Monthly Archives: April 2008

Turkey & Chanterelle Meatloaf

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MUSHROOMS ARE COMFORT food—and what’s more comfortable than meatloaf goosed with mushrooms? We use our frozen stash of chanterelles for this recipe. A 12-oz packet of last fall’s haul adds a woodsy, even fruity note to the ‘loaf that you just can’t get from supermarket buttons. And the great thing about meatloaf for dinner? You’ve got unbeatable sammies for lunch the next day.

1 large onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp garlic, minced
1 tbsp olive oil
1 medium carrot, diced
1 lb fresh chanterelle mushrooms (or 1/2 lb of previously cooked and frozen), chopped
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1/3 cup fresh parsley, finely chopped
5 tbsp tablespoon ketchup
1 cup fine fresh bread crumbs (two bread slices)
1/3 cup milk
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 lb ground turkey

Saute onion and garlic over moderate heat, stirring, until onion is softened, about 2 minutes. Add carrot and cook, stirring, until softened, about 3 minutes. Add mushrooms, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid mushrooms give off is evaporated and they are very tender, 10 to 15 minutes. Stir in Worcestershire sauce, parsley, and 3 tablespoons ketchup, then transfer vegetables to a large bowl and cool.

Stir together bread crumbs and milk in a small bowl and let stand 5 minutes. Stir in eggs, then add to vegetables. Add turkey to vegetable mixture and mix well with your hands. Mixture will be very moist. [We use Diestel ground turkey, which comes in convenient 1-lb cylinders that can be easily frozen.]

Form into 9- by 5-inch oval loaf in a lightly oiled baking pan and brush meatloaf evenly with remaining 2 tablespoons of ketchup. Bake until meatloaf interior registers 170°F, 50 to 55 minutes.

Let meatloaf stand 5 minutes before serving.

Shad on a Shingle

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One species that seems to be filling the void vacated by West Coast salmon is the American shad, the largest member of the herring family. Who knows, maybe this non-native import from the Atlantic would have thrived anyway, but it’s hard to dismiss the idea that all that habitat altered by the damming of large western rivers has been waiting for a tenant.

Though I never enjoy killing a fish, taking home a burlap sack filled with shad doesn’t feel so bad. Several million shad returned to the Columbia last year. (I can’t dig up the actual number because WDFW and ODFW have enough fish-related problems to worry about much less keeping tabs on healthy fish runs.) Without much of a commercial fishery, most of those fish are available to recreational anglers, who barely put a dent in the population. With shad season coming up, it’s time to polish off the stack of last year’s cans in the basement and tie up some darts for the ’08 run.

Usually I’ll fillet and smoke a mess of shad for the freezer and have the rest canned. Smoked and canned shad is reminiscent of canned tuna, only richer and gamier. Some people (who don’t like fish) think of it as fishy; their disinterest means more for the rest of us. The cans lend themselves most obviously to casual lunch sandwiches, but you can also make an easy hors d’oeuvre for dinner parties: Shad on a Shingle. Adorn crackers with a dollop of smoked shad salad, which might include diced onion, mayo, seasoning, lemon juice, and a pinch of chopped parsley. Serve this and you’ll know straight away who the real fish lovers are.

Clams in Wine & Chorizo

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CLAMMING SEEMED like a dicey proposition to me as a kid. I remember watching my dad wade out to his neck looking for quahogs. This was on Cape Cod, near the Eel River. Eels had the run of the place, I was told.

To get the quahogs, you had to feel along the bottom with your feet. This was the sort of goopy bottom that us kids desperately tried to avoid touching at all. But I discovered early on that I loved the taste—the whole ritual—of eating what we simply called steamers. 

Littleneck clams around Puget Sound are more forgiving. With short siphons, they’re usually found in the top few inches of substrate and often higher up in the intertidal zone, no swimming required. 

