GARDEN FRESH : Lessons of Leeks
In times when life is lived zip-zip-zip, it is comforting to slow down. My garden forces me to. It has much to teach in the ways of patience and humility.
Leeks, in particular, are a lesson. The seeds are slow to germinate, the stems are slow to develop, and it takes a year to complete the cycle of life. Now is the time to sow a new crop of leeks. And now is the time to dig the last of the leeks sowed a year ago.
Added to the rewards of virtue, leeks give us sweet eating. Carefully nurtured leeks, dug just before cooking, are guaranteed tender and luscious.
Of course, these days young leeks are available the year around, brought in from various leek-producing climates, Mexico being a source right now. But not every produce buyer buys leeks young. Some markets offer overwintered or storage stalks, which can be tough and strongly flavored. Should the leeks you find have dry leaves or bulbs that are rounded at the tip, tell the produce manager they’re unacceptable and take your business elsewhere.
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But if good leeks can be purchased, why go to the bother of growing them? With leeks, the answer will not be finer flavor--because, frankly, all leeks are tasty. Availability and cost, though, will be a couple of reasons. Not every market offers leeks, and when it does, they can be pricey.
The real reason most of us grow leeks is the reason we grow cauliflower. For the love of it. For the challenge. For the mystery. Picking up leeks at the market, you can have no idea of the time they took, of the rhythms and ceremonies of their growing.
Leeks are members of the onion family that aren’t meant to form bulbs--that’s why a bulbous bottom indicates a leek past its prime. As with onions, the translucent layers that form a leek’s stem are leaves in embryo. To keep them white and to make them as long as they can possibly grow, blanch them and bury them in earth. The milky stems burrow into chocolate-brown soil while green leaves bask in sunshine.
Leeks love sunshine but not heat, so they must be started in cool weather. They can be harvested at any time (baby leeks are chic). Whether you need to beat summer’s heat or are looking forward to a bunch of skinny beauties, order seeds ASAP--or run down to the hardware store and pick up a packet of whatever it is they offer. Although there are nuances of flavor between cultivars, leeks aren’t like tomatoes--some flavorful, some blah. Any leek you grow will be thrilling.
(However, where summers are beastly and winters mild, you’d best sow leeks in early autumn when the weather cools. Mark your calendar.)
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Begun last year, my leeks are still less than an inch thick. They’re Otinas, a French cultivar that has done best for me. Slenderness is in their genes. Had I planted the Giant Musselburg--thick as a child’s arm--my leeks would be that size now. But having had it drummed into me that slender is tender and large is, well, vulgar, the idea of monster leeks appalls me. (Though I’d have to admit I’ve cooked one or two that size and they were succulent as can be.)
Leeks must have a sunny spot of luscious, well-drained soil. Their leaves are beautiful--tall, flat banners of blue-green--and would be pleasing in a garden border. But it’s easiest to blanch leeks in a row in a trench.
Sow leeks indoors. When seedlings are the size of a pencil, dig a trench a foot deep and fill it with six inches of compost (or a reasonable facsimile from a sack at the nursery).
Set the seedlings in the trench six inches apart. Bury them up to their green leaves, adding soil as needed. Over the season, fill in the trench, then heap up earth around the leeks--all you should ever see is leaves. Water gently so as not to dislodge the soil and keep the earth moist. And pull weeds, every last one of them.
Depending on which leeks you grow and when you take them, the stalks can be from six to 12 inches long. In the second spring, dig the leeks up before they start forming a flowering stalk--that urge arrives with warm weather. (If you’ve ever found the center of a leek woody, the wood was a nascent flower stalk.) Harvest leeks with a long, strong, narrow tool that can wriggle down to where your leek is rooted. There’s nothing more frustrating after you’ve nurtured it for months than having a leek snap in two.
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Should you love the process as much I do, grow your next crop of leeks in a new place, to ward off soil-borne disease.
What to do with these aristocrats? Delicacy is what leeks are about. The way to get a sense of leeks--past making traditional cock-a-leekie and vichyssoise soups--is to try them in dishes in place of onions. But bear in mind: One of the beauties of onions is that they can be sent to the back of the chorus and their voices will still be heard. Leeks must be placed up front or their subtle song’s lost.
For example, my mother, a fancier, adds raw sliced leeks and poppy seeds to her cornbread. A knockout. She softens coarsely chopped leeks in broth, then folds them into an omelet with sour cream and dill. And she lays her gorgeous steamed salmon on a bed of sauteed leeks. If my mother ate salad, she’d toss ribbons of leeks into a bowl with shreds of chicken, coins of watercress and purple violets.
