Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 14, Episode 3 - Age of Asparagus - full transcript

Everything you never knew you wanted to know about asparagus.

There are a few things that I
accept as part of everyday life,

that, if I didn't know better,

I would assume had been
dropped off by visiting aliens.

The list includes
Surinam Pipa Toads,

Prince, or the artist
formerly known as,

and asparagus officinalis,

the curious fernlike member
of the lily family

that seems to just jump
out of the ground

the first day of Spring.

I speak, of course,
of the king of vegetables

and the vegetable of kings,



asparagus.

Although I am no king,

after a long winter
of root vegetables
and hard squash,

I am seriously ready for
the fresh green flavor of...

♪♪

♪ Good
Eats ♪

♪♪

If aliens were responsible for
asparagus being on the planet,

well, they must've visited
quite a while ago,

because the name
"asparagus" comes from

an ancient Persian word,
asparag, which means sprout.

It's an apt title, seeing as how
each of these shoots emanates

from an underground root mass
called a crown, which can live

for up to 20 years



and in its prime
can push up shoots

at an amazing rate
of 6 to 8 inches a day,

which means that, you know,
if you had the patience,

you could literally sit here
and watch asparagus grow.

Not very exciting.

Um, in the very beginning
of the season in Spring,

very thin shoots
will come up first.

They're called sprue.

They're kind of watery
and without substance.

Think of them as supermodels.

And they're typically
culled to make room for

the rest of the crop.

Now crowns in their prime

will push up big, strong,
stout-looking stalks like this.

And some folks feel that
the thinner pencil asparagus,

which are also grown by
very old and very young crowns,

are superior because, of course,
they're very delicate.

The truth is,
they are not better.

The big fat guys like this,
this is what you want to buy

whenever you have
the opportunity.

They are not more fibrous.

They are just, well,
a whole lot better.

Glad we got that myth
out of the way.

Now you might wonder--

how does something
so juicy and delicious

come up right away in spring
without a long growing season?

Well, check this out.

All right, the very last
of the season's sprouts

are allowed to grow to
a height of several feet.

They then put out
yellow airy fronds

and turn themselves into
carbohydrate engines,

which reload the crown
with the fuel it will need

to make it through the winter

and then to send up
its goodness next Spring.

As soon as a sprout is cut,
it begins converting its sugars

into fibers to reinforce
the damaged end

as the tip continues its
ballistic growth spurt.

Even deeply chilled asparagus
must be moved to market

as quickly as possible
because the flavor

goes downhill quickly.

As an added challenge,
the asparagus

has to be shipped upright,
or this happens, all right?

Asparagus is
negatively geotropic,

meaning that it wants to grow
in the opposite direction

of gravity, so if you ever see
bunches with bent tips,

it means the asparagus
was either shipped
or stored sideways.

Nothing wrong with it
other than the fact that--

well, that does look
funny, doesn't it?

Now I hope that
you can avail yourself

of a pick-your-own
asparagus patch,

which in springtime can be
found in various locales

across our great country,
because believe you me --

asparagus doesn't get
any better than this.

Still, most of us at some point
or another will have to rely

upon the mega mart,
where 1-pound bunches

can contain from
12 to 24 stalks.

But when shopping, always
extract a core sample

from the middle of the bundle

and examine for crisp
bright green stalks.

The cut ends will be
a little bit fibrous,

but they should not be
dry or cracked.

The tips should be
tight and compact,

with no mushiness.

Remember, asparagus
dries from the bottom

and rots from the top.

Also, this is the time to look
for suspiciously short stalks,

which always seem
to migrate themselves

mysteriously to the middle.

And beware of any floppiness,
a sure sign of age.

Believe me,
floppy asparagus is no good.

Now the best asparagus
will always occur

wherever you are in springtime.

Due to microclimates
and multiple growing regions

and modern transportation, we
can enjoy U.S.-grown asparagus

from roughly January
through May,

sometimes even into June.

Fresh asparagus in Fall
and early Winter

typically comes
from Mexico or Peru,

not that there's anything
wrong with that.

Oh, speaking of a foreign soil,
in places like Belgium

and France, they use etiolation,
or light deprivation,

to create chlorophyll-free
white asparagus,

which, to my palate,
is so unbearably bitter

and so outrageously expensive

that, well, we're not
even gonna talk about it.

