pea shoots

Retiring Field



And so wraps up a season of growing in Amagansett.


A sea of buckwheat doing as it should.


Thick and flower full, rising three feet above the earth.


It's flowers give way to green and white seed pods which turn mahogany as they mature.


No weeds can be seen, or none seriously, under the buckwheat, and that is its purpose.


Yet only ground well tilled or disced and mellowed will allow the buckwheat to take hold.


Toward the end of my day of pulling potatoes and crocus, I stopped to take in the bucolic scene.


 
And the sun then set on the buckwheat, and on my field.


But before I left, the dew point shifted, the air then scented, and the clankery of aluminum batting adrift from athletic fields, as I plucked greens from self-seeded spring peas.











Bearing Fruit



Around five o'clock this afternoon we were racing to get barbecuing items together for an evening at the beach farm with my father-in-law. He wasn't much aware of the garden on the beach and we thought we should show him before he leaves tomorrow. While there, why not cook some food after snacking on snap peas and broccoli florets, which, by the way, were a complete surprise. But my point is that we were not listening to the radio, and weren't aware that the interview would be broadcast this evening, having first heard of it via Marie, on FB, several hours later!

The snap peas have been bearing fruit, not the least of which is the interview with WNYC. You can read the blog post at Last Chance Foods. Happily I see that they included a link to both this here blog and my art work. Below is the audio of the interview with Amy Eddings.




I discovered a few things about pea pods this season. One is, the 'Sugar Ann' snaps do not always grow true -a few have been fruiting as snow peas. Another is that you must wait for the snaps to truly plump up if you want them sweet as can be. Also, I have one purple-flowered snap out of 25 white-flowered plants, and I see that I can foretell this by observing the purplish leaf axils that only the purple-flowered peas seem to have. If you're eating the greens in a salad, the purple flower sure dresses it up.


Minding The Peas




Growing tip of a snap pea.

Three years ago I inquired about purchasing a bunch of pea shoots at the one stall I figured most likely to have them of all the stalls at the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. The proud young ladies, who sell all kinds of edible sprouts and greens, pointed out the pea sprouts in a plastic-lined straw basket. I explained that I was looking for the shoots, err, the tendrils and leaves of a mature pea plant. They explained to me that selling those would ruin the pod and pea harvest. I thanked them, disappointed, and was on my way.

Pea sprouts after just a few days, sprouted in a pot on my windowsill.

Ever since I bought that one dollar bundle of pea greens from a Hmong American farmer at the Minneapolis Farmers' Market in 2008, I've scanned our Brooklyn greenmarkets for fresh-cut (in today's parlance -local) pea greens. I have always presumed the greens to be sensitive to lengthy storage, just as are the fresh peas and pods, and so have not looked to produce markets in Chinatown. Although, in season, I would expect to find them there because Chinese cooking demands snow pea greens and sprouts for several dishes. Lately I have been hearing that you can pick them up at the Union Square greenmarket, but haven't confirmed this myself.

A pea green -stem, leaves, tendril.

It makes sense that the garden, or shelling pea, Pisum sativum, would garner all the attention. It's wrapped green spheres are sweet and nutty little bites of spring perfection. Then there are the snap and snow peas, with their crispy crunch and phyto-saccharidity. This is where all the breeding work has gone -into bearing perfect, sweet fruit. It was Dr. Calvin Lamborn, at Gallatin Valley Seed Co., who discovered a swollen, edible-podded pea plant after crossing a mutant pea with the snow pea, Pisum sativum var. saccharatum. Immediately after his discovery, he began a breeding program to perfect Pisum sativum var. macrocarpon -the snap pea. Ten years later, snap peas became a marketing success and, today, can be found in almost every grocery store freezer.

Snap pea.

There hasn't been any significant breeding of peas for distinctive greens, although I am willing to bet this year's greens that there are local, heirloom snow peas in China that have been selected over generations just for their greens. It is worth saving your own open-pollinated pea seeds for selection toward the best greens. I've read in a few different places that the 'Oregon' snaps, such as 'Oregon Giant' and 'Oregon Sugar Pod,' are the best for pea greens, although any sugar snap or snow pea variety should do. In the interest of your health, it is wise not to eat the greens or peas of any ornamental peas, like the famously scented sweet peas, Lathyrus odoratus.

Our short double row of maybe 30 pea plants.

We are growing a dwarf variety of snap pea, called 'Sugar Ann'. I selected this variety for its diminutive size, usually less than 24 inches, because I began growing them in a small container garden. This year, at the beach farm, I've used the last of those seeds (they usually store well for three or so years), and the short size has helped overcome the winds at the site. Next year I plan to grow a taller variety, maybe one of the Oregons, tempting the winds of fate.

Looking closely, you can see where I snipped the greens from the main stem.

So, when do you harvest your pea greens? After you've harvested your pods? By then it may be too late, having warmed significantly, and your greens are likely to yellow, toughen, their tendrils stringy and branches woody, the plant possibly suffering from mildew. Before you harvest your pods, then? You may get significantly less pea pods if you harvest flowering branches and cut too many energy producing leaves, but before the pea pods form is when you should start eyeing your pea plants for their greens.

