What does this colander full of jalapeños and The World's Tiniest and Cutest Yams signify?
That finally, last night, our weather dipped to 32 degrees. So at dinnertime yesterday, I was out there constructing elaborate straw-and-garbage-bag houses over the tomatoes and eggplant (which is still putting out fruit...can you believe it?) and harvesting the vegetables whose time had come.
The yam plants weren't started until August, which was way too late for them to reach their potential. It was a whim: I had yams in the pantry that were sprouting like crazy, so I cut out the eyes and stuck them in a couple of dirt hills that happened to be empty.* It turns out they are phenomenally easy to grow, and fascinating, too. They send out a nest of yam-colored tendrils underground which, given enough time, thicken into tubers.
The plants were already beginning to curl from previous cold snaps. They are extremely sensitive to frost. I knew I wasn't giving them enough time, but there was no help for it. Still, I must say I was impressed with the small collection of mini-yams I managed to get, even after the season was mostly over! I can't wait to grow them again next year.
The s.o. thinks we should parboil these mini-yams whole and then deep-fry them in a tempura batter. I do love the way that man thinks.
As of this morning, I am not even sure we had a hard frost last night. But I don't regret the precautions I took, because the forecast calls for three more nights in the lower 30s and even (brr!) upper 20s. It really is time for the big change in the garden. To ignore that would be folly.
So now we turn our attention to plasticking the windows and stuffing insulation in our inoperable fireplace flues. It's time to be snug!
P.S. Our 12x14 hoophouse (polytunnel, for my U.K. readers) is almost done. I will post pictures when it is ready. One day soon there will be year-round salads at 10 Signs Farm.
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* Thanks to the work of my diligent enemies, the squash bugs. Watch out this year, you little bastards; I am armed with diatomaceous earth! You have been warned.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Paging Chris Martin
Maybe it's because the weather has finally turned cloudy, bringing much-needed rain, but for the last two days I've been cooking bright-colored, cheery food. Specifically yellow.
Yesterday I tried a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe for a salad made of equal parts shredded apple, pear, and raw beet. It is dressed with olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper, and it's a fantastic, fresh-tasting salad. I'll definitely make it again.
You won't hear me say this often, but I think I did ol' Hugh one better: I used a golden beet instead of a red beet in my version. It looked so vibrant and happy! (Or, depending on your outlook, a little like an oddly crunchy egg salad.)
Fast-forward to today...
The cake in the picture is a half-recipe of what The Fannie Farmer Cookbook calls Daffodil Cake. It's a true spongecake with no butter or shortening; all the leavening comes from the eggs. Most of the cake is white, like an angel food cake, but it is interspersed with splashes of orange-scented egg-yolky yellow cake.
It is normally made in a tube pan, but I made my half-sized cake in an eight-inch round. I glazed it with a simple sugar glaze made with orange juice and orange zest. And yes, those are a couple of my candied tangerine peels on top.
The yellow parts of my cake were a little paler than I liked, and I wondered why. But then I remembered the free-range vs. commercial egg demonstration and figured that when the recipe was originally written, more people were using darker-colored eggs. I can't wait to try this recipe again when I have my own chickens!
Does anyone else ever go through a period of making food of a certain color? It's odd, but right now it's working for me.
Yesterday I tried a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe for a salad made of equal parts shredded apple, pear, and raw beet. It is dressed with olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper, and it's a fantastic, fresh-tasting salad. I'll definitely make it again.
You won't hear me say this often, but I think I did ol' Hugh one better: I used a golden beet instead of a red beet in my version. It looked so vibrant and happy! (Or, depending on your outlook, a little like an oddly crunchy egg salad.)
Fast-forward to today...
The cake in the picture is a half-recipe of what The Fannie Farmer Cookbook calls Daffodil Cake. It's a true spongecake with no butter or shortening; all the leavening comes from the eggs. Most of the cake is white, like an angel food cake, but it is interspersed with splashes of orange-scented egg-yolky yellow cake.
It is normally made in a tube pan, but I made my half-sized cake in an eight-inch round. I glazed it with a simple sugar glaze made with orange juice and orange zest. And yes, those are a couple of my candied tangerine peels on top.
The yellow parts of my cake were a little paler than I liked, and I wondered why. But then I remembered the free-range vs. commercial egg demonstration and figured that when the recipe was originally written, more people were using darker-colored eggs. I can't wait to try this recipe again when I have my own chickens!
Does anyone else ever go through a period of making food of a certain color? It's odd, but right now it's working for me.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Memes: For those days when you have nothing to say
20 Random Things About Me
1. I was born in the same hospital my mother was born in, and delivered by the same doctor.
2. I love dogs and can't imagine being without one. Which is good, because they seem to find me.
3. I once had a falling-out with a roommate for my unwillingness to do the dishes.
4. I'm a lot better about doing the dishes now; in fact, I almost always do all of them before I go to bed.
5. I was a vegetarian for 16 years, from age 16 to 32.
6. The last meat I ate before becoming a vegetarian was a bucket of KFC.
7. The first meat I ate afterward was barbecued pork shoulder.
8. I have drunk from the Castalian Spring at Delphi. It didn't seem to do anything for me, at least not at the time.
9. I am 35 and I don't have children. My biological clock hasn't said anything to me about it, so I figure I'm on the right track.
