Liver and Onions

Some people hate liver. My wife does not care for organ meat. She would rather die than eat a filtering organ. Me, I like offal of all kinds: liver, kidneys, sweetbreads, heart, tongue, gizzards. Bring it on. It's a shame you can't hardly find it any more at the grocery. We do see kidneys once in a while. Liver--beef liver--seems to be the one consistent exception to the new rule. Occasionally calve's liver. But usually it's hidden in the freezer section.

This particular liver is special. It comes from our dairy, Smith Mountain Creamery, which sells a wide variety of meats. The beef is from their own dairy cows. Lamb and pork they obtain from other farmers in the area. Especially if you are trying to save a penny, it's hard to resist liver.

My favorite way to prepare liver is still the classic diner version. First caramelize a skillet-full of onions. Then drop a dollop of butter in the pan, raise the heat and cook the liver fairly quickly on each side. Unless it is a very thick slice, it will be done in just a couple of minutes. I prefer mine with just a hint of pinkness in the center, not always an easy thing to achieve. Serve immediately.

The Onion Experiment

There's just so much to learn about food gardening that it can't possibly be thought of as anything but a lifelong process. This year it's onions we are trying to focus on. We'd like to get those right so we are planting them from seed.

The last couple of years we planted onion sets that we bought from our farmer friend Mike. Onion sets are simply onions from last year that are pulled from the ground when they were still small, then stored until spring for re-planting. Ours never seemed to get large enough after we planted them in the garden. I asked Drew Norman about it when I was visiting him at One Straw Farm over the summer. He said onions do much better when planted from seed.

Since then I've learned that there are three different types of onions to select from depending on which area of the country you live in. There are "long day" onions, for instance, that are bred to perform well in the more northerly latitudes, where the sun shines much longer during the summer. There are "short day" onions better suited for the southern states where days are shorter during the summer. Finally there are "intermediate" onions that do better somewhere in the middle.

Well, guess what? The line separating "long day" from "short day" onions runs right through the District of Columbia where we live. So which onion to choose? I decided to try some of each. I opened our copy of Johnny's Seed catalogue to start the search.

Some seed catalogues list their onions as "long day," "short day" or "intermediate." Johnny's, by contrast, indicates in the description of each onion the latitudinal range in which it will do best. The District of Columbia sits at 38 degrees latitude. The onion "Candy" caught my eye. It is supposed to do well in the 33-40 degree latitude range, which makes it an "intermediate" onion. I ordered some of those. The onion "Copra" is supposed to produce large, sturdy bulbs that store for a long time. It does best in 38-55 degrees latitude, making it a "long day" onion, just on the edge of our range. I also picked a red onion, "Ruby Ring," that is adapted to 35-50 degrees latitude, according to Johnny's. This is supposed to be an "excellent red storage type," and since we love an occasional red onion, I had to have it.

I also selected two different bunching onions or scallions, one to grow through the season and another hardy variety to over-winter. I'm sure we'll have more than enough of those. And since ordering my seeds I've learned something else about growing onions: if you don't want to bother with sets or planting seeds in trays, you can buy bunches of young plants.

Already I can see some advantages to buying onions as plants. Onion seeds are normally planted in trays very early in the year, January or February. But unless you have a greenhouse or a grow light system, you may have trouble giving the seedlings enough light after they've germinated. The sun is still very low in the sky. It hits our window at a sharp angle before disappearing around the corner.

I planted our seeds a week ago. They are just starting to germinate. I only hope we get enough sun through the window. Or perhaps it will be warm enough to set them outside during the day. That's what makes this an experiment. Fortunately, if all else fails, I'll still have time to buy bunches of young plants and get them in the ground.

