ivy can gussy up a leggy rose without killing it. Of course, the rose in question is a toughie. I suspect it has been around many decades, scraping out nourishment from being planted smack next to the patio. Miniature gladioli have sidled up to it too. It seems it's a magnet for other plants.

On the first of May in France, sellers of lily of the valley take to the streets for it is a traditional practice to give said blooms to loved ones. Years ago, a neighbour gave me a few plants, and now, they have spread, covering four times their original area. They self-seed readily, and apparently learning the beautifying lesson from the ivy, they fill in cement cracks and grow around the lavender, naturally snuffing out what was once the stomping grounds of some serious weeds like thistles and bindweed.

What a delight it is to bring in a bunch of lily-of-the-valley indoors! Gradually its fragrance filled up my office with its fresh, sweet scent making me feel that somehow I am outdoors in the garden while I write this post.

When the yucca was planted here about ten years ago it had already spent nearly ten years as a potted specimen on our Grenoble balcony. In its former location, it had a wonderful view of the Belledonne range dotted with villages and church steeples. In its present location, I like to think though the view can't match what it had in the past, its robust growth is telling me that it's actually happier here because this spikey beauty can spread its roots. Providing a dramatic background, it's a perfect foil for the fluffy heads of Blue Parrot tulips.

Blue Parrot tulips are closer to lavender in terms of colour, with a bronzy sheen, however their white centres contain an irregular areola of true blue.

In the small patio cut-out, the calla lilies are flourishing most likely at the expense of the Queen Elizabeth shrub rose.

Our garden location is a fortunate one because though it is an urban setting, it is right on the edge of the city giving unobstructed sky views. Having such spaciousness overhead accentuates the coziness of the garden even more.

À la prochaine!

Mostly Tulips But Also Periwinkle, Spiraea, Lamium & Ivy

As I dash around doing my late-day garden rounds, flashes of bright colour skim my peripheral vision, and though I know they are tulips which I planted with anticipatory passion last autumn, for a fleeting moment, I forget their identity and succumb to magical thinking that this swirl of pink, purple, peach, and white comprises a sentient presence of some sort. Garden fairies, perhaps? Here's hoping these shining, bright goblets of varied hues in our front garden bring respite to weary workers returning home via cars and buses rumbling past.

Also: Candytuft (Iberis sempervirens), Heuchera 'Stormy Seas', immature Lawson's cypress

Purple Dream Lily-flowered Tulips were mostly dug up this past autumn during my planting for this season's tulip display, but a few escaped my spade and graciously made a reappearance, though with slightly faded and smaller blooms. If an impressive presentation is desired it is best for fresh tulip bulbs to be positioned each autumn. However, to get a few more seasons from your tulip investment, plant them in a bed away from the public eye so if the flowering is lacklustre, it at least won't have the spotlight but still be enjoyed. It's best to dig them up after the foliage died unless they are in an area that gets no summer irrigation as to prevent them from rotting. Store in a cool, dark place until needed.

Miss Elegance Triumph Tulip is a favourite choice of mine because of its midseason blooming, ruffled edges, and delicate shade of pink.

Next season I will showcase them in pots as their smaller stature would benefit from the loftiness provided by containers.

Dordogne Single Late Tulips have huge pink and apricot blooms on tall stems.

They look gorgeous cradled in the fresh, green growth of the lavender hedge.

The golden tones of Dordogne tulips complement the colour of Blue Parrot Tulips perfectly as they bloom at the same time.  Next season, I am planning to plant them closer together. 

I always wanted to recreate a horticultural scene glimpsed several decades ago when we lived in California and have retained in my visual memory since then. The sight of a lushly planted expanse of evergreen periwinkle sheltered from the heat in a shady spot had caught my eye because the small blue flowers sparkled with a silky sheen as if they were stars in a night sky, all cool and welcoming. Like many perennials, they took time to meet the challenge I presented to them, and now, about five years after their planting, the original five plants have made an area of about 150 cm (5 ft) by 300 cm (10 ft) their home. The blooms have been going for the last two months! Their glossy foliage forms a beautiful ground cover year round.

