Root veg kaleidoscope.

Steamed carrot slaw with roasted beets. © Ryan Schierling

The challenge: Create an unforgettable side dish from random items in your refrigerator before time runs out. Who will rise to the occasion, and who will be… CHOPPED.

(WE INTERRUPT THIS POST FOR COPYRIGHT LIABILITY REASONS. IN THIS CONTEXT, THE TERM “CHOPPED” MIGHT BE A REGISTERED TRADEMARK OF TELEVISION FOOD NETWORK G.P. AND ITS AFFILIATES. CONTINUED IMPLIED USAGE AND/OR VIOLATION WILL RESULT IN TED ALLEN’S HANDLERS ASCERTAINING YOUR LOCATION IN FETCHING BLACK HELICOPTERS, DESCENDING ON YOUR KITCHEN, WHERE YOU WOULD BE… BOPPED. IF THERE ARE ANY BISCUITS AROUND, YOU MAY BE… SOPPED. REGARDLESS OF THE CONTEXT, YOU WILL BE… STOPPED. UNLESS YOU ARE ABLE TO DEFEAT MASAHARU MORIMOTO AT THE IRON CHEF AMERICA NINTENDO Wii GAME. ALLEZ-CUISINE!!*)

I'm fairly certain I would be a terrible contestant on one of those competition-based cooking shows. You know the ones where contestants have to execute something spectacular in under 20 minutes with a limited number of disparate ingredients? Not a minute to spare rethinking or redoing anything? I’d probably knock it out of the park about one in three rounds, and full-on crash and burn the rest. Pressure cooker situations are just not for a planner like me. However, that’s not to say I don't enjoy rising to a challenge when the opportunity presents itself.

Sweet flan? Don't carrot all.

Savory carrot flan with carrot-top walnut pesto and feta. © Ryan Schierling

My forays into flan have been few and far between. I don't care for the caramel-sweet Spanish dessert custard and the crusty English open-pie version isn't my cup of tea. I'd rather have a small, savory custard as an appetizer course, and if blue cheese flan happens to grace a menu, I'll take it as dessert with one last glass of red wine, thank you very much. 

We've finally gotten with the CSA program, and our bi-weekly delivery of the Austin-area's finest farm veg is a welcome challenge to eat more locally-grown produce, and who doesn't like getting a super-secret-surprise box delivered to their doorstep every once in while? 

Grocery stores offer every fruit and vegetable you can think of – even if it's not in season – when you think you want it... which is always right now. With our CSA box, we're delighted (forced) to use what's currently ready to be harvested, and sometimes it's very nice to be filled with wonder (dread) at how we're going to use our very-perishable bounty. Kidding, kidding. The quantities are small enough that we haven't had too many issues with things getting lost in the crisper (rotter). 

There were some beautiful little carrots in our last delivery, with the most delicate, lacy, bright-green tops I've seen in a while. The easy way out is salad. Boring, big ol' salad. A better option (fate) would be Julie's crowd-pleasing carrots on the side, and this would have been entirely appropriate but I wanted something a little different and a little fancier than the last recipe I offered up, which was Krab enchiladas. Oh, I may occasionally put Slim Jims and gas-station cheese inside a jalapeño and deep fry it, but I know what the hell a bain Marie is. This is penance, perhaps redemption, and I'm using the carrots nose-to-tail. Errr, root to leaf. 

It's a simple, savory custard, full of right-out-of-the-earth carrots, topped with a pleasantly-grassy (and very complimentary) carrot-top and walnut pesto and some sheep's-milk feta. First course, last course, it doesn't matter. 

Chinese cabbage slaw with carrots and daikon.

Napa cabbage slaw with ginger garlic dressing. © Ryan Schierling

I didn't eat life-changing barbecue until we moved to Austin. That was four years ago, and that means I put a lot of passable, fair-to-middlin', sometimes downright horrible smoked meat in my craw prior to immigrating to the Great Republic of Texas. In those lean years of blasé barbecue, sides were sometimes a salvation and after so many years of side-dish subsistence, I came to love them more than the main event – the meat. 

Don't hate me, but in those years I really learned to appreciate the subtleties in a coleslaw or potato salad, and I started exploring... experimenting a bit. Napa cabbage is Chinese cabbage. It's not from Napa Valley. Who thought that one up? It's typically used in China, Japan and Korea, so that's how the flavors of this slaw came to be. It's a little tangy, a little sweet, with some nice ginger and garlic background and the toasted sesame oil rounds everything out with a big, rich hug. The carrots give a little bit of natural sweetness, and the daikon radish provides a very mild heat and more crunch.

If you've never worked with Napa cabbage, the outer leaves of the football-sized beast are a little thick, and a bit astringent, but if you peel enough back you'll get to the pale yellow-green, delicate insides. I use one or two of the outer leaves for their bright green color, and I don't mind the added bit of sharpness. The overall flavor is less pronounced than normal cabbage, and it's not nearly as heavy. It makes a very nice, light summer salad with grilled meat like bulgogi or flanken-style short ribs. 

The doctor's new way of making coleslaw.

Garlic salad. © Ryan Schierling

We punish ourselves once a year or so, pushing out five posts in five days, all related to this or that. Last year it was cucumber salads. The year prior, potato salads and a good five days of grilling. 

This summer, we're all about the slaw, so we're going to give you five before the 4th of July. 

There is a gold standard for All-American picnic coleslaw, and it is Kentucky Fried Chicken. As much as I hate to say it, and as much as you might disagree, it is the truth. Name a chain restaurant that has more than 18,000 units and sells as much coleslaw as the Colonel. KFC itself calls it "The World's Best Coleslaw," says that it's "freshly prepared in store" and "sets the coleslaw standard by which all other coleslaws should be measured." My friend Gary worked at Kentucky Fried Chicken in the late 80s, and he tells me that while they made scratch biscuits back then, the chickens were disassembled and breaded on-site and the gravy was homemade – the only thing that was NOT freshly-prepared in store was the coleslaw. It came in bags. It still does, from what I hear. 

