In an ideal world, I’d know a perfectly roasted chicken by its loosening thigh joint and a medium-rare lamb chop by the sound of its sizzle. But the fact is, I don’t.
While most Americans making stock start with the same chicken they’d also eat with a knife and fork, we’re partial to a bird of a different feather: spent hens.
A few Falls ago I had a surfeit of unremarkable romas which I roasted with low heat and lower expectations. They were so good, I now look forward to October as tomato season’s super-sweet finish.
By late summer, the kitchen tool I swear by isn’t even something I cook with. It’s my fruit fly trap.
We talk dirty with Symphony of the Soil’s Deborah Koons Garcia.
Hungry? Our events calendar has loads of Edible events around the city, like Gracious Grub NYC’s series of seven unique food and drinks events–everything from homebrewing tutorials to an aphrodisiac cooking class–to help raise funds and awareness for Food Bank for New York City. Here’s what’s happening this week.
In our current issue, Marie Viljoen, mistress of edible weeds, waxes eloquent about the flowering stems of the burdock plant. “Those who eat burdock typically cook only the root. But the fast-growing stems are a delicious wild food. Cooked, they are a semantic and gustatory marriage of globe and Jerusalem artichokes,” she writes.
Want to keep your food scraps out of landfills? Call the Compostess.
L.A.-based sculptor Miguel Nelson developed Woolly Pockets, a modular living-wall system that allows even the blackest thumbed among us to turn chain link fences and drab brick walls into lush, green gardens.
To fight industrialized agriculture’s squeezing out of all the beautiful, unique foods once enjoyed year round in our nation, Slow Food USA created the Ark of Taste, a catalog of over 200 delicious foods in danger of being wiped out forever. By planting these seeds (and enjoying the bounty that follows), you can preserve a bit of culinary history for future generations.
Woolly Pockets help urban gardeners go vertical.
A booze bath turns last summer’s fruit haul into a warm winter infusion.