Wild Ramps. A Gift from the Forest.

Wild Ramps.  A Gift from the Forest.

I was going stir crazy last week, so I decided, despite the frigid spring temperatures, to go for a little walk and check on my not so secret spot for wild ramps. It is still very early in the season, but I figured a status update would be beneficial, and I needed something to do. Lincoln was all in for a walk by the river, so off we set, basket and digging tools in hand.

Ramps are a type of leek that populate forest floors and river valleys. They are difficult to domesticate, but are abundant in the wild in some areas of the United States. They have a mild onion flavor and are simply delicious.

My little spot is right on the side of a dirt road that is a very popular walking spot, even more so now that everyone is seeking escape from confinement. In fact, it is so close to the road that I hesitate to go when I might be seen, for fear of others finding my spot and cleaning out all the ramps. This type of secrecy is symptomatic of a condition is called ‘locaphobia’. It is very common in foragers, and causes all sorts of subterfuge and erratic behavior. (Just kidding, I made that up. Not the condition, but the name for it. The condition is very real.)

The ramps were there. I made my introductions, asked permission of the grove, and ‘heard’ an assent. (This hearing, I’ve learned, is a skill that develops with time). They were small, but there seemed to be plenty. Baby spinach, baby carrots, baby lettuce, why not baby ramps? As I was on my knees in the dirt, a meanderer ambled along and asked me what I was doing. I tried to hide behind a tree, but he wasn’t fooled. “I’m harvesting baby ramps” I mumbled. “What are they?” he wanted to know, so I told him. He said “Wow. Free food.” I agreed and he went on his way.

When I had enough, I offered a thank you and packed up my things. As I was walking back to the car I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. The whole hillside above where I harvest was covered with wild ramps. Acres were blanketed with them. They were everywhere. Amazed, I suddenly wished I had someone to show.

Field of ramps

I thought of the man walking. Something about our conversation niggled at me. Free food, he had said. Was it really free? Certainly no one had to pay for it. But free has connotations of disregard, of lack of value, and possibly of neglect. Free comes without conditions. That didn’t feel right. The ramps weren’t free, they were a gift. A gift denotes a relationship. A gift involves generosity, caring and even love. A gift requires a response. The forest gives to us. It’s up to us to give back.

The ramps I collected require not only gratitude, but compassion, thoughtfulness, protection and respect. I want my relationship with the earth to be reciprocal, not based in abuse or greed. As such, I never take the first. I never take more than half. I always say please, and I always say thank you. Just like I would do with a friend.

I decided to make a quiche with my ramps. The very flexible recipe follows.

Ingredients for Ramp Quiche

1 bunch of ramps, washed and dried.

I TBSP butter

8 eggs (or 6 if that is all you have)

1 cup milk (or half and half)

1 cup sour cream (or other dairy like ricotta, yogurt, cottage cheese)

1/2 cup Bisquick

1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese (or any cheese)

1 pie crust.

DIRECTIONS

Roughly chop the ramps an saute them in the butter. Allow to cool.

Mix the next 5 ingredients and add the ramps. Pour into the pie crust and bake at 350 for 1 hour. It’s not necessary to preheat the oven. Enjoy!

Covid Days- The Second Chicken

I have always defined the quality of my life in terms of my choices. Can’t take your car? Call an Uber. Hitch a ride with a friend. Take the bus. Walk. Ride a bike. Heck, roller-skate if you feel like it. These are all possible choices. But what if you don’t have a friend? Or a bike. Or money for the bus. Or working legs.

A few days ago I went to the store to get a cabbage. Sounds like the start to a pretty boring story, right? It is. There was no cabbage. And no Napa cabbage. No radicchio. No escarole. No romaine, bok choy or endive. Nothing that resembled a cabbage. Neither was there lettuce, nor carrots, nor vegetables of any kind. As I stood looking at the empty racks, I realized that I had to change my plans for dinner. I had no choice but to make something else.

No choice. This was the first Covid-19 blow to my life.

I consider my life to be rich, because I have many choices. I can choose how I spend my time, for the most part. We can choose where we want to live, within our means. I can choose my work, which doctor I go to, which stores I shop at, who I vote for, and a million other choices that make my life seem rich and easy compared to some. When it comes to food, I might even have too many choices. If I get an idea about what I want to cook, there is no stopping me. Forget about what’s in the cabinet; I’ll drive to the Asian market forty minutes away to get fresh turmeric, if the recipe calls for it. That’s beyond living richly. Than’s just spoiled.

