A wonderful seasonal vegetarian entrée at the Roadhouse
By Ari Weinzweig
Micki Maynard, nationally known journalist and author of Satisfaction Guaranteed, wrote of her culinary experiences around the country: “Those of us who like veggies often have to hunt for them on a menu, like the asparagus I found tucked away as a side dish last week. Damn, girl, it’s asparagus season. Make it a star!” I smiled when I read it, since just three days before Micki’s missive hit email boxes, Roadhouse chef Bob Bennett had done just that. This terrifically tasty asparagus-focused main course is on the monthly specials list: for someone like me (and maybe you) who doesn’t eat a lot of meat, and like Micki, who likes to see seasonal vegetables front and center, it’s a terrific meal! A big handful of local asparagus, blanched and then grilled over oak, served over a good amount of the incredible organic Carolina Gold rice from Anson Mills, topped with freshly made tarragon butter. If you’re in the mood for something more, it’s easy to add a grilled Amish chicken breast, broiled Bay of Fundy salmon, sautéed Georges Bank sea scallops, grilled wild-caught North Carolina shrimp, or a piece of dry-aged, wood-fired grilled steak!
More about tarragon.
Although by name, tarragon is well familiar to most every cook, to my taste, fresh tarragon is underappreciated and underutilized. Bob and I are huge fans. There’s something almost magical about its aromatics with its delicately bitter mintiness. Writer N.M. Kelby says, “Tarragon with its gentle licorice, reminds us not to forget that miracles are possible.” In these challenging times, there’s little risk to adding a culinary course in miracles to our positive toolkit. Its cultivation in Europe dates only to the late 1500s when it came to England from Siberia. In France, tarragon, often called, “the King of Herbs,” takes top billing more often—most famously maybe in a béarnaise sauce. It arrived in the U.S. in the early years of the 19th century. Tarragon is usually described as licorice-like, but it’s also beautifully buttery, aromatic, and lively with a bit of that “fresh cut grass” thing that one often gets from new harvest olive oils. I’m stuck on the aroma. I love it on most everything!
Why the Carolina Gold rice is so special.
The Carolina Gold rice is as amazing an eating experience as savoring seasonal local asparagus each spring is. Arriving from West Africa—where rice-growing had been done well for hundreds of years—in the 17th century, it was grown by enslaved people in South Carolina. Its fame meant Carolina Gold was served in the royal courts of Europe and prized on the plates of Americans of that era who “knew how to eat.” The wealth that growing Carolina Gold created, of course, went to the European planters and not the people who did the work. After Emancipation in 1863, the super delicious but very labor-intensive old varietal began to fade from use. What had been world-famous in 1820 had essentially been forgotten by 1920. Fortunately, in 2000, seeds were discovered in a seed bank in Arkansas. Thanks to the good work of historian David Shields, Glenn Roberts from Anson Mills, and a handful of others, the old Carolina Gold rice was restored to production. What we get from Anson Mills is old-school: organically grown, field-ripened (a lot of rice nowadays is harvested early to reduce the risk of losing a crop to bad weather), cold-stone milled right after we order it (for freshness) and the germ (oil) is left in, all of which makes the Carolina Gold rice so good! To the casual observer, Carolina Gold could well look just like any other “white rice,” but its complex flavor is truly terrific!
The amazing asparagus!
Last but not least is the amazing asparagus, which is the visual focus of the dish. One of the highlights of the culinary calendar here in Michigan. So good, so green, so fresh, so delicious, right now we’re getting it from a farm in Hudsonville, Michigan. Cooking it over the oak-wood smoke from the grill and then topping it with the lovely, herbaceous, terrific tarragon butter melting atop the asparagus makes it all even better still. Order a couple of buttermilk biscuits on the side and dip the corner of one into the bits of butter that drip onto the plate.