Asparagus and Scallion Tart

Asparagus are everywhere right now, and I'm pretty sure they're at their peak. I saw them at three different farmers' markets this week (why I went to three different farmers' markets this week is another story entirely), and most every farmer had them wrapped in nice, tight bundles of 1/2-1 pound each. There are long, skinny ones and short, stubby ones. I'll happily eat them all.

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If going to 3 farmers' markets in one week isn't absurd enough for you, I currently have about six pounds of asparagus in my fridge. Yes, I'm crazy. But the season isn't very long, and I need to get my fix while I can - not to mention put up a few pounds as pickles.

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I have one little bundle of purple asparagus - beautiful, sturdy little things - from Smucker Farms. Smucker Farms is an Amish market at 14th and V. It's relatively new, and they're carrying beautiful produce, jarred goods, meat and dairy from local growers and producers. (No, I'm not counting them as one of the markets I visited last week. Yes, I know I'm nuts.) Their asparagus and strawberries looked especially good last week, so I brought home both, along with some chevre.

I couldn't wait on those purple asparagus - they found their way into my eggs the very next day. But this weekend, I did tuck into my massive collection of green asparagus to make this beautiful tart. To my taste, it's got the perfect ratio of vegetable to custard - just enough egg mixture to hold the vegetables together - and it tastes unmistakably of Spring. I think it'd be perfect on your Mothers' Day brunch table tomorrow.

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The tart shell recipe I used for this tart is from Le Pain Quotidien. I found it on the back of one of those recipe cards they give you with your receipt, which I usually throw away but, this time, blessedly, didn't. I've tucked the recipe into my permanent rotation. A few things set it apart from others I've made: first, no blind-baking. The tart shell gets rolled, fitted, filled, and baked all in one fell swoop. Two, It's got cornstarch in it, which I think makes it extra crispy (the same way it crisps up these "waffles of insane greatness," from the queen of soul herself). Three, it can be made with or without a food processor. Four, it barely shrinks back at all when baked. Lastly, well, it tastes great.

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And the filling? Not bad, not bad at all. I'm excited with how this came out; if you make it, do let me know if you like it as much as we did.

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We won't be eating this tart tomorrow. We're having mother's day brunch, but my mom isn't such a quiche person, so I'll be making things that are more up her alley. It's the least I can do, for the woman who taught me to cook and to love cooking.

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There's some really wonderful writing about Mothers' Day out there this year: don't miss this piece about a mother-daughter trip to a beach resort (and the accompanying write-up from the author's daughter offering some tips for traveling with mom. NYT also has a moving tribute from Timothy Egan on his relationship with his mother, not to be missed. Lastly, Kat Kinsman - managing editor for CNN's Eatocracy blog - wrote about her personal choices on parenting. It's a must-read, as much for parents and those with parenting aspirations as for those who don't want children. Don't miss it.

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Happy Mothers' Day to all! Have a lovely weekend.

Asparagus and Scallion TartAdapted from Martha Stewart and Le Pain Quotidien

For the tart shell:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour 1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch 1/4 teaspoon salt 6 tablespoons butter, diced 1 egg, lightly beaten

Combine flour, cornstarch, and salt in a medium bowl. Add butter, and use a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour until the pieces are the size of peas. Add the egg, and use a fork to combine. Then turn the dough out onto a floured surface, and knead a few times (or more than a few times, if the egg is small and the dough is dry) to bring the dough together. Be patient; the flour takes a few minutes to absorb the egg, and once it does, the dough will more easily come together.

Sprinkle a bit more flour onto the work surface, and roll the dough into a 12-inch disk. Lay into a tart pan, press against the sides, trim off the excess, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

For the filling:

1 tablespoon butter 1 pound asparagus, rinsed, dried, and sliced thinly on the bias 2/3 cup scallions, sliced thinly on the bias 4 eggs 1 1/4 cups half-and-half salt and pepper 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg 3 oz. goat cheese or fresh chevre 1/2 cup gruyere cheese 1/2 cup parmesan cheese

Preheat the oven to 350.

