Yes, August is over and I'm still doing it. Not religiously, of course; I did buy that lettuce the first chance I got! And Swiss bittersweet chocolate featured prominently in my diet yesterday.
But when I went into town today, I found myself still scrutinizing labels to find out where the foods were grown and produced. The answer to that question is important to me now, so I tried to find it whenever possible.
The farmer's market was on its last legs. I think it's pretty much over for the season. But I also visited an upscale natural-foods type grocery and made a couple of great discoveries there. And while I was waiting for my car to be worked on, I had plenty of time to loiter in the aisles of the Kroger across the street. I found things I wouldn't have found otherwise, so I guess it's a blessing in disguise that the parts runner took forever to bring my new spark plugs.
Clockwise from upper left: Appalachian Harvest organic tomatoes, Sunergia marinated tofu*, green pepper and garlic from the farmer's market, Georgia mountain honey, Pollo de Claxton**, Roddenberry boiled peanuts, roasted peanuts, bronze scuppernong grapes.
On the home front, my fall garden is getting a great start. I have been watering the garden twice a day because we're going through a hot, dry spell and I have seedlings trying to germinate. Some have succeeded already! There are little rows of mustard greens, lettuce, and radishes starting to appear. I am extremely pleased.
Still no sign of the four-pound Vogue. It's been late before, but sheesh.
-----
* Made in Charlottesville, Virginia. Where there are hippies, there is tofu! Most excellent.
** Why is the all-natural family-farmed chicken from Claxton, Ga., marketed solely to the Hispanic market?
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
More prescient writing from Nature Magazine
From an article in the March 1944 issue, called "Coyote Cunning":
The immortal Reynard of our childhood literature never got by with a trick as clever as one pulled by Tippy, a pet coyote reared by a family in Texas. Tippy's liking for fresh poultry stuck with him in captivity, and he began catching chickens. The family chained Tippy to a corner of the house and fed him scraps. Tippy promptly scattered the scraps within the length of his chain and retired around the corner. The gullible chickens ventured forth to pick up the scraps; Tippy picked up fresh poultry.
Now look at this.
My question is, if the coyote belonged to a pack, would he also have taught his fellow members how to bait chickens? The transmission of culture is obviously not a solely human trait...
The immortal Reynard of our childhood literature never got by with a trick as clever as one pulled by Tippy, a pet coyote reared by a family in Texas. Tippy's liking for fresh poultry stuck with him in captivity, and he began catching chickens. The family chained Tippy to a corner of the house and fed him scraps. Tippy promptly scattered the scraps within the length of his chain and retired around the corner. The gullible chickens ventured forth to pick up the scraps; Tippy picked up fresh poultry.
Now look at this.
My question is, if the coyote belonged to a pack, would he also have taught his fellow members how to bait chickens? The transmission of culture is obviously not a solely human trait...
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Announcements
• I have a fig tree next to the house that keeps getting killed back to the ground every winter. As a result, it is about two feet tall despite being three years old. I am proud to announce that there is a single tiny fig growing on it.
• I harvested a watermelon. While it isn't transcendent, it is at least average and will make excellent agua fresca. With all the bizarre weather we've had, I consider "average" a personal victory. (Let's not mention the fact that the watermelon was an unexpected volunteer and has basically reared itself without my intervention.)
• Would the smart aleck who, back in the spring, suggested we'd end up keeping Gracie the Foster Dog please leave a comment to claim your prize.
• I harvested a watermelon. While it isn't transcendent, it is at least average and will make excellent agua fresca. With all the bizarre weather we've had, I consider "average" a personal victory. (Let's not mention the fact that the watermelon was an unexpected volunteer and has basically reared itself without my intervention.)
• Would the smart aleck who, back in the spring, suggested we'd end up keeping Gracie the Foster Dog please leave a comment to claim your prize.
Soapbox alert
One of my gifts to the s.o. for his recent birthday was three copies of Nature Magazine from January, February, and March 1944. I found them at a local flea market mall. They're a little bit like a proto-Ranger Rick, only aimed at adults. There are lots of articles on astronomy, photographing animals at night, victory gardens, etc.
In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, these magazines have got me thinking about the national character of the United States. Our culture has changed drastically. We say we're patriotic, but we've completely lost our ability to sacrifice for the greater good. All we are is jingoistic, I'm afraid. All talk and no walk.
"Why shouldn't I buy it? I've got the money!" asks a woman in an ad in the front of the January 1944 issue. The ad explains that because of war shortages, it was important for people to avoid spending money on anything that wasn't an absolute necessity. If they bought everything on the market, prices would skyrocket. "Save it! Put it in the bank! Put it in life insurance! Pay off old debts and don't make new ones. Buy and hold war bonds," advises the advertisement. And then it lets loose with the slogan:
Use it up...
Wear it out...
Make it do...
Or do without...
In the March issue, there's an ad from the Minnesota Tourist Bureau, suggesting that the best kind of patriotic vacation is "staying put" at a cabin in Minnesota. It doesn't ask anyone not to take a week or two off--they need to be well rested for the war effort, after all--just to avoid using up more resources than necessary.
Sounds rather foreign, doesn't it?
This brings me to a piece of information I gleaned this morning from the August 29 Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
Metro Atlanta drivers are facing the possibility of paying considerably more than $3 a gallon for gas by Labor Day — if they can get it at all. The two pipelines that bring gasoline and jet fuel to the region are down — powerless to pump as Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc on electrical infrastructure.
The metro Atlanta region generally has about a 10-day supply of gasoline in inventory, said BP spokesman Michael Kumpf. The pipelines have been down for two days.
Okay, fine. What that says to me is that we should conserve gas and avoid creating a panic at the pumps.
Not happening.
Last night, still blissfully unaware that there was a major issue with gasoline, we drove into Atlanta to meet friends and family at an Atlanta Braves game. On the way, we started to see ill omens. In Union Point (our closest town with any gas stations) Unleaded Regular was $2.69.9, except that one station had already run out of Unleaded Regular.
By the time we got to Covington (halfway to Atlanta) and stopped to pick up some bottled water for the game, the lowest Regular price was $2.99.9, and there were lines of cars, trucks, and SUVs queued into the streets. One station had a lower price for Regular, but the only gas remaining was Super Premium at $3.09.9. People were pacing around in the parking lot, shouting on their cell phones. "You better get down here!"
The s.o.'s dad and brother revealed that in their town in west Georgia, the price of gas had risen a dollar inside of one hour.
Here's where I did my part to make a bad situation worse. On the way home I realized I didn't have as much gas in the car as I'd hoped, and I popped into a station to add a little to the tank. All that was left was Super Premium at $3.19.9. I bought three gallons.
I'm not suggesting that there's anything wrong with the prices themselves. For too long, Americans have paid far too little for gasoline. In the long run, this situation may help correct our prices so that they better reflect the true costs of fossil fuels. But right now prices are caroming out of control because of the panic at the pumps. People are acting irrationally and selfishly.
I should add that I'm not terribly impressed with the gas stations for taking this opportunity to price-gouge.
I guess the major cultural difference that's come about in the last 60 years is that our country's financial plan (such as it is) is based on ever-increasing consumption. If we're not spending, we're not doing our duty to keep the economy afloat. The problem is, it's unsustainable and it depends on the availability of infinite resources.
As a country, we are a giant shrieking Baby-Huey type spoiled brat. We don't believe that the rules apply to us or that we should be asked to make sacrifices. Everyone lives by the motto "Me First." One of my fears as the Gulf Coast tries to rescue the survivors, count the dead, and rebuild crucial infrastructure, is that the relief efforts will be hampered by gawkers--people who believe that they are more important than any of their fellow citizens and that therefore they have the right to enter the disaster area and get in the way.
Meanwhile, looting in New Orleans continues unabated. I would have hoped that people would share the meager resources that remain, but perhaps the citizens of the hardest-hit areas are beginning to realize that the Federal government--which, by the way, has repeatedly cut crucial funding for levee repair despite the city's pleas for more infrastructure money--cannot be counted on to do the right thing. In a situation like that, all I can think to do is PANIC.
As for us, now that we know what's going on, I think we'll be staying at home for a while.
In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, these magazines have got me thinking about the national character of the United States. Our culture has changed drastically. We say we're patriotic, but we've completely lost our ability to sacrifice for the greater good. All we are is jingoistic, I'm afraid. All talk and no walk.
"Why shouldn't I buy it? I've got the money!" asks a woman in an ad in the front of the January 1944 issue. The ad explains that because of war shortages, it was important for people to avoid spending money on anything that wasn't an absolute necessity. If they bought everything on the market, prices would skyrocket. "Save it! Put it in the bank! Put it in life insurance! Pay off old debts and don't make new ones. Buy and hold war bonds," advises the advertisement. And then it lets loose with the slogan:
Use it up...
Wear it out...
Make it do...
Or do without...
In the March issue, there's an ad from the Minnesota Tourist Bureau, suggesting that the best kind of patriotic vacation is "staying put" at a cabin in Minnesota. It doesn't ask anyone not to take a week or two off--they need to be well rested for the war effort, after all--just to avoid using up more resources than necessary.
Sounds rather foreign, doesn't it?
This brings me to a piece of information I gleaned this morning from the August 29 Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
Metro Atlanta drivers are facing the possibility of paying considerably more than $3 a gallon for gas by Labor Day — if they can get it at all. The two pipelines that bring gasoline and jet fuel to the region are down — powerless to pump as Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc on electrical infrastructure.
The metro Atlanta region generally has about a 10-day supply of gasoline in inventory, said BP spokesman Michael Kumpf. The pipelines have been down for two days.
Okay, fine. What that says to me is that we should conserve gas and avoid creating a panic at the pumps.
Not happening.
Last night, still blissfully unaware that there was a major issue with gasoline, we drove into Atlanta to meet friends and family at an Atlanta Braves game. On the way, we started to see ill omens. In Union Point (our closest town with any gas stations) Unleaded Regular was $2.69.9, except that one station had already run out of Unleaded Regular.
By the time we got to Covington (halfway to Atlanta) and stopped to pick up some bottled water for the game, the lowest Regular price was $2.99.9, and there were lines of cars, trucks, and SUVs queued into the streets. One station had a lower price for Regular, but the only gas remaining was Super Premium at $3.09.9. People were pacing around in the parking lot, shouting on their cell phones. "You better get down here!"
The s.o.'s dad and brother revealed that in their town in west Georgia, the price of gas had risen a dollar inside of one hour.
Here's where I did my part to make a bad situation worse. On the way home I realized I didn't have as much gas in the car as I'd hoped, and I popped into a station to add a little to the tank. All that was left was Super Premium at $3.19.9. I bought three gallons.
I'm not suggesting that there's anything wrong with the prices themselves. For too long, Americans have paid far too little for gasoline. In the long run, this situation may help correct our prices so that they better reflect the true costs of fossil fuels. But right now prices are caroming out of control because of the panic at the pumps. People are acting irrationally and selfishly.
I should add that I'm not terribly impressed with the gas stations for taking this opportunity to price-gouge.
I guess the major cultural difference that's come about in the last 60 years is that our country's financial plan (such as it is) is based on ever-increasing consumption. If we're not spending, we're not doing our duty to keep the economy afloat. The problem is, it's unsustainable and it depends on the availability of infinite resources.
As a country, we are a giant shrieking Baby-Huey type spoiled brat. We don't believe that the rules apply to us or that we should be asked to make sacrifices. Everyone lives by the motto "Me First." One of my fears as the Gulf Coast tries to rescue the survivors, count the dead, and rebuild crucial infrastructure, is that the relief efforts will be hampered by gawkers--people who believe that they are more important than any of their fellow citizens and that therefore they have the right to enter the disaster area and get in the way.
Meanwhile, looting in New Orleans continues unabated. I would have hoped that people would share the meager resources that remain, but perhaps the citizens of the hardest-hit areas are beginning to realize that the Federal government--which, by the way, has repeatedly cut crucial funding for levee repair despite the city's pleas for more infrastructure money--cannot be counted on to do the right thing. In a situation like that, all I can think to do is PANIC.
As for us, now that we know what's going on, I think we'll be staying at home for a while.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
C'mon, garden! You can do it!
My last attempt at replanting the garden having been largely washed away, I took advantage of today's beautiful weather* to do a little more fall planting.
I wasn't starting from zero. There's still a monstrous amount of basil in the garden, plus a tiny (and I do mean tiny) smattering of eggplant, peppers, lima beans, carrots, tomatillos, and cilantro. A couple of watermelons are still lumbering onward. Also, there were a few survivors from the washout: four seedlings of garden huckleberry, three little stringbean plants, a few sweet potato seedlings, and that one baby tomato plant.
Here's what I planted today:
• a patch of lettuce
• 1 row of beets
• 1 row of cabbage
• 1 row of carrots
• 1 row of mustard greens
• 1 row of spinach
• 2 rows of radishes
I worked in the garden for an hour before dinner and then was suddenly famished. The s.o. was hungry too, and we nearly decided to go out for dinner. But then I improvised some pasta sauce, using a half-pound of Georgia sausage and a jar of my own canned tomatoes. I walked out to the garden to grab a handful of basil, and suddenly I spotted a little gift from the land: a perfect cueball-sized puffball mushroom. Into the sauce it went.
That kind of thing gives me so much pleasure. I hope the garden gets back on its feet soon.
----------
* I feel a little guilty saying that. Some tornadoes spun off of Katrina and whipped through Georgia last night, but they didn't quite reach us. I could see and hear them to our west--lots of eerie thudding and crackling. And today when I woke up, the strangest thing: I could smell the ocean. I'm not kidding.
I wasn't starting from zero. There's still a monstrous amount of basil in the garden, plus a tiny (and I do mean tiny) smattering of eggplant, peppers, lima beans, carrots, tomatillos, and cilantro. A couple of watermelons are still lumbering onward. Also, there were a few survivors from the washout: four seedlings of garden huckleberry, three little stringbean plants, a few sweet potato seedlings, and that one baby tomato plant.
Here's what I planted today:
• a patch of lettuce
• 1 row of beets
• 1 row of cabbage
• 1 row of carrots
• 1 row of mustard greens
• 1 row of spinach
• 2 rows of radishes
I worked in the garden for an hour before dinner and then was suddenly famished. The s.o. was hungry too, and we nearly decided to go out for dinner. But then I improvised some pasta sauce, using a half-pound of Georgia sausage and a jar of my own canned tomatoes. I walked out to the garden to grab a handful of basil, and suddenly I spotted a little gift from the land: a perfect cueball-sized puffball mushroom. Into the sauce it went.
That kind of thing gives me so much pleasure. I hope the garden gets back on its feet soon.
----------
* I feel a little guilty saying that. Some tornadoes spun off of Katrina and whipped through Georgia last night, but they didn't quite reach us. I could see and hear them to our west--lots of eerie thudding and crackling. And today when I woke up, the strangest thing: I could smell the ocean. I'm not kidding.
Monday, August 29, 2005
An Eat Local wrap-up
As August comes to an end, Jen at Life Begins at 30 has asked us participants in the Eat Local Challenge to sum up our experiences. I’m more than glad to do so, especially since my four-pound September Vogue hasn’t arrived yet. (When that happens, I’ll be going into hiding to gawk at BCBG and Chloe ads until further notice.)
First of all, I think we all know I made it easy on myself by declaring the entire South “local.” But one thing I learned this month was that if I hadn’t done that, I’d have had a terribly rough month. As I said at the outset, August is not a particularly great time for vegetables in Georgia. And this year in particular we had a strange duality in the weather, which veered sharply between torrential rains and searing heat. I read an article this weekend in the Atlanta paper about an urban community farm and food shelf program that had missed its production goals by about 60 percent because of the severe weather. So I didn’t feel so bad about the fact that my garden had up and quit. On the other hand, empathy doesn’t fill up the shopping cart.
At the beginning of the month, there were still tomatoes and arugula and beans. Now, at the end of the month, the pickings are very slim indeed.
Mid-month, my whole Eat Local effort was knocked out of whack by my unplanned trip to Ohio. But that turned out to be the most instructive thing that could have happened to me. The contrast between the two states couldn’t have been greater. Admittedly, Ohio’s gardens were at their best this month, so the comparison isn’t 100 percent fair. But in Ohio I found farm markets full of gorgeous local foods at practically every intersection. Here, so-called farm markets are rare and, when they exist at all, tend to be stocked with fruit and vegetables that are trucked in from somewhere else.
Has the Deep South lost its small farming tradition completely? Definitely not. But I do think that most of the small farmers here are very small and very poor, growing little more than what they need for their own subsistence. Make no mistake, Georgia still has a plantation economy. Look around and you’ll see endless acres of white pine, cotton, corn, beef cattle, and (south of here) peanuts. But good luck finding someone who can sell you a cabbage or a sweet potato.
