The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [60]
Roasted Potato Salad with Beet Greens and Stems, Wild Garlic, Chives, and Hedge Mustard
Beet greens and stems are a good reminder that even though some parts of a vegetable are not as popular or as commonly eaten as the ones we’re most familiar with, they’re still perfectly edible. In the case of deep purple beet-green stems, they’re actually terrific—mild, crisp, and nutritious to boot. This light potato salad uses minimal dressing, with herbs from the park. Be sure to consult a wild edibles expert and have some experience in identifying the plants before picking, though!
6 medium waxy potatoes, such as red or Yukon gold
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)
Greens and stems from 1 bunch of beets
2 teaspoons finely chopped wild garlic bulbs
1 teaspoon finely chopped hedge mustard flower
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon finely chopped wild chives (the stems from the wild onion plant)
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Cut potatoes into roughly 1-inch wedges. Coat with about 2 tablespoons of the oil, and season with salt, pepper, and optional cayenne. Roast approximately 15 minutes or until pieces are lightly browned and crisped in some parts. Let cool.
Coarsely chop beet-green leaves and stems. Heat a tablespoon of the oil, and once it’s hot, toss in the leaves and stems. Add the wild garlic and hedge mustard along with a pinch of salt and pepper. Toss for 1 minute, or just until the leaves are wilted. Remove from heat.
Trim the toughest, thickest ends from the beet-green stems and discard. Chop the remaining stems and leaves into roughly ½-inch pieces (or pieces about the size of your chopped celery). In a large bowl, whisk the remaining tablespoon of olive oil with the balsamic vinegar and add the wild chives. Combine the potatoes, beet greens and stems, and celery, and toss to coat evenly. Can be served warm, room temperature, or cold.
CHAPTER 7
Not Ordering In LESS HASTE, LESS WASTE
By sowing frugality we reap liberty, a golden harvest.
—Agesilaus
The kitchen in the new apartment I shared with Ben was about half the size of the one that I shared with Erin. Everything about it was miniaturized: the stove, the sink, and the lone slat of counter space, which was about the size of a sheet of legal paper. It fit the one cutting board I had, and that was all. But like the rest of the appliances in the unit, everything in it was brand-new. And since Ben didn’t use the kitchen for much of anything, aside from placing the spare bike part on top of the refrigerator now and then, it was also all mine. For the first time in my life, I had complete reign over a kitchen—no roommates to share cooking space with, no dirty dishes that I didn’t play a part in creating.
Once I broke the kitchen into my cooking routine, it became clear that my cohabitation with Ben was going to need some guidelines. First, I would be the cook, plain and simple. Naturally I pegged Ben as the dishwasher at first, but it turned out he had a near-phobic aversion to doing the dishes. I had seen this disorder before in many others—roommates and friends. They abhorred washing dishes as if it were the filthiest task the human race could deign to complete. So they piled up their sinks with them, leaving the leftover crusts of food to fester there for days at a time. I soon realized that if I forced Ben to be the dishwasher, this is what would end up happening. So instead, I made him the official floor scrubber, bathroom cleaner, duster, sweeper, garbage taker-outer, and uncontested handyman of the rest of the entire apartment. The kitchen was solely my territory.
With this new sense of power in mind, my nightly cooking habits took on a more ambitious turn. One of the first dishes I made using the oven was a Hanukkah recipe I had read about in The New York Times for stuffed-under-the-skin chicken. I took my time creating the stuffing and carefully packing it under the skins of