The Soaked Bean

Seeking Nourishment, Finding Traditions

Last-Stretch-of-Winter Lemons

By

It’s nearly March, which means (from a glass-half-full vantage) that it’s nearly Spring or (from a glass-half-empty one) that citrus season is nearing its end and that it’s nigh time for us in the Northern Hemisphere to bid farewell to (relatively) locally-grown lemons.  Sigh.

You see, as much as I try to keep my diet in harmony with my region’s seasonal rhythms, I tend to make excuses for lemon.  Sweet, sunshine-hued lemon, the only fruit that I consume daily, throughout the day in fact, starting my morning with a limonene concentrate and proceeding to sprinkle its juice on grains and greens, roast slice on top of chicken or fish, drop wedge in glass of water or cup of herbal tea.  Come Winter or, for those experiencing the isn’t-it-over-yet blues, Citrus Good Times, I fill my market bag with the finest lemons that this region has to offer.  And when the winds have shifted toward Spring, my hands can’t help but reach for those mesh-bags, y’all know the ones, brightly hued and filled with 10 not-always-so-fine-but-fine-enough looking lemons.  And in Summer, seasonal-living-be-damned, I make lemonade.

I can’t quit you, lemon.  And to speak, pardon my French, franc-ly, I don’t want to.  But this year, I’m going to try to reserve the use of the fresh version of you and make more use of the preserved one.

saltylemon

Yep, that’s right preserves, or the results of preserving the bounty of one season for the next.  Like curing ham in the fall, or making sauerkraut in the winter, or eating as many strawberries as humanly possible in June.  The lemon is no stranger to the process of preserving and, like many other plant-based lacto-ferments, all that’s needed is some salt, a vessel and time.

lemonylemon.218

Call them pickled or lacto-fermented or salt-brined or just plain ol’ preserved, these lemons will last far beyond this last stretch of Wint…, ahem, Citrus Good Times.  And while they won’t yield even remotely…remotely!… palatable results for something like, say, lemonade, the combination of salt and time mutes the bitterness of pith and peel, meaning that preserved lemons are lemons you can eat whole.

The classic use for these lemons is in chicken tagine, but I find their uniquely-umami quality lends brightness and complexity to something as simple as a plate of 10-minute couscous.  I’ve added slices to a pan of sizzling brussel sprouts, stuffed them in a roasting chicken, simmered them in a pot of spelt-berries all with equally lip-smacking results.

lemon.216

Let the Citrus Good Times roll!

Print
Preserved Lemons

Adapted from Ottolenghi's "Jerusalem"

Ingredients

  • 6 organic lemons (important! as you'll be consuming the peel); whole
  • 6 tablespoons of course Celtic sea salt
  • 6 lemons; juiced
  • 1 sprig rosemary
  • 1 sprig thyme
  • few dried hot peppers (optional, but delicious for us spice-lovers)

Directions

  1. Cut an "X" in each lemon, cutting deeply enough so that it folds open, but lightly enough so that it remains whole. Rub 1 tablespoon of salt into the inside of each lemon. Place lemons into a sealable glass vessel, pressing down on them as you go. The lemons should fill the jar (if your jar is too big or too small, add/subtract lemons accordingly). Seal well and wait 1 week, storing someplace cool and dry.
  2. Your lemons will have shrunk a bit by now and there will be some space at the top of your jar. No big deal! Add the juice of 6 lemons (or more, depending -- the goal is to cover the lemons with juice) and herbs and peppers. Add a pour of olive oil on top of the lemon juice. This layer of fat will protect your lemons from developing molds. Seal well and wait 3 weeks, storing in that cool and dry place.

After you've opened your jar, store in the refrigerator.

Belated Imbolc Tidings & Squash Soup

By

oven

Lulu & I celebrated Imbolc this past Sunday with a loaf of sourdough poppy-seed bread and two bowls of this nourishing squash soup with three beeswax candles, a jar-full of fiery fringed-tulips and an almost-full moon beside.

For the uninitiated: Imbolc falls midway between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox, a celebration of fertility goddess brigid, a heralding of spring & all the fertile life and light it brings.

soup&pickles

bulgare

Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Midsummer: though I by no means consider myself a pagan (okay, maybe just, like, a neo-neo-one), there is something so wondrous about celebrating holidays that are unabashed celebrations of the seasons.

I say unabashed because, of course, many of our American holidays are still guided by seasonal rhythms.  In fact, many have been derived from the pagan calender–Ostara (or the Vernal Equinox) has become Easter, Yule (Winter Solstice) Christmas, Mabon Halloween.  Even Imbolc has wedged its way into our culture through Groundhog’s Day (for which I am grateful solely because without GD, we wouldn’t have that Bill Murray masterpiece).

But while their pagan counterparts are centered around these seasonal transitions, I find American holidays take them for circumstance (See: Christmas in July), trading in traditions based on nature for (and I swear this isn’t turning into a [major] rant against commercialism) ones based on consumerism.  Not to mention the replacement of every single female representative for a male one, with goddesses Ostara and Brigid replaced by a male bunny and a male groundhog, respectively.  A bunny and a groundhog.  Shaking ma tête.

The celebration of Imbolc depends on personal preference.  Goddess worship, if that’s your thang, could certainly be apart of it, weather divination (like in the case of ol’ Groundhog’s Day) by a walk in the woods and a watching for creatures who have emerged from winter-den, a candle-lit dinner, a bonfire with friends, a jar of bright flowers, a bowl of squash soup. A way of celebrating the season, the moment at hand.

I’ve found this to be the brightest balm for late winter blues: a reminder that the wheel is ever-turning, changes are afoot, Spring is almost almost-here.

coven

I’ve made many versions of this soup before (with cumin and coriander, paprika and za’atar, lots of garlic and fried sage).  This is, by far, the simplest one. It’s also my new favorite as the minimalistic approach really lets sweet Kabocha shine.

soup-7

Print
Imbolc Kabocha Squash Soup

Ingredients

  • 1 small celeriac, chopped
  • 2 carrots, chopped
  • 1 kabocha squash, gutted and chopped (leave the skin on! it's edible & full of fiber & nutrients)
  • 2 good knobs of ghee
  • 1 onion, diced
  • 1 pint beef bone broth
  • water (if needed)

Directions

  1. Heat oven to 350F. Chop celeriac, carrots and squash so that the pieces are roughly the same size. (Important, as you're roasting them together and you want them to roast evenly). Place on roasting pan. Melt knob of ghee and pour over vegetables. Add generous sprinkle of salt. Cover with foil and roast for 45 minutes, or until all vegetables are soft.
  2. When vegetables are almost through roasting, heat soup pot on stove on medium-flame. Add knob of ghee. Once melted, add onion and another good sprinkle of salt. Let onion cook until translucent, then lower the flame.
  3. Add roasted vegetables and ghee-drippings to pot. Cover with pint of bone broth, adding additional water if necessary. (Liquid should cover the vegetables so that your soup is velvet-creamy). Bring broth to a rolling boil, then take off of heat.
  4. Let cool for a few minutes, then use immersion blender (Important, as pouring hot liquid into a standing blender or food processor can lead to major leakage) to blend.

Enjoy with hunk of sourdough bread, spoonful of raw sour cream, lacto-fermented pickles,and/or drizzle of olive oil and squeeze of lemon.