After snipping the pea greens, new growth will stem from the leaf axil.

It is important to let the plant mature enough to tolerate your trimming. Allow your peas to grow to at least one foot tall, because you only want to clip greens from a healthy, vigorous growing pea for the most tender and best-flavored greens. Depending on the weather and when you plant, the best pea greens can be harvested in the NYC area somewhere between April 30 and May 30. Of course, you can keep harvesting those greens as long as they are tender, no matter the date.

Edible pea flowers are either white or purple.

Give yourself a taste of those pea greens in the garden. If the tendrils are tough in the field, they won't get any better in the kitchen. Where the tendrils might be tough, the leaves and thicker stems may still be tender, or may soften under the influence of the saute pan. Experiment! I've found that semi-tender tendrils may toughen a bit with gentle cooking, and it is helpful to cut them smaller than the rest of the greens. I've read, too, that storage in the fridge for more than three days can toughen up pea greens, although I have not waited long enough to discover this myself.


Growing Conditions for snap and snow peas:

  • Any well-drained soil will do.
  • Work in compost.
  • Six hours of sunlight
  • In the NYC area, watch the weather and plant anywhere from March 10th - April 10th.
  • Soak seeds overnight and plant directly in prepared bed according to seed packet directions.
  • Mulch with straw to preserve moisture if necessary.
  • Spring rains are usually enough water until May, always water regularly during dry spells.
  • Ideal growing temperatures are 50 - 65 degrees F.
  • Add stakes or netting for peas to climb.
  • Once a foot tall, you can fertilize with just a little 5-10-10 -if any at all.
  • Watch for slugs.
  • Watch for aphids in fall growing season or early summer.


If you do not have access to a community garden, yard or container garden, you can raise pea sprouts on your windowsill. I have only tried this in spring, but I do suspect fall is a good time as well. Summer may be too hot and humid and winter too dry and dark on the windowsill, but why not try in every season?

Windowsill snap pea sprouts.

Purchase some snap or snow pea seeds and soak overnight in a bowl. Find a container with drainage and fill it 3/4 full with good quality potting soil or compost. Dampen the soil thoroughly. Make sure to have a pan to catch water underneath.


Place the soaked pea seeds evenly around the pot. You can fill more densely than I did here. Then cover with a thin layer of potting soil or compost and dampen. I covered it with cling wrap to maintain the moisture until the seeds sprouted.

Soil-covered seeds.

In just a few days your pea sprouts will emerge.

The pea sprouts after about 10 days from planting.

Snip above a set of leaves so that the plant will continue to grow new leaves. Keep the sprouts watered as long as you plan to snip new sprouts. You can eat these pea sprouts much like you would the pea greens - fresh in a salad, stir fried with garlic and chili pepper, with pasta, or any number of other ways. You can see my pea green recipe here.

Pea Sprouts - sprouted peas, young and tender.
Pea Greens - mature pea leaves, stems, flowers, and tendrils.
Tendrils - the curling, "grabby" apparatus of the vine.
Dou Miao (doh-meow) - pea tips or greens, pea sprouts sometimes labeled this way, the Chinese name for pea greens.
Mangetout (manzha-too) - French meaning "eat all," used to describe snap peas.
Snap Peas - edible rounded pods, peas, and greens.
Snow Peas - edible flat pods, and greens.
Shelling Peas - edible peas and stronger-flavored greens, inedible tough pods, the English pea.



Dinner With WNYC


The last thing I ever intended for this blog was to talk about food or cooking. To be fair, I began blogging with aesthetic gardening, flower gardening, with nothing of the vegetable kind, in mind. Since then, I began reading what others were saying around their gardens, and of that became an awareness of the accord between the garden and the kitchen.  It may be hard to believe, but I never gave that much thought, and most often saw the produce of any vegetable garden I have tended as a source of fresh vegetables to eat uncooked, there in the patch. 

But all this has changed, hasn't it? I am now a dedicated foodie, a forager, a farmer, my kitchen a forum for fresh and fancy foods? No, not really. Although I have a few tricks up my sleeve, my meal palette is actually quite limited, and my time for cooking quite the same. But the media does like talk of food way more than gardening, enough so that garden talk has become the preamble to food discussion. And I suppose that makes sense, especially as we talk of vegetable, ahem -food, gardening.

This Thursday I'll head down to the WNYC studios to record 20 minutes of talk with Amy Eddings about gardening peas, and more specifically pea shoots, and maybe some chat about city vegetable gardening, garden blogging, and community gardening. I hope to figure out a way to drop the word artist and frankmeuschke.com in there somewhere, maybe as a .exe, one that surreptitiously opens only after the 20 minutes has been edited down to the broadcast five. In preparation, I'm constructing statements on the confluence of painting and gardening.

