Cracking into nature with bay nuts, acorns
This autumn, I’ve gone nuts — for nuts.
At a time when the pandemic has curtailed travel and other activities, and the floor keeps falling out on politics, I’ve never cherished the pleasures of the natural world more.
I’ve delighted in discovering how newly foraged nuts contrast to storebought. With the California laurel’s bay nuts, however, I had no point of comparison since they’re not widely available for sale. Online guides have suggested that the bay nuts tasted of dark chocolate and coffee and are mildly stimulating, akin to caffeine.
In what feels like an Easter egg hunt crossed with a game of Memory, I spotted these natives of the California coastal forests while out on a family walk and noted their location. While waiting for the nuts to mature, I livened up soups and stews with the freshly plucked leaves, which proved more powerful than dried. ( A general foraging caveat: Sample only if you’re certain of your identification, and try only a bit at first to check for allergies.)
They resemble a thimble sized avocado, but as the fruit dries and wrinkles, it darkens and has the look of a miniature Medjool date. Recently, Didi helped me scoop them up from the dusty trail, and as we hiked back, I tore off the pulp with the sort of multitasking pleasure I’ve always imagined knitters experience when they’re watching television as they work.
I dried them for a couple of weeks in a paper bag, and then roasted for about an hour at 350 degrees to get rid of astringent oils.
After cracking the shells open with a garlic press, I made ganache truffles rolled in cocoa powder, topping them each with a bay nut. Each bite is intense, complex and habitforming.
For those of you piqued by bay nuts — but who aren’t in the mood to gather and process a batch — Windsor’s Firefly Chocolate sells a $ 12 bay nut bar. The company says it plans to make several thousand bars by December, after harvesters gather nuts in Marin, Sonoma and Mendocino counties.
This week’s Indigenous Peoples Day ( Monday, Oct. 12) has reminded me that Native Americans found many uses for bay nuts, and so too acorns.
I’ve long been curious about their uses, having grown up across the street from a shady stand of oak trees. My interest recently revived after I read Octavia E. Butler’s 1993 “Parable of the Sower” and its 1998 sequel “Parable of the Talents,” eerily prescient postapocalyptic novels set in a world plagued by climate change; political, economic and racial upheaval; and a president who promises “to make America great again.”
In a cultural resurgence, “Parable” hit the New York Times bestseller list in September, 14 years after Butler’s death, and spawned the “What Octavia Tried to Tell Us” webinar and “Octavia’s Parables” podcast.
The book series’ visionary hero, Lauren Olamina, a Black teen, assembles go bags, stashing seeds and baking acorn bread to sustain herself and her community.
With the help of a mallet, kitchen towels and a paring knife, I peeled off the shells, looking for creamcolored nutmeats, discarding those discolored or with larvae wiggling inside. ( When I found one, I must confess I screamed.) I ground them up, then coldleached them: changing the water twice daily over the course of a couple of weeks until the tannins washed away. A soak in foodgrade lye is said to speed up the process — I’ll try that with my next batch. I’m too squeamish to attempt another method: soaking the nuts in the toilet tank, where the repeated flushes mimic a stream.
After dehydrating the grits in a toaster oven, slightly cracked open — at its lowest setting for a couple hours — and then a whirl through a Vitamix, the flour was ready to use.
With the flour, I baked acorn lace cookies, a delicate, crisp treat, and steamed acorn bread in a can, dotted with dried cherries. It’s surely more luxurious than what Butler’s characters ate, but I’ll make use of the sweetness while I still can.
My interest in acorns recently revived after I read Octavia E. Butler’s 1993 “Parable of the Sower,” a posthumous bestseller.