Blackberry Season

Blackberry season is as fleeting and as capricious as the rush of power a teen first experiences on feeling hormones pulse through their blood like a tribal drumbeat, right before they get grounded for losing the dog. So sweet and potent while it flourishes, so purple-black-dark-sweet and necessary for summer to exist. A marker of time passing, year after year, and a reminder that for all that changes nothing really changes completely. The sun still creeps through the brambles with fire and tells the bees to kneel here, to wait for it, to believe the honey will come.

Riding on the last hot gusts of August the blackberries are the signature fragrance of that complicated loaded moment when summer leans into fall and harvest time with all the urgency of the coming of truth. The denouement of the entire year. The branches grow heavy with their burden.

I sped down country roads on my Vespa with the wind scudding through my shirt, warm and still until I passed through it. Summer air is sensual with promise. The promise of everything good, sweet, rich, and plenty. There were the clouds of delicate wild blackberry perfume I cut through, a kind of dark spicy pillow of warm innocence-like childhood would have been if there was always a band-aid for what ailed you.

Then there was the vinegar scent of spent apples, crushed, bruised, and going sour on the roadsides becoming an accidental elixir of health. From higher up I could smell the still ripening undropped apples like a symphony of sweet-tart dreams of a million Halloweens full of surprise and cinnamon.

All of this is on the air. Fresh mown hay bundled in angular rectangles feeds my eye a pattern, something to think on later. When I'm remembering the blackberries.

Blood.

Every summer I think about blackberries. I dream of them. I wait for them. I make them into jam. I eat them off their thorns. I taste so much in them. The dusky bloom they sometimes wear, (the dust from the road they inevitably line), are part of their charm. They are humble, they are simple, they are scrappy. They bite and tangle and reach for the stars. Like a reflection of the most hopeful sparrows. They never give up. They use their tangles like steps to the moon, without apology, without artifice.

When I'm picking them I lose myself a little to the heat their perfume implies. I taste them and I seek them, pushing aside spiders, webs, thorns, and probably rats as well, pushing through the bramble to get at the berries. I collect them like they are better than diamonds. Better than any other fruit. Their scent reminds me of something. I can never quite grab it straight on.

Summers in Oregon have always been punctuated by blackberry season. Faces smeared purple in the pursuit of ingesting summer to store against winter. The more blackberries you eat, savoring (in large quantities) the delicate black sunshine, the warmer you will be when the wind is smacking your windows with sleet and the memory of those late summer treats vibrate in your blood like juicy fire.

I bled picking them. Down my legs. Oblivious until the hot blood began to drip unceremoniously down my skin. I got it on my fingers too. I become so married to the acquisition of fruit that I feel separate from myself at first and see the blood for what it is- the juice of nature, no different from the juice of the berries I'm picking. Then I shake my head in the sun and see that it is me bleeding. I have been very far away.

It makes trails for new thoughts. I turn to see where they will go.

Why should people not bleed for their food? It seems natural when I am walking in the brambles, caught, squeezing into the thorns like a jigsaw of flesh in nature. I start thinking about people having this idea that we have the right to everything we need. I start thinking about how people are always looking for the easy way. They want eating to be easy. Because they view it as an inalienable right. If this was true there would be no starving people.

I start thinking about how life is a gift. All things that follow it, right up until death, are also a gift. They are a gift, not a right. Those of us who are living are lucky to be alive. Lucky to have things to complain about. Lord knows, I think to myself, I sure do take advantage of that. There are no miracles and no rights. There is only life pounding its way inexorably towards death. Even death is a gift. Though no one wants to see that because no one wants to get there.

I reach into the shadows to pluck berries back into the light, into my box. I am alone with my reflections. The air is heavy with my prey. The blackberries bleed for me and I for them. Life as it should be. Why shouldn't I have to pay for my sustenance with a little piece of myself? Why should eating be easy? Why should life be easy? I ask myself.

Blackberry picking is a charitable activity. It affords me the time to be grateful. Even when life seems to suck and be scary in so many ways, there is still this magic. Picking makes time stop. The bees are swarming the sugar, the air is holding close to everything because it will move on soon. I find myself flooded with love. A sentimental fool bleeding in the brambles.

For so many years I dreamed of coming back to Oregon, to pick blackberries as I did when I was a kid. So when I'm out there grabbing at what is left of blackberry season I find myself feeling complete. I feel Lithia creek cooling my feet, I see ice cream cones melting on the street, I taste that berry juice in my mouth like purple joy, and all the ghosts I carry on my shoulders fade into the canopy of leaves above me while I shut my eyes so that I might taste the summer just a minute longer.

A summer that has become pregnant with the bite of fall.

Blackberry season is almost over. I barely caught it.

Off To The Farm

(not "the farm")

One of my favorite things about this time of year (the end of summer) are the trips I take to my favorite u-pick farm, Bernards Farm, on my scooter. I take mostly back roads to get there to avoid the highway and I love the feeling of cutting through warm air. I love the smells on the air too as I pass farms and hay fields, ranches with cattle, and orchards full of dropping fruit.

I don't love it when bugs hit me like little speeding bullets. I should wear my full face helmet more often, but I feel claustrophobic in it. There were a lot of bugs drifting around yesterday.

I love picking in the fields. I usually bring my headphones or a friend. I like to see the sky moving all around me. I like standing in the middle of neat endless rows of tomatoes, beans, peppers...and feel the microcosm of intense biological activity under way and underfoot. The bees and bumble bees were very busy and the sun on the fruit was making science I could smell.

