Tag Local Food

Farm to Fable

Michael 3 Comments
Now things have gone too far! Oh, hi. Sorry. I seem to have started in the middle. Let me back up.
 
As I approach the Doddering Years I have three joys. A good long chat with a dear friend, Sunday dinner – cooking and eating – with my daughter, and a few hours spent each week fondling ripe produce. (Fondling ripe other stuff is pretty much now confined to unconscious sleep time activities and with much thanks to dreams that forever live in the pre-doddering years.) [Sigh] Now where was I? Right, doddering.
 
Phones calls, text messages, emails, and a video now and then contribute to maintaining contact with those not with you during this time of not allowing those to not be not with you. I don’t know what others think but I find the art of phone calling rebounding. For a while text messages and direct contact through the various social platforms seemed to have phone calls going the way of pay phones. I believe the desire to hear another voice is driving an increase in calling minutes. Regardless of how much we’ve retreated into a world of contact by social medium, social media isn’t all that social. But the tone of a familiar voice, the lilt of emotions not requiring emoticon augmentation, or the thoughtful pause of reflection contribute to the experience of communication that go so much beyond “on my way, there in 10.” Even isolated I continue to experience the joy of a good long chat with a dear friend.
 
For some time now every Sunday my daughter packed up her dog and his toys, occasionally added an onion or select chicken parts to her parcels, and made her way to me for a day of cooking, eating, and reporting of the previous week’s activities and upcoming week’s plan. Although we have both been careful with our contact with everyone just about to the point that there is almost no contact with anyone, we have suspended these food fests for the duration or until whenever we say “oh enough of this already!” But still she brings me groceries every 2 weeks and we still cook a big meal each Sunday in our own kitchens and share our results electronically. It’s not perfect but it works for us and keeps some version of Sunday dinner in the joy category.
 
Our Sunday cooking extravaganza always left me with enough meals and meal compontents that I could spend a good part of the following week just reheating. Several days each week though I still had to construct a full dinner on my own. These days were always such fun. I would rarely wake and say today “I want [insert specific food here]” but would often wake and say “I wonder what looks good at the store today” and then plan a trip to the market to critically examine meats, sniff fish, and squeeze produce. I am very fortunate that I have a small Italian market within walking distance of my kitchen (and uphill only in one direction!) where you are encouraged to use up to four senses before adding a purchase to your basket. (You could sometimes use the fifth after asking.) (Yes, you do know which one I mean!) In the absence of the little market, and it is now absent since the owner decided he would be happier staying alive than staying open, the nearest supermarket has an excellent produce section, a well stocked and maintained fish counter, and a butcher ready to butcher on request. One way or another I had sufficient opportunity to find something that looked good with which to build dinner.
 
But now I’m stuck at home and the only tomatoes I get to choose from are those my daughter had the pleasure of putting under her thumb – so to speak. No sniffing the blossom end of a cantaloupe, or peeking between the leaves of an artichoke. No examining the fat marbled through a New York strip or glistening in a filet of salmon. No losing oneself in the intoxicating aroma of cheeses and sausages ready to be sliced or portioned to my specifications. [Sigh] [Again] 
 
Bad as that is, its going to get worse, even as it appears it may be getting better. Last week the pronouncement came down from on high. No farmers’ markets this year. Farm markets to be sure. You can still go to them, but no weekly gathering of all the local farms at a convenient park or parking lot with their most recent hauls of fruits and vegetables, their just baked breads and pastries, their hand cut cuts of beef and pork, their eggs and chickens, or even their kitsch and tchotchkes. [Big sigh]
 
No, even if I get the chance to go out and shop on my own this summer it won’t be the same. The joys of fondling fresh fennel fronds straight from the farm are just not to be. [Sigh] [Still] But al least I can still dream.
 
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All Stuck Up

Michael 7 Comments

It’s time for me to come clean. I don’t have a favorite mayonnaise. Hellmann’s or Kraft is ok with me. I couldn’t tell the difference between a store brand and Duke’s. Whether regular, light, or olive oil based, I don’t care. Once I even made my own. For all the work involved, any advantage was lost on me. Sorry. Mayo is mayo and as long as it’s thick, white, and has a little tang it fills my mayo need.

On the other hand, every other condiment in the world has gone through extreme testing and I have strong preferences. These fall into two categories. Those I like and use and those I would rather do without. Rather do without. That doesn’t mean I don’t bend if I have to. If I’m at friends’ house and they are serving one of those other mustards at their cookout, I won’t turn my nose up and whip out my brand from a handy condiment belt. I’m not a snob. Except …

Except for honey and syrup. You might say that when it comes to honey and syrup, I’m pretty much stuck on what I like. I got to thinking about this because I just used the last of my honey this past Sunday when I made the glaze for the Easter ham and the last of my syrup on this morning’s breakfast pancakes.

(If you have a good memory you know in my last post I mentioned that we went out for our Easter dinner. That’s right, we did. But that didn’t stop me from baking a ham.)

(Some traditions die harder than others.)

(We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post.)