10. I have a master's degree in paleontology.
11. My undergraduate degree was in English.
12. I was the news editor of my college paper.
13. I am afraid of heights. I will work on ladders out of necessity, but I hate every minute of it.
14. Even though I am afraid of heights, I am unfazed by amusement-park rides.
15. I have an iron stomach. In fact, I am not even sure I know what heartburn feels like.
16. I have a hard time picking favorites of anything: food, colors, music. I like a lot of things.
17. I am divorced, and I still feel bad about the way it all went down.
18. Video games stress me out, and because of that I have never really enjoyed them.
19. Overall, I am hard-wired to be happy.
20. I would rather have time than money.
1. I was born in the same hospital my mother was born in, and delivered by the same doctor.
2. I love dogs and can't imagine being without one. Which is good, because they seem to find me.
3. I once had a falling-out with a roommate for my unwillingness to do the dishes.
4. I'm a lot better about doing the dishes now; in fact, I almost always do all of them before I go to bed.
5. I was a vegetarian for 16 years, from age 16 to 32.
6. The last meat I ate before becoming a vegetarian was a bucket of KFC.
7. The first meat I ate afterward was barbecued pork shoulder.
8. I have drunk from the Castalian Spring at Delphi. It didn't seem to do anything for me, at least not at the time.
9. I am 35 and I don't have children. My biological clock hasn't said anything to me about it, so I figure I'm on the right track.
10. I have a master's degree in paleontology.
11. My undergraduate degree was in English.
12. I was the news editor of my college paper.
13. I am afraid of heights. I will work on ladders out of necessity, but I hate every minute of it.
14. Even though I am afraid of heights, I am unfazed by amusement-park rides.
15. I have an iron stomach. In fact, I am not even sure I know what heartburn feels like.
16. I have a hard time picking favorites of anything: food, colors, music. I like a lot of things.
17. I am divorced, and I still feel bad about the way it all went down.
18. Video games stress me out, and because of that I have never really enjoyed them.
19. Overall, I am hard-wired to be happy.
20. I would rather have time than money.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Fooditude
It has occurred to me that I've been a little negative lately, here and elsewhere, using the "Ew" button on my keyboard with too great frequency. So I thought I'd share what I have been enjoying lately.
First there is a gorgeous discovery that I swear I remember from a cookbook somewhere, but perhaps I just dreamed it. You cook some chopped greens (mixed collards and mustard, for example) so that they are soft but not as collapsed as Southerners usually like them; then you drain the water away, add a little peanut oil, minced ginger, minced garlic, and soy sauce, and sizzle for a few minutes over a moderate flame. That's all, and they are spectacular.
Then there is the Passion Du Jour around here: mini pear mincemeat pies. The filling is adapted from a 1960s-vintage Farm Journal Freezing & Canning Cookbook I got at a flea market. So far I have canned seven pints of it, but there is always a quarter to a third of a pint left over, which is an uncannable amount (at least with the jars I own!). So the next afternoon there are mini mince pies, made with the freshly cooked filling.
PEAR MINCEMEAT
3 1/2 to 4 lbs. pears, peeled and cored (go for the larger amount if your pears are small, because you will lose a higher percentage of the weight as waste)
1 small apple, peeled and cored
1/2 lemon, seeded but left with its peel on
1 lb. raisins
3 3/8 c. sugar
1/2 c. vinegar
1 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. ground Ceylon cinnamon
1 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
In two batches, run the pears, apple, lemon, and raisins through a food processor so they are chunky/pasty. Combine this mixture with the remaining ingredients in a large, heavy pot and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat and simmer 40 minutes.
Pack into hot pint jars (and a half-pint jar, if you need it) and process in a boiling water canner for 25 minutes. Makes about 3 1/2 pints with a bit left over.
Now for the crust:
YOGURT PASTRY
1 c. all-purpose flour
scant 1/2 tsp. salt
1 Tbs. sugar
5 Tbs. unsalted butter, cut up
2 Tbs. plain yogurt (nonfat will work fine)
Whisk together the flour, salt, and sugar. With your fingers, rub in the butter until the largest pieces are about 1/4 inch or smaller. Add yogurt and stir with a fork until dough comes together.
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Roll dough out between two sheets of waxed paper. Cut circles with a biscuit cutter and press into a mini muffin pan. You should get about 9 circles the first time and you'll be able to get the remaining 3 by gently re-rolling the scraps.
Fill these mini shells with mincemeat and bake until golden brown and bubbling.
Wait as long as you can to eat them, because if you devour one immediately you might burn the roof of your mouth. Not that I would know anything about that.