Lamium galeobdolan is another perennial case in point. Several years ago three plants were placed a few feet apart. They are now covering a much larger space. Like periwinkle, their long stems root into the soil. The spiraea is drooping over the lamium, the lamium is grazing the driveway's low wall, and sweet violets have self-seeded themselves in the angle between wall and driveway. Great show!

Ivy covering perimeter fences, shed, and pergola has been duly given its spring clipping. And yes, it is yet another perennial case in point. There were a few plants scattered here and there ten years ago upon our arrival, and now lots of eyesores are covered in calming dark green, giving the garden much needed 'green bones' and privacy. If those benefits weren't enough, its berries are an excellent source of winter food for birds. It does need around 3-4 clippings a year and watering during the dry season to do as well as it has.

À la prochaine!

RELATED POSTS

Book review: The Tulip by Anna Pavord

Spring Break 2019

Souped-up Garden, the blog, that is, is taking a break because our potager is budding, sprouting, warming up, chirping, and turning green like the dickens demanding intense gardening focus. See you in April!

Late Winter 2019: Colourful Gardening Accessories, Decorative Blown Glass Flowers, Early Blooms & Cat

Time to mosey down to the neighbourhood plant nursery . . . most certainly . . . but with a list please, said my adult to my inner child.

Sturdy but still flexible gloves, chitting potatoes, blue-flowered sunhat & flower seed packets

Chartreuse sabots! I knew the size of the old pair was too large, but I had no desire to hobble on one leg to try on a better fitting pair, or so I thought, until I spied a slim, portable bench placed strategically near the racks of shoes. So not only did I snag probably the most beautiful colour available, I won't be stumbling over my own sabots this season. Not to mention I will be treading on the most cushiony peau de pêche (peach skin!) with which these lightweight sabots are lined.

From the vantage point of my lounge chair under the ivy-draped pergola

Stained glass is a great love of mine. If I had my way all the windows in the world would be stained glass as nothing is more merrier than dancing light. But I make do, as in this case, with Museum Selection's (same place where I ordered that wonderful, blue-flowered, linen hat in the first photo) trio of blown glass flowers. From the online catalogue's photo, it seemed that they would be fairly small and delicate instead of the flamboyant, large beauties they turned out to be. The pansy is bursting with many colours.

The bluebell is more demure, but still, what a charmer.

I stuck it in a large tub of blueberries

Though the pansy and bluebell are gorgeous beyond belief, it is the foxglove that exerts a trance-like influence upon me as I find myself peering into swirling depths of seemingly liquid burgundy longer than an industrious gardener should be doing.

Though our 'lawn' has been cut several times already, I do try to spare the dandelions because insects including bees appreciate them for nectar and pollen, especially during this time when there is little else blooming. The perky english daisies (Bellis perennis) however are all over the place as their kind is wont to do, so I leave a selected expanse of them alone. It's easy, even for me, an avid and knowledgeable gardener to take nature for granted, as in what we see is what is, for example how pollinators are attracted to flowers. Sure enough, chemistry, that is, colour and scents are no brainers. But how about this?

Pollinators are attracted to flowers by chemical and structural features. One of these structural features may [be] the interaction of light with regularly arranged, microscopic surface features. The ray florets of Bellis perennis have distinct microscopic furrows produced by cylindrical, transversely-striated cells. Under laboratory conditions these surface features produce diffraction patterns which may attract insect pollinators. However, under natural light conditions these effects are lost, indicating that such features are unlikely to attract the natural pollinators of Bellis. In Bellis, pollinators are likely to be attracted by the contrast between the capitulum's ray and tube florets. (Source)

Triumph tulips (Seadov) have those characteristics of red nail polish, that is, being remarkably shiny and deeply pigmented, but just in their case, also being as soft as a spring breeze.

Heather is just past peak bloom & rose foliage is sprouting as are calla lilies

Blossoms on the peach tree are opening. Each day I peer into their centres, hoping to see a tiny peach. When I do, then I know I do not need to worry any longer about a surprise freeze killing the blooms before they can be pollinated.

A well-loved garden colour combination of mine is pink and blue; the former is provided by a plum cherry tree while the latter by flowering rosemary.

View from the east side of our house towards the front garden

Dirac the Cat has many places where he naps, but sleeping on the sous sol potting room's padded window sill is one of his favourites. Bags of potting mix wait patiently while I get around to making up flats and pots for seedlings.