A Final Flurry of Pickling

It's been a race to get my Pickling Powerpoint ready for presentation at the local historical society this morning. Lots of pickling and photos of pickles. I think we have enough pickles to last us through the winter. Some of the best pickles are the easiest, such as these Middle Eastern-style pickled turnips with beets. They simply marinate in a big jar with a vinegar brine, taking on a pinkish hue from the beets harvested from our garden. We brought some of these pickled turnips to a recent presidential debate party and everyone fell for them--even those who normally don't like turnips. (Well, they hardly taste like turnips after they've pickled.)

Some non-traditional pickles fall into the category of "quick." These fresh chunks of pineapple are tossed with mint leaves, then submerged in a brine made with cider vinegar, brown sugar, cinnamon and fresh cranberries. They can be eaten almost immediately. Pack them into pint jars and stash in the fridge. They'd be a great condiment for the next pork roast, no?

To demonstrate the classic method of pickling with alcohol, I made these pears preserved in Calvados. I have fond memories of bicycling through Normandy (a lifetime ago, it seems) where everything is made of apples, from the crepes to the cider to the brandy. Calvados is highly refined. Another local branch water--chouchen--is sweet and extremely potent. I'll be saving these sultry looking pears for a special occasion, perhaps a holiday dessert buffet.

These are red onions drenched in a brine of vinegar, chipotle en adobo, garlic, orange zest and mescal. Very easily assembled, this condiment is ready to consume the next day but will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. I see it in a taco stuffed with pork carnitas, or perhaps on the next barbecue sandwich.

These pickled mushrooms remind me of our wedding, back in the last century. My wife and I made most of the food ourselves--mostly pickles, cheeses and other preserved foods that we were able to start weeks ahead, then present on a grand buffet with a basket of assorted breads. It was just the thing for a backyard October feast.

When you are growing your own food--sometimes more than you can possibly consume--pickling presents itself as a vital option. We had four jalapeno plants that produced an abundance of peppers. I recently pulled the plants to create a new garlic bed and found myself looking at two pints worth of peppers. Preserved in a vinegar brine, they will make a nice condiment for spicy foods.

Finally, I am occasionally reminded that you can pickle almost anything, including meats and seafood. Pickled pig's feet, corned beef, pickled herring and of coarse gravlax, or pickled salmon.

The process in fact is extremely simple if you can get your hands on two or three pounds of salmon. Create a dry mix of coarse salt, sugar and cracked pepper and spread it thickly over a fillet of salmon, along with heaps of chopped dill. Make a sandwich with a second fillet, cover the whole thing with a sheet of aluminum foil and weight it down with a big can of hominy. Place in the refrigerator for three or four days, turning the salmon sandwich a couple of times daily. In the end, you will have delicious gravlax. Cut into thin slices and serve with black bread and your favorite, ice-cold vodka.

We are thinking we need to throw a pickle party. What do you think?

Onion Harvest

How do you know when your onions are ready to harvest?

The foliage falls to the ground and turns brown.

These are the onions we harvested last week. This is our first year growing onions, so I qualify only as an onion novice. We were hoping for bigger onions. The red ones were particularly small--only the size of golf balls. When I mentioned this to Drew Norman on a recent visit to his farm in Baltimore County, he immediately asked, "Did you plant them from seeds or from sets?"

After doing a bit more reading on onions, I've learned that onions are much more likely to thrive if started from seed rather than from sets, the sets being in essence a baby onion. Why this is so I'm still not sure. Growing from seeds would pose a bit of difficulty for us, since the seeds would be planted in dead of winter and we don't have a greenhouse. We'll have to think on that one.

In addition, I think our onions could have used more sun. Onions are divided into two categories: long-day, for northern areas of the country, and short-day for the South. Here in the District of Columbia we are a bit on the edge, but a check of my catalogue for Southern Exposure Seed (based near Charlottesville, VA) indicates that long-day onions are recommended for our region.

Our east-facing garden gets an average of six to seven hours of sun. As the season wore on, our rows of onions were a bit shaded by surrounding tomato plants. They might also have done better with additional side dressings of compost. Onions apparently do like to feed.

