Quesadillas with Leeks, Turkey, and Sheep Cheese

This is one of those meals birthed from an iron-chef-esque hurried hunt for lunch. What's in the fridge? Tortillas... sliced turkey... ooey gooey sheeps cheese... and a leek. How can I use these random ingredients to make something passable in the ten minutes I have before class? Ah, the totally nontraditional quesadilla!

I spread some of this delicious sheep's milk cheese called "Valentine" on some corn tortillas. The cheese is from Ancient Heritage Dairy in Scio, Oregon, and you can find their awesome sheep and cow cheese every weekend at the PSU farmers market. Their dairy sheep are some of the happiest animals on earth, and the dairy's slogan is "Raised with respect, nourished to nourish you." Their sheep's milk feta is my absolute favorite, anywhere. But that's for another day.

I sauteed the leek in olive oil, but I didn't add any salt - if you're using a creamy cheese like this one, the flavor is already in there - and threw them on the cheesey tortilla. I topped it off with a slice of turkey, and popped it in a hot pan for a minute on each side. A dash of hot sauce, some cilantro, and a dollop of yogurt and I was ready to eat.

I'm not enamored with the hot sauce I've got right now, and I'm thinking of trying some of Dulcet's sauces instead. They have a Sweet Orange Chile Mustard that is killer on a sandwich. I hope they'll be showing up at the market soon!

It doesn't take hours to cook fresh, local food. Take it from a busy college student on a budget. Speaking of which, I've got class in ten minutes! Gotta run, Eat well!

Sunny Sunchoke Pickles

The first time someone served me sunchokes (also known as Jerusalem artichokes), it was pureed - a sort of creamy mash with a nutty flavor. The next time I ate them, they were served as creamy sunchoke mush... and the next, well, I think you get the point. What do you do with a little root that looks like a potato or a piece of ginger, and is sold as an "artichok" (see below)? Apparently, you mash it with butter. Don't get me wrong, I love things mashed with butter. It's one of my favorite ways to eat, well, anything, but it also seems a shame to mask the interesting shape and flavor of this relative of the sunflower by treating it like a potato with an identity crisis.

I wanted to branch out a bit, so I pickled mine! I'm not going to claim this was complete ingenuity - people have been making sunchoke relish and pickles for centuries, but I was pleased to make something fresh and crisp from the oft-mashed veggie.



It seems that the culinary world is a bit confused by this tuber, and if you look at its history, you shouldn't be surprised. The sunchoke is one of the few tubers native to this part of the world - indigenous peoples of America have been growing and eating sunchokes for centuries. Apparently, the Europeans were subject to rumors that the plant was dangerous if eaten. Some brave soul decided to try one anyway (maybe in a game of truth or dare), and figured out that it was mighty tasty. After this, the story goes that some French explorer took some plants back to an Italian friend, who, upon remarking that its flavor resembled an artichoke, named the tuber "girasole articicco," meaning, "sunflower artichoke."

Like a game of telephone gone goofy, English speakers flubbed up the name and called in a Jerusalem Artichoke - though they have absolutely no connection to the holy city. Ah, but the name stuck, and perhaps the early myths of the danger have survived through history, because these tasty guys are still on the fringes of the culinary world. Don't worry, they are only myths. The sunchoke is the root of the Helianthus tuberosus, which looks like a mini sunflower. Also, they seem to be a good starch alternative for diabetics, because the substance that allows the tuber to make it through the winter, inulin (not insulin), breaks down into fructose instead of glucose during digestion. Sunchokes are completely safe, even if they won't be winning any beauty contests.

It was pretty empowering to make a batch of pickles, even if they were simply refrigerator pickles that didn't require any special sterilization or months of waiting. My roommates weren't too happy that I made the house smell like vinegar and spices, but by now they are used to my kitchen escapades and didn't complain. Much. A week in the fridge, and these pickles were ready for eating. They are so good, I've thrown in a bunch of veggies to the juice to pickle-ify them. The sunchokes themselves taste a bit like artichokes with the texture of jicama. A great way to try the weird looking tubers from the farmers market, with no danger at all. Well, except that vinegar smell.

Good luck, and Eat Well!

