Strawberry-Basil Martini

I recently acquired a bottle to TOPO Piedmont Gin, which is produced near the Chapel Hill-Carrboro line in a building that used to rattle and hum with the sounds of newspaper production. My affinity for such places is strong, and my historic conviction that all gin smells like Pine-Sol has been shattered by this fairly mild sip – which has been described by those in the know as “not juniper forward.”

Working under the principle of a little knowledge is a dangerous thing – a phrase credited to Einstein, whose cocktail preferences remain a mystery to Google (though it did try to connect “Manhattan”)  – I made the bold leap in home mixology by substituting gin in a beverage for which I might otherwise instinctively have reached for vodka.

In fact, thanks to some lovely, suddenly very much in-season strawberries, I specifically created this cocktail in the hope that it would be an appealing complement to gin’s inherently herbaceous nature.

It turned out so good – and was just as promising on the second batch as the first – that I have to admit I forgot to fully document my triumph at the time. Thankfully, the reporter in me reflexively wrote down a few notes, so herewith is my Strawberry-Basil Martini. It takes a little bit of planning, but just a little bit. And if you’re not confident about using gin, try it a splash of your standby vodka. The strawberry puree also is quite good stirred into bubbly soda water.

Strawberry Puree

2 cups strawberries, hulled and chopped
juice of 1 lemon
several strips of zest
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

Place chopped strawberries, lemon juice, zest and sugar into medium stock pot. Toss to coat then cover and allow to macerate for at least 30 minutes.

Simmer on low heat about 20 minutes until syrupy and very fragrant. Turn off heat and remove zest. Add 1 teaspoon red wine vinegar and puree with an immersion blender (or cool slightly then puree in a blender).

Place 5 ice cubes in a sealable quart jar. Pour in strawberry puree. Swirl to blend; when no longer warm, place in refrigerator to fully chill.

Strawberry-Basil Martini

Makes 2

Strawberry puree
Fresh-picked basil leaves
Simple syrup

Make a simple syrup by heating ½ cup of sugar in ½ cup of water. Bring to a low boil and stir until sugar crystals dissolve. Transfer to a small jar and cool; lid jar and transfer to refrigerator.

Place 5-6 basil leaves in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. Muddle aggressively.

Fill shaker about 2/3 full with ice. Add 1 jigger of strawberry puree, 2 jiggers of gin and 1 jigger of simple syrup. Shake it like to you mean it.

Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with a small basil leaf. Go outside to admire your garden and say to yourself, “My life is good.” Repeat; or, if for some strange reason you son does not appreciate its subtleties, drink his.

Warm summer potato salad

This salad was a sudden inspiration to serve as a side dish for grilled pompano, one of the sweetest and simplest to cook sustainable fish to come from Carolina waters. I used vegetables from today's farmer's market foray, plus a jar of creamy garbanzo beans that I recently pressure canned. It was dressed with some basil picked fresh from our garden and a splash of Girard's blue cheese vinaigrette. I considered making my own, but it's light, delicious -- and was staring at me from the cupboard. If you have two extra minutes to spare, feel free to make your own.

Sorry, no photo. I didn't think to get one before dinner and there was barely anything left to rinse out of the bowl afterwards. Serves four hungry people; to turn into a main course, serve over mixed spring greens with extra vinaigrette on the side.

Warm Summer Potato Salad

1 medium spring onion, sliced thin (including some of the green)

1 pint garbanzo beans, rinsed

2 cups cubed carrot

3 cups cubed potato, skin on 

3/4 lb. fresh green beans, stemmed and snapped in half

2 tbsp. kosher salt, plus 1 tsp.

freshly ground pepper

1/3 cup blue cheese vinaigrette (such as Girard's, or homemade)

1 tbsp. white balsamic vinegar

2 tbsp. fresh-picked basil, rolled and sliced thin

Fill a medium stock pot about 2/3 with water. Add 2 tbsp. salt, cover and bring to a boil.