The only thing I don't like about it is being in the middle of the sun myself. Not being a creature of sun and heat I wither like raisin and get sweaty and I would get grumpy if it weren't for all the produce I see piling up in my buckets. How can I get grumpy when I see such abundance? I picked three 5 gallon buckets of tomatoes, 1 five gallon bucket of tomatilloes, 1/2 five gallon bucket of jalapenos, and bought one medium sized watermelon for $44.50. That is one hell of a good deal.

What I will be making: more tomatillo salsa, tomato sauce, maybe tomato juice, and jalapeno jelly.

I was going to write more because I have a post brewing in my head right now that started yesterday when I was smelling summer on the air, the last of it. But I have to get dressed, eat something, process a ton of produce, and I'm really hoping to pick a few blackberries. They are almost over and it seems a crime to miss out. There was a great picking place I went to two years ago and I'm wondering if it still has good fruit to give. It's close by so I might run over there to have a look.

I hope you're all having a great Sunday!

Tomatillo Salsa

14 pints is not enough

Tomatillos are a queer fruit. They hide demurely in their husks until they come of age when suddenly they are splitting all their seams and bursting out like exuberant teenagers who have just discovered music. You expect them to be full of juice and lusty sharp flavor but they are strangely dry until cooked.

Strange cousin to the tomato both belonging to my favorite plant family Solanaceae. Other notorious family members include: potatoes, mandrake root, peppers, deadly nightshade, eggplant, and Angel's Trumpet (Brugmansia).

The skin of the tomatillo is waxy and sticky. Not a tactile treat for those of us who don't enjoy having tacky residue stuck to our skin. The smell of a raw tomatillo isn't particularly enticing. In fact, it has a strange almost fleshy scent. So what made humans decide to try the fruit of this plant which obviously belongs to a family of Borgias? Good question. If I had come across this plant in the wild I would have expected it to be like a tomato. But I would have been suspicious of its likeness to its poisonous kin. Will it kill me? Or will it be nourishing?

Most importantly: will it taste good? If I had decided to risk death and hallucinations to answer this important question I would have been very disappointed in it right off the vine. What on earth leads humans to cook things that don't taste good raw? Dogged determination? Complete stupidity? Someone found out that tomatillos, when cooked, have a very different flavor than when they are raw; that it is pleasantly tart and sprightly. Someone, eventually paired them up with all the ingredients to make it into *an incredible salsa.

This salsa is so good (in my estimation) that 14 pints of it is not sufficient. I intend to use it in many applications. Obviously it's great eaten with tortilla chips. It is also amazing with eggs. I'm eager to pair it with black beans. I would also like to make tomales and use this as a sauce for them.

I will be thinking of the brave person who uncovered this fruits merits all winter long. Cooking without the Solanaceae family would be devastating. I think European food, before the arrival of these south and central American treats, must have been very dull. What would Italian food be without tomatoes? Or British food without potatoes?

The salsa took a long time to prep. I found myself wondering if any salsa could possibly be worth so much effort and drama. Yes: DRAMA. My spouse generously offered to help so I had him cut the jalapenos with the warning not to touch his face or eyeballs until he had thoroughly washed his hands. If I had had gloves for him to wear, I would have given him some.

Sometimes crazy people hear things differently than non-crazy people. Sometimes you need a translator to understand how their ear hears things. For example:

When I said "Be sure not to touch your face or your eyeballs until you've washed your hands" what Philip heard me say was:

"Be sure to touch your face IMMEDIATELY!" Which he did within a couple of minutes. Without washing his hands.

His forehead started burning and he was sweating so the burning began to spread. He washed his face and then dried it with a towel. Which made the burning spread more. So he started to panic. Panic makes us humans do irrational things. Normally, if something you just did to help a bad situation, ended up actually making the situation worse, you would not continue to do it. In a panic you don't recognize rationality. So Philip, in a panic because his whole face was burning, washed his face again! His panic also made him sweat more profusely and this had him very concerned that the pepper burn would soon be in his eyes.

I told him to stop. To just stop making it worse. A spouse, whether male or female, never enjoys hearing this.

The thing is, I should have considered his asthma before setting him on pepper duty. I felt so bad afterwards. He started wheezing which is what he does when he eats food that is too hot for him. It has an immediate effect on his breathing. Guys are notorious for believing that there is some connection with an ability to ingest super spicy food with the strength of their manhood. Very curious that women rarely suffer this same issue. Philip used to be a very typical male in his macho love of spicy foods. However, over the years it became impossible to ignore the reaction his lungs had after he would eat really spicy food.

It's easy for a lot of people to dismiss asthma as an imaginary complaint if they've never experienced it for themselves. If you've never had difficulty breathing you don't worry that you might suddenly not be able to breath. You take breathing for granted. But people with asthma do not have that luxury. Asthma can be life threatening. So it's actually quite understandable that Philip, who started wheezing, might be worried about how bad it could get.

That didn't stop me from wanting to tell him what a delicate flower he has turned out to be.

This all made me wonder what people did to protect themselves when processing large quantities of hot peppers before there was such a thing as latex gloves? I think about these things because they are disposable, made of latex, and will sit in landfills for a long time. How do things like this fit into a "slow" or a "green" life? My inclination is to not use them. I felt the burn on my hands for at least an hour after cutting up just twelve of the remaining peppers. I didn't mind so much. But it really can hurt.

So, was it all worth it? Oh HELL YEAH!! There was a little left over and I tried it. Oh yes! Clearly I need more. Tomatoes might not be as prolific this year but I can do a lot with this tomatillo sauce/salsa. I do want to note that I had had tomatillo salsa from Trader Joe's before and it was nothing to write home about. Very boring. You have to try it home made. I thought I didn't like tomatillos until my friend Lisa E. made some and I tried it.

Go make some yourself!!

