Douglas Fir & Smoked Tea-Cured Salmon

Where did the past few weeks go? As soon as Memorial Day hit, the days just shifted into one big blur. 

First there was our town's biggest annual race, Ski to Sea, a seven-leg, multi-sport journey from Mt. Baker, with its ten-thousand-foot altitude start line to Marine Park at sea level for the finish. It's been going on since 1973 and is an event that celebrates our area's easy access to mountain, river, ocean and many other spectacular spots in between. This year, Marc raced the road bike leg for Tony's Coffee, our favorite local roaster, so we got out and did some cheering for them. 

Then, there were the birthdays! Three in one week, including mine, which meant eating a lot of cake. Something, if I am being perfectly honest, I don't mind doing, especially when I am offered a Pure Bliss cupcake.

We've also been experiencing the lowest tides of the year, so Kingston and I have been out with friends exploring the beaches and tide pools here in Bellingham as well as around the county. We've been seeing so many wondrous things! Dungeoness crabs mating, saddleback gunnels squiggling through the tide pools, banks of sand dollars seemingly multiplying before our eyes, purple starfish glinting in the light, squishy anemones that shrink at the touch. 

When you walk through the shallows, it's a completely different experience from just gazing out at a body of water from a distance, the dark blue vastness of it stretching out as if one entity. You see life teeming at your feet, even in a few inches of water and muck. Then there's all the stuff that can't be seen by the naked eye. It's all in there. I've often thought of the ocean as Mother Nature's womb -- the original starting point, a container for life that is so rich and varied that most of us can recite only a handful or two of its inhabitants' names. 

The beaches here are completely different from what I grew up with in Southern California. Washington beaches tend to be narrow, disappearing with the rising tide, then rocky with its waning. Coastal forest often abuts these types of beaches. To me, they are moody places full of hidden mysteries meant to be uncovered with careful attention and a spirit of awe, as we step lightly through them wearing of course, the proper foot gear. 

A dungeoness crab moves through the tidepool...Do you see it peeking out?

The other day, Marc, Kingston and I headed up to just such a place, the Point Whitehorn Marine Reserve, about 25 minutes north of us on the Georgia Strait. It's such a special place, with 54 acres of mature, wetland forest.

At the trailhead, you start along a path that meanders through the forest and takes you over wooden footbridges until you arrive at the stone and rock-covered beach. There are over two miles of public access beach to explore. That day, as we emerged from the forest, I gazed out at the ocean and thought about all that is sacred and worth protecting, like the woods, the waters that surround it and everything that lives here. 

When we got home, I wanted to make something that would embody the beauty of both the Pacific Ocean and our local forests. We've been out foraging a lot this spring and the light green tips of the Douglas Fir tips have been really inspiring me in the kitchen. They have a lemony flavor and if you stuff a bunch of them into your mouth and chew, first you get a hit of citrus then a hint of the tree's pine aroma, which lingers. I've been experimenting with the tips in all sorts of concoctions, including here in this version of cured salmon which is citrusy and smoky, woodsy and briny. 

Sockeye. Chinook. Coho. Pink. King. Chum. Steelhead. Salmon are synonymous with the Pacific Northwest, and are sacred to the Salish Coast people. But these creatures have so much stacked against them, from loss of habitat and pollution to inhospitably warm waters due to hydroeclectric dams and global warming. This makes them all the more worth valuing, protecting and celebrating.

Douglas Fir and Smoked Tea-Cured Salmon
I used wild sockeye, but other varieties will work as well. Just opt for wild over ocean-farmed, which contributes to concentrated areas of pollution. Learn more about best choices available to you from Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch. Lapsang souchong is a type of Chinese black tea traditionally finished through smoking over pine needles. As far as tree tips go, you can use other types such as those from spruce trees, though I find spruce to be a bit resinous for my taste.  

Adapted from Tasting Table.

Makes enough to feed six to eight.

