I was reminded the other night of the difference between a mediocre English pea and a perfect one. The bag of peas I had picked up at the farmer’s market was just so-so – the peas were fresh, but not particularly sweet, and starchy even though they were small. As I shelled them I wondered if perhaps I had built them up as a favorite ingredient in my memory more than I should have. Really, these run of the mill vegetables were what I had spent months anticipating? Then, last night we went to Andover to take care of this week’s gardening needs. Of course, as soon as I got off the train in town it started pouring, then thundering, and then hailing. It was not an ideal situation. Instead of gardening we sat inside and listened to the storm while eating tacos made from the El Paso kit I found in the cupboard. Around 8 the lightning moved far enough into the distance that we decided to brave the remaining weather, so we ran out into the humid garden, the darkness deepening by the minute, and rushed through our chores. It was dirty, and dark, and the mosquitos were vicious, but I managed to grab a few handfuls of peas, favas, lettuce, and rhubarb to take home. On the drizzly drive back I was frustrated – we put so much work and money and time into this garden and here it was, mid-June, and all we had was a measly half-full bag of veggies to show for it, while the deer were having a free-for-all with our baby fruit. What was the point?

Back in Somerville, I washed the veggies and began putting them away. On a whim, I cracked open one of the pea pods and popped the peas into my mouth. I was immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness. How different from the peas I had bought! I’m sure the farmer’s market peas were initially just as sweet, but after coming off the vine they deteriorate quickly. Although the garden is still frustrating, the peas were positive reinforcement that all of our work is paying off, at least as measured by quality.

Now, after that story I’m being a little bit unfair and sharing a recipe that actually wouldn’t suffer too much from starchy peas (I’m saving what I made with our garden peas for Thursday’s post!). This recipe for green pea fritters uses both fresh and dried peas in what is basically a take on falafel. It’s from Deborah Madison’s Vegetable Literacy, and I was pleased with how easy, healthy, and flavorful these were. I love the use of tarragon in the fritter batter – something about tarragon just makes peas taste more like peas, a discovery I made when trying to create one of my favorite meals from Prague (that is a really old post – please don’t judge me too much!). The herbed creme fraiche is essential in making these fritters really sing, so don’t skip it. And, if you haven’t tried making creme fraiche from scratch, you should – all you do is stir together 1 cup of heavy cream and 2 TBS of yogurt or buttermilk, cover it, leave it in warm place, and 24 hours later tah-dah! Creme fraiche, for a fraction of the price you’d pay in the store.

To summarize: peas are really good right off the vine and they make gardening worthwhile. Make these fritters with some fresh peas. Make your own creme fraiche, it’s easy and cheap. Come back tomorrow for more pea recipes.

Green Pea Fritters with Herbed Creme Fraiche

Recipe adapted slightly from Vegetable Literacy. Makes 12 small fritters (serves 4).

• 3/4 c. green split peas (dried)
• 1 clove garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped
• 1 c. shelled fresh peas, divided, from about 1 lb. of pea pods
• 2 TBS chopped tarragon, divided
• sea salt
• 1/4 tsp baking soda
• 3 scallions, white and green parts only, thinly sliced, divided
• freshly ground pepper
• 1/3 c. creme fraiche
• 1 tsp minced chives
• olive oil or ghee, for frying

