Kids Make Asparagus Frittata

Asparagus has a special place in the heart of the vegetable gardener. Being a perenniel, asparagus needs only to be planted once. Then, without much additional care, it will produce an abundance of lovely, fresh spears of asparagus year after year--for 15 years or more.

Kids, it turns out, love asparagus as well. They like to look at it's funny, spear-like shape. They like to hold it. They like to snap off the ends. And they like to saw it into pieces with their plastic knives.

Asparagus has a flavor unique in the world of vegetables and, as anyone who has eaten it knows, asparagus also has a lasting effect that shows up in a strange, odiferous way later in the bathroom. According to food authority Harold McGee, humans metabolize a sulfur-conatining substance--aspargusic acid--a chemical closely related to the essence of skunk spray, methanethiol. Because of genetic variations, not all people produce methanethiol, but most do. Kids just giggle when you mention it. But for adults, it's always a comfort to know you can tell when spring has arrived by the smell of your pee.

Making an asparagus frittata is so quick and easy I decided we should prepare asparagus two ways in our classes this week. First we cooked whole spears using my favorite method--poaching them in a large skillet filled with simmering, salted water.

I showed the kids how to find the tough part of the asparagus stem by bending it until it snaps. After we trimmed all the asparagus, we cooked it until there was just a tiny bit of resistance to the tooth. The cooked asparagus are plunged immediately into a bath of cold water, then are drained on paper towels. We dressed the asparagus in a red wine-mustard vinaigrette. They very quickly disappeared.

For the frittata, we used 12 eggs and my big, non-stick skillet. But the procedure is the same for a smaller frittata. Grease the skillet lightly and begin heating it on the stove. Meanwhile, beat the eggs well.

For a six-egg frittata, have four spears of asparagus on hand, cooked and cut into 3/4-inch pieces. Reserve the asparagus tips. Scatter the asparagus pieces in the skillet, then pour in the eggs. As the eggs cook on the bottom, lift around the edges with a heat-proof spatula so that the uncooked egg runs underneath. Continue this process until the egg is almost completely cooked. Arrange the asparagus tips on top, then set the skillet under the broiler to finish cooking.

The frittata is done when it is golden brown and rises to about twice its original size. To serve, cut the frittata into wedges, drizzle with extra virgin olive oil and dress with grated Parmesan cheese. Consider serving it warm for breakfast or dinner, or as a room-temperatur appetizer or at the center of a composed salad. It also makes a dramatic display item on a Sunday brunch buffet, set on a ceramic stand and garnished with mustard blossoms.

Kids Make 12-Egg Frittata

Last week we made deviled eggs in my "food appreciation" classes. As part of that exercise, I wanted the kids to get the feel of an egg--literally. We broke eggs into individual bowls and all the kids had a chance to pick it up with their hands, feel the difference between the yolk and the white, and let the whites slither through their fingers.

They loved the touchy-feely component of that lesson and it resulted in a lot of separated eggs. What to do with them? Some kids suggested muffins. There were votes for a cake. Another thought scrambled eggs would be a good use.

Well, we had enough eggs for a couple hundred muffins, and many, many cakes. The simplest solution, it seemed to me, was a frittata. So I brought my big, non-stick skillet to class this week along with a variety of components. The class divided into teams, each responsible for one component.

There was a broccoli team, responsible for dividing a head of broccoli into small florets. There was a Parmesan team, responsible for grating cheese. There was a roasted red pepper team, responsible for getting the peppers out of a jar and placing them on the frittata in a decorative fashion.

Meanwhile, I sauteed some sliced red onion very aggressively on the stove top. Setting that aside, I got the skillet good and hot and showed the kids what happened when I ladled some of our beaten egg mixture into the smoking skillet. Of course it sizzled and bubbled and began to brown around the edges. We added more egg, and I demonstrated how to use a heat-proof spatula to lift the cooked egg around the edges and tilt the skillet, so that the egg liquid would find a new place to cook.

We cooked the broccoli and the kids took turns adding that, the onion, the roasted red pepper and finally the cheese to our frittata. Then under the broiler it went to puff up and brown.

"Now, how do I get it out of the pan?" I asked the class.

I took bets on my getting the frittata out of the pan and onto a cutting board intact. Of course I won. The frittata slid right out, right on cue. We practiced some simple fractions, slicing the frittata into wedges. Then the kids wolfed it down.

Never has an egg--or a broccoli floret--been so popular.

