My friend Angie came over again last Saturday with more bounty from her garden. Lots of chard  again – I can never have too much of it and I’ve already blanched and frozen the greens, a good thing to do during this time of uncertainty. I’ll make another gratin with the stems as soon as I have enough milk for a béchamel – whenever my most recent Instacart order gets here. There were also lots of leeks, a gorgeous Chinese white radish with a terrific bunch of greens attached, and huge leaves of black kale, aka Tuscan kale, a dark green kale variety that has always been one of my favorites.
When Angie was at the house delivering her bounty I also got a delivery from Rancho Gordo, purveyor of luxurious heirloom beans. As soon as it became apparent in early March that we were going into lockdown I’d put in the order, and now, a month later, it was here. In March much of their inventory was already out of stock (more is now). But not black caviar lentils, tiny jewels that yield an inky broth with that inimitable lentil flavor. I just simmer the lentils with a halved onion, a couple of smashed garlic cloves, and always a bay leaf, lentils’ favorite herbal partner. They take 30-40 minutes to cook. I salt towards the end of cooking.
I put the lentils to good use with the greens. We had a simple grain bowl that night -- farro with black caviar lentils, blanched Chinese radish greens, steamed chard stems, sliced Chinese radish, and feta on top. Just typing this makes me want to make the exact same grain bowl again.
I’d cooked about a half pound of the black caviar lentils, and we had enough left over for Bob to have a small bowl for lunch the following day. That left a scant cup, and I stirred a small can of tuna into that and toasted thick slices of the mixed grains bread that I’ve been making, for the most fabulous beans on toast the following night. If you are vegetarian, leave out the tuna, those lentils are just wonderful on their own.
I’ve ordered more black lentils; they aren’t coming until the end of May. But I’m not hoarding what I have left. I knew that I wanted to pair them with that generous bunch of black kale that Angie gave me, and I didn’t have to think about how I’d do it. I’ve had a lentil and kale minestrone in my repertoire for many years, and it’s been a while since I’ve made it. The soup is made in much the same way as the cabbage minestrone I gave you in an earlier post, but the lentils contribute lots of substance, and an added depth of flavor. Don’t hesitate to make this with regular lentils. The results are equally satisfying.
 
 
Lentil Minestrone with Kale and Farro
Serves 6
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 good size leek, white and light green part only, cut in half lengthwise, cleaned well, and thinly sliced (optional)
1 large or 2 small carrots, diced
2 to 4 garlic cloves, to taste, minced or pressed
1 14-ounce can chopped tomatoes, with juice
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme (1 teaspoon fresh leaves)
1/2 teaspoon oregano
3/4 cup / 6 ounces brown, green or black lentils (about 3/4 cup), picked over and rinsed
7 cups water
1 Parmesan rind
A few sprigs each parsley and thyme
1 bay leaf
Salt
3/4 pound kale, preferably black kale, stemmed, washed well in 2 rinses water
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup farro, cooked (see variations below)
Chopped flat-leaf parsley for garnish
Freshly grated Parmesan
 
1. Heat the oil over medium heat in a heavy soup pot or Dutch oven, and add the onion, carrot, and leek. Add a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring, until the vegetables are tender, about 5 minutes or a little longer, and stir in the garlic. Cook, stirring, just until the garlic smells fragrant and translucent, about 1 minute, and stir in the tomatoes, thyme and oregano. Bring the tomatoes to a simmer. Cook, stirring often, for 5 to 10 minutes, until the tomatoes have cooked down somewhat and smell fragrant. Stir in the lentils and water and bring to a boil.
2. Tie the Parmesan rind, parsley and thyme sprigs and the bay leaf together with kitchen twine, or tie in a piece of cheesecloth. Add to the soup. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer 30 minutes (Meanwhile, cook the farro). Add salt, about 2 teaspoons to begin with (you will probably add more), and simmer another 15 minutes, until the lentils are tender and the broth fragrant.
3. Stack the kale leaves and cut crosswise into thin ribbons. Add to the soup and simmer 10 to 15 minutes, until the kale is tender. Stir in the farro and heat through. Add pepper to taste and adjust salt. Remove the Parmesan rind bundle. Stir in the parsley. Serve, topping each bowlful with a generous spoonful of Parmesan cheese.
 
