Swiss Cooperation

Is there any way to improve on pork chops and onions? I would have said a heartfelt "No!" before tasting this one-pan dinner, my favorite kind both for saving dishwashing and for multiplying flavor.

When you cook all the ingredients for dinner in the same wide frying pan, nothing of the flavors is lost - it's a sort of exponential thing - and when you use Swiss chard as a cushion for oniony pork chops, you get flavor to the power of ten.

This dinner started with slowly caramelizing two kinds of onions, the Egyptian walking onion and a yellow onion, with a little butter to grease the skids. When the onions begin to brown and smell like the open gates of heaven, push them aside to continue cooking at a slower pace and lay the pork chops in the oniony, buttery bottom of the pan over the same slow heat. The slow heat is important for keeping the chops juicy. When the chops are deeply, richly, mouthwateringly browned on both sides and just pale pink inside, remove them and the onions to a plate to await the rest of the magic.

Into that same buttery sorcery, add three nice minced cloves of fresh garlic, stirring them around before adding about ten Swiss chard leaves that have been washed, tough stems removed with a sharp knife and coarsely chopped, and cook just until the water clinging to the leaves evaporates and the chard melts down into a wonderful, wilted dark green puddle, about three minutes. Toss it a few times to be sure that all the chard has gotten introduced to that garlicky goodness, then plate it and top it with a fat pork chop, which in turn gets topped with the onion melange.

This is dinner magic. The slightly bitter greens both enhance the rich meat and cut through the sweetness of the onions to do a happy little tap dance on the tongue. In turn the buttery alliums rescue the chard from astringency. You can't go wrong when you have pork chops and onions in the house but you can reach the heights when you have cooperation from the Swiss chard as well.

Delightful Surprises

Nearly 30 years ago my best friend, Wenirs, gave me a delightful surprise - she told me she was pregnant. She had wished for a baby for a long time, doing the whole temperature-taking-to-track-ovulation thing for quite some time, a total drag. So, we rejoiced at the news and, nine months later, rejoiced even more when my Fairy Godson, Mark, was born.

Mark was adorable from the very beginning - and this statement comes from a woman who doesn't really "get" the whole cooing-over-babies thing. I'm not like most women who love babies on sight - I respond positively to very few infants. Mark was different - he made me feel like cooing.

As he grew and matured, he went through some pretty gawky stages but he was always a delight. I have so many happy memories of him that I couldn't begin to share them all but one indelible one springs to mind. When he was about eight, we took him to see the "Phantom of the Opera" in Toronto; he loved it, sitting on the edge of his seat the whole time, glued to the performance. And, afterwards, as we were walking down Toronto's clean, safe streets, he'd just burst into song, "Prima donna, first lady of the stage..." in full voice, complete with dramatic gestures. It wasn't a performance for us or for the other people on the street, it was his way of reliving a thrilling experience.

He's an amazing kid. Even now, when he's not a kid any more. So, when he calls and asks, "Aunt Pam, do you want a visit this weekend?" my answer is always immediate and enthusiastic. He drives up from LA these days and he brings his friend Tim and we all have a great time. Tim isn't a vegetarian exactly, but he loves other foods more than he loves meat, so I look for ways to please his palate when he's here. This time, I fashioned some veggie packets that were so good, I thought I'd tell you about them, too.

They don't look like much on the plate, do they? Just some curly Swiss chard and some random sprinkles of other things. Well, pretty is as pretty does. Here goes:

To prepare, I cut the kernels off an ear of fresh corn, stirred up the remains of a pot of rice, chopped onion and minced garlic, sliced four small carrots diagonally, shook out about a cup of frozen peas, sliced a few green onions and mushrooms and cut up three of those small, sweet red and yellow peppers. I also went out to the garden and cut about 10 large Swiss chard leaves and removed the stems, chopping the stalks as well. Sliced some cheddar cheese and got out my grater and block of Parmesano Reggiano. Ready to roll.

To roll, I sautéed the mushrooms in olive oil until they were nicely browned, then added the Swiss chard stalks to soften and threw in a big pinch of Herbes de Provence before adding the rest of the ingredients in order - onions and garlic, then carrots and peppers, then rice, corn and frozen peas until I had a wide pan full of a bright vegetable confetti. The peas and corn weren't even cooked and the rice just warmed.