First there is a gorgeous discovery that I swear I remember from a cookbook somewhere, but perhaps I just dreamed it. You cook some chopped greens (mixed collards and mustard, for example) so that they are soft but not as collapsed as Southerners usually like them; then you drain the water away, add a little peanut oil, minced ginger, minced garlic, and soy sauce, and sizzle for a few minutes over a moderate flame. That's all, and they are spectacular.
Then there is the Passion Du Jour around here: mini pear mincemeat pies. The filling is adapted from a 1960s-vintage Farm Journal Freezing & Canning Cookbook I got at a flea market. So far I have canned seven pints of it, but there is always a quarter to a third of a pint left over, which is an uncannable amount (at least with the jars I own!). So the next afternoon there are mini mince pies, made with the freshly cooked filling.
PEAR MINCEMEAT
3 1/2 to 4 lbs. pears, peeled and cored (go for the larger amount if your pears are small, because you will lose a higher percentage of the weight as waste)
1 small apple, peeled and cored
1/2 lemon, seeded but left with its peel on
1 lb. raisins
3 3/8 c. sugar
1/2 c. vinegar
1 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. ground Ceylon cinnamon
1 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
In two batches, run the pears, apple, lemon, and raisins through a food processor so they are chunky/pasty. Combine this mixture with the remaining ingredients in a large, heavy pot and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat and simmer 40 minutes.
Pack into hot pint jars (and a half-pint jar, if you need it) and process in a boiling water canner for 25 minutes. Makes about 3 1/2 pints with a bit left over.
Now for the crust:
YOGURT PASTRY
1 c. all-purpose flour
scant 1/2 tsp. salt
1 Tbs. sugar
5 Tbs. unsalted butter, cut up
2 Tbs. plain yogurt (nonfat will work fine)
Whisk together the flour, salt, and sugar. With your fingers, rub in the butter until the largest pieces are about 1/4 inch or smaller. Add yogurt and stir with a fork until dough comes together.
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Roll dough out between two sheets of waxed paper. Cut circles with a biscuit cutter and press into a mini muffin pan. You should get about 9 circles the first time and you'll be able to get the remaining 3 by gently re-rolling the scraps.
Fill these mini shells with mincemeat and bake until golden brown and bubbling.
Wait as long as you can to eat them, because if you devour one immediately you might burn the roof of your mouth. Not that I would know anything about that.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
They're going to revoke my foodie license for this
As many of you already know, I hate olives. Yes, I know it is a character flaw. I like almost everything generally recognized as edible, and will often eat things that turn other people's stomachs, yet for some unknown reason olives taste putrid and rotten to me. Kalamata, Niçoise, green-with-a-pimiento-in-it, whatever--I despise them.
Somehow I even love olive oil, but not olives. In my world, olives might as well be cockroaches.
Yesterday I stopped for lunch at Big City Bread in Athens. I ordered spinach quiche and a house salad. The food there, in general, is lovely, and yesterday was no exception.
But.
There were about eight high-quality (I assume) black olives in a little heap on the plate. They were right in the middle, piled up against the hunk of focaccia bread that comes with the quiche and salad. Some of them were touching the quiche and the salad.
And so it was that I discovered that there is one thing in the wide world of food that is more disgusting than olives: Olives marinated in orange zest. I have heard this combination spoken of with reverence. Some people supposedly love it and seek it out. Make no mistake, it is horrific.
The hideous olive-and-orange flavor permeated and destroyed whatever it touched. I had to leave half of my lunch on the plate. I wanted to swap it out for a new, oliveless dish, but there wasn't actually anything wrong with it, it just had these repellent orange cockroaches on it.
I need to remember to ask servers to leave the olives off. Even in situations where the olive taste doesn't mar my food, I feel guilty leaving a pile of olives on the plate, because I know they are seen as a delicacy. They are intended as a special favor, a lagniappe. I feel like a cad for rejecting them.
Also, I hate to waste things. But eurrrrghhh! I am damned if I am going to eat them.
Somehow I even love olive oil, but not olives. In my world, olives might as well be cockroaches.
Yesterday I stopped for lunch at Big City Bread in Athens. I ordered spinach quiche and a house salad. The food there, in general, is lovely, and yesterday was no exception.
But.
There were about eight high-quality (I assume) black olives in a little heap on the plate. They were right in the middle, piled up against the hunk of focaccia bread that comes with the quiche and salad. Some of them were touching the quiche and the salad.
And so it was that I discovered that there is one thing in the wide world of food that is more disgusting than olives: Olives marinated in orange zest. I have heard this combination spoken of with reverence. Some people supposedly love it and seek it out. Make no mistake, it is horrific.
The hideous olive-and-orange flavor permeated and destroyed whatever it touched. I had to leave half of my lunch on the plate. I wanted to swap it out for a new, oliveless dish, but there wasn't actually anything wrong with it, it just had these repellent orange cockroaches on it.
I need to remember to ask servers to leave the olives off. Even in situations where the olive taste doesn't mar my food, I feel guilty leaving a pile of olives on the plate, because I know they are seen as a delicacy. They are intended as a special favor, a lagniappe. I feel like a cad for rejecting them.
