Summertime, and the cream is good

It’s odd to think I have a lot in common with a dairy cow, but the truth is, I do. We both like to laze the day away in a nice field, grazing from time to time if we get hungry. And we both are at our absolute best in the long, warm days of summer. Despite any appearance to the contrary, which you might gather from glimpsing either one of us lying on the grass from a passing car, we are amazingly productive when the weather is good. We feel great, and work hard.

So it is that at this time of year, local dairy products are a precious gift of high-fat milk and cream. It is, in fact, all that rumination and grazing in the grass that is responsible for dairy’s productivity and high fat content in the summer months. If you are able to buy local milk and cream right about now, and it is not homogenized, you are truly lucky. I currently can buy nearly 50% heavy cream and light cream that is in the high 30s. In glass bottles, too: I make a $1.00 deposit on the bottle, credited next time when the bottle is returned.

When good cream is available, it should be used simply. For heavy cream, whipped, of course, (unhomogenized cream beats lightning fast, and is amazingly good); poured straight over a fruit pie or a cake, crisp, or buckle; frozen into a mousse or ice cream; as a base for salad dressing; or made into a simple sauce for pasta. Light cream is good for most of these uses, too, and is my choice for summer soups  and chowders, which I prefer on the thin side.

Thinking about my affinity with cows, I could mention a few other things that we have in common. For example, we both have brown eyes, and, umm, large udders. We both wear a lot of black and white or brown and white. I am getting old enough to be called an “old cow,” if only behind my back. But I won’t mention these things, lest you think I am a bit strange. But really, it can’t just be coincidence that cream and I are such good friends.

Summer Garden Soup

I often say that in the summer I could live on corn and tomatoes. Neither is very good in Rhode Island because of the rain this year, but what there is can be turned into a simple summer soup—a kind of light vegetable chowder.

2 T butter
1/3 cup onion, finely chopped
6 medium plum tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped
2 ears corn, shucked
1 ½ cups corn stock
1 small bay leaf
½-3/4 tea salt
few twists of the pepper mill
1 cup cream

½ cucumber, skin on, chopped fine
few sprigs parsley, chopped fine

Cut the corn from the cobs.

Melt the butter in a 3-qt chef’s pan. Sauté the onion in the butter until translucent, about 2-3 minutes, then add the corn and sauté another 2-3 minutes. Add the tomato, ½ tea salt, pepper, and bay leaf, toss for a minute, then add the corn stock. Bring to a low boil, reduce to a moderate simmer, and cook for about 10 minutes, until the tomatoes are soft but still hold their shape.

Remove from the heat and let cool down just a bit. Remove the bay leaf and discard. Stir in the cream and taste for salt and pepper; you may want another ¼ tea of salt and a little more pepper. Serve warm, not hot, or cold, garnished with the chopped cucumber and parsley.

Snap Peas: Sweet and Sexy

After lettuce and spinach, snap peas are one of the first local vegetables to appear at the roadsides in Rhode Island. Also known as sugar snap peas after one of their most famous varieties, they are members of the club of naturally sweet vegetables that includes corn, beans, the standard English or garden pea, and carrots—but with less starch, or carbohydrates, than most. I am partial to all sweet veggies, and snap peas are one of my favorites.

Snap peas have an edible pod, similar to the flat snow pea but plumper, curvier, juicier, and crisper: they “snap” when you bend them, like a good bean. If a vegetable could be said to be sexy, then I think the snap pea qualifies. Really, look at them. See what I mean? Even their strings curl provocatively when you pull them down…all right, I’ll stop. But they’re enticing.

To prepare snap peas for eating, grasp the stem end and pull it down with one of the plump sides facing you; if the peas are very fresh, this will remove the strings on both the inner and outer curves in one movement. Sometimes it is necessary to remove the strings separately: pull the blossom end toward the inner curve, and pull the stem end toward the outer.

Snap peas are so sweet and crunchy they can be eaten raw, out of hand or in salads. They freeze, and even pickle, well. For cooking, they can be blanched, steamed, sautéed, or, for a real treat, battered and deep-fried. They are glossily beautiful and delicious sautéed plain in butter with a little salt and nothing else. They are a good vegetable for dips either raw or briefly blanched (try the aioli, June 17 post) or, also raw or blanched, can be split open and perkily piped with an herbed soft cheese (sort of an ‘80s thing). I like them with pasta. The two recipes below can be eaten alone as a side dish or as the sauce for your favorite pasta or egg noodle. As a summer side dish, snap peas are great with fish and shellfish, particularly seared or grilled scallops.

Snap Peas with Pancetta
(Serves 2-3)

half of a ½” slice of pancetta, finely chopped
2 T finely chopped shallot
1 T unsalted butter
½ lb snap peas, trimmed
1 ½ tea good-quality balsamic vinegar
salt, pepper

In a medium frying pan, cook pancetta, stirring with a wooden spoon, over medium-high heat until it begins to turn golden. Add the butter and the shallot and let it cook, foaming up a bit, for about 30 seconds. Reduce the heat to medium and add the snap peas; toss them around with the wooden spoon, being careful that they don’t brown, for 2-3 minutes. Add the vinegar, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper, and toss well; some of the browning in the pan will loosen on its own, but do not scrape. Serve as a side dish, or toss with 6 ounces buttered, cooked semolina linguini to serve two, with grated parmesan to taste.

Snap Peas with Cream

Simplicity in itself. Our local, unhomogenized cream is similar to top cream; it plops thickly when poured, almost like sour cream, yet it is sweet and fresh. If you can find some where you live, it makes this extra-special. For this dish, think of the cream as melted butter: you are not cooking it down, as you would to make a sauce for, e.g., tortellini. You want it to coat and only slightly thicken; that is why you can get away with so little. Serves 2-3.

½ lb snap peas, stringed
2 tea unsalted butter
scant ½ cup heavy cream
salt, pepper
2-3 T chopped flat-leaf parsley and fresh mint (about 4:1) or all parsley

Sauté peas in butter 2-3 minutes over moderate heat; do not allow them to get too brown. Pour cream over; toss; remove from heat, add herbs, salt, and freshly ground pepper, and toss once more.

To serve over pasta: For this, I like the tender richness of an egg noodle, whose large surface area also coats nicely; if you use an Italian pasta, look for one made with eggs (most fresh ones, and a very few dried). Boil 6-7 oz of egg noodles in salted water ‘til just tender, about 9 minutes; near the end of the cooking time, quickly sauté the peas in the 2 teaspoons of butter. Drain the noodles, return them to the pot, and toss them with an additional teaspoon or so of butter. Pour in the cream and toss around over low heat for a bit; remove from the heat and toss with salt, pepper, and the herbs to taste; add the peas and toss once more. Serves 2.