Variations: If you want to add a little heat to this soup, add a pinch of cayenne along with the bouquet garni in step 2.
You can substitute Arborio rice or soup pasta, such as elbows, for the farro. Shortly before serving, add directly to the soup and simmer until rice is cooked through or pasta is cooked al dente,. 

The two things I miss the most right now are swimming at my local Y and shopping at my local Sunday farmers market. The farmers market is still operating, with very good protocols for social distancing, but for the moment I'm staying put in my neighborhood. That’s what our Los Angeles mayor has urged us to do, especially my demographic, the group that used to be called “seniors” and now is known as “the elderly.” 
One of the last items I had on hand from the farmers market was a generous bunch of broccolini, aka baby broccoli, one of my favorite vegetables. It’s a lot like broccoli, but the stems are thinner and the flowers smaller and more feathery, very tender, almost juicy, with a lot of flavor. For a long time I thought broccolini really was baby broccoli, but it’s not; it’s a hybrid of broccoli and gai lan, aka Chinese broccoli. It’s even patented; who knew?
I like broccolini plain as much as I like it gussied up. In fact, last Thanksgiving I chose it as the green vegetable on the menu, served very simply. All I did was blanch it for a couple of minutes, until it was bright and tender. It was welcome with all the more complex dishes on the table, and it went quickly.
The broccolini I got at the farmers market kept well in the crisper of my refrigerator for over a week. I cut off the bottom third of the long stems and saved them to marinate for quick broccoli stem pickles (more about that later), blanched the rest of it for 2 minutes, shocked it in cold water and drained it. Then I chopped it up and cooked it in a little in olive oil with green garlic, because I still had some from the farmers market (regular garlic will do just fine) and pepperoncini. You could serve it this way as a side dish, but what I like to do is toss the sautéed broccolini with pasta, moistening with a ladleful of pasta cooking water and a little more olive oil. I used farfalle but use what you have on hand. A sprinkle of Parmesan and that’s dinner. 
About the marinated broccolini stems: Around the time I began my career as a vegetarian cook, I came across a recipe for marinated broccoli stems in a macrobiotic cookbook. I’ve been making them ever since. You peel the stems, slice them, toss them with salt and leave in a jar in the fridge for a day so that they release lots of not so appealing, brassica-scented water. Drain that and then add minced or pressed garlic, a tablespoon of vinegar and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Shake the jar and leave for a couple of hours. Makes the most wonderful snack, cocktail food, salad ingredient. You never used to find broccoli crowns without the stems and the stems often went to waste. But not at my house. In the case of broccolini, I peel the long thin stems, and cut into 2- or 3-inch lengths. If they aren’t skinny I cut them in half lengthwise or on the diagonal, and proceed in the same way.
 
Pasta with Broccolini, Garlic and Pepperoncini
Serves 4
1 generous bunch broccolini (3/4 to 1 pound)
Salt
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus additional for drizzling
2 garlic cloves, minced, or 1 or 2 stalks green garlic, minced
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (pepperoncini), to taste
12 ounces pasta (I like farfalle but in these times, use what you have)
Freshly grated Parmesan
 
1. Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt generously, but keep in mind that you will use some of the water to moisten the finished dish, so it shouldn’t be unpalatably salty. Fill a bowl with cold water.
2. Cut away about a third of the broccolini stems and set aside for another purpose, like making pickled broccoli stems (see recipe). Add the rest of the broccolini to the boiling water and blanch for 2 minutes. Remove from the water using a skimmer, tongs or slotted spoon and transfer to the bowl of cold water. Drain and drain again on paper towels or a dishtowel. Chop, not too fine.
3. In a wide skillet, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes (pepperoncini) and cook, stirring, until the garlic begins to sizzle and smell fragrant. Add the chopped blanched broccolini and salt to taste. Stir together for a minute or two, until the greens are nicely infused with garlic and olive oil. Turn off the heat.
4. Bring the water in the pot back to a boil and add the pasta. Cook, stirring every once in a while, until the pasta is cooked al dente, using the timing instructions on the package as a guide but checking the pasta a minute before the time indicated is up. When the pasta is ready, turn on the heat under the pan with the broccolini to reheat if desired, and ladle in 1/4 cup of the pasta cooking water. Ladle another 1/4 cup of the cooking water into a small bowl, in case you want more to moisten the mixture after you’ve tossed the pasta and broccolini mixture together. Drain the pasta and add to the pan with the broccolini, or transfer with a spider directly from the pot to the pan with the broccolini. Add a little olive oil and toss together. Add more of the cooking water if desired. Serve hot, with freshly grated Parmesan.
 
