her able hands

I needed just a sip of fortification before I got down to business making my first One Local Summer meal. Yesterday was hot, sticky, still, stagnant and stinky. Work sucked the spirit out of me. An iced vodka tonic spritzed me back into shape.

The only thing local in the drink is the ice and the strawberries. But having the drink brought me back home to a local state of mind. Before that I was at the mercy of the waxing moon and Mercury in retrograde, reeling from the confusion and disorganization at work, the total lack of direction that accompanied so many marching orders.

For my first meal, I wanted to go to my local grocery store with a recipe in mind and see what ingredients I could find. My goal: whole grain crust pizza on the grill with a big salad.

I already had the salad covered, the greens beds are just bursting with tender leaves. Anything in the mustard family is quickly going to seed, however, as is the spinach, so I pulled the whole plants, snipped the leaves and tossed the stems to the chickens. Cluck, cluck, yum. Is it too late in the season to start more lettuce? I’m going to give it a try. Fill in the empty spots in the boxes.

So grocery shopping at the local ACME for local ingredients was as disappointing as I expected, but held one surprise. Tucked into the corner of the small fancy cheese case, four or five balls of organic mozzarella. I picked one up, expecting to see California or New Jersey, but no! Right there on the bottom of the front label, Cleveland area dairies! Made in Cleveland, a mere 40 miles from my doorstep. I mentally high-fived the ACME purchasing director for giving local producers a spot in the case. Local and organic.

The flour aisle also had a few choices. I would have been shocked to find locally milled flour. The nearest was central Illinois, non-organic, 50/50 whole grain and white flour. I figure it’s about four or five hundred miles, and I raised my bar for next time. I’ll buy from Frankferd Farms with the neighborhood buying club I got invited to join. They’re 96 miles from my home, in Pennsylvania. They do organic flours, milled on-site with locally sourced grains.

I started the dough (my favorite from Amy’s Bread, but with half whole wheat flour. I used my own young garlic (chopped and worked into the dough with a little cayenne, kosher salt and oregano,) harvested last weekend from the garden at the old house. There’s at least a hundred more bulbs in the ground there (second year plants) that I’ll pull up after the flowers open.

I sliced the zucchini and yellow crookneck, from the Saturday market, into thin ovals, then tossed them with a bit of olive oil and grilled it them. The dough made enough for 3 pizzas. Grill one side of the dough first, turning it to change the direction of the markings, then flip it, brush with olive oil, add toppings.

I was in a bit of a panic about the sauce, but then remembered that I had one more quart jar of slow-roasted tomatoes from 2005. Oh, joy! Juanne Flammées! I couldn’t believe how fresh they tasted after two years in a jar in a basement. Unbelievable.

I sprinkled the grated cheese, dotted it with the grilled squash, the tomatoes, chopped basil and oregano, and a little kosher salt.

I’ll get my food miles lower for next week, but for a first try, I’m very happy with the results. And with the leftovers I had for lunch today!

Okay, so more eggs, people. I mean, that’s what’s for dinner. I got home, cracked the top off a Corona and wandered out to the garden to water. It’s a hand-watering situation with the nozzle turned to *soaker* and me holding the hose dangling into the straw by the roots of whatever thirsty plant is in my path. Tonight was Cukes, Peas, Fava Beans, Chard, some Potatoes, and the Tomatoes.

Here’s something cool…I decided to let the volunteer tomatoes (pardon my random use of capitalization with my plants, I’m so confused) grow unhampered for the past few weeks, in the bed slated for Haricot Verts and Royal Burgundy Bush Beans, mostly because I just ran out of time, but also out of curiosity. I never bought any cherry tomatoes, and wasn’t able to find any but one of my favorite heirloom paste (San Marzano). If my memory serves me, I can see that I’ve got at least a half dozen Italian Giant Paste tomato plants out there, with their feathery, droopy leaves dipping down to the earth. There are also about fifty other plants, with my luck the Bloody Butcher (yuck) but I’m holding out hope that one or two might be Juanne Flammée. I’m just going to put up some more bamboo trellis in that bed and move them around a little, water the heck out of them, and drop some more straw around the stems. Hopefully they’ll survive if I wait till the temp drops a bit later in the week. Two years ago I had single Giant Paste Tomatoes that weighed more than half a pound. Paste tomatoes! Huge, I tell you, and all meat.

It’s too bloody hot (still 91* at 8 pm) so I’m not taking the camera out to snap any pictures until the weekend. That beer knocked me for a loop in the heat and I just finished my yummy scrambled egg wrap and now I just want to sit here in the chair and let my brain dribble down my neck. Oh, that’s right! I was telling you about the eggs. See? This is my brain on heatwave. I asked Chris what he wanted for dinner, hoping he’d say something like, “I’ll run down to Katie’s Corners and pick up a pint of homemade Black Raspberry ice cream.” But no, he said, “Spaghetti. Or fritatta.”