Trim spring onion, keeping a few inches of the green part, and slice thin. Transfer to large bowl. Rinse garbanzo beans; shake off excess water and add to mixing bowl.

Carefully pour carrots into boiling water and cook about 2 minutes, uncovered. Add green beans, stir and cook another 2-3 minutes. Check to ensure that both are tender crisp. Remove with slotted spoon or spider, draining well, then add to mixing bowl. Pour vinaigrette over warm mixture, stir and lightly cover.

Add cubed potatoes to the same boiling water. Cook 4-5 minutes, until  tender but not mushy. Drain in colander, shaking off excess water before adding to mixing bowl. 

Add 1 tsp. salt, a generous grind of pepper, the white balsamic and chiffonade of basil; mix well but try to not crush the potato cubes. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Lightly cover and rest about 20 minutes for flavors to meld. Serve barely warm or at room temperature.

Celebrate spring with a sip of New Orleans: Susan Spicer's basil-infused Cotillion cocktail

One evening several years ago, a neighbor’s daughter stopped by our house and rang the bell. I went to the kitchen door and saw her standing, well dressed and seemingly murmuring to herself, out on our front porch. This struck me as curious on several levels, but mostly because no one uses our front door.

When I unlocked it and teased her for ringing the bell, I saw her take a deep breath and extend her hand.

“Good evening,” she said with a polite brio that made me think she could probably make a better impression at a job interview than some of my co-workers. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Okay, so ... nice, but weird. This sort of thing never happened where I grew up in New Jersey. When I rang a neighbor’s doorbell they’d pretend they weren’t home to avoid buying chocolate bars or oranges or whatever we were selling that year to finance a band exchange trip.

After getting the low-down from her mother, I learned that this was an essential phase of cotillion training, a sort of pre-coming out grooming that also included knowing the difference between a salad fork and one used to poke at – but probably not really eat – a calorie-laden dessert.

For me, cotillion brings to mind something else entirely.  I think of the cocktail, a satisfying sip infused with fresh muddled basil. It’s a drink that reminds you just nice it is that winter is over and spring has finally arrived – even if your car is covered with sticky yellow pine pollen.

While typically made with bourbon and rum, we prefer the tequila variation Susan Spicer includes in her fabulous book, Crescent City Cooking. Published on the same date as our 24^th anniversary in 2007, it was a gift from my husband as a remembrance of our 20^th anniversary trip to New Orleans, where we were so dazzled by Spicer’s Bayona restaurant that we made a second reservation before we paid our first bill.

Spicer’s recipe is posted on the Amazon link to her book – you must also try her amazing Jalapeno Pork Pork Roast, which makes great sandwiches – so I feel safe including it here in an effort to spread some seasonal cheer among friends who participate in #LetsLunch, a global food community that posts themed recipes each month. This month’s choice is “spring break.”

If you don’t have basil growing in your garden yet, get some from the market or a garden center. Instead of buying a bunch of limp, packaged basil for $2.19, I bought a hearty plant for $2.99, which will keep us in basil through summer – despite the fact that we pinched off a nice sprig to make cocktails tonight.

Cotillion
Susan Spicer, Crescent City Cooking

Makes one cocktail (but plan on having several)

5–6 fresh basil leaves, plus one for garnish
1 sugar cube
1 ounce Cointreau or triple sec
1½ ounces Patron or other silver tequila
5 ounces orange juice, preferably fresh-squeezed

Using a wooden spoon or "muddler," mash the basil with the sugar cube and Cointreau in a tall Collins glass. Fill the glass with crushed ice and add the tequila and orange juice. Stir with a long spoon or straw and garnish with a basil leaf.

Peachapalooza, Part I: in marmalade with basil, St. Germain syrup, and cardamon butter

I adore peaches and make peach jam every year. Their cost, especially when the more-or-less local Sandhills crop is in abundance, usually stirs little heartburn, yet I've never bought them in the quantity needed to really get creative. This year, however, Whole Foods graciously made me an offer I could not refuse: a bulging case of Georgia peaches, not a spoiled one among nearly 30 pounds of fruit, for the pre-July 4th price of just $17.76.


