A local online paper announced that it's farmer's market season, so I have no excuse to postpone reentering this little blog experiment. Never mind that I missed all the markets this weekend, I have bountiful adventures to share nonetheless. As I dig (forgive the pun) further and further into the experience of growing things, this blog seems like the better place to explore them. So this summer, with any luck, I'll chronicle not only my semi-locavore eating, but also the growing of food (or at least the attempt.)
Yesterday I attended an organic gardening and sustainable farming workshop at the lovely Hancock Shaker Village. If you ever find yourselves in the Berkshires or my little corner of New York, this place is a must see. Not only is the Shaker heritage incredibly important to this part of the world, a look backward at the Shakers' sustainable and logical methods of living and production is ever-more relevant. All day long, I kept feeling that someday soon, the world is going to turn to these experts to help us figure out how to survive, to eat.
The class yesterday was taught by the master gardener and master farmer of HSV, two passionate, funny guys with more wisdom and experience to share than their relative youth might have suggested. We covered everything from vermiculture to drying seeds; I took five pages of notes, received twenty more pages of handouts, not to mention a gigantic bag of compost and well over a dozen plants.
An auspicious beginning to what I hope will be a bountiful season.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Restaurant rave--Route 7 Grill/Great Barrington, Massachusetts
The Route 7 Grill in Great Barrington was quite literally the very first new restaurant I tried in our area after my husband and I committed to moving here (i.e., after we bought our house, about the biggest commitment I am prepared to make to anything or anyone.) When my son and I flew out here together, without his dad or sister, to look at schools and close on the house, I took him there for dinner our first night. It was early March and a little blustery, and Route 7's warm fireplace and earnest comfort food hit the spot for us both. We've been going back ever since for the pulled pork, burgers (my son's favorite--he's six, after all), fries, daily greens, ribs and pretty much everything else on the menu, too.
I have only one quibble, with the biscuits and the cornbread, which should be better than they are: the cornbread is too sweet, and the biscuits too dense. Being almost southern*, I have particular opinions about such things--sugary cornbread is an abomination, and I expect restaurant biscuits to be at least as good as the ones I make at home with only White Lily flour, sweet butter and milk.
Make that two quibbles, the second also routed in my southern quasi-heritage: the pulled pork is dying for a real North Carolina-style vinegar and hot pepper sauce. But it's good as served, with a sauce that feels more Memphis or Texas in its inspiration, sweet and tomato-ey, mercifully not catsup-y or too thick.
Picayune complaining aside, Route 7 is a delicious, dependable restaurant that gets extra credit for serving nearly all locally-sourced ingredients. They make a point of using meat and vegetables produced within Berkshire and Columbia counties, and now their receiving some big time recognition for their slow food efforts. Today's Boston Globe featured this great review/article--read it, and check out Route 7.
*I lived in Tennessee as a child and in North Carolina for bits and pieces of my college years, but alas, born in Chicago, I will forever be labeled a Yankee.
I have only one quibble, with the biscuits and the cornbread, which should be better than they are: the cornbread is too sweet, and the biscuits too dense. Being almost southern*, I have particular opinions about such things--sugary cornbread is an abomination, and I expect restaurant biscuits to be at least as good as the ones I make at home with only White Lily flour, sweet butter and milk.
Make that two quibbles, the second also routed in my southern quasi-heritage: the pulled pork is dying for a real North Carolina-style vinegar and hot pepper sauce. But it's good as served, with a sauce that feels more Memphis or Texas in its inspiration, sweet and tomato-ey, mercifully not catsup-y or too thick.
Picayune complaining aside, Route 7 is a delicious, dependable restaurant that gets extra credit for serving nearly all locally-sourced ingredients. They make a point of using meat and vegetables produced within Berkshire and Columbia counties, and now their receiving some big time recognition for their slow food efforts. Today's Boston Globe featured this great review/article--read it, and check out Route 7.
