tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55502351969915765712024-03-05T10:26:12.758-08:00Eating From the Ground UpCooking, Parenting, Making a General Mess in the Kitchenalanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.comBlogger465125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-89455423625541560602011-12-04T09:41:00.001-08:002011-12-04T09:43:08.492-08:00head on over!This site has moved! Head on over to <a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/">www.eatingfromthegroundup.com</a> , and I'll be there!alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-78918891514662722272011-12-01T08:46:00.000-08:002011-12-01T07:18:59.515-08:00butternut squash latkes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh December!<br />
I like this month. I'm an omniholidayvore, so I've got a few packed in, plus my birthday AND my wedding anniversary. And also, cookies. And eggnog. And latkes.<br />
<br />
Let's go back to October for a minute- back in the hilly wonders of California at <b><a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/lemony-olive-oil-banana-bread-recipe.html">Naya and Oliver's wedding</a></b>. I was sitting at a picnic table, spacing out on the early sun and gnarled trees, waiting for coffee to clear the Champagne fog. There were lovely Californians all around me, bundled in their sweatshirts and anticipating coffee, and in the midst of the conversation, one woman (who kept wearing the most perfect shade of yellow through the weekend) said to another, "Oh yeah, I saw that at Bi-Rite."<br />
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"Bi-Rite?" I cut in. "Does that place really exist?"<br />
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They laughed and assured me that it did.<br />
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You see, a week or two earlier, I'd gotten <b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/158008303X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=eatfrothegrou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=158008303X%22%3EEat%20Good%20Food%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=eatfrothegrou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=158008303X%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">this beautiful cookbook</a></b> in the mail. (I know! It happens every so often, and it feels like my birthday, but I promise you I only tell you about the books that I love). It was nothing short of enchanting, and I turned the pages and wanted to inhabit every one. I made two recipes from the book that first week, and both were perfect. But the store that it came from? It seemed like something out of California legend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpuyn8Tz04F5exYwBPfTPFHUhbL6_QDXALnQROVyekvdO88KVRAdTjKUprrNFJOc8sJ6Tma6eHCzQpq35GX0z_lQ-pg5D8Ab4vpy9fdisPm7oFWnxWLloqk7REd4W1N5PnI4biKutvO_-/s1600/DSC_0140.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpuyn8Tz04F5exYwBPfTPFHUhbL6_QDXALnQROVyekvdO88KVRAdTjKUprrNFJOc8sJ6Tma6eHCzQpq35GX0z_lQ-pg5D8Ab4vpy9fdisPm7oFWnxWLloqk7REd4W1N5PnI4biKutvO_-/s640/DSC_0140.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
A few days after the wedding, I was walking the streets of San Francisco with my friend and nearly-brother Andrew. It had been a while since we'd seen each other, and we walked and ate and walked and ate. Burritos in the mission. An eclair at Tartine. Noodles in spicy broth. And when we came to the right block, he pulled me into the Bi-Rite Market.<br />
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It was tiny. And (as a friend had so perfectly put it the weekend before) it was exquisitely curated. It was a living museum of artisan food, each cheese and fruit and meat local and gorgeous. Most liquids were in vessels that you would want to repurpose as vases, tiny ceramic crocks for yogurt and sensually curved bottles for oil. We stood in front of the jam and preserves shelf. Each bay area chef had their own preserves, and there was quince and marionberry and herbs and all of those different and elevated fruits. Andrew and I spent the next 45 minutes in there, as if it really were a museum, discussing the food like art on the wall. <br />
<br />
There are a lot of reasons why you might want to pick up a copy of Bi-Rite Market's<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/158008303X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=eatfrothegrou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=158008303X%22%3EEat%20Good%20Food%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=eatfrothegrou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=158008303X%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E"> <b>Eat Good Food</b></a>. It is, in a way, a manual for conscious food shopping (as <b><a href="http://www.foodinjars.com/2011/10/cookbooks-bi-rite-markets-eat-good-food/">Marisa so eloquently described in her review</a></b>). But the recipes! They are my favorite part of this book. That, and the fact that is stays so fabulously open on the counter. This is a book that inspires. It is sturdy, and beautiful, and (as we move into that season) exceptionally giftworthy.<br />