Cooking in the Garden

Yesterday was my debut as chef-in-residence at the Washington Youth Garden, National Arboretum. The mission: conduct a cooking demonstration for the parents and children who come out to the garden on Saturday mornings to tend their plots.


Not knowing exactly what to expect in terms of kitchen accommodations, I chose something easy to go with the season: a 12-egg frittata with spring herbs and goat cheese.


I know, you're probably tired of hearing about my frittatas. But in fact, frittata makes great theater. Around 11:30 the families began to assemble around the picnic tables parked under a large shade tree at the edge of the garden. My "stove" was a pair of propane burners. I'd brought my own cutting board and tools.


My daughter and a couple of kids accompanied me to the herb garden where we gathered what seemed to taste right in my mind. There was plenty of mint, some dill, a variety of thyme and bunches of parsley. We also cut some of the scapes from a row of onion plants to give our egg dish a little zip.


While I was chopping herbs and making small talk with the crowd--feeling very much like Emerill on my little soap box--one of the parents gathered a group of kids to crack and beat the eggs.


I heated my 11-inch, non-stick skillet over one of the burners, laid on a thick drizzle of olive oil in my most theatrical manner. Then we poured in the eggs.


A non-stick skillet is essential. And I use a heat-proof spatula as well. As the eggs began to bubble and set up on the bottom, I showed my audience how to lift the edges, tilt the skillet and run the egg underneath so there are always new layers forming.


In went the herbs, "Bam!" Just like Emeril. Salt, "Bam!" Pepper, "Bam!"


When the eggs were almost cooked through, I crumbled goat cheese over the top. Now for the hard part, the big flourish. Would this baby flip? I wasn't sure.


The first frittata flipped, but only half-way. Now we had what looked like a giant conventional omelet. Not so bad. On the second try, everyone held there breath. Up into the air went a 12-egg pie. It flipped. It landed perfectly upside-down.


See how nicely browned that is? I said, pointing to the lovely, crinkly, brown underside that was now facing up.


Normally I cook the top side under the broiler. No chance of frittata paving the kitchen floor, and it browns much more nicely. But nobody was complaining.


Each pie got a nice drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil (I explained what that meant), then a dusting of Parmesan cheese. Then people lined up with their plates. I was told to expect up to 50. We might have seen 30. Nearly everyone took seconds, just small slices so everyone could have a taste.


Then a group of gardeners whisked my tools off to the water source in the garden and scrubbed them down. Heck, are we done already?


That was fun...

Photos by Tom Janota

Ramps are Here!

It's almost an annual tradition now. Our friends around the corner, Helen and Jeff, hail from West Virginia. Each spring they make a weekend trip back to their state of origin and casually announce that they will probably be hunting for ramps.

For the unitiated, ramps (Allium tricoccum) are a kind of leek that grows wild in damp, woodsy environments. It has a similar flavor to leeks, perhaps a bit more garlicky, only the green leafy parts are edible as well as the white stems.

Being one of the first edible plants to emerge in spring, ramps in the Appalachians have long been viewed as a tonic from a long winter without fresh vegetables. Many mountain communities hold ramp festivals in the Spring, celebrating their wild leeks with bluegrass music, clogging and line dancing.

Professional chefs have caught on. Now demand for ramps is so great that officials at Smoky Mountain National Park banned the harvesting of ramps in 2002. Overharvesting can set the plant back years. With native ramp supplies dwindling, horticulturists are now working on methods of cultivating ramps in man-made environments.

Typically Jeff will drop a bag of ramps at our door with an admonition that they haven't been cleaned or trimmed or anything. That's alright with us. You can't buy these at any store in the District of Columbia that I know of. (Or maybe you can and I just haven't heard of it. Readers, please correct me if I'm wrong.)

I don't need to say too much more about ramps because there's already been a fine posting over at the Bacon Press blog, with directions for sauteeing the ramps with a heap of bacon. I make them a little differently. I blanch them in salted boiling water first, then throw them into a skillet with sizzling extra-virgin olive oil.

The ramp delivery worked perfectly this year because we had already arranged a casual lunch with our friend Eric and at the last minute my sister Linda decided to join us. So we had a salad of greens with poached asparagus, sectioned oranges and an orange-mustard vinaigrette, garnished with tat soi blossoms, along with a frittata of ramps, baby potatoes, herbed goat cheese and garlic chives from the garden.