To which I replied, “Ew.”

But then he ran next door to give his mom a hand with a few things and my beer head was all woozy and I needed some protein immediately, so I let myself go on autopilot and hoped that whatever happened, it would be edible. It was!

(Recipe ahead.)

I chopped some Vidalia onion and sautéed it in olive oil, then tossed in the baby Red Russian Kale I picked up at the market on Saturday (also chopped). After the kale cooked down a bit, I splopped in a glop of the leftover garlic scape pesto and some chopped fresh Basil, Parsley and Oregano, dusted it all with some kosher salt and cracked pepper, then dumped in nine barely whisked eggs, which I scrambled slowly so they maintained some separation of church and state (er…yolk and white, kind of like scrambled fried eggs). At the end I tossed in some chopped fresh mozzarella and the rest of those retardedly expensive Campari tomatoes with the so-called European flavor that were grown in Arizona and trucked to my table at great expense and manpower. Sometimes I want to kick myself in my own ass, but while I have long legs, they’re not quite long enough. Isn’t that a great visual? Anyway, the eggs were totally local. We tossed the mess in a whole grain wrap and called it dinner.

I’ll leave you with this riot of color in the Lily bed, the most incredible color in the yard right now.

Sorry it’s a wee blurry, I didn’t use the tripod.

Technorati Tags: eggs, eat local, heatwave, Lily

This post is a practice run for the One Local Summer 2007 challenge. Liz at Pocket Farm is hosting the second annual challenge to eat at least one all-local meal each week for the summer, and then post about it. I wanted to participate last year, but the move and the new job made my brain all squicky and I just couldn’t get it together enough (although I ate and fed my family plenty of local foods). I’m excited about doing the challenge this year, and looking forward to tracking what I do. My own personal challenge is to prepare foods in ways I never have before.

Oh, and guess what? Today’s our one year anniversary in this house! We spent it at the old house burying our St. Joseph statue and mowing the lawn in 90 degree heat with 90% humidity, and wondering who we can call in to bale the cut grass.

Aaanyway…this is a practice post because the meal I made yesterday was mostly local (the salmon, the marinade and the asparagus were not) and also because it’s a week early. We had friends and Chris’ mom to dinner last night and in honor of opening day at the farmers’ market, I wanted to attempt as much local food as possible, without having to drive half an hour to get it (local meat and cheese means driving)

There was an amazing amount of locally and organically grown produce at the market, especially for the first day of the season, a far cry from previous years when it was all plants and bread. I scored some gorgeous Butterhead lettuce to add to my own delicious greens for a giant salad (along with Arugula, Lolla Rosa, Tom Thumb, Viroflay Spinach, Mustard, Mizuna and my Dwarf Grey Snow Peas, tossed with balsamic vinaigrette).

These peas are incredible. Too bad the plants are all turning yellow from the ground up and have stopped flowering, probably due to the onset of true summer—drought and heat.

I also picked up a few zucchini and summer squash, bunching onions and a loaf of whole wheat sunflower bread (not sure if she uses local flour, highly doubtful).

I didn’t take a photo of the peach pie from the local small bakery (also not likely local ingredients) but it was delicious.

The awesome garlic farmers were there with garlic scapes and spring garlic. They’re also my neighbors and want me to design their farm logo, and when they said they want to pay me, I jumped on that with “pay me in garlic!”

Their recipe for garlic scape pesto:

1/2 lb. scapes chopped into one inch pieces
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cups grated hard cheese (they say parmesan, I used asiago)

Blend scapes and oil in blender (next time I’ll use the food processor because the blender kept jamming up and took forever to blend it all), then dump into a bowl. The recipe didn’t call for it, but I added sea salt and pepper.

Mix in the cheese by hand.

I sliced the bread, brushed with oil, grilled on both sides, then got Tyler to spread the pesto on the warm bread and top with a spoonfull of chopped cherry tomatoes (not local) and basil (mine). That was apps with beer while the fish finished grilling and the grilled asparagus and squash cooled.

We all pretty much moaned our way through dinner, and while I was swirling the last slice of bread around on my plate to pick up all the little bits, I realized I hadn’t taken a single photo after the finished pesto (which I made in the early afternoon) so you’ll just have to take my word for it…dinner was good, and about 60% local.

Technorati Tags: eat local, locavore, garlic scapes, farmers’ market, one local summer

Yesterday’s potential rain and thunderstorms turned into about ten minutes worth of fat, ice cold rain drops. I stayed out in it, potting the Petunias and the herbs. Lila was playing on the swingset with Fatou when the rain started, so they went inside at Fa’s to play dress-up for a little while. The air was sludgy, furry, like breathing through a wet wool blanket. One moves slowly in that kind of humidty, but I got it done.

