Aloe vera (Aloe vera)

Aloe vera is one of only a handful of plants that almost everyone can identify by genus and species.

Most people have never thought of eating it, though.

I have to admit that I never considered eating aloe until I started this project. Ever since I started cruising the grocery store for new species, though, those long spiky leave have been taunting me.

Aloe vera is widely used in cosmetics and skin creams. Growing up, we always had an aloe plant on the kitchen window sill. I remember my mom squeezing out its sticky sap to sooth minor kitchen burns. Hers and mine.

Aloe is a succulent, which means it is adapted to survive in very arid environments. The leaves of a well watered aloe plant swell and become taut. Conversely, they become limp as the plant uses the water stored within its leathery leaves.

Aloe is thought to originate in nothern Africa, but the plant is widely cultivated as an ornamental plant throughout much of the world. As far as I know, it is not widely considered to be a food crop anywhere. In fact, several sources note that aloe should not be used a bulk food. But the gel – the same part used in cosmetics – is considered edible. And there are some very enthusiastic online supporters of aloe as a food.

After getting mine home, I ran stright to the internet to find out what to do with it. Basically, it's a matter of peeling off the leather skin and cutting the gel into cubes. The gel is incredibly sticky which makes peeling it somewhat challenging. I made a slit with a knife and then used a peeler to reveal the gel.

When cooked, the aloe vera cubes have a tangy flavor and a texture that is somewhat akin to very firm but slimy Jell-O jigglers. It's not bad as a yogurt topping.

It did detect a faintly alkaline – almost soapy – aftertaste, though... Of course, that may just be an association with my wife's face cream.

Aloe Vera Gel

one large aloe vera leave, peeled and cubed

¼ cup sugar

juice of 1/2 lemon or one lime

In a small sauce pot, cook the aloe cubes over medium low heat with sugar and lemon or lime juice. As it begins to cooks, the aloe will release its liquid. Stirring occassionally, cook until the aloe has reduced in volume by approximately half (5 to 10 minutes).

Serve – warm or cold – over yogurt.

Allium tuberosum (Jiu cai or Chinese garlic chives)

In celebration of Chinese New Year, today we had my hands-down favorite Chinese vegetable: Allium tuberosum, known in English as 'garlic chives' and in Chinese as 'jiu cai.'

I still vividly remember the first time I have jiu cai. When I was studying abroad in Nanjing in 1998, my Chinese teacher took me and another student out lunch for jiao-zi – Chinese boiled dumplings. I had maybe been in the country for 10 days and the long list of dumpling fillings baffled me. But I quickly learn the characters for jiu cai. I think Tyson and I ate 7 plates of jiu cai dumplings that day.

The English name – 'garlic chive' – is apt. Like chives and onions, jiu cai is a member of the Allium genus. The plant is grown and harvested like chives. And it had a rich, full flavor that somewhat resembles garlic. Like garlic, it also has a persistent aftertaste that hangs with you for a while.

I consider that a virtue.

I've had good luck finding jiu cai in Chinese and Korean grocers. The jiu cai I got at Hong Kong Market here in Portland comes from specialty grower in Massachusetts. Jiu cai shows up in a number of Chinese dishes, but it mostly closely associated with dumplings.

Chinese dumplings are typically made with ground pork. For the recipe below, I prepared a 'vegetarian' version with egg. Half of the fun of dumplings is filling them. We had a Chinese New Year party: filling dumpling together as a family. There's really no wrong way to fill them – so long as you don't put in too much filling.

The kids had a blast filling and decorating their own dumplings – although Ezra, my carbo-holic – didn't care for the jiu cai. And I pretty sure he filled at least one dumpling with plain white rice...

Veggie Jiu Cai Dumplings

4 cups jiu cai, chopped

4 eggs

4 cloves garlic, finely chopped

sesame oil

salt

50 dumpling wrappers

a bowl of water water

1. Finely chop the jiu cai and set aside.

2. Liberally line the bottom of a frying pan with sesame oil over a medium heat. Whisk the eggs and add to the warm pan with the chopped garlic.

3. After 30 seconds or so, add the chopped jiu cai. Turn once, and remove from heat. The eggs should be cooked, but still moist. Sprinkle with salt to taste.

4. Hold a dumpling wrapper in one hand. With the other hand, spoon in a small amount of dumpling filling into the center of the wrapper.

5. Dip your fingers in the water and paint a circle around the edge of the dumpling wrapper. Fold the wrapper in half and pinch it shut. It doesn't have to look pretty, but it does have to be sealed.

