An Improvised Asparagus Dish Is a Happy Accident

Tag：Frozen Green Asparagus
WHEN it came to cooking asparagus, I thought my skill set was complete. If I craved a browned, caramelized flavor, I applied high heat using a grill, broiler, cranked-up oven or near-smoking sauté pan. Coated in olive oil, the grassy stalks became singed and soft on the outside and just tender within. A simple garnish of whatever was handy — sea salt, fried eggs, Parmesan cheese or chopped herbs — was all that was required before serving and devouring. If I was in the mood for a purer, lighter flavor, I’d blanch or steam the stalks until bright green and al dente, preserving their fresh, sweet taste, making a healthful foil for a liberal drizzle of melted or browned butter or a dollop of creamy hollandaise. With all these options, it never occurred to me that there was something succulent lacking from my asparagus repertory, until one recent evening. My dinner strategy was to make a light, vegetable-focused springtime meal. So I perused the grocery aisles, tossing whatever looked appealing into my cart. I picked up taut asparagus, plump oyster mushrooms, some tarragon and scallions, plus a piece of salmon. Walking home, I made my game plan. I’d roast the salmon and the asparagus at the same time, using an ultra-hot oven to achieve a deep golden sear on the fish. Meanwhile, I’d sauté the mushrooms, scallions and tarragon in butter, letting them reduce to a thick sauce to gild the salmon. It seemed a perfect warm-weather meal. Fast-forward several hours between shopping and cooking. As I was beginning to cook, the phone rang, and I entered into a long catch-up conversation while cutting up the mushrooms and scallions. All was going well, so I didn’t notice that my dinner plan was receding into Neverland. While the mushrooms and scallions simmered in a nice fat nut of butter, I listened to my friend’s complicated story, absent-mindedly pulling out my giant sauté pan and heating it slicked with oil. I was picturing burnished salmon; to achieve that on autopilot, I slapped the fillet into the skillet. It wasn’t until I hung up the phone that I noticed the asparagus on the counter. Since I had changed my plan for the salmon and hadn’t heated the oven, there’d be no time to roast it. I took stock of my options. The salmon, already sizzling away, had about a 10-minute window before it overcooked or got cold. I could quickly steam the asparagus, but it seemed like a lot of trouble to get out yet another pot and the steamer. The lazy person’s solution was to cut the asparagus in pieces and throw it into one of the pans already on the stove. But which one? Since the salmon was searing on high heat, I nearly added the asparagus along with it, turning it into an ad hoc stir-fry. But I feared the salmon would overwhelm the vegetable with its fishiness. So I threw the asparagus in with the mushrooms, added yet more butter, and covered the pot, hoping the stalks would braise in the herb-flecked mushroom juices. I also added some frozen peas to the pot for color and sweetness. A few minutes later, I heaped the vegetables onto my plate. Even better than expected, the asparagus was suffused with the heady flavor of licorice from the tarragon and an earthy meatiness from the mushrooms. But the real marvel was the texture. Soft but not mushy, the stalks greedily absorbed the butter, turning velvety, rich and completely unlike my caramelized or steamed staple recipes. While I wouldn’t swear butter-braising is superior to any other method, it is quicker than roasting and more luscious than steaming, and got me out of my long-term asparagus habit — and probably, happily into another.