If you hope to
store your asparagus

for more than a few hours
post-harvest or post-purchase,

um, then you should treat
the spears as the flowers

that they pretty much are, okay?

Take off any rubber band,
if there is one.

Trim the bottoms
by about half an inch

and place them in
some kind of glass vessel,

or plastic like
this coffee press,

with an inch of water.

As far as the tops,
you want to put on

a plastic bag of some type,
but keep it loose.

You wanna keep
some moisture in,

but no so much that
you get condensation.

Condensation will make
the tips mushy,

and that's never good eats.

Typically asparagus
must be trimmed

of its woody lower stem.

The problem is the amount of
material that needs pruning

depends on the specific
specimens under consideration.

Now traditionalists
will tell you that

each spear will signal
where it wants to be severed

simply by bending it...
to the break point.

The problem is I'm lazy,

and on top of that,
I want my asparagus

to be uniform in length,
so here's what I do.

Just bundle it up and apply
a produce-department rubber band

to hold the spears together.

This may have actually
come on your asparagus,

but you didn't store it
on there, did you?

Good.

Okay, now I measure

the average length of
the bunch here, 10 inches.

Now I divide that
by five, roughly,

and it turns out to be two.

So 2 inches will be taken
straight off of the bunch,

and we will feed that
to compost.

Compost is my potbellied pig.

He's around here someplace.

Now I'm going to assume that
the next inch will be tasty,

but still a little on
the flossy side.

So I'm going to slice it
very, very thin, into rounds,

and these we will put
on salads, soups.

Chicken salad's really good,
or even yogurt for dips.

I'm not gonna waste that flavor.

That leaves with us
7 inches of spear

ready for further processing.

These days a lot of
raw food proponents

are telling us that
we should eat our veggies

straight from the ground,

unmolested by flavor
and nutrient-robbing heat.

Well, if that's how
you want to roll,
it's okay by me.

They're your groceries.

But I do want to point out
that raw asparagus delivers

only a few volatile
flavor compounds,

while the very same
stalks cooked

deliver over 120 distinct
flavor compounds.

Cooking releases flavors
by softening plant fibers

and cellular material,

and by setting into motion
certain chemical mechanisms.

Now what's really cool
about asparagus is that

it becomes two completely
different vegetables,

depending on whether
the heat in question

is wet or dry.

Dry heat tends to
emphasize amino acids,

which create flavors
that are almost meaty,

whereas moist cooking methods

bring out the brighter,
springlike grassy flavors,

which, I think, is
a pretty good place to start.

And when it comes to
wet cooking methods,

73 percent of the recipes in my
personal cookbook collection

call for asparagus
to be boiled in water,

which is, of course,
a thorough conductor of heat

and seasonings like salt.

And yet...

See that?

That pigment came
out of our asparagus,

along with flavor and nutrients,

which we will now bid
forever adieu.

So we've cooked our asparagus,
which now tastes watery,

isn't as nutritious
as it once was and...

Would you call that olive drab
or asparagus gray?

Got to be a better way.

If we want a moist
cooking method,

why not use microwaves
to heat the water

already inside the asparagus,

thus allowing it to, well,
essentially cook itself.

It's an intriguing proposition,

but if my calculations
are correct,

and I think they are,

we're still going to need

an additional quarter-cup of
water per pound of stalks.

And, well, it would also
be a really good idea

to get some salt
in that water, too.

I wonder if, um... Hmm.

Yeah, that'll fit.

So just place a pound
of trimmed asparagus

into a 5-by-7-inch
baking dish

and add your
quarter-cup of water.

And... well, it's gonna be
hard to get direct contact.

All right, fine.

Remove the 1 pound of asparagus
and soak up all that water

with three to four pieces
of paper towel.

Spread out the paper towel

and lay on
the asparagus like that,

along with a half-teaspoon
of kosher salt.

Then just roll up the asparagus
in the wet paper towel,

and that'll give us
nice direct contact

all the way around.

Good.

Lay the bundle seam-side down
in your microwave,

and then zap on high
for three to four minutes.

Now I know that that's
a considerable difference,

but there's no real
standardization of heat delivery

in the nuker biz,

and we are talking about
an agricultural product here,

so you're just gonna
have to do this a few times

in order to get
the hang of it.

Me, I'm going with
3 1/2 minutes.

(microwave beeping)

Remember, it's gonna be steamy,
so use your tongs.

All right, let's have a look.

