From a historical point of view, we at our house are being very genteel these days, what with the eating of so much asparagus. Our patch is about 17 years old, and we can tell that it is beginning to wobble in orbit, but still fine green stalks are there for the taking, both for dinner every other night and for freezing.

Two hundred years ago, asparagus was the territory of the well-to-do and genteel who had the time, and mainly the labor, to plant it, and then wait a while as it occupied valuable garden space until it bore sufficiently to begin cutting. Simmered and served on toast, actually in the 1700s and early 1800s, asparagus was cooked until tender but not mushy. Mushy came later in the 1800s as cooks, fearful of fairly newly discovered germs, thought it wise to cook almost anything very well.

 

I have become such a maniac about eating asparagus fresh that I treat it like corn — get the steamer hot first, then go pick the asparagus. Please note that I do not ever, ever buy out of season so-called fresh asparagus so our own is a much anticipated, gratefully received, and celebrated vegetable. We ate the first few stalks almost reverently, and now as the stalks are more numerous, I make asparagus risotto, or a warm asparagus and pasta salad with parmesan on it. We even eat it with breakfast in an omelet.

Sandy Oliver, Food Historian, Author, MF&L columnist: The Way Things Were