tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62393259154555362162024-03-16T00:07:46.563-07:00Slow Food Tallahassee TalksSlow Food Tallahassee, a convivium of Slowfood U.S.A.
Join us in our discussion of Slow goings in Tallahassee, and all things Slow Food.Retro Pioneerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02895171215195174926noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-20286305097952861402024-01-10T14:54:00.001-08:002024-01-10T14:54:13.707-08:00Oh Lord<img id="id_cd53_fda1_6136_f558" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AEYmBYQTBwS27_C7vtRxgYQpkfi80e_VMqKYqBlQW94EDRoYa2G2wt6I8e7aj9_mhCrL3wmKcck_rGh5gj17DRCcfHBNLm_dQw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br>I had completely written my post yesterday evening when I ONCE AGAIN spilled club soda and a teeny bit of vodka into my MacBook. <div>I hadn’t even had a sip of it!</div><div>I don’t think I’ve done this in almost four years but it ain’t the first time. </div><div>So. I panicked. </div><div>For the second time that day. </div><div>The first time my nerves got the better of me was when we were getting that storm. It was not a cry wolf situation. When I got up the wind was howling through the trees, the birds were making hysterical tweeting noises and Maurice was completely freaking out. Jack was not happy either. </div><div>We started getting tornado warnings. Lily reported that Jason had seen a tornado off the interstate on his way to work. May and Michael were hunkering down in the stairwell of their apartment. And so forth. </div><div>It got pretty intense as the squall line reached us. Glen and I, believing, perhaps falsely, that it’s best to open windows during a tornado so the glass doesn’t break out of them, opened the doors at either end of the hallway creating a wind tunnel and soon, things were flying off the piano. We sat down under the stairwell and watched live-streaming weather reports and waited. I had to take an Ativan. That’s how intense it felt to me. </div><div>But the storm was moving fast and in a fairly short time, the tornado warnings had been called off and the birds began to eat at the feeder again so I figured we were probably safe. </div><div>And we were. </div><div>We didn’t even lose any trees. Branches and limbs, yes. Trees- no.</div><div>At this point we began to get the rain and thunder and lightening but after that wind, those felt very minor. </div><div><br></div><div>So that was how I spent my morning and then the rest of the afternoon I did household stuff and cleaned up a couple of garden carts of mostly very small twigs and some larger branches. </div><div><br></div><div>All was well until…the vodka-soda incident at which point I just gave up and would have probably jumped off a cliff if there had been one handy but since there wasn’t I just did all the stuff you’re supposed to do when you get liquid in your laptop and NO, putting it in rice is not part of that.</div><div><br></div><div>I cannot tell you how upsetting it is to me when I don’t have my MacBook. It is my portal to the world where all of you live. Also to my crosswords and the newspaper. Yes, I can access some of these things on my phone but it ain’t the same. </div><div>At all. </div><div><br></div><div>I talked to an Apple tech guy this morning. First off, let me say that their tech help is second to none. I wasn’t on hold for a minute. And James, the man I spoke to, was very reassuring and advised me to leave the MacBook alone to dry out for a day or two before I started researching repair options. And that is what I’m doing. </div><div><br></div><div>In the meantime I’m writing this on my phone and I probably won’t be commenting on other blogs although I will be reading them, or answering comments on my posts. </div><div><br></div><div>And please know that I feel incredibly lucky that Glen and I and all the kids and grandkids are fine and dandy. No harm, no foul. People to the west of us in places like Panama City were hit hard. I drove into town today and saw a lot of downed trees and I shake my head in wonder that we escaped with no damage.</div><div>I hear though that we may be getting similar weather to what we had yesterday two days from now. </div><div><br></div><div>Global weather changes at its finest!</div><div><br></div><div>In case you’re wondering, the picture up top is my new pot with collard greens, kale, turnip greens, turnips, and onions simmering away. They were still growing in the garden two hours ago. </div><div><br></div><div>I picked them when I got back from getting a pedicure and going to lunch with Jessie and Liz. It was just what I needed. We laughed so much and so hard at lunch I thought they might ask us to leave. </div><div><br></div><div>That’s it. Let’s hope I can post this. </div><div><br></div><div>Love…Ms. Moon</div><div><br></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-62775575719841379632020-07-15T15:18:00.001-07:002020-07-15T15:18:35.782-07:00<div><img id="id_1c49_5428_1e3a_75f" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/y-GzGhe0tM3J9ShFZ9j3gpwRVgRu_NIWmdmJzOk688-VOUvkRFyu7bTAqdRWgU4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div>I have about zero hope that I can get this post online. My MacBook is in the shop due to the fact that although I like vodka and soda, the MacBook does not seem to tolerate that particular beverage very well, especially when administered via side ports. <div>Sigh. </div><div>Also, for whatever reason my app to post via my phone is being janky and cranky and will not fucking post! </div><div>Unless you’re reading this in which case it did. </div><div>But I am writing the post anyway because I am addicted to my evening blog writing and that’s the simple truth. </div><div><br></div><div>All is well here in Lloyd except for the technical difficulties. I had to go to town today to deliver my magical blogging machine to the Computer Doctors which for some reason was very anxiety-producing. The guy behind the desk wore a mask but at one point when he was focusing on what he was doing with my laptop, he pulled it down under his chin and the room we were in was rather small. </div><div>Ugh. </div><div>I did find out that my MacBook is 8-12 years old which is older than I thought it was. The flight of time is fantastical, isn’t it?</div><div><br></div><div>Aside from that, life continues as usual. Dottie and Dearie are still a darling holy mother and child unit, traveling the yard. The little peep is replacing down with feathers and still is lighter than a fleeting wish when I pick her up to put her in her baby coop at night or lift her out in the morning. Mr. Moon has been shelling peas as if it was his job. He’s taking a break from that right now to mow the yard. The green beans are still producing over-well, the zinnias are blooming, the pine cone lilies are putting out their beautiful cones, the young hens are not yet laying, the cucumbers seem to be infested with the damn vine-borers, the mosquitoes are still hungry, I have many eggplant swelling and ripening in their magnificent aubergine way, I actually bought tomatoes today and I still love my husband dearly and daily I find more reasons to do so. </div><div><br></div><div>I guess this is enough. I really doubt that these words are going to get published but it has soothed me to write them. </div><div><br></div><div>I hope all is well with each and every one of you. </div><div><br></div><div>Love...Ms. Moon</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-50605341869346367152020-07-15T14:04:00.001-07:002020-07-15T14:04:13.664-07:00Testing1,2,3...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-64552488203984218492020-07-15T12:06:00.001-07:002020-07-15T12:06:50.002-07:00Testing1,2,3...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-64084244168149324532020-07-15T11:57:00.001-07:002020-07-15T11:57:59.565-07:00TestingHaving a bit of trouble with my MacBook as well as posting via an app on the phone. So. <div>Trying this. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-85133578329755632242020-07-14T17:55:00.001-07:002020-07-14T17:55:42.011-07:00I am alive and not dead. Having a MacBook situation here involving liquids which got into the MacBook due to user error. <div>All is well but I’ll not be commenting on blogs until this is all resolved. </div><div><br></div><div>Be well, y’all. </div><div><br></div><div>Love...Ms. Moon. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-17241862704429221722008-07-24T10:14:00.001-07:002008-07-24T10:50:12.888-07:00How good will THIS be?Oh boy, I'm so excited!