It all started with those little, bright green, lantern-shaped peppers called pimientos de padrón—known more familiarly as "padrons"—that only required a quick blistering in hot oil and shower of salt to melt my knees as soon as I popped one in my mouth. For awhile they were only available from one vendor—the late, lamented Viridian Farms at the Portland Farmers Market—but pretty soon they were being featured on the hottest chef's menus all over town.

A couple of years later I heard about another Spanish delicacy that had appeared on Viridian's roster, a spring onion called calçot (pron. cahl-SOH). In Spain they're harvested from November through April, and festivals known as calçotadas are held in towns all over the region.

Cooked on a hot grill until the outside layer is blackened but not charred and the inside is soft and creamy, the blackened outside layer is peeled off and the remaining onion is dunked in a tangy romesco-like sauce called salbitxada (sahl-beet-SHAH-dah). Then, holding the onion aloft by the greens, the trick is to lower the soft, saucy white part into your mouth and bite it off without having the sauce dribble all over your face. (This video explains it better than I ever could.)

With calçot season upon us, we finally held our own mini-calçotada on the patio. Traditionally served with beer and a variety of grilled meats, for our home version of a calçotada, Dave quickly grilled bone-in pork chops and I made an herbed rice pilaf with chopped tarragon, red-veined sorrel and parsley from the garden…though the drips on our shirts signaled that we may need some more practice on the eating portion of this spring festival.

Calçots with Salbitxada Sauce

For the salbitxada sauce:
4 Tbsp. blanched almonds
4 fresh bitxo peppers (or other mildly hot pepper), coarsely chopped, seeds and membranes removed
8 cloves garlic, peeled
4 ripe tomatoes, roughly chopped
2 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1/4 c. bread crumbs
1 Tbsp. smoked paprika
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 c. olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

For the grilled calçots:
2-3 bunches (20-30) Spanish calçots or very young spring onions with long greens and a very small bulb

Heat oven to 350°.

Place almonds in hot oven to toast for 5-7 minutes. Place in a food processor and coarsely grind.

Mash ground almonds, peppers and garlic into a paste with a food processor. Add tomatoes, parsley and vinegar. Pulsing the food processor, drizzle in the olive oil until sauce becomes thick. Add salt and pepper to taste. (This sauce is terrific with any grilled vegetable. During summer months, consider serving it with grilled steaks or chops.)

To prepare the calçots, simple build a hot fire in a grill. On the grate over the coals, spread out the calçots with the white end facing the center of the grill and the greens extending over the outside edge of the grill (top photo). Grill, turning occasionally, so the outside is blackened but not charred and the whites feel tender when squeezed.

To serve, pull the calçots off the grill and peel off the blackened outer skin with your fingers. Grasping the greens in your hand, dunk the white part in the salbitxada sauce, raise the onion aloft and lower the white into your mouth, biting it off at the top of the white portion. When the calçots are all gone, whomever has dribbled the least sauce (or, I suppose, the most) on themselves is the winner!

I've been ashamed to admit it, but every spring for years now I've been mocked by the sorrel I planted five or six years ago. Just three little plants, stuck in the dirt at one end of the raised beds that Dave built in the one sunny spot in our very shady yard. Every spring, like clockwork, they push out new leaves, joining the previous ones still hanging around that apparently kept it alive through some brutal winter temperatures and several days of six-inch-thick ice.

The plants have grown larger every year, and for all those years I did my level best to figure out what to do with the abundance of leaves, once trying to pan fry them like other greens, which turned them into a mass of grey, gooey mush, or another time stirring them into a potato-leek soup that made the color and the goo less noticeable.

Chopping a few leaves into a salad was okay, but adding much more than four or five leaves, and their tangy, citrus-y bite overwhelmed the pleasant sweetness of the other greens. A pesto using half sorrel and half of another herb like spinach or parsley or basil worked, pepping up its flavor and giving it a lively greenness. But any of the above only used a smidgen of what the prolific plants were producing.

My epiphany came with my recent adaptation of a sweet red wine vinaigrette that I came up with to dress the lighter, more delicate spring salad greens, a change from the creamy vinaigrettes and Caesar-type salad dressings I use for winter's salads.