Of course, the story is completely different in the big cities, where transplanted idealistic Yankees (and a few intrepid locals) sell a great diversity of fancy produce to the well-off.
So here are a few things I started to think about during my Eat Local experience:
• I ended up eating a lot of regular old mass-produced food that just happened to be from Florida or Tennessee or North Carolina. Eventually it occurred to me that this wasn’t much to brag about. I used Dixie Crystals sugar--so what? On the other hand, I am very pleased to have supported some of Georgia’s small honey producers. I should have tried more often to replace the former with the latter.
• Some of the very best sausages, hams, and bacon come from the South. Thank goodness. But see below.
• A lot of the meat in the grocery store was probably local, especially the chicken and pork. But it wasn’t labeled, and I started getting angrier and angrier about that. Don’t I have a right to know where my food comes from? And on top of that, even if I did ascertain that a particular chicken came from Athens, I’d have to contend with the knowledge that the unlucky animal was a miserable debeaked White Leghorn that was processed in the Gold Kist chicken plant on the north side of town. That was when it occurred to me: The big food corporations don’t want to tell you where your meal is from because that might make you think too hard about it. My commitment to humanely produced meat has been considerably strengthened this month.
• On the other hand, the only humanely produced meat in the stores around here comes all the way from Colorado. Pointless! So I’m going to have to try harder to find a local source.
• And, of course, the absolute best way to know where your food comes from and how it’s been treated is to grow it, pick it, fish it, or hunt it yourself. I plan to do a lot more of all of these. And I plan to keep canning, too; my home-canned tomatoes, salsa, pickled peppers, and chutney saved me from many a woe!
But wait! August is almost over, right? What’s with this “I plan to” business? Well, here’s the thing. The s.o. and I have really enjoyed the Eat Local Challenge, so much so that we have made a commitment to use it as a guiding principle for our eating habits from here on out. There’ll be no hard and fast rules. But wherever possible, we plan to find fresh, local, knowable sources for our groceries.
Why? This sums it up nicely.
I have been especially impressed by how vibrant the flavors are in locally produced foods. And I’ve discovered fantastic new purveyors, products, and produce I might otherwise never have tried:
• Mennonite- and Amish-made cheeses, noodles, and elderberry jam from Ohio
• Shiro plums
• fresh lima beans and crowder peas (neither of which I’d ever seen in the pod before!)
• Red Mule grains
• Sweet Grass Dairy cheeses
• Pittman’s bulk sausage
• Italian honey figs
My favorite experience of all was probably the pick-your-own blueberry farm. It still resides in my mind like a treasured vacation memory.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that the Eat Local Challenge has led me to discover several blogs that I enjoy and identify with. That in itself was worth the price of admission (which was, er, free, because you've got to eat something, after all, and it's really not any more expensive to do it locally).
One of the questions Jen asked us to think about in our Eat Local wrap-ups was this: What did you deny yourself during August that you are dying to have on September 1? Well, I have to admit I cheated and had some Toblerone this month, so I’m not ready to kill someone for a chocolate bar. Oddly, the answer to the question is LETTUCE! LETTUCE LETTUCE LETTUCE! Late summer in Georgia is a lettuceless place. I am on my knees, desperate for spring greens and ready to worship at the unholy altar of Tanimura & Antle.
I thought I’d want bananas and mangos and other nonlocal fruit, but I don’t really. Fruit is the one thing that’s come easily to me this month, and it’s been extraordinary. Unsurprisingly, the temptation to buy pallid grocery store strawberries is approximately zero when you have a big bowl of juicy peaches in your kitchen.
The Eat Local Challenge has been life-changing for me (yes, really--I don’t think that’s overstating the case), and I plan to do it again next year as a “refresher.” I trust that I will have sold my house in Georgia long before that, and therefore the s.o. and I will be eating locally in an entirely new place. It’ll be a voyage of discovery all over again. I highly recommend that you all join me.
First of all, I think we all know I made it easy on myself by declaring the entire South “local.” But one thing I learned this month was that if I hadn’t done that, I’d have had a terribly rough month. As I said at the outset, August is not a particularly great time for vegetables in Georgia. And this year in particular we had a strange duality in the weather, which veered sharply between torrential rains and searing heat. I read an article this weekend in the Atlanta paper about an urban community farm and food shelf program that had missed its production goals by about 60 percent because of the severe weather. So I didn’t feel so bad about the fact that my garden had up and quit. On the other hand, empathy doesn’t fill up the shopping cart.
At the beginning of the month, there were still tomatoes and arugula and beans. Now, at the end of the month, the pickings are very slim indeed.
Mid-month, my whole Eat Local effort was knocked out of whack by my unplanned trip to Ohio. But that turned out to be the most instructive thing that could have happened to me. The contrast between the two states couldn’t have been greater. Admittedly, Ohio’s gardens were at their best this month, so the comparison isn’t 100 percent fair. But in Ohio I found farm markets full of gorgeous local foods at practically every intersection. Here, so-called farm markets are rare and, when they exist at all, tend to be stocked with fruit and vegetables that are trucked in from somewhere else.
Has the Deep South lost its small farming tradition completely? Definitely not. But I do think that most of the small farmers here are very small and very poor, growing little more than what they need for their own subsistence. Make no mistake, Georgia still has a plantation economy. Look around and you’ll see endless acres of white pine, cotton, corn, beef cattle, and (south of here) peanuts. But good luck finding someone who can sell you a cabbage or a sweet potato.
Of course, the story is completely different in the big cities, where transplanted idealistic Yankees (and a few intrepid locals) sell a great diversity of fancy produce to the well-off.
So here are a few things I started to think about during my Eat Local experience:
• I ended up eating a lot of regular old mass-produced food that just happened to be from Florida or Tennessee or North Carolina. Eventually it occurred to me that this wasn’t much to brag about. I used Dixie Crystals sugar--so what? On the other hand, I am very pleased to have supported some of Georgia’s small honey producers. I should have tried more often to replace the former with the latter.
• Some of the very best sausages, hams, and bacon come from the South. Thank goodness. But see below.
• A lot of the meat in the grocery store was probably local, especially the chicken and pork. But it wasn’t labeled, and I started getting angrier and angrier about that. Don’t I have a right to know where my food comes from? And on top of that, even if I did ascertain that a particular chicken came from Athens, I’d have to contend with the knowledge that the unlucky animal was a miserable debeaked White Leghorn that was processed in the Gold Kist chicken plant on the north side of town. That was when it occurred to me: The big food corporations don’t want to tell you where your meal is from because that might make you think too hard about it. My commitment to humanely produced meat has been considerably strengthened this month.
• On the other hand, the only humanely produced meat in the stores around here comes all the way from Colorado. Pointless! So I’m going to have to try harder to find a local source.
• And, of course, the absolute best way to know where your food comes from and how it’s been treated is to grow it, pick it, fish it, or hunt it yourself. I plan to do a lot more of all of these. And I plan to keep canning, too; my home-canned tomatoes, salsa, pickled peppers, and chutney saved me from many a woe!
But wait! August is almost over, right? What’s with this “I plan to” business? Well, here’s the thing. The s.o. and I have really enjoyed the Eat Local Challenge, so much so that we have made a commitment to use it as a guiding principle for our eating habits from here on out. There’ll be no hard and fast rules. But wherever possible, we plan to find fresh, local, knowable sources for our groceries.
Why? This sums it up nicely.
I have been especially impressed by how vibrant the flavors are in locally produced foods. And I’ve discovered fantastic new purveyors, products, and produce I might otherwise never have tried:
• Mennonite- and Amish-made cheeses, noodles, and elderberry jam from Ohio
• Shiro plums
• fresh lima beans and crowder peas (neither of which I’d ever seen in the pod before!)
• Red Mule grains
• Sweet Grass Dairy cheeses
• Pittman’s bulk sausage
• Italian honey figs
My favorite experience of all was probably the pick-your-own blueberry farm. It still resides in my mind like a treasured vacation memory.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that the Eat Local Challenge has led me to discover several blogs that I enjoy and identify with. That in itself was worth the price of admission (which was, er, free, because you've got to eat something, after all, and it's really not any more expensive to do it locally).
One of the questions Jen asked us to think about in our Eat Local wrap-ups was this: What did you deny yourself during August that you are dying to have on September 1? Well, I have to admit I cheated and had some Toblerone this month, so I’m not ready to kill someone for a chocolate bar. Oddly, the answer to the question is LETTUCE! LETTUCE LETTUCE LETTUCE! Late summer in Georgia is a lettuceless place. I am on my knees, desperate for spring greens and ready to worship at the unholy altar of Tanimura & Antle.
I thought I’d want bananas and mangos and other nonlocal fruit, but I don’t really. Fruit is the one thing that’s come easily to me this month, and it’s been extraordinary. Unsurprisingly, the temptation to buy pallid grocery store strawberries is approximately zero when you have a big bowl of juicy peaches in your kitchen.
The Eat Local Challenge has been life-changing for me (yes, really--I don’t think that’s overstating the case), and I plan to do it again next year as a “refresher.” I trust that I will have sold my house in Georgia long before that, and therefore the s.o. and I will be eating locally in an entirely new place. It’ll be a voyage of discovery all over again. I highly recommend that you all join me.
On a brighter note
The prospective house buyers have not evaporated after all; they are simply having trouble with financing (which I already knew was an issue). They are still "enthusiastic." They know we are planning on listing with a new agent, and they are urging us to do whatever we have to do. Nevertheless, they say they are still very much in the game.
This means that I don't dare book an airline ticket to go to the latest London Blogmeet. I had been making noises about attending, because I would very much have liked to raise a glass with the likes of Ian and Anx and many other lovely folks. But now is not a good time to leave town.
It's just as well. We'll save the money for our planned jaunt to our favorite part of Florida. Our thinking is: Once more while we still can!
This means that I don't dare book an airline ticket to go to the latest London Blogmeet. I had been making noises about attending, because I would very much have liked to raise a glass with the likes of Ian and Anx and many other lovely folks. But now is not a good time to leave town.
It's just as well. We'll save the money for our planned jaunt to our favorite part of Florida. Our thinking is: Once more while we still can!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Yikes
Keep the city of New Orleans in your thoughts, everyone. This could be devastating on a massive scale--a real humanitarian crisis.
*thinks sadly of the Napoleon House and so many other favorite places*
*worries even more about the people who are unable or unwilling to leave*
*thinks sadly of the Napoleon House and so many other favorite places*
*worries even more about the people who are unable or unwilling to leave*
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Boo who?
The phone rang at 8:20 AM. I was already awake, much against my will, because the cat had been clawing furniture since about 6:45 in order to get my attention*. But I desperately needed more sleep because the s.o. and I had been up late at Julie's place, catching largemouth bass in her pond.
I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I said.
"Hi, this is Boo from the market," the voice said back to me.
I had no success whatsoever processing that piece of information. I didn't know a Boo. What market was this person talking about?
"I picked some figs and wondered if you wanted me to set them aside for you," he continued.
Aha! It was the fig guy from the farmer's market! And he remembered me. I brightened. "I'll be there within the hour," I said, and thanked him profusely.
I threw on some clothes and hopped in the car. I hadn't even remembered that there was a farmer's market this morning--that's how tired I was. But those figs, in all their knee-buckling, finger-sucking goodness! That was not an opportunity to be missed.
When I arrived, I saw why Boo had called me. He had a surplus of Italian honey figs, almost all collapsingly ripe. They were starting to dissolve into pulp right before our eyes. Boo was what they call a "motivated seller." We initially agreed on two pounds at $3 per pound, but it wasn't long before he talked me into taking four pounds for $10. I complained that I've been eating too many sweets lately. He dismissed my complaint and suggested I make jam.
"You'll thank me this winter," he promised.
And of course he is right.
While I was at the farmer's market, I also picked up a pound of mixed red and green okra pods, as well as a large baggie of local muscadines. As I walked, I ate a couple of figs that looked as though they were about to turn to jam on their own.
Then I walked over to The Grit, the venerable vegetarian restaurant best known for being a favorite of Michael Stipe's**. I find most of their food a little bland and predictable, but I'm a big fan of their weekend brunches. I asked about the pancake special (peach--nah, I could do that at home) and then settled on my usual: two vegetarian "sausage" patties, two whole wheat biscuits, and a little bowl of "sausage" milk gravy. A heart attack on a plate, meatless style. Totally freaking delicious. It's probably sourced non-locally (just where is Morningstar Farms, I wonder?), but then again, it's possible that I won't be able to visit The Grit for too much longer, so it seemed like an imperative.
Fish tonight. And painting, and writing, and probably an early bedtime.
----------
* Boy, does that tactic work. I clip the cat's toenails, but it only kind of helps. The scratching sound still snaps me awake like no other sound on earth. I need to put another set of Soft Paws on that animal ASAP.
** He wasn't there. Stipe sightings are quite rare. You're much more likely to see Mike Mills around town.
I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I said.
"Hi, this is Boo from the market," the voice said back to me.
I had no success whatsoever processing that piece of information. I didn't know a Boo. What market was this person talking about?
"I picked some figs and wondered if you wanted me to set them aside for you," he continued.
Aha! It was the fig guy from the farmer's market! And he remembered me. I brightened. "I'll be there within the hour," I said, and thanked him profusely.
I threw on some clothes and hopped in the car. I hadn't even remembered that there was a farmer's market this morning--that's how tired I was. But those figs, in all their knee-buckling, finger-sucking goodness! That was not an opportunity to be missed.
When I arrived, I saw why Boo had called me. He had a surplus of Italian honey figs, almost all collapsingly ripe. They were starting to dissolve into pulp right before our eyes. Boo was what they call a "motivated seller." We initially agreed on two pounds at $3 per pound, but it wasn't long before he talked me into taking four pounds for $10. I complained that I've been eating too many sweets lately. He dismissed my complaint and suggested I make jam.
"You'll thank me this winter," he promised.
And of course he is right.
While I was at the farmer's market, I also picked up a pound of mixed red and green okra pods, as well as a large baggie of local muscadines. As I walked, I ate a couple of figs that looked as though they were about to turn to jam on their own.
Then I walked over to The Grit, the venerable vegetarian restaurant best known for being a favorite of Michael Stipe's**. I find most of their food a little bland and predictable, but I'm a big fan of their weekend brunches. I asked about the pancake special (peach--nah, I could do that at home) and then settled on my usual: two vegetarian "sausage" patties, two whole wheat biscuits, and a little bowl of "sausage" milk gravy. A heart attack on a plate, meatless style. Totally freaking delicious. It's probably sourced non-locally (just where is Morningstar Farms, I wonder?), but then again, it's possible that I won't be able to visit The Grit for too much longer, so it seemed like an imperative.
Fish tonight. And painting, and writing, and probably an early bedtime.
----------
* Boy, does that tactic work. I clip the cat's toenails, but it only kind of helps. The scratching sound still snaps me awake like no other sound on earth. I need to put another set of Soft Paws on that animal ASAP.
** He wasn't there. Stipe sightings are quite rare. You're much more likely to see Mike Mills around town.
Friday, August 26, 2005
What I've been doing with my time
(1) Working. Somehow I committed myself to a lot of writing projects this month.
(2) Eating too much pie (see previous post). I've gained a couple of pounds, which is not a crisis of global proportions or anything, but nevertheless I'm not happy about it because I know it's my own silly fault. Luckily, this morning I got up and just couldn't look at pie anymore. I chucked the rest of it in the deep freeze. Then I made a bowl of Red Mule English Porridge and sliced a fresh peach onto it. It's time for Remedial Nutrition 101.
(3) Remodeling one of the rooms that was already finished. Obviously I am insane, right? Well, last year's post-hurricane storms had caused a leak that damaged the wallpaper in the living room. The s.o. fixed the leak, but there was a whole portion of the wallpaper that went curly. And since this most recent batch of prospective buyers appears to be all prospect and no buy, we finally came to the conclusion that perhaps red wallpaper is too challenging for the general populace after all. So beige it is! I have finished stripping the walls, making a few repairs, and caulking the corners. Now I just have to paint.
(4) Reading. Rozanne sent me this book, which I gather many of the other Eat Local people have already read. And rightly so! I just finished the book last night and was truly inspired by it.
The book does have flaws. For one thing, it's a bit self-conscious and grandiose, as though for an entire year Nabhan was thinking, "Okay, this is for the book...what big important thing can I do and what deep philosophical meaning can I wring out of it?"
For another, Nabhan's philosophy seems skewed to me. As Rozanne noted, he's all too willing to drive for hours to find, say, a special kind of squash. And there's a whole chapter where he's on a river-rafting trip and rightfully bemoans the fact that so many invasive plants have taken root. But he's a purist and he declines to eat them, favoring native plants instead. My feeling is, if there's an invasive plant around, pull the sucker up and eat it! You're doing the environment a favor.