*There are many recipes out there. I used the one from the Ball "Complete Book of Home Preserving" but it can also be found in their "Blue Book". The link I've given here is to a recipe by Rick Bayless, a well known chef and author whose specialty is Central American style cooking.
The one thing I see missing from most of the recipes I just saw is lime juice. Lime juice is, in my opinion (and my friend Nicole's opinion) A MUST. If any of you would like me to put an actual recipe for this on my blog here, request it and I shall deliver.

Eat Local Challenge
redesigned

Ten months ago we embarked on our eat local challenge which was our own not too stringent version of the 100 mile diet. The main point of it was to learn about the food that comes from my area by trying to limit ourselves to what has been grown and/or produced locally. I wanted to see what it was like to get through the winter eating seasonally. It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought. It wasn't nearly as expensive as I thought it would be either.

We know a lot now about the food that is produced (and not produced) in our area that we probably never would have known if we hadn't embarked on this adventure. Do you sense closure in my tone? Yes, I've been thinking about our challenge for the last month and seeing its meaning in the bigger picture of change. I've been assessing my needs versus the things that need to change for the earth to keep on spinning on its axis.

As our life has been restructuring (I'm working 3 days a week and spending the rest of the week looking for work etc.) its been getting more difficult to stick with our challenge. A lot of the things that make cooking healthy food quickly can't be bought (at reasonable prices) from local sources. Pasta, for example. Tofu. Rice. I haven't bought any of these things in 10 months. I've made pasta from scratch quite a lot but I just can't do it quickly and as a consequence we rely a lot on grilled cheese sandwiches for quick food.

I've gained more weight in the past year. It's true that that needn't have been the case if I wasn't a beer chugging cheese gulping freak without sense enough to stop at ONE beer and ONE thin slice of Tillamook. One doesn't have to turn to grilled cheese sandwiches whenever there's no time to make pasta from scratch. Yet we do because we love them (!!!) and they are satisfying. Since I can't get feta from local sources I eat everything with cheddar. I have no self control when it comes to cheddar. You get the picture.

I miss garbanzo beans. I haven't bought them in 10 months either.

So while I dripped rivers of sweat off my sun screened nose out in the great sweltering blueberry fields today I thought about all these things for the hundredth time this month. And I came to a decision. I have learned all I can learn from my challenge as it is. I've decided not to engage in any more "challenges" because just being me is challenging enough. The point of challenges is to stretch ourselves in new and positive directions. To find out our limitations and also to learn new things.

Rather than engage in more challenges with rules and time periods I am just going to commit to change. Steady change. It never happens over night. I've become not just enamored with the effort to eat local and shop local- I am committed to it in that my eyes are always open now to both the contents on labels but the origins of everything I buy. I don't buy anything without looking. That is change. I not only know the ingredients I know as much as a person can about where it came from. I will always choose local when I can.

I intend to buy more of my food in bulk to reduce overall packaging waste. I still won't buy much produce that isn't seasonal and doesn't come from within my general region. I may sometimes buy bananas for smoothies but I won't ever again buy apples from New Zealand or kiwis from out of state. I won't buy avocados but for very special occasions and the same goes for oranges and tangerines which do not grow here. I may buy some lemons and limes on special occasions but only until I grow my own (which will have to be protected in the winter).

I will buy feta cheese again but only until my new friend Sarah teaches me to make my own. I won't buy store bought ricotta because I learned how to make my own from scratch while on my local food challenge.

I will buy tofu again. My friend April has found locally made tofu in Portland but I've yet to find any here.

I will wait until things are in season here to buy them. Watermelons from Hermiston instead of from California or Mexico. Tomatoes from Bernards Farm or from my own yard.

The big picture is that there is life as a whole to make decisions about that impact everyone. It isn't just where your food comes from but what's in it and how much packaging or energy it took to get to you. You have to consider what you can afford and not surprisingly- buying in bulk and using u-pick options whenever you can will make your groceries cheaper. Learning to make things from scratch will bring you closer to your roots, to your familial food history, and is hugely satisfying. But being able to rely on dried staples that may not come from your region makes life a whole lot more comfortable.

How are you getting your groceries? Do you take four trips a week to the grocery store? Do you bring your own bags? Do you drive a giant SUV? Or do you ride your bike (I don't and need to!!)? These are all important things that go into the equation.

What all our problems boil down to is that we often don't live thoughtfully enough. We don't weigh our choices and make decisions with an equation that includes all these factors. We don't look at ourselves and the choices we're making and why enough. Taking on challenges helps us hone in on areas in our lives that we want to see change.

In a couple of more posts I'll go over more of what I've learned from my challenge and share with you the most pertinent and permanent changes we've made to our diet as a result. Then I'll move on to share the other changes that are on my mind. Things I'd like to accomplish, not as a part of a specific challenge but just in my ongoing quest to make good change.

Right now the kid is clamoring for a good old Bionicle battle at the top of the stairs. I'm tired from frying myself in the 100 degree heat. It's time for some beer (my mom bought us lots this week!!) and after a rousing game of Bionicle ball busting I intend to watch some Sponge Bob (or whatever Max wants) and pretend I'm not a giant cut of roast human.

Wheat fields of McMinnville
the food where I live

Wheat fields are beautiful. That's a field of food right there. Golden grains shining under the July sun. It's a shame that this food isn't going to feed the people who live near it. This food is going to be exported. This is what's wrong with the world right now. We grow grain and ship it away. We grow nuts and ship it away. We grow beets for sugar and ship the sugar away.

All this food surrounds us and it isn't going to feed us. It's going to suck up a bunch of power to send it somewhere else, to feed other people. We have starving people here in our own county. But that's another story, isn't it? Because even if all the food we produced were to be sold locally there just aren't enough jobs to provide money for the people who are starving to buy it with. The weirdest thing is that every country could be growing enough food for all it's starving people but the people who are starving aren't necessarily starving because there is no food, they are starving because the food costs too much.

