Blood oranges have been on my mind lately. Maybe it's because of Julie Francis.
While I’d tasted blood oranges once or twice before, my first serious introduction to them was at a restaurant coincidentally named
Nectar. It’s run by one of my favorite local chefs, Julie Francis, who turns out simple food, lovingly and expertly prepared, with a decided, though not exclusive, emphasis on seasonality and local ingredients. In a twist on wine dinners, which she says are “too stuffy,” the restaurant offers monthly Dinner Clubs, where each of the five courses incorporates the evening's highlighted ingredient. Everyone in the restaurant is served the same meal at the same time, Julie comes out of the kitchen to describe each course before it’s served, and the supplier of the featured ingredient (farmer, herder, cheese purveyor, etc.) also talks to the assembled group.
I
’ve been to Julie’s Goat Cheese Dinner Club, her Beet Dinner Club, and her Blood Orange Dinner Club. I always come away with renewed appreciation of her nuanced use of the night’s ingredient throughout five savory and sweet courses, more knowledge about the ingredient, a pleasantly full belly, and a smile on my face. It’s a remarkably convivial atmosphere where you’re much more likely to speak with diners at adjacent tables than during a routine evening out. Oh, yes – you also always leave with an edible party favor – in this case, a small to-go container of Julie’s candied blood orange rind. My dining companion and sister-cook Becky and I later pooled ours in an impromptu Easter dessert involving strawberries, peppered cashews, and blue cheese.
Recalling what I’d learned at the Blood Orange Dinner Club that these delectable rosy fruits come into season during winter, when Shamu posted this week’s Dim Sum Sunday would be about “Sunny Citrus,” I called Fresh Market to find they indeed had blood oranges in stock. To get the creative, er, juices flowing, I googled a bunch of recipes, and soon came up with too many to settle on just one. Lacking the restraint and culinary training of someone of Julie Francis’ caliber, I rushed to the store (actually two) after work Friday, snapped up a boatload of produce – ten blood oranges, two Meyer lemons, a bunch each of orange beets, hefty leeks, and thin asparagus – plus a few Kalamata olives, a pint of cream, and a vanilla bean. After I finally managed to fit it all in the refrigerator, it was time to come up with a game plan and do some math. Since my cat doesn’t do citrus, how much should I cut down the various recipe inspirations I’d assembled? When factoring in called-for amounts of juice vs. segments vs. rind, how many blood oranges would I actually need? Oh, well, leftovers would make a nice addition to next weekend’s mid-winter beach party, and if I ended up with a goodly supply of candied blood orange, that would be just fine.
Sauce Maltaise: Where Have You Been All My Life?
One of my best finds as I researched blood oranges was Sauce Maltaise, a Hollandaise classically made with blood orange juice and grated blood orange rind. Can't believe I'd never heard of it before. Since we were, after all, cabin camping, I made this version in the blender rather than going the double-boiler route. It did double duty as a dipping sauce for chilled blanched asparagus spears and as a topper for our Saturday breakfast benedict - eggs scrambled with leeks, asparagus, and Swiss cheese piled on top of thick slices of ham and toasted English muffins. The delicate sweetness of the sauce is a spectacular counterpoint to the bitterness of asparagus, and I will definitely be making it again, even if I have to use regular oranges when blood orange season is over.
Who Would Put Black Pepper in Blood Orange Marmalade?
Sometimes odd-sounding recipes grab my attention, as did this one for goat cheese crostini with blood orange and black pepper marmalade. Although I added quite a bit more pepper than the recipe called for, it never did taste that peppery. But this one's a keeper nonetheless. The goat cheese flavored with orange zest is a treat by itself, and the blood orange marmalade was remarkably easy, except for the time-consuming process of releasing the orange segments from their membranes. Oh, and I failed to realize the orange rind would remain in the marmalade rather than just flavoring it and being removed before serving. The strips of rind I'd made with a vegetable peeler were far too large, so I fished them out after cooking and chopped them down to more suitable size, a messy process that left my hands magenta.
I spread the orange-flavored goat cheese on the crostini, then topped each slice with marmalade on one half and sliced kalamata olives on the other. Inspired by this recipe from Batali for a simple salad of blood oranges and olives and reminiscent of a tip I picked up years ago from a Spanish cooking class about brining your own olives in orange juice, garlic, and herbs, the kalamata-orange pairing is another keeper.