Big bags of chopped cabbage, carrots, and onions. The sauce – according to the corporate website – is a mix of sugar, soybean oil, vinegar, salt, eggs, corn starch, mustard flour, xanthan gum, the ever-popular natural and artificial flavor, paprika extractives, paprika, and caramel color. Sugar is the first ingredient, and the last time I sampled it (for research reasons, of course) it was so sweet it could have been some weird cabbage dessert.

I do appreciate it for the role it plays in KFC's menu, which is as a foil to the crunchy, salty chicken. I do have a soft spot for all coleslaw varietals, and I like that the KFC extremely-fine chop of the cabbage, carrot and onion isn't something you get with most coleslaws. If you've ever seen the term "mechanically-separated" on a chicken, pork or beef product, you can only imagine what a Robot Coupe the size of a grain silo with a few million cutting blades would do to truckloads of cabbages, carrots and onions. I'm speculating here, but only in a way that imagines there are no human hands actually involved in the preparation of this product. It's made by coleslaw robots.

I need a coleslaw robot…

Fancy pants humble pie.

Galette with carrots, potatoes and spinach. © Ryan Schierling

This one time, I got an idea for a recipe... Yeah, sometimes talking about it feels a little less exciting after you've had a couple days of space from the process. But when you are in the midst of innovation, immersed in an idea and its possible variants and unable to shut off the running dialogue as you craft your dish, every little choice is a small thrill on top of the rush of simply making something new.

So, what's the story? I was possessed by the desire to make something kinda post-holidays thrifty, beautiful, vegetarian and main-dish worthy. Those poor veggies; they really do get short shrift sometimes when it comes to prime time on the plate. A true "entree" featuring vegetables is a tricky one to pull off without resorting to some form of a casserole. One elegant attempt that comes to mind all too clearly was a mixed vegetable pave I was once served for dinner on a wine train excursion. It was over a decade ago, but I remember it well because as lovely an idea as it was, it tasted terrible. I'm not sure exactly what was in it, but there were suspicions that it included some poorly-seasoned okra. The idea, however, was interesting to me.

Last year Ryan pulled out the mandolin and made a wonderful potato pave. I loved the structure of the layered potatoes, but I was thinking of something a little more rustic that incorporated more colorful vegetables – carrots and spinach – and that wasn't quite so time intensive.

Elements. © Ryan Schierling

The recipe below will flush out the technical details, but I want to note a few things that were important to me in the making of this galette. I could have used any kind of dough, but I wanted it to be distinctly savory, so I made it with 1/4 dark rye flour. It was actually the rye flour that inspired the cream cheese on top. (That and the fact that we had a copious quantity of it still in the fridge left over from the holidays.) Cream cheese and rye are a brilliant flavor combination. The tang of cream cheese also turns out to be a nice complement to the sweetness of the vegetables, and we found ourselves realizing more, not less, was the way to go.

The quality of the carrots makes a huge difference in a dish like this, so the best organic specimens you can find will be well worth it.

I've made this twice, now. The first time I used a recipe from our 1961 copy of Gourmet's Basic French Cookbook as a guide on the pie dough recipe.The second time I was considering using a pastry recipe intended for galettes that includes eggs, but I was so happy with how the first one turned out, I stuck with it. (One of these days I'll try it that way, though.) This is a relatively tall galette, however, and when you fold pastry dough full of butter like this over those high edges, it has a tendency to melt and slide down the sides a little before firming up. The second time I made it I wanted to go even taller, so I used the ring portion of a spring-form pan to support the sides through the first half of baking time. It was a little tricky, but worked out pretty nicely in the end to allow for a tall, if not a little more uniform around the edges, rustic pie.

Yeah, there are a couple of "fancy gadgets" I put to good use... But we're thrifty – both our food processor and mandolin were used finds we paid a fraction to acquire. The ingredients are downright elemental. This will easily serve 6-8 and shouldn't set you back more than about ten bucks.

Tasty hot or cold, I hope you enjoy this as much as we do.

Carrots on the side.

Carrots, front and center. © Ryan Schierling

You want to blow someone's mind? Serve them some cooked carrots that don't taste like those bland square nodules found in frozen peas and carrot mixes. There's a good reason people don't often serve carrots as a side dish, and when they do, they're usually sweetly glazed. 

In contrast, I recently stumbled smack into a savory method for cooking carrots that has been astonishingly well received. In fact, it has actually been getting requests from carnivores, no less! Talk about surreal. 

Here's how it happened. I decided a small dinner gathering was in order for Ryan's recent half-birthday. Since he doesn't have steak very often when it's just the two of us, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to serve a hearty "steak and potato" dinner. The beef was served with a wine reduction, garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus with Gruyere. I am not a very good meat eater, so I thought it might be nice to make another simple little veggie dish so I would have at least three colors on my plate. 

Despite the fact I haven't made a side dish out of carrots in years, I honesty didn't think about this one too much, not even a cursory internet search. We had a few carrots in the crisper and I've been enamored with the fresh Mexican Mint Marigold that is thriving in our herb garden. (This herb is similar in flavor to Tarragon, but hardier and suited for growing in a hot climate.) I didn't need additional inspiration, I just made it. Between you and me, even up to the point I was about to serve these carrots, I didn't really expect anyone else to be interested in them, much less ask for seconds. 

So here it is – a recipe for cooked carrots that might just surprise you as much as it does your guests.