Vegetarian Month

It’s vegetarian month at Legume.  What does that mean, really? It means we have a vegetarian tasting menu every day, canola oil replaces beef tallow in the fryer, and we have an extra vegetarian entree on the menu every day.

When vegetarian month is over, I think we’re going to try some new things in the vegetarian department. The American style entree which defines the kind of cooking we do at Legume–meat at the center of the plate, some kind of starch, some kind of veg, and a sauce–really doesn’t work very well for vegetarian food. Vegetarian cooking needs to be approached from a completely different angle. A better way to approach vegetarian cooking, I think, would be to offer a variety of smaller dishes. This is the direction I’d like to move in for our vegetarian guests, perhaps a whole section of the menu dedicated to smaller, focused vegetarian dishes, in order to relieve the pressure of having to accomplish the near impossible task of providing a satisfying vegetarian dinner on one plate.

We’ve been slowly working on building up a repertoire of smaller vegetarian dishes for the menu that will hopefully make eating a vegetarian meal at Legume a little more interesting. One such dish begins by pan-roasting delicious, sweet baby ya-ya carrots from Who Cooks For You Farm. They are then glazed with berbere-spiced honey and apple cider vinegar, and served with Seven Stars yogurt (which has been drained to thicken slightly and mixed with a little creme fraiche), roasted pistachios, and chopped mint.  

Another dish is the wild mushroom sandwich, which really isn’t a sandwich at all, but a heap of chanterelle mushrooms sauteed in butter with shallot and garlic on top of a small piece of sourdough which has been slathered with a puree of the season’s first new garlic (the best of the year for roasting) and topped with salsa verde and pickled cippolini onions.

The kitchen is looking forward to doing more of this kind of thing. The new, vegetarian-friendly small plates section of the menu will be rolling out after Labor Day, if not sooner. In the meantime, this month’s vegetarian menu will give you an idea of what is to come.

Chicken Under a Schism

If Legume has a signature dish, it’s probably the Chicken Cooked Under a Skillet, which is basically our version of the Italian “chicken under a brick,” which is a spatchcock chicken roasted in a pan with a weight on top of it, forming a crispy skin and a juicy texture. It’s a dish that used to be on the menu every single day, and many folks would come specifically for it.  

We used to have this on the menu every day we were open, but as Legume evolved, and we began to think more deeply about how we source things, we began to question how we were sourcing our chicken. First of all, when I asked the farmer if I could visit the operation, they said no. Secondly, the topic of what the chickens actually ate, and whether or not the feed was GMO, was difficult to have, because the GMO issue wasn’t on their radar. I surmised that what we were getting, though certainly “local” as the crow flies and honestly quite tasty, wasn’t really the kind of “local” we were going for.

(That word–”local.” It’s a word that’s used a lot by businesses these days, but what does it really mean? I certainly don’t claim that my definition is the most correct one, but I do think it’s clear that the word means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, and there is certainly nothing wrong with that. However, in terms of being an adjective meant to describe an inherent quality in food, it’s been rendered almost meaningless.)

At some point, we began working with Pete Burns from Burns Heritage Farm. Pete was open to farm visits, and was already in the process of transitioning to a GMO-free feed when we met him. The Burns’ chicken are on fresh pasture every day, and it shows in the flavor of the birds. It also means it is available in the summer only, when there is fresh pasture to be had. Once the cold weather comes, and there is no more fresh pasture, they close shop for the year.

This is the explanation for why our signature dish only appears on the summer menu these days. We plan to have it on the menu most days from now until the end of October, but there will be some weeks, like this past one, when Pete doesn’t have enough chickens of the appropriate size, and we don’t have enough for the week. We’re also cooking a limited number each day. Cooking whole chicken to order really gums up the wheels of the kitchen and can slow things down, so we’re preparing only what we think we’ll sell for the evening.  

Most people these days don’t have time to stand in a long line for the hyped-up food thing that may or not be there in the end. I certainly don’t, and am really sorry if this chicken thing comes across like that. I understand: sometimes you just want what you want, and you want it to be there. If that’s the case, let us know when you make your reservation and we’ll do our best to set an order aside for you if it’s on the menu that day. The chickens are slaughtered on Wednesday and come to us Thursday. Since we like to let the birds marinate overnight, this means the most reliable days to find it on the menu are Friday, Saturday and Monday, though most weeks we will have it every single day.  We want to make this work for the people who love this dish. Thanks for working with us.

I don’t want to pretend that everything we do at Legume is organic and local and perfect, because it’s not. There will be plenty of things I’m not especially excited to cook this winter: farmed Arctic char from Iceland, potatoes from Idaho for fries (once the local storage ones are depleted), and lots of other things. I can’t really explain why it is it feels so hard to compromise on the chicken and switch to a lesser-quality bird for the winter until Pete’s are available the next May.

