How to be Unabashedly Girly

Springtime in Portland is ridiculously girly. The trees are covered with pink and purple flowers that match the favorite clothes of my 6 year old niece. The sky remains baby's breath blue, the clouds fluffy and cute. The warming weather sends women diving into the clothes that could not, and really should not, be worn by men: sandals and skirts and little dresses with yet more pink and flowers and ruffles and cute. The urge to put flowers in your hair is well-nigh irresistible. 

I used to judge myself for such things. I have brothers. I'm a tough girl, I thought. I can shoot and fish and hike and swear. I would try really hard not to be too girly. Girls squeal, and break out into song when they're drunk, and pretend to be "wild" when they are just being typical. Girls want to be "princesses" and "goddesses" instead of just people. Girls are high maintenance and over-thinking and often dismissed as illogical. I did not want to be dismissed, ever. 

Then I met the women of Oregon, and I learned how to get over it. To the Oregon woman, there is no divide between femininity and capability. Lacy underskirts never stopped an Oregon woman from planting a blueberry farm or getting a wagon out of a ditch, and they certainly aren't going to stop the modern day Oregon girl from hiking to the nearest lake for a swim. A true Oregon girl can tromp through the forest for hours, pointing out every native edible plant, set up camp by twilight, and make you nettle soup over a fire, all while wearing a crown of flowers that never seem to wilt. They are wood nymphs and sprites, bounding from branch to stream in gossamer dresses, all the while knowing much more than you about how to tough it out in the wild. My modern Oregon-girl friends have no shame in their feminine predilections, because they aren't worried about appearing incapable. Their houses have lace, delicate art, and baby chicks. They embrace make-up, dresses, and sweet smelling long baths, while planning their next backpacking trip or mountain climbing expedition. 

I've been contemplating this lack of dichotomy, for want of a better term, as I look for another cooking job. Restaurant kitchens are very male places. Full of fire, sharp object, and bravado, kitchens can be really annoyingly male. Given the springtime splendor of the Northwest, that is not where I want to be. I want to be female - kind, and playful, and covered in pink - without being questioned about my dedication or drive as a cook. I want to be an Oregon woman, fording my way into the field without taking off my skirt.

With that in mind, I think today I'll give you a very girly recipes that requires some self confidence and knowing your own tastes: 

Strawberry Rhubarb Tartlettes with Lemon Cream

Pastry:

This pastry dough is much less difficult than you have been led to believe, particularly if you have a food processor. There is only one important direction: Don't over mix. You want it a bit chunky, with little bits of butter still clearly visible in the finished product, because each little bit of butter is going to make a flake, and each flake is going to add up to it being flaky, delicious pastry.

So, put 2 & 1/4 cups flour and 2 sticks butter, cold, and cut up into small little bits into a food processor. Pulse a few times - really, just like three times - and add a little sugar (a tablespoon or so), a pinch of salt, and maybe a little flavor if you like - maybe a bit of lemon zest? A few thyme leaves? Some rosemary flowers? Herbs and flowers are girly - go for it. Pulse again, until everything is broken up into small chunks, about 4 or 5 times more. 

Now break out your vodka. Why vodka? It's only 60% water, so you can use more of it without developing the tough, cardboard-like texture that can be the bane of tart makers world-wide. Drizzle a little vodka over everything - maybe 1/2 a cup? - and pulse it together once or twice more. It should mostly form a ball. Dump the entire shebang, including any unincorporated bits, onto a sheet of plastic and press it all together into a disk. Wrap well and refrigerate for at least a half an hour. It needs to be cold, and hard. 

(this would be a good time to make the filling)

Once the pastry has chilled, roll it out on a floured surface and gently press rounds of it into false-bottom tartlette pans. "Dock" the bottoms by poking holes i them with a fork, and freeze for about 20 minutes. preheat the oven to 375 degrees

(this would be a good time to make the cream)

Once the tartlette shells are good and cold, pop them in the oven and bake for about 15 minutes, or until just golden. Keep an eye on them, if they bubble, deflate them with a knife-poke. When they are crisp and pale gold, remove from the oven and cool. Fill before serving.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote:

In my humble opinion, rhubarb is the Oregon girl of vegetables. First of all, it's pink, and proud of it. It will happily color other foods, or a jar of vodka, with it's cheery hue. But also, Rhubarb is a vegetable: it's tart, strong, and hardy. It can do savory, but it likes to be sweet. It takes only the slightest gentle warming to soften it up, but it can grow almost anywhere.

I prefer to keep this compote rhubarb-heavy. The strawberries aren't quite in season, here in Oregon, so they seem a little exotic, and rhubarb is really delicious all on it's own. 

1 pint strawberries, cleaned and quartered

4-5 large stalks of Rhubarb, chopped into small chunks.

1 tablespoon butter

Sugar, to taste. 

1 star anise

A splash of Cointreau

A lemon

Melt the butter over medium-low heat and toss in the rhubarb and anise. Sprinkle with a generous handful of sugar and stir. When the rhubarb starts to "melt" taste a cooked bit and add a little more sugar if it is very, very tart (remember, the strawberries and Cointreau are sweet, too). Stir in the splash of Cointreau. When the rhubarb is about three quarters cooked - mostly mush with a few chunks - take it off the heat and add the strawberries. Stir, let the residual heat of the rhubarb warm the berries. Taste. Do the strawberries need some more heat? Does it need more sugar? If it's too sweet, maybe a squeeze of lemon? Cool, and fish out the anise if you're so inclined.

