Flirting with flavor

There had been flirtation. Rounds of spiky conversation. But the direction of this dalliance was still hovering in the air.

Then we met for rendezvous No. 3.

The evening started out promisingly: a biblical storm unleashed outside, a table in front of a lively fire, a nice bottle of Petite Sirah to arrive presently.

And then I eyed his potatoes.

In response, my companion’s eyes fell to his fresh white shirt. Then, his lap. “What?” His gaze finally settled on his plate -- a compliments-of-the-chef starter that the waiter had just placed before him. He focused back on me, eyebrows raised, perplexed: “What?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Not to be coy. I was taking it all in. The potatoes -- golden, crispy wedges -- were studded with thick chunks of apple-wood-smoked bacon. All of it glistening with butter. But that’s not what had gotten my attention.

“The chives, “ I said. There they were, their slender, bright, deep green stalks strewn about, playing peekaboo. Flirting more overtly than my companion.

“Oh. You like chives?” he said as if I’d finally given him the key to something. A smile bloomed and then something different -- something new -- flickered in his eyes: “I should find out if they have more in the kitchen. Put them on everything you order....”

I matched his gaze, surprised somewhat by my own candor, this different spark. And now, as we eyed the chives, even if they served as a convenient stand-in, they were a clue, an indicator, of an open door. I knew that finally everything was on the table.

I couldn’t go as far to say that chives have the magic of an aphrodisiac -- my personal oyster, aniseed or taste of semisweet dark chocolate. But in all their inscrutable delicateness, chives summon up something strong inside me.

Not as brazen as garlic or onions, chives are sometimes taken for granted. I think this every time I see them toted out in some version of a stainless steel gravy boat by a sullen server and heaped upon a baked potato, by rote, as if to resuscitate.

But it was under similar circumstances that I first connected with chives as a child. A glum waiter plopped them down in a ramekin, reporting that the kitchen had run out of sour cream. I accepted my potato with a pat of butter and salt and liberally sprinkled the lot with chives: The flavor that burst through -- subtle, sharp and warm -- was as complex as it was restrained.

There are very few things I keep in my refrigerator on a regular basis. Certainly, very few things that will perish quickly.

My day always spools out into the late evening. My meals are often caught on the fly -- with friends at restaurants, hunted and gathered from after-party tables.

On any given day, a peek inside my fridge would reveal little more than some domestic bottled water, imported condiments (Thai chili sauce, tarragon mustard), coffee beans and a carton of eggs. Perhaps some cheese -- feta or manchego.

But no matter how top-to-bottom a week I think I’m going to have, how seldom I figure I’ll have the time or energy to stand in front of the stove, I always make sure I have fresh chives stowed away just in case. Just in case a dreamy night of live music calls for a late-night omelet with goat cheese and chives to prolong the conversation.

Just in case friends arrive and I can slide a salmon filet on the grill or toss a few scallops into the skillet and just add ginger, ponzu and a shower of fresh chives. On nesting days, I might snip chives over simple soups -- hot or cold -- to suss out another layer: a simple chicken broth with lemon and chives; a childhood tomato soup with a dollop of creme fraiche and chives. As a thank-you for a couch to crash on last August, a friend whipped up a chilled summer melon gazpacho punctuated with that inscrutable, singular note.

I go through cilantro and sweet basil benders, but I always circle back. There might be fancier, flashier, trendier aromatics -- herbes de Provence, fennel, lemon verbena, arugula or lavender -- but the beauty of chives is that they simply don’t need to be the center of attention. And they are certainly not flavor of the month. They work best to support other flavors, to bolster, and, with a few snips, make the mundane marvelous.

Chive oil is handy for that too. Just simmer chopped chives in canola oil, puree, strain and you’ll have a bottle on hand of liquid chives to give a quick slash of color and intense flavor to mashed potatoes or steamed fish or grilled chicken breast.

To reveal what magic those chives worked (or didn’t) that rainy evening would be indelicate -- decidedly un-chive like. But the plates arrived, the middle courses, main courses. And mysteriously, even without my shy companion’s assist, the chives also continued to arrive, dropped like confetti over scallops, tying up puff pastry stuffed with wild mushrooms and chestnuts so the dish looked like an early Christmas gift.