Ah, the color is bright,
doneness is perfect,

and the flavor...
nicely seasoned.

Mmm, perfect, in fact.

Now although this is
a fine preparation

for the everyday side order,

more times than not
I envelope-steam

as a preparatory stage
for some other application,

like a salad,
a soup, or a tureen.

You know tureens right?

I mean, a tureen
is a rectangular
earthenware vessel,

or kind of a chopped, stacked,
kind of congealed mixture

that you would put
inside a...oh, come on.

Just in case you
don't have a tureen,

you can always reach for
a 9-by-5 loaf pan.

That'll do the job, but it's
gonna need a little bit of prep.

So spritz it with just
a little bit of water.

Then lay over a 22-inch-long
piece of plastic wrap

and mold that to the pan.

Using another pan
would be a smart way
to go about doing that.

Now we need to bloom
the gelatin,

so 2 tablespoons of water

go into a small saucepan
or even a large 2-cup measure.

Sprinkle on 2 teaspoons
of plain powdered gelatin.

This needs to soak thoroughly
before it can be dissolved.

If you skip this step
and put the heat to it,

you'll be sorry.

(Alton)
Our tureen continues
at the food processor.

Eight ounces of cream cheese
goes into the work bowl,

and I do this the easy way.

Here's a fun fact.

This stuff is named after
Philadelphia even though

it was invented in New York,

because back then Philadelphia
was considered higher class

than its northern neighbor.

All right, next into
the work bowl is 8 ounces

of quark, and I don't mean
the elementary particles

of which all matter
is constructed,

but rather the tangy, creamy,
ricotta-like product that's

quite popular in Europe and
available at most mega marts.

If you can't find it,
use farmer's cheese instead.

Then seven whole chives,

half a teaspoon of
freshly ground black pepper,

and three to five jarred
anchovy fillets.

Think of them as a seasoning
rather than as a food.

You know, capers with fins.

All right, in they go,
and spin it smooth.

All right, time to
dissolve the gelatin

over very low heat,
the lowest you've got.

Then we'll drizzle this
directly into the rest

of the cheese mixture
until thoroughly combined.

There, nice and smooth.

That's exactly what we want.

Now it is time
to build the tureen.

So we're gonna start with
1/4 cup of just chopped parsley.

It's gonna be tasty and make
a pretty presentation later.

Oh, I can't believe
I said that, oh well.

Uh, then cheese
mixture, one quarter.

Go sparingly on this,
or you're gonna run out.

Then we're gonna layer on
some asparagus just all the way

across the pan,
alternating ends,
you'll notice.

And then just keep building,
a quarter at a time,

until you are out of
asparagus and cheese.

Just make sure that
you end with the cheese.

It'll make a better base.

When everything's in,
just fold the plastic over,

nice and snug, and then
pack it down lightly.

And this is where that pan
comes in handy once again.

There, perfect.

Refrigerate for
at least two hours

so it can thoroughly set
before you cut into it.

Meanwhile, we will execute
what may well be

the easiest, tastiest
food trick I know.

Crank your hot box
to 500 degrees

and make sure you've got
a rack right dead center.

All right, we're gonna
make ourselves a pan

out of heavy-duty aluminum foil.

So take a big piece,
I'd say at least 3 feet long.

Fold it over, then add
1 pound of trimmed asparagus.

There you go.

And add 1 tablespoon of
olive oil for lubrication

and to enhance heat and flavor.

Just grab the edges and kinda
roll that around to coat.

And then fold the edges until
you've basically created

a custom pan.

Leave a little room
at one end, though,

because we're gonna need
to fold it later, there.

Roast for five minutes.

Then just give
everything a stir.

Try to get each piece
kinda rolled over there

to expose the new side.

Then we're going to
continue roasting for
another five minutes.

Now usually when about
two minutes are left,
I take a look at the tips.

And if they're looking at all,
you know, kinda scary cooked,

fold over that extra bit
of foil to cover them

just for a little
tip protection, there.

And finally, we are done.

Make sure you use
two tongs for this.

It's really the only way to go.

As for dressing
the final results,

we'll use the zest
of one medium lemon.

No pith, please.

And also half a teaspoon
of kosher salt.

Just sprinkle that on.

And here's my secret
ingredient, nutmeg.

I always keep one with me.

Half a teaspoon, freshly grated.

Do not use that powdery stuff
from the tin, you hear me?