<br /><br />I'm preparing a sort of bistro-style Belgian dinner for some close friends this weekend, and it occurs to me that cooking seasonally, locally, is getting easier all the time. The increased availability of local meats and dairy products is what I've been wishing for since we returned to Tallahassee three years ago. <br /><br />We'll start with a wheel of Titan from Sweetgrass Dairy. This individual wheel is of younger affinage than the sampling we tried a couple of weeks ago; a very different animal to be sure, but incredibly good in its own way. This is a really stellar washed rind goat's cheese -- more German than Belgian only in that the wash for the rind is Celebrator, a German Doppelbock. The cheese itself is less pure and self-conscious than most German cheeses, a distinction that can also been seen between German and Belgian beers. <br /><br />We'll have veal birds braised in Matt's own Belgian Blonde ale: A well-seasoned forcemeat of Sweegrass's ground veal and Thompson Farm's pork wrapped with proscuitto and pounded scallops of veal (the veal for the scallops also from Sweetgrass), browned thoroughly and braised gently in the heavenly summer brew that will also accompany the dinner. I'm sure that a bit of cured local ham or bacon would easily rival the proscuitto. In fact, Sweetgrass's pigs feed on acorns from the oaks in their pastures (think Serrano ham), even though they receive much of their nourishment from whey left over from cheesemaking.<br /><br />... served with a potato gratin (potatoes are not local this time of year) made with Kurtz and Sons or Sparkman's milk, SGD cheeses, and homemade creme fraiche. If we'd really planned well, we could have used heavy cream from Full Circle Farm for the creme fraiche. <br /><br />... and... Ms. Martha's tiny ladyfinger field peas.<br /><br />For desert, a fig clafouti made with figs from Turkey Hill, milk from Kurtz and Sons, Tupelo honey, and eggs from Ladybird Organics. I may offer some Tupelo honey-sweetened creme fraiche alongside.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-64465772830331536142008-06-09T03:46:00.000-07:002008-06-25T09:04:01.391-07:00Locally, Globally<strong>Share your food roots! </strong>Post a reply, or if you are set up to blog on Slow Food Tallahassee, log in and blog away. Here's my story:<br /><br />I’ve always considered myself a foodie. I grew up in a family whose days were arranged around meals as we traveled through Europe picking up recipes, food customs and traditions along the way. Much of our food came straight from the rich, black soil around us, and I never considered it unusual or “alternative”. My mother grew herbs, apples, gooseberries, plums, runner beans, rhubarb, raddicio, frizee, and rockett, all interspersed with a stunning display of flowers, year round. She made friends instantly wherever we went, and friends brought an endless supply of treasures from their own gardens.<br /><br />My earliest memory is from Hambrook, England, where we lived when my father had his first job abroad as a civilian doctor. I was in the back garden with my mother, picking apples and offering them over a stone wall to the neighbors’ horses.<br /><br />Later, after a brief return to the United States where my father joined the Army, we moved back to Europe – Germany this time. We lived in a grand, four story vicarage, with huge wooden gates opening into a dark courtyard, where a bullet-mark riddled statue stood – it was used for target practice by soldiers in WWII. There was a foyered entrance, a spiral stair-case, a five-chambered basement for memorable Halloween parties, a ball-room, a second story glass garden room, and a huge attic, part of which had been converted into a little bedroom. I shared a bedroom, one with a sink and a balcony (it had been a second-story kitchen) overlooking the courtyard, with my younger sister.<br /><br />Our landlady also offered her garden, a walk through town as part of our tenancy. My mother took me to harvest from the garden, it must have been in the autumn. I remember the apples littered heavily under their trees, the air around them humming with bees and yellow-jackets. The sweet smell of fermenting apples under the sun remains with me. I remember being hot and tired from walking. I followed my mother closely to avoid the stinging nettles, brambles, wasps and bees, and yet, in retrospect there was something undeniably, innately right and pleasing about the whole experience.<br /><br />Our friend Frau Klein regularly invited us to her home. She had what seemed like an enormous back yard with giant cherry trees. I chased her sweet, spoiled, barrel-bodied dachshund outside and clambered up in a hammock slung between two of the giants that were literally dripping cherries. Out I fell, landing on a slick bed of brown, slimy, decomposing fruits.<br /><br />She sent us home with baskets of cherries. We ate hundreds while we were stoning the cherries for my mother’s “<em>rum topf</em>," before realizing that each one housed a single, tiny larva. No harm to us!<br /><br />We moved to Belgium, and then to England. Mr. Houghton, my seventy-something-year-old neighbor and dear childhood friend, made sure that my family was well fed. He knew where to find all of the edible flora for miles around. Weekends and summers spent rambling across fields and through hedgerows and streams rewarded us with a bounty of wild treasures: mirabelle plums, portabello and giant puffball mushrooms, watercress, burdock, horseradish, blackberries, beech-nuts, rose-hips and chestnuts, currants and elderberries. The same expeditions turned up for me a collection of clay pipes, roman coins, pieces of bronze, and ancient flint tools –used by those who subsisted on virtually the same wild offerings before and after Romans drained the land and farmed and fed the rich soil that had until then been mostly covered by marsh-water. We stocked up on carrots, leeks, onions, sugar-beets, and daffodils directly at the farms that produced them. Once a year we gathered tiny, bitter wild plums from farm hedgerows, called sloes, took them home and pricked each one before pushing it through the neck of an empty wine bottle filled partially with sugar before filling the gaps with gin to make a jewel-toned libation for the coming and subsequent Christmas Seasons. During hunting season, he received game birds from village friends – he always had them in braces – one male and one female. The birds hung for two days under burlap in the cool garage, and we shoed the flies away until they were ready. Ready meant that the birds had reached a critical fine line of perfection that can only be understood far away from the supermarket, close to their source. In the garage we plucked feathers from pheasants and partridges while he put horseradish through a grinder into a vinegar jar. His garden yielded asparagus, radishes, strawberries, lettuces, brussels sprouts, English peas, broad-beans, tiny waxy new-potatoes, and bouquets of flowers. We checked each leaf for caterpillars and eggs which we carefully removed and dispatched. Pesticides were a bit of odd wizardry, held at bay by the blessed recalcitrance of his aged experience.<br /><br />In the Spring I watched lambs and goats being born. The sheep stamped ridiculous warnings as we passed with our Labrador retriever, and a single goose chased us outside the un-fenced border of an open apple orchard that we’d pinched the odd apple from before. Starlings on our roof mimicked a rooster. Fields of black Fen soil dressed with cow manure in winter were strangely pleasant; those dressed with pig manure assaulted the nostrils from miles away but were nourished and continued to yield. Every fall the winds (called gales) picked up and blew a fine layer of black soil over every surface, outdoors and in.<br /><br />On some weekends my family visited larger towns, each one having a large open-air market. Produce was available, but the bounty of food at our doorstep was so copious that I don’t recall my mother purchasing any from the market. Instead, she bought cheese. Our own tiny village in England had a butcher shop, a green-grocer (run by an ancient woman who grew all of the vegetables herself – organically), and four public houses. In Germany, we walked down the street from our house to the bakery for <em>brotchen</em> and fresh jelly doughnuts, and picked up <em>aufshnitt</em> from the nearby deli. In Belgium, we drove into town for pastries and coffee on the square. In Normandy, we ate shellfish so fresh that it pulled back into its shell at the touch of a fork. Outdoor spaces in every town were punctuated by unmistakable smells of fresh meat, cheese, ripe fruit, and malt, from market stall, shop, brewery. Each town had its own unique smells and tastes, because each sustained its own essence, retained its own unique qualities. Words like <em>local</em>, <em>sustainable agriculture</em>, <em>community supported agriculture</em> were never uttered in any language – these simply were. As a child, I was oblivious to the uprise Italy against MacDonald's and the encroaching fast-food industry, which marked the beginning of the Slow Food movement. Still, fast food and homogenization of culture <em>were</em> encroaching, and after my adolescent and college years back in the U.S., I began to feel a strong personal desire to reconnect with the what has come to be called Slow Food, and the way of life attached to it. A child added to the equation, and the desire became an imperative.