I may have even mentioned before that I can be a honey and syrup snob. There aren’t specific brands of either that I have hitched my wagon to. Rather there are specific sources. Local sources. Local is always better. Think about last summer and the green beans you got at the farmers’ market versus those you got at your snow bound mega-mart’s produce section on your last shopping trip. I prefer the summer stock also, but that doesn’t stop me from eating green beans in January. But honey and syrup. Those are two different stories. If I can’t get local, I don’t get.

Fortunately, our local maple festival is this weekend. Those little plastic bottles of refined tree sap will soon fill my pantry! Honey isn’t a big seller at a maple festival. In fact, it’s not a seller at all at this one. Fortunately, right outside the park hosting the festival is a farm store where the natural nectar fills the shelves. So it looks like in one smooth motion I’ll be able to restore honey harmony and syrup snobbery to my kitchen.

And I, for one weekend, will be the most stuck up guy in the country.

 

Don’t Keep Them Down on the Farm

Michael 1 Comment

Around our part of the world May heralds the beginning of Farmers’ Market Season. The weather is breaking into a comfortable spring/summer pattern and the local growers are breaking out what they’ve been working on all winter.

Farmers’ markets get the buyer as close to buying local as one can get. When dealing with fresh foods, buying local is never bad.  And at our markets, fresh food doesn’t just equal produce.  Here we’ll also have farmers who prepare their own sausages, jellies, pickles, and even baked goods. A trip to the farmers’ market is like a trip to the market.

Now let’s take it yet an extra step.  At our markets we also have entertainment.  At one market in the city’s downtown, there will be a concert presented by the local opera company every week.  It will also showcase featured vendors every week.  And to round off prepared food choices, food trucks will offer their special provisions.

It wasn’t always like this.  Ten years ago the markets were apples, corn, greens, tomatoes, peppers, squashes in chip baskets stacked neatly in the backs of pick-up trucks.  Somewhere along the way they morphed into events people planned their weeks around becoming social occasions as much as opportunities to experience fresh food items.  Still the center of attention is the produce.  Now it has a full supporting cast.

Are we getting a little nutty over something as simple as local harvest?  Perhaps we are.  City dwellers and near suburbanites look forward to opening of the farmers’ markets as much as they do the opening of baseball season, swimming pools, and spring clearance centers. For months the only fresh ingredients we’ve had for our dinner recipes have been the herbs grown in small pots scattered about the kitchen.

A handful of fresh strawberries scattered over fresh greens with a fruity vinaigrette drizzled over it may not seem like much but after a few months of bagged salads it can be the crowning glory of the evening meal.  In a few weeks one will be able to assemble an entire royal feast.  And that includes the flowers on the table.

You can’t get any fresher than that.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

If You Give a Teen a Penny

Michael 3 Comments

This weekend we finally got to it, the annual Maple Festival where we picked up a trinket or two, saw grain being milled into flour, and bought a year’s supply of locally produced maple syrup. It was a success.

One of locally produced items we weren’t able to get at the festival was local honey. Another one of our food extravagances. If you’ve never had locally produced honeys, syrups, relishes, and such you are missing something special.  Spend the extra dollar and spoil your taste buds.   But we digress. One of locally produced items we weren’t able to get at the festival was local honey. Fortunately we found a farmer’s market just a bit outside the grounds where local relishes, piccalillis, mustards, and yes, honey are available. We stopped in and explored the greenhouses. Then we perused the shelves, made a few selections, and dropped them off at the counter while we continued our search of local treasures. After a while we were set to finalize our purchases and move on to lunch.

She went first, splitting the bounty on the counter in front of the cash register which itself was in front of a brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper. She already was a little confused (she the helper, not She of We), and asked if everything wasn’t all together. Her mentor explained that it appeared we had separate piles and would be checking out separately. And so she began to ring through Pile #1, collected the debit card from She, punched the requisite buttons, generated a receipt, and bagged up the bounty. And all went well adding to the success of the day.

Next up was He. It wasn’t difficult to determine which pieces were his since they were those that remained from Pile #1. Pile #2 was soon rung into the register and a total announced. $15.76. He dug into the pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and a penny, offered them to the brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper and watched her turn into the proverbial deer in the headlights. High beams even. She stared so intently at the cash in her hand it brought to mind the Amazing Kreskin and can she bend the penny with her mind. Apparently her mind wasn’t up to the task. The penny stayed as it was, where it was, until she asked, “What’s the penny for?” Her mentor suggested that He didn’t want to walk around with a pocket full of change. She suggested she punch $20.01 into the cash register and see what happens. He shook his head trying valiantly not to call the brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper a dolt. (Somehow he succeeded but it gave him a headache.)

Somewhere along the way we’ve read in papers that standard test scores for reading and math are improving at staggering rates and today’s high school graduates are even more prepared to enter the world than those of say, 30 or 40 years ago. Apparently somewhere along the way math questions have eliminated all to the right of the decimal. And with it, went our pennies.

If you give a teen a penny, she’s going to ask what it is for. When you tell her what it’s for she’ll not believe you. She’ll check a nearby mirror to make sure she isn’t frowning. She’ll refresh her makeup and then remember she owes you change. Chances are she’ll still have that penny and ask what it is for.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?