There.

Now the primary flavorant
in nutmeg is isoeugenol.

It plays especially well
with the amino acids

and even the sulfur
compounds in asparagus.

Think of it this way.

Most of the flavors in here
are what oenophiles--

that's wine people--
would call green or grassy.

Um, well, when you
combine those flavors

with the vanillin compounds
in oak, you get...

A big, expensive
California chardonnay.

Now considering that
isoeugenol is used

in the manufacture
of vanillin,

you see the same type
of relationship right here.

Add a little citrus,

and you've constructed a dish
with all the flavor complexity

of a bottle of good white wine.

That is what I call good eats.

You know, the only thing
that could possibly make this

any better...
That's right.

Fried egg, over easy,
sunny-side up,

anything that delivers
a runny yolk.

That, my friends, is
breakfast, lunch, dinner,

or, better yet,
all three.

(timer beeping)
Ooh, tureen time.

My tureen!
Well, I'm sorry, Alton.

I was hungry.

This is a great fridge
to be in, by the way.

The lady of the refrigerator
digs my tureen, that's cool,

but did you have to dig
quite so much of it?

Well, among other things,
besides potassium

and thiamine and vitamin A
and vitamin C and fiber,

asparagus is
a super source of folate.

Well, of course, and folate
is a water-soluble...

It's a water-soluble
B-vitamin,

a B-complex vitamin,
that plays a crucial role

in RNA and DNA metabolism,

as folate coenzyme
is very important for

the synthesis
of methionine,

which in turn plays
a role in the synthesis

of S-Adenosyl methionine,

which is a major player
in methylation,

which is, of course,
important for

cardiovascular disease,
fighting cancers.

And it's especially important
for mommies-to-be

because it can help
prevent birth defects.

Oh, mommies-to-be, huh?

Well, judging from
the amount you chugged down,

you must be carrying
twins, ha-ha!

Oh gosh, how dare you,
and just for that,

I'm gonna take the rest of this
tureen down to the freezer,

pour myself a cold one,
and enjoy the rest.

Well...you know what?

I'm gonna let her have that
because she seems really grumpy,

and I believe I recall reading

a paper about folate
helping depression.

Besides, I made two! Ha!

All right, turning out is where
the plastic is really handy.

Just unfold everything,
place a cutting board on top,

preferably one that you'd
like to serve on, and demold.

Be very careful
pulling off the plastic

so as to not dislodge
the parsley.

And always use
a serrated knife to cut,

or you will not get
through that asparagus.

If all goes well,
aw, it's pretty.

Mmm.

Wow, I like it even better once
it's warmed up a little bit.

Served with some
hearty French bread,

it's the perfect luncheon.

Well, now that we've enjoyed
our rites of spring,

such as they are,

um, there is one more
asparagus issue I feel
that we must address.

And well...come here.

Don't touch that.

Sooner or later, you will be
called upon by nature

to, uh, shall we say,
recycle your daily beverages.

Now if you've enjoyed asparagus
in as little as half an hour

prior to the actual
recycling act,

you will notice a peculiar
and potentially potent aroma,

or at least some of you will.

Now despite significant
scientific attempts to unravel

the mephitic mysteries
of asparagus,

confusion persists
for two main reasons.

One, no one's been able
to ascertain exactly

which of the many
complex compounds in asparagus

is responsible for
the job, so to speak.

Yeah, I know what
that smells like.

That smells like
methanethiol.

No, no, no, that's
asparagusic acid.

What, are you kidding?
That's methanethiol.

No, it isn't, it's
definitely asparagusic acid.

No, it's methanethiol,
you moron!

Aspara--
Oh, come here.

Oh.
(glass breaks)

Oops.

Fantastic.

Now instead of smelling
like springtime around here,

it smells like
a New York subway in August.

You know, you Einsteins
better get a mop

and some biohazard baggies
and sanitize my floors.

Here's the other complication.

Genetics determine whether
you are a smelly...

excreter or not an excreter,

or whether you are
a detector or a non-detector,

in which case you
don't even know what

this conversation is about,
which is probably a good thing.

You know, you guys better
get every last drop up,

or you're in big trouble.

Get it?

Never mind.

Well, I certainly hope
we've encouraged you to get

a little more springtime
on your plate.

Asparagus may be
the vegetable of kings,

but you don't have to be
royalty to eat like it.

See ya next time
on "Good Eats."