May 1999

RITES OF SPRING

"Eat seasonal" is my anthem all year long, but it takes on special urgency in the spring, when everything is so wonderful, and we've waited for it through the winter. We look forward to spring in February, talk about it in March get glimpses in April - but most of the country doesn't really experience spring until the first days of May.

This year, even here in California, spring has come late. In April, Alaskan storms brought cold rain, hail, and freezing temperatures. One day it looked alpine, with snow on the mountains that ring my house. Then, overnight, the air softened - and filled with perfume.

I take my spring fever straight to the farmer's market, where it increases exponentially, and then I take it right to the kitchen. Everyone has their special foods, tastes that define spring for them - the giddy, delicious sensation of newness. Mine are squash blossoms, blood oranges, and - nopalitos! Not that I overlook asparagus, strawberries, morels, sweet green peas, freshly dug baby potatoes, and all the herbs that are back now...

Even if you don't usually go to the farmer's market, do it this month, and taste spring. Find the things that are only there now, briefly. Make a special occasion - have lunch with a friend, or Saturday dinner with the family, or cook squash blossom risotto for your mother on Mother's Day (Risotto with Zucchini Flowers can be found in The New Vegetarian Epicure, on page 69).

That risotto is one of my favorites. I also love squash blossom soup, an ambrosial liquid version of the same elements. Check back later this month; I'll be posting the recipe as soon as the first blossoms are in the market. Squash flowers, so beautiful and so tasty, cannot be preserved - their delicacy must be enjoyed within a day or two of their blossoming. Otherwise, they'll just turn into more zucchini, and don't we all know that in a month or two we'll be begging neighbors to take them (or they'll be begging us). So eat the flowers. Sauté them lightly in a touch of butter and olive oil, and fold them into quesadillas with some fresh white cheese. Stir them into the dreamy risotto. Cook them into a frittata, with some chopped basil and sautéed onion. Or make the squash blossom soup.

Blood oranges are another wonder. The juice, fresh squeezed for Sunday breakfast, is so gorgeous that I have to look at it for a while before I drink it. I have it by itself, or mix it with the juice of valencias or navels. A little of the red juice will stain any amount of the other - the color can range from deep garnet to a tropical coral, and it always tastes good.

Mimosas made with blood orange juice are delightful. Squeeze the juice an hour ahead of time, strain out the pulp, and chill the juice. Then fill glasses halfway with ice-cold dry champagne, and pour the chilled blood orange juice on top of it.

Another spring delight is blood orange sorbet. I use fresh-squeezed juice, some sugar syrup, grated zest for a tangy, slightly bitter edge, and tiny amounts of lemon juice and cognac. It's a simple formula (see New Recipes), and makes a wonderful, surprising dessert - the color of berries, but an intense, sweetly orange flavor. Combine a scoop of blood orange sorbet with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for a very grown-up version of those creamsicle we all used to eat when the ice-cream truck came by on a hot summer day.

And for those of us here in the great Southwest, I have one word - nopalitos. Amazingly, many people who live surrounded by a bounty of this succulent delicacy have never eaten it.

Nopalitos are the fresh green paddles that sprout from a big nopal cactus after the spring rains. They are thin, and a brilliant jungle green, as opposed to the dusty gray-green of the mature cactus. And they're juicy, slightly tart, and perfectly delicious. In my neighborhood, nopalitos are a gift, free along many roads and driveways, including my own. In areas with large Mexican-American populations, they are closely watched, and a giant cactus-full will vanish overnight when they reach just the right size.

To eat nopalitos, first you must have a little adventure: go out with your big, sharp knife and thickest gardening gloves, as well as a stiff paper bag, and slice them off. But be careful - the only drawback is the prickliness of cacti, and there have been times when greed has drawn me further into the arms of a big nopal than any girl should go. When your bag is filled with bright green paddles, take them home and, using your thinnest, sharpest blade, carefully slice off all the tiny spines. Keep a glove on at least one hand for this task. Rinse the peeled nopalitos and you're set.

Now you can slice them or cut them in small bits. They can be boiled, or sauteed, or pan-grilled with some onions and cilantro, which is my favorite way. One chopped onion, about two or three cups of sliced nopalitos, and a handful of chopped cilantro, tossed in a hot non-stick pan until the nopalitos have given up their juice and it has cooked away, and everything is just starting to color - salt to taste, and that's all there is to it.

Now, you can enjoy my favorite lunch of all time. Lay a table with a panful of freshly cooked nopalitos, some home-made chile salsa, refried black beans, crumbled queso fresco, maybe a few slices of avocado, and fresh corn tortillas, hot off the griddle. Pour yourself a nice, cold beer, and dig in. Fill your tacos with any combination of those delicious things, as long as you always include nopalitos. You'll be hooked, as I am. We'll recognize each other by the scratches on our arms.

May 1999 recipe