But despite these flaws, I got a lot out of the book. It was so vivid and alive that I could almost smell and taste all the beautiful indigenous foods it described. And Nabhan's conclusions are the same ones I have come to: that after this Eat Local Challenge is done, I will carry its goals and lessons with me for years to come.
(2) Eating too much pie (see previous post). I've gained a couple of pounds, which is not a crisis of global proportions or anything, but nevertheless I'm not happy about it because I know it's my own silly fault. Luckily, this morning I got up and just couldn't look at pie anymore. I chucked the rest of it in the deep freeze. Then I made a bowl of Red Mule English Porridge and sliced a fresh peach onto it. It's time for Remedial Nutrition 101.
(3) Remodeling one of the rooms that was already finished. Obviously I am insane, right? Well, last year's post-hurricane storms had caused a leak that damaged the wallpaper in the living room. The s.o. fixed the leak, but there was a whole portion of the wallpaper that went curly. And since this most recent batch of prospective buyers appears to be all prospect and no buy, we finally came to the conclusion that perhaps red wallpaper is too challenging for the general populace after all. So beige it is! I have finished stripping the walls, making a few repairs, and caulking the corners. Now I just have to paint.
(4) Reading. Rozanne sent me this book, which I gather many of the other Eat Local people have already read. And rightly so! I just finished the book last night and was truly inspired by it.
The book does have flaws. For one thing, it's a bit self-conscious and grandiose, as though for an entire year Nabhan was thinking, "Okay, this is for the book...what big important thing can I do and what deep philosophical meaning can I wring out of it?"
For another, Nabhan's philosophy seems skewed to me. As Rozanne noted, he's all too willing to drive for hours to find, say, a special kind of squash. And there's a whole chapter where he's on a river-rafting trip and rightfully bemoans the fact that so many invasive plants have taken root. But he's a purist and he declines to eat them, favoring native plants instead. My feeling is, if there's an invasive plant around, pull the sucker up and eat it! You're doing the environment a favor.
But despite these flaws, I got a lot out of the book. It was so vivid and alive that I could almost smell and taste all the beautiful indigenous foods it described. And Nabhan's conclusions are the same ones I have come to: that after this Eat Local Challenge is done, I will carry its goals and lessons with me for years to come.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Could it be as easy as this?
Did you ever have a lightbulb go on over your head, just like in a cartoon?
I've always been a clean-your-plater. I can't stand to see good food go to waste. So it's been a problem for me, in this two-person household, to get a handle on my pie consumption. The s.o. doesn't like sweets much, so when I make a pie, I have to contend with almost the entire thing. And I do. Oh, sadly, I do.
I can freeze half a pie, but what fun is that? The next time I want pie, chances are I will have some new kind of beautiful ripe fruit at my disposal, and I'll want to make a whole new pie out of it. I enjoy the process, not just the product. Evidence: I've had half a pineapple pie in the deep freeze for a couple months now. I haven't felt the urge to defrost it yet, which is really something considering how much I like pineapple pie.
I was pondering this problem today, over my nth piece of delicious muscadine-apple pie. I started thinking, "Boy, it can't be healthy to replace so many of my meals with pie. I think I'm supposed to be eating vegetables, or maybe whole grains. If only I could make half a pie at a time."
What do you do when you have a problem? Consult the internet, of course! And truly its wonders never cease. I have just ordered this pretty little 7 1/2-inch pie plate (rutile blue, no stripe). It holds half the amount a regular deep-dish pie plate holds.
This is exactly what I have needed for ages. Now I will be able to save my full-sized pies for potluck dinners and holidays, which is where they belong.
I've always been a clean-your-plater. I can't stand to see good food go to waste. So it's been a problem for me, in this two-person household, to get a handle on my pie consumption. The s.o. doesn't like sweets much, so when I make a pie, I have to contend with almost the entire thing. And I do. Oh, sadly, I do.
I can freeze half a pie, but what fun is that? The next time I want pie, chances are I will have some new kind of beautiful ripe fruit at my disposal, and I'll want to make a whole new pie out of it. I enjoy the process, not just the product. Evidence: I've had half a pineapple pie in the deep freeze for a couple months now. I haven't felt the urge to defrost it yet, which is really something considering how much I like pineapple pie.
I was pondering this problem today, over my nth piece of delicious muscadine-apple pie. I started thinking, "Boy, it can't be healthy to replace so many of my meals with pie. I think I'm supposed to be eating vegetables, or maybe whole grains. If only I could make half a pie at a time."
What do you do when you have a problem? Consult the internet, of course! And truly its wonders never cease. I have just ordered this pretty little 7 1/2-inch pie plate (rutile blue, no stripe). It holds half the amount a regular deep-dish pie plate holds.
This is exactly what I have needed for ages. Now I will be able to save my full-sized pies for potluck dinners and holidays, which is where they belong.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Cheesy potential blog post titles
It came! It came! My box of cheese from Sweet Grass Dairy was dropped off at 3:30 pm, just when I had begun to lose hope and had started to dream up posts with titles like "Waiting for Goudot" and "Who didn't move my cheese?"*
I realize I have been all food and no life on this blog lately, but you have to admit this is an event of epic proportions.
The ice packs were goners. Absolute goners. The Green Hill, when I opened it, was actually the temperature and consistency one would let a Brie-type cheese come to before eating it. So I took a sliver and then stuck the rest in the fridge. Ooh! Beautiful.
I immediately sliced a little gouda and stuck it into a half-sandwich of the classic hippie variety: cheese, sprouts and avocado on whole wheat. The Georgia Gouda was even better than the Green Hill.
Spaghetti tonight. I am planning on grating plenty of the Lucille goat parm on it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it could last forever, so that I would never have to type the words "You picked a fine time to leave me..."
-----
* This title courtesy of my redoubtable career as a business writer.
I realize I have been all food and no life on this blog lately, but you have to admit this is an event of epic proportions.
The ice packs were goners. Absolute goners. The Green Hill, when I opened it, was actually the temperature and consistency one would let a Brie-type cheese come to before eating it. So I took a sliver and then stuck the rest in the fridge. Ooh! Beautiful.
I immediately sliced a little gouda and stuck it into a half-sandwich of the classic hippie variety: cheese, sprouts and avocado on whole wheat. The Georgia Gouda was even better than the Green Hill.
Spaghetti tonight. I am planning on grating plenty of the Lucille goat parm on it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it could last forever, so that I would never have to type the words "You picked a fine time to leave me..."
-----
* This title courtesy of my redoubtable career as a business writer.
Pie time
Is it a coincidence that grapes and apples ripen at roughly the same time? I think not.
This muscadine-apple pie is one of the best things I've ever tasted. I'm in love!
I would explain how to do it, but the process for dealing with seeded grapes is kind of complicated if you haven't done it before...and, let's face it, I'm lazy and I don't want to type it out. You can make a pie just like this by following a Concord grape pie recipe and substituting half muscadines and half apples.
This muscadine-apple pie is one of the best things I've ever tasted. I'm in love!
I would explain how to do it, but the process for dealing with seeded grapes is kind of complicated if you haven't done it before...and, let's face it, I'm lazy and I don't want to type it out. You can make a pie just like this by following a Concord grape pie recipe and substituting half muscadines and half apples.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Strange groceries
I didn't realize what a strange assortment of foods I'd bought at the Publix tonight until there was some confusion about the ownership of a pound of ground beef.
"Did you buy meat?" the cashier asked.
I was caught off guard. "I...I just bought trout and rabbit," I stammered.*
Yes, more of that gorgeous pecan-smoked trout from Atlanta. And a new discovery: rabbit farmed in Florida! I found it, as one finds many odd local meats, in the freezer section.
I won't pretend I've eaten perfect all-local meals for 23 days straight. But at the very least I am paying much more attention to where produce comes from. California rules the roost produce-wise, of course. But I am startled to find how many of our fruits and vegetables come from Honduras, Mexico, Chile, Guatemala.
It definitely makes me think twice about the Australian lamb I have been (until now) buying on a weekly basis.
I've been trying to get hold of a farmer in Washington, Ga., whose motto is "No Mystery Meat Here!" He raises cattle, pigs, goats, and chickens free-range and free of hormones and antibiotics. But so far he hasn't called me back. If it weren't for my lucky finds at the Publix--and for the ever-resourceful s.o., who has caught us two more lovely catfish tonight, we would be hard up for meat of any kind.
That would be fine, of course, especially since we both used to be vegetarians. In fact, tonight's dinner was all-veg. But I'm just saying: It's harder than it looks.
Top row, from left to right: Corn chips from the Golden Flake factory in Alabama; Duke's Peanut Oil from Virginia; Syfo sparkling water from Florida; Red Brick Ale from the Atlanta Brewing Co.
Middle row: Vidalia onions from Georgia; peaches from South Carolina; yogurt, potatoes, and bean sprouts from Florida.
Front row: Rabbit from Florida; pecan-smoked trout from Georgia.
-----
* The beef belonged to the guy who'd been in front of me in line. The bagger had to chase him down and give it to him.
"Did you buy meat?" the cashier asked.
I was caught off guard. "I...I just bought trout and rabbit," I stammered.*
Yes, more of that gorgeous pecan-smoked trout from Atlanta. And a new discovery: rabbit farmed in Florida! I found it, as one finds many odd local meats, in the freezer section.
I won't pretend I've eaten perfect all-local meals for 23 days straight. But at the very least I am paying much more attention to where produce comes from. California rules the roost produce-wise, of course. But I am startled to find how many of our fruits and vegetables come from Honduras, Mexico, Chile, Guatemala.
It definitely makes me think twice about the Australian lamb I have been (until now) buying on a weekly basis.
I've been trying to get hold of a farmer in Washington, Ga., whose motto is "No Mystery Meat Here!" He raises cattle, pigs, goats, and chickens free-range and free of hormones and antibiotics. But so far he hasn't called me back. If it weren't for my lucky finds at the Publix--and for the ever-resourceful s.o., who has caught us two more lovely catfish tonight, we would be hard up for meat of any kind.
That would be fine, of course, especially since we both used to be vegetarians. In fact, tonight's dinner was all-veg. But I'm just saying: It's harder than it looks.
Top row, from left to right: Corn chips from the Golden Flake factory in Alabama; Duke's Peanut Oil from Virginia; Syfo sparkling water from Florida; Red Brick Ale from the Atlanta Brewing Co.
Middle row: Vidalia onions from Georgia; peaches from South Carolina; yogurt, potatoes, and bean sprouts from Florida.
Front row: Rabbit from Florida; pecan-smoked trout from Georgia.
-----
* The beef belonged to the guy who'd been in front of me in line. The bagger had to chase him down and give it to him.
Monday, August 22, 2005
We're famous!
Recently the s.o. turned me on to the glorious collaborative food blog that is Slashfood. And now Slashfood has noticed the Eat Local Challenge! I'm tickled pink.
It ain't over 'til it's over
Sure, most everything has been either washed out or sun-dried by now. (Can't it just be one weather issue or the other? Why both?!) But there are still some traces of my ambitious spring planting. As evidence, I proudly present this colander of jalapeños, bell peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, and a cute li'l gourd.
The s.o. brought home three catfish last night. I'm thinking fish tacos.
The basil is still going crazy out there, and my new fall planting of cilantro is starting to thrive. And although the squash bugs and the storms have rotted several of the watermelons, there's one out there that looks as though it might be nearly ready to pick.
The s.o. brought home three catfish last night. I'm thinking fish tacos.
The basil is still going crazy out there, and my new fall planting of cilantro is starting to thrive. And although the squash bugs and the storms have rotted several of the watermelons, there's one out there that looks as though it might be nearly ready to pick.
I'm so excited...and I just can't hide it
I just got off the phone with Jessica at Sweet Grass Dairy in Thomasville, Georgia. I ordered a mountain of cheese, glorious local cheese, which is due to arrive on my doorstep, ice-packed, on Wednesday's UPS truck.
I selected a half pound of Georgia Gouda, a half pound of a cheese called Lucille (not on the Web site--supposed to be a very nutty, mushroomy sort of goat Parmesan), and one wheel of Green Hill (which looks appealingly Brie-like). My only disappointment is that I couldn't get chevre because in the August heat, she would have had to send it overnight. The cost was exorbitant and I couldn't justify it--although I was tempted.
Woooooooooo!
I selected a half pound of Georgia Gouda, a half pound of a cheese called Lucille (not on the Web site--supposed to be a very nutty, mushroomy sort of goat Parmesan), and one wheel of Green Hill (which looks appealingly Brie-like). My only disappointment is that I couldn't get chevre because in the August heat, she would have had to send it overnight. The cost was exorbitant and I couldn't justify it--although I was tempted.
Woooooooooo!
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Fruits and nuts
The Ohio foods I brought home are pretty much gone, and it's time to revel in the South all over again.
The Georgia growing season is winding down, slowly but surely. There was no arugula at the farmer's market this week, and the tomatoes were a mere shadow of their former selves. There were no figs, either--but luckily, the farmer who brought them last time overheard Julie and me talking about them and quickly joined the conversation. He said he might be picking a few more figs this week, and took my phone number in case he does. Fingers crossed!
I was very pleased to find one of these amusingly named fruits at a local Kroger store. I don't care much about the supposed ultra-healthiness of this particular avocado. I do care that it's grown in Homestead, Florida. It is freakish in size; one of them is big enough for a whole batch of guacamole.
I was even more pleased to find a quart of muscadine grapes (grown in south Georgia by these slightly whacked-out folks) in the produce department. I think the season for muscadines and scuppernongs is just starting, so I should be able to partake of them multiple times. If anyone has any beloved family recipes that use giant weird Southern grapes, please share them! I'm a novice with these. I'm used to cooking with Concords.
The title of this post promised nuts. And indeed: PEANUTS. They are everywhere, both raw and roasted. I am tempted to make a frozen peanut butter custard pie (which would taste really good at this time of year, when the weather--and especially the interior of the car--is hot enough to smelt iron), but I have been awfully snacky and decadent-minded lately and don't want to give myself that much of an opportunity to screw up.
Speaking of my health, the s.o. and I bought a pair of cheap pedometers. His doesn't seem to be working right ("I walk like a ninja," he jokes), but mine has logged 843 steps this afternoon. What I'm really curious about is how many steps I take when I'm cooking. A friend told me that a bartender he knows wore a pedometer during an evening shift and logged 6 miles. So tip your bartenders, folks.
The Georgia growing season is winding down, slowly but surely. There was no arugula at the farmer's market this week, and the tomatoes were a mere shadow of their former selves. There were no figs, either--but luckily, the farmer who brought them last time overheard Julie and me talking about them and quickly joined the conversation. He said he might be picking a few more figs this week, and took my phone number in case he does. Fingers crossed!
I was very pleased to find one of these amusingly named fruits at a local Kroger store. I don't care much about the supposed ultra-healthiness of this particular avocado. I do care that it's grown in Homestead, Florida. It is freakish in size; one of them is big enough for a whole batch of guacamole.
I was even more pleased to find a quart of muscadine grapes (grown in south Georgia by these slightly whacked-out folks) in the produce department. I think the season for muscadines and scuppernongs is just starting, so I should be able to partake of them multiple times. If anyone has any beloved family recipes that use giant weird Southern grapes, please share them! I'm a novice with these. I'm used to cooking with Concords.
The title of this post promised nuts. And indeed: PEANUTS. They are everywhere, both raw and roasted. I am tempted to make a frozen peanut butter custard pie (which would taste really good at this time of year, when the weather--and especially the interior of the car--is hot enough to smelt iron), but I have been awfully snacky and decadent-minded lately and don't want to give myself that much of an opportunity to screw up.
Speaking of my health, the s.o. and I bought a pair of cheap pedometers. His doesn't seem to be working right ("I walk like a ninja," he jokes), but mine has logged 843 steps this afternoon. What I'm really curious about is how many steps I take when I'm cooking. A friend told me that a bartender he knows wore a pedometer during an evening shift and logged 6 miles. So tip your bartenders, folks.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Home again
So I'm back--back to Georgia's uncanny combination of sweltering heat and booming thunderstorms. I feel sluggish, and I can't decide if it's because of the weather, or because I drove a really long way during the last couple of days, or because of all the thoughts swimming around in my head.
The trip was wonderful in some ways. I got to spend a lot of time with my mom and stepdad. I got to see my brother and sister-in-law twice, which is especially excellent considering that they live in Columbus and are doctors, which means they are neither nearby nor blessed with a lot of free time. And my grandmother, the visiting of whom was the main purpose of my trip, has improved a little (although in the end she is still 94 and has a weak heart, and seems to be ready to let go). We had some good talks.