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Oh, the season. Because although Hanukkah is a few weeks away yet, I say- December is latke month. My grandfather used to be the latke maker in our family, and he and my grandmother would throw a party and make latkes all day long. Friends would stack those greasy pancakes on little paper plates with blue menorahs printed on them, chunky applesauce and sour cream along side. The day would begin with desire for latkes, and the day would end with the hope that we would never see latkes again. It would take three washes to get the greasy smell out of our clothes.<br />
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These are better, if that's possible. The butternut squash is sweet, the texture is perfect, and the flavor is... well, entirely worth of expletives. This recipe uses a method where the latkes are started on the stove and transferred to the oven and so the grease factor is nearly gone. This is my latke recipe now- I'm never going back to just plain old potatoes.<br />
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Oh, before we get to that- one more thing! Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning, my new site will be up! We're just working out a few last coding issues, but I can't wait to show you. So don't be scared- it's still me! And I've got a fairly rockin' giveaway to celebrate the site's first day, if I do say so myself. I'll see you there. Yeah!<br />
<br />
And now, the latkes.<br />
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<b>Butternut Squash Latkes</b><br />
from<b> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/158008303X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=eatfrothegrou-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=158008303X%22%3EEat%20Good%20Food%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=eatfrothegrou-20&l=as2&o=1&a=158008303X%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20%21important;%20margin:0px%20%21important;%22%20/%3E">Eat Good Food</a>,</b> by Sam Mogannam and Dabney Gough<br />
Makes 18 (they say! but I got 24- lucky me!) <br />
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1 1/2 cups grapeseed or other neutral oil, more as needed<br />
1 large yellow onion, halved, peeled, and thinly sliced lengthwise<br />
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
1 1/2 pounds russet potatoes (about 2 large)<br />
1 1/2 pounds butternut squash (about 1/2 medium)<br />
4 large eggs<br />
1 cup matzo meal<br />
1/3 cup finely chopped fresh parsley<br />
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh sage<br />
1 tablespoon chopped fresh marjoram<br />
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Position racks the the top and bottom thirds of the oven and heat to 350 degrees.<br />
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Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon of the salt and a few grinds of black pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until the onions are golden all over and very soft, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool.<br />
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Peel and grate the potatoes and butternut squash (<i>I did this in the cuisinart using the grating disk, but a box grater will work too). </i>Put in a large bowl, along with the onions, eggs, matzo meal, parsley, sage, marjoram, 1 tablespoon salt, and 1 teaspoon pepper. Toss gently to combine thoroughly.<br />
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Heat 3 tablespoons of the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When the pan is hot, use a 1/3-cup dry measure to scoop a mound of the mixture into the pan. With a fork, spread and flatten the mixture to a 4-inch disk. Repeat 3 more times. When the first side is golden brown (about 2 minutes), carefully flip the latkes over and brown the other sides, about 2 minutes more. Transfer the latkes to a rimmed baking sheet and continue to scoop and brown the remaining latke mixture in batches, adding another few tablespoons of oil before each new batch. Arrange the latjes in a single layer on the baking sheet; you'll probably need at least 2 sheets to accomplish this.<br />
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When all the latkes have been shaped and browned, transfer the baking sheets to the oven and bake until the latkes are cooked through, about 15 minutes. Serve hot.<br />
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(With thanks to Ten Speed Press! Reprinted with permission from Bi-Rite Market’s Eat Good Food by Sam Mogannam & Dabney Gough, copyright © 2011. Published by Ten Speed Press, a division of Random House, Inc.)<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-9958709781101105872011-11-28T04:40:00.001-08:002011-11-28T07:29:54.707-08:00the girls, traveling<br />