Also, I hate to waste things. But eurrrrghhh! I am damned if I am going to eat them.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Go ahead, tamper with tradition
Serve this bright-red sauce instead of the usual jellied can-shaped stuff.
CRANBERRY APPLESAUCE
12 medium to large apples, peeled, cored, and sliced (a mixture of tart and sweet is best)
2 c. fresh cranberries
1 c. water
1 to 1 1/4 c. sugar (to taste)
1 tsp. ground Ceylon cinnamon
2 Tbs. fresh lemon juice
Combine apples, cranberries, and water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer slowly, partly covered, until the apples dissolve into sauce. If you have some particularly crispy apples in there, you can help them out a little bit with a masher.
Add sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice. Cook, stirring, until sugar dissolves. Serve warm.
Cranberry applesauce can be frozen for up to 6 months.
CRANBERRY APPLESAUCE
12 medium to large apples, peeled, cored, and sliced (a mixture of tart and sweet is best)
2 c. fresh cranberries
1 c. water
1 to 1 1/4 c. sugar (to taste)
1 tsp. ground Ceylon cinnamon
2 Tbs. fresh lemon juice
Combine apples, cranberries, and water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer slowly, partly covered, until the apples dissolve into sauce. If you have some particularly crispy apples in there, you can help them out a little bit with a masher.
Add sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice. Cook, stirring, until sugar dissolves. Serve warm.
Cranberry applesauce can be frozen for up to 6 months.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The peel sessions
I love a complicated, multi-stage recipe. For example, I adore making Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's "Three Dishes from One Goose." Or, as I like to call it, "Goosapalooza."
I've embarked on another big, complex project. In a couple of weeks I'm going to make fruitcake. Not the kind everybody jokes about and uses as a doorstop, but the real kind, soaked in good liquor and brimming with real, honest fruit. Possibly chocolate. It will need a month to soak in liquor so it will be ready for Christmas.
I will not be buying any of that weird technicolor candied fruit they sell at the grocery store at this time of year. My fruitcake will include dried cherries, raisins, and the homemade candied fruit peel you see here. I made it especially for the occasion.
On the left is grapefruit peel; on the right is tangerine. Against the advice of the recipe, I cooked them together. They still came out wonderful. If you're planning on using them as straight-up candy, though, you may want to keep them separate so the flavors don't blend even the slightest bit.
Here's how it's done:
CANDIED FRUIT PEEL
Cut the peels off 3 large grapefruits or 5 oranges or tangerines (or a combination). Leave the white pith on. Julienne the peels.
Place the peels in a large pot and pour boiling water over them. Simmer 5 minutes. Drain well. Repeat this sequence 4 more times (yes, really). This removes the bitterness.
Set the peels aside for a moment and combine 1 cup of water, 2 cups of sugar, and 1 tsp. powdered ginger in the pot. Simmer until the sugar is dissolved. Add the peels and simmer, partially covered, 1 hour or until the peels are translucent and soft. Stir occasionally.
Lay the peels out, not touching each other, on wax paper until they are cool. Dust well with additional sugar. After an hour or two, scrape them off the wax paper and roll them in sugar on all sides. Spread the peels out again.
Continue to air-dry them for several hours, then pack in an airtight container. Keeps almost indefinitely.
I've embarked on another big, complex project. In a couple of weeks I'm going to make fruitcake. Not the kind everybody jokes about and uses as a doorstop, but the real kind, soaked in good liquor and brimming with real, honest fruit. Possibly chocolate. It will need a month to soak in liquor so it will be ready for Christmas.
I will not be buying any of that weird technicolor candied fruit they sell at the grocery store at this time of year. My fruitcake will include dried cherries, raisins, and the homemade candied fruit peel you see here. I made it especially for the occasion.
On the left is grapefruit peel; on the right is tangerine. Against the advice of the recipe, I cooked them together. They still came out wonderful. If you're planning on using them as straight-up candy, though, you may want to keep them separate so the flavors don't blend even the slightest bit.
Here's how it's done:
CANDIED FRUIT PEEL
Cut the peels off 3 large grapefruits or 5 oranges or tangerines (or a combination). Leave the white pith on. Julienne the peels.
Place the peels in a large pot and pour boiling water over them. Simmer 5 minutes. Drain well. Repeat this sequence 4 more times (yes, really). This removes the bitterness.
Set the peels aside for a moment and combine 1 cup of water, 2 cups of sugar, and 1 tsp. powdered ginger in the pot. Simmer until the sugar is dissolved. Add the peels and simmer, partially covered, 1 hour or until the peels are translucent and soft. Stir occasionally.
Lay the peels out, not touching each other, on wax paper until they are cool. Dust well with additional sugar. After an hour or two, scrape them off the wax paper and roll them in sugar on all sides. Spread the peels out again.
Continue to air-dry them for several hours, then pack in an airtight container. Keeps almost indefinitely.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Playing with fire
This recipe is very, very good. Simple, but good. (How much skirt steak is there per steer, anyhow? Like, if we bought half a steer from a local organic farmer, how much delectable skirt steak would we get? A lot, I hope.)