Unfortunately, while I was there--between my first visit and my second--her husband, my grandfather, had a stroke. His long-term prognosis is unknown.
It's been a weird week. I think it has helped me come to terms with the changes that will inevitably come. But I feel very, very tired.
The Eat Local Challenge somehow thrived in the midst of all this. Part of it was the awesome 100 percent enthusiastic buy-in from my mom and stepdad. How can a person fail with support like that? And of course, there was Ohio itself. I've said it before and I'll say it again--Ohio in August is the place to be. There is an embarrassment of riches. I brought some of the food on the car trip home: plums, peaches, apples, "Buckeye" chocolate candies (urp!), a second jar of elderberry jelly. I brought a whole nother quart of lima beans, too, even though I knew I'd end up cooking them here (where they're not local).
Speaking of which, here is tonight's menu:
Leftover BBQ pork shoulder (brought in the cooler from Cantrell's in East Nashville*)
Succotash
And then I really, really wanted a particular something, so I threw localism to the wind** and made a recipe of my mother's. The only thing I can say in my defense is that there are Ohio apples in it:
COCOA APPLE CAKE
Cream together until fluffy:
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
2 sticks butter
1/2 cup water
Sift together:
2 1/2 cups flour
2 T cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice
Add to creamed mixture and mix well.
Fold in:
1 cup finely chopped walnuts
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate bits
2 cups grated apple
1 T vanilla
Mix well till distributed evenly.
Spoon into a greased & floured 10" loose-bottom tube pan or 9" x 13" cake pan.
Bake in 325-degree oven for about an hour. Serves 12.
----------
So now it's time to go whole-hog (bacon! sausage! ham!) into Southern food again. I'm looking forward to it.
I'm off to the farmer's market tomorrow! I'm very excited and I will post about what I find. Cross your fingers that there are still figs left, but I doubt it. When I bought them before, the farmer told me that torrential rains tend to make the figs burst their skins, cutting short the harvest season. I suspect that's happened several times over by now.
----------
* Cantrell's is simply the best BBQ place on earth, and I'll stand on the coffee table in my Nashville thrift store cowboy boots and say so.
** I'm sorry. Very penitent. But it had to be done. I'm going to be working a yard sale with my friend Julie tomorrow and I really wanted something delicious to take along. Cocoa apple cake popped into my mind and wouldn't go away.
The trip was wonderful in some ways. I got to spend a lot of time with my mom and stepdad. I got to see my brother and sister-in-law twice, which is especially excellent considering that they live in Columbus and are doctors, which means they are neither nearby nor blessed with a lot of free time. And my grandmother, the visiting of whom was the main purpose of my trip, has improved a little (although in the end she is still 94 and has a weak heart, and seems to be ready to let go). We had some good talks.
Unfortunately, while I was there--between my first visit and my second--her husband, my grandfather, had a stroke. His long-term prognosis is unknown.
It's been a weird week. I think it has helped me come to terms with the changes that will inevitably come. But I feel very, very tired.
The Eat Local Challenge somehow thrived in the midst of all this. Part of it was the awesome 100 percent enthusiastic buy-in from my mom and stepdad. How can a person fail with support like that? And of course, there was Ohio itself. I've said it before and I'll say it again--Ohio in August is the place to be. There is an embarrassment of riches. I brought some of the food on the car trip home: plums, peaches, apples, "Buckeye" chocolate candies (urp!), a second jar of elderberry jelly. I brought a whole nother quart of lima beans, too, even though I knew I'd end up cooking them here (where they're not local).
Speaking of which, here is tonight's menu:
Leftover BBQ pork shoulder (brought in the cooler from Cantrell's in East Nashville*)
Succotash
And then I really, really wanted a particular something, so I threw localism to the wind** and made a recipe of my mother's. The only thing I can say in my defense is that there are Ohio apples in it:
COCOA APPLE CAKE
Cream together until fluffy:
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
2 sticks butter
1/2 cup water
Sift together:
2 1/2 cups flour
2 T cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice
Add to creamed mixture and mix well.
Fold in:
1 cup finely chopped walnuts
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate bits
2 cups grated apple
1 T vanilla
Mix well till distributed evenly.
Spoon into a greased & floured 10" loose-bottom tube pan or 9" x 13" cake pan.
Bake in 325-degree oven for about an hour. Serves 12.
----------
So now it's time to go whole-hog (bacon! sausage! ham!) into Southern food again. I'm looking forward to it.
I'm off to the farmer's market tomorrow! I'm very excited and I will post about what I find. Cross your fingers that there are still figs left, but I doubt it. When I bought them before, the farmer told me that torrential rains tend to make the figs burst their skins, cutting short the harvest season. I suspect that's happened several times over by now.
----------
* Cantrell's is simply the best BBQ place on earth, and I'll stand on the coffee table in my Nashville thrift store cowboy boots and say so.
** I'm sorry. Very penitent. But it had to be done. I'm going to be working a yard sale with my friend Julie tomorrow and I really wanted something delicious to take along. Cocoa apple cake popped into my mind and wouldn't go away.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My legs hurt
Do you sense a theme with my titles?
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but my mom and stepdad are athletic, outdoorsy types. I think of myself that way, but the fact is that I don't exercise much--not unless you count gardening, remodeling, cooking, and housekeeping. Sometimes I walk. Occasionally I do yoga (although the last three times I did it, it was because my mother wanted to). I always enjoy it, but I am rarely the instigator.
So, yeah. I am all for exercise, especially when nature is involved, but I don't do it much.
Today started out rainy, but the weather report said it was about to become completely beautiful--sunny, but not hot. So Mom asked if I had time to get away from my writing for a while and go for a bike ride.
A 23-mile round trip.
Hoo boy. I started counting how many years it had been since I'd straddled a bike. It was at least four. And even then, I never went further than the neighborhood coffee shop.
Then she told me there was a possibility of a malted milkshake at the Steel Trolley Diner if I did the ride. The diner was in a town at the far end of the trail--eleven and a half miles away.
She had my number. She is my mother, after all. She knows me!
This is the trail we rode. I didn't have my camera with me, but you can see some photos here. It's spectacular. Mile 1 is a wetland with wooden bridges. At Mile 3 there's a farm with gorgeous Belgian draught horses. (Confidential to s.o.: I want a horse.) Mile 5 gives you the best views of the very beautiful Little Beaver Creek. And as you wind down the hill into Lisbon, Mile 8 cuts through a limestone gorge with a quarry.
The weather was just as good as the weather report promised. We rode from sun to shade to dappled light. It was idyllic, even with the pain. And yes, there was plenty of that.
I won't pretend that I was a super athlete. I held my own. My quads were on fire, and that fire has now changed into a very assertive crampy ache from my hips all the way to my ankles. I think I am going to have a very rough morning tomorrow and might have to crawl or slide down the stairs to get my first cup of coffee.
But that chocolate malted milkshake was awfully good! Worth every mile.
P.S. Heading home, starting tomorrow. Will take two days to drive it. See you on the flip side...
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but my mom and stepdad are athletic, outdoorsy types. I think of myself that way, but the fact is that I don't exercise much--not unless you count gardening, remodeling, cooking, and housekeeping. Sometimes I walk. Occasionally I do yoga (although the last three times I did it, it was because my mother wanted to). I always enjoy it, but I am rarely the instigator.
So, yeah. I am all for exercise, especially when nature is involved, but I don't do it much.
Today started out rainy, but the weather report said it was about to become completely beautiful--sunny, but not hot. So Mom asked if I had time to get away from my writing for a while and go for a bike ride.
A 23-mile round trip.
Hoo boy. I started counting how many years it had been since I'd straddled a bike. It was at least four. And even then, I never went further than the neighborhood coffee shop.
Then she told me there was a possibility of a malted milkshake at the Steel Trolley Diner if I did the ride. The diner was in a town at the far end of the trail--eleven and a half miles away.
She had my number. She is my mother, after all. She knows me!
This is the trail we rode. I didn't have my camera with me, but you can see some photos here. It's spectacular. Mile 1 is a wetland with wooden bridges. At Mile 3 there's a farm with gorgeous Belgian draught horses. (Confidential to s.o.: I want a horse.) Mile 5 gives you the best views of the very beautiful Little Beaver Creek. And as you wind down the hill into Lisbon, Mile 8 cuts through a limestone gorge with a quarry.
The weather was just as good as the weather report promised. We rode from sun to shade to dappled light. It was idyllic, even with the pain. And yes, there was plenty of that.
I won't pretend that I was a super athlete. I held my own. My quads were on fire, and that fire has now changed into a very assertive crampy ache from my hips all the way to my ankles. I think I am going to have a very rough morning tomorrow and might have to crawl or slide down the stairs to get my first cup of coffee.
But that chocolate malted milkshake was awfully good! Worth every mile.
P.S. Heading home, starting tomorrow. Will take two days to drive it. See you on the flip side...
Monday, August 15, 2005
Food photo du jour
I got the idea for this salad from a 1940s cookbook that belonged to my grandmother. Today's version was a little different from usual, because we had no celery (which is usually chopped into the salad--we garnished with red onion instead) and no white wine vinegar (we used red instead). But otherwise, it's pretty close to the original.
I make this salad fairly often, but today's is extra special because Mom and I shelled these lima beans ourselves. They came from a farm just up the road.
LIMA BEAN SALAD
Lay a bed of greens on each serving plate.
Steam lima beans until tender, then rinse in a couple of changes of cool water until they are just a little warm. Pile them on the greens. Drizzle with a simple vinaigrette (olive oil, wine vinegar, sea salt, pepper, plus fresh tarragon, parsley, marjoram, etc., if you have them).
Top with a dollop of dressing made from equal parts prepared horseradish, mayonnaise, and Dijon mustard. Sprinkle with minced red onion.
I make this salad fairly often, but today's is extra special because Mom and I shelled these lima beans ourselves. They came from a farm just up the road.
LIMA BEAN SALAD
Lay a bed of greens on each serving plate.
Steam lima beans until tender, then rinse in a couple of changes of cool water until they are just a little warm. Pile them on the greens. Drizzle with a simple vinaigrette (olive oil, wine vinegar, sea salt, pepper, plus fresh tarragon, parsley, marjoram, etc., if you have them).
Top with a dollop of dressing made from equal parts prepared horseradish, mayonnaise, and Dijon mustard. Sprinkle with minced red onion.
My shoulder hurts
"Um, okay. Um. Pull."
BLAM! The clay target shattered and fell out of the sky.
I gaped in wonderment. It was the first shot I'd ever fired. Mom and her husband had taken me to the shooting range for my inaugural attempt at using a shotgun. I had naturally assumed I wouldn't hit a thing, not even an easy one.
I hit four other targets. I won't tell you what percent of my shots fired that was, because it wasn't good. I got worse as the morning went on, partly because of over-thinking and partly because of fatigue. That happens a lot, I'm told.
I managed to keep my face against the gun so I didn't get kicked in the jaw. But a couple of times I closed my eyes when I fired. (It turns out you can't hit anything that way.) And my ribcage and shoulders are the boniest parts of my body, so the spot where the gun is supposed to nestle is nothing more than a hard crevice. I had a light padded vest on, which kind of cushioned me, but not really. I suspect I need something pillowier if I'm to continue doing this.
But still! Pretty satisfying stuff.
We started the morning by wandering the range and picking up targets that other people had thrown but not hit. (We are economical people. Why spend the money?) I noticed something that I think will be of value, both to me and to the other gardeners who read this. There were slugs--the slimy kind, not the kind you fire out of a gun--hiding under a lot of the targets. It would probably be a really good idea for organic-minded folks to set clay pigeons out in the garden and then check them in the morning!
BLAM! The clay target shattered and fell out of the sky.
I gaped in wonderment. It was the first shot I'd ever fired. Mom and her husband had taken me to the shooting range for my inaugural attempt at using a shotgun. I had naturally assumed I wouldn't hit a thing, not even an easy one.
I hit four other targets. I won't tell you what percent of my shots fired that was, because it wasn't good. I got worse as the morning went on, partly because of over-thinking and partly because of fatigue. That happens a lot, I'm told.
I managed to keep my face against the gun so I didn't get kicked in the jaw. But a couple of times I closed my eyes when I fired. (It turns out you can't hit anything that way.) And my ribcage and shoulders are the boniest parts of my body, so the spot where the gun is supposed to nestle is nothing more than a hard crevice. I had a light padded vest on, which kind of cushioned me, but not really. I suspect I need something pillowier if I'm to continue doing this.
But still! Pretty satisfying stuff.
We started the morning by wandering the range and picking up targets that other people had thrown but not hit. (We are economical people. Why spend the money?) I noticed something that I think will be of value, both to me and to the other gardeners who read this. There were slugs--the slimy kind, not the kind you fire out of a gun--hiding under a lot of the targets. It would probably be a really good idea for organic-minded folks to set clay pigeons out in the garden and then check them in the morning!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
And the answer is...
Shiro plums. We saw them again today, labeled this time. So I was wrong--not European; Japanese. They made a mighty fine clafoutis, I tell you what.
We went on another little excursion today, to Peace Valley Orchards, and bought a peck of early Macintosh-type apples. They are tart and a little winey in flavor, and somewhere between crisp and mealy in texture. In other words, a cooking apple that is also wonderful to eat. Along with some blackberries* from the back yard, a few of them will be going into a cobbler for dessert.
I should have remembered to bring the camera, but no such luck. The orchard was uncommonly beautiful, with its acres and acres of rolling hills striped with rows of apple and peach trees. Yes, peaches too--Red Havens, which as far as I know are not grown much in the South. They taste different from what I'm used to, but I'd be hard pressed to describe how. All I can say is that they're really good and intense and juicy.
Other activities are progressing nicely. We have arranged to see my grandparents tomorrow afternoon at the nursing home (it's a bit of a drive to the southwest, toward Columbus) and then to meet my brother and his wife in Columbus for dinner. I've collected my new** car (with much help from my stepdad, who deserves major kudos for fluid-checking, terminal cleaning, new battery installation, etc.) and stopped in at what used to be my dad's winery to taste a few samples and buy a case of wine*** to take home. I've also, at my relatives' request, started the rather painful process of picking through the family homestead to see what I might want. Not fun, but definitely meaningful. I'm glad I'm here.
Nana will be glad to know I took her chinois sieve, a really nice one with a stand and a sturdy wooden pestle. She doesn't cook anymore, but at least I can carry on the tradition.
I called the people who might want to buy our house, and they are being very understanding about the poor timing of my trip. It speaks well of them.
I had better attend to dinner, which is chicken with roasted eggplant sauce. (Jo, you've seen the recipe. It's from that wonderful Greek cookbook you recommended to me. Everyone thanks you again.)
-----
* Blackberries! Again! Hurrah! The miracle of going north, eh?
** Okay, not new, but actually previously owned by the aforementioned grandparents, who don't drive anymore. It was really nice of them to offer it to me. Even with 100K on it and more than a decade of usage, it's officially the nicest car we own.
*** Local Ohio wine, I might add.
We went on another little excursion today, to Peace Valley Orchards, and bought a peck of early Macintosh-type apples. They are tart and a little winey in flavor, and somewhere between crisp and mealy in texture. In other words, a cooking apple that is also wonderful to eat. Along with some blackberries* from the back yard, a few of them will be going into a cobbler for dessert.
I should have remembered to bring the camera, but no such luck. The orchard was uncommonly beautiful, with its acres and acres of rolling hills striped with rows of apple and peach trees. Yes, peaches too--Red Havens, which as far as I know are not grown much in the South. They taste different from what I'm used to, but I'd be hard pressed to describe how. All I can say is that they're really good and intense and juicy.
Other activities are progressing nicely. We have arranged to see my grandparents tomorrow afternoon at the nursing home (it's a bit of a drive to the southwest, toward Columbus) and then to meet my brother and his wife in Columbus for dinner. I've collected my new** car (with much help from my stepdad, who deserves major kudos for fluid-checking, terminal cleaning, new battery installation, etc.) and stopped in at what used to be my dad's winery to taste a few samples and buy a case of wine*** to take home. I've also, at my relatives' request, started the rather painful process of picking through the family homestead to see what I might want. Not fun, but definitely meaningful. I'm glad I'm here.
Nana will be glad to know I took her chinois sieve, a really nice one with a stand and a sturdy wooden pestle. She doesn't cook anymore, but at least I can carry on the tradition.
I called the people who might want to buy our house, and they are being very understanding about the poor timing of my trip. It speaks well of them.
I had better attend to dinner, which is chicken with roasted eggplant sauce. (Jo, you've seen the recipe. It's from that wonderful Greek cookbook you recommended to me. Everyone thanks you again.)
-----
* Blackberries! Again! Hurrah! The miracle of going north, eh?
