foodshed musings, more fun with chard, political palates, what about the taco trucks?, lentil appreciation, great meals in Northwest literature, recipes
I had such a good dinner with friends tonight, including a big bowl of steamed nettles. It's been a long time since I had them, and what I learned is that balsamic vinegar is the way to go. The bit of sweetness in the vinegar combines with the strong green of the nettles for side dish perfection.
Hailey has laid out lunch for "the guys," who are invisible to me: kale, walnuts, apple slices, and grape hyacinths. She ended up eating the apple and playing spitting games with most of the kale. She seems to be entering the "no greens" stage. She loves to pick them but not to eat them. We'll see how she feels when the sugarsnaps are ready.
I had some time with Hailey, so I was happy to abandon desk work in favor of a bit of gardening. We planted a small flat of chard starts (on sale, and I only have a few wintered-over plants), seeded some salad greens in a big pot on the deck, and put a few fingerling potatoes in the white pot to Hailey's left in the picture, with a mixture of compost, potting soil, and peat moss.
I've been reading up on various potato schemes. Lots of hype from sites with something to sell; lots of tales of failure from gardeners who have tried growing them in buckets, barrels, tires, etc. However, most of the sad stories I've read so far focus on too much sun in southern climes, which baked or at least shriveled the spuds before they could reproduce much. That's not likely to be a problem for me and I am very short of suitable garden spots for potatoes. Of course I live in a great potato growing region, and I can choose from a wonderland of organic varieties at the food co-op and the farmers market. I don't need to grow my own. But I do love harvesting them, so it's worth a try. Right next to the potato pot is the Meyer lemon, which has survived a couple of light freezes since I put it back outside and looks about to wake up and start growing new leaves. March is a great month.
I also stopped by Twisted S ranch in Ferndale today and bought some buffalo meat: brisket and osso bucco. I figure to give the brisket the old-school Julia Child daube treatment. It's rare that I buy an expensive cut of meat, so I may as well put some time into the preparation. That means it probably won't happen this week, but I hope it's soon.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow....
Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress,"
That's one of my favorite lines of poetry. How peaceful it sounds to let love grow as slowly and quietly as an excellent tomato, or maybe a scorzonera root: invisible underground, and initially unpromising, but yielding great pleasure to the discerning. But of course vegetable love has its own forms of competition and violence, as every weeder knows. And humans are a hasty bunch.
Anyway, here's another poem I like, about love and produce gone wrong.
She bought the eggplant because her lover
had said he was leaving, and she'd read
somewhere it was an aphrodisiac,
and she was willing to try anything,
even magic, even vegetables.
She could have bought the eggplant at the grocery store,
but because this was work that mattered,
she drove out into the country
and stopped at a roadside farm stand.
She chose the eggplant with care, the way
she might have picked out a baby or a puppy.
She found the perfect one, long, globular,
and so purple it was almost black.
On the way home, she planned how she might prepare it —
in a cold ratatouille, cubed and sauteed,
split and charcoaled over the grill,
or sliced and marinated in lime juice —
and if it worked, and she knew it would, she'd buy more.
But already it was too late. He was gone.
She remembered how it had been back
at the beginning, when he used to come home
with an armload of greens for salads,
how they would rip, shred, grate, then toss,
and feed each other, and how she had loved him.
She kept the eggplant in the refrigerator,
because although he'd said she'd grown strange,
she hoped he'd miss her and return.
It began to soften, then turned to mush.
It liquefied and leaked all over the shelves.
It grew mold and began to stink.
Each night when he did not come back,
she looked at the sodden mess, noted the changes,
told herself it was just beginning to work.
February 7--Chard, strawberries and Dutch Iris; Kale revving up with new growth
Cookbook research means that I've been focusing on one vegetable at a time--eight different ways to cook rutabagas; four takes on roasted parsnips; winter squash with polenta, in risotto, in soup, in muffins.
I always learn more about the properties and affinities of vegetables I've been enjoying for years. I'm also, I admit, getting a bit tired of the root and squash vine. I know I should have another go at Kashmiri potato/turnip curry; it could be terrific instead of pretty good, but I'm not going to today.
So instead of checking ingredients, I went out to photograph my plants. It looks as though kale is on the menu tonight, and that fresh growth is a cheery sight.
I stopped adding to this blog as other responsibilities piled during my mom's final illness and her death last June.
Now as I look out at the freakishly warm rain splattering down on the leeks and kale and chard that survived the last freeze, I'm eager to get back to it. And I have news. New Society Publishers on Gabriola Island in B.C. has agreed to publish a 20th anniversary edition of my Winter Harvest Cookbook this fall. This has sent me back to the kitchen for a frenzy of recipe trials. Last week included oyster parsnip stew (delicious!) and rutabaga/raisin salad (not so great). Yesterday it was a wonderfully versatile root vegetable cobbler and a revised version of an old favorite--a quick bread loaded with grated celeriac and minced leeks.
Some of the recipes from the first book have not stood the test of time and will be replaced by new favorites, but mom's divine mushroom soup is definitely going in. She was a wonderful cook, and an amazingly hearty eater for such a thin little person in her last years, and I wish we could try out the new recipes together.