While poverty is something I have been familiar with personally in the past and am re-experiencing much more lightly now, I am extremely fortunate that I have enough resources to buy 18 pounds of sour cherries when they become available. I am fortunate to be able to buy them for $1.20 per pound and that I have the knowledge to preserve them in several different ways.

To know how fortunate I really am, even with debt collectors calling me every day, all I have to do is see how rich in food I am to feel my true luck. And now, I must go shower, get dressed, and get processing because my sour cherries are turning brown!! Ack! I'm off. I hope for all of you that you are rich in food too because that is the true measure of our well being.

The Growing Challenge

We've been having bone chilling wind, surprise snow flurries, hail, and just plain old freezing rain in the past couple of weeks so it's no surprise the spinach took a while to pop up. I haven't planted any of my other seeds for this challenge yet because I'm in the middle of building beds for them. I have a row at the community garden and I might just plant some of my beans there since they're very nearly ready to start the planting season.

In fact, I am covered in dirt and blisters from volunteering there for a couple of hours today. Two hours of removing weeds from muddy beds. We weeded in the rain and sun both, this being Oregon, you get it all in one day. Don't pack up your picnic just because it's raining suitcases on you...the sun will come out in another five minutes.

Hopefully the next update will include pictures of planted raised beds.

For The Love Of A Lemon

My new blog friend Cindy and I have discovered some disappointment in our local food shed. Mine has no lemons and hers has blueberries, but not good ones and certainly not cheap ones. So we are doing a trade by mail. There is surely at least one harpy out there who is dying to point out how doing such a trade is doing nothing to help our carbon footprint and certainly isn't adhering to anyone's notion of a local diet.

I think the future holds a lot more local eating for everyone by necessity. I think that reverting to our old methods of getting our grubby hands on culinary treasures is a noble one: getting them through personal travels, souvenirs from other people's travels, or by trading with friends from afar. These lemons still got to me through the use of oil consumption, but it's use has doubled it's measure by also cementing a new friendship. If oil must be used for any transaction, better that it have personal meaning than just convenience.

You'll be noticing that my lemons have become naked. It's not weird fruit porn, if that's what you were hoping worried about. I'm making limoncello. I'll post more on that soon-ish. I had a rare spare few moments yesterday and decided not to wait a minute longer since it takes a total of 80 days to make this elixir of heaven. The Meyer lemons are from Cindy's garden. You should check out her blog because she is not only funny and politically sharp tongued, she writes a lot about food.

I guess I really am a slip-shod style gal. When I lose a flip flop I just keep going. I chuck convention and go the one shoe route. It's a queer sensation when it's my regular shoes but barely noticeable with these breezy barely there numbers. I suddenly realized I was making limoncello in one flip flop and I thought I should share the state of affairs around here.

Ubiquitous kitten shots: I spoke too soon about the conjuntivitis. I believe Penny has that right now and that means that Pippa will too. I couldn't take them into the vet yesterday or today so maybe tomorrow. They are insufferably cute.

And still tiny.

By the way, if Jay is reading this today? I want you to know that I am deeply gratified by your compliment. But kind of embarrassed that I had to ask my husband what a Gonzo writer is. However, the mention of Hunter S. Thompson was all he needed to tell me and I got it. Dude*- that's almost like getting an award! It's almost better than beer. Thank you.

Well, I'm off to my second to last Master Gardening classes. I am sure I'll come back with the fire of passionate contrariness in my boiling blood! Have a great Thursday everyone!

*Jay does not automatically mean a dude, but without knowing, I'm going with the greater likelihood that Jay is a dude. If I'm wrong- please don't throw rocks!

Standoff At The Bossy Corral

Me and bossy had ourselves a little showdown. Two bossy cows, one weighing in at a whopping 221 pounds and the other somewhere over 1200 pounds...who was likely going to come away as the champion of the barn? Bossy lowed loud and deep and I said "Oh yeah? You can't scare me you big old cow. I like your kind quite a lot. I'm not backing down, if that's what you're waiting for!" Bossy took a step closer to me and repeated her earlier comment. I think she was making sure her pals and baby knew that she was being tough on their behalf.

Generally speaking, when 1200 pounds of beast gets up close and personal I would back away and maybe run until my lungs collapsed. However, what I really wanted to do was step even closer and give Bossy a scratch on her toupee. I wasn't led to believe she would tolerate such a show of familiarity, so I held back.

We just stood there staring at each other like a couple of great big cows with nothing better to do.

I really love cows. I always have.

I think humans prefer to think of any animal they can domesticate as being stupid because it helps them feel more comfortable in their place on the food chain. I wouldn't try to argue that cows are contemplating the placement of stars in the universe while chewing their cud, but I have looked into the soul of a cow, and I can tell you that it isn't an empty cavernous place.

The thing is, it seems to me that people really shouldn't feel guilty about eating other animals. Nature created us to be omnivores and as such we are built to eat other animals along with plants and (regrettably from my point of view) insects.

The only thing humans should be deeply ashamed of is the mistreatment of animals they plan to eat. No need to give a cow a velvet cushion, because we all know she's just going to poop it out of all recognition. But how about not keeping her cooped up in muddy quarters too tight for good health? How about giving her real pasture to feed on daily? How about not forcing her to sleep in her own muck every day and breath ammoniated air? How about giving her a life worth living while we prepare to make her into filet mignon?

This is my friend Angeleen and these are her enormous girls. Angeleen breeds her cows, sells and/or butchers her boys. It's a way of life. The meat she feeds her family comes clean of additives and cruelty. It's a lot of work keeping cows. I'm not sure I'd be up for it myself. They are enormous beasts and that in itself can create some tactical challenges when you need to get them to do anything they distinctly don't want to do. This is the way it's supposed to be for animals destined for a life of serving humans. Good care. A quality life.