** Okay, not new, but actually previously owned by the aforementioned grandparents, who don't drive anymore. It was really nice of them to offer it to me. Even with 100K on it and more than a decade of usage, it's officially the nicest car we own.
*** Local Ohio wine, I might add.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Local Ohio produce
August is a good time to be a northeast Ohioan. Today Mom and I went to a really wonderful Mennonite farm just down the street called Catalpa Grove Farm. Then we dropped in at a bulk-foods and cheese shop, and finally stopped at the Sparkle market. Everything we bought was from Ohio, and almost all of it was from Northeastern Ohio.
My favorite thing I bought is the plums. They'll go in a clafoutis tomorrow morning. Anyone know what variety the plums might be?
I succumbed to my deepest Ohioan impulses when I got into town last night, inaugurating my stay with a REAL takeout pizza (as opposed to what passes for a pizza down south).
But lunch today was more virtuous--bread and cheese, cantaloupe and blueberries. Really vibrant flavors. Probably dinner will involve sweet corn and BLTs (with the tomatoes coming from Mom's back yard).
Back row, L to R: Milk, chicken breasts, noodles, sweet corn, cantaloupe.
Middle row: Eggs, cucumber, elderberry jelly, butter, sausage, maple syrup, potatoes, green beans.
Front row: Wheat bread, plums, blueberries, eggplant, Italian frying pepper, Swiss cheese, bacon.
My favorite thing I bought is the plums. They'll go in a clafoutis tomorrow morning. Anyone know what variety the plums might be?
I succumbed to my deepest Ohioan impulses when I got into town last night, inaugurating my stay with a REAL takeout pizza (as opposed to what passes for a pizza down south).
But lunch today was more virtuous--bread and cheese, cantaloupe and blueberries. Really vibrant flavors. Probably dinner will involve sweet corn and BLTs (with the tomatoes coming from Mom's back yard).
Back row, L to R: Milk, chicken breasts, noodles, sweet corn, cantaloupe.
Middle row: Eggs, cucumber, elderberry jelly, butter, sausage, maple syrup, potatoes, green beans.
Front row: Wheat bread, plums, blueberries, eggplant, Italian frying pepper, Swiss cheese, bacon.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
How to make your house smell good for a prospective buyer
Is it a good sign that they ate one and asked for the recipe?
BLUEBERRY CORN MUFFINS
Makes about 15 muffins
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. yellow cornmeal
2/3 c. sugar
5 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
1/2 c. unsalted butter (1 stick), melted
1 egg
1 c. skim milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. blueberries
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly oil muffin tins (or line tins with papers).
In a large bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. In a separate bowl, whisk together melted butter, egg, milk, and vanilla. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir together with a fork. Don’t overmix.
Fold in the blueberries.
Fill muffin tins 2/3 full with batter and bake 15 to 18 minutes, until golden.
BLUEBERRY CORN MUFFINS
Makes about 15 muffins
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. yellow cornmeal
2/3 c. sugar
5 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
1/2 c. unsalted butter (1 stick), melted
1 egg
1 c. skim milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. blueberries
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly oil muffin tins (or line tins with papers).
In a large bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. In a separate bowl, whisk together melted butter, egg, milk, and vanilla. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir together with a fork. Don’t overmix.
Fold in the blueberries.
Fill muffin tins 2/3 full with batter and bake 15 to 18 minutes, until golden.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Inspiration for the Eat Local Challenge
Here's a perfect example of people putting their money where their mouths are. I hope there are restaurants like this everywhere someday.
The butterfly garden
What a gorgeously insane riot of moving, fluttering color. The s.o. is truly gifted in flower gardening. Okay, credit where credit is due: I planted the Buddleia, but he grew almost everything else from seed, including all those zinnias and marigolds.
I never saw as many butterflies as I see here on a daily basis. And so many kinds! Tiny sulfur butterflies. Giant cream-and-black butterflies and big ones splashed with cobalt blue.
I never saw as many butterflies as I see here on a daily basis. And so many kinds! Tiny sulfur butterflies. Giant cream-and-black butterflies and big ones splashed with cobalt blue.
Quick comments hurled over the wall
• More torrential rain. All but one of my teeny tomato seedlings killed off.
• Currently grossed out by anything tasting remotely like kefir. It was fine at first, but now I can't even look at it. Even today's kefir-based sourdough seemed creepy to me. Fate of kefir grains uncertain.
• Unable to motivate self to do anything besides watching Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall DVDs for the nth time. Wept over Christmas episode.
• Washed dogs because they kind of smelled and were wet anyway. Cairo gave me an inadvertent wet-tail-to-face lashing and apparently the noise I made was quite comical.
• Trouble sleeping. Got out of bed at 1 AM last night and regrouted a cracked place in the bathroom tile.
• Head over heels for fresh local Italian honey figs. Pretty sure they are not even the same phylum as grocery store figs. There had better still be figs at the farmer's market when I get back home...
• Currently grossed out by anything tasting remotely like kefir. It was fine at first, but now I can't even look at it. Even today's kefir-based sourdough seemed creepy to me. Fate of kefir grains uncertain.
• Unable to motivate self to do anything besides watching Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall DVDs for the nth time. Wept over Christmas episode.
• Washed dogs because they kind of smelled and were wet anyway. Cairo gave me an inadvertent wet-tail-to-face lashing and apparently the noise I made was quite comical.
• Trouble sleeping. Got out of bed at 1 AM last night and regrouted a cracked place in the bathroom tile.
• Head over heels for fresh local Italian honey figs. Pretty sure they are not even the same phylum as grocery store figs. There had better still be figs at the farmer's market when I get back home...
Sunday, August 07, 2005
The wages of smugness
I was all set to blog about my great timing: how I'd managed to plant so many of my fall crops just before a couple of days of gentle, warm rain. But then the deluge came. Water pelted down in giant drops, inch after inch, running off in great cataracts. Now I'm afraid I'll see a repeat of my first spring planting, when so many of my new seeds washed down the hill, never to be seen again.
Well, if the storm hasn't gotten them and the insects don't devour them, I'll have:
radishes
turnips
tomatoes
beets
cabbage
beans
cilantro
(and although I know in my heart they'll never germinate, because I always have to buy the plants, I did put in a second round of...)
eggplant.
Much to my surprise, the best part of the Eat Local Challenge so far has been the gardening inspiration. Learning about that bolt-resistant arugula, for instance--I needed to know that! And last night I found myself dreaming of next year's seed selections, dreamily mapping out the Future Oregon Backyard Garden on a scrap of notebook paper. I don't merely want to buy more produce from local organic farmers; I want to be one of those people. I want a beehive and a chicken coop and fruit trees and more square footage of vegetables than ever before.
But I'm here still, so with my feet firmly on the ground, I should mention that this fall's pear crop is looking heavy and healthy. The s.o. is scribbling plans for a cider press.
Eating-wise, the Eat Local Challenge has brought with it far more joys than tribulations. This morning I had some porridge with honey and a chopped peach, and it was transcendent. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed cereal so much.
I am, as I write this, baking a gratin of butternut squash. The s.o. and I tasted it partway through the cooking process--when it was nakedly steamed, with no seasoning--and we are pretty sure it's the freshest, best-tasting winter squash we've had. When I was peeling the raw squash, it gave off a delicious melon-like odor.
I am about to have a wrench thrown in my Eat Local plans. My grandmother, 94 years old and until recently quite healthy, is having more and more serious bouts with congestive heart failure. I've been warned that now would be a good time to come see her, because the opportunity might slip away. So Thursday I'm flying to Ohio to see Nana, and I don't know how long I'll be there. It all depends on a lot of things.
Just so you can think fondly of her, too, and wish her the best: Nana is not only a smart, funny, vibrant lady, but she's also the person who passed down the pie crust recipe. She taught it to my mother, and my mom taught it to me.
My mother has been following along on this blog and is excited about the Eat Local Challenge, so while I'm in Ohio I suspect I'll be eating local Ohio foods, ranging from animals my mom and stepdad have hunted to produce from nearby roadside stands and fruit farms. I will keep reporting from there.
And then I'll be back here and I promise I'll take you to a couple of the most fabulous Georgia producers you can imagine.
Well, if the storm hasn't gotten them and the insects don't devour them, I'll have:
radishes
turnips
tomatoes
beets
cabbage
beans
cilantro
(and although I know in my heart they'll never germinate, because I always have to buy the plants, I did put in a second round of...)
eggplant.
Much to my surprise, the best part of the Eat Local Challenge so far has been the gardening inspiration. Learning about that bolt-resistant arugula, for instance--I needed to know that! And last night I found myself dreaming of next year's seed selections, dreamily mapping out the Future Oregon Backyard Garden on a scrap of notebook paper. I don't merely want to buy more produce from local organic farmers; I want to be one of those people. I want a beehive and a chicken coop and fruit trees and more square footage of vegetables than ever before.
But I'm here still, so with my feet firmly on the ground, I should mention that this fall's pear crop is looking heavy and healthy. The s.o. is scribbling plans for a cider press.
Eating-wise, the Eat Local Challenge has brought with it far more joys than tribulations. This morning I had some porridge with honey and a chopped peach, and it was transcendent. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed cereal so much.
I am, as I write this, baking a gratin of butternut squash. The s.o. and I tasted it partway through the cooking process--when it was nakedly steamed, with no seasoning--and we are pretty sure it's the freshest, best-tasting winter squash we've had. When I was peeling the raw squash, it gave off a delicious melon-like odor.
I am about to have a wrench thrown in my Eat Local plans. My grandmother, 94 years old and until recently quite healthy, is having more and more serious bouts with congestive heart failure. I've been warned that now would be a good time to come see her, because the opportunity might slip away. So Thursday I'm flying to Ohio to see Nana, and I don't know how long I'll be there. It all depends on a lot of things.
Just so you can think fondly of her, too, and wish her the best: Nana is not only a smart, funny, vibrant lady, but she's also the person who passed down the pie crust recipe. She taught it to my mother, and my mom taught it to me.
My mother has been following along on this blog and is excited about the Eat Local Challenge, so while I'm in Ohio I suspect I'll be eating local Ohio foods, ranging from animals my mom and stepdad have hunted to produce from nearby roadside stands and fruit farms. I will keep reporting from there.
And then I'll be back here and I promise I'll take you to a couple of the most fabulous Georgia producers you can imagine.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Shopping day
"You have arugula!" I exclaimed.
The girl behind the table grinned. "Yes, we do--isn't it beautiful?"
"Mine bolted a million years ago."
"This is a new heat-resistant variety called Astro. It loves the hot weather. Just loves it."
It was 7:45 AM. I was standing in the Athens Green Market, a small assemblage of five organic vendors in the courtyard of Big City Bread. I hadn't shown up at this market much in the last three years, since it's kind of a tall order for me to get into town in time now that I live 40 minutes away. I was glad the Eat Local Challenge had inspired me to come back. I used to live a few blocks from here and would walk over as soon as I woke up.
Despite the market's minuscule size, the bounty was impressive. There were especially a lot of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants (which, Murphy's Law being what it is, were things I already had at home).
Tim Mills, the miller who grinds Red Mule cereals (with the help of his trusty mule, Luke), chatted with me a while and sold me three of his products: grits, cornmeal, and a mixed-grain cereal called English Porridge. I asked him if the oats in the porridge were local and he shook his head woefully. But then it transpired that by "local" he meant Athens. Much to my surprise and delight, oats are grown on a small scale as close as South Georgia! Apparently I won't have to go through oat withdrawal after all.
Half an hour earlier, I had visited the even tinier Athens Farmer's Market, an ad hoc collection of pickup trucks and vans parked outside City Hall. There were four vendors there this morning. Most of them were hawking pallid hybrid tomatoes. But I was delighted to find a skinny crewcutted boy selling okra and crowder peas. I had never seen crowder peas fresh before and had to ask what they were (my first guess was blackeyed peas).
My lovely local purchases, clockwise from the top: Red Mule grits, English porridge, and cornmeal (all milled in Athens, Ga.); crowder peas; arugula; Italian honey figs; butternut squash; Big City honey wheat bread; okra; and yellow crookneck squash.
The girl behind the table grinned. "Yes, we do--isn't it beautiful?"
"Mine bolted a million years ago."
"This is a new heat-resistant variety called Astro. It loves the hot weather. Just loves it."
It was 7:45 AM. I was standing in the Athens Green Market, a small assemblage of five organic vendors in the courtyard of Big City Bread. I hadn't shown up at this market much in the last three years, since it's kind of a tall order for me to get into town in time now that I live 40 minutes away. I was glad the Eat Local Challenge had inspired me to come back. I used to live a few blocks from here and would walk over as soon as I woke up.
Despite the market's minuscule size, the bounty was impressive. There were especially a lot of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants (which, Murphy's Law being what it is, were things I already had at home).
Tim Mills, the miller who grinds Red Mule cereals (with the help of his trusty mule, Luke), chatted with me a while and sold me three of his products: grits, cornmeal, and a mixed-grain cereal called English Porridge. I asked him if the oats in the porridge were local and he shook his head woefully. But then it transpired that by "local" he meant Athens. Much to my surprise and delight, oats are grown on a small scale as close as South Georgia! Apparently I won't have to go through oat withdrawal after all.
Half an hour earlier, I had visited the even tinier Athens Farmer's Market, an ad hoc collection of pickup trucks and vans parked outside City Hall. There were four vendors there this morning. Most of them were hawking pallid hybrid tomatoes. But I was delighted to find a skinny crewcutted boy selling okra and crowder peas. I had never seen crowder peas fresh before and had to ask what they were (my first guess was blackeyed peas).
My lovely local purchases, clockwise from the top: Red Mule grits, English porridge, and cornmeal (all milled in Athens, Ga.); crowder peas; arugula; Italian honey figs; butternut squash; Big City honey wheat bread; okra; and yellow crookneck squash.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Liquidity
Here are two of today's kitchen denizens. On the left is a batch of watermelon agua fresca, made with Florida watermelon, sugar, and Key lime.
The origin of the substance on the right originally had nothing to do with the Eat Local challenge. A woman on the Athens Freecycle list had offered some kefir grains last week, and I took her up on it. The yogurty, beery milk stuff in the pitcher is the result so far. But I did use Tennessee-sourced milk when I made it.*
I don't foresee actually drinking much kefir. I will probably make a smoothie (peach, no doubt) with some of it. But mostly I'm interested in its cooking properties. Apparently it makes a spectacular sourdough starter. It's also going to stand in--successfully, I hope!--for buttermilk in tonight's blueberry pancakes.** Eventually I may even try some of the kefir cheese recipes I've seen online.
-----
* I'm looking for local organic milk, but I haven't had time to put much effort into it yet. The farmer's market tomorrow may shed some light. I would go all-out and try for raw milk, but I don't think it's really in the spirit of Eat Local to waste a bunch of gas driving to South Carolina, the closest place where raw milk is legal.
** Breakfast-as-dinner. It's really enjoyable to do that every once in a while, don't you think?
The origin of the substance on the right originally had nothing to do with the Eat Local challenge. A woman on the Athens Freecycle list had offered some kefir grains last week, and I took her up on it. The yogurty, beery milk stuff in the pitcher is the result so far. But I did use Tennessee-sourced milk when I made it.*
I don't foresee actually drinking much kefir. I will probably make a smoothie (peach, no doubt) with some of it. But mostly I'm interested in its cooking properties. Apparently it makes a spectacular sourdough starter. It's also going to stand in--successfully, I hope!--for buttermilk in tonight's blueberry pancakes.** Eventually I may even try some of the kefir cheese recipes I've seen online.
-----
* I'm looking for local organic milk, but I haven't had time to put much effort into it yet. The farmer's market tomorrow may shed some light. I would go all-out and try for raw milk, but I don't think it's really in the spirit of Eat Local to waste a bunch of gas driving to South Carolina, the closest place where raw milk is legal.
** Breakfast-as-dinner. It's really enjoyable to do that every once in a while, don't you think?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Peach-blueberry cake and blueberry jam
These are some of the fruits (geddit?) of my labors. The so-called cake has a crust that its inventors at Gourmet call "a cross between a biscuit and a cake." Hey, folks, around here we call that a COOKIE. It is a tart with a cookie crust. And it's delicious, by the way.
This was my first batch of jam ever, and I was having trouble with my candy thermometer. But somehow it came out exactly the way I wanted it. In addition to these half-pints, we have most of a pint jar in the fridge for current use. For a while I was just spooning warm jam straight into my mouth. Then I got ahold of myself.
This was my first batch of jam ever, and I was having trouble with my candy thermometer. But somehow it came out exactly the way I wanted it. In addition to these half-pints, we have most of a pint jar in the fridge for current use. For a while I was just spooning warm jam straight into my mouth. Then I got ahold of myself.
