Fresh black-eyed peas with ham

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Every week I buy something from my favorite lady at the farmers' market. She had the best green garlic in the spring, and I've always loved her strawberries and radishes. She sells nopales (cactus paddles), too, trimmed and diced; I can't resist, even though I'm never quite sure what to do with them.

Today she had a huge pile of fresh black-eyed peas. The pods were beautiful - long and thin, dark green, with subtle bulges where the fat beans lay inside. I'd never bought them before, but of course I was fascinated.

There was a woman picking through the pods carefully, filling a bag. She was humming to herself as she sorted them with her long fingers. She looked like she knew what she was doing, so I asked her how she cooks them.

"Get yourself a ham hock," she told me. "Boil it up in some water for an hour, then add the beans and cook 'em till they're soft. They're goo-oo-ood." Seeing Emery with me, she tilted her head his way: "Make him do the shellin'," she added.

I didn't have to make him, of course. He shelled willingly. It took a while, too, and I was glad for the help. I did exactly as instructed: bought a ham hock at Bob's Market, which Richard the butcher kindly chopped into a few pieces; simmered it in water in my cast-iron dutch oven; added the shelled beans and a little more water. An hour later the beans were soft and smokey, the ham was falling apart, and the broth was...was...I can't even describe how delicious it was. No words. Me, without an adjective - can you believe it? Doesn't happen very often, you know.

I have no southern roots, and I didn't grow up cooking with ham. But now that I know, I'm never letting go. I'm sure some ancestor is rolling over in a grave somewhere. Oh well. 

Fresh black-eyed peas with ham hock

• 1 2-lb ham hock, cut into several pieces by your helpful butcher if possible
• 2 lbs fresh black-eyed peas (yields about 3 cups shelled)
• salt to taste

Put the ham hock in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, cover the pot, and simmer. This softens the ham and imparts a lot of delicious, salty, smokey flavor to the cooking liquid.

Meantime, shell the black-eyed peas. It's tough going; the pods don't zip open easily when they're really fresh. Have patience. Recruit an assistant. Put on some good music. You'll be there a while. It's okay, because the ham hock needs to simmer for a while. In fact, it needs to simmer for exactly as long as it takes you to shell the beans. Convenient, yes?

Add the shelled black-eyed peas to the ham in the pot, and top it off with a little more water if you need it. Simmer the mixture about an hour, until the beans are very soft and the ham can be shredded easily with a fork. Taste and add salt to your liking. Remove the ham hocks from the beans and put them on a cutting board; discard the bones and shred the meat, taking out any fat or gristle.

Drain the beans of most of their liquid and put them in a serving bowl. Do not throw away the liquid; it's ambrosia. I used mine to cook another pot of beans - dried this time - which I'll put in the freezer for another time. Add the shredded ham to the black-eyed peas and serve.

Bisquick zucchini fritters recipe

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I don't subscribe to that whole thing about hiding vegetables so kids will eat them without knowing they're there. In these Bisquick zucchini fritters, it's clear that zucchini is the main ingredient. But they eat them anyway, because I do subscribe to the theory that if you surround the vegetables with delicious things like cheese and herbs, then fry the heck out of them in olive oil, kids will be much more likely to find them palatable. (Remember the spinach pancakes I wrote about a few months back? Along those lines.)

Thus these Bisquick zucchini pancakes. I'm the only one in my family who will actually eat zucchini unadorned. But when I fry up these simple zucchini fritters, even my zucchini-hating husband chokes down a few without complaining. I'd say he was trying to set a good example, but when it comes to zucchini, even he won't go that far.

I like to give these zucchini fritters a Greek turn, using feta, green onions, and dill or mint. But there are lots of possibilities: goat cheese and chives; parmesan and basil; you get the idea. And why Bisquick? Because I'm too lazy to measure and sift on a weeknight, and these babies do better with a little lift. I use the low-fat Bisquick baking mix, and I have no issues with it. If you prefer another baking mix - a whole-grain one would work well here - please use it. Or use flour and a little baking powder and I think you'll be fine.

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Bisquick zucchini fritters

by Erika Kerekes July-29-2010

Simple zucchini pancakes will make any kid glad to eat his vegetables.

Ingredients

• 2 cups zucchini, grated (2 large or 5 small)
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup Bisquick, or more to get the right consistency
• 1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled
• 2 green onions, chopped
• 1 tsp dried or 2 Tbsp fresh dill, chopped (or 2 Tbsp chopped fresh mint)
• freshly ground pepper to taste
• olive oil, for frying

Instructions

Put the shredded zucchini in a strainer set over a bowl and sprinkle with the salt. Let sit about 20 minutes; some of the water in the zucchini will start to drip out of the strainer. Wad up a few paper towels and push down on the zucchini in the strainer, squeezing more of the liquid out. Do this a few times. I don't get manic about this - I know some people roll the zucchini in a towel and wring it out - I'm not that dedicated. A little extra liquid won't hurt the finished product.In a large bowl, beat the egg, then add the Bisquick, cheese, green onions and herbs. Mix it up - it will be thick. Now add the zucchini and mix again. You should have a batter the consistency of very thick pancake batter or muffin batter. Let it sit about 10 minutes; more liquid will come out of the zucchini and loosen it up a bit, and that's fine. Add a healthy dose of ground black pepper and mix once more.Heat a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat - I always use my cast-iron pan for this - and add about 2 Tbsp olive oil. Drop the batter by tablespoonfuls into the hot oil. Fry the pancakes until both sides are golden brown. Repeat with the remaining batter. Don't try to turn the pancakes too early, and don't skimp on the oil - either of these mistakes will cause the pancakes to fall apart. As the pancakes come out of the pan, put them on a rack set over a baking sheet. I don't like to drain fried things on paper towels - it makes them soggier than they need to be. You can keep them in a warm oven if you like, but I normally serve them at room temperature because in our house they're definitely finger food.