Graham handled the transaction for me. Before he left for the house, he asked if perhaps I wanted two boxes since the price was so good. Once there, he called to make sure I really wanted a whole box - even texting me a photo to make certain. He said customers made way as he hauled the crate and a bag of sugar to checkout.


The sight of them on my kitchen table, and the perfume they were beginning to spill, was somewhat intoxicating, leading me to decide right off the bat to take a boozy approach to this bounty. After a quick run to the ABC store, I set aside a quantity for peach liqueur and, in what I think is an appealing deviation from brandied peaches, canned golden slivers in the special savor faire of St. Germain. I feel sure it will be a canning crime of the highest degree to spill out any "excess" syrup. Cocktails, anyone?


With the sole exception of Cardamon Peach Butter, all recipes require peeling these luscious orbs.Yes, peeling peaches takes time, but a quick blanch makes the job much simpler. Fill a medium stock pot about half way with water, cover and bring to a boil. Gather the fruit on a rimmed baking pan near the stove and, with a sharp knife, slash a shallow X into the bottom of each peach. Using a metal skimmer or spider, submerge 4-5 peaches at a time in the boiling water for about 45-60 seconds, or until the cut edges begin to loosen, then return the peaches to the sheet pan. Repeat until all fruit has been blanched, adding more water to the pot if needed.


When cool enough to handle, grab each flap of peel between the tip of a knife and a thumb and lightly pull back to denude each peach. Be sure to save all peelings and the peachy blanching water for the jelly and syrup, but discard the pits, which contain a trace amount of cyanide.


Recipes for Peach Liqueur and Lemony Peach Jelly and Syrup - seriously, save those peels and the blanching water - will follow soon. Tim thinks the results of the recipe below was the best of the bunch. I'm typically not keen on all that citrus peel in marmalade, but the food processor makes quick work of pulverizing a lemon, and the slow simmer leaves it mild and thick, a perfect base for the macerated peaches that follow.


Peach Lemon Marmalade with Basil
Adapted from The Blue Chair Cookbook by Rachel Saunders (@ Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2010)

1 pound thin-skinned organic lemons, seeded

3½  pounds peaches; peeled and pitted

3½  pounds white cane sugar

2-4 additional lemons to make 6 ounces freshly squeezed juice

½ to 1 cup small fresh basil leaves, cut into chiffonade just before use

Day 1
Scrub 1 pound lemons and trim ends. Cut into quarters (or sixths, if large) and remove seeds. Transfer seeded pieces to work bowl of food processor and whirr until well chopped but not fully pureed. Use your tolerance for citrus peel as a guide.


Pour into heavy bottom sauce pan and cover with about two cups of water. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to a simmer. Cook uncovered 30-40 minutes until tender and thickened, stirring occasionally to ensure the mixture does not stick. Remove from heat to cool.


While lemons are cooking, score the bottom of each peach with an X and blanch as described above. Transfer to rimmed pan to catch juice and peel when peaches are cool enough to handle. Reserve peach peel and blanching water but discard the pits.

Cut peach flesh into chunks and transfer with any accumulated juice to a large hard plastic container. Using a hand-held chopper - since childhood, I've known it as a "chunka-chunka," my mother's device of choice for chunking canned tuna - chop until you like the texture, being sure to leave some big pieces. If, sadly, your kitchen is not equipped with a chunka-chunka, a potato masher will suffice.


Add the sugar, lemon juice and cooked lemons and stir well to combine. Press plastic wrap to surface of mixture to minimize browning from oxidation. Cover tightly with lid and refrigerate overnight or at least 8 hours.


Day 2
Remove peach-lemon mixture from refrigerator and transfer to a non-reactive, heavy bottom canning pot or large dutch oven. Stir well to incorporate any undissolved sugar.