I laid out a Swiss chard leaf in a roasting pan, covered the leaf end with a slice of the cheddar, grated on a little Parmesan, and spooned in a nice dollop of the veggie mixture. Folded over the two stem ends of the leaf left from removing the stalk, and secured them with a toothpick through them and into the leaf below. Veeerrrry carefully flipped it over to end with the cheese on top without spilling the contents out the sides or tearing the fragile Swiss chard leaves, and lined each successive leaf up in the baking pan.

Into a 350 degree oven for about 10 minutes, then turned off the oven and left them to rest still inside for another 10. I didn't want to overcook them but I wanted to make sure the cheese was melted. The chard relaxed down onto the filling, the cheese got all melty and wonderful, and the combined flavors and textures in the filling really gave our mouths something to think about. Everyone agreed it was spectacularly delicious and Mark was actually talking to himself. Makes a Fairy Godmother feel proud.

To credit where it's due, the idea of subbing in Swiss chard for cabbage to make rolls came from Cookiecrumb, who left me a helpful comment when I wrote about my noble Swiss chard plant. I think she had something else entirely in mind, but I wouldn't have thought of this use without her tutelage. So, Cookie, thanks - you're da bomb!

The visit was a delightful surprise, as were the veggie packets. All in all, just the kind of surprises I like best.

Volunteer

There it was, sandwiched between the Martha Washington geranium and the Santa Barbara daisies in my garden, the Swiss chard plant that has lived here for three years now. The first year, it was only leaves, which we enjoyed almost weekly. The second year, it was less vigorous but still, despite the snails, produced several perfect leaves per week. Then, last fall, it flowered - a six-foot tall inflorescence covered in minuscule whitish flowers, not at all pretty but wonderfully strong, ribbed and tall. After it flowered, I whacked it down, figured that was it for my bi-annual Swiss chard.

But, no! Here it is again, a little battered by the winds of time and the trampling of the puppy next door, still offering lovely green leaves for us to cut and enjoy.

I was so impressed that I trimmed the sad leaves and left it to grow unmolested. I even put stakes next to it to discourage the puppy. We still get a meal or two a month from this wonderful volunteer, long may it wave!

What's your favorite way to serve Swiss chard? I need some good recipes to honor this noble plant.

Ugly But Lovely

This is one of those dishes that look rather like someone threw up on the plate and served it to you. You have to close your eyes to love this one. But, close them, because this is worth a little blind flying with a fork.

Cousin Jan served this right after the killer black bean soup. I had eaten so much soup that I thought to myself, "Man, I'll never get through all this."

Well, I not only ate it all, I wished for seconds! Try it - I guarantee you'll enjoy it. It's pretty ugly but it's truly lovely.

Chard and Red Potato Lasagna

6 medium red potatoes (about 2-1/2 lbs)

1 garlic clove, peeled and bruised (for rubbing the pan).

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
6-1/2 Tablespoons butter
1-1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
19 baby chard leaves or 9 large leaves (about 2 bunches of large chard), coarsely chopped, with thick mid-ribs removed
Chopped oyster mushrooms (optional)
8-10 ounces grated Swiss or Monterey Jack cheese
4 Tablespoons cream

Slice the potatoes as thinly as you can and set aside.

Rub a large baking pan with the garlic and 1/2 Tablespoon of the butter. Place a layer of potatoes in the pan, sprinkle with half of the salt and pepper, garlic, a third of the butter, and half of the chard leaves. Although the chard may seem very bulky, it will wilt down during the cooking. Sprinkle half the cheese over the chard. Repeat, making another layer, ending with the cheese. (You can also use a loaf pan and divide everything into thirds, so you have three layers instead of two).

Dot with remaining butter and pour cream over the top. Cover and bake at 350 degrees for about an hour, until the potatoes are thoroughly done and soft. May not take the full hour.

The dish I tasted did have the mushrooms in it and they were good. I could imagine this would be delicious with other cheeses, too. It's similar to scalloped potatoes - you can add whatever you like and it's delicious!

Gangbusters

We are not avid gardeners. We actually purchased our steep hillside home partly because it won't support a lawn and can be mostly left to the wild grasses that are prettier unmown. We like flowers and exotic plants, fresh herbs and just-picked veggies but we aren't willing to work very hard for them when the cornucopia that is California will provide them for us at small cost. And one leftover from being part of the hippie generation is that we think weeds have rights, too.