I'm not going to suggest that all animals destined for the plate should be loved first, but I'll bet the meat is sweeter from animals who have received respect and a good life. I realize it may seem strange for a vegetarian to talk of such things. I'll never actually be able to tell you if what I think is true (about the sweetness of meat) but my friends can. From all reports coming in, there is substance to this supposition.

Aren't all creatures raised with care and love sweeter than those who have had to scrap and fight for every bit of sustenance and who have weathered a thousand storms without the tight shelter of a warm barn? I'm not saying that the scrappers aren't wonderful people (because I think we are), but I think that my meat is probably a little on the tough and stringy side.

This is Daisy. She'll never be forced to live her short life in a stall too small for her to do anything but stand or sleep. She'll never be pumped full of hormones or given other cow's processed innards to eat (many cows are fed this nasty crap). She'll get to run, jump, hang out with her mother, and then she'll either serve her humans by making more calves, or being milked while making more calves, or possibly she'll end up as some one's dinner. But she'll be treated well every step of the way.

And please- would you stop and admire those incredibly long white lashes of hers?!

Though I don't eat the flesh of animals I do eat a lot of animal byproducts such as cheese, eggs, and honey. I raise my own hens and while I will never break their necks for the stew pot, I daily steal their potential offspring to make into omelets. So I have asked myself the same questions that all people should ask themselves who depend on domesticated animals for sustenance and comfort. I ask myself (when I have to buy eggs, which I sometimes still have to do) where did they come from? How are they being kept? What are they being fed? It is almost impossible to know the minute details and the absolute truth about a dozen store bought eggs without going to the chicken farm yourself. Who has time for that?

I would like to visit some of my local chicken farms one of these days. Perhaps I'll join my friend Riana this month in meeting my eggs. She is only eating meat this month that she has met face to face in an effort to close the gap between herself and the food she eats, to become more educated about what is going into hers and her family's mouths, to reconnect with the natural circle of life in which us humans daily take part.

We all like to think we have no time to investigate what we're eating, but I think that's just a line we tell ourselves. We could, instead of going to the zoo with our kids, make an appointment to visit our local farms and dairies. We could visit cheese factories and chicken farms. If more people did that they would know the truth for themselves and not rely on the shady claims of producers and bureaucrats trying to protect the status quo.

I think it's ultimately more honorable to be a human who eats meat and can look in the face of your dinner and be thankful to that beast for having lived to give life to others through it's own flesh. I think it's cowardly to eat hamburger but not be able to go to the slaughterhouse and face the industry that exists to fill your belly and do all the dirty work for you. I do believe that everyone who eats meat should be willing to see how it gets to their plates.

I think there would be radical changes in the meat and dairy industry if all of it's customers were to become first hand witnesses to their operations. People would not ask as often: "Why should I spend so much money for artisan meat when I can get a cut at Safeway for a dollar a pound?" The question of expense is a fair one. Any meat raised with care and with quality is going to cost the farmer a lot more and consequently: the consumer. I have two perfect solutions:

Eat less meat. Americans in particular have this idea that they need vast amounts of protein and that the most superior way to get it is with meat. This could not be less true. We eat a hell of a lot more protein than we need on a daily basis. Fantastic sources of protein can be had by including more beans in your diet. I'm not suggesting you become vegetarian. I don't care if you eat meat or not. But if you can't afford to buy same amount of meat you're used to buying that is humanely raised with care, then buy less of it. That's how humans have really been eating for thousands of years. Meat has more often been a luxury addition to the table than a daily staple.

Buy quality meat in bulk: buy half an animal at a time from a small producer and freeze it. You get a large quantity of meat at once and freeze it. I have friends who do this. They buy half a pig at one time, get a better price for it, and store it. This way they have better meat for less. If you do it this way you can sometimes be very specific with the meat processor about how you want your half a pig cut up and this way you can save the bones for stock, you can use a lot more parts of the animal which will also help you stretch those dollars a lot longer.

I think I will plan a trip to my local egg producer from whom I have been buying eggs all winter. I may find I won't buy from them anymore once I've seen how their chickens live. I am not having to buy much anymore because my own girls are kicking back into gear but come next winter I'll be short of eggs again and shouldn't I really know how those eggs are being produced? I may have to wait until April to plan such a trip because the next couple of weeks are going to be pretty packed with meeting deadlines and moving.

I would like to remind everyone that every little bit counts. Every time you give thought to these issues and make small changes- it all counts. You don't have to make radical change all at once. You can achieve radical change by taking small steps, one after the other. Don't let anyone make you feel insignificant. If you do nothing else but visit the producers of your food this year, you will be taking positive steps towards change because all change begins with self education. Knowledge gives you the power to make better decisions and the less we depend on dubious third parties to tell us how things really are the more personal power we yield. So go ahead and visit your local dairy. Ask them questions. See everything with your own eyes.

Places I should visit:

Tillamook cheese factory
Willamette Egg Farms
Norris Dairy
Yamhill County Mushroom Farm

Root Cellar Soup
(with extra sharp cheddar)

As so many of are learning to eat seasonally, use our own home canned goods, and even storing winter vegetables in a root cellar, it's important to know how the heck to make use of what we have on hand. If you're me what you have on hand right now is: old potatoes, super hairy carrots, slimy topped celeriac, and some gorgeous onions.

While potato leek soup is a perennial favorite of mine, sometimes you need to figure out a way to add more vitamins to your winter food and use up carrots which are no longer in their prime due to the less than ideal root cellar conditions provided by a plastic bin in your garage. Normally I never peel my carrots, but anyone would have agreed with me that it has become necessary.