Would a sweet dressing counterpoint the bite of the sorrel? Only one way to find out, and my family is always my go-to for experiments, since I can trust their honesty and forthrightness even if it's on the order of "What have you done???"

My first attempt was a simple one, just a chiffonade of sorrel with green olives and crushed hazelnuts with that sweet dressing—it got an enthusiastic thumbs-up around the table. The second (top photo) was more hearty, with the sorrel chiffonade topped with leftover roasted asparagus, tetsukabuto squash and roasted pumpkin seeds tossed with the dressing. Another success!

So I'm passing it on, and with the well-entrenched plants furiously producing new leaves in a pitched battle to defeat the army of snails and slugs chewing holes in them. I'm getting ideas about trying it with a gremolata of hard-boiled eggs, capers, and parsley, among other ideas. Wish me luck!

Sorrel Salad with Sweet Red Wine Vinaigrette

For the dressing:
1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp. honey
1 tsp. dried Italian seasoning (or a combo of basil, thyme, rosemary and marjoram)
1 small clove garlic, crushed
1 tsp. sea salt

For the salad (see story for more suggestions):
3-4 c. sorrel, cut into chiffonade
1/4 c. hazelnuts, crushed
8 Spanish anchovy-stuffed olives, chopped
1/4 c. raisins or currants (optional)
Salt to taste

Put all dressing ingredients in a small lidded jar. Shake.

In a salad bowl combine sorrel, hazelnuts, olives and raisins (or whatever ingredients you're using). Pour 3 Tablespoons of the dressing over the salad and toss. Add salt and fresh ground pepper to taste, adding more dressing if desired.

Since I'm jonesing for some lively greens and saw kale starting to flower in my neighbor Bill's garden, I thought this item from market master Ginger Rapport of the Beaverton Farmers Market would be great to keep on hand for market shoppers who might be asking, "What are those bundles of greens and why are they all called something different?" 

Do you get confused when you hear the words “rabe,””raab,” “rapini” or “broccolini” used in recipes? Let us help you sort this out because you will find tons of these green vegetables in the market right now.

First, a little taxonomy: Cruciferous vegetables are vegetables of the family Brassicacae, known as Brassicas or Crucifers. They include: cauliflower, broccoli, mustard greens, arugula, bok choy, kales and cabbages to name a few. Now, a little clarification:

• Broccolini is not baby broccoli. It is a cross between regular broccoli and Chinese broccoli with long stems, larger florets, and less leaves. It is less bitter than some of its relatives which is why it is often thought of as baby broccoli.
• Rapini and broccoli rabe are close cousins and are often used interchangeably. They are in the same subspecies as the turnip, hence they have the characteristically slightly bitter taste of this group. They do not form the large heads that we see in broccoli.
• Purple sprouting broccoli (or PSB as the cool kids say) is, like broccolini, a separate plant from broccoli. Native to the eastern Mediterranean and Central Asia, its seeds were first listed in the French Vilmorin-Andrieux seed catalog as Sprouting Purple Broccoli in 1885, which also introduced it to the United States.
• The flower buds of brassicas from the turnip family are often referred to as rabe, or raab, derived from raps, which means turnip in Italian. This time of the year, you will find the rabes of many types of brassicas in the market—kale, mustard greens, Brussels sprouts, turnips, bok choy and Chinese cabbage.

While each of these are from a common family there are slight differences in taste between them. With each, you are meant to eat the stems, buds and leaves, making them very easy to prep for cooking. Don’t be alarmed if the buds have begun to show their yellow flowers. Some feel that the flowers are a sweeter version of the parent plant.

All of the aforementioned brassicas are excellent roasted, sautéed or lightly steamed. We don’t recommend boiling because it is easy to overcook the leaves in boiling water. The usual additions of garlic and a pinch of red pepper flakes makes for an easy and delicious preparation. Finish your dish with salt and pepper to taste and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice.We also suggest that you try tossing your raabs with a balsamic vinegar reduction. The reduction’s sweet finish balances the bitter quality of the greens. We like to keep a balsamic reduction in the refrigerator to have on hand as needed. It is delicious drizzled on salads, fresh vegetables, fish and meats.