I was unhappy with no cabbage, but I recovered. I chose my dinner, a chicken, took it to the check out, and waited behind a woman and her partner, both in masks and gloves. Together they rang up 3 carts and more than 700.00 in groceries. Including 3 cabbages. I watched as they proceeded to pack them all into their fancy car with out of state plates.

Will a Land Rover full of groceries save them from the Corona virus?

I admit I was a little miffed. Interestingly, my first thought wasn’t to tell them off, it was to go get another chicken. But a chicken instead of a cabbage is not a hard choice. After a minute, I decided that a chicken was a lovely dinner, and I was grateful that it was available to me.

I think I am well prepared for food shortages, although there has been no evidence that I’ll need to be. I am able to grow much of my own food, and it is almost the growing season here in the Northeast. Our family hunts, and I have food reserves from previous harvests. What I am not prepared for is the idea of hardship. As was evidenced by my irritation (ok, anger) at not being able to buy a cabbage. I am unaccustomed to having limited choices.

My out of state grocery shoppers chose to hoard food. Their plan was to save themselves by buying all the food they could carry and going into isolation. They hope that the virus will pass them by. Nothing wrong with that. Good luck to them. I hope for their sake that when they come out of isolation in a few weeks to get more food, they get a pass again. And that there is still food to be had.

In the end I chose to pass on the second chicken. If this is the apocalypse, a second chicken probably isn’t going to save me. A second chicken is only going to guarantee that someone else isn’t going to have a chicken when they want one for dinner. I’ll have two, but they’ll have none. I decided to pull on my Corona pants, tighten my emotional belt, and not only accept, but welcome this limiting of my choices. I’m going to chose to be more frugal, in lifestyle and in material things. I am choosing to welcome a smaller life.

It doesn’t seem like the corona virus is giving any of us much of a choice. No matter how rich your life seems, no amount of wealth, or food seems to prevent it (although I hear it can get you a test). But that doesn’t mean we don’t have choices. We can chose to be people who support our neighbors. We can chose to be kind, helpful and compassionate. We can chose to consider those who have fewer choices than us. We can chose to leave the second chicken.

Not a bad dinner!

Now is the perfect time.

Now is the perfect time.

The world is a nutty place to be right now. From people hoarding toilet paper as if Covid-19 was an intestinal disease to our fearless leader acting as if nothing is the matter at all, my world, at least, is a little shaken up. The school where I work is closed, as is almost every school I know. I’ve got bored teenagers draped around the furniture, moaning at their loss of friends and freedom, and a fridge bulging with extra groceries, not because I believe there will be a supply breakdown, but because my neighbors are hoarding, and I don’t want to get left with the last jar of, say, hearts of palm, for dinner.

Truthfully, I’d be perfectly content if I stopped going to the grocery store. Perhaps now is the perfect time to really delve into what I preach. I can reach out to my local network of growers and farmers for eggs, milk, flour and meat. My favorite family farm stand still has onions, garlic, potatoes and squash. I can (and will!) have spring greens in my greenhouse in a matter of weeks. I can look for spring vegetables in the woods. I bet I could harvest cattail roots today. See my post about eating cattails from April 2013 https://eattheseason.com/2013/04/15/cattails-yum/

Spring greens

I’ve always been an advocate of slow living. I try to adhere to the principles of slow food, for example. No, that’s not like eating snails. Slow food is the practice of planting, tending, harvesting, cooking and serving food. It takes time. Alternately it is buying healthy local food that reflects your understanding and thankfulness for the process of how food comes to us. It is built on a reverence for the natural world. It centers around community. It fosters patience, flexibility and gratitude.

Slow food’s opposite is, of course, fast food, where the focus is on expediency instead of quality, economy instead of value. It is harmful to us psychologically as much as it is physically. Just so fast clothing, wherein the Costco leggins that you picked up for 7.99 don’t advertise on the label that they were made by children in sweatshops in Bangladesh, out of cotton picked in El Salvador by workers who are paid pennies to be sprayed with chemical pesticides. I prefer homemade, handmade, and local-made. Slow living is living out social justice.