*I lived in Tennessee as a child and in North Carolina for bits and pieces of my college years, but alas, born in Chicago, I will forever be labeled a Yankee.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Cucumbers and radishes and squash, oh my
This week's bounty (sorry, no picture--it was hurled into the house yesterday as I rushed around to make dinner for us and guests) is so heavy on cukes, summer squash and daikon that I am contemplating an adventure in pickling. My son, who prior to our "You wanna make pickles?" conversation in the car yesterday never realized that "sweet" is a pickle category (he loves him some Kosher dills, though) is having visions of sugar dancing in his head, but I'm a little leery. I'll be breaking out my 1948 Kerr's Canning cookbook tomorrow for inspiration. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, the list:
10 cukes
10 summer squash (including some pattypan)
one head of redleaf lettuce
one head of Chinese cabbage
one bunch of daikon (three big ones)
parsley
one bunch of turnips
Like I said, heavy on the squash, too. Maybe I can pickle that as well? A childhood summer of too many giant zucchinis makes the sight of my produce drawer overflowing, literally, with last week's squash and this week's too, a little nauseating. I'm thinking a gratin might be in order.
Meanwhile, the list:
10 cukes
10 summer squash (including some pattypan)
one head of redleaf lettuce
one head of Chinese cabbage
one bunch of daikon (three big ones)
parsley
one bunch of turnips
Like I said, heavy on the squash, too. Maybe I can pickle that as well? A childhood summer of too many giant zucchinis makes the sight of my produce drawer overflowing, literally, with last week's squash and this week's too, a little nauseating. I'm thinking a gratin might be in order.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Hide the veggies
My children, aged 2 and nearly 6, are confirmed vegephobes. No amount of enthusiastic discussion of the provenance of green things, nor age-blind inclusion in their preparation, will entice either of my kids to eat much more than a single bite of (only) broccoli or carrot. Every odd moment, a piece of lettuce crosses one or the other's lips, but that's it.
So I find myself concocting ways to camouflage grown things in acceptable disguises. My turkey meatloaf is always a big hit, and the chopped zucchini and carrots folded into it have never deterred either child. (Not true, by the way, of the onions I add to my black beans--never again will I commit the sin of coarsely chopping them.)
These meatballs are similar to my meatloaf, but designed to use up some of the bounty from this week and weeks past. Serve them with any pasta, or alone, or atop other steamed vegetables (great for adults) or in a sandwich.
Meatballs in Tomato Sauce
serves 4
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef, turkey, pork, veal or combination thereof
2 eggs
1-1/2 c. fresh breadcrumbs
1 t. Maldon salt
1/2 freshly ground pepper
1-1/2 c. minced fresh spinach
1 T olive oil
1 can crushed San Marzano tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch or smaller dice
2 carrots, cut into 1/4 inch or smaller dice
2 T tomato paste (optional)
2 T agave syrup or sugar to taste
Combine ground meat, breadcrumbs, eggs, spinach, salt and pepper in a bowl and mix thoroughly--best is to just use your hands.
Form into meatballs about 1-1/2 inches in diameter. You should have about two dozen.
Heat the olive oil for a minute over medium heat in a skillet and add as many meatballs as can comfortably fit in one layer. (You may have to do this in two batches. Don't let that deter you.)
Brown the meatballs on all sides. For kids, in particular, it's ok to let them get crunch on the outside. When they're browned and just cooked through, remove to a plate. When all the meatballs are cooked, begin the sauce.
Return the skillet to medium heat and add the garlic. Stir for a couple of minutes until it begins to brown, and add the zucchini and carrots. Continue sauteing until the vegetables begin to soften--around eight minutes. Add the canned tomatoes, and cook at a nice simmer for ten or so minutes. Meanwhile, put water on to boil for pasta, if you're making it. Stir the tomato paste and agave or sugar to taste into the sauce. Continue cooking as long as you like--as with most tomato sauces, short of burning the stuff to the pan, it's pretty impossible to overcook. But you can also serve it as soon as your pasta is done cooking. Just add the meatballs back to the skillet and reheat for ten minutes or so.
Serve as desired atop pasta, veggies, solo or in a sandwich.
So I find myself concocting ways to camouflage grown things in acceptable disguises. My turkey meatloaf is always a big hit, and the chopped zucchini and carrots folded into it have never deterred either child. (Not true, by the way, of the onions I add to my black beans--never again will I commit the sin of coarsely chopping them.)
These meatballs are similar to my meatloaf, but designed to use up some of the bounty from this week and weeks past. Serve them with any pasta, or alone, or atop other steamed vegetables (great for adults) or in a sandwich.
