Small miracles to be grateful for. Kale survival and Michael Pollan might seem slightly incongruous – maybe they are, but I think there’s a connection. Anticipating last week’s cold snap, we covered some of our lettuce with wool blankets and harvested the rest, then left the brassicas, broccoli and kale, to the cold which, it is said, they love. Fingers crossed, we also left chard to the elements.

A week later I peeked into their snowy hibernation, which, by the way, is excellent insulation, and noted that we have a few survivors. (Photos on the next page show their stalwart cold-weather character eight days ago.)

The kale looks fine so far and its flavor might have improved with the cold, at least that’s the theory.  The chard? There’s hope. We read the following in Winter Gardening in the Maritime Northwest (Binda Colebrook): “I like chard for its winter bulk and early spring rebound.  The ribs aren’t good past fall, but the leaves taste nice.  Mine dies back in northeasters and I cut it down to a nub so that it won’t rot.  It starts growing again in February and lasts ’til May.” We’ll try this, cut back the chard after the thaw and see how it goes.

Taking stock of what we now have in our winter garden that’s edible I see broccoli and kale that look pretty good as well as a large crop of parsley.  Fava beans might have survived for spring, and herbs will probably be fine. That’s it. I know it’s too obvious, but it’s another insight into the necessity of past generations canning vegetables for winter. People got by on what they could grow or had preserved – no running to the store for chard or lettuce from somewhere like Peru, Mexico or California. Potatoes even. They’d better be stored in the cellar or forget about it. If my household were dependent on the garden only at this point we would be left with a few servings of kale, broccoli, and bunches of parsley – actually quite nutritious – to last until spring. Surely we would forage, as people did and more are rediscovering again.  Oh, and there are Farmer’s Markets and grocery stores. Whew.

Anyway, thoughts about our personal food supply lead me to thinking about Pollan and Obama.  I began to think again about what food production meant to my grandmother and about how Michael Pollan is pleading with present generations and administrations to honor our grand- and great-grandmothers’ wisdom about food. (Obama made a reference to Pollan’s NYTimes Farmer In Chief article in a recent Time magazine interview. He’s aware and paying attention.) This Pollan video interview -link below- conducted by ABC’s Nightline a few months ago is well done. His discussion of whole food vs. edible foodlike substances is accessible and interesting. Literally food for thought.   A small action toward sustainability might be to listen and converse with others about Pollan’s ideas – whether or not you agree or disagree, the conversation is important.

Nightline Interview with Michael Pollan: One Man’s Defense of Food, this is interesting for its video footage and Pollan’s profoundly sensible insight – definitely worth your eight minutes.

Garden’s bounty just eight days ago – and in this morning’s snow (top of post).

Many of our pears were ripe and on the ground when we returned home from vacation last week, but salvageable. Time for chutney, pear salad, poached pears, or simply sliced with a piece of cheddar. Unlike other fruits some pears diminish in quality when ripened on the tree – better to pick them just before and let them ripen in the kitchen. We planted our pear tree maybe five years ago, well Bob did, espaliered alongside the garage. We’ve gotten a dozen or so in previous years, but this year the bonanza – dozens. And, we have both Moonglow and Bartletts on the same tree. Amazing science, but not really. It’s about grafting different varieties on to one tree which is what a pear tree needs anyway since they don ‘t self-pollinate. They need a partner pear. Originally, we had four varieties on the tree, but dog damage resulted in the loss of two.

I’ve made Ginger Pear chutney, and we’ll have pears with a tangy cheese and greens in salad. My mom would layer lettuce, half a pear, grated cheddar, and a dollop of mayo with a sprinkle of paprika on top. The attention she paid to assembling her pear salad caught my attention. You never know what unexpected nuances in life will turn a child’s head and heart in a certain direction. That was a salad a kid could love. It’s morphed a bit, but in ‘08 we’re still loving pears together with cheese in a salad.

Pear salad: fresh pears and greens from the backyard, walnuts, hazelnuts, roasted beets, almost any tangy cheese, a drizzle of dressing – another good way to eat a pear.