We made dinner completely outside on the grill today. The s.o. even cooked the tortillas on a cast-iron pan on the grill. The firewood came from our woods. The cilantro came from our garden.
We ate on the screened porch. The sunset was pink.
Afterward I suddenly remembered something.
"The coals have gone out, and I forgot to make s'mores," I pouted.
"Oh, you're right."
"Wait! We have a gas stove."
I speared two marshmallows on a fork and laid out graham crackers with a couple of cubes of Swiss milk chocolate. I sparked a flame and started toasting my marshmallows.
"WHOA!" I shouted, blowing furiously. It had taken me approximately three seconds to catch the marshmallows on fire. I repeated the catching-on-fire-and-blowing-it-out action six or seven times and then judged that if I waited any longer the marshmallows would fall into the burner. I rushed the molten sugar to the waiting chocolate and graham cracker and squished it all together.
"How is it?" asked the s.o., who was abstaining because he isn't very fond of sweets.
"Great, but it's missing something," I said.
"Smoke?"
"Kind of. But mainly pieces of charred stick."
Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby...but it's still really good.
We made dinner completely outside on the grill today. The s.o. even cooked the tortillas on a cast-iron pan on the grill. The firewood came from our woods. The cilantro came from our garden.
We ate on the screened porch. The sunset was pink.
Afterward I suddenly remembered something.
"The coals have gone out, and I forgot to make s'mores," I pouted.
"Oh, you're right."
"Wait! We have a gas stove."
I speared two marshmallows on a fork and laid out graham crackers with a couple of cubes of Swiss milk chocolate. I sparked a flame and started toasting my marshmallows.
"WHOA!" I shouted, blowing furiously. It had taken me approximately three seconds to catch the marshmallows on fire. I repeated the catching-on-fire-and-blowing-it-out action six or seven times and then judged that if I waited any longer the marshmallows would fall into the burner. I rushed the molten sugar to the waiting chocolate and graham cracker and squished it all together.
"How is it?" asked the s.o., who was abstaining because he isn't very fond of sweets.
"Great, but it's missing something," I said.
"Smoke?"
"Kind of. But mainly pieces of charred stick."
Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby...but it's still really good.
Indian summer continues
Now the daytime temps have risen into the low 80s. I'm really enjoying the beautiful weather, and finally we've got some red and orange leaves, too.
My arugula and Shogoin turnips are up!
I would post something longer, but I am furiously canning my way through bushels and bushels of apples and pears, and I'm really tired...
My arugula and Shogoin turnips are up!
I would post something longer, but I am furiously canning my way through bushels and bushels of apples and pears, and I'm really tired...
Sunday, November 06, 2005
The birds
I went out in Athens last night and returned home an hour and a half after bar close. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed that some considerate soul had pancaked a skunk on the road right in front of our house.
So of course when I walked the dogs this morning, the first dog in line (Gracie) jetted out the door after the inevitable flock of vultures. After the initial leash-choking (oops! you're not supposed to pull, remember?), she calmed down and we watched...and listened.
Has anyone else noticed the sinister sound vultures make when they fly? There's a loud FLAPFLAPFLAP component--graceful they are not--but also a creaking sound, as though their wings need to be oiled.
The vultures gathered in a tulip poplar tree to wait while the dogs busily sniffed around the yard, marking all the spots where deer had pooped during the night. I was not previously aware that the dogs were in a dominance war with creatures not even of their own species, but apparently that is the case.
The turkey didn't like any of it. He spent a lot of time puffed into the classic "kindergartener's hand" turkey shape. Every so often the moist morning air was punctuated by hysterical gobbling.
Moist morning air--yes! Finally. But will it bring rain?
I should mention that daytime temperatures are in the 70s this weekend, with nighttime lows in the 50s. Hello, Indian summer! Nice to see ya.
So of course when I walked the dogs this morning, the first dog in line (Gracie) jetted out the door after the inevitable flock of vultures. After the initial leash-choking (oops! you're not supposed to pull, remember?), she calmed down and we watched...and listened.
Has anyone else noticed the sinister sound vultures make when they fly? There's a loud FLAPFLAPFLAP component--graceful they are not--but also a creaking sound, as though their wings need to be oiled.
The vultures gathered in a tulip poplar tree to wait while the dogs busily sniffed around the yard, marking all the spots where deer had pooped during the night. I was not previously aware that the dogs were in a dominance war with creatures not even of their own species, but apparently that is the case.
The turkey didn't like any of it. He spent a lot of time puffed into the classic "kindergartener's hand" turkey shape. Every so often the moist morning air was punctuated by hysterical gobbling.
Moist morning air--yes! Finally. But will it bring rain?
I should mention that daytime temperatures are in the 70s this weekend, with nighttime lows in the 50s. Hello, Indian summer! Nice to see ya.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Kitty's gone
The s.o. put Taxi into the travel crate today and then off they went on a road trip. But she's not coming back. She's going to go live with the s.o.'s dad in northwestern Georgia. It's not far, and I'll get to see her pretty often, but I am devastated.