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-52464302106744503432007-10-25T11:51:00.000-07:002007-10-25T12:11:11.738-07:00Cost of living in America<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Worth ≠ Cost <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you understand the underpinnings of Slow Food, you might just forgive me for my rant.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">We are a nation swimming in a sea of worthless junk that costs unfathomably more than its combined purchase price. </b><span style=""> </span>We believe that as long as we fund our retirements and our funerals, our children will not be burdened by us.<span style=""> </span>Some of us whose “hearts are in the right place” simply say that we cannot afford to be green, or that we work hard to earn what we have.<span style=""> </span>We also assume that, with the exception of sentimental items and garage sale steals that make it onto the Antiques Road Show, a thing is worth as much as or less than it costs, and that it costs as much as the price-tag says it costs.<span style=""> </span>If the price tag says $5 (and we buy it, validating the seller’s claim that it is worth $5 – “fair market value” in action), then it actually costs $5 or less.<span style=""> </span>That is how much it costs, and that is how much it is worth.<span style=""> </span>The blinkered life is <i style="">grand</i>.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>In many ways, we are skipping happily along, like children who are too young to understand the cost of living and the value of money. <span style=""> </span>Our kids assume that food, shelter, and toilet paper are free and are rudely awakened when they fledge. <span style=""> </span>We “grown-ups” assume that our grocery bags are free (they don’t cost anything), or that we pay for them through the elevated price of the bags’ contents.<span style=""> </span>We also assume that the $10.00 <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state> strip we buy at the grocery store actually <i style="">costs</i> $10 or less to produce and sell.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was listening to NPR this-morning, hearing about how this and that group want to make <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tallahassee</st1:place></st1:city> a “green city.”<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on">Tallahassee</st1:city> was listed in one publication as one of three up-and-coming "green" cities in the U.S. (<st1:city st="on">Minneapolis</st1:city> and <st1:city st="on">Sacramento</st1:city> were the others).<st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style=""> </span>The speaker said that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tallahassee</st1:place></st1:city> needs to entice innovators and entrepreneurs to come here and develop green technologies for building etc.<span style=""> </span>Someone said that the “people” of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Tallahassee</st1:place></st1:city> are ready to make a change for the greener, but our government is not (because the economic development office is promoting urban sprawl by approving development on our urban fringes).<span style=""> </span>We also have a crappy transportation system, so we all have to drive cars here.<span style=""> </span>Yes, it’s all true.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">BUT</b><br /><o:p></o:p><br />No-one ever really talks about his <i style="">individual</i> responsibility for preserving resources for the next generation. Even <i style="">with </i>city grants and loans, solar energy for our oak-shaded houses is not an economical option for most of us, even if we we cut down the trees(?!).<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>If someone tells us to eat better quality and less food (instead of eating more and buying “functional foods,” diet pills and surgeries to trim our bodily excesses), we are personally offended.<span style=""> </span>If someone suggests that we re-use our grocery bags, we wonder what good it would do to sacrifice such tiny, “free” things that are so convenient.<span style=""> </span>If someone tells us to <i style="">not </i>buy the SUV that we actually don’t need and can’t afford anyway when our children are born, we wonder how we could possibly manage because everyone else has one, and that proves that SUVs are a necessity of modern life. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I tell friends that I’m trying to transition as much as possible to organically grown produce and meat that comes from a humanely and sustainably farmed livestock, they tell me that these things are<i style=""> expensive</i> and imply that I’m indulging in unnecessary extravagances.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Some individuals who are convinced that we should have fewer children are the same ones whose habits and homes cost more money and resources than entire extended families use in other parts of the world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The fact is, worth (fair market value) does not equal cost.<span style=""> </span>If we buy it for less at Walmart, lucky dogs, we may never consider the cost – the human cost (cheap labor, poor working conditions, unimaginable living conditions), the cost in natural resources (petrochemicals for making and transporting), the cost to the environment (for example China, where we’ve forked out most of our production, is the most polluting country in the world <i style="">because </i>of us).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>And in case you think I’m picking on you, allow me to indict myself.<span style=""> </span>I’ve got <i style="">miles</i> to go, and the more I learn the more indicted I become.<span style=""> </span>But I’m making one tiny change at a time, all the while hoping that my child will not see the spoils of my existence in his lifetime.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-60658388022333124632007-10-04T11:14:00.001-07:002007-10-04T15:22:54.736-07:00Chanterelles in September (better late than never)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBNer_cZSH1jNsQz0zlb97B7MSD_-qCEa14Pht0H5Y7EAhUgbZBcBHKVbmkj4uQySWmqSwPx26-onmKrfiKHXwpCk_ZiCxJWPf_d8RDi5F1uYWHXxn7icMCd4n_-5-tP-fwo9_KpX1oWT/s1600-h/Chanterelle+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBNer_cZSH1jNsQz0zlb97B7MSD_-qCEa14Pht0H5Y7EAhUgbZBcBHKVbmkj4uQySWmqSwPx26-onmKrfiKHXwpCk_ZiCxJWPf_d8RDi5F1uYWHXxn7icMCd4n_-5-tP-fwo9_KpX1oWT/s320/Chanterelle+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117503989941152738" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Much</span> has happened in the almost two months that I've neglected the blog. Too much to write about. Still, I'll play a little catch-up. <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br />Several weeks ago, my brother-in-law showed up at our house with a brown bag full of chanterelles he and his wife had harvested here and there around town. I'd seen the things growing over the past couple of years, never sure enough of their identity to risk eating one. Imagine my joy (ecstacy!) in learning that they <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> the lovely, rare treat that I'd hoped. And not so rare, it turns out. Chanterelles are fairly abundant, available cross-country to those who are patient enough to wait for their season and confident enough to harvest and eat them. Over the last several weeks, I've enjoyed them in pasta, on home-made rosemary focaccia ( great recipe from<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Barenbaum's</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">The Bread Bible), </span></span></span></span></span>and in a chanterelle tart.<br /><br />Chanterelles are fragile. Last year I was shopping for mushrooms for Thanksgiving dinner, and saw them at "The Fresh Market," squashed, dried out and battered enough to make me want to spit fire at their handlers. What a waste! There's no comparison between <span style="font-style: italic;">just picked, carefully harvested</span> chanterelles and the abused offerings at the supermarket. For those who aren't interested in picking and eating wild fungi, I found extraordinary, pristine specimens for $5/ brown bag at Lake Ella. You may have to wait for next year. On the other hand, chanterelles are still to be found in these first days of October. I've been watching a cluster of them by a live-oak in my neighborhood, and new ones are still popping up. Urban roadside, they're in the fire of dog-pee, urban stormwater runoff, and chemical runoff from the golf-course, so there they stay, an untouched indicator that their likes are to be found in cleaner places.