My “Covid” sweater

So is this Corona virus the apocalypse or what?

I say no. I say now, this crazy time, can be the perfect time. The perfect time for what, you might ask? To which I reply, the perfect time for anything you want. It could be the perfect time to fix your grill. Or the perfect time to start walking outdoors again. The perfect time to learn to cook. The perfect time to think about planning for the future, or to try some new software, or to learn to knit, or plant a garden. Read to your children. Write a letter to an old friend. We have endless opportunities in this moment in time to do community in a small way. It is the perfect time to slow down, finally, and really experience your life. How many times have you said to someone “I’d love to do it, but I’m just too busy”. Guess what? You are no longer busy! You have some time. Some perfect time.

In this perfect time, I’m mending jeans with fabric from https://www.saraparkertextiles.com/

What will you do with your perfect time? If you find yourself working from home, have been laid off, or simply have extra time due to this unexpected pandemic, write a comment below and let me know what you are doing to make this time the perfect time. Be safe my friends.

Just peachy

Life isn’t always just peachy, but on those rare occasions when life goes right, it’s important to celebrate.  Just so seasonal peaches.  The peach harvest isn’t always perfect, and indeed some years are so poor the peaches need to be scrapped altogether.  But when everything goes right, and the Spirits of Fruit bless us with an abundance of perfect peaches, it is our pleasure, nay, our obligation, to enjoy and preserve that gift so we can savor it long into the future.IMG_0787

Peaches are one of my favorite fruits.  Many a summer past I have looked longingly at what is on offer at my local supermarket in June, or even July, and imagine it might be tasty and delicious.  I imagine it’s sugary juice and perfectly ripe density as I bite into it.  I’ll pick up a peach and gently prod its unyielding flesh or bring it to my nose in hope of catching the sweet aroma of summer.  Foolishly, I may even be convinced to pay the outrageous sticker price for one or two with the notion that this time will be different, that these peaches were perhaps allowed to stay on the branch a little longer than most, or better yet were picked nearly ripe.  I’ll gently take the fruit home and set it on the counter to fulfill its natural destiny of becoming delicious.  When it’s stiffness finally yields under my thumb, it smells like actual peaches, and I deem it ripe enough to eat, I bite into its softness and feel tasteless mush coating my tongue like wallpaper paste.  Into the compost they go.  How did I get fooled again?

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The only good peaches are the ones you pick yourself, ripe from the tree.  And not always those.  Years past have given us hard nuggets that never ripen or worse, fall off the tree when they are the size of walnuts.  We’ve seen fruit with thick hairy skin and crunchy flesh, as well as wormy bland fruit that has the consistency of blueberries and leaves a slimy film on the tongue.  Timing and weather play important roles in a successful peach harvest, and only one of those things is within our control.  You make your own luck, my dad used to say.  God helps those who help themselves, my mom’s voice calls out from my past.  Every gardener knows those expressions are only partly true.  If nature won’t cooperate, and inclement weather strikes at in-opportune times, no amount of hard work can fix it.  A frost after the trees blossom will kill a harvest overnight.  Excessive heat, too much rain, blight, insects and many other things can ruin peaches.  But some things are within our prevue, and timing is essential.  Choosing which days to apply horticultural oils to protect the blossoms from egg laying insects, fertilizing the trees at the proper times, deciding when to thin the fruits; all these things can affect the harvest.  Once the fruits are established and ripening it is time to decide when to pick.

If you see a bunch of rotting peaches under the tree, you’re too late.

Start testing the fruit once one or two peaches have dropped on the ground.  If you are impatient, give the tree a gentle shake and see if any fruit falls off.  Once the first fruits drop the time is right to test the peaches for ripeness.  A gentle press with the thumb on the bottom flesh will give you an idea of the readiness of the peach.  If the flesh doesn’t yield, its not ripe.  When the bottom yields under the thumb, check the top of the peach near the branch.  This should just give under the finger.  If it is still firm-not ripe.  If it yields, give the peach a twist.  If it pops off-hurrah, it’s ripe. If the tree gives some resistance, perhaps it’s not ready to give up the fruit yet.  It’s telling you to wait another day.  Accept it.