I took it as a gentle sign of promise. Like the rain, the fire and the music that night the chives didn’t obstruct or overpower what they had been brought in to adorn. They just emboldened what was already there.

*

Seared scallops with ponzu, ginger and chives

Total time: 15 minutes

Servings: 4

12 jumbo scallops

2 tablespoons olive oil

6 tablespoons ponzu sauce

2 teaspoons minced ginger

3 tablespoons minced fresh chives, divided

1. Rinse the scallops and pat dry with a paper towel.

2. Heat a medium skillet over medium-high heat. Add and heat the olive oil.

3. Add the scallops to the hot oil. Sear until golden brown on each side, about 2 to 3 minutes per side.

4. Remove the scallops from the pan. Add the ponzu sauce, stirring and scraping up solids from the bottom of the pan. Reduce the liquid until it becomes shiny and slightly thickened, about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes.

5. Return the scallops to the pan. Add the ginger. Stir until the scallops are coated. Add 2 tablespoons chives just before removing the pan from the heat.

6. Place the scallops on a plate and spoon the glaze over. Sprinkle with the remaining chives. Serve immediately.

Each serving: 156 calories; 16 grams protein; 7 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram fiber; 7 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 28 mg. cholesterol; 860 mg. sodium.

*

Chive omelet with goat cheese

Total time: 8 minutes

Servings: 1

3 eggs

1/4 teaspoon salt

Pinch white pepper

1 tablespoon butter

3 tablespoons crumbled goat cheese

3 tablespoons snipped chives, divided

1. In a small bowl, beat together the eggs, salt and pepper until blended.

2. Heat the butter in an 8-inch skillet over high heat. Add the eggs and cook about 5 seconds. Stir the eggs until they form soft mounds.

3. Add the goat cheese, crumbling it evenly over the eggs. Reduce the heat to low and cook until the top of the omelet is almost dry and the bottom is nicely browned, about 2 to 3 minutes.

4. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons chives over the omelet. Fold the omelet over and cook until the cheese is warm and slightly melted, about 1 minute

5. Transfer the omelet to a serving plate. Sprinkle the remaining chives on top and serve.

Each serving: 438 calories; 27 grams protein; 2 grams carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 35 grams fat; 18 grams saturated fat; 684 mg. cholesterol; 950 mg. sodium.

*

Pureed Yukon Gold potatoes with chive oil

Total time: 1 hour 15 minutes plus refrigerator steeping time

Serves: 4

Note: Adapted from “Essential

Flavors” by Leslie Brenner and

Katharine Kinsolving.

Chive oil

1 1/2 ounces fresh chives, chopped into half-inch pieces (about

1 1/2 cups)

1 cup plus 1 teaspoon canola oil

1. Combine the chives and the cup of oil in a saucepan and gently heat to a bare simmer.

2. Remove from the heat, pour into a food processor or blender and process for 10 seconds. Pour into a very clean jar. Cool, cover and steep in the refrigerator for 24 to 48 hours.

3. Line a funnel with a paper coffee filter and use a pastry brush to paint the filter with the remaining teaspoon of oil. Pour the chive oil into the filter and let it drip through the funnel into another very clean jar or bottle. This will take approximately 1 hour. Cover or cork tightly and label with the date. Store, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 weeks. (Makes about three-fourths cup.)

Potatoes and assembly

2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup milk

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon chive oil

Salt

Freshly ground white

pepper

1. Peel the potatoes and cut them into thick slices. Cover with cold water, add the salt, bring to a boil and cook until tender when pierced with a sharp knife, about 15 minutes. Do not overcook.

2. While the potatoes are cooking, heat the milk in a small saucepan until hot. Keep warm over low heat.

3. Drain the potatoes well. Put them through a potato ricer or food mill back into the saucepan. Add the warm milk. If you don’t have a ricer or food mill, mash the potatoes together with the warm milk.

4. Add 1 tablespoon chive oil and salt and pepper to taste. The puree may be prepared up to this point and kept warm in a 250-degree oven.

5. Just before serving, drizzle the remaining chive oil over the potatoes.

Each serving: 247 calories; 6 grams protein; 42 grams carbohydrates; 3 grams fiber; 7 grams fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 6 mg. cholesterol; 32 mg. sodium.