Alo-balo polo
It looks like southern-style glorified rice, but it's not. It's a Persian dish of chicken layered with tart-cherry rice. The recipe is from the Middle Eastern volume of the Time-Life Foods of the World series, and as we've learned, those folks didn't write any bad recipes!
Some of the rice is allowed to form a brown, buttery, caramelized crust (see that at the front edge?) and some of it is stirred with a saffron-butter mixture to make a color and flavor accent on top.
This recipe has lots of parts (and, I might add, it requires practically every dish in the kitchen) but it's really easy to make. The rich, sweet taste reminds us of something, but we are too busy shoveling it into our mouths to think about it for too long. Two thumbs up.
Some of the rice is allowed to form a brown, buttery, caramelized crust (see that at the front edge?) and some of it is stirred with a saffron-butter mixture to make a color and flavor accent on top.
This recipe has lots of parts (and, I might add, it requires practically every dish in the kitchen) but it's really easy to make. The rich, sweet taste reminds us of something, but we are too busy shoveling it into our mouths to think about it for too long. Two thumbs up.
Rozanne was right
In a recent comments box, Rozanne suggested that Sunkist produce might be...gasp...foreign in origin, and that's why it wasn't labeled. Well, I just confirmed those suspicions at the local Publix. I knew summer wasn't a good time for Florida citrus, but I never expected:
Limes - Mexico
Lemons - Chile
Oranges - South Africa
Arrrghh!
Limes - Mexico
Lemons - Chile
Oranges - South Africa
Arrrghh!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Field Trip #1
Tuesday afternoon, in my quest for local foods, I visited Miller's Blueberries, a pick-your-own farm in Watkinsville, Ga. The photo you see here doesn't capture the sheer volume of blueberries I picked. That's a large wash basin in the picture. Two gallons is a lot!
It was work, but it felt like a vacation. The blueberries are a southern highbush variety, which means the fruits are mostly at waist- to chest-height. They are co-planted with pine trees (for the soil acidity, I assume) so they are in dappled shade and everything smells piney. The sun was shining and people picked berries in contented silence.
(Pie and jam are imminent. I may also try their recipe for blueberry ice cream.)
Afterward I stopped at my favorite farm stand in a town called Bishop. I had gotten excellent peaches there before. This time, I asked about where they came from.
"We get them from a fella in Spartanburg, South Carolina," the old man replied. "They're a lot better than the peaches they got around here."
I had to agree. I'd tried to buy peaches from Thomas Orchard, just up the road, and had come to the conclusion that they were trying to pass off their "seconds"--or maybe their outright rejects--on the local shoppers. Green, spotty, gnarly, hard. Nothing like these fuzzy beauties.
I bought a dozen of the South Carolina peaches. One had a soft spot, so the man's wife threw in an extra.
I also got a paper sack of small garnet sweet potatoes ("We get them from Mississippi...the ones from Georgia were all stringy, but people say these are the best they ever had") and a sack of gorgeous little red and yellow tomatoes that the couple grew in their back yard.
A note for those of you following along at home: I will be posting my Eat Local menus this month on my old Manor Menu blog. The link is in the sidebar. I'm doing this to avoid boring people with incessant tiny details.
It was work, but it felt like a vacation. The blueberries are a southern highbush variety, which means the fruits are mostly at waist- to chest-height. They are co-planted with pine trees (for the soil acidity, I assume) so they are in dappled shade and everything smells piney. The sun was shining and people picked berries in contented silence.
(Pie and jam are imminent. I may also try their recipe for blueberry ice cream.)
Afterward I stopped at my favorite farm stand in a town called Bishop. I had gotten excellent peaches there before. This time, I asked about where they came from.
"We get them from a fella in Spartanburg, South Carolina," the old man replied. "They're a lot better than the peaches they got around here."
I had to agree. I'd tried to buy peaches from Thomas Orchard, just up the road, and had come to the conclusion that they were trying to pass off their "seconds"--or maybe their outright rejects--on the local shoppers. Green, spotty, gnarly, hard. Nothing like these fuzzy beauties.
I bought a dozen of the South Carolina peaches. One had a soft spot, so the man's wife threw in an extra.
I also got a paper sack of small garnet sweet potatoes ("We get them from Mississippi...the ones from Georgia were all stringy, but people say these are the best they ever had") and a sack of gorgeous little red and yellow tomatoes that the couple grew in their back yard.
A note for those of you following along at home: I will be posting my Eat Local menus this month on my old Manor Menu blog. The link is in the sidebar. I'm doing this to avoid boring people with incessant tiny details.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
The others
Check out some of the other Eat Local participants. I have already discovered a slew of fascinating blogs thanks to my participation in this challenge.
I can't wait to see how we all do!
I can't wait to see how we all do!
Monday, August 01, 2005
Harder than it sounds
Boy, I'll tell you--the Saturday farmer's market can't come soon enough. We may have to take a field trip ASAP!
Today I drove to our two closest grocery stores in search of southern foods for my Eat Local project.* I tried to keep my expectations low, but I was still disappointed. What I found, even with my incredibly broad definition of "local," could just about be the rations for a Civil War soldier:
watermelon (Florida)
bulk pork sausage (Georgia)
frozen ground turkey (North Carolina--a pleasant surprise, since I had figured Hormel and Butterball would have a monopoly on turkey products)
bacon (South Carolina)
cabbage (North Carolina--many thanks to the store for the "North Carolina Grown!" sticker)
collard greens (South Carolina)
brown rice (Texas)
Community Coffee (an exotic, but roasted with chicory in Louisiana)
milk (Tennessee)
and the luxury item...
"Sweet Heat" flavor Golden Flake potato chips (Alabama, and yes, I know they probably get their potatoes up north, but how can I not support this venerable Birmingham business?)
I already had onions, cornmeal, and grits at home. I could have bought ham, but figured it would have been a little excessive since I already had bacon and sausage in my cart.
There were a few other fresh foods that I suspected were southern (squash, eggs, etc.), but since I couldn't prove it, I left them alone. Same for the citrus fruit. Apparently Sunkist has a new labeling policy where they don't tell you if a fruit comes from Florida, California, or Texas.
The peaches should have been a standout, but they were a travesty. The first store had South Carolina peaches for 48 cents a pound, but they were so small and green and rock-like that they weren't even worth that. The second store had a sign up that said "Southern Peaches," but on closer inspection they turned out to be from California. I will definitely be going to a farm stand for my peaches.
Tonight's dinner will be bucatini with pesto made from our home-grown basil. I already had Parmesan cheese, pine nuts, and pasta in the pantry, so the meal feels like we're cheating! But once these items have run out, we will be replacing them with local artisan cheese (I discovered some that I'll tell you about later), pecans, and polenta.
-----
* See previous post for details.
Today I drove to our two closest grocery stores in search of southern foods for my Eat Local project.* I tried to keep my expectations low, but I was still disappointed. What I found, even with my incredibly broad definition of "local," could just about be the rations for a Civil War soldier:
watermelon (Florida)
bulk pork sausage (Georgia)
frozen ground turkey (North Carolina--a pleasant surprise, since I had figured Hormel and Butterball would have a monopoly on turkey products)
bacon (South Carolina)
cabbage (North Carolina--many thanks to the store for the "North Carolina Grown!" sticker)
collard greens (South Carolina)
brown rice (Texas)
Community Coffee (an exotic, but roasted with chicory in Louisiana)
milk (Tennessee)
and the luxury item...
"Sweet Heat" flavor Golden Flake potato chips (Alabama, and yes, I know they probably get their potatoes up north, but how can I not support this venerable Birmingham business?)
I already had onions, cornmeal, and grits at home. I could have bought ham, but figured it would have been a little excessive since I already had bacon and sausage in my cart.
There were a few other fresh foods that I suspected were southern (squash, eggs, etc.), but since I couldn't prove it, I left them alone. Same for the citrus fruit. Apparently Sunkist has a new labeling policy where they don't tell you if a fruit comes from Florida, California, or Texas.
The peaches should have been a standout, but they were a travesty. The first store had South Carolina peaches for 48 cents a pound, but they were so small and green and rock-like that they weren't even worth that. The second store had a sign up that said "Southern Peaches," but on closer inspection they turned out to be from California. I will definitely be going to a farm stand for my peaches.
Tonight's dinner will be bucatini with pesto made from our home-grown basil. I already had Parmesan cheese, pine nuts, and pasta in the pantry, so the meal feels like we're cheating! But once these items have run out, we will be replacing them with local artisan cheese (I discovered some that I'll tell you about later), pecans, and polenta.
-----
* See previous post for details.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Go local
This August, our household will be participating in the Eat Local Challenge.
The initiator of the Challenge, Locavores, is defining "local" as within a 100-mile radius of San Francisco. Not a bad area to draw from, the lucky dogs! But participants elsewhere are invited to set their own rules, so I will.
1. Definition of "local."
We will attempt to consume only foods grown in the American South, i.e., from Texas eastward and from Maryland southward.
2. Exemptions
(a) Pistachios. Self-explanatory.
(b) Coffee - Obviously not grown here, but we can at least use a brand that is roasted, blended, and packed at a small plant in Louisiana.
(c) Alcoholic beverages. Aside from bourbon and a couple of microbrews that are not really to our tastes, these aren't the South's strong suit.
(d) We reserve the right to eat anything that is already in our kitchen so that we don't waste it.
3. Personal goal
To eat only local foods for every meal, whenever possible. This scheme is not timed at all well for southerners, since a lot of our garden vegetables are burned out already. It's August! That's a harsh time here. But we'll try. I reserve the right to blow this off anytime it becomes too difficult or cumbersome. Luckily, I have a high threshhold for that kind of thing.
The initiator of the Challenge, Locavores, is defining "local" as within a 100-mile radius of San Francisco. Not a bad area to draw from, the lucky dogs! But participants elsewhere are invited to set their own rules, so I will.
1. Definition of "local."
We will attempt to consume only foods grown in the American South, i.e., from Texas eastward and from Maryland southward.
2. Exemptions
(a) Pistachios. Self-explanatory.
(b) Coffee - Obviously not grown here, but we can at least use a brand that is roasted, blended, and packed at a small plant in Louisiana.
(c) Alcoholic beverages. Aside from bourbon and a couple of microbrews that are not really to our tastes, these aren't the South's strong suit.
(d) We reserve the right to eat anything that is already in our kitchen so that we don't waste it.
3. Personal goal
To eat only local foods for every meal, whenever possible. This scheme is not timed at all well for southerners, since a lot of our garden vegetables are burned out already. It's August! That's a harsh time here. But we'll try. I reserve the right to blow this off anytime it becomes too difficult or cumbersome. Luckily, I have a high threshhold for that kind of thing.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Photographic evidence
The fishing stream was such a pristine place.** Turtles popped up out of the water and eyed us. Great blue herons flapped overhead, croaking to each other. The herons were so giant and awe-inspiring that at those moments, the marshland seemed like Jurassic Park. We just stood there with our mouths hanging open.
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* I was out fishing in a light rain in grungy clothes...not my most photogenic moment. Still, I've looked far worse when I was trying to look far better. So, um, that's me.
** Aside from a rather surreal Athens Banner-Herald newspaper box by the water's edge. We really couldn't figure that one out.
Friday, July 29, 2005
It's meme-thirty
Got this from Diana, whose answers to the questions were really interesting and gave me meme envy.
Ten years ago: I was 25 and fresh out of graduate school. I was recently married, and my then-husband and I had moved from Iowa City (where I got my master’s) back up to St. Paul (where we’d gone to college) and were renting a tiny 1940s apartment in Highland Park. With little hope of a career in paleontology, I got a job at a tiny software firm, tweaking code and writing product documentation in a basement in the suburbs.
Five years ago: I was renting a beautiful little 1920s house in East Nashville, having moved there after my divorce in May. I was dating some guys in town, but I kept brushing them off and making myself unavailable because I was really taken with a particular guy I’d been introduced to via phone/e-mail by some mutual friends. I don’t suppose I need to tell you who that was.
One year ago: Having bought our fixer-upper in the country two years previous, the s.o. and I had remodeled around the clock until we were shells of our former selves, then had taken a several-month DIY break. Finally in July 2004 we got re-energized and started repairing and painting the dining room. We voted in the primaries and we still had faith that the Democratic party stood a chance in the upcoming election. *sigh*
Yesterday: I had a crazy number of interviews to do for some articles I’m writing, and my day was made even crazier by a couple who claimed they were coming to look at the house but then “had trouble getting [their] act together” and put it off till another time. I successfully freecycled my wedding dress after (for no known reason) hanging onto it for 11 years. We had posole for dinner and we watched Supersize Me.
Five snacks I enjoy: good chocolate, peanut butter and jam on homemade bread, pie, real Sicilian pizza, and Vietnamese salad (okay, that’s more of a lunch).
Five songs I know all the words to: “Driver 8” by REM, “Twice the Lovin’ in Half the Time” by Jean Shepard, “The Rainbow Connection” from the Muppet Movie, “Still Be Around” by Uncle Tupelo, and “I Push Right Over” by Robbie Fulks.
Five things I would do with $100 million: Pay off this place and buy a new farm near Portland, Oregon (with plenty of room for livestock and fruit trees), endow a no-kill animal shelter, start my own bakery/coffeeshop, buy a boat and a place to keep it, and travel travel travel!
Five places I would escape to: England, Greece, South Africa, the American southwest, and Appalachicola, Fla. (but not when there’s been a hurricane).
Five bad habits: Not being able to keep my mouth shut when I really should, unintentional thoughtlessness or selfishness, lax housekeeping, procrastination, and not calling my friends and family as often as I ought to.
Five things I like doing: Cooking, eating, reading (fiction or nonfiction, including, yes, cookbooks), gardening, thrift shopping.
Five things I'd never wear: Hard to say, because I experiment a lot. But I think it’s safe to say I would never wear shapeless smock dresses, white tights, baggy sweatshirts, t-shirts that come down below the butt, or Ugg boots.
Five TV shows I like: House, all the franchises of Law & Order, various cooking shows on PBS and TurnerSouth, What Not to Wear, and The Daily Show. As many of you are aware, I also watch American Idol when it’s in season.
Five biggest joys of the moment: The fact that the heat finally broke! Oh, and also: fishing with the s.o., the cool humidity of summer nights, seeing the seasons in Georgia go by one more time, and Netflix (to which I have subscribed again until we “catch up” on all the stuff we’ve been wanting to see).
Five favorite toys: my ice cream maker, my KitchenAid mixer, my iPod, my River Cottage DVDs, and my eMac.
Ten years ago: I was 25 and fresh out of graduate school. I was recently married, and my then-husband and I had moved from Iowa City (where I got my master’s) back up to St. Paul (where we’d gone to college) and were renting a tiny 1940s apartment in Highland Park. With little hope of a career in paleontology, I got a job at a tiny software firm, tweaking code and writing product documentation in a basement in the suburbs.
Five years ago: I was renting a beautiful little 1920s house in East Nashville, having moved there after my divorce in May. I was dating some guys in town, but I kept brushing them off and making myself unavailable because I was really taken with a particular guy I’d been introduced to via phone/e-mail by some mutual friends. I don’t suppose I need to tell you who that was.
One year ago: Having bought our fixer-upper in the country two years previous, the s.o. and I had remodeled around the clock until we were shells of our former selves, then had taken a several-month DIY break. Finally in July 2004 we got re-energized and started repairing and painting the dining room. We voted in the primaries and we still had faith that the Democratic party stood a chance in the upcoming election. *sigh*
Yesterday: I had a crazy number of interviews to do for some articles I’m writing, and my day was made even crazier by a couple who claimed they were coming to look at the house but then “had trouble getting [their] act together” and put it off till another time. I successfully freecycled my wedding dress after (for no known reason) hanging onto it for 11 years. We had posole for dinner and we watched Supersize Me.
Five snacks I enjoy: good chocolate, peanut butter and jam on homemade bread, pie, real Sicilian pizza, and Vietnamese salad (okay, that’s more of a lunch).
Five songs I know all the words to: “Driver 8” by REM, “Twice the Lovin’ in Half the Time” by Jean Shepard, “The Rainbow Connection” from the Muppet Movie, “Still Be Around” by Uncle Tupelo, and “I Push Right Over” by Robbie Fulks.
Five things I would do with $100 million: Pay off this place and buy a new farm near Portland, Oregon (with plenty of room for livestock and fruit trees), endow a no-kill animal shelter, start my own bakery/coffeeshop, buy a boat and a place to keep it, and travel travel travel!
Five places I would escape to: England, Greece, South Africa, the American southwest, and Appalachicola, Fla. (but not when there’s been a hurricane).