I know it's for a good cause--so that cat-chasing Gracie can come inside more of the time--and that kitty will get more attention lavished on her at her grandpa's house. But it's still really hard.
All I can do is concentrate on the fact that I won't have to clean the cat box.
It's not working.
*sniffle*
I know it's for a good cause--so that cat-chasing Gracie can come inside more of the time--and that kitty will get more attention lavished on her at her grandpa's house. But it's still really hard.
All I can do is concentrate on the fact that I won't have to clean the cat box.
It's not working.
*sniffle*
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Daily ritual
I've gotten so every morning, while walking the dogs, I gather a big handful of wild onions for the turkey. Those of you who suggested "pre-marinating" our feathered tenant were absolutely spot-on. There is nothing the turkey likes better. You should see it eat them! Keep your fingers out of the way or you'll draw back a nub.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Slack gardener mends her ways
Nature is persistent, I have decided, because gardeners rarely are.
I showed my garden to a friend yesterday, and while I am certainly proud of the bounty it is producing, I also must admit to being a little appalled at the weeds that had sprung up, seemingly out of nowhere. Also, things were looking a little dry. Is it possible I had been feeding the turkey and playing fetch with Gracie at times when I had previously been puttering in the garden? Nothing wrong with that, certainly. But the garden needed help.
This morning I knelt next to a row and found that, yes, my new crop of cilantro had germinated (taking its sweet time, I might add! Isn't it a little late in the year?! I might have to repot some of it as a houseplant), but it had been completely obscured by weeds. I pulled everything that wasn't cilantro and suddenly it was a model of garden elegance.
I filled in gaps in the carrot and purple sprouting broccoli rows. I hate uneven germination. I don't know if the new seeds will do anything, but why not give it a shot?
I also planted entire rows of the following:
• Shogoin turnips (a Japanese snow-white variety that comes highly recommended for this area; am looking forward to this way more than is probably appropriate)
• Batavian endive (cheap seeds from the dollar store--why not try?)
• arugula (ditto--I will plant the "good stuff", AKA the Astro arugula, in the spring when I know it will succeed for sure)
And now the progress report:
Last week I had moved the slug-plagued red cabbage from the front flowerbed into the garden proper, where there is no slug problem to speak of. It looks as though it is getting its footing now. The green cabbage is beginning to form heads. I am watching the Brussels sprouts to see if I can spot any teeny sprouts along the stems, but no luck yet.
The tomatoes from my August planting are finally approaching ripeness. All I need is another week or two for the biggest ones to redden. I've been watching the weather predictions like a hawk, and if I see a hard frost on the horizon, I'm pulling all the tomato plants so they can finish ripening indoors. I think I'm gonna make it!
I showed my garden to a friend yesterday, and while I am certainly proud of the bounty it is producing, I also must admit to being a little appalled at the weeds that had sprung up, seemingly out of nowhere. Also, things were looking a little dry. Is it possible I had been feeding the turkey and playing fetch with Gracie at times when I had previously been puttering in the garden? Nothing wrong with that, certainly. But the garden needed help.
This morning I knelt next to a row and found that, yes, my new crop of cilantro had germinated (taking its sweet time, I might add! Isn't it a little late in the year?! I might have to repot some of it as a houseplant), but it had been completely obscured by weeds. I pulled everything that wasn't cilantro and suddenly it was a model of garden elegance.
I filled in gaps in the carrot and purple sprouting broccoli rows. I hate uneven germination. I don't know if the new seeds will do anything, but why not give it a shot?
I also planted entire rows of the following:
• Shogoin turnips (a Japanese snow-white variety that comes highly recommended for this area; am looking forward to this way more than is probably appropriate)
• Batavian endive (cheap seeds from the dollar store--why not try?)
• arugula (ditto--I will plant the "good stuff", AKA the Astro arugula, in the spring when I know it will succeed for sure)
And now the progress report:
Last week I had moved the slug-plagued red cabbage from the front flowerbed into the garden proper, where there is no slug problem to speak of. It looks as though it is getting its footing now. The green cabbage is beginning to form heads. I am watching the Brussels sprouts to see if I can spot any teeny sprouts along the stems, but no luck yet.
The tomatoes from my August planting are finally approaching ripeness. All I need is another week or two for the biggest ones to redden. I've been watching the weather predictions like a hawk, and if I see a hard frost on the horizon, I'm pulling all the tomato plants so they can finish ripening indoors. I think I'm gonna make it!
Monday, October 31, 2005
Happy Halloween from 10 Signs Farm
And remember: If the kids don't come, you get to eat all the candy yourself. No fair turning off the porch light and hiding in the back room.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Perfect cup of hot cocoa
1 heaping Tbs. unsweetened dutch-process cocoa powder
1 Tbs. sugar
a teeny pinch of salt
2 Tbs. water
1 c. milk (anything from 1% to whole will do)
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
a little shake of Ceylon cinnamon
Whisk together the cocoa, sugar, salt, and water. Bring to a gentle boil and boil for a minute, then add milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. Stir. Bring almost, but not quite, to the boiling point. Pour into a mug and enjoy.
