It's Asparagus Season!
Love the green, but have you tried the white?
In Europe, March to June marks asparagus season, when fat green or white spears are steamed and often served as a cold entrée with vinaigrette or a lemony mayonnaise. Here in Quebec, our season arrives fashionably late, mid-May around Mother's Day, when locals finally get their hands on the good stuff.
Though our season is but days away, how do you get excited about something ubiquitous on restaurant plates and supermarket shelves year-round? We receive imports from Peru, Chile, Argentina, Mexico, and California—sometimes in good shape but more often than not looking limp, sometimes sprouting, and usually the priciest item in the vegetable aisle. Yet there it is, ready to be stirred into risotto or placed alongside that $45 steak.
But even if we can often find it, local the way to go with asparagus as the real thrill comes with in-season spears so fresh and fat that the base is stiff as a board and creamy white.
With asparagus this good, don't get fancy. Once you have snapped off the woody base of the stem (and then peel about two inches from the bottom if you are a purist), steam or simmer your asparagus spears until fork tender—and please, forget about al dente asparagus, which tastes like lawn clippings and lacks that luxurious velvety texture we're after. Watch it carefully because I've noticed the fresher the asparagus, the faster it cooks. I always plunge the spears in ice water to stop the cooking and lock in that brilliant green color. Then all you have to do is drain, pat dry, and sauté briefly in butter. Sprinkle with fleur de sel, eat with your fingers, and heaven awaits.
Looking to impress? Try lightly blanched asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, then rolled and baked in filo brushed with garlic butter. Slice on an angle and serve as pre-dinner nibbles. Asparagus risotto is a no-brainer in spring, especially with a few morels thrown in for good measure. Remember that old-school Italian restaurant classic—veal scallopini stuffed with ham, mozzarella and asparagus? Back in the day, most kitchens used jarred asparagus, mushy and that unappealing shade of army-fatigues green. No thanks. But made with fresh asparagus? Perfetto!
I often like to cook asparagus a day in advance and then keep it in the fridge well-wrapped on a paper-towel-lined plate so I can easily whip up an asparagus omelet for breakfast. For a simple lunch, I dress those cold spears with a mustardy tarragon vinaigrette topped with chopped boiled egg (a.k.a. "mimosa"). And for dinner, I sauté that blanched-in-advance asparagus and serve it as a side, or for an elegant appetizer, you can top it with a poached egg, or better yet, a duck egg.
In Europe, white asparagus reigns supreme—the fatter the spears, the better. Served simply hot with butter or cold with Hollandaise or Béarnaise, white asparagus is a delicacy, especially to Belgians and Germans who consider the green stuff about as sophisticated as broccoli. Harsh, but there you go.
Most of the year, white asparagus sold in our markets comes from Peru. But right now, Montrealers can find Northern European (usually Dutch) varieties at specialty stores like Chez Louis and Nino at the Jean-Talon Market. This imported white asparagus has more flavor and a more luxurious texture than the Peruvian, but brace yourself for sticker shock: about $29/kg, which works out to roughly $3 per spear. The upside? They're so substantial that a couple per person makes a perfect starter. Meanwhile, Peruvian spears offer decent nutty flavor at a quarter of the price. Local white asparagus offers a happy middle ground between the two.
Just make sure with white asparagus that you cook them long enough (see instructions in recipe below) because they are quite fibrous and don’t cook at all like their green counterpart. In no way should white asparagus be al-dente!
Wild asparagus made a splash in Montreal restaurants for a while, but those spindly spears do better as decoration than dinner. If you insist on trying them, blanch until tender and serve cold with vinaigrette.
My only beef with asparagus? By mid-June, I've hit peak consumption. Just when it's at its best and least expensive, I can barely look at it anymore. Yet instead of shunning it, I stock up. Some claim pickled asparagus is divine, but I prefer turning it into soup, which freezes beautifully and makes a welcome September treat—just when we've had out fill of tomatoes, eggplant, and zucchini.
Recipes:
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