Melt butter in a frying pan over medium heat, and add scallions and asparagus. Toss to coat with the butter, season with a pinch of salt and a few grinds of the pepper mill, and cook about 6 minutes, until asparagus are crisp-tender. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine eggs, half-and-half, nutmeg, and 1/2 teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Whisk to combine. Add gruyere cheese, and stir to combine.

Remove tart shell from the fridge and set on a baking sheet. Pour asparagus mixture into the tart shell, distributing evenly. Dot with goat cheese. Pour egg mixture over asparagus; mixture should nearly fill tart shell. Sprinkle grated parmesan cheese overtop, and tuck into the oven for 50 minutes, until top is lightly golden and the center is just set. Cool about 10 minutes, then slice and serve.

Wheatberries with Melted Leeks and a Poached Egg

Leeks aren't exactly a spring vegetable - they've been at the market most of the winter - but spring brings those young, skinny leeks, seemingly born anew in the warm weather, and I positively love them.

It takes a while to soften the big, sturdy leeks of winter, but the spring ones submit almost effortlessly, melting into butter just like shallots would. After not long at all, the leeks are impossibly mild and sweet. They make everything better.

I tucked this first batch into a bowl of just-cooked wheatberries. I left the two to mingle for a few minutes, as the wheatberries went from steaming hot to just warm. Meanwhile, I snipped some fresh chives and poached an egg the control freak way. And then, I sat on our deck, broke my egg over the wheatberries, and ate lunch.

If this is all too pure for you, there are plenty of ways to doll it up. Add some flaked salmon or snapper; toss in some marinated tofu; or chop up some chard or spinach and fold it into the berries. If you're feeling crazy, pour the wheatberries, leeks, and greens into a gratin dish, top with a couple raw eggs, grate some hard cheese overtop, and tuck the dish under the broiler for a few minutes. <That's lunch for company.

Wheatberries with Melted Leeks and Poached Eggs

Serves 2, maybe with leftovers

1 cup wheatberries 3-4 baby leeks or 1-2 large leeks 2 tablespoons butter 4 chives, minced 2 eggs

Bring a pot of salted water (or part water, part broth) to a boil over high heat. Add wheatberries, and once the water has returned to a boil, lower heat, cover pot, and cook about 1 hour, adding extra water if needed, until wheatberries are tender.

Meanwhile, clean the leeks. Slice off the root end of the leeks and the dark green tops - you'll only be using the white and light green parts. Quarter the leeks lengthwhise, then slice them crosswise into small pieces. Clean very well: I do this by dumping the bits of leeks into a strainer set over a bowl, filling the bowl with water, swirling the leeks around to free the dirt, and then straining them by pulling the strainer out of the bowl. If your leeks are from the market, you'll probably need to do this several times to get the leeks thoroughly clean. It's worth it - gritty leeks suck.

Add the butter to a shallow saute pan set over medium heat. When butter has melted, add leeks and a healthy pinch of salt. Stir to combine, and when leeks start to hiss, add a couple tablespoons of water. The water is especially important with bigger leeks, which need some help softening. Now, cover the pan (if you don't have a cover, tin foil will work), turn the heat to medium-low, and let the leeks melt, stirring occasionally and adding more water if it looks like they're browning before they're soft. This should take about 20 minutes. When leeks are melted and soft, remove from the heat.

Drain cooked wheatberries and transfer them to a large bowl. Add leeks and fold together to combine.

Poach the eggs when you're just about ready to eat. There are many ways to do this; my favorite is to poach them in the shell, in just-barely-hot water. I get that isn't exactly unfussy, so you can also just simmer a shallow pot of water with a couple teaspoons of vinegar, swirl a fork around the pot a couple times to get the water moving, add a couple eggs, and poach them for about 2 minutes until the white is just

Spoon the wheatberries into bowls, set the poached eggs on top, and sprinkle the chopped chives over everything. Break the eggs, mix into the wheatberries, and enjoy.

Chard Ohitashi

I first had sushi when I was 12. I was at summer camp, and we took a trip into the city for the day. My friends - far more cosmopolitan than I - had been missing sushi ever since their parents dropped them off at Camp Ramah, and I, never having encountered the stuff, was nonetheless eager to tag along and discover the magic. The bus dropped us off at Faneuil Hall, and from there, we set out to find a sushi bar. Find one that's crowded, they advised, as we walked along the side streets poking our heads into various Japanese restaurants. Never eat sushi if the restaurant's empty.