Five bad habits: Not being able to keep my mouth shut when I really should, unintentional thoughtlessness or selfishness, lax housekeeping, procrastination, and not calling my friends and family as often as I ought to.
Five things I like doing: Cooking, eating, reading (fiction or nonfiction, including, yes, cookbooks), gardening, thrift shopping.
Five things I'd never wear: Hard to say, because I experiment a lot. But I think it’s safe to say I would never wear shapeless smock dresses, white tights, baggy sweatshirts, t-shirts that come down below the butt, or Ugg boots.
Five TV shows I like: House, all the franchises of Law & Order, various cooking shows on PBS and TurnerSouth, What Not to Wear, and The Daily Show. As many of you are aware, I also watch American Idol when it’s in season.
Five biggest joys of the moment: The fact that the heat finally broke! Oh, and also: fishing with the s.o., the cool humidity of summer nights, seeing the seasons in Georgia go by one more time, and Netflix (to which I have subscribed again until we “catch up” on all the stuff we’ve been wanting to see).
Five favorite toys: my ice cream maker, my KitchenAid mixer, my iPod, my River Cottage DVDs, and my eMac.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Heavenly
CANTALOUPE SORBET
2/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. water
3 heaping cups ripe cantaloupe chunks
2 Tbs. fresh-squeezed orange juice
Combine the sugar and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring. Simmer until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat, cool, and chill in refrigerator 1 hour.
Combine sugar syrup with cantaloupe chunks and orange juice in a blender. Puree. Pour into ice cream freezer and freeze according to manufacturer's instructions.
2/3 c. sugar
1/2 c. water
3 heaping cups ripe cantaloupe chunks
2 Tbs. fresh-squeezed orange juice
Combine the sugar and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring. Simmer until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat, cool, and chill in refrigerator 1 hour.
Combine sugar syrup with cantaloupe chunks and orange juice in a blender. Puree. Pour into ice cream freezer and freeze according to manufacturer's instructions.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
[Insert breast joke here]
Wow! The kitchen is perfumey with muskmelon goodness. But all the cantaloupes are all ripening at once, so even the s.o.--a bigtime melon fan armed with a deli pack of prosciutto--can't eat them all. I will make melon sorbet sometime this week and post the recipe.
Monday, July 25, 2005
I caught my first fish!
It was the world's smallest bass. It was adorable. The s.o. threw it back for me. We wished we had a camera.
It wasn't all success and glamour. I also made some hilarious and sometimes borderline dangerous casts, and I hooked my own fingers six or seven times. Steep learning curve ahead!
It wasn't all success and glamour. I also made some hilarious and sometimes borderline dangerous casts, and I hooked my own fingers six or seven times. Steep learning curve ahead!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Fish tales
There's nothing like free food, especially when it is fresh, tasty, local food. If you, like us, are lucky enough to catch freshwater fish (or to have a significant other who does), here are a couple of easy recipes to use up the bounty.
BAKED CATFISH
Someone has been lying to us, or at the very least overgeneralizing. I've always been told (even by so-called experts such as Alton Brown, who I personally think is a hack and a clown but a lot of people respect) that farmed catfish are superior to wild catfish because wild catfish taste "muddy" and "strong." Well, that's just wrong. I suppose it's true if you're fishing wild cats out of the lower reaches of the mighty Mississippi (yuck!), but when you pull them out of an isolated stream that runs through National Forest and is filtered through untold miles of country swampland, it's completely different. The catfish the s.o. has been catching are white-fleshed and tender and pure. They still taste like catfish, but they don't taste like what we've been told is catfish.
Anyhow, this recipe assumes two skinned, cleaned and gutted catfish, about 8 inches long without their heads. If your catfish are much larger or smaller, or if you are multiplying the recipe, you will need to alter the baking time and the amounts.
oil for the baking dish
2 catfish
juice of 1 lemon
approximately 1 Tbs. Old Bay Seasoning per fish
1 to 2 Tbs. unsalted butter, cut into small pats
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Oil a baking dish that fits the fish fairly snugly (I use a small 6x9 glass baking dish). Wash the fish and pat them dry, then put them in the dish and pour the lemon juice over them. Sprinkle them fairly heavily with Old Bay, then flip them over and sprinkle the other sides. Dot with butter and cover with foil. Bake about 30 minutes, until cooked through.
FISH CHOWDER
Often the s.o. hooks small panfish such as sunfish and bluegill. Usually he throws back the small ones, but occasionally they are hooked too deep and are doomed anyway, so he brings them home. The result is that I end up with lots of small fish that would be a royal pain to try to eat in fillet form. But the thing is, these fish are some of the tastiest there are. It's important to do something really special to celebrate them.
In this recipe, I poach or steam the fish separately so I can flake the flesh off the bones. This way, there's a lot less waste than if I tried to fillet them while they're raw. If you have incredible knife skills, feel free to fillet them instead.
1 1/2 lbs. small panfish, cleaned and gutted
2 strips bacon, diced
1 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
a handful of green or wax beans, trimmed and cut into 1-inch lengths
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered
milk and cream, as needed
salt and pepper to taste
fresh oregano and thyme, minced
pinch of paprika
To pre-cook the fish, you have two choices: Either arrange them, upright as though they were swimming, in a steamer basket and steam for a few minutes until just barely flaky, or tie them up in cheesecloth and poach them briefly (you can do this with the potatoes if you like--see below). Don't overcook them! Run cold water over them and let them cool. Then carefully flake the meat off, avoiding pin bones, and put it in a bowl. Set aside.
Meanwhile, boil the potatoes in salted water until tender. Remove from the heat, drain, and mash. Set aside.
In a medium soup pot, fry the minced bacon in the butter and then add the onion and beans. Saute until the onions and beans are soft. You may want to put the lid on for a little while to steam the beans, because otherwise they may remain a little crisp-tender.
Add the garlic and cook, stirring for a minute or so. Then add the mashed potatoes and stir. Add enough milk (and, if you like, a little cream) to make a soup. Add the fish, season with salt, pepper, herbs, and paprika, and cook on low heat until it is piping hot but NOT boiling.
This is excellent served with crusty homemade bread--especially wheat.
BAKED CATFISH
Someone has been lying to us, or at the very least overgeneralizing. I've always been told (even by so-called experts such as Alton Brown, who I personally think is a hack and a clown but a lot of people respect) that farmed catfish are superior to wild catfish because wild catfish taste "muddy" and "strong." Well, that's just wrong. I suppose it's true if you're fishing wild cats out of the lower reaches of the mighty Mississippi (yuck!), but when you pull them out of an isolated stream that runs through National Forest and is filtered through untold miles of country swampland, it's completely different. The catfish the s.o. has been catching are white-fleshed and tender and pure. They still taste like catfish, but they don't taste like what we've been told is catfish.
Anyhow, this recipe assumes two skinned, cleaned and gutted catfish, about 8 inches long without their heads. If your catfish are much larger or smaller, or if you are multiplying the recipe, you will need to alter the baking time and the amounts.
oil for the baking dish
2 catfish
juice of 1 lemon
approximately 1 Tbs. Old Bay Seasoning per fish
1 to 2 Tbs. unsalted butter, cut into small pats
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Oil a baking dish that fits the fish fairly snugly (I use a small 6x9 glass baking dish). Wash the fish and pat them dry, then put them in the dish and pour the lemon juice over them. Sprinkle them fairly heavily with Old Bay, then flip them over and sprinkle the other sides. Dot with butter and cover with foil. Bake about 30 minutes, until cooked through.
FISH CHOWDER
Often the s.o. hooks small panfish such as sunfish and bluegill. Usually he throws back the small ones, but occasionally they are hooked too deep and are doomed anyway, so he brings them home. The result is that I end up with lots of small fish that would be a royal pain to try to eat in fillet form. But the thing is, these fish are some of the tastiest there are. It's important to do something really special to celebrate them.
In this recipe, I poach or steam the fish separately so I can flake the flesh off the bones. This way, there's a lot less waste than if I tried to fillet them while they're raw. If you have incredible knife skills, feel free to fillet them instead.
1 1/2 lbs. small panfish, cleaned and gutted
2 strips bacon, diced
1 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
a handful of green or wax beans, trimmed and cut into 1-inch lengths
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered
milk and cream, as needed
salt and pepper to taste
fresh oregano and thyme, minced
pinch of paprika
To pre-cook the fish, you have two choices: Either arrange them, upright as though they were swimming, in a steamer basket and steam for a few minutes until just barely flaky, or tie them up in cheesecloth and poach them briefly (you can do this with the potatoes if you like--see below). Don't overcook them! Run cold water over them and let them cool. Then carefully flake the meat off, avoiding pin bones, and put it in a bowl. Set aside.
Meanwhile, boil the potatoes in salted water until tender. Remove from the heat, drain, and mash. Set aside.
In a medium soup pot, fry the minced bacon in the butter and then add the onion and beans. Saute until the onions and beans are soft. You may want to put the lid on for a little while to steam the beans, because otherwise they may remain a little crisp-tender.
Add the garlic and cook, stirring for a minute or so. Then add the mashed potatoes and stir. Add enough milk (and, if you like, a little cream) to make a soup. Add the fish, season with salt, pepper, herbs, and paprika, and cook on low heat until it is piping hot but NOT boiling.
This is excellent served with crusty homemade bread--especially wheat.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
The power of procrastination
I just finished clearing out all the spent, unproductive, burned-out portions of my garden and replanting them with fresh crops, painstakingly rotated to new areas. How have I accomplished this, you ask? What inspired me to get off my butt and put the seeds in the ground?
I have a work deadline, of course!
I have a work deadline, of course!
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Whew
Today I canned:
• 5 pints crushed tomatoes
• 5 more pints kosher dill pickles
There were almost enough tomatoes for a sixth jar, but not quite. I think I'm going to make them into fresh tomato soup for tomorrow's lunch. This rules.
P.S. The weather has done a 180-degree turn. Now it's 95 and sunny. I will actually have to water the garden tonight. I keep meaning to put in my fall crops, but the soil is too dry and cloddy.
• 5 pints crushed tomatoes
• 5 more pints kosher dill pickles
There were almost enough tomatoes for a sixth jar, but not quite. I think I'm going to make them into fresh tomato soup for tomorrow's lunch. This rules.
P.S. The weather has done a 180-degree turn. Now it's 95 and sunny. I will actually have to water the garden tonight. I keep meaning to put in my fall crops, but the soil is too dry and cloddy.
What the...?
This morning I was charmed to find a paper sign on my computer that said "Gone Fishing" with a smiley face on it. The s.o. has really been enjoying his time in the Secret Fishing Spot, and what with the full moon, he's been down there about twice a day. He even cleans what he catches! Best guy ever!
But I must admit I was puzzled when I walked into the kitchen* and found dead worms all over the floor. I'm guessing maybe the cat got into the worm container...
-----
* To bake David's goodies, of course. I tried to do it last night, but I was testing out a new recipe and it failed in a rather spectacular way. This morning's effort, however, turned out just about perfect.
But I must admit I was puzzled when I walked into the kitchen* and found dead worms all over the floor. I'm guessing maybe the cat got into the worm container...
-----
* To bake David's goodies, of course. I tried to do it last night, but I was testing out a new recipe and it failed in a rather spectacular way. This morning's effort, however, turned out just about perfect.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Guestblogging
I'm being a little bit of a slacker at Chez 10Signs because I am helping hold down the fort here this week. Check it out! When she's not vacationing, Babs writes one of the most interesting and deeply involving blogs you'll ever read.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
We should have named her Lucky
Depending on who you ask, the saying is either "God protects fools and children" or "God protects fools and drunks." But either way, apparently He protects fools. That's a good thing for Gracie the Foster Dog, because yesterday the s.o. discovered her bounding around in circles furiously, barking her head off and worrying a timber rattlesnake.
I never got to see the snake. I was in the shower at the time. Apparently it was lying linearly, with its head raised slightly, as Gracie ran laps and fussed around it. My mother got to see it, though. She and the s.o. were a few yards away from it and it raised up and rattled at them. What a great advertisement for the state of Georgia: She and my stepdad show up just in time for a week of humid 90-plus-degree weather, unusually rampant mosquitoes, and timber rattler.
I never even really got to dry off before the s.o. called me to look at Gracie. The snake had disappeared somewhere (oh, great), and Gracie appeared unharmed. I searched her entire body for puncture marks and then called the vet's office for advice. They said if she'd been bitten, she'd be in a lot of pain and would swell up quickly. We let her into the house and watched her for a while. Pretty soon it was apparent she was absolutely at the top of her doggie game and was feeling quite well, thank you.
I was surprised there had been a rattlesnake in the yard, since the only one we'd ever seen was deep in the woods. Timber rattlesnakes are usually very reclusive and hard to find. Plus, last time I checked we had a kingsnake living under the house. Kingsnakes eat mice, rats, and pesty poisonous snakes.
My mother found a web site that said timber rattlers are very timid and, in times of trouble, tend to freeze and hope to go unnoticed. They'll only attack under extreme duress. I don't know why "two humans standing nearby" is more duress than "crazy barking pogoing dog," but there you go.
She also read that timber rattlesnakes often share hibernation sites with other species of snakes, including rat snakes. So now I'm jittery, supposing that the rattler beds down with the rat snakes I see in the vegetable garden all the time.
Great. Just great. But at least Gracie is okay.
I never got to see the snake. I was in the shower at the time. Apparently it was lying linearly, with its head raised slightly, as Gracie ran laps and fussed around it. My mother got to see it, though. She and the s.o. were a few yards away from it and it raised up and rattled at them. What a great advertisement for the state of Georgia: She and my stepdad show up just in time for a week of humid 90-plus-degree weather, unusually rampant mosquitoes, and timber rattler.
I never even really got to dry off before the s.o. called me to look at Gracie. The snake had disappeared somewhere (oh, great), and Gracie appeared unharmed. I searched her entire body for puncture marks and then called the vet's office for advice. They said if she'd been bitten, she'd be in a lot of pain and would swell up quickly. We let her into the house and watched her for a while. Pretty soon it was apparent she was absolutely at the top of her doggie game and was feeling quite well, thank you.
I was surprised there had been a rattlesnake in the yard, since the only one we'd ever seen was deep in the woods. Timber rattlesnakes are usually very reclusive and hard to find. Plus, last time I checked we had a kingsnake living under the house. Kingsnakes eat mice, rats, and pesty poisonous snakes.
My mother found a web site that said timber rattlers are very timid and, in times of trouble, tend to freeze and hope to go unnoticed. They'll only attack under extreme duress. I don't know why "two humans standing nearby" is more duress than "crazy barking pogoing dog," but there you go.
She also read that timber rattlesnakes often share hibernation sites with other species of snakes, including rat snakes. So now I'm jittery, supposing that the rattler beds down with the rat snakes I see in the vegetable garden all the time.
Great. Just great. But at least Gracie is okay.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
We have a wiener, er, I mean...
Congratulations to David, who, although he did go for the cheap laff, did it with aplomb. David, please e-mail me your street address, as well as any food preferences, allergies, etc.
All of the entries were fantastic. David also submitted another great jpeg that was tamer, yet significantly weirder. And the rest of you slayed us with:
“Get out of my way, dicknose.”
“Tomatillo Envy”
"Son, just because you're different doesn't mean we
don't love you."
Tomato in Foghorn Leghorn voice: “Go..I say..go away boy. Ya botha me.”
"Who invited that tacky tomatillo?"
Tomatillo in a Mae West voice: "So, is that a cucumber in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
"Ketchup Fodder"
"What on earth have you done to your hair?"
"Goofus and Gallant"
“If the missus comes back and finds it gone...Ooooh, what she'll do to me.”
"So are those your seeds, or are you just happy to see me?"
and
"Seasoning's Greetings"
My mother, who is naturally disqualified from the competition because, well, she's my mother, submitted two of my absolute favorites:
"You mean you are small and green AND you don't have a nose?"
and, even better:
"I know it is tight quarters for a duck, but I am only hiding out here until the end of hunting season."
I love all of you. This was hilarious and we'll do it again soon.
All of the entries were fantastic. David also submitted another great jpeg that was tamer, yet significantly weirder. And the rest of you slayed us with:
“Get out of my way, dicknose.”
“Tomatillo Envy”
"Son, just because you're different doesn't mean we
don't love you."
Tomato in Foghorn Leghorn voice: “Go..I say..go away boy. Ya botha me.”
"Who invited that tacky tomatillo?"
Tomatillo in a Mae West voice: "So, is that a cucumber in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
"Ketchup Fodder"
"What on earth have you done to your hair?"
"Goofus and Gallant"
“If the missus comes back and finds it gone...Ooooh, what she'll do to me.”
