A Girl and Her Greens. April Bloomfield
tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into chunks
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Maldon or another flaky sea salt
4 large duck or chicken eggs
2 dried pequín chillies, crumbled, or pinches of red pepper flakes
½ lemon
Halve any ramp bulbs thicker than a medium garlic clove. Cut the purple stems into 2.5-cm lengths and slice the leaves crosswise into thirds.
Combine the butter and oil in a 30cm nonstick frying pan and set it over medium heat. When the butter melts, froths and gurgles, add the stems and bulbs, increase the heat to medium-high, and cook until the bulbs turn translucent, 2 to 3 minutes.
Add a generous pinch of salt to the pan and then sprinkle the leaves on top of the bulbs and stems. Stir briefly and shake the pan to distribute the greens evenly and let it all sizzle away, stirring occasionally, until the bulbs have spots of golden brown, about 6 minutes more. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the ramps to a plate, leaving behind as much fat as you can.
With the pan still over medium-high heat, crack the eggs into the pan, trying your best to leave a little space between each one. Sprinkle the chillies and a generous pinch of salt over each egg. Cook until the whites have just set, about 1 minute. Spoon the ramp mixture here and there over the eggs but not over the yolks.
Cover the pan, turn off the heat, and let sit until the eggs are cooked to your liking, 1 to 2 minutes for nice runny yolks. Season with salt to taste and squeeze on just enough lemon juice to add brightness, not acidity. Eat straightaway.
Note: When they first appear in markets, ramp bulbs are so sweet and slender that you can add them all at once with the stems and leaves, though here I have you start the bulbs and stems a couple of minutes early, in case they’re a bit starchy, which can happen further into the season.
POT-ROASTED ARTICHOKES WITH WHITE WINE AND CAPERS
One of the reasons I go giddy about springtime is artichokes, particularly the small ones with tips closed tightly, like a flower at night. Some home cooks are reluctant to fill their totes with artichokes, as they’ll need to be turned – the barbed leaves plucked off and the other inedible bits trimmed away. I quite like the process. It’s meditative and satisfying once you get the hang of it. In this dish, the fleshy artichokes get browned and crispy tops and look like strange, beautiful roses. The acidity in the white wine cuts through the rich, dense veg and, along with the salty pops from the capers, highlights the artichokes’ unique herbaceousness.
serves 4 to 6 as a side
55ml extra-virgin olive oil
1.5kg baby artichokes (about 18), turned (see ‘Turning Artichokes’, here)
2 medium garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1½ teaspoons Maldon or another flaky sea salt
330ml dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc
1 heaped tablespoon drained capers
A five-finger pinch of mint leaves, torn at the last minute
A pinch of delicate flat-leaf parsley sprigs
Heat the oil in a heavy pot (wide enough to hold the artichokes with room to spare) over medium-high heat until it just begins to smoke. Stand the artichokes cut sides down in the oil, wait a minute, then reduce the heat to medium-low, sprinkle in the garlic and salt, and cook, without stirring, just until the garlic turns golden and smells toasty, about 3 minutes.
Slowly pour in the wine, cover the pot, and cook, without stirring, at a vigorous simmer until you can insert a sharp knife into the thick artichoke bottoms with barely any resistance, about 25 minutes. Five minutes or so before they’re fully tender, remove the lid and scatter on the capers.
Raise the heat to medium-high, and bring the liquid to a boil. Cook until all the wine has evaporated (the bubbling sound will become a sizzle), about 3 minutes. Add the mint and parsley and keep cooking the artichokes in the oil (it’s OK if a few of them tip over), until the cut sides of the artichokes are deep golden brown, 3 to 5 minutes. Lower the heat if necessary to prevent the artichokes from getting too dark.
Arrange the artichokes prettily on a plate, and scoop the capers, oil, and slightly crispy herbs over top. Serve straightaway or at room temperature.
TURNING ARTICHOKES
I suppose some people might find it a bother, but I quite like turning artichokes. It’s like an advanced version of shelling peas – similarly meditative and even a bit fun. Choosing artichokes whose leaves don’t move much when you pinch the tops will make your life a bit easier, because typically they have smaller chokes or sometimes none at all.
Fill a big bowl with water and squeeze in the juice of a lemon. Working with one artichoke at a time, pluck off and discard the green leaves until only the soft yellowish leaves are left. Cut off about 1cm of the stem. Use a peeler or small knife to trim away the tough green stuff at the base of the artichoke. Take a peek at the cut end of the stem. You’ll see a pale green circle surrounded by a darker border. Peel the stem, getting as close as you can to the pale green centre. Drop the artichoke into the lemony water (to prevent discolouration). Repeat with the remaining artichokes.
Cut about 2.5cm from the tip of each artichoke, then use a small spoon to scoop out and discard the feathery choke. Gently squeeze each artichoke over the bowl as you go, and set them cut sides down on kitchen paper to drain for about 5 minutes.
BOILED ASPARAGUS WITH RAMP BÉARNAISE SAUCE
Sometimes what seems like the least exciting way to cook a vegetable is the most lovely. I adore roasted and grilled asparagus, with those tempting golden-brown spots. Still, my favourite way to eat asparagus is boiled. That’s when it feels the most elegant in the mouth, fat and juicy and clean when you bite it.
The stalks require little more than a drizzle of nice olive oil and perhaps a spritz of lemon, but an even more thrilling accompaniment is a rich, bright béarnaise served alongside. It’s the sexiest thing, a béarnaise. I must’ve made this tart, rich French sauce, a sort of hot mayonnaise made with butter instead of oil, a thousand times when I worked under Rowley Leigh at the London restaurant Kensington Place. I don’t think I ever got tired of dipping vegetables in it or drizzling it over grilled fish or steak. In early spring, when ramps join bunches of asparagus at farmers’ markets, I swap the typical shallots for ramp bulbs and finish the sauce with ramp leaves instead of the more classic tarragon.
You can make béarnaise a few hours in advance, so long as you keep it somewhere warm. If you keep it somewhere too hot or chilly, it could split. To fix split béarnaise, add 1 teaspoon of warm water to a bowl, then add the béarnaise bit by bit, starting with a few drops and upping the amount as you go, whisking furiously with each addition.
serves 4 as a side
FOR THE BÉARNAISE
110ml Champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar
Scant 225g ramps, trimmed, green leaves separated, and everything thinly sliced (about 75g bulbs and stems and 150g leaves)
2 large egg yolks
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