Issue #164: Cucumber Season
Two Great Losses, Season of Plenty, Encouragement to Cook Your Cukes
Although we are in the season of plenty, from the perspective of the harvest, that is, I feel like I have to begin with the subject of loss. Monday evening, a former colleague of mine from JBF texted the shocking news that Portland (OR) chef Naomi Pomeroy died in a tragic inner-tubing accident on the Willamette River. A few moments later, social media was flooded with images of friends and colleagues cooking or having fun with Naomi, her bright eyes and wide smile filling the face of my iPhone as though she were standing on the other side of the screen. Naomi was part of the first cohort of chefs who joined us for the inaugural Bootcamp for Policy and Change I helped launch for the James Beard Foundation some 15 years ago. (They just announced the 26th class.) She took that training in political activism to heart, becoming a strong voice in her local community and for the national restaurant industry. She was a mentor and a leader and a darn good cook.
Only a few weeks prior, a similarly shocking text informed me that celebrated New York chef Jamal “James” Kent had died that afternoon. I didn’t believe it was real. Just days before I had been with Jamal in Las Vegas at the World’s 50 Best awards festivities, where he was talking about all the new restaurant projects he was working on and excited for a collaboration that week with mutual friends from Masque restaurant in Mumbai. Unlike many chefs from elsewhere who become famous in New York City, Jamal’s pride to have been born and raised in the Big Apple was part of the charm that brought him close to friends and colleagues around the world.
Both were under 50, both were working on exciting new projects, both were known as friendly, warm, passionate, creative people and gifted chefs. They both had so much more to contribute to America’s food culture.
Naomi’s and Jamal’s deaths still don’t feel quite real. It’s not as though I was in constant contact with either of them, but knowing they were there, that our paths would cross somewhere in the world, that they were always happy to hear from me and vice versa, and that we felt comfortable enough to reach out when we saw or read something about the industry we wanted to commend or critique, meant a lot. Their loss has already affected so many people who knew them. And that loss will continue to impact many they never met. My heart goes out to their families and loved ones.
Back to the harvest…
It’s cucumber season at home and in our CSA. Last week the email from Edgewater Farm with our pick list said that along with a head of cauliflower, two tomatoes, a giant bunch of kale, and another big bunch of basil, we’d each have ten cucumbers to take home. Like a couple of people I chatted with at the farmstand, I assumed they’d be little Kirbys, perfect for a batch of pickles. Nope. These were large slicing (aka salad) cucumbers. Ten of them weighed about ten pounds.
Nate has noticed that there have been cucumbers in everything this week—on our bagels on Sunday morning, on his sandwiches at lunch, on our salads at dinner. I’ve made creamy cucumber salad (with labne, garlic, and dill) and quick cucumber pickles (with onions and white wine vinegar). I’ve barely made a dent.
So, yesterday I started cooking them. For some reason, here in the US we’ve relegated cucumbers exclusively to the raw corner of Claude Levi-Strauss’s Culinary Triangle, preferring them cold and crisp. But in other long-established food cultures, such as France, Italy, and China—no doubt where through the ages gardeners and farmers have provided a surfeit of cucumbers at certain times of the year—cucumbers are often cooked. When I suggested a sautéed cucumber recipe for the CSA newsletter, my local farmer Jenny texted, “Cooked cukes are really throwing me off, but I’m down to try it on.” I hope you will, too.
One benefit of making a warm side dish of cucumbers is that it cooks in just a couple of minutes. On hot summer days, the less time stood standing over a hot stove, the better. You don’t want to cook cucumbers until they have given off all their water and turned to mush. Rather, I think they are best when they’ve just softened around the edges, wilted, if you will, still with some integrity in the center. When cooked like this they remind me of Chinese loofah or sponge gourd, a cousin.
If you have a little extra time, you can salt the cucumbers first. As when making a cold cucumber salad, salting cucumbers draws out some of their moisture, creating a pleasant texture and, I like to believe, making some room for them to absorb any flavorful liquid they come into contact with. Salt and let them sit for 20 minutes before cooking. Or don’t.
So far, I’ve made three variations of sautéed cucumbers, one I would call French (with butter, shallots, and tarragon), one that feels more Italian (with olive oil, garlic, and thyme), and another that is decidedly Thai (with garlic, Thai basil, and fish sauce). Flavor clichés aside, they are all hella tasty. I offer these combinations to you as a jumping off point. Cook your cucumbers. Get creative.
RECIPES: Sautéed Cucumbers
A few options of different flavor profiles for your cukes.
French Style
2 large slicing cucumbers
1 ½ tablespoons butter
½ small shallot, minced
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
3 or 4 sprigs tarragon, leaves only, chopped
Juice of ½ lemon
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
To prepare the cucumbers, split them in half lengthwise. Using a sturdy teaspoon, scoop out the seeds in the center. Peel the cucumbers. (Peeling after seeding helps prevent breakage.) Cut the halves into equal-sized, 1-inch pieces, with different angles. (See image.)
Heat the butter in a large frying pan. Add the shallot and cook for a minute or two. Don’t let it color. Add the cucumbers and cook until they begin to soften and give off a little of their water, 2 or 3 minutes. Swirl the Dijon into the pan, adding a little water or white wine if necessary to dissolve it, and add the tarragon. Cook another couple of minutes. Squeeze in the lemon. Adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper.
Italian Style
2 large slicing cucumbers
1 ½ tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
Pinch red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon white balsamic vinegar
3 or 4 sprigs thyme, leaves only, minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
To prepare the cucumbers, split them in half lengthwise. Using a sturdy teaspoon, scoop out the seeds in the center. Peel the cucumbers. (Peeling after seeding helps prevent breakage.) Cut the halves into equal-sized, 1-inch pieces, with different angles. (See image.)
Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan. When hot, add the garlic and chili, and cook for just a minute. Don’t let the garlic burn. Add the cucumbers and cook until they begin to soften and give off a little of their water, about 2 or 3 minutes. Add the white balsamic and thyme and cook another couple of minutes. Adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper.
Thai Style
2 large slicing cucumbers
1 ½ tablespoons peanut or other vegetable oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 small hot chili, chopped, or pinch red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon fish sauce
Handful of Thai basil leaves
Pinch sugar
Juice of ½ lime
To prepare the cucumbers, split them in half lengthwise. Using a sturdy teaspoon, scoop out the seeds in the center. Peel the cucumbers. (Peeling after seeding helps prevent breakage.) Cut the halves into equal-sized, 1-inch pieces, with different angles. (See image.)
Heat the oil in a large frying pan. When hot, add the garlic and chili, if using, and cook for just a minute. Don’t let the garlic burn. Add the cucumbers and cook until they begin to soften and give off a little of their water, 2 or 3 minutes. Add the fish sauce by drizzling it around the sides of the pan and cook another couple of minutes. Add the basil leaves, a pinch of sugar, and the lime juice.
Two great losses for sure...so sad.