I have no celery besides the few packages of frozen celery I put aside for emergencies so I'm using celery root which is in season and gives a delicate wonderful celery flavor. Before moving to Oregon I had only tried to use celeriac once and it did not go well because apparently if you have year round access to avocados and lemons you don't need to know how to grow celery root well. It was harder to find there while here it seems that all market farmers have it (and lots of it) in winter.

The main point though is to use what you have in your root cellar, which at this time of year, is most likely going to be roots. If you have some turnips, use one! If you have rutabagas, use one! The main thing to keep in mind is that the potatoes should still be present in a greater proportion to the other roots for the sake of the consistency and flavor.

Root Cellar Soup

Ingredients:

4 large potatoes, sliced thin in small pieces
4 medium carrots, peeled (if necessary) and sliced in thin rounds
1 celeriac, sliced thin in small pieces
1 onion, diced
2 tbsp olive oil (or butter if preferred)
2 tsp salt
1 tsp dried thyme
fresh ground pepper to taste

In a soup pot warm up the oil on medium/high heat and add the onions and saute until starting to soften. Add the rest of the vegetables and saute until some of the vegetables begin to slightly brown on the pan. You will want to stir frequently to prevent anything from burning. Add enough water (or broth) so that it's about an inch above the vegetables. Add the salt, pepper, and thyme, and put the lid on the pot. When the water has begun to simmer, turn the heat down to medium/low and cook, covered, for about twenty minutes or until all the vegetables are tender.

Turn burner off to avoid burning your whole house down. Use an immersion blender to puree the soup.* Sometimes I like to leave a little bit of texture, sometimes I like it completely smooth. At this point you need to take a little taste to see if you need to add more salt and/or pepper. I don't tend to add tons of salt to my food but I find that of all the things I cook, root vegetables can usually use extra salt.

If your soup is too thick for your pleasure, thin with either cream, milk, or broth. I like to serve it with sharp cheddar and buttered toast.


*If you don't have one of these, get one. Trust me, it is INDISPENSABLE in the kitchen. If you don't have one and aren't going to get one then you'll need to use a conventional blender to puree the soup and I recommend that you wait until the soup is cool before you do it.

Recognize Your Food

This is an exciting time of year. Just as so many of us are shivering under our down comforters wishing we didn't have to get up and meet the cold winter air for another day, there is all kinds of life waking up outside, beyond our sight. Unless you're looking for it, how would you see this little plant here that isn't even an inch tall and is still hidden by the brown dead uncleared summer growth? But even more interesting to me is: how many of you can tell me what this little specimen will grow up to be?

When I spy unfurling fronds and delicate tender new seedlings I feel the same kind of excitement that I feel when looking at a new human baby, still covered with animal down and wrinkled from it's trip through another dark body. My heart rate quickens and all the chemicals that signal me to protect make me immediately value the very fragile nature of this new being.

Yep, even though it's a plant. More twisted still? I have these feelings for plants I know I'm going to eat. This little bit of green, this emerging bit of downy green is something I will add mostly to quiches later in the spring. Know what it is?

The next three pictures are all the same thing. Do you know what this will grow up to be? Can you imagine how I will prepare this thing in the kitchen? Can you taste it in your mouth right now?

Do you recognize this plant that yields (hopefully) tender matter to be roasted and sprinkled with salt and pepper? I think it's funny how so few people know what their food looks like at different stages of it's life cycle. We mostly know it right before it gets to our plate.

For me that's what's wonderful about gardening: getting to know your food from seed to plate. From root to roasted pan of earthy dinner. I love it when I can recognize herbs in the wild and spot vegetables growing in funny places. It was complete love at first sight when, in my old neighborhood, I discovered that the streets were suddenly covered in real walnuts...edible, free, nuts. I gathered them like an overexcited chipmunk. What a surprise to find so many of them, right there at my feet. Everywhere. Every year we lived there I gathered enough to get us through a whole year of walnut eating.

Finding wild berries is such a bonus too. Or a rogue plum tree. Finding sage or mallow feels like spotting treasure. How many of us could survive by scavenging food in the wild if we had to?* How many of us can recognize wild leeks or know which mushrooms are edible?

Maybe we don't really need to. But doesn't it seem like the kind of thing everyone should know? Or shouldn't most of us at least be able to recognize the food we bring to our table when it's still in the field or the garden?

We scorn people who don't know where Israel is on a map and don't know you can't drive there from here. Well, we do, anyway.

Recognizing food and herbs at different stages of development seems way more elemental and basic than knowing where a country is on the globe thousands of miles away.

Next up? My good friend Nicole is going to show me where to find nettle and what to do with it.

*I know I couldn't!

Excellent Lunch + Diseased Trees = Life As Usual

My breakfast/lunch yesterday was: one homemade pita slathered with yogurt cheese and topped with caramelized onion and roasted tomatoes from the freezer. A damn fine repast! I will be making a donkey load of the roasted tomatoes next summer.

I have also come to realize that my tomato canning may get a whole lot easier next year if I use my Kitchenaide food strainer which I used to use for applesauce. It removes the skin and seeds while plunking your pulp in your bowl- brilliant! Why did I waste so much time blanching and squishing the seeds out by hand?

Speaking of tomato sauce...for those of you who are aware of my dissatisfaction with my marinara sauce made with home canned tomatoes (although plenty of tomato flavor, it lacked sprightliness and always turned out dull compared to the sauce I make with commercially canned tomatoes) I followed some suggestions and added some red wine vinegar to a sauce I made a couple of days ago and it turned out great! I think the home canned are just too sweet and they need more acid added to them to really shine.