When we finally found a crowded enough spot that they were satisfied, we sat down, wiped our hands, and prepared to eat. I was excited and curious - and they were downright giddy, thrilled to witness the first time I popped a piece of raw fish in my mouth. It was a tuna roll - that's where I started. And admittedly, I was afraid I wouldn't like the texture, so I sort of just swallowed it whole. And then coughed. A lot. They cackled away; it was a grand time.

While the tuna maki is what sticks in my mind from that day, it was also the first time I tried miso soup, seaweed salad, and ohitashi. In fact, before that day, I'd never heard of any of the things we ate. Miso was a foreign concept, seaweed salad sounded awful (until I ate it), and ohitashi - well, my friend Jess ordered it, and I literally had no idea what'd be landing on our table. But out came a bowl of spinach, dressed with something delicious. And that, I happily gobbled right up - no gulping or coughing involved. I was hooked.

These days, I rarely order ohitashi. I can't seem to resist the allure of seaweed salad. Just when I thought it might not be something I ate much again, I found out how easy it was to make the stuff at home. Now it's a whole different ballgame; now I definitely don't order ohitashi in restaurants.

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Sorry - let's take a step back. Ohitashi: a cold marinated spinach salad, with soy, mirin, and sesame seeds. Secret ingredient: katsuobushi, which are dried flakes of bonito, a small, japanese fish not unlike mackerel. Bonito, like miso, is an umami-bomb. It makes everything taste super delicious. Super-delicious: that's a technical term.

Katsuobushi smells like stinky cheese, only a bit worse. Think fish sauce. It tastes totally un-stinky, though. If you're nervous about it, just remember that dashi - the basis of miso soup, soba broth, etc - is made with bonito flakes. If you're still nervous, skip it. The salad will be great without it, and also vegan.

Sushi bars make ohitashi with spinach, but it's great with any green - chard, collard, you name it. Kale would be even more firm, but it'd still be great.

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One more note about ohitashi: it isn't the sort of salad composed of light, airy leaves kissed with vinaigrette. The greens are blanched, then drained, then mixed with the dressing and allowed to just hang out for a while. At sushi bars, they wrap the spinach around itself, so the salad comes in a tight coil that you peel apart as you eat. That's why it's served not on a plate, where the greens can breathe, but in a little bowl. Sort of like miso soup, come to think of it.

But everything is flexible. Spinach or chard, plates or bowls, bonito flakes or not. It's just a straight-up good salad. The world needs more of those, don't you think?

Chard Ohitashiadapted from a recipe on Food52 serves 4 as an appetizer

9 oz (about 12 cups) chard, rinsed and sliced into thick, bite-sized ribbons 1/4 cup light soy sauce (not low-sodium - usukuchi; or just use whatever soy sauce you have) 1/4 cup mirin 2 teaspoons sriracha (more to taste) 1-inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and grated 2 tablespoons sesame seeds 1/4 cup lightly packed bonito flakes (feel free to skip if you wish)

Bring a pot of unsalted water to a boil. Once the water is boiling, add chard - you may need to do this in a couple batches - and blanch, just until softened, 1-2 minutes. Strain chard - if you're particular, shock it in an ice bath; I'm not - and set aside. You'll see that the chard has wilted considerably and is about a tenth of its former size. Don't fret.

Meanwhile, make the dressing: combine soy sauce, mirin, sriracha, and ginger in a medium-large bowl.

Transfer the chard into the bowl with the dressing, and mix the two together using a fork to coat all the chard in dressing. Transfer the mixed salad into the fridge, and let sit at least one hour before serving. Believe it or not, this gets better the longer it sits.

To serve, scoop the chard into small bowls, and top with a sprinkle of sesame seeds and a pinch of bonito flakes. Eat up.