Meatballs in Tomato Sauce
serves 4
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef, turkey, pork, veal or combination thereof
2 eggs
1-1/2 c. fresh breadcrumbs
1 t. Maldon salt
1/2 freshly ground pepper
1-1/2 c. minced fresh spinach
1 T olive oil
1 can crushed San Marzano tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch or smaller dice
2 carrots, cut into 1/4 inch or smaller dice
2 T tomato paste (optional)
2 T agave syrup or sugar to taste
Combine ground meat, breadcrumbs, eggs, spinach, salt and pepper in a bowl and mix thoroughly--best is to just use your hands.
Form into meatballs about 1-1/2 inches in diameter. You should have about two dozen.
Heat the olive oil for a minute over medium heat in a skillet and add as many meatballs as can comfortably fit in one layer. (You may have to do this in two batches. Don't let that deter you.)
Brown the meatballs on all sides. For kids, in particular, it's ok to let them get crunch on the outside. When they're browned and just cooked through, remove to a plate. When all the meatballs are cooked, begin the sauce.
Return the skillet to medium heat and add the garlic. Stir for a couple of minutes until it begins to brown, and add the zucchini and carrots. Continue sauteing until the vegetables begin to soften--around eight minutes. Add the canned tomatoes, and cook at a nice simmer for ten or so minutes. Meanwhile, put water on to boil for pasta, if you're making it. Stir the tomato paste and agave or sugar to taste into the sauce. Continue cooking as long as you like--as with most tomato sauces, short of burning the stuff to the pan, it's pretty impossible to overcook. But you can also serve it as soon as your pasta is done cooking. Just add the meatballs back to the skillet and reheat for ten minutes or so.
Serve as desired atop pasta, veggies, solo or in a sandwich.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Real Simple
Sometimes, the best thing you can make is a salad. This is especially true when your refrigerator is bursting with CSA produce. I made a valiant effort to clean it out today, and ended up with this variation on a favorite salad of mine. Sometimes I throw in avocado, if I have it; the turkey is optional, or could be replaced with roast chicken, beef or even good ham; and it really is just about your personal tastes. It's not even a recipe. But I am writing it down to remind myself that there's nothing easier to make for lunch than a greens-based salad, so why not do it more often?
1 head romaine
1 cucumber, peeled and thinly sliced
1/4 red onion, halved and thinly sliced
1/4 c. whole raw almonds
4 oz smoked turkey, sliced
2 small kohlrabi, peeled, sliced thin, and cut into 1/2 wide pieces
1/2 c. cherry tomatoes
2 t. best quality you can find extra virgin olive oil
1/2 t Maldon sea salt
Put the lettuce et. al. in a big bowl. Drizzle with the oil. Sprinkle with the salt. Toss gently. Devour. Serves two hungry people for a generous lunch.
1 head romaine
1 cucumber, peeled and thinly sliced
1/4 red onion, halved and thinly sliced
1/4 c. whole raw almonds
4 oz smoked turkey, sliced
2 small kohlrabi, peeled, sliced thin, and cut into 1/2 wide pieces
1/2 c. cherry tomatoes
2 t. best quality you can find extra virgin olive oil
1/2 t Maldon sea salt
Put the lettuce et. al. in a big bowl. Drizzle with the oil. Sprinkle with the salt. Toss gently. Devour. Serves two hungry people for a generous lunch.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
High summer
For the first time so far, I managed to pick up my share on time today. This meant that I got to peruse the list of my fellow share-holders as I checked off my name on the list and gathered the farm's weekly newsletter and recipe sheet. Apparently, I'm in good company. A fellow member known only as "Governor's Mansion" had already collected their bounty.This week, Gov. Spitzer and I will be enjoying:
1 bunch of kale
1 bunch of broccoli
1 head of red leaf lettuce
1 bunch of red scallions
1 bunch of heirloom globe carrots
4 summer squash
6 cucumbers
1 pint of those strawberries--already, the last of the season!
1 bunch of beets
1 bunch of red kohlrabi
Those last two, like the turnips, present a challenge for me. As delicious as the first week's beets were, roasted, then served with a dijon vinaigrette, I couldn't finish them. I still have last week's left, along with the turnips, and I fear a similar fate for the kohlrabi. The irony is, I like these vegetables. Why do I fail to see their potential? Can anyone help?