Serves one; can be multiplied to serve many.
1 Tbs. sugar
a teeny pinch of salt
2 Tbs. water
1 c. milk (anything from 1% to whole will do)
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
a little shake of Ceylon cinnamon
Whisk together the cocoa, sugar, salt, and water. Bring to a gentle boil and boil for a minute, then add milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. Stir. Bring almost, but not quite, to the boiling point. Pour into a mug and enjoy.
Serves one; can be multiplied to serve many.
A few things I have learned about turkeys
Yes, already. The turkey learning curve is kind of steep if you've never had one before.
First of all, never assume a turkey can find water on its own. Our turkey paced anxiously back and forth and pecked in frustration at the plastic reservoir of its gravity waterer, ignoring the shiny wet stuff in the tray below. It was well on its way to dehydration by the time I figured out the problem and showed it what to do by splooshing my finger in the water. Man. I mean, I knew you had to show baby chicks how to drink, but a grown-up turkey?
Once we had the water thing sorted out, the turkey was suddenly a lot hungrier (no more "dry beak"). Its favorite foods so far appear to be:
• Cabbage
• Honeydew melon rinds
• Cracked corn
• Rolled oats
• Green bean ends
Turkeys, like certain cats I know, appear to like it when you stand there and watch them eat.
Turkeys gobble the way that dogs sometimes bark, in response to noises. The most gobbling we have heard from our turkey came when an ambulance sped by with sirens blaring. The turkey has also gobbled at these sounds:
• Screen door shutting
• Table saw
• Hammer
• Clothes dryer
• Car pulling into driveway
• Car horn
The "turkey alarm" goes off a little while after the sun rises. Sometimes it is extremely long and loud, and sometimes (like today--did it know there was a time change?!) there's hardly anything to it at all.
I'm sure there will be a lot more fun turkey facts as the month goes on.
First of all, never assume a turkey can find water on its own. Our turkey paced anxiously back and forth and pecked in frustration at the plastic reservoir of its gravity waterer, ignoring the shiny wet stuff in the tray below. It was well on its way to dehydration by the time I figured out the problem and showed it what to do by splooshing my finger in the water. Man. I mean, I knew you had to show baby chicks how to drink, but a grown-up turkey?
Once we had the water thing sorted out, the turkey was suddenly a lot hungrier (no more "dry beak"). Its favorite foods so far appear to be:
• Cabbage
• Honeydew melon rinds
• Cracked corn
• Rolled oats
• Green bean ends
Turkeys, like certain cats I know, appear to like it when you stand there and watch them eat.
Turkeys gobble the way that dogs sometimes bark, in response to noises. The most gobbling we have heard from our turkey came when an ambulance sped by with sirens blaring. The turkey has also gobbled at these sounds:
• Screen door shutting
• Table saw
• Hammer
• Clothes dryer
• Car pulling into driveway
• Car horn
The "turkey alarm" goes off a little while after the sun rises. Sometimes it is extremely long and loud, and sometimes (like today--did it know there was a time change?!) there's hardly anything to it at all.
I'm sure there will be a lot more fun turkey facts as the month goes on.
Friday, October 28, 2005
By popular demand
This is Brutus, the half-Basset Hound, half-Great Dane in our obedience class. This picture doesn't really capture the rivers of drool he produces, but it does show off his beautiful smile. He's a good boy, if a little stubborn.
This class--or rather, the instructor--has completely turned Gracie around. And I have bonded with her. I'm so glad we kept her.
Next week is graduation! No test, just showing off what we can do.
This class--or rather, the instructor--has completely turned Gracie around. And I have bonded with her. I'm so glad we kept her.
Next week is graduation! No test, just showing off what we can do.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
One-month special: All-U-Can-Eat cracked corn, greens, and wormy pears
No more factory-farmed turkey for us! I finally owned up to the plain fact that if you buy it, you condone it. So this turkey will be happy to the end.
The dogs are HYSTERICAL. They cannot believe this is happening.
The dogs are HYSTERICAL. They cannot believe this is happening.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Disconcerting dinner?
Apologies to those who would rather not have seen this, but I couldn't let it go undocumented. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's recommendation is to roast a cod's head as you would a leg of lamb: slathered in olive oil, coarse salt, and pepper, with little bits of rosemary, thyme, and garlic stuck into the fleshy parts. Oh, and (not that this applies to a leg of lamb) a bay leaf in its mouth.
It looks and smells wonderful, despite its, er, unusual appearance. We will be serving it with mashed potatoes and fresh green beans.
NEWS FLASH: As of tomorrow morning, our homestead will welcome its first livestock animal. The newcomer will reside here on a temporary basis--for approximately one month. Any guesses?
It looks and smells wonderful, despite its, er, unusual appearance. We will be serving it with mashed potatoes and fresh green beans.