Pear Ginger Chutney: Put these ingredients in a saucepan: one small chopped onion/ 1/2 – 1 cup brown sugar/ 1 cup vinegar/ 2 tablespoons lemon juice/ 3 tablespoons finely grated ginger/ 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes/ 1 cup raisins/ 2 teaspoons salt/ 6 – 7 cups of pear, cored and chopped. Bring to a simmer, taste it and add more or less of almost anything you like. Mustard seeds, cinnamon sticks, a hint of sage might be lovely. Let it simmer until thickened, 40 – 50 minutes. Put chutney in small containers and freeze, or process in a boiling bath. If you’re new to canning/preserving, there are good resources around, including these two classic cookbooks: Putting Food By, Hertzberg, Vaughan & Greene; Stocking Up, Carol Hupping; or, refer to Recipe Link website for an explicit Pear Ginger chutney recipe and canning instructions.

We’ll have to save a few for dessert – maybe poached pears peeled and simmered in a light syrup with a little cognac. Another story.

And then that’s enough about tomatoes for this year . . . maybe.  They’re abundant at the moment so I made Gazpacho and dried some.

Returned home from vacation a couple of days ago to find tomato plants, finally, laden with ripened tomatoes. They’re late and not as sweet as when they ripen earlier, but I’m grateful. Glad to have these to enjoy now and preserve for later on. I dried a bunch of Sungolds, and made a batch of Gazpacho.

For the Gazpacho I removed the core from about twice as much tomato as cucumber, seeded and peeled, and put them in a food processor (a blender’s fine too). I then added several cloves of garlic, some day-old bread, vinegar and oil, salt and pepper to taste, fresh dill and chives. Pulse until well mixed and that’s it. It’s good for a day or two if kept in the fridge. A bowl of Gazpacho with a dollop of sour cream or yogurt on top is a pretty nice way to eat your vegetables.

This anecdotal version without exact measurements invites us to add whatever sounds good. This past summer the NY Times did a piece called 101 20-Minute Dishes. Numbers 9 – 19 of 101 recipes are vegetables, many in season right now. Check out their recipes for inspiration, and then create your own versions of Gazpacho that are uniquely PNW. What about adding a splash of clam nectar, for example? Or, a bite or two of Dungeness crab on top?

If you have an abundance of tomatoes in your garden – or Farmers Markets will have some for a while longer – you might try drying some. I picked a large pan full of Sungolds (any cherry or smallish tomato will do), cut them in half, laid them cut-side-up on the drying racks and turned on the dryer.

Fourteen hours later, dried tomatoes. Check tomatoes from time to time – when finished, they should be leathery and supple, not crispy. Twelve – fourteen hours is usually about right in our dryer. Timing will undoubtedly vary with different drying systems so check fruit periodically.

Fill zip lock bags with a third of a cup or so of dried tomatoes, store in the freezer and they’re ready and waiting for soup, sauce or a bowlful of olive oil sometime this winter. Heavenly. As with all dried fruits, flavors are intensified during the drying process. If it’s possible for a vine-ripened tomato to taste even better it might be the dried variety in the middle of winter (yes, when we’re desperate). Tomato Grazing All Year Long, a previous post, has a little more info about the power of dried tomatoes mid-winter.

Sometime in January these little morsels can bring a warm glow to the table.

Now enough with the tomatoes, I’m beginning to look forward to winter greens and all that squash. Well, sort of.

Surely among the top ten slow foods, tomato sauce. The reward for preserving them in late summer will be the essence of luscious vine-ripened garden tomatoes mid-winter in a soup or marinara sauce, with an onion and sausage frittata or mushroom polenta. I’m a fool for tomatoes and should make myself a tomato cape, something to wear everywhere to signify my devotion. It can get ridiculous and I just pushed the bar a little far the other day. Home-cookin’ tomato-preservin’ smarty-pants.

Since our own backyard tomatoes are behind schedule I thought it would be a good idea to buy ’seconds’ from Billy and make a batch of sauce now and then again later this month when ours will finally, I hope, come on like gangbusters. Bob tracked down Billy at the Sunday Market and purchased a big box of seconds, 22# @ $2.25 per pound. Total $49.50. When I heard that I knew this handmade sauce would also cost an arm and a leg. A pot full of tomatoes may look like a huge amount, but if you’re making sauce they reduce in quantity. A lot.

We ended up with barely four quarts. Yeah, you’re way ahead of me I know, that’s about $12.50 per quart. That’s a highfalutin’ tomato sauce. It took all afternoon – the Slow Food thing, no problem. I’m a happy camper when something’s brewing in the kitchen.