There is only one reason to pick the peaches before they ripen on the tree and that is if the birds find them first.  Once the crows and their cronies get a taste of those lovely peaches, it’s all over.  They have an maddening way of pecking only the ripest part of the fruit, usually where the sun hits it, and leaving the harder unripe side intact.  They go from peach to peach and ruin each one, leaving the unprotected flesh open for fruit flies, ants and other pests to crawl in and spoil the fruit.  If you don’t want to share with your feathered friends I suggest that at the first sign of beak marks, you pick the fruit that’s unblemished and mostly ripe.  A few days on the counter, covered by cheesecloth to protect it, will eventually ripen the fruits.  Better yet, net the trees to protect from the birds.  IMG_0773

Once the fruits start to ripen on the tree, they come like a wave.  At first there are just a few ripe ones to tempt the appetite, eaten just rinsed in the sink, or grilled. As the days pass they ripen by the basket full, and soon the counter is covered with fruits in various stages of ripening, too many to eat each day.  Soon fresh peaches are a part of every meal, and the pies and kuchens and cobblers feel more like an obligation than a treat.   It’s time to put up the abundance so that when colder breezes blow, a mouthful of sweet deliciousness will recall to us the sun and warmth of humid August days.

All the ways to preserve the harvest start with the same first steps.  Jammed, jarred, frozen, liquored, candied, dehydrated, or even salsa-fied , the peaches must first be relieved of their fuzzy skin.  This is done by blanching the peaches in boiled water for 1 minute, and then plunging the peaches into cold water.  One minute.  Time it.  Longer and the peaches will begin to cook and become mushy, and then your only choice is jam.  Less and the skins won’t slip off.  You can tell during this first step if your peaches are indeed perfectly ripe because if they are, the skins will slide off leaving smooth peachy flesh underneath.  If they are a bit under-ripe, the skin will peel off taking some of the flesh with it, and the peach will be nubby looking.  See the difference in the picture below.

 

Once they are blanched there are endless choices for using or saving them.  If I have too many to process and not enough time, my first choice is to freeze them sliced into quart bags.  This is fast and easy, and allows for more creative uses when I have more time to spare.  Take care to fill the bags only partway full or they won’t stack well in the freezer.  To minimize the mess, I roll the top of the bag over to fill it.  Freezing the peaches does not require the use of citric or ascorbic acid to protect the color, but if you might want to jar them at a later time I suggest using it prior to freezing.  When they thaw out the bright peach color will tend to brown slightly, and pretty jars lined in the pantry look so much better if the peaches have been rinsed in a bit of acid first.  I use Ball brand Fruit-Fresh.

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Canning is another way to keep them safe for months to come, but it does require more effort, and some specialized equipment.  While you don’t need a pressure cooker for canning peaches, it does shorten the processing time. I can my peaches in a very light syrup if they were allowed to ripen on the tree.  I want to taste peach, not sugar, when I open the jar.  IMG_0795

If you are not patient enough to grow your peach trees, or don’t have the space, don’t despair.   Take a trip to a pick-your-own orchard, find a farmers market, or as a last resort, buy some from your market when it is peach season in your area.  Ask the provenance of the fruit and if it is local, give it a try.  Smell is the best way to judge ripeness in market fruits.  If you can find good fruits, it’s wise to invest now for a payout later.  Buy a bushel. Winter peaches are worth it.

If you have an interesting way to preserve peaches, or a receipt to share, post it here.

Pretending, and other stuff.

Hello friends

You may have wondered whatever happened to me and my sometimes blog.  Well, I’ll tell you.  Last spring I was offered my dream job.  I was hired to design, build and manage a teaching garden for the Marvelwood School, a small Connecticut private school that both my sons attend.  I get to spend part of each day planning, organizing and actually digging in the dirt.  It was a very successful first season, and it just keeps getting better.  I was offered the use of a small greenhouse on the campus so I can continue puttering about with growing things this winter.  I’ll tell you a little secret…I’m experimenting with aquaponics too!  I already have 8 little goldfish working hard to produce nitrogen for my sprouts.  Well, they actually produce ammonia that will turn into nitrites that will turn into…that’s a story for another day, though.  Today we’re gonna talk about a freakishly warm December.

