Spring Things

Even in May, mornings here have a wintery chill. There is nothing better to take it off than a big bowl of steaming coffee and a length of freshly baked baguette slathered with butter. This glorious combination of flavors and textures can be had as early as 7 am in France, when the first bakeries open their doors.

You’ll notice the word “slather” in relation to the butter. That is because French butter tastes so good that a parsimonious spreading of it won’t do. And butter is a morning food in France. Except in gastronomic palaces, it is rarely if ever on a lunch or dinner table. So an early morning slather is entirely appropriate, since it won’t be seen again for the rest of the day. Of course, butter is used in sauces and to sauté certain things. But in its raw form, it’s up only with the birds.

Almost everything awakens with the birds come spring—plants begin to leaf out, little lettuces poke up from the ground, radishes start forming their bulbs. It is a wonderful time to eat, yet a challenging one because so many parts of the plant kingdom are only just nascent. We still have a foot in winter, too, so fat leeks with their centers beginning to harden are still on offer, as are celery root and winter carrots. We don’t want to eat these anymore, so we have to be creative with anything that’s new and young.

I take advantage of this season to serve meals based on multiple small dishes. I love to offer a lot of appetizers, something I learned to do in Piedmont, Italy, when I was there researching a book. I was surprised then to sit down for a meal and have, not a normal antipasto, but a dozen small dishes appear on the table at the same time, the prelude to a fantastic meal. Each dish was a little universe, and the way they were served inspired me. I now often offer little tasty universes before a meal, and spring is an ideal time to do it. Everything new is still in short supply, so little dishes stretch what is there.

Radis-beurre

Radishes are always part of my spring offering. I’ve written before about radishes with butter, but let me go into that combination a bit more and try to explain its glory. A good, crisp, slightly sweet and flavorful radish is the product of great soil and a good, steady dose of water. In my area of Normandy, that water is in the form of rain. If it rains enough during spring, then the little radishes grow sweet and firm. If there isn’t enough rain they still grow, but they develop a sharpness that can sear the taste buds. We usually have enough rain in spring to produce great radishes, which may seem like small compensation for grey days, but we take what we can get!

Butter. At more than 17 pounds per capita per year, the French eat more butter than anyone else. In spring they increase their consumption by slathering it on small rounds of fresh, crisp-crusted baguette to eat along with their radishes. They—we—are right to do so, because spring butter is even more marvelous than butter at other times of year. Come spring, cows graze on tender grasses, tiny daisies, succulent dandelions. Their milk is sweet and golden, and so is the butter.

The final touch to this radish-butter treat is fleur de sel, which always steps up to the plate with its sparkle and crunch.

Delicate greenery

Another astonishing denizen of spring is asparagus. Our local variety is just in, and because there isn’t much of it, the price is astronomical. I don’t hesitate to indulge, and I make them stretch. I pop off the tips with about two inches of stem, and steam them over thyme-infused water. I wrap the stems in a thin ribbon of air-cured ham, and arrange the spears on a plate, with a bit of homemade lemon mayonnaise on the side. Aside from a drizzle of either extra-virgin olive oil or hazelnut oil, I never sauce asparagus, preferring to leave that to each diner.

Oak leaf and butter lettuce (sometimes called Boston Bibb) are among the first lettuces to sprout. I have mixed feelings about them, because their appearance means my favorite winter green, mâche, is no more. I mourn quietly and quickly, however, then serve Bibb lettuce leaves with a little touch of fromage blanc—fresh cheese—seasoned with newly sprouted chives and freshly ground black pepper which I place in the natural cup formed by each leaf.

Swiss chard is about six inches out of the ground in this season too, its leaves begging to be trimmed, washed and cut into thin strips. Once that’s done, I sauté it in a little olive oil with plenty of garlic and serve it sprinkled either with toasted bread crumbs or an Egyptian mixture of nuts and spices called dukkah (sometimes duqqa). This dish is always a surprise because while earthy, it is also extremely delicate.

Turnips turn up

Peas pop now, too. Once I’ve had my first batch of the year, simply blanched in salted water and served with a pat of butter and plenty of salt and pepper, I get more creative. One of my favorite things to make is a simple pea soup based on water, which I purée and thicken with a bit of cream, then garnish with a mint leaf. It is spring in a bowl.

Turnips are a spring surprise. We think of them as winter vegetables, which they are. But first they’re a spring vegetable, and that is when they’re absolutely delicious. I like to braise them in a bit of water, herbs, and butter until they’re tender, then caramelize them with a sprinkle of sugar. They become part of my array of little spring dishes and oh! they are a delicate surprise.

What about meat, you might ask? I’m not much of a meat eater, but I’m mourning the disappearance of sea scallops at this time of year, and to assuage my sorrow over the seasonal separation from those coquilles Saint Jacques, I turn to my favorite meat, lamb.

Because a fire in the fireplace is still welcome on May nights, I build one early enough in the evening to make sure there is a nice bed of coals for grilling. I get thick, small lamb chops and rub them with oil. Right before I put them on the grill I top the hot coals with a large bunch of rosemary, which smokes with abandon. Once the grill is hot, it takes only about eight minutes to cook the chops, because lamb should be rare. With them? New potatoes that I’ve steamed and rolled in olive oil, then set on the grill a few minutes before I start the lamb. Nothing, but nothing, is a better way to enjoy spring in all its guises.

SWISS CHARD WITH GARLIC AND HOT PEPPER

BLETTES A L’AIL ET PIMENT

One large bunch Swiss chard (about 1 lb, or 500 g), rinsed

2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, germ removed

1/4 tsp fine sea salt

1/8 tsp hot red pepper flakes, or 1 small hot pepper, minced (optional)

3 tbsp fresh breadcrumbs, lightly toasted

1. Trim the stems from the chard, and cut them in small dice.

2. Stack the chard leaves and cut them crosswise into 1/2-inch strips.

3. Put 1 tbsp of the oil and the garlic in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. When the garlic sizzles, stir and cook it until translucent, 2 to 3 minutes Add the diced stems, stir, salt and cook, covered, until the stems are tender, 6–8 minutes, stirring occasionally so they don’t burn.

4. When the stems are tender, add hot pepper flakes or diced hot pepper, stir, and cook for about 1 minute, then add the chard leaves, pressing down so they fit in the pan. Stir, cover, and cook until tender, about 12 minutes. Season with salt, stir, and increase heat to high. Stir, shaking the pan, until most of the liquid has evaporated. Remove from heat.

5. To serve, transfer the chard to a platter. Sprinkle evenly with remaining olive oil and breadcrumbs.

Four servings

Susan Herrmann Loomis teaches cooking classes in Normandy and Paris. www.onruetatin.com. Find her cookbooks in the France Today Bookstore.

Originally published in the May 2012 issue of France Today