Lesson learned. From now on I use my own from the backyard, or pull off a midnight tomato caper somewhere. I’m chagrined about the cost, but the good news is that the sauce is amazing. Rich and tomatoey, it will be delectable mid-winter. If you can somehow find tomatoes for a song, or don’t mind the pricey version, you might want to make and preserve sauce of your own.

Here’s one way to do it:

You’ll need two cooking pots and two bowls, big ones.

Bring a pot of water to a boil.

In the kitchen sink, fill a bowl with ice water.

Peel and slice one or two heads of garlic. In another cooking pot, sauté the garlic in olive oil for half a minute, turn heat off and let sit. You’ll put peeled and quartered tomatoes into this pot a little later so make it a big one. Not necessary to quarter the tomatoes – skip this if you prefer. They’ll soften and fall apart anyway.

Blanch 8 or 10 tomatoes at a time in the pot of simmering water – leave them for one or two minutes until skins begin to loosen.

Remove them with a large slotted spoon/spatula and place directly into the pan of ice water.

Put more tomatoes into pot and while they’re blanching pull the skins off the others.

Large tomatoes sometimes have a hard core – remove that.

Place peeled and quartered tomatoes into the sauce pot with the cooked garlic, turn on the heat and begin to cook. Add other tomatoes as soon as they’re peeled.

Tomatoes will reduce in quantity as they cook so add salt to taste later on.

Smash tomatoes from time to time or use an immersion blender; you could also use a food processor after they’ve cooled, but watch out. Too much blending reduces texture and diminishes bright color. I prefer to use a potato masher or immersion blender which I purchased last year and love.

Stirring occasionally, allow tomatoes to simmer for several hours until they’ve reduced and thickened. If I’d stopped mine an hour sooner I’d have at least another quart – this year I cooked the sauce longer which resulted in diminished quantity, but increased flavor. Many uses for a thinner ‘sauce’ so feel free to stop sooner, as I often have. The thinner version is equally fine and fresh tasting. The bottom line is to make the sauce of a consistency that will serve your own culinary purposes later on.

Salt to taste near end of cooking time.

I let the sauce cool and then pour into quart-size freezer containers. Store in the freezer, until say November if you can wait that long, and have yourself a taste of summer.

Or, you can process in glass jars, which I’ll do with my next batch. Their presence in the pantry is comforting, so red and regal, ready to add culinary distinction to whatever recipe needs a tomato.

(Our tomatoes did finally come on like gangbusters and we preserved lots of tomatoes at bargain prices.)

Monday morning I set out early to photograph the Seattle Tilth garden and the Good Shepherd P-Patch . The weather was changing as I was meandering around. By the time I reached this whirligig, the wind was blowing pretty hard. It’s legs started flying every-which-way and it was spinning around wildly. The weird thing was, no matter where I stood, it ended up pointing directly at me. Seriously.

I know it was probably just the direction of the wind and call me crazy but I took this as a sign. The truth is I’ve been feeling a lot like a roadrunner — I definitely need to take a deep breath, slow down and enjoy the rest of the summer. It’s not like I’ve been over-exercising or anything but sometime during the summer, I jumped onto what feels like those moving walkways they have in airports, speeding me to my next location.

According to Five Elements Acupuncture this is the season known as Late Summer. Five Elements acupuncturists always advocate eating with the season and this is the easiest time of the year to achieve that. Enjoying fresh food takes very little effort now with the Farmers Markets overflowing with loads of recently harvested produce. If you have your own garden or p-patch, chances are you have plenty to choose from.

The other part of nourishing yourself is taking time to appreciate and having gratitude for all you have. Slowing down gives you (and your body) a chance to assimilate and enjoy this unique time of year.

I started walking a little more slowly, trying to look closely and take in all of the beauty the garden had to offer. Okay, I’ll admit that I can’t go past a poppy without close examination and taking a few photos, even when I’m in a hurry. But this time the feeling stayed with me.

I consulted with the wise and wonderful acupuncturist, April Hulvershorn, about Late Summer to find out when it starts and ends. She replied, ” For us, none of the seasons have dates, they are a bit different every year – I go by the feel, the light, the sensory cues. We just entered Late Summer here in Seattle – some clues are local ripe blackberries, the light comes from a different angle, it smells different outside. You can feel that the energy is starting to descend. People are just starting to think about fall and winter. Late Summer often lasts until October.”

