5 second rule

The milk, the sweet, they hide inside.

The milk, the sweet, they hide inside.

So after you tease apart the tassels and unfurl the husks, depilate the silks and crack off the stems, drop those ears in a full-on, rumbling, leaping boil. Three minutes, no more. Use some tongs to get them out, and work in batches. Onto a rack they go, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Keep going if you want, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve's good, twelve's enough. 

While your ears cool, read a book. Just pick up a book and read it. After about 10 pages, your corn will be cool enough to handle. 

Prop a cob at a jaunty angle, then use a sturdy knife to sweep down the sides so the kernels fall off in clumps and chunks. Keep going, sweep, sweep, sweep. Gold will mound before you.

You'll be tired by ear five, or six, but save your complaining for someone else because honestly? I don't want to hear about it. Just plow ahead, go forth, and think of how lucky you are even to have corn this good. You thank that corn and you move on.

And when you're done, set aside 4-1/2 cups of kernels for the soup. With the rest, make the Corn with Cilantro-Lime Salt from Ripe. And if you have even more left over after that, you're welcome. 

Now. Take a cutting board, and your heaviest knife, and set the knife blade atop each spent cob and carefully leverage your weight until the cob snaps in two. Sawing won't help much here, so use your body. Cut each cob at least in half, or, if you're brave, in thirds. 

Throw your cobettes in a large pot and add fresh, cold water to cover by an inch or two. (I dumped my original cooking water because I didn't decide to make cobby stock until later in the day. It's up to you if you want to experiment with using the still warm cooking water. You may need to pour some out.)

Crank the flame, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat slightly and let those cobs bubble, uncovered, for 45 to 60 minutes while you return to your book. Peek at the pot now and again, and if the water dips dangerously low, add a touch more. A little evaporation's normal, even good.

When time's up, you've got stock. (Discard the cobs.)

Now you're ready to make corn cob soup. 

And look at that.

You've read a book.

...

Recipe for Corn Cob Soup

The base of this soup comes from a stock of spent corn cobs. I'm in no way the first person to come up with this idea, and in fact, I discovered last night while catching up on my Sunday New York Times that Mark Bittman used this technique in several corn soup recipes in the magazine this past weekend. Note to self: Don't wait two weeks before posting a recipe because you'll look like you're copying Mark Bittman.

Makes 6 cups

1/4 cup olive oil
2 medium carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
1 small white onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, smashed and minced
1/4 teaspoon (each) salt and pepper
4-1/2 cups briefly cooked corn kernels, or leftover corn with cilantro-lime salt
5 cups corn cob stock (see above)
Lime juice
Greek yogurt, sour cream, or creme fraiche

Add the oil, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, salt, and pepper to a medium soup pot set over low heat. Cover, and let the vegetables soften and sweat for about 15  minutes, stirring two or three times. Add corn kernels and corn cob stock. Bring to a boil.

Lower heat, partly cover, and simmer 15 to 20 minutes. Cool slightly. Puree about three-quarters of the soup, then return to the pot. Correct seasonings (salt, pepper, and some lime juice), as the natural flavor of the soup will be quite sweet. Swirl each serving with yogurt, sour cream, or creme fraiche.

printable pdf

What to do with your seasonal bounty -- video version.

What a pleasure to join the 21st century after all this time.

My friend Sean Timberlake, who runs the terrific website Punk Domestics, invited me and fellow Silicon Valleyite Paige Bayer of SV Local Market to participate in a live video chat. The topic? How to prepare and preserve the season's bounty. Happily, Sean chose ToutSuite Social Club, a platform and company that worked with him to record our conversation for posterity and share it with you online.

So kick back, click over to Punk Domestics (via this link or by clicking on the image above), and watch as weird veins pop out of my neck when Sean, Paige, and I talk about zucchini, figs, corn, raspberries, radishes, and cherries. I learned a huge amount from the two of them, and I'm sure you all will, too. As an added bonus, Sean was kind enough to fill his post with links to all the recipes we discuss in the video.

Enjoy!

Ripe Party at the Rustic Garden Bistro

Join us.

Outside.

In the garden.

Under the stars.

We will be serving a complete, 5 course meal from Ripe, followed by a potluck dessert buffet. 

We will drink festive libations. Talk about fruit. Commune with vegetables. Discuss life. Get to know each other. Share stories while we share a meal. Then I will do a reading and sign some books with the neatest handwriting I can muster. But please: make sure I don't drink more than one glass of wine. I am a Notorious Lightweight. Note the capital N and capital L. Now imagine them highlighted. And in 34 point.