However, the sun peeked out briefly midweek so My Beloved and I seized the opportunity to clear the dead stuff out of our two tiny garden plots. We left the weeds to flourish (most of our garden plants are volunteers and some are quite pretty) but, as I was breaking off the stiff, brown stalks of last year's Shasta daisies, what should I find but our Swiss chard from two years ago, happily thriving amongst the weeds. It was a little slug-eaten but vigorous, brightly green, and knee-high.

This Swiss chard is one of the reasons I gave up veggie gardening last year - it was quite disappointing the year before last when it was planted from seed. It burgeoned but only grew a few inches high. "Harvest" was a palmful or two of leaves every two weeks. But, I didn't pull it out - again, my hippie philosophy - just figured the snails would take care of it for me. So, I was quite surprised to find an actual meal or two's worth of fresh, curly leaves out there, loving all the rain and chilly weather we've been enduring since the first of the year.

We'll welcome having this exquisitely local produce on our plates this week, sautéed with butter and garlic - what's a few slug holes between friends?

Inspired Combination

Whenever I'm out in West Marin county, as I was last Saturday to celebrate pal Sari's birthday, I stop at Marin Sun Farms' butcher shop and load up for the freezer. We enjoy their meats for the flavor but also for the comforting knowledge that the animals had a good life before they got to my table.

I spied this lamb sausage with wine in the case and had to try it. Simply grilled, it was moist and very flavorful with that richness that is peculiar to lamb but tempered somewhat by the wine. I served it on a nest of Swiss chard wilted with garlic and a dab of butter, which was as close to a genius combination as my simple cooking ever comes. Not perhaps a pretty meal but, oh! the flavors!

Morgan, Avert Your Eyes

DancingMorganMouse, I apologize for yet another poached egg picture but I couldn't resist bragging on my Swiss chard, which is still charding despite being temporarily overwhelmed by the weeds in my garden.

During our brief dry spell, I offed the weeds and discovered the chard underneath, still valiantly producing delicious leaves without any assistance or fertilizer from me. I plucked a few of the biggest ones to poach briefly in the same water as the egg (I'm still on a water-saving kick, you see) and to nestle up against my corned-beef-hash-with-nasty-poached-egg dinner.

So, please forgive the eggs and just shade your eyes from the upper portion of this photo.

I Made a Hash of It

Home from Boston and Connecticut after a seemingly endless flight, a smooth connection to BART and the world's gentlest taxi driver, I peeked into the fridge to find out what, if anything, had survived our ten-day absence. The cold cuts - definitely not! Into the trash! We did have three shallots, half a red onion, garlic and the stub of a butternut squash, plus whole wheat bread and eggs so I decided to play around with those and the Swiss chard leaves I found still thriving in the garden.

I made a hash of it.

I chopped the red onion coarsely, peeled and halved the shallots, minced the garlic and cooked those in a combination of olive oil and butter, adding the diced squash and cooking the whole mess for about 20 minutes, until the squash softened and browned a little. When the squash was just tender, I added the chard leaves, leaving the small ones whole and coarsely chopping the larger ones, popped on a lid and steamed the chard while the eggs were poaching and the toast was toasting.

The result was one of the best dinners I have made, the sweet onions and squash complementing the slightly bitter greens with the eggs adding their richness to the whole dish. I'm making it again tonight and this time I'll add some fresh thyme* from the garden and some black pepper but even plain it made a great accompaniment to hashing over our East Coast visit.

*Note: the thyme made all the difference - it lifted the dish from yummy to eye-rolling delicious. Don't forget the thyme!

Bobbie's Swiss Chard

I never eat Swiss chard without thinking of Bobbie Davenport. She was my mother's best friend, my second mother and my kindred spirit.

Bobbie loved animals. Oh, she adored her family, too - my "other" sisters and brothers and her husband, Butch, about whom I will write at some other time - but she was known all over her area of Michigan as a lover of animals of every description.

Over the years, the Davenports kept as pets a blue jay, a fox, a woodchuck, some crows, squirrels and rabbits, lots of baby birds fallen from nests and several raccoons - one of which crashed her daughter's wedding and nearly stole the show - not to mention countless dogs, cats and a couple of horses. As an animal lover myself, it's no wonder she was my hero and my mentor.

She lived most of her life in a sprawling, welcoming house with thick field stone walls, enormous beams and wide plank floors, fashioned from an old barn. It was to that house that I and my family came frequently for visits during our peripatetic life in the Navy. It was our base, the place that never changed in a life of constant flux. Her children were roughly our ages, so we all got along well when we weren't fighting like true sisters and brothers.