Oakley's Sunchoke Pickles

2 pounds sunchokes
1 red bell pepper
1 quart water, plus 1 cup
4 tablespoons salt, divided in half
3 cups cider vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon peppercorns
1 teaspoon celery seed
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1/2 teaspoon turmeric

Cut the sunchokes and bell peppers into thick slices (about 1/4 inch), and combine with the water and 2 tablespoons of salt. Let soak overnight in the fridge. Drain and rinse well.
Bring the cider vinegar, 1 cup of water, the remaining 2 tablespoons of salt, sugar, and all the spices to a boil for 6 minutes. Plug your nose and alert your roommates.
Pack a jar (or jars) with sunchokes and peppers, and pour the hot vinegar mixture over the veggies up to 1/2 inch below the neck. Place any remaining spices in the pot into the jars. Allow to cool, cover, and store in the refrigerator for a week before eating. These will keep for about 4 weeks in the refrigerator. Enjoy!

Sirloin Tacos with Red Cabbage, Scallions, and Cilantro

Eating seasonally is a funny project. During the winter, the farm finds are so fundamentally winter that it's difficult to break out of the soup/stew/casserole/roast recipes. But here I find myself dipping my toes into the first spring produce, and I'm making tacos with flavors I'd usually associate with a summer grill.

It may be a rebellion against the typically heavy foods of winter, the anticipation of sunny days on the horizon, or the abundance of fresh cilantro at the farmers market, but I found myself craving spicy, fresh, latin flavors this month. While my herb garden is sprouting, I'll be able to find everything I need, made and grown locally in Portland at the farmers market. That is, everything but citrus, the singular kink in my locavore chain. Most sacrifices are bearable - I don't really need avocado, I have no cravings for pineapple, but I miss citrus like I miss my parents. I should investigate those indoor lime trees.



I had some organic top sirloin strips (butcher cast-offs from some special order, always a good find) and some gorgeous red cabbage, fresh cilantro, some thick greek-style yogurt and scallions as big as leeks. Pulling a stack of corn tortillas from the fridge, the natural decision was tacos!



I sauteed the scallions with cumin, chili powder, and pepper, and seared the steak until it was done. After I warmed the tortillas, I piled the tacos with the cabbage, cilantro, yogurt, and a bit of hot sauce. No real recipe here, just fresh flavors and spices you like. If I had thought ahead, I might have marinaded the steak, but this was just a quick lunch and it was plenty flavorful. The scallions caramelized and the cabbage had great color and crunch.

My only complaint with this dish was the tortilla. I had to pick them up at New Seasons, and while they were organic and wholesome, they were probably made last week. I miss the big latino super-grocers in Southern California, where you can get a HUGE stack of still-warm tortillas, bulk pico de gallo, and all the citrus you could eat for pennies.

I need a place to get great, fresh tortillas in Portland. Any suggestions?

Here's to slightly warmer days and fantasies of cocktails by the beach. Eat well!

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A Love Song for Portland

TThis is the second week of the farmers' market, a day to separate the produce friends from the fanatics, as the rain poured down in a 38 degree chill. Everyone had these conspiratorial smiles on their faces as they sought out their spinach and leeks, sharing in each others' giddy stubbornness in refusing to let the weather keep us from our Saturday fix. The veggies seemed happy enough, and we got our first rapturous glimpses of rhubarb and asparagus amidst the onions, roots, and greens.

Drenched to the core, I felt like a golden retriever at the beach as I shook my soaked hair before I raised my camera, wrapped in a plastic bag, to snap shots of the day. Note to self: Jackets with hoods are NECESSARY. A playful feeling shocked through the small crowd - we gave up caring about our appearance and became kids, jumping in puddles, drinking apple juice from the jug, and eating chocolate covered mint patties fresh from the mint farm. The smell of the smoke from Mark Doxtader's Tastebuds pizza and bagel brick-oven made the whole scene feel like a camping trip, as we took every chance we could get to huddle together under tent coverings. That being said, I can't remember a campfire ever producing bacon and leek pizza with the best crust in the Northwest.