"So are those your seeds, or are you just happy to see me?"
and
"Seasoning's Greetings"
My mother, who is naturally disqualified from the competition because, well, she's my mother, submitted two of my absolute favorites:
"You mean you are small and green AND you don't have a nose?"
and, even better:
"I know it is tight quarters for a duck, but I am only hiding out here until the end of hunting season."
I love all of you. This was hilarious and we'll do it again soon.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Get salsa-fied
I'm not 100 percent sold on this "one thundershower every day" weather we keep having. On one hand, I haven't had to water the garden constantly the way I did last year, so my chores are lessened and our produce is practically free. On the other hand, though, the tomatoes are rotting left and right, and the bugs are thick. Ugh, soggy.
I'm still getting a decent number of tomatoes despite it all. Here's what I've been doing with some of them. As you can see, it's really quick and easy (aside from, perhaps, the optional canning part, but even that is easy if you have the equipment and you're accustomed to it).
HOT CHILE SALSA
Makes about 6 pints.
about 15 jalapeño peppers
5 lbs. tomatoes
1 lb. onions, chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
1 c. white vinegar
3 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
If you will be canning the salsa, start heating the water in your boiling-water canner now, because large volumes of water take forever to come to the boil. Put the pint jars you'll be using in the water, and they'll be sterilized by the time you're ready for them.
Put the jalapeños under the broiler for a few minutes on each side, until blistered and lightly charred. Remove and place in a paper bag until cool.
Meanwhile, score an "x" on the bottom of each tomato. Bring a pot of water to a boil and drop the tomatoes in, a few at a time, until the skin starts to peel away at the "x". Fish them out, let them cool, and peel the skins off with your fingers. Core them and chop them coarsely.
With your fingers, rub the skins off the peppers. (Warning: Don't touch your eyes or put in your contact lenses after doing this!) Remove the stems, then mince them, seeds and all.
Put the peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, vinegar, salt, and pepper in a large pot. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer 10 minutes. If you're canning the salsa, you're ready to do so now. If not, you may want to simmer the salsa a little longer to soften the onions, and then you can just cool it and put it in the fridge.
If you're canning:
Pour boiling water over the lids, then drain them.
Ladle the salsa into sterilized pint jars. Wipe the rims with a clean cloth or paper towel, apply lids, and screw the rings on. Process in a boiling-water canner for 15 minutes.
I'm still getting a decent number of tomatoes despite it all. Here's what I've been doing with some of them. As you can see, it's really quick and easy (aside from, perhaps, the optional canning part, but even that is easy if you have the equipment and you're accustomed to it).
HOT CHILE SALSA
Makes about 6 pints.
about 15 jalapeño peppers
5 lbs. tomatoes
1 lb. onions, chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
1 c. white vinegar
3 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
If you will be canning the salsa, start heating the water in your boiling-water canner now, because large volumes of water take forever to come to the boil. Put the pint jars you'll be using in the water, and they'll be sterilized by the time you're ready for them.
Put the jalapeños under the broiler for a few minutes on each side, until blistered and lightly charred. Remove and place in a paper bag until cool.
Meanwhile, score an "x" on the bottom of each tomato. Bring a pot of water to a boil and drop the tomatoes in, a few at a time, until the skin starts to peel away at the "x". Fish them out, let them cool, and peel the skins off with your fingers. Core them and chop them coarsely.
With your fingers, rub the skins off the peppers. (Warning: Don't touch your eyes or put in your contact lenses after doing this!) Remove the stems, then mince them, seeds and all.
Put the peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, vinegar, salt, and pepper in a large pot. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer 10 minutes. If you're canning the salsa, you're ready to do so now. If not, you may want to simmer the salsa a little longer to soften the onions, and then you can just cool it and put it in the fridge.
If you're canning:
Pour boiling water over the lids, then drain them.
Ladle the salsa into sterilized pint jars. Wipe the rims with a clean cloth or paper towel, apply lids, and screw the rings on. Process in a boiling-water canner for 15 minutes.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Caption contest
Everyone loves a deformed tomato...right?
Show your love by thinking up a caption for this photo. E-mail your entry to me at ten_signs at hotmail dot com anytime before 10 pm EST on Wednesday, July 13. All entries will be anonymized and presented to the s.o. for judging. Winner receives goodies of my choosing.
Show your love by thinking up a caption for this photo. E-mail your entry to me at ten_signs at hotmail dot com anytime before 10 pm EST on Wednesday, July 13. All entries will be anonymized and presented to the s.o. for judging. Winner receives goodies of my choosing.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Saturday, July 09, 2005
I'm like a broken record, I know
The Time-Life Foods of the World series has blown my mind yet again. This time it's the Middle Eastern volume. I was already impressed with the fabulous Iranian braised lamb and eggplant I made for dinner, and then the dessert of Turkish poached apples immediately made all baked apples redundant forever. So simple, yet so special.
If you see it, buy it!!!
If you see it, buy it!!!
Friday, July 08, 2005
Doe, a deer, a female deer
I was standing on the back porch in the fresh morning air, shuffling my feet into my garden clogs, when I saw it: a lanky doe, standing calmly just beyond my vegetable garden, looking at me.
"Dangit," I muttered. I bolted out the screen door, letting it slam behind me.
"GET GOING!" I yelled, flailing my arms and running at the deer. It stared impassively. I charged toward it. "SHOO! SHOO! GO ON!"
The deer loped calmly to the edge of the woods and stood there, watching the spectacle of the crazy human.
I ran after it. "SHOO! SHOO!" I galloped and flailed. It loped a little farther in.
"GET OUTTA HERE!"
Finally the deer skipped far enough into the woods that I didn't see any more point in following. I trudged back toward the house, the cool dew inside my clogs squeaking and honking with each step.
I kicked off the clogs on the back porch and walked into the kitchen, leaving wet footprints. There I saw the s.o., dumping freshly ground coffee into the coffee maker.
"You were watching that whole scene, weren't you?"
"Yep," he said, smiling.
"Dangit," I muttered. I bolted out the screen door, letting it slam behind me.
"GET GOING!" I yelled, flailing my arms and running at the deer. It stared impassively. I charged toward it. "SHOO! SHOO! GO ON!"
The deer loped calmly to the edge of the woods and stood there, watching the spectacle of the crazy human.
I ran after it. "SHOO! SHOO!" I galloped and flailed. It loped a little farther in.
"GET OUTTA HERE!"
Finally the deer skipped far enough into the woods that I didn't see any more point in following. I trudged back toward the house, the cool dew inside my clogs squeaking and honking with each step.
I kicked off the clogs on the back porch and walked into the kitchen, leaving wet footprints. There I saw the s.o., dumping freshly ground coffee into the coffee maker.
"You were watching that whole scene, weren't you?"
"Yep," he said, smiling.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
London terrorist attack
To all my British friends: I don't even know what to say. I love London and its people. I am so sorry to hear what's happened, and it doesn't escape me that my country has probably been instrumental in getting you involved. May it never happen again.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
It's the PMS talking
"Grr...I hate paying bills."
...
"When we move, let's get a place with a short address. My old street address only had nine characters in it. Come to think of it, let's buy a place on a numbered street. Preferably ones because they're easiest to write. Like 1 1st St."
...
"THAT GODLESS BITCH. When I'm waiting for the mail, she's late. When I'm trying to get something in the mail, she randomly shows up an hour early."
...
"I'm driving into town. But hopefully you don't need anything, because I'm just going to pull up next to the mailbox and I don't even think I'll be getting out of the car."
...
*stomp, stomp, stomp*
*SLAM*
...
"When we move, let's get a place with a short address. My old street address only had nine characters in it. Come to think of it, let's buy a place on a numbered street. Preferably ones because they're easiest to write. Like 1 1st St."
...
"THAT GODLESS BITCH. When I'm waiting for the mail, she's late. When I'm trying to get something in the mail, she randomly shows up an hour early."
...
"I'm driving into town. But hopefully you don't need anything, because I'm just going to pull up next to the mailbox and I don't even think I'll be getting out of the car."
...
*stomp, stomp, stomp*
*SLAM*
Monday, July 04, 2005
A flashback to the Manor Menu days
Our Fourth of July menu...classic, with a southern flair:
Brunswick stew
Corn on the cob
Coleslaw
Squash-Parmesan bread
Key lime pie
Also, I happened upon this uninentionally cute and funny BBC Food feature on Independence Day. If you can find me one American family who are having "spicy lamb burgers with coriander, tomato and yoghurt relish" today, I'll give you a hundred bucks. A lot of people in the U.S. have never even tried lamb. But I really appreciate the effort anyway, and I'm sure it's no less authentic than our attempts to fabricate British menus. It's nice to have a culinary hat tipped in our direction on our big holiday.
Brunswick stew
Corn on the cob
Coleslaw
Squash-Parmesan bread
Key lime pie
Also, I happened upon this uninentionally cute and funny BBC Food feature on Independence Day. If you can find me one American family who are having "spicy lamb burgers with coriander, tomato and yoghurt relish" today, I'll give you a hundred bucks. A lot of people in the U.S. have never even tried lamb. But I really appreciate the effort anyway, and I'm sure it's no less authentic than our attempts to fabricate British menus. It's nice to have a culinary hat tipped in our direction on our big holiday.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
The best gazpacho you've ever tasted
The tomatoes have started to kick in for real now, despite the rain. If anything, I think the stormy weather may end up staggering the harvest a little--a welcome favor.
I beg you to try this. I'm really proud of it. Don't be surprised when it turns out dusky-pink instead of bright red; that's how it's supposed to be.
GAZPACHO
2 medium cucumbers, peeled and coarsely chopped
5 medium tomatoes, peeled* and coarsely chopped
1/2 medium onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
1/2 jalapeño pepper, seeds and pith removed, coarsely chopped
1 large or 2 medium green onions, both white and green parts, coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
3 to 4 c. (depending on density) good rustic white bread, crusts removed, crumbled
3 c. cold water
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
3 tsp. good sea salt
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. tomato paste
In a large, deep bowl, combine cucumbers, tomatoes, onion, jalapeño, green onion, and bread. Toss well.
Add water, vinegar, and salt. Mix thoroughly and, in two batches, transfer to a blender and puree for about 1 minute or until the mixture is smooth. Whisk in the olive oil and tomato paste.
Cover and chill at least two hours. Stir or whisk again to recombine before serving.
-----
* Do this by cutting a cross in the flower end of each tomato and dropping it in boiling water for a minute or so until you can peel the skin back with your fingers. It is surprisingly easy, and important too, so please don't skip this step.
I beg you to try this. I'm really proud of it. Don't be surprised when it turns out dusky-pink instead of bright red; that's how it's supposed to be.
GAZPACHO
2 medium cucumbers, peeled and coarsely chopped
5 medium tomatoes, peeled* and coarsely chopped
1/2 medium onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
1/2 jalapeño pepper, seeds and pith removed, coarsely chopped
1 large or 2 medium green onions, both white and green parts, coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
3 to 4 c. (depending on density) good rustic white bread, crusts removed, crumbled
3 c. cold water
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
3 tsp. good sea salt
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. tomato paste
In a large, deep bowl, combine cucumbers, tomatoes, onion, jalapeño, green onion, and bread. Toss well.
Add water, vinegar, and salt. Mix thoroughly and, in two batches, transfer to a blender and puree for about 1 minute or until the mixture is smooth. Whisk in the olive oil and tomato paste.
Cover and chill at least two hours. Stir or whisk again to recombine before serving.
-----
* Do this by cutting a cross in the flower end of each tomato and dropping it in boiling water for a minute or so until you can peel the skin back with your fingers. It is surprisingly easy, and important too, so please don't skip this step.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
If I tell you where they are, I will have to kill you
Today the s.o. showed me his Top Secret Blackberry Patch. We picked berries until it got dark. (He plans to make blackberry cordial; I have my sights set on jam and scones.)
Then he took me to his Top Secret Fishing Spot. The fish weren't biting tonight, but I think I will remember forever the fantastic sounds of the swampy creekbed--the belches, bracks, and chirps of the frogs; the burr of the dragonflies; the splosh of the fish; and the airy flapping of the bats.
Then he took me to his Top Secret Fishing Spot. The fish weren't biting tonight, but I think I will remember forever the fantastic sounds of the swampy creekbed--the belches, bracks, and chirps of the frogs; the burr of the dragonflies; the splosh of the fish; and the airy flapping of the bats.
Friday, July 01, 2005
The aftereffects of rain
Rain, rain, rain...finally ending. It's supposed to be 97 and sunny today. Yes, I said 97. I had to look twice at the cable TV weather thingie to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Guess I'll leave the A/C on.
The rain has been good for some things and bad for others. Most of the tomatoes haven't ripened because the sun has refused to shine. I also lost a few garden plants to mold and insects. But everything certainly is green!
I got caught in a horrific rainstorm last night in Athens. In Greene County, the rain had ceased a whole day before, so I could have avoided it. But I had to choose that exact time to drive into Athens to deposit some checks and buy a few provisions. First I saw the lightning on the horizon, then I heard a severe thunderstorm warning on the radio. Suddenly, just as I entered the city limits, visibility dropped to near-zero and traffic slowed to a crawl. The ditches and gutters filled up and overflowed. A good six inches of water swirled over the ground, and more poured from the sky as though a heavenly bathtub had been overturned. By the time I got to the bank, I couldn't even get out of the car to run to the ATM--I just had to sit there for a few minutes and wait it out. Finally it slowed down some and I made a dash for it, but I ended up getting good and soaked anyhow.
In the liquor store, the kid behind the counter wasn't actually behind the counter; he was in the wine section, Shop-Vaccing a puddle and setting a bucket under a weak spot in the roof.
My car steamed up horribly--all Geos do that, dunno why--so I was forced to stop at Wal-Mart for a bottle of anti-fogging window treatment. I learned of the existence of this product from an episode of King of the Hill. (And they say TV is a waste of time!) It works. But then, everything Rain-X makes works. I never go on a roadtrip without some original yellow-bottle Rain-X rubbed into the windshield, because it makes the wipers superfluous even in the heaviest downpour.
All the Wal-Mart employees were jittery because, what with the holiday coming up, there was a big fireworks tent in the parking lot. The police had been hovering nearby (but not too nearby) during the storm, fearing that lightning would strike the tent and blow everyone to smithereens. Not a bad ending for a Wal-Mart, if you think about it...if only there were some way to get the people out first!
Of course I got home to find that nary a drop had fallen. There was a little fog. The lawn sat peacefully, un-squishy and freshly mowed, dotted with marshmallowlike puffball mushrooms from the recent rain.
UPDATE
They changed the forecast. Now it's supposed to be 93 with a chance of thunderstorms...for the foreseeable future. *sigh*
The rain has been good for some things and bad for others. Most of the tomatoes haven't ripened because the sun has refused to shine. I also lost a few garden plants to mold and insects. But everything certainly is green!
I got caught in a horrific rainstorm last night in Athens. In Greene County, the rain had ceased a whole day before, so I could have avoided it. But I had to choose that exact time to drive into Athens to deposit some checks and buy a few provisions. First I saw the lightning on the horizon, then I heard a severe thunderstorm warning on the radio. Suddenly, just as I entered the city limits, visibility dropped to near-zero and traffic slowed to a crawl. The ditches and gutters filled up and overflowed. A good six inches of water swirled over the ground, and more poured from the sky as though a heavenly bathtub had been overturned. By the time I got to the bank, I couldn't even get out of the car to run to the ATM--I just had to sit there for a few minutes and wait it out. Finally it slowed down some and I made a dash for it, but I ended up getting good and soaked anyhow.
In the liquor store, the kid behind the counter wasn't actually behind the counter; he was in the wine section, Shop-Vaccing a puddle and setting a bucket under a weak spot in the roof.
My car steamed up horribly--all Geos do that, dunno why--so I was forced to stop at Wal-Mart for a bottle of anti-fogging window treatment. I learned of the existence of this product from an episode of King of the Hill. (And they say TV is a waste of time!) It works. But then, everything Rain-X makes works. I never go on a roadtrip without some original yellow-bottle Rain-X rubbed into the windshield, because it makes the wipers superfluous even in the heaviest downpour.
All the Wal-Mart employees were jittery because, what with the holiday coming up, there was a big fireworks tent in the parking lot. The police had been hovering nearby (but not too nearby) during the storm, fearing that lightning would strike the tent and blow everyone to smithereens. Not a bad ending for a Wal-Mart, if you think about it...if only there were some way to get the people out first!
Of course I got home to find that nary a drop had fallen. There was a little fog. The lawn sat peacefully, un-squishy and freshly mowed, dotted with marshmallowlike puffball mushrooms from the recent rain.
UPDATE
They changed the forecast. Now it's supposed to be 93 with a chance of thunderstorms...for the foreseeable future. *sigh*
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