Basic Balsamic Vinegar Reduction

2 c. balsamic vinegar*

Boil in a small saucepan until reduced by half (one cup). You can continue to boil for a thicker glaze type consistency. You may add a clove of garlic, minced, or fresh herbs such as thyme. Be sure to strain those out before storing.

* Note: Bottles of balsamic vinegar on store shelves labeled "Balsamic Vinegar of Modena" are a commercial grade product made of wine vinegar with the addition of coloring, caramel and sometimes thickeners like guar gum or cornflour. Authentic balsamic vinegar, labeled "Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena," is produced from the juice of just-harvested white grapes (typically, Trebbiano grapes) boiled down to approximately 30% of the original volume to create a concentrate or must, which is then fermented in a slow aging process which concentrates the flavors.

Radishes are coming on strong at the farmers' markets and in CSA shares. But just how many can you slice into salads, scatter on butter boards or scoop into a crock of creamy butter? The idea of roasting them was a revelation, one I'll be forever grateful to a long-forgotten writer for describing.

Dearest radish,

I want to like you. I really do. Your blushing cheeks, your round perfection. Your peppery bite that gives a spicy twist to every encounter.

But there's that harsh edge to you that's always held me back. Though other people can't seem to get enough of you; so I keep thinking it's me, not you. After all, it just wouldn't be spring without seeing you out in the garden, the way you reliably pop out of the soil within a couple of days of poking your seeds in the ground.

Then I heard about a way to mellow out those rough edges, even make you slightly sweet without totally losing your crisp appeal. I think we may have a future together after all. How about it?

x's and o's,

Kathleen

Roasted Radishes with Pasta and Radish Greens Pesto

For the roasted radishes:
2 bunches radishes
Olive oil
Salt
Thyme sprigs

For the pesto pasta:
3 c. radish greens
1 c. Italian parsley
3 cloves garlic
1/4 c. pine nuts
1 tsp. salt
1/2-3/4 c. olive oil
1 c. parmesan, grated, plus more for sprinkling
1 lb. dried pasta

Preheat oven to 400°.

Separate greens from the radishes. Set the greens aside, rinse radishes, halving them if they're very large, and dry with a towel. Place in medium bowl and toss with enough olive oil to coat. Place in baking dish and sprinkle with salt and thyme sprigs. Roast in oven for 20-30 min. until skins are crinkled and radishes are tender when pierced with a fork.

While radishes roast, bring a pot of salted water to boil on the stove.

Rinse and dry greens. Put greens, parsley, garlic, pine nuts and salt in bowl of processor. Turn on processor and drizzle in olive oil, processing until mixture is smooth and slightly wet. Pour into medium mixing bowl and stir in cheese.

Cook pasta till al dente. Drain and mix in half of pesto or enough to generously coat pasta. Serve with roasted radishes alongside and extra parmesan for sprinkling.

A random discussion with friends brought up the topic of peanut butter and how easy it is to make yourself, and I remembered this post from 2016.

It wasn't exactly like those dreams I used to have about not being able to find my school classroom on exam day. It was more like the moment I realized that the corn cobs I'd been throwing away for years after a big barbecue—even the half-gnawed ones—could be put in a pot, covered with water, brought to a boil and simmered for 20 minutes to make a lovely corn stock. (Ditto for crab shells, fish carcasses…you get the picture.)

But when I found out that making homemade peanut butter took…literally…five minutes start to finish, it was a big head-slapping moment for me. D'oh!

You could also roast your own raw peanuts, of course—in a shallow pan in a 350° oven for 15-20 minutes—but when I can buy organic roasted, unsalted peanuts in the bulk aisle at the store, bring them home and five minutes later have beautiful, tasty, no-added-ingredients, salted-to-my-preference peanut butter? It's a game-changer, at least around here.

It's not even worth writing up an official recipe. Seriously.