I couldn’t resist planting the Sage with poor, peeling, cracking Buddha. Sage for the sage. I tucked a wee lavender plant in there by the big rock in front, too. Hopefully she’ll drape herself across the warm rock as she grows. The stones at the base of the statue are ones I’ve collected from beaches and rivers over the last fifteen years. There are several dozen more at the old house, but the earth is taking them back. They fell off the deck railing and the grass is growing over them too thickly to work them loose.

Dinner was a huge hit. I think I’ll never make pizza in the oven again, grilled pizza is that good. I didn’t have a whole lot to work with (today’s grocery shopping day) but even still, it was scrumptious. I had some leftover red sauce with ground organic chicken, from spaghetti earlier in the week. I made three small whole wheat crusts, brushed one side of each with olive oil and placed it on the grill (medium heat). You have to turn them a few times to make sure they don’t burn, then once the bottom is cooked and has nice grill marks, flip them over, brush with olive oil, top with sauce, cheese (I used a random mix of five nubs of cheese I had in the fridge—romano, aged cheddar, colby, mozzarella and jarlsburg—kind of weird, but yummy) and some artichoke hearts and black olives. I should have picked some herbs to chop, but things got going and then happened too quickly for me to manage that part. But next time? Fresh mozzarella and herbs, for sure. And, oh, once tomatoes are coming in? I can’t wait.

Anyway, again, you have to rotate the pizza on the grill a couple of times to keep the cooking even. I closed the lid to get the cheese to melt before the crust burnt. I forgot to take a picture of it actually on the grill, and the lighting was crap in the kitchen, but you get the idea.

This along with asparagus and an ice cold Corona with lime made for the best supper after a sweltering, dirty day.

The asparagus? Wow. I’m so excited about the beds I planted. Those spears were the most incredible thing I’ve eaten this year. A thousand times more asparagus-y than the bunches I bought at the grocery store (from California, I know, I know, I’m sorry). Barbara Kingsolver talks about asparagus season in her new book. How it’s the harbinger of the fresh food to come and that it must be eaten daily with great passion while it’s available, and then taken off the menu until its season rolls around again. She’s right, and I’m stopping at the farm stand again while I’m out today to buy a few more bunches.

I’m heading out in a few minutes to grocery shop. Hate to leave my sweet place today, especially when the porch swing beckons and the book does too, but the fridge is empty.

Today started with a slow rolling thunderstorm, a continuous light rain and a foggy green fragrance. Still muggy as all get out, but almost 20 degrees cooler.

A slow day ahead.

Technorati Tags: asparagus, grilled pizza, herbs, planting herbs, eat local, garden, Sunday

I usually come to the decision to make an omelet at the tail end of a long mental journey, winding my cranky way through four hundred and ninety two reasons not to cook tonight. I get home and wonder what’s for dinner, but get no answer because I’m the one who chooses food in this house. Really, omelets aren’t my favorite food to eat, just a few bites and I tend to go into egg overload. I love the idea of eggs and omelets, but can’t digest it as easily as other proteins. Still, I make one every couple of weeks. Last night I came to my choice by way of a photographic walkabout through the gardens.

Come on, I’ll show you what I mean…

When I got home, Chris and the kids ran out to do an errand and left me with the task of feeding the chickens, but when I started out, the evening light filtering through the trees seduced me. I ran back in for my camera.

The lettuce grew a full inch today, I swear, and I’m salivating just thinking about the salads that are growing in these boxes. So far, no major bug problems like last year. Should I make salad for dinner?

The only lettuce in the house is an ill-conceived head of cello-wrapped iceburg that I bought in a moment of culinary nostalgia at Giant Eagle last week. As I recall, I thought it would be nice on tuna fish salad sandwiches over the weekend, but they never materialized, and there it sits in its flavorless, almost crunchy glory. I think it’s going to be chicken food any minute now. We do, however, have small amounts of leftover pasta salad, Asian cole slaw and white bean salad. Hmmm…what to round that out with…

Not carrots, yet, though check it out! I have never, ever, EVER had a successful crop of carrots. Soil too heavy with clay, not deep enough and weed-choked. I spent half an hour on Sunday plucking weeds from between the seedlings and these suckers are thriving. When I say plucking, I mean just barely giving the weeds a little tug and the entire root system sliding gently from the soil. Glorious. I wonder how deeply the carrots will grow in this soil—a thick layer of composted chicken manure and straw, on top of decades-old humus.