<br /><br />Although mushrooms tend to pop up during/ after rainy spells, they are best harvested when they are not actually wet. After a good rain, chanterelles can be spongy with excess water, which makes them more perishable. They're also harder to clean if they're wet. It is best not to wash most mushrooms. Harvest from unpolluted areas if possible, and simply brush gently with a paint or pastry brush or wipe with terry-cloth to clean.<br /><br />After a couple of weeks of eating chanterelles harvested by others and doing lots of internet research, I got up the courage to forage for them with my family. If you're going to do it, do your homework first, and don't forget (silly me) to bring your long pants and real shoes (not flip flops), maybe even some gloves. We negotiated plenty of poison ivy and brier for these lovely morsels.<br /><br />Chanterelle ramblings from my journal....<br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >I thought about chanterelles, fungi, the food chain.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Foraging for chanterelles was exhilarating, freeing, but made me undeniably anxious.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >So many fungi are poisonous; their position on the food chain is with other smaller life-forms that can have a grim power over us.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >They feed on and fuel decay.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >They can cause sickness and death.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Finding and eating a wild mushroom, even with certainty of its identity, forces a reversal of natural order, challenges nature. </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >It is easy to think of fungi as organisms at the bottom of the food chain, but they are not.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Plants are at the bottom of the food chain.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Their energy comes from the sun.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Fungi are at the top of the food chain – their energy comes from life all the way up the food chain, from the bottom to the top.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >They, along with bacteria and other microorganisms, are responsible for recycling the food chain.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >When I asked a friend who lives down the street from me if she’d been harvesting chanterelles in our neighborhood, she said that she hadn’t.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >A friend of hers was an expert, an avid mushroom hunter, who made a fatal mistake.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A lot of people think I’m an over-protective mother.<span style=""> </span>I’m so wary of danger, of dire natural consequence.<span style=""> </span>I disclose in order to you give the sense of the surety I needed in order to gather, and then eat, chanterelles.<span style=""> </span>I did not harvest or eat without surety.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Yet</span>, my child did not eat the mushrooms with us.<span style=""> </span>I’d read about look-alikes (<span style="font-style: italic;">Jack of the Wood or Jack-o-lantern</span>) that cause excruciating sickness but not death.<span style=""> </span>Another look-alike, the <span><span style="font-style: italic;">false chanterelle</span>,</span> was generally described as disappointing and mildly disagreeable. A suddenly orphaned child would be almost as tragic as a dead child, but my findings suggested that we might be awfully sickened, but not killed, by a mistake.<span style=""> </span>So with “almost surety,” the parents ate the Chanterelles and the child had none.<span style=""> </span>The day after, and the day after, our bodies did not protest.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Weeks after I wrote these thoughts down, I finally began reading Michael Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma.<span style=""> </span>In the final section of his book, he talks about foraging (The first two sections are devoted to agriculture). Chanterelles are one of the first organisms he encounters in his foray into hunting and gathering. He says it all, and he says it so much better.<span style=""> </span>The book is so compelling, so affirming to my gradual, intuitive transition from global supermarket gourmand to Slow Foodie.<span style=""> </span>It is hard to imagine someone reading the book and continue on with life (eating) unchanged.<span style=""> </span>Yet, never in my life have I been “sold” by someone else’s words.<span style=""> </span>Would I have changed my way of living if I’d not already been firmly on the road to doing so?<span style=""> </span>I’ve talked with scores of people who read the fascinating and frightening Fast Food Nation (I haven’t read it), who still frequent fast food restaurants several times a week!</span></p> <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >SO, there's a bit of catching up. Also noteworthy, although the cooler weather has not settled in, the market says otherwise. COOL SEASON GREENS ARE HERE!!! They started to arrive a few weeks ago -- lettuces, asian greens, mustards. Arugula, which seems to be around all year, is especially good now. Also potatoes and sweet potatoes, sand pears, the first persimmons of the season, herbs, potted herbs for winter's garden, some chestnuts. Eggs with carrot-orange yolks. Honey. Sprouts. Garlic....<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So much has happened. Great pie! Pigs, cows, chest freezers. Pork at New Leaf. Steep acceleration of my own personal learning curve in the world of sustainability. Hoping to move permanently away from Publix SOON. So, there's my catching up. Now maybe I can resume my previous pace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">LOTS of October and November events for the Tallahassee foodshed, by the way.</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-14298532331567554732007-09-30T18:54:00.001-07:002007-09-30T18:54:57.091-07:00maple-glazed sausage and sweet potatoesfor years we have tried to support local and preferably organic. it just feels (and typically tastes) much better. moving to a new locale challenges us to learn what's in season and where we can get what. it's been a l-o-n-g year of figuring that out, but i really feel as though it's been coming together of late. we frequent the lake ella growers market on wednesdays and have gotten to know our farmers -- namely louise & herman at turkey hill farm, and jack & carmen at crescent moon. sweet grass dairy is a real local gem as well (thomasville, ga) -- we adore their cheeses and have recently had the pleasure of purchasing ~half a hog from them. we only just picked up the meat last wednesday and it is goooooo-oood!! the first sample of our bounty was the smoked mild link sausage...delish! for breakfast i sauteed an onion, some roulette peppers (ie- mostly sweet, but could have some heat) from THF with the SGD sausage. then, added to some hot bradley's country store grits along with parmegiano and s+p. a wonderful breakfast made better accompanied by a THF fried egg. mmm mmm.<br /><br />dinner was truly delicious... jack (CMF) has had some incredible heritage sweet potatoes at the market lately that i can't get enough of. the pear sauce was made a couple weeks ago (and then frozen) using some local "cooking pears" (i believe the tag said "ash pears," but maybe "sand pears") from new leaf market. herbs are grown with love by H from baby plants that were purchased from bob and millie at the lake ella market.<br /><br />sorry... no photo today. :(<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">maple-glazed sausage and sweet potatoes</span><br /><br />1-2 T olive oil<br />1 med.large white onion<br />1+ lb. SGD smoked mild link sausage, cut in 1/2-3/4-in. rounds<br />2 large sweet potatoes (any is okay, but orange flesh is lovely), 1/2-3/4-in. dice (well scrubbed, NOT peeled) :)<br />1+ cup pear and/or apple sauce<br />1/4 cup white wine or white wine vinegar<br />1/4 cup pure maple syrup (or honey would be nice)<br />fresh sage, approx. 10 leaves (on stems okay)<br />fresh rosemary, approx. 4 x 3-in. pieces<br />s+p<br /><br />preheat oven to 375F.<br />heat a large pot or dutch oven over med-high heat. add olive oil, then onion and sausage. brown for a few-several minutes as you finish dicing up sweet potatoes. add sweet potatoes and salt and pepper. stir, bring heat to high. cook covered for a few minutes. add wine, maple syrup, apple/pear sauce, and fresh herbs. stir, recover, and roast at 375F for 15-20mins. Uncover, raise heat to 550F and roast for an additional 15-20mins.<br />serves ~ 4 as a main course.