Just put the roasted peanuts in a food processor and turn it on, stopping occasionally to scrape down the sides, add a half teaspoon of salt at some point—you might want more or less depending on your taste, of course—and maybe a drizzle of vegetable oil toward the end to thin it if necessary, and in five minutes it's done.

A head-slapper, indeed. Here's a quick and easy peanut sauce to use with the snap peas and pea pods that'll be appearing at your farmers' market any minute!

Pasta with Peanut Sauce, Snap Peas and Shrimp

Sauce adapted from All Around the World Cookbook by Sheila Lukins

For the peanut sauce:
1/4 c. soy sauce
1/4 c. rice vinegar
1/2 c. light coconut milk
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. peeled fresh ginger
2 cloves garlic
6 Tbsp. peanut butter
3 Tbsp. peanut oil or vegetable oil
3 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil
1/2 tsp. chili oil or 1/2 tsp. red chile flakes
1/2-1 tsp. Thai fish sauce (nam pla)

For the pasta:
1 lb. pasta or 8 oz. buckwheat soba
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
2 c. sliced snap peas (or other crunchy green things)
1/2 lb. frozen shrimp
Cilantro leaves for garnish

Bring large pot of water to boil. While it heats, put all sauce ingredients into bowl of food processor and process until it makes a smooth sauce. When pot of water boils, add pasta and cook till al dente or, for the soba, follow the package directions. While pasta cooks, heat vegetable oil in skillet and sauté peas briefly, then add shrimp. When shrimp turn pink, remove from heat. Drain pasta and put in serving bowl. Add peas and shrimp and half of sauce (the remainder is terrific as a dipping sauce with salad rolls or raw veggies). Toss and garnish with cilantro leaves.

Gochujang is making an appearance more and more often on our table, ever since my friend Denise shared her family's recipe for the jammy, spicy, deeply umami-esque red pepper paste that is ubiquitous in Korean cooking.

My fascination with it reminds me of the time, years ago, when Mark Bittman would wax poetic in his New York Times columns about Spanish pimentón, confessing in one column that he "may be at the point where I use more pimentón in my cooking than anyone in Spain."

So I was thrilled when my brother, who's not a big fan of Korean cuisine but graciously accepts that I am, was moved to send me a recipe he'd run across in Bon Appétit by Zaynab Issa for a garlic-laden gochujang noodle dish. I'm pretty sure I immediately ran to the cupboard to check on our noodle situation, finding soba noodles but not the mein, udon or ramen specified in the recipe.

Undeterred, I rationalized that the buckwheat noodles would be a hearty counterpoint to the red pepper paste—and that no one would object too strenuously to this detour from a recipe, especially if I didn't mention it. I also didn't have the broccoli rabe called for in the recipe, but I did have carrots, scallions, garlic and frozen peas from the previous summer.

Stirring together the ingredients for the sauce, with a couple of tweaks to the recipe, took just a few minutes. As always, chopping the vegetables took a bit more than that, but fewer ingredients (and those ready-to-cook peas) makes it simpler. A few minutes of sautéing, then pouring in the sauce and mixing in the already-cooked noodles until they were heated through made this easily a less-than-30-minute meal.

Next time I'm going to get some locally made Umi Organic ramen or yakisoba, but dried udon noodles (photo, above right) or even spaghetti would work. Plus it's infinitely adaptable depending on what you find in your veg bin. And adding some oomph by throwing in cubed tofu, or leftover roast chicken, pork or beef wouldn't be a bad idea, either. 

The key is in that sauce, which I can see coming in handy for everything from chicken wings to marinades. Stay tuned!

Make your own gochujang from my friend Denise's family recipe. It's easy to do if you have a couple of hours, it makes enough to last for months and is so much more flavorful than store-bought!

Gochujang Noodles

For the sauce:
4 Tbsp. gochujang
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
2 Tbsp. light or dark brown sugar
2 Tbsp. tahini (raw sesame butter)
1 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp. fish sauce

For the noodles:
8 oz. dried soba noodles
3 c. chopped vegetables (raab, bok choi, carrots, kale, peas, cabbage, scallions or whatever you have on hand)
6 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1/2 c. stock (chicken, pork or vegetable)
1/2 block cubed tofu and/or 1 c. cooked meat (optional)
1 tsp. sesame seeds for garnish (optional)
Cilantro, chopped fine for garnish (optional)
1/2 lime, sliced into wedges, for serving (optional)

Bring water to boil in medium saucepan. Cook noodles for 4 minutes. Drain and rinse under cool running water.

