Cheese and Choux

The first time that I ever tasted white asparagus was in an impossibly trendy restaurant in Baltimore, the city of my birth - a place that I never, in a million years, would depict as trendy.  The restaurant was called Corks.  We ate there initially because my aunt is something of oenophile.  We had excellent wine, however, because of her knack for convincing balding sommeliers to share some secrets.  As we all do with the best meals, I remember snapshots.  I remember mango chutney over grilled chicken.  I remember some fluffy mesclun mixture with a sweet vinaigrette.  I remember my aunt's, who also incidentally happens to be Francophile, cheese plate.  Even better, I remember pilfering some of its best offerings when she turned her head; she had, fortunately for me, begun speaking professionally (maybe flirting a little) with the balding sommelier.  Most of all, I remember the moment that my white asparagus arrived, laced with a prudently delicate sauce.  I had titled my head to the side, raised my eyebrows, and wondered what in the kitchen had gone horribly wrong.  My aunt must have noticed my decided lack of poker-face, clearly painted with confusion.  That's white asparagus, she said, it grows underground.  She said it like she had explained everything.

I've always had a thing for green asparagus, because it denotes spring and cooks up so pretty on the plainest of plates.  Green asparagus requires nothing more than sea salt, olive oil, and seasonality.  Et voila, it's the most lanky and elegant of all of the vegetables.  However, at least in the U.S., white asparagus often gets the cold shoulder.  Throughout Europe, I see its ivory visage more frequently on my dinner plate.  Those Europeans use white asparagus like it's any other vegetable, like it's something approaching common.   While, admittedly, white asparagus is native to Europe, you would think that its mild flavor would convert any green asparagus-adherents.  Still, I seem to be in the minority.

I love cooking with white asparagus, because it enters a meal with little fanfare.  Whereas green asparagus can easily dominate a meal, white asparagus instead harmonizes with all of its elements.  Flavors merge, colors blur, and any lingering bitterness subsides.  In fact, I think that Jordan was initially turned off by the white asparagus.  It's no matter, though.  White asparagus, with its gentle taste and familiar texture, wins them over every time.

Remember when Thumbelina left her underground home with the mole to rejoin the world of sun and flowers and fairy princes?  In my mind, had she been treated underground to white asparagus in a delicate sauce, she might have reconsidered. 

White Asparagus and Wild Brown Rice Casserole

*Note that while the casserole is okay, it's still best with olive oil and sea salt

Ingredients

1 pound white asparagus, with lowest part of the stalk broken off, and cut into pieces

1 can Cannellini beans

3 cloves of finely chopped garlic

4 servings of cooked brown wild rice, according to your own instructions

1/3 cup Parmesan cheese

Hunks of fresh basil, ripped to shreds

Dried oregano

Dried parsley

Olive oil

Instructions

First, heat the brown rice according to your own instructions.

Cook the asparagus in olive oil with the garlic for 10 minutes or so over medium heat, until it becomes more translucent.  Cook the beans with olive oil for five minutes.  Mix the remaining ingredients together, according to your own discretion.  Mix with the rice.