Fuck Yes. Fiddleheads.
I realize how frequently I bitch about where I live. It’s boring, isolated, expensive, and the weather is suicide-inducing 11 months out of the year. The infrastructure is barbaric, there’s no Trader Joe’s, and everyone is friends with my ex-boyfriend. Did I mention the high taxes and Oxycontin epidemic?
But today, Maine gave me 2 things to love. The first one, doye, lots of people I love can get married now! The second one? Today the first fiddleheads arrived. I bought them at the market, although it is preferable to buy them by the side of the road. For you locavores, that means that you are buyig them, in all probability, about 3 feet from where they grew, in a ditch, by the side of Route 52.
Then here’s what you do. Put a few handfuls in a pot, add about an inch of water, sprinkle sea salt on top, and put a lid on that shit. Next, bring it to a boil and let the fiddleheads steam for about 5 minutes — test frequently, since if they are under or over cooked, they might be bitter. When they’ve finished steaming, drain them in a colander and set them aside. In the pot, melt 2-4 tablespoons of butter, depending on how fat you like your ass to be. Add 1 clove of garlic (or more if you are not planning to make out with anyone, I usually do about 5 cloves because why not) and gently sautee for a few minutes, not enough to brown the garlic though. Add fiddleheads and sautee for another minute or two. Toss them around a bit.
Drizzle with a little bit of balsamic vinegar and serve. Eat while thinking fondly of Olympia Snowe and Susan Collins. I plan to enjoy mine with a steak, cooked on the indoor grill because of course it’s 40 degrees and raining.
2 years ago