The small Dutch city of Wageningen was crackling with excitement recently, or so it seemed from my perspective amongst a group of master’s students that included my daughter Fiona, about to participate in their graduation ceremony. Because the pandemic had robbed them of their bachelor’s ceremony, the event took on epic proportions.
The University of Wageningen is a renowned agricultural university dedicated to exploring the potential of nature to improve the quality of life. This means its students study everything from organic agriculture methods and implications, to isolating genomes for the good of humanity.
Considering that the university is considered by many to be the best of its kind in Europe and possibly the world, its graduation ceremony was modest, personal, home-spun. Oh, the august administrators were there sporting heavy velvet robes and carrying golden scepters which they banged on the floor to punctuate events. But each student, after signing for their diploma, was interviewed in front of the public about their theses, and about their dreams for the future.
I was transfixed, from pride of course, but also because these students are grappling with the complexities of the future, from isolating cells in grasses as a possible cure for cancer, to creating policy that makes good food available to all.
The ceremony was relatively short, the afternoon reception featured little cakes and tea (too early for alcohol, and not French enough for champagne), which was followed by a vegetable-oriented lunch. It left time before another grand celebration, and I had a mission.
The day before, Fiona and I had spent time wandering through her neighborhood, an amazing spot created by the university for its graduate students. Set in a forest and among fields, it’s a collection of wooden homes with outdoor space for chickens, vegetable gardens, tree collections. The idea is that they can put their education to work on a small scale.
As we’d meandered, I’d noticed a handwritten sign at the side of a road that said “asperge”, with a crooked arrow pointed off in the distance. We didn’t follow it then, but I did the minute graduation was over and Fiona and her friends had melted away to prepare their early evening cocktail party.
I set off in what I hoped was the right direction, winding along lanes and narrow roads that are always slightly disconcerting in Holland, because they are well below the fields as a result of this tiny country working endlessly to stay afloat.
I found the farm, and a tiny sign that pointed down a driveway to the barn. Inside was the farmer in dirt-streaked jeans and muddy boots, bent over buckets of white asparagus floating in water.
He greeted me and said I absolutely could buy some once he finished what he was doing, which involved shaking off bundles of white stalks, setting them in crates, and putting these in the back of his truck. “I’m preparing a delivery,” he said, drying his hands on his jeans.
It turns out this man was a retired professor who had travelled the world for the Dutch state department, educating farmers about growing techniques. Chatty for a Dutchman, he told me that he’d been up all night with his crew, harvesting in the dark then dropping the asparagus right into the water so if the light caught them, the stalks wouldn’t discolor. The Dutch call white asparagus witte goud, white gold, and discoloration causes a drop in price.
He showed me how he harvests the stalks, using a flat steel blade to carefully slip down alongside each one then carefully wiggle the soil away to snap the stalk at its base. “We have to be careful not to break the stalks midway,” he said. “No one wants broken asparagus.”
Prices were tacked up on the barn wall graded according to size, and I asked for three kilos of his fattest, which he carefully weighed out on a scale from a previous era. He looked at me and said, “You’re in luck, it’s Monday, discount day for my asparagus.” And with that, I paid him and walked off down the lane, doing my best not to let the slippery bags escape my grasp.
I left asparagus for Fiona; the rest went home to Paris with me, for a dinner party I had coming up. Would I prepare the traditional Dutch dish of white asparagus with hollandaise, new potatoes, egg, and ham I’d tried the night before and fallen in love with?
Back in my Paris kitchen I opted to wallow in the purity of the asparagus instead, and braised it to tenderness, serving the stalks in a linen napkin according to French tradition. I explained to my guests that white asparagus is the only vegetable one is allowed to eat with one’s fingers, unless it is drowned in sauce, which mine wasn’t. I did pass a pitcher of melted butter which some drizzled over theirs. Forks were provided.
I know people who don’t get the point of white asparagus because its flavor is delicate and elegant compared with the green variety, and it requires some concentration to profit from eating it. I love it, and that Dutch asparagus that I carried to the table is truly the best I’ve ever had. Part of my enjoyment was procuring it – I’m a sucker for meeting the producer. But I watched my guests enjoy it, based purely on its flavor and juicy texture.
What serendipity I thought, popping a morsel in my mouth. Not only did I just experience Fiona’s graduation, but I got to savor true white gold. Neither happens every day!
BRAISED WHITE OR GREEN ASPARAGUS WITH HERBS
ASPERGES BLANCHES OU VERTES BRAISEES AUX AROMATES
2 pounds (1kg) white or green asparagus, trimmed and peeled (if using white), and cut into
2-inch lengths, on the bias
2 tablespoons (30ml) extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup (125ml) water
2 fresh bay leaves
1 tablespoon tarragon leaves
½ teaspoon thyme leaves
Sea salt and freshly ground white pepper
Chive blossoms – optional garnish
1. Sort the asparagus by thickness.
2. Place the olive oil, the water, and the herbs in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat and add the thickest asparagus pieces first. Turn the asparagus so it is coated with the oil and water mixture and when the water and oil come to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook the asparagus until it begins to turn tender, about 5 minutes. Add the thinner asparagus stalks and tips, toss and stir gently so they are coated with the water and oil, then continue to cook until all of the asparagus is tender, an additional 4 to 5 minutes.
3. When the asparagus is nearly tender through, remove the cover and cook it, shaking the pan and stirring it, until any liquid in the pan evaporates.
4. Just before the asparagus finishes cooking, mince the herbs.
5. Remove the asparagus from the heat, add the herbs and season with salt and pepper then gently turn the asparagus so it is coated with the herbs and seasonings. Garnish with the chive blossoms and serve immediately.
4 to 6 servings