Spot the lounge chair! Clue: it's the same colour as the peach blossoms

À la prochaine!

Leek Comté Beef Crème Fraîche Lasagne Smothered With Béchamel

I have a thing with and for lasagne. My long journey, torturous and doubtful, but eventually arriving at a happy ending, was told in this old post from 2013. Not surprisingly, since France is the home of béchamel, white pizza and lasagne are not hard to find here. Because my natal city, NYC, has such a strong Italian culinary influence, I stuck stubbornly to tomato-based pizza and lasagne. Until recently, that is.

I also have a thing with and for Comté, that is, when it is well aged. I described my infatuation in this post.

Ingredients
makes nine roughly 7.6 cm (3 inch) squares
a 25 cm (10 inch) x 25 cm (10 inch) x 4 cm (2 inch) ceramic pan was used

Comté, aged 20 months or the oldest you can find, 230 g, sliced thinly or grated
Crème fraîche, 200 ml (6.8 fluid oz)
Beef, minced, lean (I used 5% fat), 350 g (12 oz)
Leek, one, large
Lasagne noodles, 15 (I used egg-enriched)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Béchamel 

sauce, see below

Béchamel 

sauce
Butter, sweet, 120 g (8 T)
Flour, white, 12 T
Milk, whole, 1 litre (34 fluid oz)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

The night before, prepare the beef, leek, and the béchamel sauce. This can be done the same day as assembling the lasagne but it's less hectic if done earlier.

• 1) Saute beef in a skillet over moderate heat while stirring, about a few minutes. It doesn't need to be fully cooked, but most of the red should be gone.
• 2) Trim the tough, dark-green tops and the roots from the leek. With a sharp knife, slice vertically almost to the root end. Splay leaves open while rinsing under the tap. Be sure you get all the dirt out. Slice thinly and put into a skillet with a nice knob of butter, and braise, while covered, till tender, about ten minutes.
• 3) For the sauce, heat the milk till hot, but not boiling. Meanwhile melt butter over moderate low heat in a saucepan, add gradually the flour while stirring, and let bubble for several minutes, while stirring once in an awhile. Do not let the butter brown. In a steady stream, pour the milk into the butter and flour, while stirring. Turn heat up a bit to bring to a simmer. If there are lumps, then whisk well. Heat over low flame till smooth and thick. To reuse, reheat till the sauce is fluid.

Put the prepared food in covered containers and refrigerate until needed the next day.

Preheat oven to 180 degrees C (350 degrees F). Five stacks, each containing three noodles, will make four layers. One stack of three noodles are placed in a large frypan and covered with boiling water (I use an electric kettle). Cover with a lid or a plate. After a few minutes, remove them and put them in a bowl of cold water. They should be limp but not fully cooked. Put the next stack of three in the frypan. If necessary, that is, if it is taking longer and longer for the noodles to soften, then replace water with fresh boiling water. Meanwhile start making layers with the noodles that have been parboiled.

Coat the bottom of an oven-dish with some crème fraîche. Divide the cheese, leek, and beef into four portions. Use one portion of the cheese, the leek, and beef for each layer. Use one tablespoon of crème fraîche for each layer. Arrange a layer thusly: three overlapping noodles followed by crème fraîche by Comté by leeks by beef. Salt and pepper the layer. Keep making layers until the remaining three are done. End with noodles. 

The sauce was piled on and on and on and then some. Because of the oven dish being so full, I tucked a sheet pan underneath. It turns out that wasn't necessary because the sauce was too thick to bubble vigourously. Bake for around thirty minutes, until well browned. The top should be puffy and when inserting a knife into the centre, it should easily go right through the noodles.

After being cooled for around fifteen minutes, the lasagne was cut into nine squares. The sauce behaved in a generous manner, filling up every nook and cranny, resembling a custard in texture, and if that wasn't enough, embracing the Maillard Reaction like a champ.

Surplus pieces of cooled lasagne were each put into its own cozy ziplock bag and frozen. There's a nice pile of them for future meals! Though this dish was wonderfully earthy, I still felt like a queen. After all, it contained the King of Cheeses.

À la prochaine!