The Local Food Report: tomatillo salsa

Good morning, everyone. I'd like to introduce the tomatillo:

Isn't it a beautiful fruit? I met it last summer, talking with Ron Backer of Surrey Farms in Brewster. He grows all sorts of interesting heirlooms, including the tomatillo, which originated in Mexico. A lot of people think it's a tomato relative, and it is in the Solanaceae family, but it's more closely related to ground cherries and Giant Cape Gooseberries. It grows inside a paper husk, and depending on the variety and how ripe it is, the fruit can be any shade from yellow to lime green to a deep violet. Most importantly, it makes a killer salsa.

Ron feels so strongly about tomatillos and salsa that he calls salsa made with regular old tomatoes gazpacho in disguise. He admits that tomatillos are a little bit sour, but he says he likes this taste, and that Americans are too into sweet. He thinks it's a cultural thing that comes from eating too much high fructose corn syrup, and that we need to start thinking like the Latin Americans and Asians who count sour and bitter as good tastes.

And really, once you taste tomatillo salsa, I don't think you'll need much convincing. He makes his by roasting the fruits, then pureeing them with jalapenos, cilantro, onions, garlic, and a little bit of lime juice and salt. I tried it the other day, and I have to say, it's delicious.

If you're looking for tomatillos, they can be kind of tricky to find, but they are around. Silverbrook Farms grows them, and they sell at the Provincetown and Falmouth farmers' markets, and there are vendors selling them in Orleans and Wellfleet, too. Happy salsa season, everyone!

ROASTED TOMATILLO SALSA

This salsa is amazingly easy. There is almost no chopping involved, and it takes total about 10 minutes to make. Then all you have to do is chill it!

1 lb fresh tomatillos, husked and rinsed

2 fresh jalapeno or serrano chillies

2 garlic cloves, unpeeled

1 bunch fresh cilantro

1 medium onion, coarsely chopped

1 teaspoon salt

lime juice to taste

Preheat your oven broiler. Arrange the tomatillos, chillies, and garlic cloves on a baking sheet. Broil for about 7-8 minutes, or until the tomatillos are soft and a bit charred, turning occasionally. (I ended up taking some tomatillos out early and leaving the rest to roast a bit longer, as they cook at different rates depending on ripeness.)

Peel garlic and pull tops off of chillies. Puree in a blender or food processor along with tomatillos, cilantro, onion, salt, and lime juice. Chill before serving.

One last thing

Before I let go of Williamsburg, there's one last thing I have to share. The Christmas wreaths were up when we visited, and nearly all were made from food.

The wreaths represent only what the colonial inhabitants would have had—either through imports or from their own land. They showcased garlic and pineapples and cinnamon, apples, dried chili peppers and pine. There were feathers from the tails of ringed neck pheasants (lost, it's likely, to dinner). From the sea came scallop shells and oysters, and from away dried pomegranates, oranges, and limes.

Or so I imagined as we walked. Turns out, while the ingredients were available, nobody hung them on their doors. Imagine affording a pineapple, and leaving it to be ravaged by squirrels and rot. The tradition began instead in the 1920s, with a colonial revival sweeping the country's decor, and a bit more wealth to spare. They're called Della Robbia wreaths, after the style 15th century Italian sculptor Luca della Robbia, who framed his subjects in garlands of flowers and fruit.

Still the wreaths were beautiful, stark and pleasantly absent of ribbon, tinsel, and wire. My grandmother remembers making them, stringing together pine boughs and fruit. The fruit I cannot sacrifice; a fresh local apple is too much to waste. But cinnamon, garlic, and chili peppers—with these I plan to make a wreath. I don't know from experience, but I'm guessing they're less likely to be eaten, given the dried goods are potent rather than sweet.

I've heard Tim Friary still has some garlic, at Cape Cod Organic Farm; the chili peppers you must already have saved. Cinnamon is shipped in to Atlantic Spice Co., and the twigs you can find in the woods. If any of you manage a wreath, I'd love to see it here.