Still, we are happy to have our own ready supply of onions from the garden. I am following directions to cure them by leaving them in a well-ventilated spot out of direct sun for a couple of weeks, or until they develop a tough skins. The onions should not be touching each other. For long-term storage, you can hang the onions in an old pair of nylon stockings, tying off each onions so they are all held in their own individual pouches.

The only remaining question would be, Where do you get the old nylons?

French Onion Soup

The moment finally arrived yesterday to turn the extraordinary beef stock we made last week into an extraordinary French onion soup.

This was a team effort. I made the beef stock. My wife, with her usual expert attention to detail, finished the soup. As her reference, she used The New Best Recipe, from the editors at Cook's Illustrated magazine. A small controversy arose, as the good editors at Cook's Illustrated felt compelled to give a recipe substituting a mix of store-bought chicken stock, beef stock and red wine for an authentic beef stock.

My wife happens to believe that if this gets harried cooks to attempt a French onion soup, all the better. My personal opinion is, I don't really have an opinion. It just seems to me that the time it takes to gather up the ingredients for a faux-stock could just as easily be spent gathering up the ingredients for a real stock. Really, there is not that much extra effort involved and a homemade beef stock will send you into orbit, it is that good.

Once you've settled the matter of a stock, the soup is fairly simple. Slice five red onions thinly and saute them with two tablespoons butter and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a heavy pot at least 30 minutes, stirring frequently, or until the onions are extremely soft, reduced and syrupy. Add 6 cups stock and 1/4-cup red wine, plus 2 sprigs parsley, 1 sprig thyme, 1 bay leaf.

Scrape the onions from the bottom of the pot. Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 20 minutes. Stir in 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper as needed.

To finish the soup in the traditional French style, ladle it into six deep ceramic bowls and place two slices of baguette, cut on an angle, on top of each. Over the bread, distribute Greyere and Asiago cheese, approximately 4 1/2 ounces Gruyere and 3 ounces Asiago total.

My wife was able to use our cheese slicer--the kind with a taught wire on the handle--to make very thin slices out of the Gruyere. She grated the Asiago. But however you manage it will be fine, since the cheese melts in the oven. My wife simply dislikes those presentations where the cheese is melted in big globs on the edge of the soup bowl, and cheese is running down the sides (remember, you do have to clean the bowls afterwards).

Now place the soup bowls on a baking sheet and put them under the broiler until the cheese is melted, browned and even charred a little in picturesque fashion. Carefully place the hot bowls on an underliner to bring to the table and serve with your favorite red wine.

The soup is a meal in itself. When you think about it, between the bread, the cheese, the onions and the beef, virtually all the major food groups are represented. But we went ahead and served a salad afterwards with a variety of winter greens, dried cranberries, a leftover lump of Feta cheese and a honey-mustard vinaigrette. We had a bunch of bananas going bad, so my wife made our favorite banana bread with chocolate nibs for dessert, served with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.

This was a simple meal, but a perfect Sunday supper. I urge you: should any beef scraps fall into your hand--or bones--make beef stock. You will not regret it.

How to Peel a Pearl

Pearl onions are one of those items that never found their way into my grocery cart. Too much work. Who wants to spend all that time peeling the skin off that itty, bitty thing?

No, there just didn't seem to be much of a payoff with pearl onions. But I was wrong. Peeling them is not very hard it all. Oh, there's some work involved, alright. But it's not hard. And it's worth it for the sweet flavor these onions deliver.

The trick is to blanch the onions to loosen the skins. Bring a pot of water to a boil, drop in the onions and let them cook for one minute. Then drain the pot or remove the onions with a slotted spoon and immerse them in cold water. To peel, trim the root end from the onion. I find a small serrated knife is best for this as the onions are a bit slippery. With the root end removed, you can squeeze the stem end between your fingers. The onion will slip away from the skin and pop free.