Many thanks to my friend Kim Burnell, hostess for the evening. She's the owner of a home with what I understand to be a stunning edible garden in Orange County, California. And she's generously opening her garden for this special event on Saturday, July 21. 

If you live in the LA / Orange County area, or know folks who do, please pass along this invitation. While anyone may attend, you get first dibs. Bring a friend, or three.

Click the EventBrite link to get all the details and snag your ticket before they're gone. (Space is limited.) http://ripeinthegarden.eventbrite.com/

And if you don't live in Southern California, but you do like the idea of hosting a Ripe party sometime in the future, please let me know. I'm game to exploring similar parties in other cities. 

Let's talk.

Exactly what I need.

I wake to the sound of Anita's laughter, and a pair of white slippers outside the guestroom door.

But, wait. Let me back up.

This past weekend, I was invited to Seattle's Book Larder, where my friend Dana is the Culinary Director. I was thrilled, as I'd heard such good things about this charming new shop, with its bright blue walls and its cookbooks galore. When I arrive, I want to live here, set up house in the store, and never leave.

But I'm not here to live; I'm here to speak. And I start to doubt. Who will come to this signing? Will five people? Will ten? 

Thirty minutes before the event, the store's staff starts setting out chairs. First, a smattering. Then a few more. Soon, the space is filled with 20, 25 chairs, and with each unfolding of a new one, my heart dips further into its pocket. I don't want that chair to sit empty. Or that one. I don't want them all to sit empty, for god's sake. I don't want to let these folks down.

But then, somehow, the door hinges open, and people arrive. All the chairs fill. Latecomers stand in the back, and on the sides. Who are these people? And why are they here on a sunny spring Sunday?

Thank you for coming, says Lara, the owner.

And so it begins.

...

When it's all over, and we sell out of books (happy!), and I give final thanks, and I say my goodbyes, I arrive at Anita's. She feeds me pie, filled with sweet nectarines, topped with tender pastry stars. Her friend Libby hands me a cocktail, something cool, with gin and berry syrup. I sip it slowly, until the ice clinks alone.

A few hours later, I want to take Anita out. A proper dinner, to thank her for putting me up. But she reads my face; she sees my tired eyes. Sit, she says. So I do, on a tall chair in her kitchen.

She cooks for me, this friend from my past, and my present. Potatoes with hard-cooked egg, a bowl of bright greens, couscous with apple, and roasted mushrooms. 

Exactly what I need.

She makes me exactly what I need.

It's jewelry, for food.

I have a gift for you. Just a quick, drive-by gift.

I'll press it in your hand with a gentle squeeze. I'll leave it on your stoop, tied with twine. I'll tuck it in that book on your bedside table.

On second thought, I'll place it here, below, because this is where we gather, at least for now.

One of my favorite recipes from Ripe is the Green Beans with Smoky Pistachio Dust. I blanch the beans until they just barely give. I slotted-spoon them into ice water, drain them, pat them dry like a freshly-bathed child, and drizzle them with oil. Then I sprinkle them with pistachios I've pulverized with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. This is the best, easiest condiment I created for the book, and one with so many uses I could spend eons dreaming up new ways to enjoy it.

So, make the dust. Keep it in a jar on your counter. And shake it on everything. Salads, eggs, potatoes, noodles, any kind of casserole, any grilled or marinated vegetable you can imagine (except lima beans), mushed up avocado, any kind of grain dish, fish fillets, pilafs, are you bored yet?

It's jewelry, for food. Make it. Use it. Love it.

One day, I shall retire to the countryside with my jars of pistachio dust and have little pistachio dust babies and take up needlepoint and smoke my own paprika.

Come visit.

...

In Seattle? I'll be there this weekend. Say hello.

 ...

Recipe for Beet and Frisee Salad with Ripe Smoky Pistachio Dust 

The smoky pistachio dust is adapted from Ripe: A Fresh Colorful Approach to Fruits and Vegetables by Cheryl Sternman Rule with photography by Paulette Phlipot (Running Press, a member of the Perseus Books Group, 2012) 

[Yes, that's me. I have to do that, though.]

For the smoky pistachio dust:

3/4 cup unsalted pistachios, toasted and cooled completely
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon (kosher) salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Grind all ingredients in a full-size food processor fitted with the metal blade for about 30 seconds, until dusty. Store in a tightly sealed jar on the counter, where you'll see it and use it often.