Very Spring-like and a fine way to enjoy ramps.

Is it Asparagus Yet?

I admit, I am not always the best prepared when it comes to putting lesson plans together. Today I realized I had classes to teach, but pressures on the rest of my schedule had prevented me from doing the usual due diligence.

I looked around the produce section for inspiration and what did I see? Asparagus, of course. It's just barely in season in this part of the world. In fact, I paid a visit to the Washington Youth Garden at the National Arboretum this morning and was handed a fresh spear snapped right out of the ground. I bit into it and immediately tasted that grassy, pea-like flavor that is so much more subtle, greener, more garden-like, than the flavor of cooked asparagus. Also much fresher and crisper than store-bought asparagus that has typically been a week or more on the road before you buy it. (The produce man will continually snip off the browned ends to make the asparagus appear fresher.)

I don't mean to rant about asparagus, only to remind people that it is, after all, a vegetable that comes out of the ground. In fact, it is a wonderful vegetable if only in the sense that it is a perennial, meaning it comes back year after year-- often for 10 to 20 years, as asparagus is a long-lived plant. You simple bury a "crown" in light, well-drained soil with plenty of sun. Don't harvest at all the first year and only a little the second year. By the third year you can pick as much as you want.

Asparagus is the first spring vegetable ready for harvest. At peak season, it will be growing like mad. You may be picking it every day just to keep up. At the tip of the stem--or "spear"--is a bud that will blossom into a willowy display of lacelike foliage that seems to be in a state of absolute riot. Otherwise we eat as much as we can, usually poached or steamed, although some cooks have taken to broiling or grilling asparagus. I don't see much sense in cooking asparagus to death or burning it over hot coals. The flavor is so ephemeral, so singular and elusive, it should be allowed to speak for itself, without so much interference, I think.

Anyway, I spotted the asparagus display at the local Whole Foods and that became my lesson plan. The asparagus and some eggs to make a quick frittata, the Italian idea of an open-faced omelet.

This is such an easy dish, I'm almost ashamed to admit I constructed a whole class around it. But the kids were ecstatic. They were begging for more.

First, poach a bunch of asparagus in salted water until they are just tender. I know some chefs like to tie the asparagus in bundles and cook it in a stock pot. But I've been most successful cooking asparagus in shallow water, say a skillet of water brought to boil. The spears are not agitated so much this way and I can hover over them, picking them out of the water with a pair of tongs at the very moment they are cooked through.

Plunge the cooked spears into a bowl of cold water to stop the cooking. Drain and blot the asparagus dry on paper towels. Do the same thing with some baby potatoes cut into quarters.

Cut the asparagus into 1/2-inch pieces. Over moderately-high heat, heat a large non-stick skillet and coat the bottom with extra-virgin olive oil. Place the cooked potatoes in the bottom of the skillet. After they begin to sizzle, toss once or twice. Add the aspargus. Then pour in 12 beaten eggs seasoned with salt and pepper.

(You can use regular, store-bought eggs for this. But try pasture-raised eggs sometime from a local farmer or farmer's market. The yolks have a much deeper, saffron color to them that infuses the whole dish. Only chickens that forage on greens in the pasture, ingesting all that beta-carotene, lay eggs like this. We get them with our farm subscription.)

Use a heat-proof spatula to work around the edges of the egg as it begins to cook, lifting the edge here and there and tilting the skillet so the uncooked egg runs underneath. When nearly all of the egg is cooked through, crumble goat cheese and then chopped chives over the whole thing, then place under the broiler for a few minutes, or until the frittata has puffed up and is well-browned around the edges. (Another method is to flip the frittata in the pan like a pancake. But I don't recommend this for beginners unless you like to eat your eggs off the floor.) Keep an eye on it so it doesn't burn. It will make a mighty impressive sight.

Remove the frittata from the oven. Use the spatula to loosen the edges of the frittata and slide the whole thing--tipping the skillet until the pie begins to slide away--onto a large cutting board. Slice into 10 or 12 good wedges and serve either warm as is, with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, or room temperature with a fresh, green salad.

I'm not making this up: The kids were begging for seconds. "It looks just like pizza!" they screamed when I brought the frittata to the table.

If you don't have asparagus, you can make a frittata like this with almost anything. This time of year, I also like to make a frittata with canned roasted red peppers and sauteed red onion and marinated artichokes dusted with pecorino cheese. It's delicious with a glass of nicely chilled Chablis. .