Whisk gochujang, soy sauce, brown sugar, tahini, sesame oil, fish sauce and 2 Tbsp. water in a small bowl to combine; set aside.

Heat vegetable oil in a wok or large nonstick skillet over medium-high. Add vegetables and garlic and sauté until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes. Add sauce and cook, stirring often, until thickened slightly, about 2 minutes. Add tofu or cooked meat, if using, then add noodles, tossing gently until heated through, about 1 minute; add stock if it seems too thick. Serve directly from cooking pot or serve individually in bowls, garnishing with sesame seeds and cilantro. Place lime wedges in a bowl on the table for drizzling over servings.

On this Solstice day, I am trying to think of a spring that I've anticipated more than this one. I'm not sure this winter's waning has been any colder or wetter than any other—remember how farmers couldn't plant their fields last spring because their tractors were getting mired in mud up to their axles? And all the spring vegetables at the markets—asparagus, strawberries—were anywhere from two weeks to a month late.

But, oh my gosh, I'm ready for my spring fix with a particular passion this year, and from what I'm hearing I'm not the only one. Even my favorite produce pusher, Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce, when he spied me filling my basket at Providore the other day, dashed over to nail a date to talk spring things.

When we did manage to sit down, the first topic was brassicas and the raabs, rabes and rapinis they're sprouting with a vengeance, from kale to cauliflower, tatsoi, mustard greens, turnips, bok choy and their many cousins. Look for towering stacks of these inflorescences at farmers' market tables along with their lookalike cousins, kalettes, broccolini and purple sprouting broccoli—sound really cool and call it "PSB"—which are not technically inflorescences but are traditionally bred, distinct hybrids.

Spring roots are also coming on and should be in plentiful supply. Look for piles of hakurei turnips, a rainbow of radishes—French breakfast, white icicle, black radishes and daikons—along with spring carrots.

Alsberg said he's seeing local green garlic and Spanish calçots on local farm lists, but he said spring onions are probably a couple of weeks from appearing at the markets; after that will come the garlic scapes with their twining stems. Herbs like chervil, Italian parsley, dill, sorrel and cilantro should be appearing soon, so get your salsa verde and chimichurri recipes ready. One of my personal favorite greens, arugula, at its peppery, spicy best early in the season, should be here soon, too.

Legume greens have arrived, including pea shoots and fava greens, and coming in mid-April we'll start to see the very first local asparagus, foraged greens like fiddleheads and nettles (top photo), imported ramps and West Coast-grown triangle leeks, so named for their triangle-shaped stems. If you see flowers on those leeks or on the pea shoots and fava greens, Alsberg said they're mighty tasty and terrific in salads or scattered over grilled greens.

If we have a normal spring with no hard freezes or drenching rains, head lettuces should appear in mid-April, but we won't see any local fruit for awhile—local strawberries should be available around Mother's Day (May 14th this year) though Groundwork Organics and Riverland Family Farms (formerly Denison Farms) might have some as early as late April.

As always, Alberg reminds us that if there's a special item you need at the market for that spring dish, the best strategy is to go early because they can sell out quickly—it's not just you and I that are itching for spring!

I'm still a little teary at the loss over the winter of the "tarragon hedge" in my raised bed dedicated to herbs, so a trip to get new starts was in order. After picking up replacement tarragon, I also got some chervil, Italian parsley and garlic chives—and came home to find that the Beaverton Farmers Market newsletter had some helpful hints about herbs used in Thai recipes, including those garlic chives I'd just bought!

