These chive blossoms are slightly past their prime, but they’ll work very well for a flavored vinegar.

Chive blossoms are just so pretty, aren’t they? Something about those puffy lavender tufts atop their slender green stalks strikes me as totally elegant, yet thoroughly wild, particularly if you find them in a giant patch — such as I did at last year’s first CSA distribution.

Our house came with a cute little chive patch out front, and I planted some potted chives to join the existing ones when we moved in. Though the front yard gets sun for only about half the day — in the morning it is dewy and cool — the chives have absolutely taken off. Where last year there was about a fistful of chives there is now possibly a good several pounds’ worth. After the heat and rain over the last few weeks, the chives were just about rioting with delight at being alive, so, being the killjoy I am, I decided to behead them and concoct an herbal vinegar.

It’s silly to call this a recipe, really. It’s more of a set of guidelines. How many chive blossoms you need will depend on the size jar you want to use to make the flavored vinegar. I used an old glass peanut butter jar with an aluminum lid, and ran both through the dishwasher before beginning.

When you set out to pop the blossoms off the chives, work from the back forward — the stalks release a clear sap when you clip (or pinch) the blossoms off, and you’ll quickly become covered with sap if you work willy-nilly through the patch, as I did. Watch, too, for insects, and gently remove any you see as you go. (Or be surprised, as I was, by the presence of a rather disgusting sac of baby spiders on the underside of an otherwise innocent-looking blossom.)

This picture is for reference only — it’s not a good idea to store your vinegar on the windowsill.

Once you’ve picked your fill of blossoms, remove any dead or dessicated bits and swish the blossoms around in a bit of cold water to remove any insects and dirt. (One recipe I saw uses a tiny bit of bleach in the water as a sanitizing solution, but I’m not sure I’d want to go that far.) Drain and toss a few times in a colander to release some of the clinging water. Stuff the chive blossoms into a clean, sealable jar or other vessel — you want to fill the jar as much as possible, packing in the blossoms a bit. Once the blossoms are in, fill the jar with white wine vinegar, covering the blossoms completely. Seal the jar and place it in a cool, dark place for a few weeks so the chive blossoms can release their flavor into the vinegar.

Once the vinegar is ready, strain the blossoms from the vinegar, pouring it into a new, clean container. I just made this vinegar last week, so next week I’ll post a couple of shots of the finished product along with one of my new favorite salad dressing recipes.

Last weekend was glorious. It was sunny and warm, and not just for a mere six hours at a time. We’re talking about day-long stretches of intense heat and sunshine, piercing blue skies dotted with cotton-candy clouds, and warm breezes filtering through the dense green foliage on the hills that rise up all around us.

It was prime alfresco dining weather, and I was determined to soak up as much of it as I could, with as many summertime eats as I could possibly jam into one meal. I’d come home from our CSA on Friday night with a bag of purple-skinned potatoes and a fragrant bouquet of herbs. You know where this is going, don’t you?

This potato salad recipe comes from Alice Waters, the veritable queen of “keep it simple.” Boy, she was really onto something, wasn’t she? She was light-years ahead of us. And she somehow seems to know that a good potato salad, made with just-dug potatoes and a fantastic olive oil, doesn’t need to be encroached upon by that hated condiment, mayonnaise. It’s light, yet filling, and you can serve it warm or cool. It’ll even keep in the refrigerator for a couple of days, so you can tote it out to the old swimming hole the day after you make it, and sit, cross-legged and breathless, on a worn woolen blanket spread out in the grass, eating in straight out of the container in embarrassingly big forkfuls, your hair dripping warm rivulets of lake water down your back.

Herby Potato Salad

Adapted from Alice Waters’ The Art of Simple Food

1 1/2 lbs. waxy potatoes, peeled or unpeeled (I like the skins)
2 hard-cooked eggs, peeled and chopped
1 tbs. wine, cider, or rice vinegar (or a mix of the three)
salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 red onion, cut into small dice
2 scallions, sliced thinly
1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
2 tbs. rinsed and chopped capers
1 tbs. chopped chives
1 tbs. chopped parsley
1 tbs. chopped tarragon

Cook the potatoes in boiling salted water until tender, then drain, cool, and cut into bite-sized pieces. Mix together the wine, and some salt and pepper. Pour over the potatoes, stir gently, and let sit for 7 minutes or so, to let the potatoes absorb the vinegar. Add the onion, scallion, oil, capers, and herbs and mix carefully. Taste for salt and pepper and adjust as necessary.

It was a rainy day, but just about everything was glowing green and gorgeous at this year’s first CSA distribution at Caretaker Farm.

All day Monday the temperatures were an unlikely — and broiling — ninety degrees, so cooking up a ramp risotto with my foraged green treasures did not appeal. Turning on any heat-generating appliance did not appeal, unless that appliance was outdoors, and luckily, we had such an appliance. Dinner Monday night belonged to the “toss-it-in-olive-oil-and-grill-the-shit-out-of-it” school of cooking, this time, applied to some asparagus, mushrooms, and whatever else we had taking up space in the refrigerator. The ramps waited patiently for their due.

By Tuesday evening, a cool breeze had started blowing over the mountains and it seemed reasonable to want to cook again. Besides, we had some asparagus left over from the night before, and those ramps weren’t getting any younger. It was still relatively warm, however, and a soupy risotto didn’t sound quite right. But a light, springy dish of pasta, doused in olive oil and pecorino romano, fit the bill perfectly.

Linguine Rigate with Ramps and Asparagus

This is the kind of quick and dirty recipe that can take a lot of fiddling around, so if you don’t have what’s here, play with similar ingredients and see what you come up with. Just about any long, thin pasta will do, but the ribbed linguine is nice for picking up the light sauce. Whole wheat breadcrumbs are easy to make — toss of a couple of stale old pieces of bread in a food processor and whir for a minute.

1/2 lb. linguine rigate
a big fistful of ramps, washed well, bulbs and stems chopped, leaves sliced in quarters
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 lb. asparagus, trimmed and cut in two-inch pieces
1/4 c. chives, minced
red pepper flakes
olive oil
salt
1/4 c. whole wheat bread crumbs
shaved pecorino romano, at least 1/2 c.

To cook the pasta, bring a pot of salted water to boil (maybe not as much as you think). When it has reached a boil, add the linguine and cook for 6-7 minutes, then drain, reserving about a half-cup of cooking liquid.

Meanwhile, add two big glugs of olive oil to a large saucepan and heat until just about to smoke. Take the pan from the heat and add the ramp bulbs, cooking for a minute or two before returning the pan to medium heat. Add the asparagus and garlic, and cook for another two minutes over medium heat, stirring regularly. Add the ramp leaves last, stirring for another minute, then sprinkle in a pinch of red pepper flakes (or more, if you’re spicy like that) and add salt and pepper to taste.

Remove the ramps and asparagus pan from heat again and add the cooked pasta, tossing well with tongs to coat the pasta with garlicky oil. If the pasta is a little dry, add some of the pasta cooking water to loosen it up. Throw in the chives and shaved pecorino. Finally, toss the pasta with the bread crumbs, which add a crunchy bite and nutty richness to this bright, springy dish.

Serve in large bowls with more pecorino and breadcrumbs scattered on top.

Serves — let’s be realistic — two very hungry individuals, or four as a normal dinner portion.