This fall I will have been four years at the “new” house and garden. My two biggest garden goals were edibles and Northwest natives. So today I made a list of what is planted so far…
Food perennials 5 blueberry bushes semidwarf peach tree 3 minidwarf apples self fertile kiwi raspberries—golden and red 3 artichoke plants hop vine strawberries French sorrel garlic chives shallots parsley (ok—it isn’t really perennial, but it’s always there) (no sage because I rarely use it) rosemary and thyme
Self-seeding all over the place Corn salad Arugula Kale
Northwest natives inside-out flower (Vancouveria) shooting star (Dodecatheon) wild ginger (Asarum caudatum) Red osier dogwood Bunchberry Trilliums Blue eyed and yellow-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium) Sword fern Deer fern False Solomon seal False lily of the valley Goat’s beard (?) (Aruncus Sylvester) It hasn’t resprouted yet, so I’m not sure; it’s a woodland plant but my shady spot under the neighbor’s Magnolia may be too dry for it) Flowering current Native honeysuckle Native sedums Vine maple Bleeding heart (Dicentra) Monkshood (Aconitum) Fireweed—I didn’t plant this, but it has showed up. We’ll see if we can co-exist peaceably Darlingtonia (carnivorous!) Sundew (also carnivorous; it’s not back up yet and I don’t know if it made it) Fringecup (Tellima grandiflora) Marsh marigolds Beach strawberry (fragaria chiloensis)
It seems like a lot when I look at it written out, especially considering the number of empty patches still showing on a smallish lot. I have to keep reminding myself that a lot of this stuff will get a whole lot bigger if I can keep it happy.
Probably this is pushing it, but I couldn't help myself. Russian banana fingerling potatoes are snuggled in among the bulbs, and the first round of sugarsnaps are planted in the alley bed.
On the flower front, the Hellebore in the front yard has big dramatic white blooms, the first crocuses and snowdrops are in bloom, and the daffodils are breaking ground.
...not only in the ground, but the first little arugulas (arugulae?) are up. Probably you could plant them on a block of ice and and they would still sprout in a week.
It worked last year, so this year again I planted spinach, arugula and lettuce as soon as the February sun broke through. It's been freezing pretty much every night since, but they don't seem to care. Today I upped the ante and planted some garlic, shallots, and leeks (cloves, clove, seed). I'm hoping that the sandy, mostly storebought soil in my alley planter will give me the garlic success I've always aspired to and never achieved. The box is bristling with pointy sticks to counter the alley cats' natural assumption that I have created this fabulous giant litterbox for their personal convenience. It looks like a bed of nails.
I'm still taking inventory of winter damage. Most of the perennials seem to be battered but not dead, though I probably lost a little box honeysuckle I was hoping would provide some winter green outside the living room window. Maybe it will revive. Raspberries and artichokes look fine
I was walking home from a neighbor's yesterday, preoccupied with making it to the bus in time to ride out to school for free (yea for Free Fare Week in Whatcom County!) when I was hailed by my lovely young neighbor Amelia. I think she's 4.
"You can eat the apple tree flowers," she told me. That confused me, since it's August. "They taste hot," she added. Then I got it. Her folks have put two young columnar apple trees in pots by the front gate. Each pot is spilling over with an exuberance of nasturtiums. Therefore: apple tree flowers. I munched a peppery blossom and thought, not for the first time, how lucky I am in my neighbors.
When I got back I saw a another piece of luck. The recent rains have gotten my new sowing of salad greens off to a strong start. Kale, leeks, and chard are all in the ground for spring. When I go back to work next week, I'll be overwhelmed as usual by the start of school, but I won't be kicking myself for not have gotten started on the overwintered veggies.
Romenesco broccoli, aka Pyramidenblumenkohl, among many other names. It tastes like a cross between broccoli and cauliflower. It looks like something Harry Potter would study in herbology.
I've learned from cookalmostanything.blogspot.com, whose author also took this picture, that it is a mathematician's dream, being both a demonstration of the Fibonacci number sequence and a fractal, made up of ever-smaller repeating copies of the same shape.
We had a Grown in Columbia table at the neighborhood association potluck this week. Although our egg and honey crops were not represented, gardeners rose to the challenge. We had rhubarb crumble, Mennonite plum “platz” pastries, several takes on potato salad, a beautiful and delicious roasted beet salad on a bed of arugula, and a combination of Romanesco broccoli, chard, and other greens that was tantalizing both to see and to eat. The dishes incorporated edible pod peas, wax beans, nasturtiums, shallots, and purple carrots.
Our cool spring and early summer was represented in the lack of tomatoes and summer squash. Usually by August, a call for food bank donations would be met by piles of zukes, and gardeners would be eager to show off the first cherry and plum tomatoes of the season. We got just one small bag of golden zucchini. I did eat my own first ripe tomato yesterday; it was about the size of a garbanzo bean and it tasted just wonderful. It was the outlier that often shows up weeks ahead of anything else on a tomato plant, so I won’t be making a Caprese salad anytime soon.
The bush wax beans are in full swing, but I can’t say I’m loving the taste enough to grow them again. Usually I grow romanos, and maybe that rich flavor is spoiling me for the subtleties of the wax variety. They are surely pretty though. Tomatillos and cucumbers are flowering, the poor stunted little zucchini plants are starting to produce, and my artichokes are abundant enough for kitchen experiments (to be reported later).
The latest garden project is to find the patches where I can plant seed for fall and winter greens. Last year I waited too long, and the days were too short too soon to give those salads a decent start. This year I hope time things better. If we up the ante and have a Grown in Columbia table at the February meeting, I want to be ready.
For the full local picture and a chance to thank Binda Colebrook for the decades she has spent making Whatcom County more fruitful and beautiful, get yourself a copy of Winter Gardening in the Maritime Northwest.