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02292388059913331029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-87691262848278556332007-08-09T05:58:00.000-07:002007-08-09T06:01:47.990-07:00Beach Advisories and Seafood, and more FISHThe Tallahassee Democrat has been running articles about <a href="http://tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070807/NEWS01/708070326">Panhandle beach advisories</a> for weeks, if not months. High levels of harmful bacteria in the water have kept some people, but not all, out of the water. Beach advisories are nothing new -- many local beaches seem to be under water/bacteria advisories for months out of each year. Human waste and storm-water runoff have been implicated recently, although though there are also other micro-organism "explosions," <a href="http://redtideflorida.org/">Florida red tide</a> and <a href="http://sjr.state.fl.us/programs/outreach/pubs/order/pdfs/fs_algae.pdf">blue-green algae</a>, for example, that may be exacerbated by agricultural runoff and elevated water temperatures.<br /><br />Within the last few days, there were two articles in the Democrat about local seafood restaurants: one on the <a href="http://www.tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2007708070327">reopening of Angelo & Sons</a>, rebuilt and ready for business after being condemned following damage from Hurricane Dennis in 2005, and a <a href="http://tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070803/ENT03/708030305">review of The Forgotten Coast Seafood Shack</a>.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Is it safe to eat Local seafood now? </span>In his review of the Forgotten Coast Seafood Shack, Ashby Stiff cheerfully admitted to eating Oysters "out of season." Personally, I don't like seafood if it's overcooked (and it so often is). But is it safe to eat local seafood (especially oysters, shrimp, crab) that hasn't been overcooked?<br /><br />Is this an over-reaction to a phenomenon that has been around for years? Is the danger from swimming (which usually involves some ingestion of water) as real as indicated or is it exaggerated? Is there a corresponding risk with eating local seafood this time of year?<br /><br />There were two Democrat articles about the <a href="http://www.tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2007708060324">Goliath Grouper<span style="font-weight: bold;">,</span></a> which may be of particular interest to Slow Food members. Protected from fishing since 1990, the Goliath Grouper is up for reconsideration as an allowed catch. State, Federal, and University researchers and the Florida Fish and Wildlife commission met on Monday and concluded that <a href="http://tallahassee.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070809/NEWS01/708090357/1010">more time and information is needed</a> before a decision is made. A strange sensation for foodies: <span style="font-style: italic;"> Don't eat the foods you wish to protect. </span>Of course, sometimes, particularly when it comes to cultivated crops and value-added products, we actively seek out and purchase the rare foods we wish to preserve -- as co-producers we must encourage the producers' efforts. Our job is to be educated about which foods fit into which category.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-72333756654999441882007-07-24T17:00:00.000-07:002007-07-24T17:02:53.972-07:00ScuffinnahvesSeven years ago, I married and moved with my husband to his home-town Tallahassee. Until then, I'd been a bit of a transatlantic nomad; my rather homogenized accent picked up and dumped flavor without loyalty. Shortly after I began work in my new town, a co-worker came into staff-meeting with a container full of mixed green and purple orbs the size of large "boulder" marbles. I inquired, and she replied in her slow, smoky drawl, "Skuffinnahves."<br /><br />"Uh, ... what was that?"<br />"Skuffinnahves."<br />"Skuffin-knives?"<br />She nodded,"Skuffinnahves."<br /><br />Even as a fellow American, I was a foreigner as I encountered this new word and struggled to sort pronunciation from spelling. She invited me to try one. I selected a green one. My teeth sank through thick, tart, leathery skin into cool, gelatinous, grape-candy flesh and finally crushed astringent, slightly bitter seeds. As odd as it may sound to locals, I felt like I'd landed on the moon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigq-j9doeBaDF6rGMI0D35i5ISXmlYMAZ5F9opRtf9XAvN-_jfKozp74v5OHnjOFzheSVtLrM9NWlUMDq3uC9w1Nk1nC8X6YgKqRDJUyEqm6muLUnc-DDsl9rHtMYJtZL-eciUgKPIQ7E_/s1600-h/IMG_8452a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigq-j9doeBaDF6rGMI0D35i5ISXmlYMAZ5F9opRtf9XAvN-_jfKozp74v5OHnjOFzheSVtLrM9NWlUMDq3uC9w1Nk1nC8X6YgKqRDJUyEqm6muLUnc-DDsl9rHtMYJtZL-eciUgKPIQ7E_/s200/IMG_8452a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090916621649575954" border="0" /></a>A mission to find more quickly turned up plenty of labeled containers of "Scuppernong" and "Muscadine" grapes. Scupp-er-nong. Skuffinnahves. Last night, after finding scuppernongs at New Leaf and remembering my introduction to the fruit, I asked Matt if he'd ever heard the word pronounced this way. No, he hadn't.<br /><br />These fat grapes have a love-it-or-hate-it flavor often described as "musky" or "foxy." Some prefer to split the skins (which are thick and can be bracingly astringent) and eat only the clear, sweet pulp. Personally, I enjoy the contrasts of sour and sweet and leathery and slippery. The purple grapes (muscadines) are sweeter than the green, and they're best when they've ripened and softened slightly past their taut fullness. Muscadines are on my "sexy foods" list.<br /><br />Scuppernongs grow wild in parts of the South. I remember seeing them hanging unripe from vines all around Tallulah Gorge near Atlanta. Do they also grow wild here? There is a vexing weed that grows here, that looks remarkably like the scuppernong vine but does not produce the fruit.<br /><br />I found these suppernongs from Ladybird Organics/ Monticello Vinyards at New Leaf yesterday. New Leaf also sometimes carries the local farm's muscadine jelly, sunflower sprouts, and eggs.<br /><br />I'm told that New Leaf carries Monticello Vinyard's muscadine wine for a day, or an hour -- blink and it's gone. One can also order it online<a href="http://www.monticellowinery.com/index.html"> </a>from the <a href="http://www.monticellowinery.com/index.html">Ladybird Organics/Monticello Vinyard's website</a>. I vaguely remember hearing or reading that you can pick your own grapes there sometimes. The farm also boasts persimmons, pecans, satsumas, marsh grapefruit, meyer lemons, and microgreens. Visit the website for more information.<a title="mailto:info@monticellowinery.com" href="mailto:info@monticellowinery.com"><br /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-5232955899062832522007-07-19T13:15:00.000-07:002007-07-20T05:13:41.521-07:00Fig Preserves, Sunshine in a JarI live in a house which is almost one hundred and fifty years old. It sits on a strangely shaped piece of property measuring a little over two acres. On this property we have some of the most amazingly majestic live oaks I've ever seen, too much bamboo, lots of native flowering bushes, quite a few pecan trees and assorted other things like hydrangea, azalea and magnolia.<br /><br />There is, however, a startling lack of fruit trees if you don't count the pecans and I don't because we get virtually no nuts off of them. That's probably our fault, but neither here nor there in this conversation.<br /><br />I am certain that over the years, there must have been blueberry bushes, mulberry trees, peach trees, fig trees, sand pears, and so forth. Folks must eat! We are trying, slowly, to reintroduce some of these things to the property but they are mostly slow-growing and so we must depend on generous friends and U-Pick places for the fruit we like to eat and preserve.<br /><br />Yesterday I had just gotten a message from a friend whose fig trees are in overdrive, inviting me to come pick when my husband called, saying a co-worker had brought us in a large bag of figs. <br /><br />Time to make preserves!<br /><br />Fig preserves are one of my favorites. First of all, the fruit is just so...well, darnit, sensuous. No wonder it's an age-old symbol of fertility. How can a fruit be so male and yet so female at the same time? Or is that just me? <br /><br />According to a quick Google, I find that figs were probably one of the first fruits ever cultivated by people. References to them can be found in the Bible and in the mythology of many cultures. I'm not surprised.<br /><br />The figs I have in my possession today are, I believe, the Celeste variety. Small and purplish brown with a luscious almost-coral inner flesh, they grow quite well in our area.