1. The day before making the fritters, place the green split peas in a bowl and cover with water. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let sit on the counter overnight to soften.
2. The next day, drain the green split peas and puree them in a food processor until smooth. Add the garlic, and 1/2 c. of the fresh peas and pulse until the peas are well broken up. Add 1 TBS of the chopped tarragon and a sprinkle of sea salt and pulse a few times to combine.
3. Scrape the mixture into a bowl. Stir in the baking soda and 2/3 of the sliced scallions. Season the fritter batter to taste with salt and pepper.
4. Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Blanch the remaining 1/2 c. of fresh peas in the boiling water for 1-2 minutes, until bright green, then immediately drain and run under cold water. Set aside.
5. Stir together the creme fraiche, remaining 1 TBS of tarragon, remaining scallions, and the chives. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside.
6. Heat a film of olive oil or ghee in a large frying pan over medium heat. Drop spoonfuls of the fritter batter into the pan, pressing down on the batter to make rounded fritters about 1/2 an inch thick. Cook for 2 minutes a side, flipping when golden brown. Drain cooked fritters on a paper towel lined plate. Repeat until all fritter batter is used.
7. Serve the fritters warm with a generous drizzle of the creme fraiche and a spoonful of the blanched peas on top.

The post Ingredient of the Week: English Peas // Green Pea Fritters with Herbed Creme Fraiche appeared first on Katie at the Kitchen Door.

Alas, pessimism never gets me anywhere, although I’m pretty sure there are some people who can get pretty far on it.  So I’m focusing on what I’m good at.  I can almost run a mile in 7:30 again.  I can draw moment diagrams like it’s my job.  I’m a reasonably good girlfriend and a responsible daughter.  I am a pretty good photographer – feel free to affirm me at my flickr page – and my writing might still have a future.  And although I’m a new cook and I can’t really afford fancy ingredients and non-essential utensils like muffin tins, I make pretty good soup.  If soup has to be my calling, so be it.  I could do worse.

This soup is special to me.  First of all, it’s one of the only recipes I can call my own.  (But I think that’s OK at age 20).  More importantly, it reminds me of Prague.  Beautiful, perfect Prague.   I spent last semester studying abroad there and it was an incredible experience – I would give up the North Carolina sunshine to be back in freezing Prague in a second.  I could go on and on about all the things I love about that city, but they are unrelated to this particular recipe so I’ll refrain.

Basically, Prague has this famous old cafe called Cafe Louvre where Franz Kafka used to write and dissidents used to gather and all that.  Cafe Louvre is definitely an item on any tourist’s checklist but it also retains some of it’s working history – people still take their papers and books there and stake out a table for hours while a seemingly constant stream of waiters in tuxedo vests bring viennese coffees in tall glasses.  The restaurant is delightfully cheap considering the quality and atmosphere, so I frequently joined the tourists, professors, writers, and students for the lunch rush.  The menu has several standout items, but at 69Kč the pea soup was my go-to meal.  And it was soooo good.  It has the perfect balance of sweet, creamy pea, mint, and lemon.  Plus, the way they serve it is great – a waiter brings you a bowl with a potato and bacon dumpling surrounded by several croutons, and then pours the pea cream over the dumpling from a little metal pitcher, bows slightly, and walks away.  I couldn’t get enough.  And so, upon arriving back in the US, I tried to recreate it.  This is the closest I’ve come so far.

Sweet Petite Pea Soup

Inspired by Cafe Louvre

• 1 T olive oil
• 1 onion, diced
• 4 to 8 medium sprigs of fresh tarragon, chopped
• 1 T crushed garlic
• 1/2 tsp kosher salt
• 2 bags frozen petite peas
• 1/2 c. light cream
• 2 c. chicken broth
• juice of 1 lemon
• black pepper to taste
• 20 leaves fresh mint

1. Sauté onions, garlic mixed with salt, and tarragon in olive oil until onions are soft.
2. Add peas and 1/4 cup of cream,  stirring until peas are heated through.
3. Purée pea and cream mixture in batches in the blender with the chicken broth.  Leave some of the peas whole.  Return mixture to pot.
4. Add lemon juice and more cream to desired taste and consistency.  Season with black pepper.
5. Ladle the soup into bowls and place 3 to 6 mint leaves in each bowl.  It’s important to put the mint in while the soup is still warm but removed from the heat for the best flavor infusion.

If you don’t have any bacon-filled dumplings lying around, try eating it with a dollop of vanilla yogurt in the middle and fresh bread.  Like I’m doing right now. Yum.

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