Perhaps it’s because of the connection I feel with the Burns’ farm: the conversations I get to have with Pete, witnessing his creative process, visiting the farm and seeing how beautifully it operates in a holistic and life-centered way, and, of course, the pleasure of putting hands on food of great quality. It’s almost as if the relationship heightens the sense of sacrilege when it comes to compromise in a way that is not noticed with things we have no chance of a connection to, things like pineapples, chocolate and white sugar.  This feeling of mine is a burden too, because I know there are many folks who just want the damn chicken, no matter how it’s sourced. We’ve had four-tops walk out of the restaurant upon discovering chicken wasn’t on the menu that day, and that’s painful to watch.

That’s the tension that is always happening at Legume, between making beautiful art and maintaining a broad-enough appeal so that the business stays afloat. As cheesy as this sounds, I got into cooking in order to re-live moments of my childhood when I felt a strong connection to the earth: gathering mussels in front of my grandmother’s house, foraging for fiddleheads with my dad, picking blackberries with my friend Joe in a secret patch in the fields behind our houses, gardening, fishing. The art of Legume is in trying to keep these Peter Pan moments lasting for as long as we can. That’s the most important thing.

Thanks for your support and being a part of Legume.

End Of the Scapes

Jess and I were making sauerkraut today. Atfter we’d shredded all the cabbage, we set some of it aside and rummaged through the  walk in to see what kind of fun experimental kraut we could make. 

Low and behold, we found some straights.  “Straights”are the straight part of the garlic scape that we cut off, since they can sometimes be woody and not great for cooking up. We didn’t really know what to do with them, but we didn’t want to just through them away either. Thankfully, they lasted forever in the walk-in, and we shredded them up in the robot coupe and added it to some of the cabbage. 

Will it be good? Who knows? We’ll let you know in a few weeks. 

It’s Taken Three Years to Get Haricot Vertes

Bryan Greenawalt is an important link between Pittsburgh and a community of Amish farmers in Somerset County. Each week in the summer, and just about every other week in the winter, Bryan visits a network of farms and picks up things to bring to the Saturday East Liberty farmer’s market, the one right next to Home Depot.  It’s the city’s longest running and only indoor farmer’s market.

I’ve gone out to Somerset many times with Bryan over the years, and every time something fruitful comes from it. I think it was seven years or so ago when I first met Sam and Nettie, one of Bryan’s biggest suppliers. I asked them if they’d ever heard of Shaker dried corn before, and they hadn’t. I told them it was dehydrated sweet corn and left thinking that they weren’t interested in doing it.

Three months later, Bryan showed up to the market with a five gallon bucket of Shaker corn.  It was a pleasant surprise. Sam and Nettie had had a neighbor fashion a homemade stove top corn-dehydrator, and had been dehydrating corn for the entire months of July and August. It takes about 24 hours for the corn to properly dehydrate.

We’d tried dehydrating corn before in our electric dehydrator, but the Shaker corn from Sam and Nettie was a completely different thing: golden yellowish brown with a nutty aroma, and the texture of fresh corn when rehydrated overnight. I don’t know why theirs is so good, but it probably has something to do with the steady radiant heat of their wood stoves.

One of the great things about working with this particular Amish community, is that the scale most of their farms operate on is a good fit for our needs.  For example, when we asked them to grow Tarbais beans for us, they were able to do it. We only use around 150# or so a season, which isn’t enough for a typical farmer to bother with, but it worked on Sam and Nettie’s scale. One of their neighbors grows chervil, summer savory, and epazote for us. It’s only a few pounds or so of herbs a week, but Bryan tells me they’re happy to do it.

Bryan asks me each spring what we’re looking for at Legume. Three years ago, I told him we wanted haricot verts, the tiny little French green beans which I absolutely adore.  I picked out a variety from a seed catalog and gave Bryan the information. Four months later, Bryan showed up with a nice box of beautiful green beans. I took one bite and it was leather.  I’d failed to mention that the beans needed to be picked really small.

Last year around this time, Bryan came with haricot verts again, and this time they were perfect. The next week, however, they were too big again, and not useable for the restaurant. But since they’d gone through the trouble of growing them, I bought a couple bushel anyways which we ate at staff meal over the next couple of weeks. (If you want people to grow things for you, you need to buy their food, even if its not perfect.)

When Bryan asked me if I wanted anything this year, I didn’t mention haricot verts. I’d given up.  I didn’t want to ask these Amish guys to grow something we might not purchase, but low and behold, Bryan showed up with a bushel of perfect haricot verts this past Saturday.  I’ll be really excited if they’re perfect next week too.

I really appreciate this relationship we have with this community, and am thankful for Bryan for making it happen. Most of the exotic local things we use throughout the year come from him: black walnuts, ground cherries, asparagus, red currants, quince, fresh shelling beans no one else seems to grow around here, sunchokes, over-wintered parsnips and salsify, grapes, and a few other things I’m probably forgetting right now. This spring Sam and Nettie planted some seabuckthorn plants, per my request, after I learned about it in Russia a few years ago. It’ll take a number of years before they produce fruit, but it’ll be worth the wait.

Currantly at Legume…

Thanks to Bryan for bringing us five flats of beautiful currants. We managed to put away a good deal of jelly for Cumberland sauce.  It’s great to have a friend like Bryan.  We can always rely on him to bring us interesting things, without our having to go chasing them down ourselves.