“A little sprinkle of fresh herbs on a meal can mean the difference between flavors that are just nice, and flavors that are spectacular. And when you have fresh herbs growing in your own backyard, porch planters, or window box, this makes it even easier to boost the flavor of your homemade meals." - Gardener's Path

Beaverton Market Master Ginger Rapport agrees with this advice. Fresh herbs are always an important part of her garden plan. In fact, Ginger grows her herbs in large pots on the patio right outside her kitchen where they are readily accessible. They are both useful and beautiful. Important to note here that growing herbs in pots is also a defense against Ginger’s male grand-dog Jax, who loves to lift his leg on her garden plants. Fortunately, he is a small terrier, but if you have male dogs in the yard you will want to consider this when you plan your herb garden.

Since Ginger does a lot of Thai cooking, there are two herbs, in particular, she raises in abundance—garlic chives and Thai basil.

Thai Basil and Italian Basil: Thai basil (top photo) is different from Italian basil, which she also grows, in that it has a more anise-like fragrance and smell with a slightly more spicy taste. The leaves are sturdier than Italian basil leaves and can withstand some cooking. Thai basil is an essential ingredient in pho, a Vietnamese soup, but it is used liberally in salads, curries, noodle dishes and stir-fries.

The two herbs, while related, are distinctive enough in flavor that using them interchangeably in a recipe shortchanges the dish you are preparing.  They each have their own distinct flavor notes so it is worth growing both varieties.

Thai basil and Italian basil are tender in our hardiness zone and are treated as annuals in the garden. Chives, on the other hand, come back year after year. In fact, they easily re-sow themselves in other areas of your garden so keep that in mind when planting them.

Garlic Chives vs. Regular Chives: The leaves and flowers of both chives and garlic chives are edible. However, regular chives grow tubular hollow leaves that smell and taste mildly oniony, whereas garlic chives grow wide flat leaves that taste mildly garlicky. Most of us are familiar with regular chives which are a common garnish for dishes that need a beautiful green touch and a gentle onion-flavored finish.

While garlic chives can be chopped to use as a garnish, keep in mind that they will have a tougher texture than regular chives. Because they are sturdier they can be treated more like a vegetable and are common ingredients in Asian cuisines including stir-fries, soups, salad, and marinades.

Get recipes for chive blossom vinegar and chive oil, as well as Ginger's favorite recipe for Pad Thai that usesarlic chives.

Photos from Gardener's Path.

"For people who love greens, this is the best time of the year."
- Josh Alsberg, Rubinette Produce

I've said that the only thing that keeps me from weeping crocodile tears at the end of chicory season every year is the appearance of those bundles of flower sprouts called, variously, raab, rabe or rapini at my farmers' market.

Quoting Ginger Rapport of the Beaverton Farmers Market from the post linked above:

"Cruciferous vegetables are vegetables of the family Brassicacae, known as Brassicas or Crucifers. They include: cauliflower, broccoli, mustard greens, arugula, bok choy, kales and cabbages to name a few. Rapini and broccoli rabe are close cousins and are often used interchangeably. They are in the same subspecies as the turnip, hence they have the characteristically slightly bitter taste of this group. They do not form the large heads that we see in broccoli.

"The flower buds of brassicas from the turnip family are often referred to as rabe, or raab, derived from rapa, which means turnip in Italian. This time of the year, you will find the rabes of many types of brassicas in the market—kale, mustard greens, Brussels sprouts, turnips, bok choy and Chinese cabbage."

As is my habit at the beginning of every season, I called on Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce to get the 411 on what to look for at local farmers' markets in the next month or so.

While it feels a bit early, Josh said we are seeing local asparagus appearing, albeit in limited quantities until Easter weekend, so those who simply must have some, get thee out of bed at the crack—or "butt-crack" as my friend Clare Carver refers to it—of dawn to wait in line at your preferred farm's booth, because it will sell out quickly. Alsberg got 250 pounds of early asparagus into the shop from Middleton Six Sons Farms in Pasco, Washington, and it sold out almost immediately.

And those early spears? He said they had marvelous flavor, "nice'n'snappy," and admitted that early season asparagus, as with many crops, is usually the best in terms of having more robust flavor. And if you see spears that have a slight kink or bend in them? Alsberg said it's most likely caused by windy conditions in the field—spears will bend into the wind rather than swaying with it, causing them to have a bent appearance. Who knew?