Ingredients
One 1 1/4 lb. piece salmon, skin-on and preferably center-cut
1 1/2 tablespoons lapsang souchong tea
1 cup Douglas Fir tips
1/4 cup kosher salt
3 tablespoons natural cane sugar

Instructions
In a mortar and pestle or spice mill finely grind the tea. Finely mince the fir tips. Place both in a small bowl and add salt and sugar. Combine well.

On a tray large enough to hold the fish, spread out half the curing mixture. On top of this, place the salmon skin side down. Spread the remaining mixture on top of the fish, making sure it is evenly coated. Tightly wrap and place in the refrigerator for 8-10 hours. 

When cured, remove salmon from tray and rinse under running water without rinsing the little bits of rub that remain on the fish. Pat dry with paper towels. To serve, slice very thinly against the bias. This is great served on a good bread, such as pumpernickel. 

Rhubarb & Wild Rose Galette

However damp the days are here, they have also been sweet with the fragrance of wild roses. About three weeks ago, the buds began their ephemeral bloom, first slowly and shyly, before unfurling their petals all at once in a show of pink exuberance. 

There are two varieties that I've seen growing right behind our house, at the edges of the woods and along trails all ever town: Woods' Rose (Rosa Woodsii) and the Nootka Rose (Rosa Nutkana). These flowers grow wild (and tall, up to four feet) around the Northwest, including along the Columbia River, in areas traversed by Lewis and Clark. In fact, these sweet, old-fashioned blooms, always demure and never too showy, are mentioned in the journals of their expedition.

Meriwether Lewis writes on June 10, 1806 that "there are two speceis of wild rose both quinquis petallis and of a damask red..." with quinquis petallis referring to the bloom being five-petaled rather than many-petaled like the cultivated roses we are more used to seeing.

The petals of the Woods' Roses are a much deeper pink than those of the Nootkas, which at times can be found in a blush hue so pale that it seems merely a variant shade of white. It seems to me that the flavors of the darker blooms are stronger in taste as well. I discovered this a few days ago when I was walking the dog, tasting the velvety petals as I came across them.

That's when I thought the roses might be perfect combined with rhubarb. They could add dimension to rhubarb's enthusiastically sour flavor, which I've always found to be one-note on its own. I think rhubarb does best in the company of friends, like a scrape of vanilla bean, a handful of strawberries or strands of citrus zest.

I decided to gather some petals and blooms before they were gone. I climbed onto a cherry log pushed up against our back fence and reached outward and upward toward a Woods' Rose shrub that was growing from the highest part of the drop where our retaining wall ends. Somehow I managed to pluck whole blooms and catch petals in my bucket without falling overboard! Success. 

You'll want to make this galette as soon as possible to catch the end of the wild roses and rhubarb. Or, if the bounty where you live stretches into June, you can wait until the 10th to commemorate Lewis and Clark's first encounter with these beautiful roses in 1806.

Rhubarb and Wild Rose Galette
Tart, sweet and aromatic with each bite, you can adjust the rose flavor with the amount of petals you use. Just be sure not to overdo it! You can also make this with petals from cultivated, pesticide-free roses, though you'll have to play around with how much you use. For a gluten-free version, use this crust from Aran, and then substitute white rice flour in the filling.

Adapted from Alice Waters. 

Makes 1 galette.

Ingredients
Dough for 1 pie or tart, such as the one here.

For the filling:
1 lb. rhubarb, all leaves and ends trimmed off
3/4 cup natural cane sugar, divided
generous pinch of kosher salt
6 tablespoons unbleached all-purposed flour, divided
1/4 cup almond meal
2 to 3 generous handfuls of wild rose petals (depending on how much rose flavor you want)

To finish:
1 tablespoon melted, unsalted butter
1 tablespoon Turbinado sugar

Instructions
Preheat oven to 400F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Wash and dry rhubarb. Cut stalks into pieces 1/4" thick and about 2" long. In a bowl, toss with 2 tablespoons of the flour, 1/2 cup sugar and the salt. Set aside.

Roll crust out to 1/8 inch thickness to form a 14" circle. Transfer to prepared baking sheet to finish assembly of galette. 

