SFist in the Kitchen: Grapes
Last time we reported from the SFist kitchen, we gave the nod to figs and their role in human culture. Figs, schmigs. We think grapes have played a larger part. This Eurasian native produces delicious fruit right about now, but when dried into raisins, the berries (as individual grapes are called) keep for what seems like decades. C'mon, we know you've got some ancient raisins stuffed in the back of the pantry somewhere. Chances are they're still edible. We prefer black raisins on principle: Golden raisins don't occur naturally but are instead the result of a chemical process that strips the color from the standard dark version. We've also heard of people crushing grapes and letting the juice ferment, but we can't imagine that will catch on.
Even before harvest, grape vines produce big fleshy leaves you can use to wrap various stuffings, and you can crush unfermented grapes to make verjuice (verjus if you prefer), a tart liquid similar to vinegar but not as harsh. And like egg-laying chickens sent to the oven when the eggs stop a-coming, you can always turn non-fruit-bearing vines into firewood. You may need to wait a while, though: some one-hundred-fifty-year-old Zinfandel vines in Amador county continue to produce grapes.
There are zillions of varieties of grapes, but the ones we've seen most often at the market are green Thompson Seedless and red Flame Seedless, the latter being the ones that decimated the Flame Tokay industry so crucial to Lodi's economy in the early part of the twentieth century. We've also spotted the Black Monukka, a flavorful and deeply colored grape.
Photos by Melissa Schneider
The best way to enjoy grapes, of course, is to have your cabana boys peel them and feed them to you. But if you tire of that idyllic preparation, we've become fans of the cooked grape. Friend of SFist Sean first tipped us off to roasted grapes, and we impatiently waited for grape season to give them a try. They're absurdly easy: De-stem grapes, put on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil, and bake at high heat until they've puckered, ten to fifteen minutes. Though Alice Waters (who puts "Grapes" before "Grapefruit" in the alphabetically arranged chapters of Chez Panisse Fruit) recommends pairing roasted grapes with roasted meats, we put them onto crostini with a goat cheese mousse made of goat cheese and cream whipped together until fluffy.
We sprinkled grapes onto a focaccia—along with honey, rosemary, and mint—and let the grapes roast on the bread as it cooked. That was a hit with the co-workers, let us tell you. But kitchen staff photographer Melissa favored the tonno alla stemperata we made. This is a traditional Sicilian preparation with no set definition on the ingredients, but raisins (grapes in our case) seem to be fairly constant. We sautéed onions, garlic, celery and carrot until soft, and then added olives, pine nuts, mint, and grapes for a brief time. We doubt that seared ahi tuna is the traditional accompaniment, but we enjoyed it anyway, and a floral muscat from Italy's Alto Adige region paired nicely with the dish.