Green Beans with Sauteed Cherry Tomatoes

This is a great match: our meaty, full-flavored Romanette green beans with sweet Dr. Carolyn cherry tomatoes.

We think these golden cherry tomatoes are the best ever, with an assertive sweetness and round flavor. I was happy to see our opinion confirmed in the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange catalogue. "The most flavorful yellow cherry tomato we have grown," they write. "It has an excellent balance of sugar, tartness and depth of flavor."

In case you are wondering where "Dr. Carolyn" comes from, the tomato is named for Dr. Carolyn Male, one of the country's foremost tomato experts and the author of "100 Heirloom Tomatoes for the American Garden." In fact, it was from that book that I first thought to purchase some Dr. Carolyn seeds.

We have just one plant in our garden this year, but it is covered with golden tomatoes--more than enough for us. Plus, the plant seems utterly resistant to the fungal diseases that otherwise ravage less sturdy tomato varieties in our hot, humid District of Columbia climate.

We are also in love with these Romanette beans, an Italian variety of flat bean that grows profusely on compact bush plants. So easy to grow, and so productive. They make a perfect side dish simply cooked in salted water, then dressed with olive oil and grated Parmesan cheese. But combining them with the Dr. Carolyn tomatoes results in an ecstatic mingling of late-summer flavors.

Simply get a non-stick saute pan very hot on the stove, coat the bottom with extra-virgin olive oil and drop in a small bowl full of halved cherry tomatoes. While they sizzle, season with coarse salt. Toss one or two times until the tomatoes are showing the faintest hint of brown and are beginning to melt. Then toss in cooked green beans, season with a little more salt and freshly ground black pepper. Drop in a few basil leaves cut into a chiffonade and a splash of sherry vinegar. Toss a couple of times until the beans are heated through.

The final result isn't exactly pretty, but you'll be eating it right out of the pan.

Sweet Potato Leaves

Every once in a while you learn something about the plant kingdom that makes you stop and think, I need to grow that.

So it was with sweet potato leaves, or when I learned that sweet potato leaves are edible. At the time, I did nothing about it. But on a recent visit to One Straw Farm in Baltimore County, owner Joan Norman mentioned that she had been selling sweet potato leaves in the farmers market. She said she had heard about them at an agriculture conference from a man from Africa.

Suddenly I was not only glad I had planted sweet potatoes, but made a priority of finding some way of working the leaves onto our dinner table. The occasion finally arrived last week when I struggled to find something green in the garden to put in our newest most favorite dish, curried okra. We're still harvesting okra on an almost daily basis and this stew with coconut milk, tomatoes and potatoes (basically, anything we can forage from the garden) proved to be a perfect place to use some of the Tuscan kale we were growing.

Well, the kale is gone, but it turns out sweet potato leaves work even better . They have a mild but dense flavor that reminds me a little of purslane. They stand up very well to cooking, maintaining their dark green color and a pleasantly easy texture. As a bonus, the leaves are a good source of vitamins A and C. And like purslane, they can be eaten raw.

Being a vine, the sweet potato plant produces a prodigious amount of leaves in addition to the tasty tuber we'll be harvesting later. At one time I was cursing our sweet potatoes for escaping their bed and traveling all over the yard where I needed to mow. They've climbed up, over and around the tomato cages. Now I'm cheering them on. I say, give us all the leaves you want.

If you are making the okra stew I posted about recently, just add a heaping cup (or two) or sweet potato leaves cut into a chiffonade instead of the kale originally called for. And if you planted sweet potatoes, be happy knowing that you have an almost endless supply of nutritious leaves.

Cabbage Kimchi

I am preparing a presentation on pickling for the local historical society and decided to extend my interest in sauerkraut into the realm of Koren Kimchi. Kimchi is to Koreans what tortillas are to Mexicans--something to be eaten at every meal. Kimchi is a little different, of course, in that it starts with fermented vegetables, usually with added heat from red peppers, garlic and ginger.

In the fall, kimchi becomes a national obsession in Korea with families focused on gathering vegetables to put up for the winter. Traditionally, big earthen pots were used to ferment and store batches of kimchi for the long term. Kimchi can be made out of almost anything--even fruit--but the usual suspects are hearty vegetables such as brassicas and roots. In this case, I'm using daikon radish and carrots to accompany the cabbage. I'm following a recipe in "Wild Fermentation" by Sandor Ellix Katz. It's a bit Americanized, in that it does not include some of the more exotic ingredients you might typically find in a Korean kimchi, such as dried shrimp or red pepper threads.

Like sauerkraut, kimchi involves a brine. To start the brining process, fresh vegetables are soaked in salted water 24 hours. Through osmosis, the salted water replaces the liquid in the vegetables, creating a friendly environment for beneficial microbes.

After the initial soak, the vegetables are bright and fresh looking and should have a lightly salted flavor.