In a small bowl combine remaining 1/4 cup sugar and the almond meal. Spoon mixture onto the middle of your circle of dough then push out toward edges leaving a 1 1/2 inch border uncovered. Place pieces of rhubarb at the edge of the circle of dough and roll the dough over the rhubard and crimp, turning the pan as needed to form a rim which will prevent juices from flowing out of your galette during baking. 

Toss rose petals over the almond meal mixture. Place the remaining pieces of rhubarb on top, in whatever pattern you like, covering everything up to the edges. Brush rim with melted butter then sprinkle with the Turbinado.

Place in middle rack in oven. Turn tray after 15 minutes of baking. After another 15 minutes turn again. Do this again a third time, for a total of 45 minutes of baking time. 

Cool competely then sprinkle with more rose petals, if you like. Serve alone or with a dollop of whipped cream. 

Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce

With all the beautiful produce showing up recently, it's been hard not to have salad on the brain. In fact, it's easy to start daydreaming about being Yotam Ottolenghi, the vegetable master, flipping all sorts of gorgeous possibilities around in my mind. Red chile? Snap peas? Feta? Yes.

There is much to hope for in a good salad. When seasonings and textures are in harmony and the freshest ingredients used, a salad can be invigorating. Uplifting, even. This is especially true on those hot days when we feel droopy to the point of not wanting to eat - or hope for - much of anything.

Salads can veer off into wild exuberance, with acidity, for instance, nearly taking over only to be pulled back from the edge by just the right amount of salt. Crunch can get piled on top of more crunchiness and crispness, each element steeped in its individual flavor. If they are put together right, a mouthful is bliss on a sunny day.

I know people like my neighbor, Heather, however, who dreads putting a salad together for fear of not doing it right or making it "too bland." I'm not sure where this fear comes from, but it must be set it aside. 

Those intimidated, would-be vegetable artists need to step up to the task of salad making with courage and determination. Not to do so would mean missing out on life.

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people," writes the very wise Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird.

But really, when it comes to warm weather produce and what to do with it, this line could be rewritten as: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the salad."

This means, be brave and pull it together. Don't be afraid of making a salad with what you have. Don't worry too much about the outcome. Dare to let your veggies be great. 

Walk through the farmer's market or the produce section and grab what pleases you. If you are fortunate enough to be asked by a neighbor (such as mine) to water her garden while she is visiting Southern California or even have a small plot of your very own, pick what is ready and calling out to you. 

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Step back and gaze at the pile of things you have collected and thunked down on the counter. In what ways could they possibly be encouraged to live happily together?

Maybe just a dressing will do? The simplest one I can think of for a large head of lettuce washed, torn, and thrown into a bowl is made with the juice of half a lemon, a few glugs of good olive oil (twice as much as the juice) and a generous pinch of salt.

Knit them together with a quick, energetic whisking. If no lemon is in sight, a lime will work just as well. Or use a vinegar instead.

Taste as you go along. Make sure that you have yin to balance out the yang of your vegetables. If something is crisp, add an element that may be soft or silky. Tart? Add sour. Bitterness? Add sweetness. And so on. Just have fun with it and should anything go amiss, it can always be corrected. 

In the worst case, when you can't quite figure it out (with practice, this will happen with less and less frequency until it becomes a non-concern) you will at the very least, still have something fresh and healthy to eat.

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Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce
Our neighbors did ask me to water their veggie garden while they were away for ten days recently. They had plenty of snap peas, which I had to snatch away from Kingston, who ate them out of hand. I had the lettuce, chile, onion and a hunk of feta in the fridge already. Mint and tarragon were in my herb box on the back deck. So, this was a salad about using what I had. These, for me, are always the most enjoyable kinds of meals. Simplicity itself. 

Serves 3 to 4.

Ingredients
2 cups snap peas
1 small fresh red chile
1 small fresh banana pepper (optional)
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
6 or 7 Boston or Butter lettuce leaves (larger, outer leaves)
Fresh mint, enough leaves to make 1 teaspoon when roughly chopped
Fresh tarragon, 1 sprig, leaves torn off
1 teaspoon black sesame seeds, plus more
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt and pepper

Instructions
Cut snap peas on the diagonal into 1/2-inch pieces. Mince the red chile. Cut banana pepper lengthwise then again crosswise into thin pieces, about 1/8-inch each (if using). Roughly chop mint and tear or cut tarragon into small pieces.

