Roasting Chiles

I got a good peach crop this year, and set aside 15 pounds to make a batch of salsa. I'm just about out of roasted and peeled chiles from last year, so before I can make salsa I needed more chiles.

So I headed out to the garden with a basket and clippers, and found plenty of green California chiles on my six plants. Next comes one of my favorite fall food prep activities - roasting the chiles (I've written a how-to for the whole process: roasting to char the skins, leaving the chiles to sweat in a bag, removing the skins and seeds (gloves on!), and then freezing or canning them for use throughout the year here).

Roasting chiles just says fall to me. I guess because I always pick a nice September evening to spend out on the deck. Even though the nights have started getting cooler, the days are still warm, and the shadow of the house on our east-facing deck feels good. The chickens scratch in the yard below; the sun still shines on part of the valley floor and Prison Hill to the east. I lift a chilled glass of a crisp Sauvignon Blanc in my annual silent toast/prayer of thanks for another harvest, and fire up the propane grill. The wonderful smell of roasting chiles soon fills the air, as I use my tongs to flip and turn the chiles.

This year, my sweet husband fetched home a Take-n-Bake pizza from the little shop down the street. He dressed it up with more veggies, fresh from the garden, before putting in the oven, and soon brings a plate out to me. Wine and pizza and a peaceful evening out on the deck - this truly is one of my favorite fall rituals.

By the time I've gone through all the chiles in the basket, the shadows have fallen across the valley floor. The last light of the setting sun makes a pinkish glow on the Pine Nut mountains. I have a lot to be thankful for.

A Peck o' Peppers

Our first freeze is predicted for Sunday night, and we've had intermittent rain sprinkles the past couple of days (the guineas must have felt something in the wind - they didn't fly out of the chicken pen today, instead staying in, close to cover, and bossing the chickens all day). If we get a dry cold snap in September, I'll usually cover the fruiting bed crops - buying myself a couple more weeks time. I've got a bunch of old draperies that work well - heavy enough to stay put if it's windy and big enough to wrap around and drape over support cages and all. But by October, I'm ready to bring it all in, especially if it's going to be wet (I really don't like wrestling with half-frozen sodden draperies the next morning).

So the past few days I've started getting the tender crops in. This is what my kitchen counter looked like this morning - a variety of peppers to process. I have mostly open-pollinated (not hybrid) crops, so I put the biggest, ripest, prettiest-colored couple of each type aside to save the seeds. By this afternoon, I had most of the bell peppers cut into 3/4" chunks, the jalapenos in slices, and both into the freezer (no need to blanch peppers). I did save quite a few bells for a couple more batches of gazpacho, since I've got enough Early Girl tomatoes and cucumbers still out there. The chiles, red bells, and banana peppers I roasted, now cooling in bags in the refrigerator, ready to peel. The red cayennes I strung into a ristra, using a big needle threaded with a doubled length of carpet thread, and hung up to dry. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with the green cayennes and habaneros just yet. I have a recipe for jalapeno green sauce I think I'm going to adapt, and maybe do another adaptation with oranges and the habaneros. More on that later.

Roasted Chile Peppers to Freeze or Can

It's the time of year when I try for a delicate balance of harvesting. I want to let everything get as ripe as possible, but also don't want to be out trying to harvest it all some blustery evening as the temperatures plummet (or snow is starting to fall). So I watch the forecasts, keeping in mind my own micro-climate's min/max thermometer readings. So far, the lowest we've had here has been 37 degrees, but the forecasts for the next few nights are back above 40. So, I'm still bringing things in at a pace that allows me to properly put up the harvest for later.

This evening, it was time for one of my favorite harvest rituals - roasting chiles. This year, I only had three chile plants survive sowing and transplanting - I usually try for six. I think the nuclear winter effect of six weeks of smoke-filled skies earlier this summer is why a lot of my plants are behind schedule. None of my big New Mexico chiles have ripened to the red stage where they can be strung into ristras to dry. But I did manage to get a basket full of nice thick green ones to roast, with some more immature ones left on the plants for maybe a bit longer.

Picking chiles at the proper stage for roasting is done mainly by feel. Immature chiles won't be "meaty" enough to have much left after roasting and peeling. Immature ones have a ridge-y thin feel to them, and are often a bit lighter green in color. The perfect chiles have a glossy smooth, heavy feel to them. They might have a bit of reddish-orange color starting to show, but once they're completely red they're better dried. The chiles will snap off the plants at the junction of plant and stem, but I then cut the curving stems close to the fruit so they won't later catch in the grill. I try to pick chiles late in the afternoon, on a beautiful still day. I roast them outside on the deck, so I want a nice evening to enjoy this fall task. Ideally, I have a bottle of white wine chilled in the refrigerator, too.

I fire up the barbecue grill, all three burners on high; get tongs and a paper sack; and pour myself a glass of wine. The idea is to roast the chiles on all sides enough to have the skins darken and start to split apart (wearing eye protection isn't a bad idea), but not so much as to char the insides. Using the tongs, turn the chiles to get all sides; leaning curved ones against the others to roast the outside curve, mashing and flattening them if necessary as they soften and split to allow the inside curves to roast too. I sip my wine, savor the wonderful smell wafting from the grill, look out over the valley as the setting sun lights up the hills beyond, and mentally voice a little toast/prayer of thanks for another year's bounty.