The brine is drained off the vegetables, then the vegetables are tossed with a paste made of onion, garlic, ginger and red pepper. The mix then goes in a crock, canning jars, or, in my case, a heavy duty plastic bucket where I press everything firmly with my balled-up fist, then cover the vegetable mix with a ceramic plate and a plastic container full of water. The brine created by the vegetables should rise up over the plate. Here's the complete formula:

2 pounds roughly chopped Napa cabbage

1 large daikon radish, peeled and thinly sliced

2 large carrots, peeled and thinly sliced

2 quarts water

1/2 cup pickling or sea salt

6 cloves garlic

2 large onions, peeled and roughly chopped

6 red chili peppers (such as cherry peppers1 or red jalapenos)

1/3 cup grated ginger

In a large bowl or non-reactive bucket, soak vegetables overnight in brine made by dissolving salt in water. Drain vegetables, reserving brine, and set aside. Meanwhile, in a food processor, finely chop garlic. Add onions and process to a paste. Remove onion mix and process chili peppers until finely minced. Add ginger and process to a paste. Add onion mix back to process and combine.

Mix the onion paste thoroughly with the brined vegetables. Pack tightly into large jars, a crock or a bucket. Cover with a ceramic plate that just fits inside the container and weigh it down so that brine rises over the plate, completely submerging the vegetables. If needed, add some of the reserved brine to the container.

Cover the container with a tea towel and keep in a warm place. Taste daily until the kimchi has fermented to your taste. Refrigerated, it should keep for months.

Out With The Cukes

Today was time to say goodbye to our cucumber plants. They've been great producers, making hundreds of pickles. Pulling them out of the ground isn't easy after watching them daily since they were first planted on May 25. I gather one last bowl of cukes. You can see how the plants as they age begin making cucumbers of unusual shape and color.

This is what they looked like, on the right, only a couple of weeks ago. We planted two varieties of pickling cucumbers, Cross Country and Rhinish. They eagerly climbed a trellis made by hanging string from PVC pipe. Filling out the bed were several Italian zucchini plants and, at the far end, two Tuscan kales.

This is the same bed this morning, after the cucumbers were torn from the trellis and the squash plants pulled from the ground. It's time to get this area ready for a new crop. We want to try a second planting of potatoes. Potatoes are normally planted around St. Patrick's Day, but we have some seed potatoes from our farmer friend Mike, who thinks at a minimum we should be able to harvest a nice batch of "new" potatoes before the first hard frost.

The cucumber plants, meanwhile, were carried to the compost heap and chopped into smaller pieces. Their destiny now is to feed next year's crops. They have our thanks.

Fighting Nature

Maybe I shouldn't be so shocked, but I'm still surprised when I run across a gardener who insists on being able to control nature.

A Master Gardener friend recently contacted me asking if I knew an expert who could talk to her garden group about growing tomatoes . Noting that problems with fungi were "particularly worrisome," she threw down the gauntlet: "Need to learn more about it and how to control it."

When I suggested that the high heat and humidity in the District of Columbia provide an ideal environment for fungi, and that selecting disease resistant tomatoes might be a better strategy than trying to keep fungi out of the garden, she got downright testy. My advice was "not helpful," she said. "I have grown tomatoes for over 35 years and it is a bit more complicated than just looking for the resistant ones. The fungi has (sic) been a concern with local gardeners here and I am looking for a person who has technical info about controlling the spread and what are the options."

I guess this falls into the category of no good deed going unpunished. But it got me thinking--or rather wondering whether I am simply crazy for thinking that trying to grow tomatoes organically and avoiding fungi are not concepts that work easily together in the same sentence. And am I missing something when I can look at the varieties of tomato plants in my own garden and observe that some of them clearly are more resistant to disease than others?

First, I should say that I have very little experience with pests and diseases in my garden. I rotate my crops every year. I use lots of compost I make myself. I do very little watering. But I don't know that I've ever seen a tomato plant--either in my own garden or elsewhere--that did not experience wilt or some other common ailment at some point in its life. Fungi are everywhere, and they are the most common destroyer of plants.

I looked online and found a report from the University of Maryland stating that commercial tomato growers in the state commonly spray fungicides on their plants. But they also practice crop rotation and selection of resistant varieties.

Standard practices besides rotation are to avoid planting tomatoes where other nightshade cousins such as potatoes, peppers and eggplants were growing previously. Keep tomato plants well separated to promote good air circulation. Try to keep the foliage dry--don't water from the top down. Don't touch tomato plants when they're wet. Wash hands and tools after handling tomatoes. Remove and trash (don't compost) diseased tomato plant material. Disinfect tomato cages before reusing.