By the end of my walk, I had put on my jacket and the rain was just starting — a preview of the months ahead. Yes, it definitely feels like Late Summer to me.

]]> http://mixedgreensblog.com/2008/08/21/in-the-garden/things-are-a-changin-late-summer/feed/ 0 http://mixedgreensblog.com/2008/07/31/seasons-eatings/plot-to-plate-pacific-northwest-artichokes/ http://mixedgreensblog.com/2008/07/31/seasons-eatings/plot-to-plate-pacific-northwest-artichokes/#comments Thu, 31 Jul 2008 06:14:01 +0000 Sally http://mixedgreensblog.com/2008/07/31/uncategorized/plot-to-plate-pacific-northwest-artichokes/ I used to think artichokes were strictly Mediterranean. It’s true they’re native to northern Africa where they grow wild, and southern Europe, but it turns out we can grow globe artichokes in the Pacific Northwest.

Maybe not commercially like they do in California, but I have to tell you there is a mini-artichoke orchard in the corner of my backyard and more appear every year. The artichokes’ sage-green spiked leaves are statuesque along the fence, living architecture. Attention to preparing each artichoke is required before steaming, and be forewarned: consumption is a slow exquisite journey. After cooking, each leaf must be peeled off its choke, dipped in lemon butter, scraped across the teeth for just a smidge, a molecule says my friend Peg, of nourishment. After you’ve repeated that about fifty times its succulent centerpiece is revealed, finally, and you enjoy a few hearty bites.

There are fancy ways to prepare artichokes. I’ve never been able to go there, though with a hefty crop this year maybe it’s time. I love the laid-back experience of deconstructing and eating the whole thing bit by bit dipped in lemony garlicky butter.

Not just garden ornamentals, though they are that, steam these babies, slow down for a while and savor their delicious Mediterranean vibe. My drumming buddies consumed a few of these last night and can attest favorably to their tranquil satisfying tempo.

With a sharp knife, slice off top 1 inch of the artichoke.

Trim spikey tip off leaves with a pair of scissors (or, skip this step).

Rub each prepped artichoke with lemon.

Place in a large steamer, or any large pan with a couple of inches of water.

Simmer with lid on for 45 – 55 minutes depending on size.

Artichokes are done when stem is fork tender.

OK to steam artichokes hours or a day ahead and reheat.

Melt some butter along with a smashed clove of garlic, let it sizzle for a minute or two, squeeze in the juice of one lemon. Get comfortable, peel off a leaf, dip it in the lemon garlic butter and have a savory nip. Have another and another, separate the feathers from the center and indulge in a few hefty bites at the heart of the artichoke. Plant artichokes in late summer for a small crop next year and more after that. Mulched in the fall, they survive and self-propagate. If you compost one might appear in an unexpected corner. Either way they’re welcome.

Guerrilla Gardener’s Seed Bomb Recipe

He’s working to make edible gardens a practical, attractive, and nutritious option that yield something for the resources and effort given. If you’ve been wondering about the feasibility of this approach, Edible Estates might be the book for you, but first check out author Fritz Haeg’s website which has an edible estates menu where you can read about and view photographs of what people have done with this idea all over the country, the world. There are photo examples, and a letter written by a homeowner, The Lawn Goodbye.

Bob spoke about planting more edibles in our front yard years ago, I resisted, but I’m over it. We have a productive vegetable garden in the backyard, and now a few stray edibles in the front yard as well: artichoke, parsley, thyme, lavender, blueberries and a Montmorency sour cherry tree. We still have some grass and I’m open-minded about growing food just about anywhere these days.

Cherries,

artichokes and blueberries are on the way, but right now the lavender beckons and it’s perfect for herb-infused whipped cream. Easy and right out of the front yard. Another example of how an herb adds its note of distinction to almost anything and with such ease.

Lavender Whipped Cream is delicious atop all kinds of things including anything chocolate, fresh berries or rhubarb sauce. Truthfully, I hesitated when first introduced to this concept, I couldn’t imagine that I would like even the slightest flavor of lavender in my whipping cream. Now I’m a convert. About once each year we make a fancy frothy dessert called Pavlova. This version of lavender-infused whipped cream was inspired by Jerry Traunfeld’s Pavlova in The Herbfarm Cookbook.

