Lists!

Cut the herbs to dry
Make wheat bread with the local mixed grain bought from Market
Make apple butter
Dehydrate apples
Make an apple pie
Roast pumpkin seeds
Plan Halloween costume since I'm closing managing at the pub
Cut back the raspberries, sour cherry bushes, peonies and hostas
Pull the rest of the carrots
Save the basil seeds
Make granola
Make yogurt- DONE!
Make sauerkraut
Organize a clothing exchange
Post about jam!!- DONE!
Plan a grub party
Finish reading Botany of Desire- DONE!
Finish reading A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Dry clean my nappy winter coat and gold pants from Kathmandu
Go to Kathmandu.... hmmm.... maybe not feasible this week tho....
Organize closet and throw a personal search party for my favorite missing long underwear shirt
Get a bicycle helmet
Turn the compost
Finish my hundred things to do before I die list.

I know, I know...pathetic list for anyone who has children. But I still have a lot I want to do before winter hits even heavier!

He does it again...

Michael Pollan somehow speaks my thoughts so eloquently as to America's food system and the network of political issues it impacts. Check it out here in the New York Times magazine, and be prepared to either skim or spend some time with it!

Comfort Food for Tough Days

Lots of contrite worries these days, it seems. I'm in the process of making job changes. Our days are filled with unsettling financial news. And October 13th, I quiver just typing the date. But Alice Waters brings it home again with her recipe for Tortilla Soup, the scent of warmth wrapping my worries in it's aromatic blanket. I didn't think I was hungry last night after ferocious grazing all day, but once I smelled the chicken cooking down and the onions and garlic traipsing throughout the house, I couldn't help but anticipate my very own bowl of Tortilla Soup.

At market on Saturday we picked up radishes, kohlrabi, an anaheim pepper, garlic and onions. I think we might need to go back, bundle all these ingredients together, and freeze them so we can make this soup any day that comfort is craved.



Simmer 1 1/2 quarts of chicken broth. Then add 1 chicken breast half, preferably with skin and bones. Continue to barely simmer for 20 minutes. Turn off the heat, transfer the breast to a plate, and let cool. Remove and discard the skin and bones and shred the meat.

Using an 8-inch heavy-bottomed skillet, heat on med-high 1/2 cup peanut or vegetable oil. Then add 4 corn tortillas, cut into 1/2 inch strips. Fry in small batches until golden brown and crispy. Drain on paper towels and season with salt.

In a large heavy pot, heat: 2 TB olive oil, add 1 Anaheim pepper, seeded and thinly sliced, 1/2 medium yellow onion thinly sliced, 2 garlic cloves thinly sliced, salt. Cook until soft about 5 minutes. Pour in the hot broth, then add: 2 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and diced, or 3 small canned whole tomatoes dice and with juice.
Bring to a boil and then turn down to a simmer and cook for 30 minutes.

Add the shredded chicken meat and heat through, but do not boil. Taste for salt and adjust as needed. Serve the soup with the crispy tortilla strips and bowls of these possible garnishes:
1/2 cup chopped cilantro
6 lime wedges
4 ounces crumbled queso fresco or grated monterey jack
1/2 cup peeled and shredded jicama (we substituted local kohl rabi peeled and cut into matchsticks)
1 cubed avocado (our avocado never made it to the table- it was one of the things I grazed on throughout the day).

We have plenty for lunch today, too.
We also made a Hopi Blue Cornbread to accompany the soup. The corn meal, which is truly a dynamic stormy sky blue color, came from Jennings Bros. Stone Ground Grains in Nashville, Michigan.



Here's the recipe:
1 1/2 cups Hopi Blue Cornmeal
1 TB baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/3 cup white flour
Combine these four ingredients in a large bowl. Then mix the following in a medium bowl:
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 TB olive oil
1/4 cup chopped jalapeno pepper
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped green peppers
1/2 cup whole kernel corn
1/2 cup shredded cheddar
Mix these wet ingredients into large bowl of dry ingredients until moistened. Pour into pan and bake at 350F for 30-35 minutes.