Whisk together lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt to taste, keeping in mind hat the feta will add saltiness as well. Just a small pinch was enough for me.

Add torn lettuce pieces to the snap peas and peppers. Drizzle dressing over the veggies and scatter sesame seeds and then the feta. Add a grind or two of fresh black pepper. Toss salad gently but thoroughly with your hands or with tongs. Make sure all of the vegetables are coated with a bit of the dressing.

Serve in a big salad bowl or on individual plates. Scatter a pinch more of the sesame seeds over the salad before serving. Eat immediately.

Strawberries and Cream Oat Scones & A Simple Salmon Berry Shrub

A couple of nights ago, I looked out the window to see the sky stained twilight blue, the last of the day's glow stubbornly pushing against the coming of night. It was 10 p.m. The days of extended light are stretching out toward their midsummer peak right about now. 

For me, this means one thing: it's berry time.

When it comes to berries of any kind, I am a greedy little child. I am a crazy fool who can't stop stuffing them into her mouth. I am that person whose tongue is stained red, purple and sometimes blue, juices leaking down her chin. And I don't care.

Before I lived in Washington, berries weren't that big of a deal to me. It sounds weird to say that now. But, in Southern California, where I grew up, we had citrus - tangy and bitter kumquats that my grandmother grew, endless supplies of yellow grapefruit from the backyard tree. Oranges and lemons from next door. These were the fruits that sustained me.

Then, we moved to the Pacific Northwest. Berry country. While I still love my citrus fruits, they don't grow here and berries have taken their place front and center.

So this is how it goes around here. First there are the local strawberries at the end of May, which last for about five weeks into June. Then in July, there are the raspberries, which I could eat forever. Then sweet and easy-to-love blueberries arrive and stay on into September.

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Cultivated strawberries from Everson, WA.

Around the same time as the blueberries, the wild blackberries appear growing in unruly thickets along fence lines, trails and streets both wide and narrow.

Himalayan and evergreen blackberry varieties are considered invasive ("class C noxious weeds," according to the state of Washington, for those who insist on the facts). I know people who loathe them because no matter how you beat them back from the edge of your property, they just keep returning.

Maybe it's because I'm not from here that I have to say but wait, wait! Taste them.

There is just something about walking along, plucking the blackberries from their thorny branches. Popping them into your mouth and letting the tart floral juices pool on your tongue for a moment before they trickle down your throat. It's intoxicating.

Not only is this is the closest thing any of us get to grazing like a wild animal. For me, picking wild berries is the closest we'll ever come to knowing what it was like before Adam ate that damned apple, when humankind resided in innocence and perfection.

But wait. There is, of course, more. Between the wild blackberries and local farm-cultivated berries, we have red huckleberries, currants, thimbleberries, wild strawberries and salmon berries throughout the woods and free for the taking.

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Wild salmonberries. They look a bit like raspberries. But also a bit like salmon roe. And, they taste floral and melon-y at the same time.

I'll pick and forage enough berries during these warmer months to make different jams, jellies, vinegar shrubs and baked treats. I'll also definitely freeze some of my loot so that during the long, dark months of winter, our family will have these sweet jewels to fill the short days with light.

This year, Kingston and I started our berry celebration once again at Spring Frog Farm in Everson. After petting their big black farm cat sufficiently (per the three-year-old), we plonked our knees into the dirt and reached our hands under the low-growing plants to pick heaps and heaps of strawberries.

Once we brought them home, we cooked up a batch of Rachel Saunder's Children's Strawberry Jam (our favorite) then baked these tender scones for you.

We hope you'll enjoy every morsel.