6. Set aside filled dumplings on a plate until you have 10 or 20 dumplings.

7. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. When the water is boiling, add the filled dumplings and boil for 3 to 5 minutes.

I tend to put the dumplings in a strainer and lower the strainer into the hot water as this makes it easier to fish them out later. It's also important to stir the dumplings once they are in the water so that they don't stick together.

8. Serve hot with a bowl of vinegar to dip them in. If I don't have Chinese dark vinegar, I use one part balsamic and one part water with a little bit of sesame oil.

Note: You can make your own wrappers. But rolling them out is a pain in the neck. For my money, the premade dumpling wrappers at most Chinese grocers are a bargain at $1.25 for 50.

Valerianella locusta (Mâche)

Mâche (Valerianella locusta), also known as 'corn salad' has an almost mythical reputation among year-round farmer and gardeners in the northeast. Elliott Coleman speaks highly of mâche's virtues – most notably it's ability to survive extremely cold temperatures – in Four Season Harvest. Mâche is one of the few plants that continues to grow even in the cold, low-light environment of a Maine winter.

I had heard of mâche before, but I'd never eaten. In fact, I tried growing mâche one fall in a cold frame. I thought I had done something wrong. It turns out that mâche is just a really small plant.

The mâche I bought at the Portland Winter Farmers Market yesterday had been pulled out of the ground that very morning. Mâche's other virtue is that the plant perks right up even after a hard frost that wilts other hardy winter greens. The young man who sold it to me recommended frying up some bacon, and lightly sauting the mâche in the retained bacon grease and then serving it drizzled with baslamic vinegar and bacon bits.

Not a bad idea.

I went for simple vegetarian salad instead, though. The mâche itself had a pleasant, leafy flavor. I was expecting spicy or bitter notes, but it's really just a pleasant, mild green. Quite tasty. I will eat more.

Mâche Salad

2 cups mâche (whole)

2 tbsp sunflower seed
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
2 tbps onion, finely chopped
dried cranberries
olive oil
maple syrup
balsamic vinegar
salt & pepper

1. Toast the sunflower seeds in a dry pan over a medium high heat. They continue cooking after removed from the heat, so pay attention and remove them heat the heat as soon as they start to brown. Set aside.

2. Drizzle olive oil in the warm pan. Add whole, washed mâche plants. Saute for 30 second to 1 minute, just until the mâche starts to wilt. Remove from heat and drizzle with balsmic vinegar, maple syrup and salt and pepper (optional).

3. Place the warm sald on a serving plate and add the other ingredients.

Lactuca sativa (Lettuce)

Supermarkets are not set up to enable customers to shop by species.

No single commodity better exemplifies this than salad greens. Iceberg, romaine, red leaf, bibb, Boston, buttercrunch, butterhead, and oakleaf are all varieties of a single species: Lactuca sativa.

On the flip side, a single package of mesclun – a term that simply means 'mixed' – may contain over a dozen species. My 'Johnny's Selected Seed' calatog this year lists 17 different species of salad greens in addition to L. sativa. And that's not counting spinach and chard varieties or microgreens.

The variation in cultivars of L. sativa has something to do with its long history of cultivation. Pictures of lettuce appear on the tomb of Senusret I, who ruled Egypt in 20^th centruy BC. Cultivation of L. sativa certainly goes back longer than that.

Botanically, it's a member of the Asteraceae – or daisy – family. The genus name (lactuca) derives from the Latin word for milk, a refence to the plant's whitish sap. In the Middle Ages, lettuce sap was sometime added to beer as a bitter principle. Some sources cite its medicinal qualities. Others cite it as highly inebriating. Either way, it must do something good, because it's got to be a pain in the neck to collect any quantity.

In China, the stems and leaves are sometime served as a cooked vegetable – often steamed with oyster sauce. But most lettuce is cultivated and eaten as a fresh, leaf vegetable. That's how I usually eat. For my species today, I just through some red leaf lettuce in a salad.

Bactris gasipaes (Heart of palm)

Bactris gasipaes is one of several species for palm trees – all members of the Areceae family – that is cultivated for its 'hearts of palm.'

The 'heart' of the palm is the tender center of young palm shoots. Shoots, which may several feet to a couple of yard long, are encased in a woody exterior that is stripped to reveal the 'heart.'

Some of the other species of palm that are commercially harvested for 'heart of palm' include Cocos nucifera (coconut) and Uterpe oleracea (acai palm). But B. gasipaes is one the main species that winds up in 'heart of palms.' This is in part because the root mass is able to produce numerous shoots which can be harvested without significantly harming the plant.

