Asparagus Arrives

This year they were late because of the cold. And they come and go at the market as temperatures dip and rise. We haven’t seen the last of this odd weather year.

Asparagus are like flighty adolescents, these long, tender stalks, appearing with a suddenness that almost takes the breath away, then disappearing for a week or two. I make that allusion because not only do I have a bunch of asparagus in my kitchen, I have an almost-adolescent daughter. One minute she is playing dress-up with her friends, the next she’s applying eye shadow and wondering which pair of my heels she’d like to borrow. It’s an odd comparison, I’ll admit, but apt nonetheless.

The heart of French asparagus country is the Loire Valley where the fat white stalks grow undisturbed under the ground. They have to be covered with soil at all times, for light will turn their creamy whiteness purple, then green. Once color appears, their value drops. So an asparagus farmer’s job involves a lot of peeking. He goes out when he thinks it’s about time for the asparagus to be ready and literally brushes away soil from a spot where he is sure to find a stalk. He looks, quickly. If he sees maturity he calls the harvest crew and they all get to work, from the youngest in the family to the eldest, and all the hired hands in between. If the stalk isn’t ready, the soil goes back over it and the waiting game continues.

Curly or straight

For many years it was impossible to find green asparagus where I live in Normandy, but about eight years ago we started to see it in local markets. From Provence, it arrived fresh and juicy, its very thin stalks tied in delicate bundles.

In Normandy, which I like to think of as the land of milk and honey, farmers aren’t generally known for their asparagus because it is a vegetable that thrives in a distinct, dry climate. Normandy’s soft maritime weather fosters lettuces and leeks, potatoes and celery, carrots and Swiss chard and a host of other luscious vegetables. Asparagus was never on offer at my farmers’ market until one of the local farmers turned it into his specialty.

Baptiste Bourdon, whom France Today readers have met before because he looms large in my culinary life, is one of my favorite growers and a good friend besides. He started cultivating asparagus about eight years ago. He did it quietly, saying nothing to anyone until the day he arrived at the market carrying cases stacked with kilos of it. Some of the stalks were fat, some pencil-thin, others were curved, curled, right-angled. While the white asparagus from the Loire is grown to meet strict size and length criteria, and its stalks are always arrow-straight, Baptiste’s asparagus was a jumble of wild energy. It obviously had to navigate stones and roots to get to the light, twisting and curving as it did.

Not one of his customers cared. Everyone lined up to get the asparagus and within two hours it was all gone. It was, and remains, absolutely divine, richly flavored, tender. It puts to shame the asparagus from Provence, but of course it would. It has traveled a mere couple of miles, it’s barely out of the ground. No other asparagus stands a chance. I, like all of Baptiste’s customers, sacrifice aesthetics for flavor, trimming and separating stalks so they’ll all cook evenly.

His crop is later than usual this year, so we haven’t seen any yet. No problem—there’s white asparagus from the Loire to keep us all happy until Baptiste’s harvest. Wherever it is from, asparagus is short-lived, so we profit while the getting is good.

At this very beginning of the season, all the asparagus we see is pure white. As the season advances, there will be white stalks tinged with purple and green. These are considered lesser quality, but not because they suffer in flavor. It’s simply a matter of esthetics. A less than perfectly white stalk just doesn’t cut it with a chef wanting to impress. For the home cook, a little color is fine. Yes, the flavor will be slightly less delicate but it will never be strong, or off, or unpleasant in any way.

Braised with thyme

White asparagus (tinged with color or not) has a very thick skin that must be removed. I peel each stalk once, then peel again to get any of the stray strands that inevitably remain. You don’t want even a hair of skin left on, because it doesn’t soften during cooking and can be more than problematic in the eating.

Once the stalks are peeled, they should be trimmed and rinsed—rinse each stalk upside down, so any grit or sand runs off the point, rather than getting stuck in the leaves. The traditional cooking method is to tie the stalks in a bundle and stand them in water that covers them to about ½ inch from the tips, bring the water to a boil and cook the stalks until they’re completely tender through. Because asparagus is mostly water, I find this method dilutes their flavor and texture, so I like to braise them.

I lay the carefully peeled stalks in a pan, and drizzle them with extra-virgin olive oil. I add water, a handful of fresh thyme and a bay leaf or two. A sprinkling of coarse sea salt and pepper completes the seasoning. When the water comes to a boil I cover the pan and cook the asparagus until the stalks are nearly tender, which can take up to twelve minutes. Then I remove the cover, turn up the heat and shake the pan until there is no more moisture in it and the stalks begin to color just slightly.

This is a rustic method for cooking asparagus, but it results in heavenly flavor and texture. I highly recommend it. It’s a great method for green asparagus too, if you’ve got stalks thick enough to hold up to the braising. If not, steaming for seconds is ideal.

Braised white asparagus needs no saucing. It’s ready to eat hot from the pan or at room temperature. But it’s the season for chive flowers, so if you can get them, take one or two and pull apart their little individual flowers to sprinkle over the plate. Nothing says spring better!

 

BRAISED WHITE ASPARAGUS/ASPERGES BLANCHES BRAISEES

If you cannot find white asparagus, use thick green asparagus stalks.

2 tbsp (30 ml) extra-virgin olive oil

½ cup (125 ml) water

2 fresh bay leaves

Several sprigs fresh thyme

2 lbs (1 kg) white asparagus, peeled and trimmed

Sea salt and freshly ground white pepper

Chive blossoms (optional garnish)

1.  Place olive oil, water and herbs in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat and add asparagus. Turn asparagus so it is coated with oil and water mixture and when liquid come to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, cover and cook asparagus until tender, turning asparagus from time to time so it cooks evenly and turns golden, 8 to 10 min.

2.  When asparagus is nearly tender, remove cover and cook it, shaking the pan and stirring, until any liquid evaporates. Remove from heat, season with salt and pepper and transfer to a serving dish. Garnish with chive blossoms and serve immediately.

4 to 6 servings

 

Susan Herrmann Loomis teaches cooking classes in Normandy and Paris. The latest of her nine books is Cooking at Home on Rue Tatin (William Morrow, 2006). Susan’s website

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Originally published in the May 2010 issue of France Today.