It’s freakishly warm, right?  What the heck!  I waited until late late late in November to plant garlic, which I usually plant in the end of October, and still the garlic has sprouted and is 4 inches tall.   Further disturbing evidence of this unusual weather is the fact that my parsley is actually growing.  I have been pulling it in fist-fulls to use in the kitchen, but still it grows.  Hard not to when it’s 60 degrees out.  IMG_0679

I have still been able to plant narcissus bulbs, as the ground isn’t nearly frozen yet, and whenever I hit one that’s already there I find it has sprouted and is trying to pop out of the earth.  My strawberries have actual flowers, for crying out loud!  What gives?  Anyone?  Even I, who loves growing things, am ready for the season to end.  Enough already.

I’m trying to pretend it’s winter.  Despite the fact that they are still green and healthy, I pulled out my leeks today.  IMG_0677They last almost as long in the fridge as in the ground, and I keep telling myself there has to be a hard freeze soon, so I might as well get them out now.  Of course I was wearing a T-shirt while I dug, so it really was pretend.  I could have probably left them in another month.

I decided to make a real one pot winter style meal tonight with some of the leeks and other put-up foods to try to get in the winter mood.  I used the parsley, some potatoes and onions I have in the cellar, and some pheasant leg meat I had left over from a broth I made.  IMG_0682

I also had the good fortune to trade a venison sirloin for some guanciale with my good friend Sarah.  For those of you who are scratching your head (like me the first time I heard of it), it’s a pork jowl.  That’s right…pig cheeks.  and I’m here to tell you that it’s one tasty item!  It’s an Italian specialty food traditionally used in carbonara, and it is super yummy.  More delicate than pancetta, and with a stronger taste than bacon, it ramps up the flavor of any dish.  Here I sauteed it until crisp, removed it with a slotted spoon and cooked the leeks and onions in the fat left in the pan.

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The potatoes I diced and cooked until soft in salted water, added them to the leeks and fried them until a little crispy.  After that I added the removed guanciale, the parsley, the pheasant, salt and pepper to taste, a pinch of cayenne and finally shredded Havarti on the whole thing, covered it and turned off the heat.  Meanwhile I had a nice winter cocktail to get me in the holiday spirit.  Nothing wrong with rum and eggnog, am I right?

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The final product was a stick to your ribs one-dish meal that made everyone happy.  It’s still about 50 degrees out, but I’m going to go decorate my Christmas tree and pretend.  Happy Holidays!

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Fall Harvest, peppers and tomatoes

Wow, it’s been a long time since I wrote!  I had a very busy summer in the garden.  This New England summer was very mild, and the cooler than usual weather made for a lush and productive garden.  It was an exceptional year for tomatoes, and as we head into October I am still picking.  Most of my tomato plants got the blight, as usual, but this year it was so late as to not affect the fruit.  In fact as the days get shorter the plants are having a last comeback and still producing.  To prevent the fruit from splitting on the vine, I pick them under-ripe and mature them on the counter or in paper bags for a few days.  The flavor is a bit tangier than the full sun ripened fruit, but they are still delicious.  I will still have many green ones on the vine when the first frost comes in, so I’ve been perfecting my recipe for green tomato salsa in advance.

Green Tomato Salsa

This time of year is almost as exciting for me as the spring.  It is as much a time of abundance and good eating as the peak of summer.  This may be because I usually plant a garden heavy on fall producing veggies like kale, peppers and potatoes, parsnips, beets and carrots, but it’s also a time for preparing foods for the winter.  I’m spending my days chopping, stewing and freezing tomatoes, roasting hot and mild peppers and making chili sauces to spice up the long winter.  I’ve got quite a few things going on in the kitchen as well as the garden.

The peppers had a nice year.  I planted a mixed variety and like always, quickly lost track of what I planted where.  While this might bother some, I find it exciting to watch the unknown plants grow and see how they eventually reveal themselves.  This year we had a cayenne variety, jalapenos, poblanos, banana peppers, green chilies and regular old green bells.  The mix was great, as some we used for stuffing, some for fresh sauces, some for cooked sauces, some roasted and jarred, and some fresh with dip.  As peppers are perennial, I have even planted some in pots to bring inside and have for the winter. This is a first for me, but I have been reading up on it and I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Another first for me is fermenting cayenne peppers for sauce.  I’ve made plenty of hot sauce over the years, but I’ve never  fermented the chilies before hand.  It is exciting to watch them bubbling away on the top of the fridge.  I have them soaking in a sugary Reisling mixed with 2 % salt.  It can take anywhere from 4 to 6 weeks for the fermentation to be completed, so I just bide my time and watch the process in fascination. I’m making up my own recipe, but there are quite a few good websites on the process, and here’s one I like.  http://talesofakitchen.com/raw/fermented-hot-chili-sauce/

