Jerry Traunfeld - The Herbfarm Cookbook

To my parents,

Poppy and Irving

When I first learned to cook, at age eleven, my mother kept herbs in jars, alphabetically arranged on a shelf. I was taught to apportion these dusty-smelling powders and flakes with the precision of a chemistone teaspoon of oregano in the tomato sauce, one-quarter teaspoon of tarragon in the vegetable soup, one-half teaspoon of sage with the chickenas if alchemy would occur when a recipes formula was followed perfectly. It never occurred to me then that we could grow all these herbs in our backyard, and I had no idea how they looked or smelled before they were dried, processed, and packaged. At the time, the only fresh herb in the supermarket was parsley.

Now fresh herbs are everywhere. More often than not the word fresh precedes thyme, tarragon, or basil in recipes we see in print. Freshly cut sprigs of all common herbs are available year-round in supermarkets across the nation. Farmers markets are flooded with lush bunches of locally grown herbs, and garden centers and specialty nurseries are packed with potted herbs from angelica to verbena. More and more backyards have oregano and dill planted next to the tomatoes, and pots of chives and rosemary are replacing the petunias on the patio or terrace. This availability is making a fundamental change in the way we cook.

The flavor of a fresh herb has little in common with what comes in a jar. Taste a few flakes of dry tarragon and they will seem little more than mild and musty. Then taste a leaf of fresh tarragon, just picked from the garden; it will be sweet and peppery and fill your mouth with a punchy anise flavor underscored with green savoriness. Stir a coarsely chopped spoonful of the fresh leaves into a braising pan of chicken and its flavor will permeate the juices and flavor the chicken itself. Next, compare a spoonful of dried basil with a bunch of fresh Genovese basil from the farmers market. The flakes are insipid and lifeless, but the complex layering of mint, clove, anise, and cinnamon scents that waft from the fresh sprigs is so enticing youll want to bury yourself in them. Pound the leaves in a mortar with garlic, pine nuts, olive oil, and Parmigiano-Reggiano, and youll have fragrant, unctuous pesto, the nonpareil pasta sauce.

Fresh herbs offer an astounding palette of vibrant and glorious tastes, but their delights go beyond the flavors they lend to food. For a cook, there is joy in simply handling fresh herbs in the kitchen. Who can resist stroking the proud sticky needles of rosemary, rubbing a plush sage leaf, or crushing a crinkled leaf of verdant mint between their fingers? When you strip the fragrant leaves off sweet marjoram or tuck a few sprigs of shrubby thyme in a simmering stew, you feel connected to the soil and the season, no matter where your kitchen is.

I have the opportunity all chefs dream of. As chef of The Herbfarm Restaurant in the lush, rainy foothills of the Cascade Mountains, I design nine-course menus for an intimate dining room surrounded by acres of kitchen gardens. If I need a bunch of chives, a bucket of chervil, or a leaf of rose geranium, I pick it right outside. Over the course of my nine years at The Herbfarm and many years of herb gardening in my own backyard in Seattle, Ive come to know each herb as an old friend, and they have offered me endless inspiration. Ive written this book to share what I have learned about these soul-stirring ingredients with those who love to cook at home.

If youre learning to cook with fresh herbs, youll do well by starting with soups, for in a soup everything is told in a single spoonful. Each stylecream of vegetable, bisque, hearty bean, consomm, or chowderis a framework, and each addition to the soup pot builds another layer of flavor. Some flavors will jump to the forefront and some will provide support behind, but in a great soup, theyll find perfect balance and highlight the essence of the main ingredients. The collection of recipes in this chapter represent not only a wide range of soup styles but also varied techniques for incorporating the herbs, from simply chopping them and adding them to the pot, to pureing and infusing. Heres the perfect opportunity to discover how each herbs personality can mingle, lend an accent, or take center stage.

Makes 4 quarts

Every chef has a slightly different idea about how to make basic chicken stock, but all agree on a few basic principles. First, dont add more water than is needed to cover the chicken and vegetables. The smaller the pieces of chicken, the less volume theyll take up in the pot, the less water needed to cover them, and the stronger the stock. If the stock comes out too strong, you can always dilute it with water. Second, start with cold wateras it heats it will gently pull the impurities from the bones. Third, keep the stock at the gentlest simmer and dont disturb it. If you boil it rapidly or stir it up, youll end up with cloudy stock. You neednt be obsessive about skimming, but its important to remove the impurities as it comes to a boil, and then a couple of more times in the following thirty minutes as the fat rises.

Stock making is the one area of cooking where I use a light touch with herbs. The end product should be full of chicken flavor but neutral in every other respect, so that it doesnt add unwanted flavors to a dish. Stock is an ingredient, not a finished soup. The classic flavor packet for simmering in stocks is called a bouquet garni. It varies slightly depending on the cook but usually has thyme sprigs, parsley stems, and bay leaves. The ingredients can be tied with a string, wrapped in a leek leaf or celery ribs and tied, or put in a cheesecloth bag. If youre in a hurry, you can toss them in without bundling.

If your family eats chicken often and you cut up the birds yourself, you might have a freezer full of carcasses for your stock; otherwise, youll have to buy chicken parts. Backs, wings, and necks are a good choice if theyre available. Since whole chickens are comparatively inexpensive, I usually buy two or three birds, remove the breast meat to freeze individually for other recipes, and cut up all the rest of the chicken for the stock.

6 pounds chicken parts or bones, or 2 whole chickens with breast meat removed, each cut into 6 pieces

About 4 quarts cold water

1 small bunch parsley stems

4 4-inch sprigs fresh or dried thyme

2 fresh bay laurel leaves, or 1 dried

1 onion, quartered with peel

1 carrot, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces

2 ribs celery, cut into 1-inch pieces

1. Stock. Put the chicken parts in an 8-quart or larger stockpot and add enough cold water to cover. Bring the stock to a simmer over medium heat, then reduce the heat to maintain a very gentle simmer. Using a ladle, skim off any fat or impurities that rise to the surface. Simmer for 30 minutes, skimming several more times.

2. Aromatics. Tie the parsley, thyme, and bay leaves together with cotton string to make a bouquet garni. Add it to the pot along with the vegetables. Continue to cook the stock uncovered at the lowest simmer for 2 to 3 more hours, skimming from time to time if needed.

3. Straining and storing. Pour the stock through a large colander placed over another large pot or a very large bowl. Discard the solids. If you wish to use the stock right away, let it settle for about 5 minutes, then skim off all the fat with a ladle. Otherwise refrigerate the stock uncovered and later remove the congealed fat with a large spoon. Store the stock covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days or freeze it in small batches for later use.