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Strawberries and Cream Oat Scones
Because this recipe uses oats along with all-purpose flour, these scones are a bit more fragile that you might typically expect. Using the oats is worth it though because the oats bring the butter flavor even more strongly to the fore than all-purpose flour alone would. (Note: Alice Medrich mentions this in the oat flour chapter of her wonderful book, Flavor Flours.) Just let the scones cool for at least 15 minutes and they will be more willing to be picked up and handled by a hungry eater.  

Makes 8 scones.

Ingredients
1 1/2 cup (180g) all-purpose flour
1 1/4 cup (116 g) old-fashioned oats, divided
2 teaspoons (12 g) ground flax seeds
5 tablespoons (65 g) fine natural cane or granulated sugar
1 tablespoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
6 tablespoons (85 g) cold butter, cut into 1/2 to 3/4-inch pieces
3/4 cup strawberries, hulled 
3/4 cup heavy whipping cream, plus extra for finishing
1 cold large egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Demarara or turbinado sugar for sprinkling

Instructions
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Place a piece of parchment on a baking sheet. Set aside.

Cut strawberries lengthwise into 1/4-inch slices, then cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces. Set aside in small bowl.

Put half of the oats into a blender or mini-processor, whizzing to fine consistency. In a large bowl, combine the ground oats, all-purpose flour, flax seeds, sugar, baking powder and sea salt. Add in the remaining (unprocessed) oats.

Toss butter into the flour mixture, so that all pieces are coated. Putting hands into an offering gesture, place some of the flour and butter into your open-palmed hands. Using your fingers and thumbs, press down on the butter, smearing it into the flour. Allow bits of the mixture to fall back through your fingertips and into the bowl. Repeat until you have worked the butter through most of the flour. You will notice that you can really start smelling the butter, which means that it is warming up and really getting worked in. Toss the strawberries in, using your hands to gently distribute the fruit throughout the mixture.

Whisk together the cream, egg and vanilla. Slowly drizzle it in a spiral motion from the outside in toward the center of your flour-butter mixture. Using a fork, quickly work the wet ingredients in. Take a bit of the dough without any strawberries and squeeze it. If it holds together, it has enough moisture. If it doesn't, add a few drops more cream. Test again by squeezing a bit of dough together. You dough will appear shaggy, but there is no need to fret.

Tip the dough mixture onto a lightly floured surface. Gather it together kneading quickly and lightly. Shape the dough into a 1--inch thick circle. Using a floured knife or pastry scraper, cut in half, then again into quarters. Cut twice more across the circle until you have 8 wedges. (Alternatively, you could use a biscuit cutter and make these into round shapes.) Place wedges on your prepared sheet.

It's best to let your scones rest for 20 minutes, or longer, if you have the time. Place them in the refrigerator or freezer to rest.

When ready, brush some cream onto the tops of the scones. Sprinkle generously with sugar.

Place scones in the middle of oven. Bake for 20-22 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and allow to cool for 2 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Keeps in a sealed container for 2-3 days. Reheat them at low heat in the oven if you wish.

Adapted from Tara O'Brady's wonderful new book, Seven Spoons. Go out and buy it already, people. It belongs on your kitchen bookshelf.

Simple Salmon Berry Shrub

Makes about 2 cups.

Ingredients
1 cup salmon berries
1 cup raw unrefined cane sugar
1 cup apple raw (unpasteurized) cider vinegar

Instructions
Give your berries a gentle rinse and drain in a colander.

Place berries in a medium non-reactive bowl. Crush berries lightly with the tines of a fork to release the juices. Pour sugar over the berries, stirring so that all the berries are coated.

Cover mixture and place in the refrigerator for at least several hours and up to a couple of days.

When you uncover the bowl, you'll see that the berries have exuded their juices and combined with the sugar to form a syrup. Scrape berries, syrup and any remaining undissolved sugar into a fine-meshed sieved over a bowl and press through the sieve.

Combine the collected syrup, juices and sugar with the vinegar and pour into a sterilized bottle or large jar with a non-metallic lid. Any remaining undissolved sugar will eventually be dissolved by the acids in the vinegar.