Sweet Pea
An influx of wonderful old friend (or, as I now prefer to say, friends-of-long-duration) houseguests left me with much less cooking time and energy this week than I would have liked. I was especially disappointed because I have been poring over the latest issue of Gourmet like some kind of Mesopotamian scholar presented with a long-lost cuniform tablet. I want to cook it all, which I think speaks as much to the joy of summer ingredients as to a particularly good issue of my favorite (food) magazine.
For one set of guests, I did make a version of a spinch and strawberry salad, similar to the one in the issue--handfuls of deep green, really flavorful spinach from last week (so much better than the bagged grocery store stuff that even I was surprised), sliced strawberries from our CSA (by way of the inimitable Thompson Finch Farm) the whole drizzed with olive oil from the egregiously expensive but totally worth it David Rosengarten EVOV "club", cheap balsamic (the good stuff, which I am out of--oh Surfas, how I miss ye!--would definitely have taken this salad to a higher plane), sprinkled with Maldon and lots of fresh ground Tellicherry pepper. I was expecting little, and it's definitely a subtle salad (as, I find, all spinach salads are--I'm an arugula junkie) but a delightful one.
Another set of friends inspired me to make the roast chicken stuffed with ricotta and herbs from the magazine -- definitely a repeat-worthy recipe. With it, I concocted an emergency side dish, partly to use up the pounds of peas I had accumulated over the last two weeks' CSA shares.
Italian Couscous with Fresh Peas and Herbs
Serves 4
2 lbs fresh peas in their pods
3 cups chicken stock
1 cup Italian couscous
salt & freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup each finely chopped parsley, dill and mint
1 T sweet butter
Shell the peas. Enlist a friend, or a small child, or both, to help. Pull the string, then use your fingernail (small child) or paring knife (adult) to slit the pea open; pinch the ends and pull the peas out. It's a whole lot of work for seemingly not a lot of reward; two pounds of pea pods gave me around 1-1/4 cups of fresh peas.
Heat the chicken stock to a boil, and add the Italian couscous. Boil between 8-10 minutes, or until the couscous is al dente. You want some of the stock to boil down during this time. Remove from heat.
Melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat and add the peas. Saute three minutes or until just tender.
Add the couscous and some liquid (drain some off if it seems too soupy) to the peas in the skillet and heat through over medium heat. Remove from heat, stir in the chopped herbs and and salt and pepper to taste.
Serve, and receive compliments, probably more than you're expecting, given the simplicity of the dish.
For one set of guests, I did make a version of a spinch and strawberry salad, similar to the one in the issue--handfuls of deep green, really flavorful spinach from last week (so much better than the bagged grocery store stuff that even I was surprised), sliced strawberries from our CSA (by way of the inimitable Thompson Finch Farm) the whole drizzed with olive oil from the egregiously expensive but totally worth it David Rosengarten EVOV "club", cheap balsamic (the good stuff, which I am out of--oh Surfas, how I miss ye!--would definitely have taken this salad to a higher plane), sprinkled with Maldon and lots of fresh ground Tellicherry pepper. I was expecting little, and it's definitely a subtle salad (as, I find, all spinach salads are--I'm an arugula junkie) but a delightful one.
Another set of friends inspired me to make the roast chicken stuffed with ricotta and herbs from the magazine -- definitely a repeat-worthy recipe. With it, I concocted an emergency side dish, partly to use up the pounds of peas I had accumulated over the last two weeks' CSA shares.
Italian Couscous with Fresh Peas and Herbs
Serves 4
2 lbs fresh peas in their pods
3 cups chicken stock
1 cup Italian couscous
salt & freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup each finely chopped parsley, dill and mint
1 T sweet butter
Shell the peas. Enlist a friend, or a small child, or both, to help. Pull the string, then use your fingernail (small child) or paring knife (adult) to slit the pea open; pinch the ends and pull the peas out. It's a whole lot of work for seemingly not a lot of reward; two pounds of pea pods gave me around 1-1/4 cups of fresh peas.
Heat the chicken stock to a boil, and add the Italian couscous. Boil between 8-10 minutes, or until the couscous is al dente. You want some of the stock to boil down during this time. Remove from heat.
Melt the butter in a skillet over medium heat and add the peas. Saute three minutes or until just tender.
Add the couscous and some liquid (drain some off if it seems too soupy) to the peas in the skillet and heat through over medium heat. Remove from heat, stir in the chopped herbs and and salt and pepper to taste.
Serve, and receive compliments, probably more than you're expecting, given the simplicity of the dish.
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