Salsa Verde

I'm momentarily between steps three and four (four and five?) of this recipe. It's not the recipe I'm going to tell you about today, though, since it's not yet made its way into (much less out of) the oven. I have high hopes for it, and will surely come back and tell all if those hopes come to fruition. But for now, another kind of fruit - or vegetable, if you feel more comfortable with that idea: the vibrant (verdant?), strange, and lovely tomatillo.

I have long held a distant interest in the tomatillo. They show up at our farmer's market weeks before the influx of red tomatoes, small, round, and curious in their decidedly non-tomato-like shells. (Not even the same vegetable, I know, but still - don't you think of them as similar, the tomatillo and the tomato? You have to draw comparison, you really have to. Because they are. Somewhat similar. The name dictates it.) And lo and behold, a bag of eight of these little green delights, packed happily in their crisp, green husks, arrived in my CSA bag on Tuesday. Tomatillos! I exclaimed. I've been wanting to try you! Why hadn't I bought them before now? Can't say - besides that abhorrence at tossing away uneaten produce and a fear that something so unknown to me might go the same way. But today - today, I have no excuse for not trying or for tossing, and I really don't want one. Because I have the tomatillos. (Tomatillos! Doesn't the word itself make you want to throw in an exclamation point?) And because -

Because bread-rising time is a great moment in which to squeeze ten minutes of such simple peeling and chopping as - it turns out - is all that is required for this version of salsa verde, for which I expect the local Mexican restaurants to soon be contacting me (if I do say so myself). The focaccia dough ball went into the bowl, under cover of requisite clean towel, and the tomatillos, jalepeno, and half-onion (leftover from Wednesday's tomato potato soup, which Kenton has dubbed Tomtato Soup) came out of the fridge for a quick shuck and slice and throw into the food processor. And now I have something - something with a satisfying convergence of heat, sweet, and salt - to tide me over till the bread's ready to accompany the leftover soup for dinner this evening.

The recipe is altered from one that actually came out in the "bag notes" of our (wonderfully organized and informative) local CSA. I made a number of prep simplifications and several ingredient changes, and am completely satisfied. Kenton just arrived home, tasted, and agreed.

Salsa Verde

Ingredients

4 medium tomatillos, husked, rinsed, and quartered

1 large garlic clove, peeled and quartered

Jalapeno pepper to taste (I found that a scant half of a medium-sized pepper added just the right amount of heat. And I was raised by Texans, so take that into consideration. You can always add more if it's not hot enough for you.)

1/2 or more cup loosely packed, roughly chopped cilantro

1/2 medium white or yellow onion

Lime juice (I used, ahem, bottled juice. Please don't judge. I'm sure fresh lime juice would be absolutely delightful.)

Directions

(Are you ready for how easy this is?) Combine the quartered tomatillos, garlic, pepper, and cilantro in the food processor. Puree! (Kind of requires an exclamation point, like "tomatillo!") till . . . pureed. Add lime juice and salt, pulse a couple times, and taste to see if more is needed. Add onions and pulse several times, until onion is chopped but a little chunkier than the rest of the mixture.

Pour into bowl. Go at it with a bag of chips. Share only if you want to.

Later, a recipe for homemade granola. Nearly-perfected and Kenton-approved.