For the salad pictured above, I combined:

12 small chioggia beets, scrubbed clean
Olive oil
White wine vinegar
Sugar
Salt
Frisee, rough-chopped
Avocado, diced
Cucumber, unpeeled, diced

Roast the beets: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cut the leafy tops from the beets, leaving 1/2-inch stem. (Saute the leaves like other greens if they're very fresh.) Rub the bulbs gently with a bit of olive oil. Place in a Pyrex baking dish, with some wiggle room between each one. Cover tightly with foil. (Alternately, roast the oil-slicked beets in a foil packet on a baking sheet.) Roast for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a skewer comes out with very little resistance. Cool completely. Wear an apron. Peel with a paring knife. Dice.

Toss the diced, cooled beets in a jar with a splash of white wine vinegar, 2 generous pinches of sugar, and a solid pinch of salt. (Beets be stored, tightly covered, in the fridge for a good week, or longer, depending. Or use right away.) 

Make the salad: Combine the frisee, avocado, cucumber, and some beets in a large salad bowl. Make a vinaigrette by whisking a few tablespoons of olive oil with about half as much of the beety vinegar from your jar (2 parts oil to 1 part vinegar). Season to taste.

Sprinkle the salad generously with pistachio dust. Eat.

printable pdf 

Lend me your earlobes.

Promoting a book is weird. It's a swirling stew, equal parts thrilling, embarrassing, discomfiting, and wonderful. It's prideful and boasty, narcissistic and ego-y. It's one-tracky and tacky. But, listen, it's also important, not only because it represents the culmination of several years of work, but also because without promotion, books languish and die in warehouses and on store shelves.

And, so, Paulette and I have embraced the task before us and are getting out there -- in our hometowns and yours, at venues small, large, and medium-sized, together and apart. And you know what? Talking with people about colorful fruits and vegetables is fun. Super fun. It's even more fun than talking to computer screens, which is so squarely inside my wheelhouse I often get stuck in there and can't find my way out. Book promotion forces me to speak out loud and swallow big gulps of fresh air. It's good.

Above are some scenes from our early spring events and signings.

In the top row, I'm signing books (hello) at the Blossom Hill Certified Farmers' Market, my go-to market here in San Jose. I'm booked at several other local markets this spring and summer, and I couldn't be prouder to sit beside the farmers that grow my family's food. You can see their gorgeous produce in that basket in the upper right.

In the middle row, you'll see the favas I received from Melissa's Produce, a Southern California-based produce distributor that twice provided juicy pixies tangerines for Ripe parties, and shipped me not only those beautiful beans, but also chioggia beets, fresh edamame, kumquats, fennel, and cucumbers for the launch party at my home. I paid them in invisible money, so consider this a DISCLOSURE, FEDERAL TRADE COMMISSION. The local produce from my area farmers' markets and the generous donations from the Melissa's crew intermingled on plates and in salad bowls. There was no fussing or fighting. Just fruit, vegetables, accompaniments, and libations all getting along in a riotous mash of color until it disappeared into waiting mouths and bellies.

Also in that row, you'll see the Ripe display at Rizzoli Bookstore in New York City, which hosted a wonderful launch for us in late March. There you will also see Paulette with her daughter Cassidy, a little girl so cute I want to nibble her earlobes every time I see her.

The bottom row of photos showcases squares of blueberry-nutmeg cake I served along with several other dishes from the cookbook -- grilled five-spice pineapple, cucumber-halloumi salad, chocolate-dipped strawberries, tarragon-lime green tea, and radish-olive crostini -- at a party my very dear friends Alison and Julia hosted at Alison's home last weekend. It was such a joy to talk about produce with so many interesting women. To all of you who bought 4, 5, even 6 copies of Ripe at Alison's house, I will nibble your earlobes as soon as I'm done nibbling Cassidy's.

And finally, in the lower right corner, a photo Colin took of me just before my event at Omnivore Books in San Francisco. God, I love that shop. I can't wait to get back there and sink into the walls.

Here's a recap of our press to date. 

And here's a list of our upcoming appearances, including events next week in Boston, Maine, Philadelphia, and Idaho.

They're all open to the public.

I invite you and your earlobes to come say hello.

...