It may also have something to do with the fact that the fruit of B. gasipaes is not particularly tasty (to humans) or useful (for oil extraction).

In North America, heart of palms are most common as a salad topper. They get more use in other parts of the world – notably Brazil, where heart of palm shows up in a lot of dishes. And also in Costa Rica: one of my favorites heart of palm recipes is a Costa Rican heart of palm soup.

Even near the source, people usually don't eat heart of palm fresh. They are typically canned in brine. As a result they can be surprisingly salty. The other difficulty of cooking with heart of palm is that their delicate flavor is easily over powered.

I do like them as a pizza topping, though. And since I didn't have time to pull together a soup today, that's how we had them.

Medicago sativa (Alfafa)

Perhaps I should start off be saying that I like sprouts. I am aware that my high opinion of sprouts is not universally held.

Nevetheless, I enjoy sprouts for several reasons. Most notably, I can grow them on my window sill all winter long and obviate (at least partially) the need to buy lettuce flown in from Calfornia or Mexico. I also enjoy the nutty, wholesome flavor that many sprouts have – otherwise I wouldn't eat them, however, environmentally conscious it may be.

For my purposes this year, sprouts have a notable additional virtue: many plant species that are barely edible as adult plants are quite tasty as tender, young sprouts. Medicago sativa (alfalfa) is a textbook example of this.

M. sativa is a herbaceous member of the Fabaceae family, which includes beans and peas. Virtually all alfalfa is cultivated as a forage crop for livestock. Alfalfa is relatively high in protein. The mature plants survive multiple hayings each year and it stores well as hay or silage. Individual alfalfas plants can survive in the field up to 20 years, which saves farmers on seeding. And since alfalfa is a legume it has a benefit shared by other members of the Fabaceae family: when incoulated with diazotrophic bacteria, the plant forms root nodules that adfix atmospheric nitrogen. In other words, growing aflafla actually enriches the soil.

At home, sprouting alfalfa seeds is simple enough. I start off soaking one or two tablespoons of seeds in a water glass for an hour (up to over night). Each morning after breakfast, I thoroughly rinse the sprouts with cold water, drain off as much water as possible and return them to the same glass. Within 5 to 7 days, I've got a nice little crop of sprouts.

While they are one of the most recognizable species of sprouts, I do have to say that alfalfa is not my favorite. (That honor goes to red clover, another forage crop). However, alfalfa is one of the easiest species of plants to sprout. I can't recall ever having had a batch of alfalfa go bad on me – something I can't say about larger seeds such as lentils or mung beans.

In the winter, I mostly use sprouts as a subsititute for lettuce on my sandwichs. Today's sandwich: alfalfa sprouts with onions slices mustard and herring filets on whole wheat bread.

Really, it's better than it sounds.

Petroselium hortense (Parsley)

Petroselium hortense is a member of the Apiaceae family, which also includes carrots and parsnips. Come to think of it, parsley greens do look a little bit like carrot greens, don't they?

Like carrots and parsnips, some varieties - known as Hamburg parsley - are cultivated for their roots. I haven't tried this variety yet, but it sounds interesting.

Most parsley is grown for its greens. The two major varieties are Italian flat-leaved parsley and curly parsley. The former are for eating, the latter purely for show.

Some of the flavor of parsley survives drying, and it is often sold as a dried herb. But it is so much better fresh. And it is never better than fresh from the garden. I have a small patch of parsley outside my kitchen door that comes back each spring just after snow thaws – well before any other early greens establish themselves. I eagerly await those first fresh parsley greens. Supermarket parsley seems a pale imitation. But as with hot-house tomatoes, I can't bring myself to forgo all winter.

And given the flavors fresh parsley adds to soups and stuffing, it's really not worth forgoing. For it to count as my species of the day, I need to eat a full cup, though. That would be a lot of stuffing. If you want to take in any quantity of parsley, there's really only one way to go: taboule. Here's my recipe.

Taboule

This makes enough for a couple of lunches. I add sunflower seeds for a little protein.

1 cup bulgur wheat

1 ½ cups boiling water

1 tsp salt

3 cups parsley, chopped

2 tomatoes, diced

4 spring onions, chopped

¼ cup fresh mint, chopped

¼ cup sunflower seeds (optional)

juice of one lemon

olive oil

1. Combine bulgur wheat and salt in a mixing boil. Add boiling water and let stand for at least 30 minutes.

2. Once most of the water have been absorbed, add all other ingredients and mix well.

3. Place in the refrigerator to chill for at least 30 minutes, but up to 24 hours. Fluff gently with a fork before serving.