<br /> <br />I've had the recipe that I use for fig preserves for so long that I can't remember where I got it, but I think it was from a very, very old cook book. It's the kind of recipe I like- simple, direct, and to the point. I cook my figs whole, rather than cutting them up, and add a few lemons to the mix to add that sour spark that makes the sometimes almost too-sweet flavor of the fig pick right up and dance. <br /><br />The pleasure we'll have in opening a jar of these preserves next winter, spooning out some of the figs to mash on a fresh biscuit and pouring over some of the sweet syrup, is quite enough to rationalize the time and money that goes into making them. Let's face it- it's cheaper to buy fig preserves than make them, but that's hardly the point. <br /><br />Here's the recipe I use:<br />Fig Preserves<br />4 lbs. fresh figs<br />2 lemons, sliced very thin and seeded<br />4 cups of sugar<br />1 cup of water<br /><br />Wash figs and cut any stems. Combine sugar and water and bring to a boil. Boil for five minutes.<br />Add figs and lemons. Cook rapidly until clear.<br />Seal in clean, hot jars, process in boiling water canner for fifteen minutes.<br />Makes 3 pints.<br /><br />Please watch your figs as they boil because if you go off to do something (like write a blog) and ignore them as they boil, you will walk into your kitchen to find something of a huge mess.<br /><br />Also, when you measure out your sugar, you might find yourself thinking, "Golly, this is more sugar than my family uses in a year!"<br /><br />True, but, sugar is part of the preservation process and so necessary in this recipe. Console yourself with the idea that you will be eating small amounts of the resulting sweet goodness. Then, do your very best to avoid the temptation to just take a spoon to the jar. Add some whole wheat and flax seed to your pancakes or biscuits and when you are eating them with these preserves, you can almost believe you're doing something good for your body, despite all the sugar.<br /><br />You will certainly be doing something good for your soul.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Ms. M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02101910299177910634noreply@blogger.com79tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-51166362460035355582007-07-18T15:13:00.001-07:002007-07-18T15:13:50.600-07:00Market Bag<div style="text-align: center;">Surf N Turf</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EyrMAmTfTeQIW1KNeucsf2BWo07uRCWyP3qGZ43rXQ8vXKikXcxIHY03EM2ji_0fuiRQm-DGmpvCiGViCmgYExtzfZ9ccg-SXWyBmFTk-nwd57kEtymLxZ8xv-HlkW5iU3fkfkwTYbJt/s1600-h/Surf+N+Turf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EyrMAmTfTeQIW1KNeucsf2BWo07uRCWyP3qGZ43rXQ8vXKikXcxIHY03EM2ji_0fuiRQm-DGmpvCiGViCmgYExtzfZ9ccg-SXWyBmFTk-nwd57kEtymLxZ8xv-HlkW5iU3fkfkwTYbJt/s400/Surf+N+Turf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088653454758440370" border="0" /></a>In the rippling heat of early dog-days, the bounty continues. The faithful year-round growers display July's ratatouille kaleidescope: tomatoes and peppers (diverse), garlic, shallots, eggplant, squash, basil tips. Also arugula, honey, collard greens, corn, kale, sprouts, cut flowers.<br /><br /></div>Ripe <div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQRthyphenhyphenGvsgSbfAKoz2KsXLHwEzYLqx8YSLeXk189g-hiPy0oKhagkYhhVK06hznMuzE9oIO0qZ7fD7eOZosRf8tMDNbjDzyvXv_a0zEHjK4vhHYNHM466z1z2GQB-pevZqA3AAVExw6NB/s1600-h/IMG_8413.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQRthyphenhyphenGvsgSbfAKoz2KsXLHwEzYLqx8YSLeXk189g-hiPy0oKhagkYhhVK06hznMuzE9oIO0qZ7fD7eOZosRf8tMDNbjDzyvXv_a0zEHjK4vhHYNHM466z1z2GQB-pevZqA3AAVExw6NB/s200/IMG_8413.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088661318843559378" border="0" /></a>The handful of back-yard growers that comes during the summer months offer zipper peas, okra, cucumbers, blueberries, figs, potatoes, watermelons, other things. Van Lewis is there with his beautiful clams. My market bag is heavy.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tpLJLc7v5mRxXTsYoTG1E-M8a1PR9EqGHjXN3oVMXVtqw2QZ5YTmoEbgcoZse9rwSrhcv9_qe_vb6mYUUQJElwhXNeACpNrj57OqK1D0rvorWuHRYSHgU3rFJXmpWJWdHtVgfwz0Ijud/s1600-h/Nero.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tpLJLc7v5mRxXTsYoTG1E-M8a1PR9EqGHjXN3oVMXVtqw2QZ5YTmoEbgcoZse9rwSrhcv9_qe_vb6mYUUQJElwhXNeACpNrj57OqK1D0rvorWuHRYSHgU3rFJXmpWJWdHtVgfwz0Ijud/s400/Nero.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088662680348192242" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Nero<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-4643111228267895012007-07-17T13:25:00.000-07:002007-07-17T13:26:04.103-07:00FigsI arrived at New Leaf Market just as a basket of small golden figs from a local farm was set out. The figs were so utterly, perfectly ripe that the mere gentle touch required to pluck them one-at-a-time from the basket and place them delicately into a bag, was enough to break the skin of many. Burdened and bruised by their own weight in that basket at the co-op, perched just outside of the refrigerated produce display, they would be discolored, oozing and moldy by the next day. For figs, the time between glorious, bursting zenith of life and decay into earth-food is very short. I took as many as I thought my family and friends could eat (about half of the basket), and hoped that someone else would take the rest before the end of the day.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-65953445197248767422007-07-09T11:28:00.001-07:002007-07-10T12:18:23.021-07:00FISH<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he'll eat for a lifetime." -- </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chinese Proverb. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Go forth and multiply."</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> -- God.<br /><br />Impossible to do both? I really want to know where you stand.<br /></span><br />Slow Food USA's most recent edition of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Snail </span>is dedicated entirely to the impossible conundrum of sustainable fish. If you're living in North Florida and you love your local seafood, you'll be disappointed to know that Slow Food's short list of seafood to avoid (in the name of sustainability and health) includes two of your beloved favorites: red snapper and grouper. If you have deep pockets or a good hankering, you can still purchase these at just about any seafood counter or seafood shack boasting "Fresh from Florida" seafood. Local fishermen and the Florida seafood industry get a reprieve (at least for a while), and you get to eat snapper and grouper every day (but your grandchildren won't).<br /><br />Louise was telling me about her personal local favorite -- redfish. She gets all sparkley-eyed when she's talking about them, but apparently I may never even taste one -- they're so scarce that the legal limit is one fish per harvester per day.<br /><br />Some of the little fellas, namely Gulf shrimp (farmed or wild) and farmed clams and oysters are apparently doing fine and are not hurting anyone or anything -- good news for shellfish lovers. Perhaps stone-crabs. Perhaps blue crabs. Little fellas who are not doing fine: our local bay scallops. Who else? Someone fill me in.<br /><br />Mr. Lewis, how are the mullet doing these days? How are our local fishermen?<br /><br />And where the heck do I go to buy good local fish? I overheard people at the market talking about how fish is flown in from afar to our nearby fishing villages. Justin Timineri said that Southern Seafood is a good place to start if I want honest, good local seafood (I guess I just have to say "no" to grouper and snapper). What about Mike's Seafood (anyone know)? I know I can buy sustainably farmed clams at Clamalot. Can I go to any of the cinder-shacks from here to Apalachicola and be sure that I'm getting good, clean, fair, and local seafood?<br /><br />Who can give us a good picture of the FISH issue at home on the Florida Panhandle?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And, once again, I really want to know where you stand.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-34820770737130624742007-07-03T05:47:00.001-07:002007-07-03T07:24:57.412-07:00redefining the perfect tomato<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ep4hApy1uf2x5sYt3od1cueJRjGMY7PvBKKO9N9Bf5mgXk27FabkP6FvN_mvX0YvEtyjDMtnkrXR9ceFzKBmBTsu24lMV9OJ8poVP91tVWYmP8cp-aZTIXSmP1He-2d-73n5c-Jh9QV6/s1600-h/IMG_0054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ep4hApy1uf2x5sYt3od1cueJRjGMY7PvBKKO9N9Bf5mgXk27FabkP6FvN_mvX0YvEtyjDMtnkrXR9ceFzKBmBTsu24lMV9OJ8poVP91tVWYmP8cp-aZTIXSmP1He-2d-73n5c-Jh9QV6/s320/IMG_0054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082968272253099010" border="0" /></a>i am always on a quest for amazing + delicious food -- at times, without even realizing it! although, quite honestly, these days i mostly know it.. i have come to the realization that i am mildly obsessed with food. i am constantly analyzing foods that i eat to understand their flavors and what makes them delish (or, sadly, decidedly <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> delish) and then thinking about how i will recreate that dish. although most people vow to return to said place and buy the dish again, i usually end up on a bender to recreate the dish myself (or possibly with the assistance of unsuspecting husband and/or friends to help out). practically without conscious, i am pondering "how is this made? ... how can i make this??" leading to a possible "this would be so great with a little ----- added." such thoughts are notoriously followed by "we can make that!" it's practically the first thought that pops into my head upon food enjoyment.