By noon, the lines for Pine State Biscuits were still shockingly short, and those for the coffee carts wound their way beneath vendor awnings and oversized umbrellas. Everyone seemed to have the same thought on their minds - holding a hot cup of caffeine is the only way to make this bearable. As I reached into my pockets to pull out the requisite $1.25, my hands were so cold they could hardly muster the dexterity to search for coinage - so the Funky Monkey baristas (cart-istas? vendristas? Addiction Pushers?) got their tip and then some. As I filled up my cup with french press brew, topped off with Norris' Dairy cream, I couldn't help but whisper, "Damn, I love this town."



A snapshot of my love affair with this city: Coffee in my hand, Leeks, cabbage, goat cheese, fresh made noodles, scallions, cilantro, and steamer clams from the coast in my backpack, babies bundled up with bearded, tattooed daddies holding umbrellas while they eat freshly made artichoke tamales, bluegrass music wafting over the sounds of water pouring off tented produce stands, and the farmers who brave this weather all week to bring it to the heart of a big city that thinks it's a small town.



A huge pool of water escapes from the awning above me, lands on my head, and as I start shivering, I take another sip of my coffee, wipe off my poor, abused camera, and laugh - this is what it's all about. The weathermen have pointed to rain every day for the foreseeable future, and we'll be smiling our way through it. A few weeks ago, Business Week named Portland, Oregon the Unhappiest City in America. Looking around this morning, I have to say they were quite mistaken. They obviously haven't been to our farmers market at the beginning of Spring.

I love you Portland. Eat well.

Baked Chioggia Beet Chips

I've been spending a lot of time in the kitchen this week. It's my Spring Break, and instead of gallivanting off to some exotic locale, I figured I'd be happiest if I spent the week at home, catching up with some books, recipes, and movies with my housemates. Of course, that means more time for the blog, which has made me very happy, indeed. And with all of this produce from the first farmers' market of the year, this break couldn't have come at a better time.

I had grabbed three big Chioggia Beets, an Italian heirloom variety with gorgeous stripes of pink and white. Also known as candy-stripe or bulls-eye beets, these little guys are one of my favorite farmers' market finds. Oh, and I asked the farmer, and now can proudly pronounce their name correctly - it's kee-oh-gee-ya!



I've had a beet chip recipe tucked away from an old issue of Gourmet. The original recipe blanches the beets in a simple syrup before baking, but I think I prefer blanching in plain water and tossing with a bit of canola oil and sea salt. Chioggia beets can be sweeter than standard beets, so I didn't feel the need to add more sugar.



I sliced the beets paper-thin with my mandolin, though next time I'll slice them thicker, as they crumbled quite a bit when they cooled. Plus, a thicker chip will hold up to a dip, which is always a good thing. The trick with these chips is to take them out of the oven earlier than you think. They won't get crispy in the oven, they need to crisp as they cool, so start checking by taking a few out of the oven instead of peaking at them while they are still inside.



The result is a sweet little chip - they shrink a lot, because the water in them is not replaced by the usual oil of frying - and they would be a good way to get some extra fiber and plenty of other nutritional boosts: they are high in folic acid (great for pregnant women), potassium, calcium and antioxidants (betacyanin, which is what gives beets their rich red color). A perfect snack from a superfood with style.

Tomorrow it's back to school, but I only have a few weeks left. This last lap will be a killer, but I'll make it through to find summer waiting at the finish line. Until then, I'll be sneaking into the kitchen every chance I get, and can't wait to share those adventures with you.

Eat well!

Baked Chioggia Beet Chips

For chips

* 2 medium beets with stems trimmed to 1 inch
* 1 cup water
* 1 Tablespoon canola oil
* Sea salt

Peel beets with a vegetable peeler, then slice thinly (but not too thinly) with mandolin or sharp knife, using stems as handles.

Bring water to a boil in a saucepan. Add beets, then remove pan from heat and let stand 15 minutes. Drain beets in a colander, discarding liquid, then let stand in colander 15 minutes more. Toss beets with oil and salt.

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 225°F.

Line a shallow baking pan with nonstick liner, then arrange beet slices snugly in 1 layer. Bake beets until dry, about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Immediately transfer chips to a rack to cool (chips will crisp as they cool).