For my part, I’ve created a salad of leeks to tempt her--and to savor our little crop to the fullest. I added tastes of Greece and Italy for their warmth in this chilly season. Tonight the salad accompanied spaghetti and a nothing-but-tomatoes sauce topped with Reggiano-Parmigiano cheese. For guests, I’d add a lamb chop and a bowl of mandarin oranges for dessert.
To prepare leeks for cooking, cut the stem from leaves at the point where leaves turn tough. Slice off the rootlet at one inch and save for planting. With market leeks, peel off leathery layers down to a tender one, if necessary. Slit stalks lengthwise from the top to the last inch above the bulb tip. Turn into a big pot of cold water. Swish gently to loosen hidden earth. Empty the water and repeat until no dirt is at the bottom of the pot. Unless you’re cooking them with water, lay leeks on towels open sides down and pat dry.
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If leeks are to be surrounded with a sauce, they may be cut into the desired pieces before cooking. If leeks will be served with little dressing, they’ll be more succulent if cooked whole.
Use every scrap of leeks. Turn trimmed leaves into your soup pot, cover with cold water and simmer. If they’re from your leeks--raised organically, one presumes--you don’t even need to rinse them. When the broth tastes leeky enough, strain it, pressing out all liquid, then pass the broth through a damp cloth to catch the grit. Season and use as you would chicken broth. Then give the leaves to the compost.
Past their lessons and their sweetness, leeks have more to offer. If you leave an inch of stem above the roots when you trim them off, you can plant the roots, setting tops just above the surface of the soil. In a couple of months you’ll have fresh leeks--the gift of new life.
Sources:
Fresh--New crop at the supermarket or from a farmers market.
Seeds--Otina from Shepherd’s Garden Seeds, 6116 Highway 9, Felton, Calif. 95018. Giant Musselburg, other leeks and sowing details from Seeds of Change, Box 15700, Santa Fe, N.M. 87506-5700.
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I have notions about the texture of a dish according to its place in the menu. Cooked thoroughly, leeks are soft--in fact, mushiness can be a risk. I like soft leeks as a vegetable side dish. But I think of salad as having crispness. And so I cook the leeks for my salad just short of soft. And I think of salad as a lusty matter, so I slice the leeks into larger pieces than for a side dish. But cook and slice the leeks for your salad to please you. For color, serve on reddish leaves of lettuce, chicory, kale, cabbage or mustard. This makes a first course for a dinner party. For a larger, more casual salad, toss with crunchy lettuce.
MEDITERRANEAN LEEK SALAD 1/3 cup olive oil 1/3 cup red wine vinegar 1/3 cup dry red wine 1 pound trimmed and washed tender leeks and leaves (start with about 1 1/2 pounds) Rounded 1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes 1/4 cup dried black currants (dark raisins chopped currant size may be substituted) 1/2 cup Kalamata olives, quartered lengthwise, pits removed 1/2 cup toasted pine nuts Salt Freshly ground pepper Balsamic vinegar or fresh lemon juice, optional Red-leafed lettuce or other edible leaves to line plates, or 1 head crisp lettuce, coarsely chopped, optional 1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley or cilantro
In heavy, non-reactive 11-inch skillet, blend olive oil, vinegar and wine. Fit in leeks in single layer. Add tomatoes, cover and bring to simmer over medium-high heat. Turn heat to medium, cover and simmer until leeks are tender with hint of crispness, depending on thickness and age, 7 to 14 minutes or until texture desired. Every 5 minutes, turn leeks with tongs, moistening in sauce. Remove from heat and sprinkle currants around edges of skillet.
When cool enough to handle, use kitchen scissors to cut up leeks and tomatoes in skillet. Snip leeks crosswise 1/2-inch wide, and cut tomatoes in 1/4-inch strips. Stir in olives and pine nuts. Season to taste with salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar. May be covered and refrigerated at this point.
Serve heaped on 6 leaf-lined salad plates sprinkled with parsley. Or toss in salad bowl with parsley, crisp lettuce and more vinegar to taste. Makes 6 servings on individual salad plates, or 8 to 10 servings from salad bowl.
Each of 6 servings contains about: 241 calories; 323 mg sodium; trace cholesterol; 17 grams fat; 22 grams carbohydrates; 5 grams protein; 2.06 grams fiber.