I admit, I intially was not happy about the way my Mortgage Lifter tomatoes started to wilt early in my garden this year. They are a bit unsightly, but boy are the tomatoes good--big, juicy and full of flavor. Integrated Pest Management practices would have me consider whether I can live with the wilt as long as my Mortgage Lifters are producing such great fruit. More and more I'm inclined to think the wilt is tolerable. Our Cherokee Purples and Dr. Carolyns, both heirloom varieties like Mortgage Lifter, have suffered very little. On the other hand, our Striped Zebra plants hardly grew or produced at all--they were completely overcome with wilt. (I see a battle coming, as my wife really likes Striped Zebra tomatoes and can't believe there isn't a way to grow them successfully here.) My Big Boy plant, meanwhile, which is a modern variety, not an heirloom, has survived the whole season without wilt, but the fruit isn't nearly as good at the Mortgage Lifter or Cherokee Purple.

So how do you feel about this, fellow gardeners? Is fungus something we need to control, or are there ways we can co-exist with microbes and still grow great tomatoes?

Note: Southern Exposure Seed Exchange, one of my favorite seed providers located not too far from here outside Charlottesville, Virginia, sells a more disease resitant strain of Mortgage Lifter. The fruit is said to be a little smaller, but equally as delicious.

Kohlrabi Gratin

I have a secret love for kohlrabi. Kohlrabi has a wonderful, sweet flavor somewhere between turnip and broccoli. But you so rarely see it for sale anywhere that we mostly just dream about it. That's why we planted it in the garden this year--to satisfy our craving for kohlrabi anytime we like.

Our friend Larry calls kohlrabi "a little sputnik" because of its globe shape sprouting long leaf stems. It's not a root vegetable, but a swollen stem. Until recently, it never occurred to me that the leaves might be edible. That's something we'll have to try. Meanwhile, I usually prepare kohlrabi as simply as possible, just cutting it into large matchsticks, cooking it in salted water and tossing it with melted butter. But I wanted to do something that would really make kohlrabi shine. I thought it would be a perfect candidate for a gratin.

I make a delicious rutabaga gratin, and a dynamite sweet potato gratin stuffed with wilted greens. A classic potato gratin has fans who are very particular about the way it is cooked in the oven. So I consulted Madeleine Kamman--who is just about the most finicky cookbook author I know, and a damned good instructor--to see what she had to say about the classic gratin method.

There's nothing particularly difficult about the method Kamman describes. In fact, it could hardly be simpler: use lots of heavy cream and let is bake a long time. As the cream browns, scrape it from around the edges of the casserole and push it from the surface under the cream underneath. Continue doing this until there is hardly any cream left, and what cream there is is studded with brown bits.

For a kohlrabi gratin:

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 tablespoon butter

1 lb kohlrabi, trimmed and peeled (I used a serrated knife to remove the peel)

coarse salt

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

2/3 cup grated cheese (combine Parmesan with Emmentaler)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees

Rub the inside of a small, shallow ceramic casserole with the garlic. Grease it with the butter. Meanwhile, slice the kohlrabi very thinly. You may want to first cut it in half from end to end. Lay the kohlrabi slices in the casserole overlapping like shingles, seasoning them with salt as you go. You may make two or three layers. Cover with the cream and shake the casserole a little to distribute the salt.

Lay the casserole on a baking sheet and place in the oven. As the cream browns, break it up and push it under the cream underneath, scraping any brown bits from the side of the casserole and incorporating those as well. Continue doing this for about 1 1/2 hours, or until the kohlrabi is perfectly tender and the cream has been almost completely absorbed. Sprinkle the cheese over the gratin and continue baking until the cheese is completely melted and lightly browned. Serve hot.

We had this last night with a wonderful salad of fresh tomatoes from the garden with fresh mozzarella cheese and basil. This is not something we would eat on a daily basis. But for now, my craving for kohlrabi is completely and utterly indulged.

Crock Pickles

Cucumber season is nearing an end for us but we are still working our way through the pickle lexicon. Here's one called "Gram's Crock Pickles" that I like for a semi-sweet tang. I also like that you can use somewhat larger than usual cucumbers for these pickles and remove the seeds. Somehow a few cukes manage to avoid detection and grow bigger than we would like. Use them here.

This is another recipe from "Pickled" by Lucy Norris. These are similar to the mustard pickles we wrote about earlier, a recipe some people objected to because it calls for artificial sweetener. Note the cloudiness of the brine from powdered mustard. These pickles are a bit less sweet and more full flavored, owing to a generous use of cider vinegar.

To make 3 quarts:

3 pounds pickling cucumbers
4 cups cider vinegar
1/4 cup pickling salt (or sea salt without additives)
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup powdered mustard

Trim both ends from cucumbers. Cut cucumbers into quarters (spears) and scoop out seeds. Tightly pack cucumbers into clean quart jars.

In a non-reactive bowl, mix vinegar, salt, sugar and powdered mustard. Pour brine over cucumbers to cover and screw on lids. Let pickles rest for at least 2 days, or until the cucumbers turn from green to brown. Store in refrigerator.

The pickles will be ready to eat after a few days. Don't be afraid to test one as your appetite mounts. According to Norris, they will stay crisp for a month, but will remain edible for six months. If you were careful to remove the blossom end of the cucumbers they will stay crisp longer. The blossom end contains an enzyme that likes to turn pickles soft.