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Remember to always wear gloves when handling hot chilies.  Even the milder chilies can get under rings and nails and cause irritation and burning.  Lingering chili oil can make itself known when you try to take out your contacts.  Never never wipe your face or eyes.  I have learned these lessons the hard way and I always wear the kind of rubber gloves you find in the doctors office.  They fit close and keep the capsasin off the skin.   Also, instead of using a cutting board and knife, try snipping the chilies with scissors right into the bowl.  This will keep the oil out of the cutting board and therefore out of the next thing you cut on it.

 

One of my favorite things to do with the abundance of peppers is to make green chili sauce.  I first had it prepared by a very good friend and former roommate Rachael Risley (nee. Coulehan), who makes it with a slow cooked pork shoulder.  As it’s very difficult to get organic free range pork of any kind, let alone a shoulder roast, we usually make it with chicken.  Served with cornbread or tortilla chips, it’s a hearty and satisfying dish perfect for the cooler fall temps.  I make the sauce first, pour it over shredded or cubed chicken and bake it with cheese like a casserole.  The trick to really good sauce is to roast the peppers first, skin and seed them and then make the sauce. Chopped and sauteed, they just don’t have the rich flavor that roasting adds. It is an extra step, but well worth the effort.

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Blister the chilies on high heat, flipping once to get both sides.  Put the chilies in a glass bowl, cover with a plate and let cool.  This will steam the chilies and make it easier to remove the skins.  When cool, remove the skin, seeds and ribs, reserving the liquid in the bowl.  Set aside.

Green Chile Sauce

2 tbs olive oil

2 large onions, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

2 tbs flour

2 cups broth

a dozen or so roasted and seeded green chilies, about 2 cups (any variety, but mostly not too hot)

Salt and pepper to taste

In a medium sauce pot, saute the onions in the olive oil until fragrant, about 10 minutes.  Add the garlic and saute two minutes more. Stir in the flour.  Add the broth and cook until thick and bubbly.  Add the chilies and cook for 5 minutes more.  With an immersion blender puree the mixture, leaving some peppers and onions whole.  If you don’t have an immersion blender, add 3/4 of the mixture to a blender, cover with a dish cloth to allow steam to escape and blend on high 1 minute.  Return to pan.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Serve over chopped or shredded chicken, pork or enchiladas.  Enjoy!

 

 

 

Time to Pick The Garlic

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I use a lot of garlic.  There is nothing like that fragrant allium for flavoring all kinds of dishes, from meats and pastas to vegetables of every sort.  Very easy to grow, it’s planted in the late fall and harvested in the summer.  Not bothered by pests, there is nothing much to it, really.  Unless, of course you forget all about it.  I had so much garlic from the previous year that I forgotten about the garlic patch until it made itself know to me by sprouting again last September as I was putting my garden to bed. Uh-oh.  September is not the time to harvest garlic.  So I left them.  They withered and died and sprouted again the next spring, but this time instead of single stalks from individual cloves, I had many many sprouts from whole heads of garlic. Bushes of garlic.  This year I determined to harvest them at the right time.  Plus I was out of garlic.  

Garlic should be picked when the stalks are still green but beginning to brown.  It’s not rocket science, but it does need to be done.  If you pick it too early, the paper is hard and difficult to peel, and the heads won’t be fully formed.  Too late and you risk the bulbs separating, the paper will be too thin and then they won’t store well.  July is a good time to do it.  Although it’s tempting to grab those sturdy stalks and yank, unless you loosen the ground first they will break and then you’ll be digging around with your trowel and risk damaging the bulb.  I dig a big scoop out of the dirt in front of the garlic, and then bend it toward the loosened earth until it comes free.  Because I had left mine so long in the ground and the bulbs had sprouted close together, most of the garlic was very small.  Perfect for a garlic braid!  I made sure to pick every one; the ones I get next year will be the ones I plant this fall!  