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ifrfnHl8KdkWgUV-WgOnALPBRcdrQL5tgbcu3PGH-FhD1PgarFA7H8bythZrxTjNxof3IXJEwpO41gx_vdh_qauff8VEd1c-OkWvzqvBSZi31XwP0pi6CCmmPbMHBODU16KRk3yEMWgW/s1600-h/IMG_0058.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ifrfnHl8KdkWgUV-WgOnALPBRcdrQL5tgbcu3PGH-FhD1PgarFA7H8bythZrxTjNxof3IXJEwpO41gx_vdh_qauff8VEd1c-OkWvzqvBSZi31XwP0pi6CCmmPbMHBODU16KRk3yEMWgW/s320/IMG_0058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082968959447866386" border="0" /></a>only, some things just cannot be recreated in the kitchen... the whole, fresh, unprocessed foods is what i have in mind here. if you read about food (and you do because you are here reading this blog... or, you are related to me or a dear friend reading only to be supportive... hi mom! <3), you already know that you need to start with the best ingredients you can get your hands on... you cannot make great food with less than great ingredients.. yada yada. we are lucky to have a few growers' markets and wonderful farmers who bring us fabulous produce such as this tomato: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamBrSRaXThA6GBONLTxIHnzLkhmahP3BHInB8wtxVy1XHmajxEKXLurrOlPoSmcnOxuMnLXHhNDdaXVTnV1QTQNcXMrLqd0TGpOqEf0BFJMxPbvpmb56hiiswPitjZwg5tDytydN8f_Tz/s1600-h/IMG_0070.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiamBrSRaXThA6GBONLTxIHnzLkhmahP3BHInB8wtxVy1XHmajxEKXLurrOlPoSmcnOxuMnLXHhNDdaXVTnV1QTQNcXMrLqd0TGpOqEf0BFJMxPbvpmb56hiiswPitjZwg5tDytydN8f_Tz/s400/IMG_0070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082975294524628002" border="0" /></a>i think that this is a perfect tomato. sure, it's not the first <a href="http://www.heirloomtomatoplants.com/Goose%20Creek.jpg">"perfect" tomato image</a> that would pop into your mind, nor <a href="http://home.exetel.com.au/bumskee/con/tomato.jpg">one that you'd draw</a> -- most likely not the tomato of most photographs. but, perhaps that's less the fault of this delicious tomato and more a result of our unrealistic expectations for "perfect"-looking uniform foods. really... what's uniform about the natural world? i think that this tomato is amazing looking! it has great lines and an interesting shape that remind me of <a href="http://www.ragoarts.com/onlinecats/10.01MOD/034.jpg">great art</a>. for me, also key to enjoyment is its source; i got this tomato at the farmers' market saturday, directly from the wonderful turkey hill farm stand. it was grown without pesticides, and... it tastes lovely! really, those should be the real bottom lines -- taste + source. this tomato was a rich, brilliant red all the way to its core and oh-so-juicy -- as you can see in the photo. tomatoes are plentiful at the moment around here... savor a <span style="font-style: italic;">perfect</span> tomato before they're gone for the season.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02292388059913331029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-78630354470395472832007-06-28T10:30:00.000-07:002007-06-28T10:31:38.571-07:00Growers' Market Rules?A growers’ market is not the same as a farmers’ market.<span style=""> </span>A vendor can go to a wholesaler to get his truck loaded up with produce from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Timbuktu</st1:place></st1:city>, and bring it to the farmers' market to re-sell.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>At a growers’ market, all produce for sale must have been grown by the vendor.<span style=""> </span>At the Lake Ella Growers’ Market, vendors are also required to actively disclose to their customers whether their produce was grown using “conventional” or “organic” farming methods.<span style=""> </span>Therefore, the customer knows where his produce comes from and how it is grown.<span style=""> </span>Right?<br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Seduced by okra and field peas available only from a vendor selling “conventionally” grown produce, I made what I believed to be a weak but informed choice to buy these chemically grown vegetables from the grower.<span style=""> </span>After I’d made my rounds, I sat on a bench to soak in the feel-good atmosphere at the market.<span style=""> </span>Loitering in my usual way, I overheard multiple conversations about the vendor – all participants certain that some of the produce on the table was not in fact grown by the vendor.<span style=""> </span>Tomatoes too homogenously “perfect.”<span style=""> </span>Out-of-season sweet potatoes over-wintered and sold here.<span style=""> </span>An overly diverse array of produce at the table, and so on.</p><p class="MsoNormal">With my heavy bag of corn, okra, and field peas, I felt naive, cheated, uncomfortable, guilty.<span style=""> </span>I’d already made a choice to buy vegetables coaxed into maturity at the expense of their taste, plant diversity, and the environment. <span style=""> </span>And apparently I’d unknowingly supported the vendor who chose to bend the rules by selling perhaps a few “home-grown” items, along with items from unknown origins.<span style=""> </span>Even as I kicked myself, I was glad to witness the joint efforts of the better-informed to protect the integrity of the growers’ market, and concerned about the future of this carefully cultivated treasure.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">More than a place to buy vegetables, the growers’ market is a growing community.<span style=""> </span>It is a place where I go to feel safe and confident about my buying choices.<span style=""> </span>It is where I am slowly learning about environmental stewardship and meeting people whose love extends beyond their own nuclei to their neighbors and to future generations, and whose daily habits reflect gratitude and respect for the source of their nourishment – the earth.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-14373253648123611442007-06-18T12:37:00.000-07:002007-06-18T12:38:15.598-07:00Collaborators Wanted!We need food and garden writers!<br /><br />Want a juicier, more tantalizing blog about good food in the Tallahassee area? Share the love and add some flavor. Right now, I'm flying solo and I'm boring myself to death. We need your special flavor.<br /><br />What's your food passion? Farming? Wine? Barbecue? Eating out? Seafood? Vegetarian or vegan cooking? Desserts? Chocolate? Pickling? Brewing? Strange foods? Rare foods? Food history? Food politics? Eating out? International cooking? Gardening? Bugs in the garden?<br /><br />Lend your unique talents and reap the rewards of a collaborative blog about good, clean, and fair food in and around Tallahassee: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Become a collaborator on Slow Food Tallahassee Talks.</span><br /><br />Email info@slowfoodtallahassee.org for more info. Thanks!<br /><br />p.s. Those of you who have already expressed an interest in blogging here: Let us know if there have been any technical obstacles holding you back.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-19844957382908128742007-06-18T08:40:00.001-07:002007-06-18T08:42:38.219-07:00In Season: Blueberries<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf1MvGExXB8G6TTuFRY8FQVYVh0J2e6xWSB3xvykkaeIXYZAhnxSiNEL6_sKbzfvEHGiYs2NHBO9o3g94fNG_gWlLf5gSKcanAcanSA3q2sTjwwHVOKTrE3cpc819Q-QpLoxl9lIbRlG5/s1600-h/IMG_8360.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf1MvGExXB8G6TTuFRY8FQVYVh0J2e6xWSB3xvykkaeIXYZAhnxSiNEL6_sKbzfvEHGiYs2NHBO9o3g94fNG_gWlLf5gSKcanAcanSA3q2sTjwwHVOKTrE3cpc819Q-QpLoxl9lIbRlG5/s320/IMG_8360.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077428914522010178" border="0" /></a><br />Blueberries have been in full swing for the last couple of weeks. When they first showed up at the market, vendors were swamped by eager customers. Anyone at the market an hour after start was out of luck. Last week, there were blueberries a-plenty, even for latecomers -- I left the market with enough for a pie or two. Ultimately, I didn't make a pie, but I did make a blueberry compote with thyme, vanilla bean and tupelo honey to serve with roasted peaches (also in season) and ice-cream. I also enjoyed the blueberries on pancakes and snacked on them with guiltless, extravagant abandon.