I use the same procedure for skinning other small onions such as cipollini. Once the skin is removed, the onions can go back in the pot to cook through. Cipollinis are particularly good caramelized in a sweet-and-sour manner--dressed with vinegar and sugar. Brown them agressively for a dramatic side dish.

Last night we spent the evening with our friend Shelley and John watching the Super Bowl. John had made a huge pot of beef stew with pearl onions. Coincidentally, I'd made a hearty dish of lentils with pearl onions. It had been too long since the last time we'd had lentils, and the pearl onions add just the right amount of sweetness to the meaty lentil flavor.

For a big pot of lentils, first blanch and skin 20 ounces pearl onions. In a big, heavy pot, heat three tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil. Add the onions plus 3 large carrots peeled and sliced on the diagonal; 4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced; 1 teaspoon salt; 4 fresh thyme sprigs; 1 bay leaf. Cook over moderate heat until vegetables begin to soften, then add 2 cups French green (or Puy) lentils, rinsed, and 5 cups water. Bring the pot to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and cook until the lentils are tender.

The cooking time for the lentils will vary depending on freshness. Expect somewhere between 12 and 20 minutes. Test them occasionally. They should be just tender, not mushy. To serve, remove the thyme sprigs and the bay leaf. Adjust the salt as needed and season with freshly ground black pepper.

This is a great dish to serve next to a braised lamb shank. But really, lentils have a meatiness all their own. Just spoon some into a bowl and garnish with some chopped fresh parsley and maybe a drizzle of olive oil.

Secret Revealed

For years our friend Larry has been serving us these sweet onion tea sandwiches that we always assumed could not possibly be as simple as they turn out to be.

Yesterday I was tasked with making "snacks" for about 20 people so I decided to put these sneaky little delectables on the menu.

I felt truly devious, because I knew exactly what the guests were in for. Originally we were planning on 18 persons for the event. Nearly 30 showed up. Predictably, the sandwiches were devoured in short order. And now I am going to reveal to the rest of the world what Larry has been keeping such a well-guarded (maybe not) secret.

Start with a loaf of thinly sliced brioche. You could also use a hallah bread for this. The point is to make the sandwiches out of a rich, eggy bread, however you chose to do so. But I suppose even a garden variety white bread would do in a pinch.

I got my brioche at Whole Foods by ordering it the day before. There was a brief moment of panic. I went in to retrieve the brioche at the appointed hour yesterday and an unwitting clerk had placed it on the shelf for sale to the general public. I began to imagine the disaster that would ensue without our brioche. Fortunately it was still on the shelf.

We were saved.

Now take one Vidalia onion, peel it and slice it thinly as well.

Make as many sandwiches as the number of brioche slices with allow, laying a thin smear of mayonnaise on two pieces of bread, placing some onion slices on one piece, then covering with the second slice of bread. Using a 2-inch round cookie cutter, cut as many rounds from your assembled sandwiches as you can, avoiding the crust as much as possible.

To finish the sandwiches, finely chop a fistful of flat-leaf parsley. Spread some mayonnaise around the outside edges of the sandwich rounds and roll them in the parsley.

When the onion sandwiches are complete, stack them proudly on a pedestal platter and serve for hors d'oeuvres. They would be delicious with a voluptuous Vouvray wine.

But whatever you do, don't give away the secret.

Where Food Comes From

Why does real food cost more, you ask? Take a look at the man on the left, down on his kness planting onions by hand. That's Mike Klein, a farmer friend from Bandywine, MD, who is planting crops for his summer subscription service.

I paid a visit to Mike and his wife Michelle yesterday to see what they were up to. This is a busy time for farmers, preparing fields and planting. The Klein's spread comprises about 11 acres 35 miles south of Washington, DC. They bought the place a few years ago to fulfill a longtime ambition of getting closer to the earth. Originally, they had studied aqua-culture in California.

Well, Mike is very close to the earth these days. In fact, he has his hands in it most of the time. When he's not out in the fields, he's working in his germination room or in the greenhouse, starting tomato plants and eggplants, peppers and a variety of herbs.