Right behind the carrots sit two small asparagus beds. The few spears that came up (only about 40% germination rate, boo hiss) have all turned to dainty ferns of dusty green. Just have to get through next summer without touching them, then these babies have a date with the grill. And my taste buds.

Next stop, the chickens. Hey girls! What do you think I should make for dinner? Clearly the garden isn’t putting out yet, but she’s warming up, showing us her bra strap and just a wee bit of cleavage, don’t ya know. Ladies, ladies, I’m at a loss!

What’s that? Eggs you say? You’ve got nine more sitting in the nest just waiting for me? If I don’t get in there and collect them you’re going to start eating them again? No, no. Bad girls. No eating your unfertilized, potential babies.

Hmmm…let me think about eggs for a few more minutes while I check out the scene next door.

You know, I’m so in love with this trellis method. I sent Lila scavenging around the yard after a wind storm and used up all of the dead fall. Now the peas are really starting to climb, and I’m watching like a hawk hanging over a meadow for those flowers to appear. Nothing yet. Pretty though, aren’t they? Especially this time of day.

Mmmmm…freshly-weeded chard, looking so jaunty and glowy. Wait! That’s it! I have a vibrant enough looking bunch of organic rhubarb chard in the fridge. Chard… and eggs… an omelet! Not all home grown, but still pretty good for a woman who doesn’t much feel like cooking, and can’t stomach take-out. Okay, just a few more beds to check out.

Here’s a late comer asparagus fern, a teeny, tiny one. Maybe they’ll put up more next year, even the crowns that did nothing this spring. I’ll have to throw down a little more manure.

I see the pests are finding the buffet, something is munching on the potato leaves.

But not all of them, these All Blue are looking incredible. Oh, early potatoes, how I look forward to your pure garden taste on my tongue with a pat of butter, sea salt and cracked pepper…maybe some fresh parsley.

Maybe next year, followed by a bowl of ripe, juicy raspberries?

Isn’t it dreamy? Only four of the six canes are developing leaves, and I need to get the supports built soon.

Look! A cucurbit of some kind. I didn’t make note of what I planted where, so this could be Costata Romanesca Zucchini, Green Tint Pattypan or Yellow Crookneck. We’ll soon find out. See right next to it? That insistent leaf? Violet. She’s everywhere. Well, let’s not stray away from our happy place, shall we? There’s supper to make yet, so let’s go tell the girls.

What? Have I surprised you, ladies? Not sure what to do with the intruder? Shock and Awe via Nikon! But seriously, I’ll be taking your suggestion, and your eggs. Thanks for the inspiration.

But, oooh! Look at that! I left a few weeds at the top of the carrot bed the other day and will you look at what they turned into? Looks like I won’t need to buy any more tomato plants for the new bed, I’ll just reposition these volunteers and get them busy making whatever nightshade extravaganza they’ve got up their green sleeves.

Okay, enough, enough. We really do need to get down to the business of making that omelet. Back inside, post haste!

First thing, set the skillet on the stove on low, low heat. Wash the eggs, ten please. Eight will certainly do, but ten looks so much nicer in this bowl, I think.

Let the eggs sit for a moment while you chop half an onion and sauté it lightly in a tablespoon each of extra virgin olive oil and unsalted butter until just turning golden. Add about 1/4 cup minced red bell pepper and three large handfuls of washed and chopped chard. Let that sit on top of the onion, still on low heat with a sprinkle or six of kosher salt and cracked pepper.

Now bring your attention back to those pretty eggs. Crack them into a bowl, enjoying the thick and clean crunch of the shells, the solid, firm, orange yolks bobbing as you add more. Now whisk them with a few tablespoons of water. Look at that liquid sunshine. Wait! Is it morning or evening? I smell bacon.

Set the eggs aside for a moment while you give those veggies a little stir, then head out to the garden with scissors to snip some fresh herbs—thyme, chives, parsley and oregano ought to do the trick. Give the last two a quick rinse and make a note to throw some mulch down around them, they’re quite mud-splattered, you messy gardener, you! Now chop them, not too small, and toss in with the chard, giving a quick stir.

Goodness, just think, in a few weeks we’ll be making this one with chard from the garden. Hoo boy, such sweet promise! Now gently pour that bowl of golden goodness into the pan.

Pretty, isn’t it? Sprinkle some shredded hard cheese like Romano or Parmesan on top, cover and let it cook for about 15 minutes on the lowest, lowest heat. Check it after ten minutes to make sure it’s not cooking too fast. It should be solid on top and fluffy when done.

Serve it with whatever else you have in the fridge that likely won’t last another day. That’s what I did and even the picky eater ate it. Not, of course, without complaint, but she gets that from her mother.

Technorati Tags: eat local, garden tour, garden photography, recipes, omelet, eggs, raising chickens, home cooking