In addition to green asparagus, the purple version will also be available, along with purple sprouting broccoli—aka PSB—an overwintered crop that is planted in the fall. Like many purple-tinged vegetables, the color will disappear if it's boiled or steamed so, next to serving it raw, either roasting or sautéing is your best bet for retaining that gorgeous color.

Other greens to look for include arugula, sorrel, fava tops, pea shoots, and mizuna and other mustards. Gorgeous, vibrant heads of green, red and speckled lettuce will be showing up by the end of the month for your spring salads, and herbs like cilantro, parsley and chervil have already started popping up.

Alsberg notes that spring alliums are appearing on local farms' lists, so start pulling out your recipes for green garlic, spring onions and their Spanish cousins, calçots (left). (Get a recipe for grilled calçots with salbitxada sauce from a calçotada we attended.)

Foragers are already finding nettles, miner's lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata), fiddleheads, wild flowering onions and oxalis in their favorite hunting grounds, so those wild delights will be showing up by the baskets-full at local markets soon, too.

And because it comes up every year, I dutifully asked Alsberg when we might be seeing the first decently flavored local strawberries of the season. "Possibly by Mother's Day [May 8]," he said, noting that he's heard rumors the season may be delayed because of "weird" spring weather patterns. "But definitely by Memorial Day."

Author's Note: First of all, apologies for not posting for so long…having a new puppy will do that to a schedule! Waking up an hour earlier every day, taking the youngster outside every hour for potty breaks, plus the exercise it takes to tire out a nine-month-old—fortunately we've found out he loves to play soccer—has filled up our days but limited my writing time. (And we wouldn't trade the experience for the world!)

Plus it's spring! I've been seriously indulging in asparagus at every opportunity, mostly in the simplest way possible (puppy, remember?), that is, drizzled with olive oil and pan roasted in a 350° oven for 20 minutes, then served with a squirt of lemon. Heaven!

But when I've had that umpteen times and want to change it up a little, I'll make a risotto that does double duty as a main dish and veg…though if someone in your household happened to grill up some salmon or chicken to go alongside, that would be hard to turn down.

Asparagus Risotto with Sorrel Pesto and Preserved Lemon

For the pesto:
2 c. sorrel leaves (some peppery arugula or spinach would be fine, too)
2 c. cilantro or parsley
3 cloves garlic
1/4 c. pine nuts or filberts (aka hazelnuts)
1/2 c. olive oil
1/2 c. grated parmesan

For the risotto:
1 lb. asparagus, peeled, trimmed and cut into one-inch-long pieces, tips reserved

2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

3 Tbsp. butter or margarine
1/2 onion, diced

1 Tbsp. garlic, finely chopped
2 c. arborio rice

1 c. white wine
4 c. chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 c. sorrel pesto

1/2 c. grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 c. preserved lemon, chopped (or zest of one lemon)
Salt to taste


To make the pesto, place the sorrel, cilantro, garlic and pine nuts in the bowl of a food processor. Begin processing while slowly adding the olive oil until the mixture is a smooth purée, scraping down as necessary with a spatula. Remove to a bowl and stir in the half cup of parmesan.

Clean the processor, then put half of the chopped asparagus stalks in the food processor and add just enough water to make a smooth purée; set aside.

Put stock in a medium saucepan over very low heat. Then, in a deep skillet or large saucepan, heat oil and butter over medium heat. When it is hot, add onion and garlic, stirring occasionally until it softens, 3 to 5 minutes.

Add rice and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is glossy, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add white wine, stir, and let liquid absorb into the rice. Add warmed stock, 1/2 cup or so at a time, stirring occasionally. Each time stock has just about absorbed into the rice, add more. 

When you have used about half the stock, add the puréed asparagus and asparagus tips, then continue to add stock as necessary. In 5 minutes or so, begin tasting rice. You want it to be tender but with a bit of crunch; it could take as long as 30 minutes total to reach this stage. Add a half cup of the pesto, preserved lemon and parmesan and stir briskly, then remove from heat. Taste and adjust salt. (Risotto should be slightly soupy.) Serve immediately.