Mint

Though the botanical family Lamiaceae includes many other culinary flowering herbs, from basil to thyme, it is commonly known as “the mint family” in acknowledgment of its many bright, fragrant, and popular species that we call, simply, mint. Nowadays, if you live near a garden center or nursery, you will likely have access to at least peppermint, spearmint, pineapple mint, and apple mint, all popular varieties. Mysteriously, mints are less available on a reliable basis in stores, so it’s extremely useful to have your own out back. Because this perennial can really take over, you are probably wisest to plant it in a deep well-drained container or, if in the ground, a tightly constricted area. Shade or part sun is best, but mints are easy-going thrivers wherever you set them down.
Peppermint, which has a venerable and continuing history as a soothing and even nutritive medicinal, and which lives permanently in our mind’s eye as a sort of mid-century color, is one of my favorite flavors. For ice cream and candy canes, of course. For cool drinks like lemonade, juleps, and mojitos, and as a hot-tea afternoon pick-me-up. For jelly making, and as a frosting for brownies. In high summer, when there are great tomatoes, there is nothing so refreshing as a tabbouleh salad made with tons of lemon and chopped fresh mint.
But you can have it now. Our odd spring/early summer—endless cool and rainy weather followed by a sudden burst of ground-warming heat—has thrown off the usual orderly schedule of emerging produce, creating a somewhat confusing collision of choices. Asparagus was so late that its season was shorter than ever, while herbs started growing like mad. Even strawberries began to show before asparagus had totally given up the ghost for the season.
The famous spring asparagus goes nicely with mint. Mint’s refreshing, astringent qualities balance the grassy taste of asparagus and adds range to its somewhat limited profile.
Pasta with Asparagus and Mint
Pasta makes for a surprisingly light meal in unseasonably warm weather. The secret is to barely dress it. Serves 2.
3 strips smoky bacon
½ medium onion
½ lb medium-thin asparagus, or about 14 spears
1/3 cup light cream or half and half
6 oz dried quality egg fettuccine, such as De Cecco™
Salt, freshly ground pepper
About 25 large mint leaves
Grated parmesan (optional)
Put a large pot of water, covered, on to boil. Stack the mint leaves and roll them up tightly, lengthwise. With a very sharp knife, cut the rolls across very closely to a fine chiffonade. Cook the bacon over medium heat until it is crisp but not burned; remove with a slotted spoon to drain on paper towels, leaving the fat in the pan.
While the bacon is cooking, bend the asparagus until it snaps, discarding the ends, then cut the stalks at an angle into 2” pieces. Slice the onion about ¼” thick.
Turn the heat up on the fat to medium high. Add the asparagus and toss it around for about 2 minutes; then add the onion and a little salt and pepper and cook with the asparagus until they have softened and begun to brown, about 3 minutes. Remove the onions and asparagus from the pan; discard the fat and clean the pan out.
Pour about ¼ cup of the cream into the clean pan and put the heat on low. Salt the boiling water, add the pasta, and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes. Drain and add to the cream, raising the heat a little while tossing to coat and thicken a little. Just before removing from the heat, toss in the asparagus and onion, taste for seasoning, the add the remaining few tablespoons of cream. Divide the pasta between two bowls, crumble the bacon over it, and sprinkle generously with the mint. Serve at once, with parmesan if you like.
                                        

The Famous Spring Asparagus

It’s nearly the end of May, and the asparagus has been at the roadside—and in my kitchen—for several weeks, so before it disappears, I’d better acknowledge the gift. Here in Little Compton, we live in asparagus heaven—sandy soil near the sea—and after its first appearance I’m likely to take it for granted. This really isn’t fair, as fresh-cut asparagus is special in the same way that fresh-picked corn or a field tomato is. Its chemical make-up changes soon after harvesting, so you are eating quite a different product when asparagus is new and local than when you purchase it at a market. It is well worth a Sunday drive to seek out, if that’s what it takes. And of course, Sunday drives are nice.

Asparagus is one of the most nutrient-packed vegetables, and a good source of fiber, which is stored in the skin. Consequently, the larger the asparagus spear, the more tender; many people prefer fat asparagus for this reason. Aesthetically, I like them smaller, and if they are really, really fresh, I notice no difference in tenderness. I peel my asparagus below the belt (you don’t need to), so that helps too.

The most common way to cook asparagus is to blanch it in boiling water until tender when tested with the point of a paring knife, 3-5 minutes depending on size, possibly longer for the really fat (and really old) ones. The stand-up method, in which asparagus is tied and cooked in a tall pot to allow the tips to steam, is theoretically sound but silly, as befitting its name. If you must cook it in water—and only if you must—use a small frying pan in which you can lay the asparagus in a single layer, like little people floating on their backs in a pool, with the their heads out. Use only enough water to cover the stems, and cook at a gentle bubble for a few minutes until tender.