After last week's Master Gardening class I made a courageous decision to be brutal in my garden and not suffer super weak and diseased specimens to linger for years in hopes of rehabilitation. The weak plants get shovel pruned. I had in mind my Pink Pearl apple tree which has been showing distressful signs of disease at the bud union. I think it's apple canker, though I plan to get some official help from my mentor in the class. After taking the above picture I examined all my young fruit trees and EVERY SINGLE ONE of them is showing signs of disease at the bud union. If I am right about what they have, then chances are good that all of them will have to be destroyed and some major amendment will have to take place in the soil before replanting. A new strategy will have to be employed.

You would think this would distress me. It actually isn't much. I mean, it's an awful waste of a couple hundred dollars, but I want to do it right. I want the best plan possible for the long term. So a chance to do it right is not a bad thing.

I found the deed to our property yesterday while doing some clean up and discovered that our yard isn't 10,000 square feet, it's just over 14,200 square feet which means it's just under a third of an acre. That's really cool! I have always wanted to describe my yard in terms of acreage and be able to say "I have a quarter of an acre" but never thought I'd be able to.

Yes, yes, I am very shallow. So sue me.

(That's such a nineties expression huh?!)

Well, I'm off to the psychiatrist to report that I'm still quite tired all the time but at least I've cut my beer consumption by 75% for the last two weeks. Anyone who knows us knows what a tremendous accomplishment that is.

Scary Pickle

What the hell? Do you know what this is? It's pickled eggplant. It was simmered in vinegar and then preserved in oil. I have been storing it in my very cold dark garage pantry. Those little tumorous looking clumps are (I'm 99% certain) oil that has hardened. I have taken this slice out to warm up in my kitchen to see what happens. If these little tumoresque bits don't melt then I think I will not eat this pickle.

So many modern people are fearful when making pickled and canned goods at home. Unnecessarily fearful. Thousands of years of pickling compared to 100 years of government regulation just isn't enough to make me believe that the USDA knows everything. This is a traditional pickling recipe and there is no reason for it to not be safe. I am not going to trash the traditional recipes of the world because my government just isn't sure that people should have been doing it this way for the past two thousand years.

This brings me to the "Joy Of Pickling" one of the books I bought at Powells last week. I sat down last night with a cup of tea and read through most of the recipes and I am fascinated. Who wouldn't be when reading a recipe for "souse" a tart jelly made of the fleshy part of pigs feet or any other pork trimmings? Everyone has heard of pickled herring, but if that doesn't grab you, how about some pickled pig's ears? How many of us have eaten sour grapes?

I was raised as a vegetarian and after trying almost every kind of fish and quite a few kinds of other various fleshy delicacies at different times in my life in an attempt to acquire a taste for meat and fish, I have officially given up the ghost. Eating flesh, to me, is an exercise in repulsion. I don't care if you eat it. Just don't cherish a hope in your heart that if I ate YOUR meatloaf I will change my mind about meat.

It aint gonna happen. Not just because my body has rejected all meat in every way, but because I don't feel I'm missing anything. I used to try to eat meat so I could fit in with the world. Being a vegetarian kid in 1979 wasn't the common experience it is today. My mom had to bring food for me to summer camp when I was a kid and instruct the cooks on what to feed me instead of hot dogs. The world has finally caught up and it's not so hard not eating meat anymore. Now a lot of people are trying to eat less of it themselves.

The truth is, I am uncomfortable eating the flesh of another animal. I don't think it's wrong to do it, I know that it's the natural food chain at work, it just makes me uncomfortable. So I'm happy being a vegetarian all around.

The reason why I mention all of this in relation to pickling is that there is a classic food pairing that I am missing out on by being a vegetarian. Cold cuts + pickled fruit, for example. Reading my new pickling book I see again and again how meats and pickled fruits, or chutneys, or jellies have been paired together harmoniously for centuries. And it sounds good! So I am asking myself what kind of vegetarian meal would pair well with a pickled shallot? Or sour pickled grapes?

Cheese is the obvious answer. Cheese and bread. The ploughman's lunch without the cold cuts. Also, a real mezze spread would be a perfect opportunity to lay out small bowls of pickled delights such as eggplant, mushrooms, and turnips to be eaten on fresh pita* that has been dipped in lebneh or spread with hummus.

On a side note: see that jar of yellow stuff? That is a pickle I am not planning on eating. I am very worried about it. That's the version of piccalilli that I made from the Ball Blue Book Of Canning that smelled like flour when I was done. Not in a nice way. Raw flour is not kind on bellies and that's what it smells like. But sometimes we have to try making things even if they might not turn out so that we can find new favorites. (I hear all my friends laughing in the background...me who eats news things cautiously and infrequently...ha ha ha)**

I heated up my eggplant and the tumoresque bits melted away. It was just solidified oil. I am planning on making pita pizzas today with red sauce, pickled eggplant, and cheese. Yum.

If any of you are planning on getting any food preserving books, now is the time to get them. By the time summer rolls around the bookstore shelves will be very spare of preserving books as will the library shelves. I know this from experience. This is why I bought several titles that I've been wanting for a long time in the middle of winter when there is very little preserving to be done.

So what's the scariest pickle you've ever eaten? What was the best?

*Yes, the pita must be fresh. Do not buy pita from the store. Make pita. Store bought pita is dry and stupid. Fresh pita is fragrant, tender, and perfect for spreading with anything you fancy. The two do not even exist in the same universe so learn to make your own. IT IS SO EASY!!!!!