Bring mixture to a boil over high heat and maintain a rolling boil for about 30-40 minutes or until setting point is reached. This should not require frequent stirring, but do stir lightly every few minutes, especially toward the end, when it will may pop with great volcanic bubbles. The mixture will darken slightly as it nears completion. At this point, add a handful of basil leaves freshly chopped in a chiffonade; stir through. Basil should look like tiny green threads suspended in jelly. If you want more, add it now and stir again to combine.


Test for doneness by placing a half-spoonful of marmalade in the freezer for 2-3 minutes. If the  marmalade does not slosh when the spoon is tilted, it's done. If not, let the mixture bubble a few more minutes and test again.


Following USDA directions, process in water bath for 10 minutes then carefully transfer to heatproof surface. Leave undisturbed until jars are fully cooled and set.

* * *

In August 2009, Amanda Hesser wrote about a classic 1951 New York Times recipe for brandied peaches that truly stood the test of time. If you poke around online, you'll find in cited in other blogs and food sites, too, because it's so darn awesome.


I planned to follow its simple directions precisely before landing on the idea to use St. Germain instead. The elderflower liqueur is fabulously floral and oh so French. The mere mention of this has led several people to volunteer as testers.


I am happy to report that it is indeed quite tasty. Save any leftover syrup for cocktails, to drizzle on pound cake, or dab behind your ears. 

Peaches in St. Germain Syrup

Adapted from The New York Times.

6 pounds ripe, unblemished peaches

5 cups sugar

1 to 1½ cups St. Germain

Blanch peaches as described above. Transfer to rimmed pan to catch juice and peel when peaches are cool enough to handle. 

If peaches are a free-stone variety, cut in half; if not, cut into large slices. Reserve peach peels and blanching water (ideally, use the same blanching water as above) but discard the pits.

In another pot, combine 5 cups sugar and 5 cups water and bring to a boil. When sugar is dissolved, add peaches and accumulated juices. Reduce heat and simmer about 3 minutes.

Have 6 pint jars (or comparable variety), lids and bands ready for canning. Gently pack peaches into jars. Boil remaining syrup 5 minutes to thicken slightly. Use a small ladle to pour over fruit, filling jars ¾ full. Reserve excess syrup.

Add 3-4 tablespoons St. Germain to each pint (or about two tablespoons to each half-pint). Leave about ½ inch headroom; apply lids and bands.

Following USDA directions, process in water bath for 20 minutes then carefully transfer to heatproof surface. Leave undisturbed until jars are fully cooled. 

* * *

A lifetime ago, I won a red ribbon at the Indiana State Fair for peach butter. I wish I'd kept track of that recipe, but this one definitely is a keeper.


Peach Cardamon Butter
8 pounds peaches, pitted
Reserved St. Germain syrup (see above)
12-16 green cardamon pods, crushed
½ cinnamon stick
1-3 cups white cane sugar, as needed
½ teaspoon cardamon powder, optional
Small piece of cheesecloth, string


Cut unpeeled peaches into chunks, discarding pits, and place fruit in bowl of a large slow cooker set on low heat. Pour in reserved St. Germain syrup. Place crushed caradmon pods and  ½  stick of cinnamon on cheesecloth; gather edges together, tie tightly into a bundle and push down into fruit mixture. Cover, stirring occasionally, and simmer overnight or at least 8-10 hours.


Fish out the bundle of spices and puree contents with an immersion blender. Add 1 cup sugar and stir to incorporate. Transfer mixture to a heavy-bottom pot or dutch oven and bubble over medium heat, stirring now and then to ensure the mixture is not sticking or burning. 


During this time the butter will change in color from golden peach to reddish brown. Taste as it thickens to ensure balance of spices and adequate sweetness; if needed, add more sugar and up to a half teaspoon of dried cardamon. It should be done at or close to the point when the mixture has reduced by nearly half. This will take an hour or more, so be patient and keep stirring.


Assume that the recipe will yield at least a dozen half-pint jars, but it likely will fill more. Prepare a few extras, including some 4-ounce jars, just in case, or pour remainder into a sealable container and refrigerate.


Following USDA directions, process jars in water bath for 10 minutes then carefully transfer to heatproof surface. Leave undisturbed until jars are fully cooled and set.