One more thing. I read every single comment you left on my Mother's Day post. Every single one. As some of you know, the New York Times even linked to that post. I want to thank you all for sharing your words and thoughts with me. I found myself unable to respond in line, but you moved me deeply, and I am grateful.

Start spreading the news {cue Sinatra}...

Dear friends,

I'm popping by to invite those of you in New York City to come help Paulette and me celebrate the launch of our cookbook, Ripe: A Fresh, Colorful Approach to Fruits and Vegetables. You've seen the Ripe cookbook website, watched the video trailer, and perhaps noticed a bit of early press. We feel very blessed by the warm reception the book has already received, even in its pre-publication phase.

Now that the release date is officially here, I will celebrate by pretzeling myself into a coach airline seat and eating snacks for five hours. If you hear someone mumbling incoherently in row 13, please say hi. 

You are all invited to swing by Rizzoli Bookstore for the kickoff signing and toast. I would love to meet you, and I know Paulette would, too. Details are in that top photo. Rizzoli Bookstore is located at 31 West 57th Street in midtown.

In addition, we will both be signing our book at the IACP Book & Blog Expo on Sunday, April 1 at 82 Mercer Street from 1:30p-4:30p. (Tickets to the Book & Blog Expo run $10 and can be purchased online). There will be more than 100 cookbook authors signing books that day, so you're sure to get your money's worth.

Finally, I do have plans to be in Maine, Boston, Philly, Portland, Seattle, and at several venues in the SF Bay Area over the next few months. Our Events & Signings page has all the details, and will be updated regularly.

And thank you. Did I say that already? Thank you for your support. It means more than you know. More, even, than lip balm on a long-haul flight, and lip balm means very, very much to me.

With affection and sincere gratitude~
Cheryl

{{Thank you to the Running Press design team for creating such an artful invitation to our Rizzoli kickoff. Thanks, too, to IACP for permission to use the Blog & Book Expo photo.}}

Ripe: the video trailer. (Get snacks.)

Like what you see? Then help us pass this baby around. If you do, I'll give you a big fat kiss when we meet. Unless you prefer a handshake, a high-five, or a subtle head-nod. I'm not above customizing my affection to suit your needs.

My heartfelt thanks to Paulette for producing this trailer. If I told you the budget she had for this project (zero point zero zero dollars, rounded down), you would cry.

With exactly three weeks until this cookbook hits shelves, we're gearing up and taking names. Thank you, (insert your name here), for your support.

*

p.s. Those of you who get 5SR via email or RSS may not see the video pop up on your screen unless you click over to the site: http://5secondrule.typepad.com/my_weblog/2012/03/ripe-cookbook-book-video-trailer.html

p.p.s. If vimeo acts funky, you can also watch the trailer on You Tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExeJOzkLRjI 

A cookbook emerges, slowly, soon.

On October 28, 2009, I announced in this space that I'd just signed a contract with Running Press to produce a cookbook with Paulette Phlipot, a photographer I deeply admired. We'd already worked on the proposal together for over a year.

To your left (and your right, smaller) is the result: Ripe: A Fresh, Colorful Approach to Fruits and Vegetables.

Sharing this book cover with you after a long incubation period feels pretty great. It feels like a new bar of soap that's still smooth and promising. Like a soft sweater that hasn't started pilling. Like the first taste of an ice cream cone before other people in your family have taken their licks.

We still have a ways to go, of course. The book won't officially appear in stores until March/April, but early adopters can go ahead and pre-order it online now. (If you do, please let me know so I can properly thank you.)

I'll be dribbling out more info -- letting you lick my ice cream cone, if you will, but in a wholesome, G-rated way --  over the next two months. Paulette is putting together our trailer, for example, and I'll share that with you when it's ready. I also hope to pre-release a few recipes here, too.

For now, please mosey over to our sparkly new Ripe cookbook website and poke around. There you'll find a brief description of our book, bits of advance praise, and the pre-order links. You'll also see a Signings & Events tab, since we're starting to schedule appearances. That list will grow over time.

(That little book image in the 5SR sidebar will serve as an easy, permanent portal between the two sites; you can toggle back and forth to see what's on tap as more events take shape. And, as always, you can join me here, too.)

I would love your input as we embark on this leg of our journey. Where else should we consider visiting? What kinds of book-related events do YOU as readers and cooks like to attend? Please go ahead and share any suggestions below. I welcome all ideas, big and small, dreamy and concrete. 

Paulette and I are riding this wave. Please take our hands, and ride along.