Black garlic, a farmer who might be a wizard, and a recipe that takes five minutes.
There’s a sign at the farmers market that says “plz don’t squeeze.” This immediately triggers an insatiable desire to squeeze something, anything. But I restrain myself; couth, I think I have it.
I work at the market every Saturday for a local bakery. My neighbors this summer are The Peach Lady to my left; what a pleasure to have beautiful stone fruit within arm’s reach. But since the peaches bid their farewells in late August, the booth has turned over to a bakery that stocks mountains of bread covered in Asiago cheese. Do you have any idea what a mountain of Asiago cheese smells like? It’s WILD. The bread tastes good, though. Other vendors who've lived next to this bakery in years past assured me I would NEVER get used to the Asiago sensory bomb. (I did.)
The neighbor to my right is Earth First EcoFarm run by Farmer K, a hippie dude who has been farming for 20-plus years. He grows everything sustainably and organically but can’t put the label on it because you have to pay to play in the certified organic arena.
His produce is some of the BEST I have ever had. The Crenshaw melons are bright and fragrant, the tomatoes burst with sweet acidity, the dragon beans crisp and juicy, and the herbs are perky and abundant, just begging to be stuffed into a chicken or simmered in a sauce. I have been spoiled. I’m convinced he’s casting spells over his kale at midnight to make them peppery and robust; there is no other explanation.
And then there’s the basket.
Unassuming, nestled next to the bouquets of sage and lavender between heaps of garlic heads. A small sign on the basket says "plz don’t squeeze." I have flashbacks to The Peach Lady this summer, kindly telling people, "keep your hands off the peaches please." Over and over and over again.
To put it in desk job terms, it’s the equivalent of everyone who passes by your office popping in to lick your pen, scrunch up their nose, turn on their heels, and huff back to their cubicle. Couth people!
Black garlic looks like something you’d find at the bottom of a witch’s purse, in a small vial, next to the magic potions and poison frogs. It’s actually just regular garlic that has been cooked at a low temperature for several weeks. The low and slow heat caramelizes it and breaks down the allicin, turning the cloves pitch black and the flavor rich and sweet.
The cloves are jammy and slip right out of their skins when gently squeezed, ready to be smashed into a paste. Now the sign makes sense. Buy before you squeeze; those are the rules.
The flavor is rich like molasses, tamarind, or aged balsamic vinegar, and it’s got that umami baby.
Mash it on a crusty piece of sourdough, whisk it into dressings and sauces, or stir it into risotto. Next time you see black garlic on a menu, order it immediately.
Every Saturday, farmer K and his assistant, G, buy two cheddar herb biscuits from the bakery stand I work at. One day G peeked into the booth and said, “You HAVE to try the sandwiches we’ve been making with the biscuits.”
“Umm, yeah, of course I want to.” I hastily replied.
Black Garlic, Tomato, Cheddar Herb Biscuit Sandwich
Biscuit halved, eaten as an open-faced sandwich
Black garlic smashed onto the cut side of each biscuit
Thicccccc slice of heirloom tomato
Sprinkle of sea salt
Sage leaf
Enjoy🖤
I took the fixings home, and instead of smashing the garlic straight onto the biscuit, I mashed it into butter. Permission to squeeze granted! Then I slathered it on the biscuit and stacked a thicccc slice of heirloom tomato on top, with a sprinkle of salt and a solo sage leaf. The tomato tasted like candy. The butter was like if umami and balsamic had a baby. The herbs in the biscuit brought everything full circle in the most perfect herbaceous bite.
Cheers,
Nicole | Butter Cult🧈
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