Details

Prep time: 30 mins Cook time: 30 mins Total time: 1 hour Yield: about 2 dozen fritters

Wordless Wednesday: Zucchini salad with Meyer lemon and parmesan

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Tomato cobbler with fennel pollen

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Every summer I plant zucchini and tomatoes. And every summer I'm disappointed. We're supposed to be able to grow everything in southern California, but my backyard has not gotten that message. Some combination of poor soil despite constant amendments, foggy coastal summers, and parental neglect (oops) dooms my summer garden every year.

My tomatoes - heirlooms and hybrids alike - get wilt, or a fungus, or powdery mildew, or some other ailment that causes them to shrivel up and die. The zucchini, those dependable producers every other gardener is sick of and trying to pawn off by the end of July, suffer the same fate. Last year, thinking it was a problem in the soil, I planted tomatoes and zucchini in pots, with potting soil that went straight from bags to brand-new huge pots. Guess what? Same problem. Something in the air, maybe. Only the cherry tomato plants produced at all; the plants looked like hell, but each plant did give a few pounds of fruit before it rolled over for good.

This year I gave my garden the cold shoulder. I ignored it for many months out of spite. But last weekend I relented and planted, a little. No tomatoes, no zucchini. No longer will I play the masochist. I stuck to weeds: basil, tarragon, chives, lettuce, arugula, chard. Leafy plants won't likely succumb to the same fungus (if that's what it is) that loves the tomatoes and zucchini so. They should be okay.

The only downside to skipping the tomatoes is not having home-grown tomatoes to make this tomato cobbler, one of the most popular recipes I created last summer. The cherry tomatoes that did grow last year ripened all at once, and coincidentally I'd gotten some fennel pollen from Golden Gourmet Pollen to play with. This cobbler was one of those happy experiments where you taste it and wonder where it's been all your life. Guess this year I'll have to beg some cherry tomatoes from my green-thumb friends (yes, Hilary, that means you).


Tomato cobbler with garden herbs, cheese and fennel pollen

• 6 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
• 2 cups plus 2 Tbsp flour, divided
• 2 Tbsp chopped garlic
• 2 tsp salt, divided
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp baking soda
• 1 cup shredded hard cheese (try Gruyere, aged Monterey jack or mild cheddar)
• 1/2 cup minced fresh herbs, any sort (e.g. parsley, chives, oregano, basil, tarragon)
• 1 tsp fennel pollen
• 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 2/3 cup plain yogurt or buttermilk

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Mix the tomatoes with 2 Tbsp of flour, the garlic, and 1 tsp of salt. Pour into a greased 9x13 baking dish. Bake 15 minutes to soften the tomatoes and start their juices flowing.

While the tomatoes are baking, make the biscuit topping: Whisk together remaining flour, remaining salt, baking powder, baking soda, shredded cheese, herbs, fennel pollen spice and pepper in a large bowl. In a small bowl, mix together the olive oil and yogurt or buttermilk; add to the flour mixture. Stir with a fork until a dough forms. If it's too dry, add a little more oil. With one hand, knead the dough 5-6 times by turning it over on itself in the bowl.

Remove the tomatoes from the oven after 15 minutes and drop the biscuit dough in clumps on top of the tomatoes. Return the pan to the oven and bake about 20 minutes, or until the biscuits are cooked through and golden on top, and the tomatoes are bubbling. Serve at room temperature for best flavor.

Pasta salad with pesto and cherry tomatoes

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This pasta salad with pesto is my go-to summer potluck recipe for three simple reasons:

1. It's easy.
2. It takes full advantage of the season's best ingredients.
3. Everyone loves it. 

I make my own pesto (here's my favorite pesto recipe), but once or twice I've fallen back on store-bought pesto, and the pasta salad is still almost as good.

If you like your pasta salad more complicated, by all means add more stuff - little balls of mozzarella, capers, a few chopped bell peppers, olives, all those would go very well with the pesto and cherry tomatoes. I prefer the plainer version. Why? See number 1 above.

Pasta salad with pesto and cherry tomatoes

• 1 lb dried fusilli, rotelle or other short, curly pasta
• 2 Tbsp olive oil
• 2 cups pesto
• 2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
• handful of basil leaves, for garnish

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Salt the water and cook the pasta according to the directions on the package. Drain the pasta, put it in a big mixing bowl, toss it with the olive oil, and let it cool about half an hour. You don't want the pasta to be hot when you add the sauce - the pesto will lose its vibrant green color and edge toward brownish. That will happen soon enough on the buffet table, but you might as well start the dish out with every advantage. 

When the pasta is mostly cool, add the pesto and mix well. Scatter the cherry tomatoes and basil leaves on top of the bowl. Serve at room temperature.