Garlic is excellent fresh, but it must be cured in order to keep.  This is best done out of the sun, in a cool, well ventilated area, and takes a few weeks until the papery stalks dry.  Leave the stalks on for this, and cut them only when you transfer the cured garlic to its storage area.  I keep mine in a basket in our cool basement.  Keep it away from moisture unless you want it to sprout in the basket.  

Last night we had beet greens braised with garlic cloves.  The fresh cloves are much milder than the cured.  It was really delicious and a good way to get in those healthy greens.  

SIMPLE GARLICY GREENS

1 large bunch of beet greens, or whatever hearty green you have to hand, collard, mustard, kale…

1 head of garlic, preferably fresh

1 cup of flavorful broth, vegetable, or chicken

 

Wash and chop the greens and add them to a large stock pot.  (add as much as will fit.  They cook down to nothing)  Peel and crush, not chop, the cloves of 1 head of garlic.  Add to the greens and pour the broth over.  Cover and simmer 20 min, longer for sturdier greens.  Enjoy!

 

To Pick or Not to Pick; Fried Green Tomatoes

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Everything in the garden has a season.  Most often just when we are entirely sick of one vegetable, another begins to ripen, giving us a change for a while until we are sick of that one too.  Some we never get tired of eating and they are gone all too soon, like peas and strawberries, but others come in hard and fast, in abundance, and we have to eat them, freeze them, pickle or jar them, or just give them away as fast as we can. Take green beans, for instance. We have been eating radishes, lettuces, kale and cucumbers for weeks now, and I have been watching the delicate purple flowers of the beans develop anxiously.  Haricot verts thinner than a cu-tip, lightly steamed and gobbled up with just a touch of salt are simply divine.   But in just a few days of picking I start to notice the ones I missed on the first few rounds are now the size of a pencil, and no longer bright green but dusky and even purplish.  I sweep through the bean patch, picking everything I see, and haul in about 3 gallons of beans.  Some we eat fresh. Some we pickle.  Some we freeze.  The next day….more beans.  Ugh!  But I know there is an end in sight, and I’ll be happy to use the ones I put up in soups and salads throughout the long months of winter.  Today, though, I’m sick of beans.

Not so tomatoes.  I could eat a fresh tomato every day of my life and be a happy person for it. Anyone who has had a tomato fresh out of someones garden, still warm from the afternoon sun, knows there is little resemblance to a store bought tomato.  The abundance of flavor, the fresh tangy sweetness and juicy texture;  It’s as good as a fresh peach, and each summer we wait and wait for the tomatoes to ripen.  We eat the best ones fresh with sea salt, or a bit of good balsamic vinegar glaze, and the rest, the ones marred by bugs, rot, or blemishes, go into the freezer.  We never seem to have enough to last throughout the winter, and each summer, as the beautiful fruits get larger and begin to ripen on the vine I wonder, Should I pick them yet?

The dilemma is this.  If I pick them green, they won’t get to ripen into the luscious red fruits that I love.  If I don’t pick them green, I won’t get to have fried green tomatoes.

Fried Green Tomatoes are traditionally thought to be deeply southern dish and one I had never tried until my (Italian) mother in law decided to grow a garden.  The recipe’s inclusion in cookbooks actually date back to the early 1830’s in the United States and are possibly of Jewish origin, first seen in the Midwest.  In any case they are prepared throughout the US and everyone who has tried them know they are well worth the effort.  In the end, I picked!

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FRIED GREEN TOMATOES

serves 4

4 Green hard tomatoes

1 egg

1/2 cup milk

approximately 1 1/2 cups breadcrumbs or cornmeal, seasoned with salt and pepper

Vegetable oil

Remoulade to serve

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Slice the tomatoes into 1/4 inch thick rounds, slicing off and discarding the top and bottoms (the breadcrumbs don’t stick to them) Mix the egg and milk together with a whisk.  Heat a cast iron skillet to medium heat and add about a 1/4 inch of oil.  Dip the tomatoes in the egg mixture and coat them with the breadcrumbs.  

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Fry the tomatoes in a single layer, flipping once when the breadcrumbs turn nicely brown.  Drain on paper towels and keep in a warm oven.  Serve with a remoulade of your choice.  I made mine from mayonnaise, catsup, lemon juice and tabasco. Enjoy!