Lemon creme:

Whip heavy cream in a cold metal bowl with a whisk. When it starts to thicken, add lemon zest, powdered sugar, and tiny bit of Pernod. Whip until think and fluffy, but not stiff. 

To assemble, simply put a generous amount of compote into a tartlette shell, and top with creme. Decorate with a few lavender flowers or a nasturtium, if you are so inclined.

Eat shoots and leaves.

For those of us in the Northern half of the nation early spring is a time of temptation and frustration. Our thumbs are screaming for green, the skies seem to tease us with sunshine every three days or, here in Portland, three hours, and the temperature hints that we might soon be able to shed our woolen outer layers for perhaps a whole day.

But just as I can't yet break out the open toed shoes without risking podietal hypothermia, I can't yet shed all of the food staples of winter. My tastebuds, like my other senses, long for warmth and spring. Foods that taste fresh and green and new. A complete revival from sleepy root vegetables and slow simmered meats. But there are difficulties in making a whole meal out of new shoots and just sprouted leaves - they are, mostly, very small and very expensive. A head of watercress is just delicious, but at 1.99 a bunch, your going to need a lot of money to have a filling salad. Spring onions and asparagus are lovely, tender and sublime, but also small and more expensive by weight than light sweet crude.

The trick, then, with these lovely little gems is to create a meal entirely infused with delicate spring flavors while filling you up with less expensive staples. The staples depend on the flavor, of course, but the challenge is to leave the delicate green flavors relatively clear - supported, but not overwhelmed. In other words, the veggies here are Hillary Clinton and the grains meats are Bill. When Bill lets Hillary shine, as he seems to be doing now, she is in control, happy being the main flavor. When Bill butts in - remember that comment about Jesse Jackson winning some primaries? - he overwhelms and Hillary can seem weak and insipid. 

As usual, let's start with the simplest recipe. You know how to make this, actually, before I even start. Wilt some vegetables over medium high heat in a pan, toss with pasta, herbs, and a little cheese. But because we are dealing with spring, let's finesse a few points:

Pasta with Spring onions, Fennel, Mint, Grapefruit and Fresh Mozzarella

1 lb short pasta, such as fusilli

2 large head fennel

2 bunches spring onions (btw, these aren't scallions, these are baby onions - ask your grocer)

1 bunch mint

1 large grapefruit

1/2 to 2/3 lb fresh mozz (2 ovaline, or a dozen brocconcini)

Salt, Pepper, Butter, Extra Virgin olive.

Cook the pasta in well salted water until al dente. Package instructions are good, but start checkin on the little suckers two minutes before the package says. reserve at least 1/2 a cup of pasta water when you drain.

While the water comes to a boil: Quarter, core and cut the fennel into thin-ish strips. Clean the onions, cut cross wise into two inch segments, and quarter lengthwise for 2 inch strips. Roughly chop the mint. Use a zester-grater to get as much zest off the grapefruit as possible, set aside. Peel the grapefruit with a sharp knife and cut into chunks, reserving as much of the juice as possible. Cut the mozz. into about the same size.

When the pasta goes into the water, melt a pat of butter and a little olive oil in a hot pan until the butter ceases to bubble. Toss in fennel and onion and stir fry, basically, with a liberal dose of salt and pepper, until cooked and perhaps a little browned. Turn off heat, toss in the grapefruit fruit and zest, and warm it up with the residual heat. Don't overmix, the grapefruit is delicate in this state.

When the pasta is just done, drain, and add the pasta to the vegetable goodness - but not all at once! Only add as much pasta as looks right for the amount of vegetable. (Don't let Bill get in the way). Toss in another generous pat or two of butter, heaping handfuls of mint, and the fresh mozz and toss together until the moss is just starting to melt. Add a little pasta water if things look too dry, but the grapefruit juices should have you covered.

Serve and be happy. I recommend not breaking out the parmesan with this one - it's a little strong.

Watercress Soup:

The key here is to use only things that reinforce the green watercress flavor. So use leeks, not yellow onions, and clean white potatoes, not yellow.

1 large russet potato

1 bunch leeks (2 big or 3 smaller)

2 stalks celery

2 bunches watercress

a little bit of cream, sour cream, or half and half

Butter, salt and pepper

Peel and dice the potato, keeping the diced potato reserved in cold water while you do anything else. Cut the celery and leek into little half moons and wash thoroughly. Cut the roots from the watercress.

Over medium/medium low heat, melt a pat of butter and saute the first three ingredients with a dash of salt and a little pepper until softened. Cover with water and simmer until fully cooked. Transfer to a food processor or blender (or use an immersion blender if you are lucky enough to have one) and blend until smooth - adding a little more water if it is too thick. Stuff both cleaned heads of watercress into the hot soup whole with a spoonful or three of cream and blend again. Taste for salt. Maybe a few drops of lemon juice? It should be incredibly watercress-y and delicious.