Marinated Broccoli or Broccolini Stems
Stalks from 1 bunch broccoli or broccolini
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 garlic clove, finely minced or pressed
1 tablespoon vinegar – sherry (my preference), red wine or white wine
2 tablespoons olive oil
 
1. Trim away the dry ends of the stems. Peel off the tough outer skin. It comes away easily and I find the best tool to use is a paring knife. If you catch the end of it between the blade and the stem, you can lift it off in strips.
2. Regular broccoli: Slice into thin rounds, about 1/4 inch thick.
   Broccolini: but into 2- to 3-inch lengths. Cut in half lengthwise unless very thin.
3. Place stems in a jar and add the salt. Cover the jar and shake well. Refrigerate for several hours or overnight.
4. Drain off water from the stems. Add the garlic, vinegar and olive oil. Cover and shake well. Marinate for at least an hour before serving. The color will fade after a while but they are good for a few days.
 

Decades ago, when I was starting out in Austin, Texas, I had a yogurt business.  Every week I supplied the Austin food coops with several dozen quarts of “Moon House Yogurt” (named after my house that had a moon-shaped window in the front door; getting an idea of what era this was?). I was forever schlepping those heavy cases of full quart-size glass bell jars from my kitchen to the car and around Austin. It was just one of the many things I did to pay the rent when I was beginning my career as vegetarian cook, supper club operator, caterer, teacher, writer.
I stopped making my own yogurt when I moved to Paris, and didn’t take it up again when I moved to California twelve years later. Who needs to make it when there is so much good yogurt in the shops?
But now I don’t get to the shops, and the shops are sometimes out when I make an order, and I can’t get the yogurt I like anyway. Last week, when I was beginning to run low (it’s something I eat just about every morning), I just happened to hear somebody on Evan Kleiman’s wonderful Good Food radio show talking about making yogurt. So I went home, thawed some milk I’d frozen, and made it. I loved the result, which was mild tasting and just creamy enough, and I’ll keep making it every few days for as long as I can get hold of milk.
In my Austin days I used to incubate my yogurt jars in big stockpots filled with warm water and set over my stove’s pilot lights. This was not ideal as sometimes the water got too hot and killed the yogurt. The fermentation process requires a warm environment for about 8 hours. I’ve heard many suggestions -- a dishwasher that has been turned on for a few minutes, then turned off, an oven into which you have put a pot of steamy water, a sous-vide. But what I use, and I also use this for bread, is a heating pad. I tuck the pad into my pie box (a wooden box with a lid), and set the yogurts on top. If I were making yogurt in larger containers I wouldn’t be able to put the top on, but I don’t think it would matter too much with the heating pad. An ice chest or an insulated bag would also work.
A while back I bought some (expensive) French style yogurt at Target. I liked the yogurt a lot, but what I really liked were the glass jars it came in. I saved four of them, and they make a perfect serving of about 1/2 cup. Here’s what I do and it works like a charm.
Note: Make sure the yogurt you use to culture the milk has active live cultures. It will say so on the label.
 
Plain Whole Milk Yogurt
Makes 2 cups
2 cups whole milk or 2% low-fat milk (not 1% or skim)
2 tablespoons yogurt with active live cultures (check the label)
 
In a saucepan over medium heat, bring the milk to 188ºF / 86.6 C. If you don’t have a thermometer, watch closely and when you see bubbles forming around the edges of the pan, the milk is hot enough. Turn off the heat and pour into a bowl. Allow to cool to between 90ºF / 32ºC and 100ºF / 38ºC (lukewarm).
Whisk in 2 tablespoons plain yogurt, preferably yogurt that does not have a lot of other stuff added to it (though the yogurt I’ve been using does have some pectin in it).
Pour the yogurt into jars or containers (you can just use one). Cover and place in a warm spot to incubate for about 8 hours. The milk will have thickened by then. Refrigerate for a few hours. Save some for your next batch!