When the chiles are properly roasted on all sides, they're dropped into the waiting paper bag. When all are done, the bag is wrapped around and the chiles sweat and cool. The chiles emit an oily juice that will soak through the bag, so mind where you place the bag, and wash your hands if you get any on them. The bag and all can be put into the refrigerator for a day or so, if there isn't time to peel the chiles immediately. When ready to peel the chiles, WEAR GLOVES (I like latex surgical ones for working with both tomatoes and hot peppers). Rip open the bag, take a chile and peel away the tough skin, scraping gently with a paring knife if necessary. Cut off the cap at the top, and split the chile up one side if it hasn't split already. Slide the knife under the stringy ribs to slice them away, and scrape most of the seeds off the top of the chile. Use the knife to lift the chile, and dunk it in a bowl of water to rinse off remaining seeds and skin bits. I tuck and fold each chile into a flat little square "packet" and put them on a cookie sheet. Important: do NOT touch your eyes or nose - after removing your gloves, wash your hands, under fingernails too, with soap and water - BEFORE using the toilet too! After freezing the chiles on the sheet, I dump them into a freezer bag for later. Aries likes to take one out to make an ortega burger or chicken sandwich; I chop and add some to chili or other Mexican recipes throughout the year, or when I'm ready to can a batch of salsa.

When I really get a bumper crop, I also can some in half-pints. Pack roasted and peeled chiles, whole or chopped, into sterilized jars to ½" headspace, (optional - add ¼ teaspoon non-iodized salt and/or ¼ teaspoon lemon juice to each jar). Do not add any extra water (if canning with added boiling water, leave 1" headspace). Seal and process in a pressure cooker or canner with a couple inches of water; 10 minutes venting steam, then to 10 pounds pressure at sea level, 15 pounds above 1,000 ft (for higher altitudes pressure is increased, not processing time); for 35 minutes at pressure. Let canner cool to zero pressure on its own before opening. As with any canned vegetable, chiles should be boiled 10 minutes before eating, so canned chiles are best used in soups and chili. Be forewarned that canning chiles ups the heat factor too - use discretion when adding to recipes.

Basil Pesto

I always start a few sweet basil plants in Spring, and plant them out in the tomato and pepper bed. I start picking leaves as soon as possible to use fresh all summer long. But basil is one of the first things nipped once the nighttime temps drop even close to freezing. When that time comes (2-3 weeks yet? maybe?), I'll cut what ever is left and hang to dry. In the meantime, the plants are lush and I just cut a big bunch to make another batch of pesto to freeze for later.

I swish the basil through a couple sinkfuls of cold water, pile it back into the wire harvest basket, take it outside and swing it vigorously 'round and 'round overhead (the country version of a salad spinner), then bring it back in and dump it into the dish drainer to dry completely. Pick just the completely dry leaves from the stems, until you have a 2-cup measure packed tightly full. My recipe is adapted from one published by Ellen Ecker Ogden in her book From the Cook's Garden, where I got the idea to add a bit of lemon juice to the traditional recipe.

Basil Pesto (makes two ½-pint jars)

4 garlic cloves
2 cups tightly packed basil leaves
¼ cup pine nuts
¼ cup lemon juice
½ cup extra virgin olive oil (plus extra for topping off jar)
¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Starting with just the garlic, then adding the rest, blend everything together in a blender (you can use a food processor - I don't have one - or if you want to really do it the traditional way, use a mortar & pestle to pound everything together), stopping frequently to mash everything down until it churns continuously in an homogeneous paste. Divide between two ½-pint jars, leaving ½" expansion room, smooth the tops, add enough oil to completely cover the pesto, add lids (can reuse clean old ones), and freeze. If you have any left over, make yourself a pesto and tomato sandwich!

All winter long, I thaw out a jar as needed - stirring glops into soups or pasta dishes, spreading on sandwiches or pizza, topping veggies or chicken. Keep a thawed jar refrigerated, and just make sure to re-smooth the top and add more oil to cover as needed. Made now, it will bring a welcome taste of summer brightness to those dark winter nights.

Spinach the Size of Rhubarb

I love spinach salad (especially with this dressing) but our growing season for spinach can be problematic. High-desert spring weather can go from freezing cold to wilting heat in the space of a day (and back again - snow in June isn't completely unheard of). It's a delicate balancing act to get spring-seeded spinach big enough to pick before it bolts and starts sending up a seed stalk.

So instead, I sow my little spinach patch in the late fall when I plant my garlic and shallots. I like Bloomsdale Long-Standing, both for its ability to withstand both heat and cold, and for the meaty, smooth, easy-to-clean leaves. With luck, the seeds lie dormant until late February, when the melting snows and lengthening days make the perfect conditions for germination. I've been eating spinach salads for weeks now. In the photo, one plant that was too close to the edge of the protecting wire cage is a bit bird-pecked, but the rest are still doing great. On down the soaker hose behind are garlic and then shallots. Following the hose around to the left are some of the spring-seeded peas, with onion plants further back.

Every week, I cut a plant or two down to a couple of inches. Washed in a sink full of cool water, picked through and stems removed, the leaves keep nicely for days, wrapped in a clean cotton dish towel and then tied up in a plastic grocery bag. This past week we've had cold and rainy weather, so the spinach has just gone crazy. I'm picking spinach leaves the size of rhubarb! Not only do I have enough for salads daily (one leaf can make a salad), but this year, even enough to freeze. I dunk the leaves into boiling water for just a minute to blanch them, then cool in a sinkful of cold water and drain. most of my spinach recipes call for half a 10-oz package of frozen spinach, so I pack a 1/2 cup measure heaping full, make that into a little spinach patty, and put them on a cookie sheet. Frozen on the sheet, each disk is then wrapped in plastic wrap and all stored in a gallon freezer bag. This way, I can easily pull out just enough for a recipe for the two of us all next winter.