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On being a Congregationalist

My mother, like most mothers, and most people for that matter, is one of those people who listens to about half of what I say, then makes up the rest and believes whatever she thinks must be true.  For example, for the last 5 years my husband’s family has had a home on Martha’s Vineyard.  We visit there about 5 times a year, and every time I return from a trip there my mother asks me “How was your trip to Nantucket?”  For the first few years it drove me absolutely mental, and I would vehemently remind her that I had never been to Nantucket and had no plans to go there, ever.  But after a while I just got used to it, and would respond to her questions with “Great Mom, we had a really nice time.”

Last spring, when my mother’s husband passed away, I went down to Florida to help her with the plans for his funeral, which happened to be at a catholic church.  We had a meeting with the director from the church, who asked me if I was a Catholic.  I was about to respond when my mother said to her “Oh no, she’s a Methodist” !  I looked at my mom incredulously.  “Mom” I said, “I’m a Congregationalist.  Big difference”  “Oh, it’s all the same” she replied “All you Christians believe the same thing.” I let it go.  It was my Mom, after all.

But I couldn’t really let it go.  It kept coming back to me that I didn’t like being referred to as a Methodist, but I couldn’t say why.  I mean, we are all Christians, after all.   So I spent some time thinking about it.  What was it about being a Congregationalist that I felt was so important?  I looked up the definition of Congregational in a few dictionaries, and here are some of the definitions I came up with…

“A system of Christian doctrines and ecclesiastical government in which each congregation is self-governing and maintains bonds of faith with other similar local congregations”

“A type of Protestant church organization in which each congregation, or local church, has free control of its own affairs. The underlying principle is that each local congregation has as its head Jesus alone and that the relations of the various congregants are those of fellow members in one common family of God.”

“A form of church governance that is based on the local congregation. Each local congregation is independent and self-supporting, governed by its own members.
With that freedom comes the responsibility upon each member to govern himself or herself under Christ. This requires lay people to exercise great charity and patience in debating issues with one another and to seek the glory and service of God as the foremost consideration in all of their decisions.”

I”n congregationalism, rather uniquely, the church is understood to be a truly voluntary association”.

And finally…

“To a Congregationalist, no abuse of authority is worse than the concentration of all decisive power in the hands of one ruling body.”

Self governing.  Free control over our own affairs.  Independent and self-supporting.  A group united for the purpose of worship.  That means a lot to me.

I’ve recently started studying Mycology.  For those of you that don’t know what that is, like me two weeks ago, it is the study of fungi.  I know I’m being a little divergent here, but bear with me.  Fungi are truly incredible, and I’ve come to realize that the study of fungi is akin to the study of life.  While I won’t bore you with all of the fungal facts I’ve turned up of late, I will tell you that fungi live on every surface, in every organism, and can theoretically live forever.  They are incredibly complex, and function as a shadow immune system, a shadow digestive system and are the source of some of the worst plagues and the best medicine we have.  They are uniquely symbiotic with every living thing on the planet, and are a perfect example of the inter-connectedness of our species to our world.  Everything on earth functions as an ecosystem; in fact, an ecosystem within an ecosystem within an ecosystem.  And each ecosystem, each plant and animal and fungus, is comprised of a complex system of interrelated and coordinated organisms.  In fact, if you think about it, the concept of “Me” is almost obsolete because in reality “Me” is a community.

To some, this may be creepy, but to me, it’s an example of God’s wondrous, unimaginable and endless creativity.  And just as I am a microbiotic community of functioning organisms, we the Church are a macrobiotic community of functioning organisms.  God meant us to be interrelated.  God meant us to be symbiotic.

I read a quote once that I remember.  “Whatever image you are holding in your mind is the reality you will invite into your future”.  This is so true. Furthermore we can create an image of our most desired future to focus on.   We can come together to collaborate and participate in determining our best future.

To sum up, our doctrine is self determination.  We choose our own path.  God meant us to work together.  Only by working together, not just some of us, but all of us collectively, can we determine our path forward.  We are at a time in our Church where we want to, and need to, affirm our best selves, create positive images and determine our future path.  Together we can make a brighter community, and a better world.Image