<a href="http://www.blueberry.org/health.htm"></a><br /><br />The recipes for the roasted peaches and blueberry compote (called "Inside a Blueberry Pie) came from <span style="font-style: italic;">A New Way to Cook </span>(Schneider, 2001). The book was given to me by friend, fellow foodie and dietitian, Denise Hall. In her book, Sally Schneider artfully redistributes fat in her recipes to give the diner the sensation of a full-fat, full flavor experience with less guilt. She encourages experimentation and utilization of local, seasonal ingredients by providing loose formulas as well as recipes.<br /><br />Blueberries are packed with anti-oxidants that are believed to combat cancer, heart-disease, urinary tract infections, loss of mental capacity due to aging, and more. <a href="http://www.blueberry.org/health.htm">Read about blueberries and health.</a><br /><br />Find out where to pick your own blueberries on the <a href="http://www.slowfoodtallahassee.org/Directory.htm">Slow Food Tallahassee Local Resources Directory</a> and on the <a href="http://www.pickyourown.org/FLpanhandle.htm">Pick Your Own Website.</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-53195429750177490032007-06-17T12:54:00.001-07:002007-06-21T04:18:04.946-07:00Still Eating<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4H-5GV5kZ8Iv1ayAS82KbJ9t0dgcRP7BBNSclKUOJl1cgP23kWKa5sjVKJhsiitsGuJoloM_qURKIED0HCy8pxBoOE9kQ_HN9jxIfrvW7zBqK_4pjuGJfBElbOgwMTw47PDd9fZMJ9br/s1600-h/IMG_8350.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4H-5GV5kZ8Iv1ayAS82KbJ9t0dgcRP7BBNSclKUOJl1cgP23kWKa5sjVKJhsiitsGuJoloM_qURKIED0HCy8pxBoOE9kQ_HN9jxIfrvW7zBqK_4pjuGJfBElbOgwMTw47PDd9fZMJ9br/s320/IMG_8350.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077107419040035346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Two weeks' absence feels like a long time, but I haven't perished of starvation. If I've been quiet, it's because I've had my mouth full.<br /><br />I, along with a handful of Turkey Hill Farm enthusiasts and Slow Food Tallahassee members, had the great privilege of helping Louise Divine and Herman Holley organize Turkey Hill Farm's premier annual Tomato Feastival. This was a private event for farm-and-food-centric individuals (and their families) who were wise enough to have already subscribed to Turkey Hill's beautiful and informative "Farm Report" and Slow Food Tallahassee's News email list. On the big day, the grounds of Turkey Hill Farm were buzzing with more than 100 farmers, prominent local chefs, and blissed-out foodies. The proceeds from the event will benefit Turkey Hill Farm, Slow Food Tallahassee, and the Damayan project.<br /><br />Turkey Hill Farm was the intoxicatingly lush venue for the Tomato Feastival. Tomatoes from Turkey Hill and other farms and back-yard growers were entered into a contest and sampled by guests. A distinguished panel of judges from various branches of our local culinary realm chose the best tomatoes. Other festivities at the event: a silent auction, food demonstrations by Keith Baxter, Ezzie Goldman, and Brian Knepper, a cake-walk, kids' activities, and the pot-luck of pot-lucks that happens when serious food lovers come together to share their passion. I hate to name-drop, so I won't, but honestly, some of Tallahassee's most important farmers and chefs were milling about the farm. If you don't want to miss the event next year, subscribe to <a href="http://home.igc.org/%7Edivine/index.html">Turkey Hill's Farm Report</a> and <a href="http://www.slowfoodtallahassee.org/contact.cfm">Slow Food Tallahassee's eNews</a>.<br /><br />By the way, tomato season is in full swing. Get yourself to Lake Ella (Wednesday 3-dusk), Southwood (Monday 3-dusk), or Market Square (Saturday 8a-1ish) in time to enjoy the quintessential tomato -- in its many forms.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-48844839296554155892007-06-03T10:36:00.001-07:002007-06-03T10:36:33.454-07:00Pearl Onions?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmcoXAcCoAfE8AGIthyphenhyphen7X4JqPp8Kqbj4nHTzVerPWcZmOjRG320LhUq9Ja4RCq3JUTRJ6SMBwyvl-DSeINMJNGdrvmkNIFqoKI-rBA0_x9qpX3Aca1v01HbVqpmGJfbK33pW076jaZVR2/s1600-h/IMG_8279.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmcoXAcCoAfE8AGIthyphenhyphen7X4JqPp8Kqbj4nHTzVerPWcZmOjRG320LhUq9Ja4RCq3JUTRJ6SMBwyvl-DSeINMJNGdrvmkNIFqoKI-rBA0_x9qpX3Aca1v01HbVqpmGJfbK33pW076jaZVR2/s200/IMG_8279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071890412355774802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOPE.</span> These beauties are elephant-garlic pearls from Turkey Hill Farm. When you cut into one, the absence of layers and the familiar waft of garlic betray its true identity. Elephant garlic is generally milder than the standard super-market variety.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX74sBx7JptruEgwWoiw9Jn9kdY049n53KUnzCrggyFNjsafbzojJDKSiV02ixCZmTZwKnbdr70zRDAjsGx44kTUo6716JAqLmSYsK3CMNAlhF5ffIKehxELFp6Xpx7xmLmsd6xM1Tza4S/s1600-h/IMG_8289a.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX74sBx7JptruEgwWoiw9Jn9kdY049n53KUnzCrggyFNjsafbzojJDKSiV02ixCZmTZwKnbdr70zRDAjsGx44kTUo6716JAqLmSYsK3CMNAlhF5ffIKehxELFp6Xpx7xmLmsd6xM1Tza4S/s200/IMG_8289a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071889712276105538" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I want to roast a handful of these perfect pearls in their skins until meltingly tender and slightly caramelized. A gentle squeeze of a papery package will send its sweet, soft contents onto a slice of rustic bread. A glass of good beer will make it dinner.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-77688844004391341382007-05-26T13:40:00.001-07:002007-05-26T13:40:20.628-07:00Humble PieWhat is it about those local, small-scale farmers that makes me utterly gawky and tongue-tied? Every week I'm like a child meeting a superhero, full of awe and admiration, but with the added self-consciousness of ignorance that comes with years. I can just put that tomato on a plate and look like a culinary wonder-woman, but they were the ones that gently harnessed nature in order to produce the masterpiece in my kitchen. The food I eat and serve to family and friends still feels like a gift, and a steal if I don't at least try to understand how it got to my table. So what do I do? I return to the farmers week after week to purchase and listen. Even when my questions are embarrassingly ignorant and the words that come out of my mouth are incredible even to me, they share their knowledge. They share their knowledge with me, they share with those around me, and I try to absorb it. At some point I'll get organized enough to volunteer some time at a local farm or garden (a practicum). Someday, I'll be able to look at that tomato on my plate and really feel like a culinary wonder-woman. In the meantime, I'll keep eating the world's best humble pie.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6239325915455536216.post-25408911327101976862007-05-20T13:06:00.001-07:002007-05-20T13:28:20.110-07:00Lavishly Local<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Here's my recipe for a quick and decadent gratin that is as local as it gets.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFyYODQTEsSegIr-UyvDzekSB6x2Z8l3AFK2SzB6jhXfCAFb1FF1lgDQYn-I50FgnADmP7hZepyJT2rU00k5I3D7F3eFjeupmoZ9SYowCJnhBCiIPleF31uXYPjqYzbeS1UQQaM6UKSbu/s1600-h/IMG_8212.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFyYODQTEsSegIr-UyvDzekSB6x2Z8l3AFK2SzB6jhXfCAFb1FF1lgDQYn-I50FgnADmP7hZepyJT2rU00k5I3D7F3eFjeupmoZ9SYowCJnhBCiIPleF31uXYPjqYzbeS1UQQaM6UKSbu/s320/IMG_8212.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066721204010114530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">1 lg clove finely grated garlic<br />2 lbs potatoes and turnips from the growers' market<br />1/2 to 1/3 liter of Kurtz and Sons Whole Milk<br />Salt and pepper (to taste)<br />Butter (to grease baking dish)<br />1 1/2 C grated/crumbled Sweetgrass Dairy Cheeses<br /> Mixed fresh herbs (from market or your garden)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Thinly slice the potatoes and turnips, toss with the grated garlic and add them to a large saute pan. Add enough milk to barely cover the potatoes. Cover the pan and simmer over lowest heat until vegetables are just tender. Season to taste. Grease a gratin dish or other ceramic oven dish large enough to accommodate the vegetables in a 3" layer. Gently spoon in half of the vegetables (with their milk) and cover with half of the cheese. Add the rest of the vegetables and top with the remaining cheese. Gently tamp the cheese down so that milk seeps over the top of it. Place the dish (uncovered) in the oven and bake until the gratin is bubbling and golden on top and most of the liquid has been absorbed by the vegetables. Cool 15 minutes. Mince the herbs and shower over the gratin just before serving.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p>
<p id="postfeeds"><$BlogItemFeedLinks$></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6