The Girl Effect

http://www.girleffect.org/#/home/

Cabbage Poriyal

In Tamil, India's most southern state's language, Poriyal literally means stir-fry. This is a way to prepare any vegetable. The cooking method is fast and flashy. The lentils, mustard seeds and cumin seeds cook in a pool of coconut oil. The onion is added, sizzling and beating in a song of satisfaction. After just a minute you add with an extra bit of heat the onion, garlic, and chili powder. With the flair of a lounge singer, the cabbage is added with yet another turn of heat. No liquid should be allowed to escape and dissipate from the cabbage. Finally, cilantro and lemon juice are tossed into the mix, dessicated coconut finally ending the whole sultry affair.

If cabbage isn't to become kraut in the sourest of ways, it should become poriyal, crisp and tender at the same time.

Here's the recipe from the Noon book of authentic Indian cookery:
Heat 5 TB of coconut over low heat, add 1 tsp. urad dal (black gram beans), 1/2 tsp cumin seeds, and 1/2 tsp. mustard seeds. Let crackle for 15 seconds. Add 1/2 of a large onion chopped, stir-fry for 5 minutes. They should be limp but not colored.

Add 2 tsp. chopped ginger, 1 tsp. chopped garlic, 10-12 curry leaves,and 1 finely chopped green chili. Saute for 1 minute. Raise the heat and add 1 shredded, large white cabbage and some salt. Stir-fry until the cabbage is hot but still crisp.

Finally, add 8 TB of dessicated (shredded) coconut, 4 TB of chopped fresh cilantro, and 1 TB of lemon juice. Mix well. Add salt as necessary.

Thanks to my husband for cooking a delicious dinner tonight.
xoxo

Saving Lettuce Seed

It's crazy how intimidating new things like saving seeds can seem. But perhaps it will be like many other things... once done, simple to repeat.

This year I let all my lettuce bolt (see varieties mentioned in the previous post. Also grown this spring was Italian Lacinato nero Toscana Kale, an heirloom variety). Sadly my hands were full with fermenting and canning projects, so gardening and growing were not on the top of the priority list. Instead we chose to enjoy the colors and shapes in the lettuces, allowing them to grow and flower once they were bitter and no longer edible.

These bolted adolescent lettuces seem to be seeking not only acceptance but a chance for the next generation to survive! I'm finding it difficult to find consistent information on saving lettuce seed. Any suggestions on how to save the seeds from our Butterhead Speckles lettuce?




The description on this Butterhead Speckles lettuce package from Botanical Interests, Inc. is appealing: An heirloom that originated from the Mennonites who brought it with them from Germany and Holland over 200 years ago.

Here's some info that I'm guessing is pretty accurate,
found on highmowingseeds.com:


Seed Saving Instructions for Lettuce:
Self-pollinated. Lettuce varieties will not cross pollinate with each other even at short distances, but beware of any wild lettuce which can cross with lettuce. Allow plants to "bolt" and eventually flower. Under wet conditions lettuce plants may need to be covered with a rain cover or grown in a greenhouse to prevent fungus from infecting the plant and seed heads. Carefully shake the seedheads into a paper bag to allow the mature seeds to be collected while leaving the immature seeds and flowers to keep growing. Gather every few days until no more seeds remain. Also, you can simply harvest the entire plant when about half of the seeds are mature and allow the rest to mature inside by standing up the plants in a box and on a cloth or tarp. Use an 1/8" screen to help with cleaning. Lettuce seed can remain viable for 3 years under cool and dry storage conditions

Lettuce Plantings

Today was a day to not leave the house. When I looked at the weather on-line, trying to decide if I would overheat if I went jogging, there was a mass splotch of green plodding along towards Ann Arbor. I gauged that I had about three and a half minutes before the skies opened and I would be saturated. This meant no running, but a prime chance to plant the fall lettuce seeds that have been haunting me, secure in their packages. This week was somewhat dreadful, long and lame, mostly work with little play. So when I realized that the rain was marching forward, destined to drench, I grabbed the packets of seeds, pulled at the bolted spring lettuce, made shallow trenches, and planted four different greens: Bright Lights Swiss Chard, Correnta Spinach, Butterhead Speckles Lettuce, and Bon Vivant Spicy Mesclun.

