When I moved to Charleston two weeks ago, my priorities were clear. I had a few days to unload and unpack my material life, and to forget I ever heard the word “U-Haul.” I wanted to show my mother-in-law, who drove seven hours to help us move, around town. And then, I needed to check out at least one of the local Saturday farmers’ markets. Some of my best Carrboro memories – can I already call them that? – are of dragging myself from bed early on the weekends, brewing a pot of coffee, and pedaling with Bryce to the lovely market there. I needed to see, as quickly as possible, how my options here stacked up.
So on Saturday morning, we drove to the downtown market in Marion Square, about which I’ll tell you more than you ever wanted to know later. For now, suffice it to say that I found plenty of great produce – in fact, I went a bit overboard. We lugged canvas bags stuffed with bright green butter beans, the fattest blackberries I’d ever seen, and even a few herb plants back to the car, and then we went back for more. By the time my food-provoked profligacy began to wear off, I knew I was in serious trouble.
I had forgotten, amid the rosy peaches and creamy potatoes, that we were going to Virginia Beach for a wedding the following weekend. On Thursday afternoon, actually, we’d be pulling our weary car back onto the interstate and leaving our packed kitchen behind. The two of us had exactly five days to eat our way out of a jam-packed refrigerator; returning to shriveled baby carrots and rotting peppers was not an option. The freezer was an unsatisfying last resort. We needed reinforcements.
Fortunately, Bryce’s medical school had assigned him a student mentor (Joe), who had a girlfriend (Helen) to boot. They’d taken us on a pontoon cruise around the Charleston Harbor on Sunday, where we watched the sun set and drank margaritas that Bryce smuggled along in a lemonade container. A dinner invite seemed the best way to say thanks for a fun evening…and to put a welcome dent in our pantry.
Since this would be our first dinner for friends in the real South, I pulled out Frank Stitt’s Southern Table, a huge tome by a chef whose restaurants we recently visited in Birmingham. His recipe for lamb shanks with spring vegetables would at least rid me of potatoes and carrots, and it would give me a chance to clip herbs from my newly acquired plants. And his peach crostata, served with vanilla ice cream from my favorite kitchen standby, the Gourmet Cookbook, would ensure I wouldn’t return to moldy fruit on Sunday.
I started the ice cream on Monday, since it needed plenty of time to harden in the freezer after its spin through our ice cream maker. The pie crust could be made ahead, too, because it also required time to chill.
On the day of our dinner, I started the lamb shanks early. A relatively tough – and inexpensive – cut of meat, they need hours of braising to become fork friendly. While searing them on the stove, though, I found out just how sensitive our new smoke detector was. Don’t try this silencing method at home!
Though I’m a something of a purist about ingredients, I do occasionally cheat by food-processing vegetables that can stand up to the metal blade. When the lamb was ready for its accompanying braise, I chopped carrots, celery, garlic, and onion in the processor instead of by hand. Since the veggies would all be strained out of the braising liquid before serving, their size or texture – onions lose a lot of their liquid during processing and can go from firm to slushy in one pulse – wouldn’t matter much.
The vegetables that did matter were the baby carrots, creamer potatoes, and fava beans that would be precooked, then warmed with the lamb just before serving. I handled the potatoes and carrots with care, boiling them whole and leaving them in large pieces for later.
I’d cooked with favas once before, but I still found myself amused by their construction. Favas come in big, fuzzy pods, but they need shelling even before they meet the stove. Once the smaller beans inside have been cooked for a few minutes, there’s still another step: a pale outer skin shields the beans, and they’re best when it’s removed. Luckily, when you’re using only a small amount of them, favas can seem fun instead of overly labor intensive.
While the shanks were in the oven with the chopped veggies, chardonnay, and chicken stock, I turned to the sweet-smelling peaches, which had to be peeled, pitted, and sliced before I could mound them atop the cold crostata dough. The first time I ever attempted to peel peaches, I used a vegetable peeler and huge chunks of juicy peach came away with the skin. Fortunately, Bryce’s grandmother knew how to solve the problem; she tossed the fruit in boiling water for a minute, then slipped the peels right off. I used a more persnickety version of this strategy when I faced mine, making tiny cuts in the skin to ensure easy peeling and dropping the peaches in ice water after boiling so they wouldn’t continue to cook.
When our friends arrived, the lamb was just out of the oven, kept warm in its strained braising liquid with the other vegetables.
I slid the crostata in while we ate, and took the ice cream from the freezer so it could soften, just slightly.
By the end of the night, I felt like I had a good shot at using our farmer’s market bounty, and everyone felt happy and full.
Simmered with onions, bay leaves, dried chiles, and a smoked ham hock, the peas lose a bit of their bright color. They make up for it, though, in the tenderness and flavor that they take on! While the peas cooked, I chopped sage and thyme from my herb garden with garlic. I heated it all in olive oil in another pot, then tossed in the finished peas with a ladling of their strained cooking broth.
The assembled cakes look a bit like lumpy hamburgers ready for the stove. A dusting of flour helps them form a crisp crust when they hit hot oil, and also makes them easier to maneuver between surfaces. I cooked them in a nonstick skillet because I had just used my cast iron to make another batch of 