Use right away or allow to age slightly in the fridge. Your shrub will mellow out and the flavors will come together the longer it is allowed to sit, up to one month. Use the shrub in a cocktail or enjoy simply with some soda water and a bit of citrus.

Note: If you can't find any salmon berries, feel free to substitute another type. Raspberries will do just nicely, for example.

My Bird's Nest Soup

Chris and Aslan, two of the very capable guys from Flying Colors Painting Company came by our house recently to pressure wash and paint the exterior. We shut all of our windows, as (sensibly) instructed. Then the wet, noisy process began.  

I have to admit, it was exciting, especially for our family's younger set, who stood patiently by each window watching, moving to the next suitable viewing point as the areas of washing shifted and water cascaded down around us.  

Since our house is adjacent to the woods, we end up with a lot of dampness and dirt, moss and leaves over the whole structure. Because of where it sits, our house (and yard) is the perfect receptacle for catching all the stuff that gets blown about and out of the woods. After many years of going without, the washing was much needed.

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The other thing that happens due to our location is that certain animals, birds especially, seem to view our house as an extension of the woods. This means that in the Spring, all sorts of interesting activities start up around us.

This year, a pileated woodpecker appeared (again), hammering away at a metal vent high on the east side of our house. The noise echoed loudly enough to set my back teeth on edge. This went on for what seemed like weeks. Bunnies hopped out past the rhododendron and onto our lawn. The deer -- well, if you've been reading this blog, you've already heard plenty about them.

For me, though, the most interesting visitors this year were the pair of robins who settled under one of the eaves out front. We watched them every day after they first arrived. They were so busy gathering twigs and bits of soft, sphagnum moss from the lawn that they didn't even notice us at first. 

I admired their work ethic and drive to protect the nest. My son and I would quietly lean over the edge of the porch together to examine its changes each day. The nest was beautiful in a fecund sort of way and surprisingly large, with wisps of light green hanging down from it.  It looked like something out of a children's book.

The hatchlings arrived and quickly became strong enough to fly off. Thankfully, the robins were done with the nest before the painters came.

After the pressure washing was done, the nest, which had been knocked out of the eave lay sideways and empty on the ground. Everything does have its time and season.

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My Bird's Nest Soup
When I was growing up in Chinatown, we would enjoy traditional bird's nest soup at wedding banquets. The authentic Chinese version is made from the spit of swallows, which lends the soup a viscous quality. Even as a child, I never found it (or the idea of it) either weird or disgusting. It was always just utterly delicious. This clean, simple and completely non-traditional version is my ode to Spring and our robin visitors. It makes a perfect light lunch or supper.

Serves 2.

Ingredients
1-8.8 ounce package of angel hair nests
6 cups good-quality chicken or vegetable broth, preferably homemade
1/3 of a bunch of fresh spinach, leaves wash and torn into pieces
2 very fresh, large eggs
1 teaspoon vinegar

Sesame oil for drizzling
Cilantro, parsley, basil or other soft-stemmed herbs, chopped
Fresh pepper and salt

Instructions
Place broth in a medium pot over medium heat. Once the broth comes to a simmer, turn to low to keep it hot. Taste for seasoning. If the broth is homemade you may need to adjust for salt.

Split the torn leaves between two wide soup bowls, placing them at the bottom. Set aside.

Bring a medium pot of water to boil. Salt water generously. Add two angel hair nests and cook according to package directions (mine were Delverde brand and took 3 minutes). Don't break up the nest shapes. They will cook through even undisturbed.

Bring another medium pot of water to boil. Add vinegar. Crack one egg at a time, placing eggs into separate ramekins or small cups. Using a wooden spoon, stir the water to create a vortex motion and slip one egg at a time into the water whites first.  Cook for three minutes. With a large metal spoon, scoop each egg out one at a time, cutting off loose strands of white with the edge of the spoon. Place one egg on top of each angel's hair nest.

Ladle hot broth along the sides of the bowl, making sure to cover the spinach and part of the pasta nest. The heat of the broth is sufficient to wilt the leaves.

Drizzle with sesame oil and garnish with fresh herbs and pepper.