Today was successful. I didn't leave the house, and finally the pestering seeds, anxious in their packets, were placed in the ground to grow tasty and colorful.

You Must Love Your Tomatoes

because your tomatoes love you. They are abundant little fruits, these juicy and colorful round orbits. So versatile, the tomato easily transforms a dry meal to saucy, a plain dip to special.



Tonight we were hungry. My desire was to cook, but not to think. I was leaning towards an Indian Vegetable and Paneer Biryani, but that conflicted too much with my desire to not think. Finally, sitting on my porch with cookbooks in tow, I saw my inspiration: the tomato plant. Neighbors have been heralding us with their ripe tomatoes, and the market tomatoes cat call us as we walk past. At some point we surrender. I'm not ready to make salsa or dedicate my evening to jarring homemade marinara. But tonight we were ready to peel and de-seed our pile of tomatoes, puree them into a rich pulp of sweet raw goodness. We were to eat pasta tonight.

First, we needed pasta. We ran to the store and bought fresh pasta made in Madison, WI at RP's Pastas. We also picked up a block of parmesean, some slices of side pork, and a pineapple for dessert. We started with frying the pork in a bit of olive oil. Even though it hadn't been aged like bacon, the fresh smokiness of it was reminiscent of hearty breakfasts around a campfire. We added some minced garlic and a small onion. These browned with the pork, and when they turned a sufficient shade of golden we tossed in chopped parsley and thyme from the front yard garden. My patience was waning at this point. It all smelled so good. Onto the stove went a pot of water. One by one we dropped our tomatoes, so at home on the windowsill, into the water, blanching them so the peels and seeds were easier to remove. They were chopped and then pureed in the CuisineArt, and slowly added to the sputtering pork mixture on the stove. The sauce started to thicken, we added salt and pepper, and before we could scoop up the whole darn mess with our tasting spoons, the pasta and sauce were ready to dish up. We grated the parmesean on top, mostly for good measure, and dug in, slurping the whole thing with great satisfaction. The flavor was surprisingly intense and savory, bite after bite seeming to fuse more fully.



Needless to say, there was no room for the pineapple. But we did accompany our food preparations with a large bottle of Jolly Pumpkin Bam Biere Farmhouse Ale. Oh so good.

Huitlacoche

Josh and I bought these funny little Mexican mushrooms at market yesterday. They're only Mexican because the culture there has embraced the fungus as an edible delicacy. The actual home where these huitlacoches grew was on the corn found at Tantre Farm in Chelsea, MI.



Aren't they goofy? I'm a tad afraid of their slipperiness on my tongue, but they were affordable so worth the experiment. Before you know it these gourmet little truffles will be $29 a pound. Josh has some pretty serious ambitions for these guys, and I think he will be inspired by some of these sites: Professor introduces unusual edible fungus to Madison, Corn Fungus Tamales: Tamales de Huitlacoche, and this information straight from Mexico.

Would you, could you, try these? They are fascinating.

Open Faced Peach Custard Pie

This recipe certainly was a bit on the extravagant side for me. Lately I've found that I am only interested in two or three ingredient combinations, and they usually contingent upon what currently lives in my fridge. But this, ah this recipe, I couldn't look wayward from my Joy of Cooking's description: "A Joy Classic".



I had all that I needed for this recipe sitting in my cluttered cupboard, and there were fragrant peaches hanging in my fruit basket, causing my mouth to water every quick moment I went in the kitchen. The anticipation of what to do with these soft and sweet Michigan peaches finally won over my fear of commitment involved in pie making. I always fear that devastating moment of the crust pulling apart as you attempt to lay it in the pan after cautiously rolling it out, or the taste not being equivalent to time. But believe me, every moment that I was away from this luxurious yellow beauty, the memory of it balked at me to return. The way this pie melts on your tongue burns your brain with it's well rounded taste. You want to reward any good or bad events throughout the day or night with a sliver of the pie. It's mildly obsessive. When the peaches are this good, you want to grasp them in any form before you lose them for the year. And the tandem custard only accents the peaches in a happy spousal manner. It's especially hard to cope with seasons changing when life makes sense because of a pie. I found the recipe in Joy of Cooking's index under "peaches" titled modestly, Open Faced Peach Custard Pie.