Carrot greens-basil pesto

Carrot greens-basil pesto in pasta salad loaded
with roasted summer vegetables.

Tim bought two bunches of sweet local carrots this weekend, both of which were topped with especially lush greens. I've read before that they are more than merely edible but also quite tasty and nutritious, yet I always seem to let them go limp before I think to use them.

Some sources disagree about their merits, even warning that may be toxic. I had a kind blogger from distant shores caution me when I posted my intentions, then playfully implore that I "keep tweeting" so she would know I'm all right.

You want a handful of  fresh
carrot greens, not Carrot Top.

I am both well and pleased that I used those feathery greens to make an appealing pesto. I suppose I went the cheater's route - mostly substituting carrot tops for parsley in my ever-changing pesto recipe - but the result is both distinct and delicious.

Carrot tops lend an earthy, slightly bitter note to the mix, which I balanced with a scant teaspoon of sugar. Rinse the greens well to remove grit; use just the tender leaves and discard the tough stalk.

This batch made enough to generously dress a pasta salad loaded with roasted vegetables (noted below), with about a cup's worth left over. I see bruschetta in my near future and will save try to a few spoonfuls to toss with roasted potatoes.

Note: I inadvertently bought pecorino romano instead of parmesan, which I normally choose for pesto, making added salt unnecessary. If you use parmesan, you might need to add a pinch.

Carrot Greens-Basil Pesto
1 large handful carrot greens without stems
Same amount fresh basil leaves
2 large garlic cloves, crushed
1/2 cup pecorino romano, freshly grated
1 large lemon, zested and juiced
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted
3/4 cup olive oil
a few grinds of black pepper
1/2-1 tsp. sugar, if needed
1/2 tsp. kosher salt, if needed

Toast walnuts in small skilled until fragrant; transfer to cutting board. When cool, chop coarsely.

Place carrot greens, basil and garlic in food processor work bowl. Pulse until coarsely blended then add about 1/2 cup olive oil in a slow stream while continuously chopping. Add grated cheese, walnuts, lemon zest and juice, and black pepper; set to on and drizzle in remaining oil. Taste for balance. If needed, add sugar and/or salt; pulse to combine.

You'll need about 1/2 cup pesto for the pasta salad below. Transfer excess to small jar and press plastic wrap to pesto surface; store in refrigerator for up to two days.

Pasta Salad with Roasted Vegetables
Any colorful combination of fresh summer vegetables will work, but this is what I used:
1 head purple cauliflower, cut into florets
8 purple summer onions, cut into 1/2-inch slices
kernels from two ears of corn
1 medium red bell pepper, 1/2-inch dice
2-3 medium carrots, 1/2-inch dice
1 pint grape tomatoes
Olive oil
1/2-1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 cup carrot greens-basil pesto
1 14-ounce box whole grain, multicolor penne
reserved pasta water

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Arrange cauliflower, carrots, onions and bell peppers on shallow roasting pan coated with spray oil. Drizzle lightly with olive oil and roast about 20 minutes. Add corn and a little olive oil, if needed. Stir well and return to oven for 10 minutes.

If cauliflower is tender and browned, pluck pieces out and transfer to cutting board. Cook for about 10 minutes more or until vegetables are well caramelized but not dried out.

Coarsely chop cauliflower and transfer to large mixing bowl. Add panful of roasted vegetables and sprinkle lightly with salt, if needed. Place grape tomatoes on emptied pan and drizzle with oil. Roast about about 15 minutes or until they pop and look succulently juicy.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water for a boil. Cook pasta about 8-9 minutes, or as directed on package. Reserve about a cup of pasta water before draining; set pasta water aside.

Add drained pasta to bowl of roasted vegetables along with about a half-cup of pesto and a few tablespoons of pasta water. Stir well to combine. Add most of the roasted tomatoes, reserving a few pretty ones for garnish. Stir well, adding additional pesto and/or pasta water as needed. Scatter reserved tomatoes on top.

Serve right way or at room temperature.