scallions before
I do realize that it’s becoming a little all scallions, all the time here. But tis the season. And I promise this is it for a while. Well, a few days at least. And this is delicious.
We’ve all heard the statistics about how much food is wasted. Consumers in North America and Europe waste about 209 to 253 pounds of food per person each and every year. If, as the USDA says, the average person in the U.S. eats 4.7 pounds of food per day that means the amount of food we each waste in the U.S. per year would feed us for the better part of two months. That’s just crazy. It’s a waste of resources. It’s a serious waste of money.
I’m totally guilty of it myself. Overbuying produce in the giddiness of a new season, or in the throws of an eat better and healthier resolution, only to have the excess turn to slime in the vegetable bin by week’s end. Or having cooking plans evaporate because of fancier invitations, deadlines, or sheer laziness. With the slimy vegetable bin still the final result. And I have things in the freezer that are fairly unidentifiable at this stage and are in danger of being chucked straight into the bin without ever even being thawed. Ridiculous.
So I’ve gotten better, I buy more mindfully, and at least once a week have myself a little Chopped dinner — a I have 1/2 of a rapidly drying out onion, 2 cups of purslane, a bag of pistachios, a chicken thigh and some marshmallow candies, what can we make from that for dinner, sort of thing. Greens that are about to go over the edge get blitzed in the Robot Coupe with oil and whatever nuts are on hand for pesto, the random bits and bobs of vegetables get made into a gratin with the leftover ends of cheeses.
But that’s only one kind of waste. The other night I showed up at my Dad’s with arms overladen with Spring produce, and proceeded to cook. Afterwards, as he was cleaning up, he looked at the two bags I had dangling from the back of the chair next to the cutting board and had to ask which was the trash and which was for the next night’s dinner. That got me started thinking about all of the perfectly tasty bits that get trimmed away. Now, I like my broccoli to be mostly florets on my plate too. But the stems can — and should — be set aside and puréed as a side or a spread, or sliced thin and quick pickled. Or shredded into slaws. All sorts of ends and edges can be set aside for stock making. And all of this reminded me of a very cool thing that I had tasted on a trip to elm restaurant in New Canaan, CT.
We spent the day touring (and snacking — did you know that red clover is delicious?) our way through Millstone Farm with Chef Brian Lewis and after seeing his enthusiasm and respect for the farm, I was not at all surprised to learn that he is a nose-to-tail, head-to-toe, root-to-tip, no-potentially-tasty-thing-goes-to-waste kind of chef. He greeted us with a lovely and tasty canapé of circles of brioche topped with slivers of radishes and a pesto made from the radish greens. He uses the skin from the pigs that he gets from Millstone for his signature chicharrónes with bottarga di tonno. But when he set down several gorgeous platters of his garden beignets, there was a tray of unidentifiable gangly fried vegetables dusted with piment d’esplette, which turned out to be — leek roots. Why did I never think of that? The leek roots that would have normally been tossed were instead battered and deep fried.“It’s kind of like onion rings” he explained gleefully.
So since I have approximately a million scallions in the house, with lovely lovely long roots, I decided to give it a whirl. I made a quick batter — 1/2 cup of chickpea flour, a dash of cornstarch, 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder, some salt and pepper, all mixed with 1/2 cup of warmish water. While the batter was resting, I heated about 2 inches of oil until it seemed fryable (about 350-375 degrees if you are the sort who uses a thermometer) and then quickly dipped the cleaned roots in the batter, gave them a shake on the way out of the bowl and then dropped them in the oil until golden brown, then drained on a paper towel. Once crispy and fried, the stringy roots were part subtle onion ring, part shoestring fry and all kinds of delicious.
scallion roots after
