A week of firsts
This week, the first strawberries, artichokes and asparagus appear in the market. And a recipe for those days when simply dipping asparagus in melted butter isn't quite enough.
The seasons turn quickly here. It’s winter, then suddenly it’s spring and I have no idea what to wear. I open the shutters in the morning and I can see the sun’s glitter on the water, the azure sky (if it were on a Farrow & Ball paint chart, it would be called Hedonism), but I don’t really trust it. I put on a shirt, a sweater, I still feel naked without a coat. There will inevitably be some kind of scarf, though on a rash morning it might be silk rather than wool.
But it is spring. I am barely halfway down the Avenue de la Marine before I’m taking off my coat, folding it over my arm. I’m not used to this. I got my first mosquito bite this week. I planted my window boxes with pink pelargoniums and put away my winter boots.
In the Tuesday market, the last of the brussels sprouts, crates of cabbages and baskets of turnips sit alongside punnets of the first strawberries, scarlet to their stamens and honey-sweet, bunches of small artichokes and bundles of asparagus secured with green string.
I couldn’t bear to confess this act of enormous folly to the nice readers of The Observer, but I also could no longer keep it to myself and so I am telling you. Let’s keep it between us.
Strictly speaking, this isn’t the first asparagus. That arrived in the local Spar a week or so ago. I wrote a piece about the Mediterranean diet for The Observer last weekend and mentioned the asparagus, how everyone was scandalised that it cost €14.99, that anyway it came from Spain and we would all wait for the French asparagus to come in in a couple of weeks. That’s not strictly true. My husband, Papa Warbucks over there, popped in to buy some yoghurt and milk, the sort of things we normally get from the corner shop. He saw the asparagus, picked up two bundles without looking at the price, and that night we had a dinner where the vegetables cost three times as much as the meat. I couldn’t bear to confess this act of enormous folly to the nice readers of The Observer, but I also could no longer keep it to myself and so I am telling you. Let’s keep it between us.
As the weeks go on, the price of asparagus will reduce and I will eat it several times a week, every day sometimes. These first days though – vegetable Christmas - I just steam it and eat it with my fingers, dipped in melted butter or vinaigrette. But I can’t just recommend you do that and call it a recipe, so this week I give you a recipe for asperges mimosa, asparagus with hard-boiled eggs, the eggs chopped and fluffy like spring’s mimosa blossoms.
Last year, we ate so much asparagus I bought a special pan for it. It’s a tall cylinder with a wire basket inside which allows you to stand the stems on their thick ends in the water while the spears just steam. It was quite cheap, about €12 I think, and worth it if you love asparagus as much as I do – you can also use it for steaming ears of corn later in the summer.
Asperges mimosa
Asparagus with hard boiled eggs
This is quite an old-fashioned recipe. Many of the ones I like best are. It’s simple, it’s pretty, you can make it just for you or for a crowd, and everyone seems to like it. It’s one of my favourite ways to begin a Sunday lunch in spring.
Serves 2 as a light lunch, 4 as a starter
3 medium eggs
800g - 1kg green asparagus
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp crème fraiche
1 tbsp capers, rinsed and chopped
2 tsp Dijon mustard
The finely-grated zest of half a small, unwaxed lemon
About 2-3 tbsp chopped parsley, chives, chervil or tarragon, or a mixture of the four
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Get a bowl of iced water ready. Put the eggs in a pan with some just-warm water, bring to the boil, and boil for 6 minutes. Drain the eggs and plunge them immediately into the bowl of iced water. By cooling them very quickly, you will ensure they don’t get that horrible grey ring around the yolk. When the eggs are cold, peel and chop them fairly small.
Fill another bowl with iced water – it needs to be big enough to hold the asparagus.
Next, prepare the asparagus. Trim the bottoms off the stems and peel the tough ends with a sharp vegetable peeler. We are often told to snap the bottoms of the stems and the tender part begins after the snap, but unless you’re growing it yourself and prepping it immediately, you’re going to waste a lot of the asparagus that way. Trimming and peeling is usually enough for us potager-less proles.
Bring a pan of water to the boil and add some salt. Simmer the asparagus until just tender. Depending on the thickness, this can take between 3 and 8 minutes – pierce the thick end of one of the stems with a small, sharp knife to check if it’s done. You can also steam the asparagus if you prefer, or use a special pan like I do. As soon as the asparagus is done, plunge it into the bowl of iced water to stop it any further and put it on kitchen paper to drain.
In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, crème fraîche, capers, mustard and lemon zest. Stir in the herbs and half of the eggs. Taste and season with salt and pepper if you think that it needs it.
Arrange the asparagus on a platter and coat generously with the dressing, turning it over so that each spear is coated. Scatter the remaining egg over the top and serve.
Printable Recipe
Market haul Tuesday 21 March, 2023
This week’s market haul comprises: the first of the strawberries from Vias, six eggs, the first of the artichokes, local asparagus, blood oranges, broccoli, avocados, a baguette, one of its quignons (ends) missing. There will inevitably be an enquiry.
Ah, my “first of the season” downfall was cherries last year. Didn’t even notice the price until the checkout counter. Gulp, $30 for a few pounds of cherries. I bet that asparagus was tasty!
Honestly Debora, you are not helping my resolution that I Do Not Need An Asparagus Pan. My already feeble willpower is wobbling like a half set jelly.