Erica De Mane

Spring in Liguria, by Ginette Callaway.

Recipe below: Pan Roasted Asparagus with Herbs, Butter, and Eggs

While working out this new asparagus recipe, I got to thinking about the ways I’ve passed on culinary knowledge to others. Every dedicated cook does it in his or her own fashion. Teaching formal classes is one way. I haven’t done full-on classes since I lost my cooking space a few years back (it was actually the music room of an Upper West Side bar that I transformed into an Italian trattoria each Wednesday). I’ve been trying to decide if I’ve missed teaching. I tell myself I have, but then I think maybe what I’ve felt is more of a sense of duty to be well-rounded. Writing about cooking is contemplative and solitary, and it’s always come more naturally to me than standing in front of a crowd. I’ve also wondered if most of the people who sign on for cooking classes really want to learn or just  want to be entertained. I suppose the popularity of the Food Network can partly answer that question. But the bigger question is, does it matter?

My trattoria classes were large, about 25 to 30 people, and demo-style. The students would occasionally get so loud and goofy, I resorted to ringing a bell when the chatting and laughing competed with my well thought-out presentation. Now this was partly my fault, since I offered good wine at low cost, the first glass free. I loved how everyone enjoyed themselves and enjoyed my take on improvisational Italian cooking, but keeping this fun, flirty group in line was exhausting, and after a while I got resentful. I tried a more studious, hands-on approach but soon realized that the only way to get the students to return was by letting them have a blast, and I needed the money. Most of them didn’t want hands-on. They wanted to watch me. Did it damage my ego to know all my hard work got boiled down to a few hours of cabaret? Not really. Did they learn? When I think of all the reasons I love to cook, that last question is answered for me. If I wanted to teach at the CIA I could have done so. I chose the bar for a reason. I love solitude in the kitchen, for sure, that’s how I teach myself. But I also love to entertain. I view every meal as a small celebration, or at least that’s my goal. And I’d like other people to get the same uplift from cooking that I usually do. Passing on enthusiasm is certainly part of teaching, even if the recipients are all too drunk to remember the recipe. Now that I’ve worked this out in my head, I want to stand up and teach again, the first glass free.

And speaking of teaching, I’ve been teaching myself about asparagus for a long time, learning what preparations work best. Sometimes I want contrast, sometimes I like my flavors to meld. For this recipe I didn’t want to add too much. I wanted to let the innate beauty of the fleeting vegetable dominate. Even though you’ll see a good number of ingredients, they’re mostly herbs that blend effortlessly into a lively green delicacy. Check it out.

(Serves 3)

About 3 tablespoons butter, unsalted
A drizzle of olive oil
1 big bunch medium thick asparagus, trimmed and the tough skin peeled
Salt
Pepper
A big pinch of ground coriander seed
A splash of Moscato or another sweet wine
The juice from about ½ lemon
About a dozen or so chives, chopped
A few big sprigs of mint, the leaves chopped
A few big dill sprigs, the leaves chopped
The yolk from 2 hard-boiled eggs

Choose a skillet large enough to hold the asparagus in one layer, more or less. It should have a lid. In it melt about 1½ tablespoons of butter, plus a drizzle of olive oil, over medium heat. Add the asparagus, turning it around in the oil to coat. Season with salt, black pepper, and the coriander seed, and sauté, turning the asparagus a few times until it just starts to soften and get a bit golden. Add the sweet wine, and cover the skillet. Cook, turning once or twice, until the asparagus is just tender, about 2 to 3 minutes. Check the skillet a few times to make sure the liquid hasn’t dried up, and add a little warm water if you need to.

Uncover the skillet, and transfer the asparagus to a serving platter. If the skillet liquid is watery, cook it down a bit. Otherwise just turn off the heat, leaving the skillet on the warm burner.

Add the lemon juice and a heaping tablespoon of butter to the skillet, stirring to melt it.

Crumble the egg yolks over the center of the asparagus. Then pour on the butter sauce, and scatter on the herbs. Serve right away.