Steamed Clams in Wine and Chorizo

1 onion, diced
1 yellow pepper, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 pound chorizo
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
1/4 tsp salt
2 (or more) tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup white wine
1/4 cup vermouth
2 heaping tbsp fresh chopped cilantro
2 lbs live littlenecks, scrubbed

In a deep casserole or pot, sauté the onion, garlic, yellow pepper, and cumin seeds in olive oil until the veggies are soft, then add the chorizo and cook until lightly browned. Next add the wine and vermouth and bring to a boil. Add the clams and cover. When the clams have opened, stir in the cilantro and serve with good bread.

Dandy Muffins and Bread

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BEFORE MAKING this recipe, you’ll need to harvest a cup of dandelion petals. This shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes with the right flowers and technique.

Choose tall, robust dandelions that have been allowed to grow unmolested. Abandoned lots and field margins are good places to look. Roadside specimens can contain chemical residues. Choose your spots wisely.

You’ll want to harvest in the morning, before the flowers have fully opened. Grasp the yellow part of the flower (the petals) and twist away from the green sepals and stem. Discard any greenery.

2 cups unbleached flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup dandelion petals
1/4 cup canola oil
4 tbsp honey
1 egg
scant 1 1/2 cups milk

Combine dry ingredients in large bowl, including petals, and mix. Make sure to separate clumps of petals. In separate bowl mix together milk, honey, oil, and beat in egg. Add liquid ingredients to dry and stir. Batter should be fairly wet and lumpy. Pour into buttered bread tin or muffin tin. Bake at 400 degrees. A dozen muffins will take 20-25 minutes. Bread will take 25-30 or more minutes. At 25 minutes, check doneness of bread with a toothpick. If still too moist inside, lower oven temperature and continue to bake, checking every five minutes.


This recipe is based on one in Peter Gail’s The Dandelion Celebration; mine doubles the amount of dandelion petals.

Urban Foraging, Scene 2

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Early morning commute, sun just rising over tops of buildings to the east. Cars whiz by on Dearborn; I-5 booms overhead. Our hero scrambles up a grassy hill from street level and steps through a hole in the chain-link fence. The undeveloped lot is bounded by apartment buildings on one side and the highway on the other. Trash is strewn about: a dirty mattress, beer cans, someone’s torn underwear. He starts picking dandelions. These are big ones, unhindered by mowing or herbicides. He takes half-opened blossoms and pinches them at the base, twisting until the petals come free. The petals go into a plastic sack tied around a belt loop on his pants. Our hero sees two men approaching from the street. Uh-oh.

First Man (eyes red, wearing a trenchcoat and hightops): What you up to?

Urban Forager: Um…picking dandelions.

Second Man (ratty black down jacket, carrying a duffel bag): Dandy lions?

Urban Forager: That’s right. To eat.

First Man: Eat? That’s crazy talk.

Second Man: Sheeee.

First Man (burps and stumbles a little bit): Dandy lions, huh.

Urban Forager: They’re really good for you.

Second Man (shakes head sadly): Sheeeeee.

Urban Forager: Seriously.

First Man: Them yeller petals?

Urban Forager: Sure. I’ll bake something with them. Bread. Muffins. Maybe cookies.

First Man: Dandy lion cookies?

Urban Forager: Right. I could also make a dandy wine.

Both Men: Whoa!

First Man: Dandy lion wine, huh.

Urban Forager: That’s right.

Second Man (smiling toothless grin): Sheeeeeeee.

The two men pause to consider the possibilities, look at the dandelions all around them in a new light, then lurch off into the ‘bo jungle.

Urban Foraging, Scene 1

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A quiet morning in residential Seattle. The streets are empty, most everyone is at work. Our hero wanders the sidewalks alone. Suddenly he stops, looks around, decides to knock on a door. He’s wearing his fungi.com ballcap and sunglasses. No one answers. He continues down the block, then thinks better of it. Who will know? Peering around furtively, he steps off the sidewalk and snatches a large mushroom from his neighbor’s front yard. The first birch bolete of the year.