I told Mike he could have me for a couple of hours and he put me right to work planting onions. That's what you see him doing here with a bag of Stuttgarter onion sets. The field we're planting is about 50 yards long and consists of three rows that Mike has "disced" with his tractor. The tractor pulls a set of eight saucer-shaped discs that turn the soil, breaking the crusty top layer and creating eight shallow groves or furrows to plant the onions in.

"How's your back?" Mike asks me.

I'm not sure exactly why he asks. But I soon find out. Shortly I am on my knees as well, reaching into the bag of small onion sets and pressing them, one at a time, into the narrow furrows about three inches--or "three fingers"--apart. Reaching across all eight grooves is too much, so Mike advises working down one side of the row, then tackling the other side, planting four grooves with each pass.

It's reach into the bag for a handful of onion sets, turn, stretch to plant one groove, pressing each small onion into the soil just far enough for the root end to make good contact. Then turn, reach into the bag again, start with another groove and repeat the process. You have to position your feet so they don't disturb the onions already planted in the neighboring row. Twisting, turning, reaching, bending. No wonder Mike asked about my back.


My wife has been threatening to sign me up for yoga. All I have to say is, Honey, yoga ain't got nothin' on planting onions.


I ask Mike if there aren't machines to do this kind of work. "There probably are," he says. But his onion crop isn't big enough to justify the investment.

After 30 minutes or so, I'm starting to feel the pain in my back. I shift positions, leaning more to one side, then another. I try sitting on my butt. I find that I can plant the two farthest grooves perched on my knees, then gain some relief by sitting back on my hindquarters to plant the closer two grooves. I look up: After an hour's work, I've planted about a 2o-foot length. Only about 130 feet more to go.

Mike, who's been working on another project in the barn, comes over to check my progress. He grabs a few onions and starts planting opposite me, on the other side of the row. I can't help noticing that his planting is about three times faster than mine. "I have a vested interest," he says.

Later he will cover the rows of onion sets with hay to hold down weeds and retain moisture in the soil.

We chat about the price of fuel, about how urban sprawl is sucking up so much farmland. New homes, what we call "McMansions," are popping up just down the road from Mike's farm. The cost of land makes farming close to the city an expensive proposition. The last farm inside Washington's famous beltway recently gave up the ghost. Mike and Michelle are lucky they bought their land when they did. They might not be able to afford it now.


To save our backs, we call it quits on onion planting for the day. Mike has another project for me, helping remove the black plastic from another field. Last year the plastic was serving as mulch for several rows of tomato plants. The plastic sheets are about four feet wide. Grass has grown over the edges so densely that there's no removing the plastic by hand.

Mike switches out appliances on the back of his old International tractor, replacing the furrowing discs with what looks like a pair of huge fishing hooks. Mike's plan is to run the tractor straddling the rows of black plastic. The hooks will dig into the soil, cutting through the grass and loosening the outside edges of the plastic.

My job is to come behind Mike and pull the plastic free of the soil.

The plastic runs in long, continues sheets. So I am pulling and shaking off clods of soil and hunks of sod and pieces of dessicated tomato vine. Tug a little, shake a little. Most of the plastic comes loose. Sometimes it tears into ungainly pieces. It's dirty work. Dust and sod fly everywhere.


We finally remove most of the plastic. It lies in big piles next to the planting rows. Mike hands me some empty chicken feed bags and I walk to each pile, stuffing the plastic into the bags. Fortunately, this plastic is pretty lightweight and stuffs easily.


We had planned to get a bite for lunch. But already the day is slipping away. Mike has a long list of chores. And I want to get home before rush-hour starts.


"Maybe next time," Mike says.

He hands me a small paper bag of onion sets. It seems Mike always has a bag of something to share. Now I can show my 7-year-old daughter how to plant onions in our garden at home.