By definition, a custard involves milk and eggs and is thickened with heat. The thickening of this custard happens in the oven. The pie is only complicated in that there are multiple steps with the crust. The actual filling for the pie is simple. The crust however had me under gauge the total time needed. Now that I understand this, the second go around will be predictable and easier.

So here it is, in all its length, starting with the flaky crust. This recipe in particular calls for one baked flaky crust, however any bottom crust that you bake before adding the filling should work:
Mix
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon white sugar or 1 tablespoon powdered sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup solid vegetable shortening, or 1/2 cup shortening and 8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter
1/3 cup plus 1 to 3 tablespoon ice water, divided
Using a rubber spatula, thoroughly mix flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl.
Break the shortening into large chunks; if using butter, cut it into small pieces, then add it to the flour mixture. Cut the fat into the dry ingredients by chopping vigorously with a pastry blender or by cutting in opposite directions with 2 knives, one held in each hand. As you work, periodically stir dry flour up from the bottom of the bowl and scrape clinging fat off the pastry blender or knives. When you are through, some of the fat should remain in pea-sized pieces; the rest should be reduced to the consistency of coarse crumbs or cornmeal. The mixture should seem dry and powdery and not pasty or greasy.
Drizzle 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon ice water over the flour and fat mixture.
Using the rubber spatula, cut with the blade side until the mixture looks evenly moistened and begins to form small balls. Press down on the dough with the flat side of the spatula. If the balls of dough stick together, you have added enough water; if they do not, drizzle 1 to 2 tablespoons ice water over the top.
Cut in the water, again using the blade of the spatula, then press with your hands until the dough coheres. The dough should look rough, not smooth. Divide the dough in half, press each half into a round fiat disk, and wrap tightly in plastic. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, and preferably for several hours, or for up to 2 days before rolling. The dough can also be wrapped airtight and frozen for up to 6 months; thaw completely before rolling.
*Note: I actually used the pastry attachment of my food processor for this recipe. It was easy and worked great.

After making the dough, proceed by rolling out the dough and fitting it into a 9-inch pie pan. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. Position a rack in the lower 1/3 of the oven and preheat to 400 degrees.
Smooth a sheet of aluminum foil, shiny side down, over the bottom and sides of the crust, flaring the excess foil, like an awning, over the crust edge to keep it from overbrowning. Fill the liner with raw beans or rice or metal pie weights, banking the weights against the sides of the crust if you do not have enough to fill the crust to the brim. Bake the crust for 20 minutes with the weights in place to set the pastry. Carefully lift out the foil with the weights inside. Prick the crust thoroughly with a fork, return it to the oven, and bake until the crust is golden brown all over, 5 to 10 minutes more. Check the crust periodically; if it puffs along the bottom, prick it with a fork, then press down gently with the back of a spoon. Brush the inside with 1 large egg yolk and a pinch of salt. Return to the oven to set the glaze for 1 to 2 minutes. Fill the shell with the below filling recipe.

Here's the filling:
Keep the rack of your oven on the lower 1/3 and the temperature set at 400. Whisk together until well blended:
1 large egg
3/4 cup sugar
6 TB unsalted and melted butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt

Arrange in a single layer, cut side down, over the bottom of the crust: 3 to 4 fresh peaches, peeled and halved.
Pour the egg mixture over the peaches. Bake the pie for 10 minutes. reduce the temperature to 300 degrees and bake until the custard is brown and crusty on top and appears firmly set in the center when the pan is shaken, about 1 hour longer. Let cool on a rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I did find that my crust browned too much originally, and that it continued to brown even with the glaze. I think next time I would probably wrap the edge of the crust with aluminum foil, and butter the sides of my pie pan to keep the pastry from sticking.

The Joy of Cooking never fails.