**I would like to take a moment to address this myth about Angelina's reluctance to try new things. I actually do try new things quite a lot. I admit I try new things with a certain amount of trepidation, but I try them anyway. New things tried in the last six months: beet pickles, jardiniere, tomatillo salsa, peach salsa, pear and ginger jam, pepper jelly, collards, beet greens, bread and butter pickles, yogurt cheese, sheep/cow blend cheese, raw milk cheese, Jerusalem artichokes, quince marmalade, dried sweet cherries, homemade mustard, and today: pickled eggplant. I didn't like all of the things I tried, but many of these things have been added to my cache of favored recipes.

The Parsnip Lines Of Western Oregon

There's been all kinds of speculation around the local eating tables about the possibility that if everyone was to realize how important (and better) it is to eat locally grown food that small farmers will not be able to meet the demand for it. Land is expensive and there isn't a whole lot of it available anymore for agriculture.

Whenever I hear this I think about how people have thought the world is gonna end real soon for the last two thousand years.

Of course, it's true that there has been mass starvation in the world. You don't have to go far to find someone who remembers the dust bowl depression of the last century in our own country when many of our own great great relatives were starving. Hell, there are people in the United States who are starving right now. So I'm not going to dismiss the fact that finding food can be a serious business everywhere.

But an increased demand will always come before a surfeit of supplies. That's economics. In order to get our country to produce more of it's own food, to turn more of it's arable land to responsible crop production, there must be an uncomfortable demand for it. There's plenty of land not being used for food that could be. There's plenty of land being turned to the production of corn for fuel right now that could (and should) be used to grow more food. Instead we're trying to figure out how we can continue living exactly as we are, without any change in our comfort, without any alteration in our consumptive habits. Americans apparently think having cars is more important than eating.

Yesterday at the farmer's market in Hillsdale there were long lines for some of the vendors. We waited twenty minutes to buy freshly ground polenta and some very expensive parsnips and winter squash while the savoy cabbage I also wanted to buy sold out at the next stall over. Greens were in very short supply. As in: there were none except for cabbage. I said to my friend Nicole "This is like waiting in breadlines in Russia, except that we know we'll end up with some food at the end." Then I waited in line at another stall to buy one head of cabbage (the regular kind, the ONLY kind left at the whole market) and the guy behind me says "This is like waiting in line for food in Eastern Europe."

He then went on to predict that this very well may become more and more of a trend as food is harder to find here, more expensive, and everyone needs to depend on local growers. I told him not to be so dire. At the same time I thought "I just waited in line to buy some grain and some parsnips."

What to do? What to do...? (Lots of hand wringing ensues...)

Victory Gardens are the answer. Who has room for vegetables in their yards? Hmm. Let's see...according to this article there are 40 million acres of lawn planted in the US. That's 40 million acres that could be planted in edible crops and plants. That's a whole lot of room for extra food. Do you want to see a patch of perfectly coiffed green in front of your house or would you rather eat?

Perhaps all these predictions of shortages are a bunch of hyperbole. I, for one, don't believe the world is going to end anytime in the near future. I do believe that if every single one of us supplemented our produce supply by growing some of our own, as they did in World War II, we could all be taking part in our own destiny instead of waiting for someone else to come up with some painless solution that doesn't require us to do a lick of work.

During World War II the government was entreating all Americans to plant a victory garden to help ease the burden of demand for produce, to help ourselves from starving, to can our own food so that our supply of commercially canned goods could be shipped to our troops; they requested that all Americans start a victory garden in an act of patriotism.

I think it's time they reopened that campaign.

The biggest lesson I have learned with this eat local challenge is that in my region it's not too difficult to get your hands on root vegetables but if you want a steady supply of greens in winter you must grow your own. Which is why I will be establishing a ton of kale, chard, and collards for overwintering next year. In addition to that I am going to build two cold frames so that I can grow lettuce through much of the cold season.

All I can say is that I'm glad I'm getting my garden established now. I may have to wait in line to get some grains, but I won't have to wait in line to get some fruit, vegetables, or eggs.

Further Adventures In Cheese Making
Yogurt Cheese: Tink's Way

In my post about making yogurt cheese one of my commenters, Tink, described her own space saving method of draining the whey off the yogurt. I couldn't quite picture exactly what she was describing so I discussed it with Lisa B. and together we used Tink's idea to come up with this interesting riff on Tink's method. I'm just going to call it "Tink's Method" because I want to say "Tink" as often as possible.

What you need:

• Two large commercial yogurt containers, one must be slightly smaller than the other at the bottom but the tops must be the same circumference. I used a Nancy's container and a Lucerne container.

• A clean screw

• cheese cloth

• yogurt

The first step is to use your screw to make a ton of holes through the bottom of the smaller of the two yogurt containers. It is very important that you make them from the inside going out otherwise the texture of the displaced plastic will create a bumpy surface that will not drain the liquid well.

It should look like this when you're done. I admit that my thumb was a little bit raw by the time I finished. It took me about fifteen minutes to do this.

Next you place the smaller container inside the larger one. If the tops are the same circumference then the smaller one should hang on the lip of the larger one and there should be room at the bottom of the larger one to collect some liquid.

Next you line the inside of the hole punched container with cheese cloth and fill with yogurt. I put the contents of a larger container of yogurt into it, so it didn't all fit super well at first. I just draped the cheese cloth over the top to keep it clean and from spilling over.

Tink is so right that using this method takes up so much less room than a pot with a wooden spoon does. I just squeezed it in on the top shelf.

Be sure to drain off the liquid after the first couple of hours which is when the most liquid will have already drained. After that you don't need to check again for many hours.

You can see that as the liquid drained off, the yogurt condensed in bulk and is much smaller in mass than it was when I first put it in there. This method works brilliantly and I love that I was able to use two containers I already had on hand to make it with, keeping at least two more containers from my trash can, at least for a while. Thank you Tink and Lisa B. for making it even easier to make yogurt cheese!!