NEWS FLASH: As of tomorrow morning, our homestead will welcome its first livestock animal. The newcomer will reside here on a temporary basis--for approximately one month. Any guesses?
Two women, the open road, and a metric ton of groceries
I promised a field trip report, and here it is! This morning Julie and I hit the road for Ellijay, the apple capital of Georgia. The famed apple festival was over, and that was the way we planned it--neither of us is keen on fighting crowds of tourists.
The weather was unseasonably cold and, in the mountains at least, misty. There was a lot of Thinsulate being worn today, especially among the proprietors of the open-air apple markets! But the weather did little to detract from the striking beauty of the area. The Georgia mountains are rustic in an almost New Englandy way, only more rough around the edges.
There are several apple markets along GA 52 east of Ellijay, and we visited almost all of them. Our favorite was Mack Aaron's Apple House. Not only were their prices the best--$14 per bushel instead of the usual $18--but they offered free samples so you could educate yourself and figure out what you really wanted. Also, the fried pies advertised on the sign were pure flaky bliss.
I bought a lot of apples. I mean a LOT of apples. First I bought an entire bushel of Granny Smiths for a friend. Then, for myself I purchased half a bushel of Yates (my hands-down favorite--a tiny rosy-cheeked apple with a tart-sweet tang and a crisp texture), a peck of Stayman Winesap, and a half-peck of Grannies. I also got a big freezer bag full of dried apples and a jar of sourwood honey.
Once we were "appled out," we continued along 52 toward Ellijay and happened upon a roadside farm market, where I purchased some of the last scuppernong grapes of the season, as well as five small pie pumpkins, a bag of okra, and some large North Carolina tomatoes ("The soil is better for them there," said the proprietress).
We ate lunch in a Mexican restaurant in Ellijay, then went through some kind of strange time warp in which several hours disappeared and we suddenly found ourselves exhausted, standing on the sidewalk and holding receipts from a bunch of antique malls.
Atlanta was not on the way home, but we decided to pretend it was because we wanted to go to the DeKalb Farmer's Market. Julie hadn't been there before. I overheard her talking on her cell phone to her husband as she stood in the spice department: "It's like Christmas here. It's a little overwhelming. Are you sure there's nothing else you want?"
My favorite purchases:
• Three pounds of shiny Italian chestnuts, for which I later discovered I was undercharged by two-thirds because the cashier rang them up as water chestnuts
• Five pineapple quinces that are currently exuding their sultry scent in our kitchen
• A one-pound top butt bison steak
• A cod head (yes, there's a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe for that, and it looks delicious)
• Two Florida Ambersweet oranges, which are the best tasting oranges I've come across in quite some time.
We left at 9 AM and didn't get back until 9 PM. It's not most people's idea of grocery shopping, but it works for us.
The weather was unseasonably cold and, in the mountains at least, misty. There was a lot of Thinsulate being worn today, especially among the proprietors of the open-air apple markets! But the weather did little to detract from the striking beauty of the area. The Georgia mountains are rustic in an almost New Englandy way, only more rough around the edges.
There are several apple markets along GA 52 east of Ellijay, and we visited almost all of them. Our favorite was Mack Aaron's Apple House. Not only were their prices the best--$14 per bushel instead of the usual $18--but they offered free samples so you could educate yourself and figure out what you really wanted. Also, the fried pies advertised on the sign were pure flaky bliss.
I bought a lot of apples. I mean a LOT of apples. First I bought an entire bushel of Granny Smiths for a friend. Then, for myself I purchased half a bushel of Yates (my hands-down favorite--a tiny rosy-cheeked apple with a tart-sweet tang and a crisp texture), a peck of Stayman Winesap, and a half-peck of Grannies. I also got a big freezer bag full of dried apples and a jar of sourwood honey.
Once we were "appled out," we continued along 52 toward Ellijay and happened upon a roadside farm market, where I purchased some of the last scuppernong grapes of the season, as well as five small pie pumpkins, a bag of okra, and some large North Carolina tomatoes ("The soil is better for them there," said the proprietress).
We ate lunch in a Mexican restaurant in Ellijay, then went through some kind of strange time warp in which several hours disappeared and we suddenly found ourselves exhausted, standing on the sidewalk and holding receipts from a bunch of antique malls.
Atlanta was not on the way home, but we decided to pretend it was because we wanted to go to the DeKalb Farmer's Market. Julie hadn't been there before. I overheard her talking on her cell phone to her husband as she stood in the spice department: "It's like Christmas here. It's a little overwhelming. Are you sure there's nothing else you want?"
My favorite purchases:
• Three pounds of shiny Italian chestnuts, for which I later discovered I was undercharged by two-thirds because the cashier rang them up as water chestnuts
• Five pineapple quinces that are currently exuding their sultry scent in our kitchen
• A one-pound top butt bison steak
• A cod head (yes, there's a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe for that, and it looks delicious)
• Two Florida Ambersweet oranges, which are the best tasting oranges I've come across in quite some time.
We left at 9 AM and didn't get back until 9 PM. It's not most people's idea of grocery shopping, but it works for us.
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