Lavender Whipped Cream:

Using heavy cream, *not ultrapasteurized, heat whatever amount you’d like in a saucepan. When the cream is very warm, turn the heat off, add several sprigs of fresh lavender and let it steep for ten minutes, or longer if you want more flavor. A larger amount of cream will require more lavender. I used four lavender sprigs, (unsprayed, no pesticides), to one cup of cream. Taste it. It should have a subtle, but distinctive lavender edge. Remove lavender and thoroughly rechill the cream. Whip as usual with a little sugar and a tiny nip of vanilla if you like. Serve it with almost anything, or just eat a dollop and never mind about putting anything underneath.

Edible urban gardens are changing the landscape of communities, agriculturally and socially. There’s been a lot in the media and I’ve recently had several conversations with people who are wondering about the idea of an edible garden, back yard, front yard, wherever. Can we get by with less grass in the yard in exchange for some food on the table? Maybe we can.

* Use heavy cream (at least 36% butterfat) and rechill thoroughly before whipping. Ultrapasteurized whipping cream is usually impossible to whip after having been heated.

I heard the other day that eight tomato plants per person was the guide for previous generations who preserved everything possible, including tomatoes, for winter consumption. Our sixteen plants don’t seem so outrageous after all.

We eat fresh tomatoes every which way throughout August and then begin to preserve big batches starting in late summer. When you preserve fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes the improvement in flavor over anything you can buy in the store is astonishing. If you wonder, ‘is it worth the effort’, trust me it is.

I’m dazzled by their scarlet presence in the pantry so I usually can a few jars, but truthfully, freezing and drying are far easier. We dry any extra cherry tomatoes that aren’t eaten fresh, especially the Sungolds, and keep them in the freezer in zip lock bags. We freeze tomato sauce in quart containers. I read somewhere recently that sun-dried tomatoes are now passé in the culinary world. Say what? No matter, the point of today’s post is to plant an idea about preserving tomatoes this year, late summer. It’s almost June, three months to get used to the idea.

Here’s some encouragement:

Dried Sungolds with a smashed clove of garlic, sprinkled with a little salt, then covered with olive oil and left to marinate a bit – our friends know about these delicacies and mid-winter they arrive anticipating olive oiled tomatoes before dinner with some bread. For just that delectable culinary moment, I’m master of the universe, drunk with tomato power while guests are transported into a summery tomato graze. (I have to share the limelight with Bob, who truly is the master of our garden universe.)

There’s just one last quart from last summer’s bounty. I’ll make something that features tomatoes pure and simple, like tomato soup, or Marinara sauce with spinach linguini, or strain it and make some killer Bloody Mary’s, or some Herbfarm tomato salsa, or . . . one quart left and tomato neurosis begins.

We’ll revisit this topic with details about ‘how to’ when the time is ripe (heh-heh).

There are more sophisticated presentations. You can be fancy and slice them very thinly across the top of a buttered piece of bread – it’s both a mouthful and an irresistible eyeful that shows off the glorious design embedded in each slice. Chefs with knife skills make mini radish sculptures for our plates; some of us just slice and toss them into salad. Either way, they’re peppery and crunchy and so red. (Also nutritious. See end of post.)

I asked the vendors at Willie Greens what else I should know about radishes that I might not be aware of. “You can eat the greens”, they said. Noting my skepticism they elaborated. “You can eat them, they’re not very good, but you can eat them.” OK, I get it, if I’m desperate. If anybody out there has had a delicious experience with radish greens, please let me know.

Finally, you can grow radishes in a big hurry. Plant the seeds in late spring/summer and three or four weeks later you’ll have radishes. It’s a good growing food project with kids and they might decide to like a tangy radish when offered with bread and butter, the beginning of another childhood food memory.

Wikipedia: Radishes, another root vegetable from the Brassicaceae family, are rich in ascorbic and folic acids, and potassium. They are a good source of vitamin B6, riboflavin, magnesium, copper, and calcium. One cup of sliced red radish bulbs provides approximately 20 Calories or less, coming largely from carbohydrates, making radishes, relative to their size, a very filling food for their caloric value.