Asparagus Risotto

It's hard enough to believe that four springs have come and gone since I started this blog. What's even harder to believe, though, is that I've never shared this recipe with you. Just ask D: I make it about once a week when asparagus are in season, toting it to work as often as I dish it out for dinner (though it really isn't nearly as good the day after). It's a meal in a pot; it takes about 30 minutes, start to finish; and it calls for asparagus, which by now you know is a virtue I hold above most others.

Asparagus risotto: pretty straightforward. You're probably seeing it on restaurant menus everywhere, as I have been. Being slightly particular about my spears, I really dislike when restaurants bury them beneath a heap of rice. Asparagus are wonderful because if you cook them properly, they get crunchy and slick on the outside, coated just so with butter or olive oil, dusted with salt and pepper, completely irresistible. If you add them to risotto too early, they lose their oomph. So I've taken to this slightly more finicky (but no more complicated) approach, which keeps the two components of the dish mostly separate until they hit the table, leaving it to the diner to fold rice and asparagus together per their preference.  It also makes for a more dramatic presentation, the pool of creamy rice accented with a burst of green on top, and of course, the requisite shower of grated Parmesan.

Here's the cooking plan: risotto gets made in a wide-bottomed high-sided skillet. When it's close to done, asparagus go in a little pan right alongside. The two should finish cooking at the same time. Into shallow bowls goes the risotto, then topped with several pieces of asparagus, and finally, a shower of cheese. Dig in.

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If I'm not in the mood for rice, I'll use the same technique with polenta. Asparagus and cornmeal are quite the pair. And, if the mood strikes, I'll squeeze a wedge of lemon over the whole thing. I love the sour punch that offsets the creamy polenta.

Either way, It's a dish that celebrates spring, perfect for weeks like this one, when the weather is cold and rainy, but warm sun-filled days seem just around the bend.

Asparagus Risotto serves 3-4

2 tablespoons butter 1 cup arborio or carnaroli rice 1/2 cup white wine (whatever's open, though preferably nothing too sweet) 3-4 cups hot stock (I used homemade vegetable, but chicken would work well here, too)

1 lb. asparagus, rinsed, trimmed, and sliced on a bias into 3-inch segments 1 tablespoon butter 1 tablespoon olive oil salt and pepper

1/4 cup mascarpone cheese half a lemon 2/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Choose your risotto pan: I prefer a skillet with relatively high sides to a pot, but a pot or dutch oven work great, too.

Plop 2 tablespoons butter into the risotto pot, turn the heat to medium, and as the butter melts, add the rice. Stir to coat rice in butter. Your rice will start popping gently - that's a good sign. You want every kernel coated in the butter.

Once the rice has heated through and a couple of the kernels have toasted a bit, add the wine. Things will sizzle rapidly as the wine boils, and this is good: you want the wine to get a head start on reducing. Once the wine has settled down, add 1 cup of the stock. Stir vigorously to incorporate it with the rice, and to get those kernels moving around. The more they move, the greater trail of starch they leave in their path...and the creamier the risotto.

This is your essential process for the next 20 minutes or so. Add stock by the ladleful, stir to incorporate with the rice, and watch as the rice drinks up the stock. When things get dry in the pan, add another ladle of stock.

Important: taste your stock. Is it salty? If so, your risotto may need only pepper. If not, you want to salt the rice gently as it cooks. Feel free to also taste a kernel or two of rice along the way. They won't be fully cooked, but it'll give you a sense of how salty your risotto will be, and it'll let you adjust before the very end.

When your rice is still raw inside but nearly softened, set a small saute pan over medium heat and add the remaining tablespoon of butter and the olive oil. When the butter has melted, add the asparagus. They'll cook as you finish up the risotto, and they don't need much attention - just the occasional shake of the pan to have them turn over and move around. They'll take between 2-5 minutes, depending on the size of the pan you're using. Taste one to test for doneness. I like them still a bit crunchy, but you may prefer them softer. As you wish.

When your rice has cooked through, add enough stock that risotto will be pourable. Good risotto spreads when served, and firms up only once it's on the plate.

When ready to serve, add the mascarpone cheese and squeeze the lemon into the risotto. Stir to incorporate. Add the cheese, stir again, and pour into shallow bowls. Top with asparagus, maybe squeeze that lemon just once more onto each bowl, and serve immediately.