She knew how to raise just about any wild animal baby to an age when it could be released to survive on its own - and she was admittedly a little, er, eccentric. She solidified her reputation for kookiness when they had a fire which took the whole second story off their house. The phone rang while the fire brigade was still there and a woman asked for instructions on raising a wild foundling; Bobbie sat down and proceeded to give her the recipe for the "squirrel milk" she used for many of her wild orphans, interrupting to return to removing possessions only when the woman became chatty about how cute the baby was, saying calmly "You'll have to excuse me now - my house is on fire."

Bobbie had a big vegetable patch out beyond her lovely flower garden and in season it yielded all kinds of fresh produce. Corn, beans, lettuce, tomatoes, spinach - it all came to the table and was devoured by the hungry hoard. But, no Swiss chard. Oh, she planted and tended it, weeded and watered it, but try as she would, year after patient year, she could never keep the Swiss chard away from the woodchucks.

The woodchucks loved the chard and gobbled it up as soon as it poked its tender leaves above the ground. Bobbie railed at the woodchucks each summer, threatening darkly to get her rifle out and end their miserable, chard-stealing lives. We children, of course, thought that was hysterically funny, coming from the world's most dedicated animal lover. Our smothered giggles just made her even angrier. We were secretly grateful to the woodchucks for sparing us from the dreaded Swiss chard.

My Beloved introduced me to my first Swiss chard - we never got any at Davis Lane because the woodchucks always won and Bobbie never did carry out her dire threats. His version is the one I make most frequently, a simple preparation of softening garlic chips in butter in a wide pan and adding the washed Swiss chard with just the water clinging to the leaves, tossing the leaves until they relax and go soft in the buttery pan before serving.

Each time I make Swiss chard, this summer from my own garden, I remember Bobbie Davenport and the summers we spent with her, raising baby animals and cursing the woodchucks.

Oeufs Lausannais?

Winding down from a busy and fun week with My Beloved's boss in town overlapping with a visit from our friends Ted and Jan from St. Louis, I was looking for an easy and healthful dinner for a very tired MB. I had mistakenly bought too many eggs, so that seemed like a good choice. But, how to present them?

As you may know, my veggie garden has been less than productive but, while the zucchini and greenie beanies have been having hissy fits and refusing to produce, my Swiss chard has been, without fanfare or sulking, quietly giving us a weekly pan full of green goodness - and it was time for a harvest again.

I made a chiffonade of the leaves and stems and butter steamed them lightly, then mounded the fresh green strips on a toasted English muffin half, topped them with a poached egg,and slathered the egg with a small dollop of a sauce made by adding just a little mayonaise to a nice dollop of Dijon mustard.

MB was reinvigorated.

Now, what do you call this concoction? Eggs Florentine refers to spinach under eggs but is there a name specifying Swiss chard under eggs with Dijon mustard? I looked up the city in Switzerland closest to Dijon in France - well, it's really Bern but we already have Bearnaise sauce so it seemed a little confusing and Lausanne is the next largest well-known city close to the French border. Oeufs Lausannais? What do you think? Will it fly?

These oeufs by any other name are still delicious.

Skinny Little Shrooms

Since tomatoes seem to be suspect these days, I'm sticking with green salads until the FDA figures out where the nasty ones came from. So, on Father's Day, when I was making dinner to celebrate two of my favorite Dads, I used a combination of red leaf lettuce, butter lettuce, frisee, green onions and red Swiss chard stems for crunchy color (pure serendipity that they matched the napkins so well) but, it wasn't really beautiful until I added the skinny little shrooms. I love these enoki mushrooms for their weird shape, mild taste and for the white fireworks they add to almost any dish. Plated on my favorite fused glass plates and over my mother's china, it made quite a pretty picture!

Eternity

Dorothy Parker defined eternity as "A ham and two people." She was mostly right. However, at the Marin farmer's market this week I found Range Brothers Applewood Smoked Maple Ham, conveniently small and really tasty. We've been using it in all kinds of dishes.

Lunch after the market run was a new version of Cheese Dreams, toasted English muffins topped with ham and melted cheese smoked Gouda cheese.

For dinner, a tasty new version of "Ham and Swiss," coarsely chopped red Swiss chard sauteed lightly in the rendered fat from the maple ham "lardons."

Breakfast included fresh Marin Sun Farms eggs scrambled with more of the lardons.

At this rate, we'll need a new definition of eternity - it's going to be here 'way too soon.