As it so happens, I have had WNYC over for dinner once before, several years ago. My family's turkey stuffing was on the table, and Leonard Lopate and Ruth Reichl were guests. Ruth, editor of the now defunct Gourmet magazine, mentioned that the recipe had reminded her of polpettone. If you were listening, you may have heard the crickets, because I had no idea what that was and had little interest in admitting to my ignorance (until now, apparently). So, like everyone else, I looked it up online afterward, to find it's essentially meatloaf, Italian style, albeit more interesting than your average American loaf of ketchup, onions, and ground beef.

This time my guests would like to have pea shoots for dinner and I've harvested just enough to experiment with a pasta recipe before my appearance on Thursday. Of course, my instinct is to relate how delicious it is to eat them raw, snipped right off the plant, washing optional. After that, wouldn't one want to have it in a salad with the slightly bitter and snappy fresh greens also harvested now, a dash of olive oil and lemon, salt, and pepper? Those really are the first things to talk about and two things I've already eaten this spring. A way to eat cooked pea shoots is in a simple stir fry, which I made the first time I ate pea shoots several years ago, after I bought a rubber-banded bunch for one dollar from Hmong farmers at the Minneapolis Farmers' Market.

Pea shoots are sweet, a little nutty, distinctively pea, but without it's starchiness. They go well with earthy, woodsy ingredients, so I went to the farmers' market on Cortelyou to pick up cultivated mushrooms more exciting than the usual baby browns I can get around the corner -but those would work, too, in a pinch of any kind. The yellow and gray oysters were 7.99 a half pound and the hen of the woods was the same. My brown paper bagful cost me ten even. Dry, fresh mushrooms are fairly light-weighted and you'll get your money's worth in flavor.

I went to Caputos on Court to pick up some guanciale, fresh ricotta cheese, parmigiano, pecorino toscano, fresh pasta (out of pappardelle, out of fettuccine, had to settle for linguine), and ravioli. I bought the "wrong" ravioli, and left that out of the evening's exploration, saved for Wednesday when I will cook them with farmers' market asparagus and the remaining mushrooms. The guanciale is a cured, but not smoked pig jowl, a delicately textured "bacon," that reminds Betsy of flavors somewhere between turkey skin and pancetta.

Wild garlic, Allium vineale, has a very earthy flavor, with subtle hints of garlic and shallot. I foraged these from the fields at the beach farm on Saturday, clipped the roots and stems, peeled the first layer of skin, washing thoroughly, and chopped. You can find wild garlic in most any woods or unmowed field right now in the metro area.

I have been growing peas in house as well as at the farm. Those on the right are cut from mature, beach farm plants, earning them the right to be called shoots, as opposed to the sprouts seen on the left. There may be some confusion about which should be called shoots on the web, but there is no doubt in my mind about which is which. Recently sprouted peas should be called sprouts, while mature vegetation cut for eating can be called shoots, but should be called pea greens to save from any confusion. Don't confuse pea sprouts with mung bean sprouts, which are an entirely different food.

The field grown pea shoots are robust, leafy, and with flowers -a mouthful of fresh pea flavor.

The in house sprouts are similarly flavored, although I expected them to be less so, and slightly more tender, but without flowers, and an altogether different eating experience because of their diminutive size.

I sliced the guanciale, pronounced gwan-chee-ah-lay, and crisped it to a light golden brown over low heat. I poured the rendered cheek fat into a bowl for later use -it's liquid flavor gold. After placing the the guanciale on the side, I placed a couple of pats of unsalted butter in the pan and softened the wild garlic. Then I cut up some of the mushrooms, which were very clean and required no washing (nice! no water), and tossed them in. Meanwhile the salted water was boiling and ready to receive the fresh pasta.

I added a splash or two of cream, two spoonfuls of ricotta, two spoonfuls of the liquid guanciale fat, two spoonfuls of pasta water, some salt, some pepper, a dash of nutmeg. After draining the liquid from the pasta, I chopped the pea shoots into one or two inch pieces, and tossed them into the saute pan. The key to cooking with pea shoots is to not wilt them -just warm them up. Throw them in at the last minute and the heat of the food will do that. I stirred the whole mixture, quite sloppily, together and grated some parmigiano on top.


All in all, I think it came out pretty well, although I have some after eating thoughts. The first thing is more shoots -I wanted more shoots in the dish, yet I cut pretty conservatively at the farm because I am hoping for a few snap peas. The second is the ricotta, which I added haphazardly, and I think the dish could do without, or maybe just one spoonful. And lastly, the mushrooms: When I sampled the oyster mushrooms, I thought they were quite strong and opted for a greater hen to oyster ratio, but after cooked, the oysters lent a woodsy flavor and the hens seemed overwhelmed. Its possible that the dairy overwhelmed all of them and would consider making this with olive oil and butter, omitting the cream altogether. 

One final thought about eating pea greens (shoots). Eating the tendrils raw, they are tender and easy to eat. However, I find that when you cook them, they toughen up just a bit.  With this in mind, my recommendation is to cut the tendrils to one inch or less in length when cooking them, while leaving the leaves, flowers, and branches larger. Or you can simply remove the tendrils altogether, snacking on those while you cook.