But why, really, would you want to cook asparagus in water unless you were doing something very delicate with it, like serving it with a mousseline sauce? (Which you might, but how often?) It gets cold too fast. It leaches out the flavor, and becomes bland. And (although you should never, ever do this), it turns a dour color if covered with a lid or cooked too long. So don’t steam, and don’t boil. Fancy sauce or to make soup from left-over stems the two permissible exceptions, and even then. . . .

I prefer to grill, stir-fry, or roast; roasting, in fact, is my alternative to blanching for a basic cooked asparagus that can be used for pretty much anything. To cook asparagus by any method, bend it gently so that the woody bottoms snap off, then trim the ragged ends with a sharp knife so they look nice. Swish them in a basin of water to remove any lingering sand, and peel the lower parts if you like; dry between paper towels. For roasting, put a few teaspoons of olive oil and some salt and pepper in an oven-proof shallow dish large enough to hold your asparagus in a single layer (a pie plate works if nothing else is handy), drop in your same-sized spears, roll them around with your hands to coat, and pop into a 400 F oven. Roast until just piercable or, if you want them really charred, longer: 5-10 minutes. Use in any preparation, or sprinkle with fresh parmesan and a little lemon or balsamic vinegar and serve. A few sprinkled herbs for the last few minutes of cooking are nice, too.

To grill, either over charcoal or on an ungreased pan, have your fire hot. Brush each spear lightly with olive oil and throw it down. Cook quickly, turning, two or three minutes. In the photo below, the asparagus was pan-grilled, very lightly dressed with leftover LMC Dressing (last week’s post), and served with a very traditional polonaise of finely chopped hard-cooked egg, parsley, salt, pepper, and a little lemon zest (you can add buttered bread crumbs, too, but I skipped them). This was excellent and different from the usual asparagus polonaise made with blanched spears. You could use any vinaigrette, and any cooking method; serve warm or at room temperature. Slightly chilled is all right, too, but please, not cold.

Asparagus has a particular affinity with Asian flavors, although I don’t think it is a common vegetable in that part of the world. In the recipe below, the asparagus is quickly stir-fried with Chinese seasonings. It is an adaptation and combination of two recipes for dry-fried green beans in one of Fuschia Dunlop’s wonderful Chinese cookbooks. It’s fast and is good on its own or as a side dish for grilled lamb, chicken, or scallops.

Ah, but what about the wine, you’re thinking. Asparagus is the worst possible food to pair with wine, right? Well, it depends. This newborn asparagus has none of that odd grassy, sometimes even metallic, off-taste of the long-ago-picked storebought. It’s true that all asparagus contains sulfurous compounds that do funny things—particularly when overcooked or otherwise aged beyond recognition. But buy it fresh and cook it right and you can minimize its negative transformations, with or without wine. Probably you should avoid already grassy tasting whites, and anything too oaky or tannic. Light, crisp Italian whites are fine, and I’d go that route with plain, traditionally sauced asparagus, and with Asian-inspired dishes (beer is nice, too), but my principle recommendation would be a rosé. Granted, rosé is almost always my preference for flavorful warm-weather food, and for champagne. But really, it’s one of the best choices here, excellent with the polonaise. Look for some of the great inexpensive choices coming out of Portugal these days.

Double dry-fried Asparagus

1 bunch asparagus, about 1 lb, sliced at a sharp angle into 2” pieces
2 T peanut oil
3 scallions, white parts only, ditto
4 -6 dried small hot dried chiles, snipped in little pieces (discard the seeds)
½ tea Sichuan pepper (see Note)
2 cloves garlic, peeled and very thinly sliced
1 piece peeled fresh ginger, about the size of a walnut, thinly sliced and then cut into little matchsticks

2 tea Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
2 tea soy sauce
1 tea sesame oil

Heat a scant 2 T of oil in a wok or skillet to medium hot Add the sliced asparagus and stir fry quickly, 2 or 3 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add the chiles and the pepper and stir fry until fragrant, then add the ginger, garlic, and scallions and stir fry an additional minute, ‘til soft and fragrant. Put the asparagus back in the pan, splash with the wine and soy sauce, toss, and remove from the heat. Add the sesame oil and stir. Serve.

Note: You can buy Sichuan peppercorns at your local Chinese grocery or from Penzey’s. Grind in a mortar or spice mill, or put some in a small zip-lock bag and pound.