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These days surprised me over and over.<br />
My stomach turned at the thought of sitting in the airport with Joey and the girls, waiting for inevitably delayed flights, paying 3 bucks for water, packed terminals, food lines, tired and "when will we be there?" wishing I was one of those parents with a portable dvd player for my kids to watch something, anything, and by the time we are in Denver, we are done! ready to go home and done with laying toilet paper on the toilet seat and and (again inevitably) at least one child getting sick, most likely throwing up.<br />
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You might think me pessimistic, but I've done this before, and it's all come to pass.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SvJ-wr_xgGY6aJPPbcC0OMdpDBsEYKfVTGRhlkB6k_2hpNU11KKWZzeHTP-40HhX1Q31XwsAgoJ2msJZGmJXp_jHeVqEWkKM307pKrV2vEjgmAdv1SFR5LkaJ-h0o-Ewawv2fUnGWPP0/s1600/IMG_0356.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SvJ-wr_xgGY6aJPPbcC0OMdpDBsEYKfVTGRhlkB6k_2hpNU11KKWZzeHTP-40HhX1Q31XwsAgoJ2msJZGmJXp_jHeVqEWkKM307pKrV2vEjgmAdv1SFR5LkaJ-h0o-Ewawv2fUnGWPP0/s640/IMG_0356.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
But these days surprised me over and over. The girls with their backpacks and rolly bags, independent and looking forward to the next moving walkway so that they could break the rules and go backwards too, going back and forth until they were dizzy. Drawing and playing and watching- the girls were travelers in the very best sense. They were open and ready and adjustable in ways that made me marvel.<br />
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It was not just the girls that surprised me. It was the kind world around them. The smiles and comments from everyone. And on Tuesday, when we were surrounded by college students on their way home in their leggings and boots and big sweaters, the kindness was overwhelming. The girls, insisting on sitting together on the plane, sat next to a 15-year old boy coming home from boarding school, and he beamed at them as if they were his long lost little sisters. They talked deep into the dark airborne night, and when he, exhausted, couldn't stay awake any longer, he set them up on his laptop with a movie (only after politely asking across the aisle for parental approval from us).<br />
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After this momentous success, the girls said that they would always sit together with us in the row opposite. And so, on Saturday (after family and Denver and a turkey nearly on fire of course, but that is all another story), when all of the college students had been replaced by families, the kindness again all around us, Sadie and Rose took their seats next to Jessica, a woman in her twenties with shiny blond hair and heeled boots. The girls started to take out their books and coloring supplies but Jessica asked them about who they were, and because they are their home and their cats and their school and their family, she got all of the details. They talked all the way to Chicago, and then, learning that they would be on the plane together to Hartford as well, Jessica promised (with a pinky swear, Sadie told me), that she would save seats for them on the next plane. <br />
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As we pulled into Hartford, Sadie and Rosie were drawing our house for Jessica on a napkin. They wished Jessica and her terrier (waiting, with husband, at home) well, and Sadie gave her her prized polished rock at the baggage claim.<br />
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I can always create optimism in my little world. Traveler that I am, it is my home that feels brightest, and as much as venturing out can expand and enlighten me, I am just as prone to see the worst in things when the world (and so mundane a world as that within the Chicago Midway airport, for example) is pushing its way around me. But these masses- sitting on the floor of the airport, running through the terminals, getting up to share a table for a family who might be waiting, they shook me with their smiles and their kindness and their happiness. Couples holding hands, parents speaking so lovingly to their children, friends laughing as they found their gate. There was calm, and it shook me. They shook me with the ease in which they loved and supported my girls. <br />
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Perhaps I was watching with optimistic eyes? But I think something was different. Everyone just seemed... happy. Okay. Open. And for all the messes that we seem to be in right now in this country, I could not help but think that good things are happening, quietly. <br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-4744797838077750352011-11-21T10:13:00.001-08:002011-11-21T12:51:25.377-08:00the table awaits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Saturday morning, we piled the turnips high in the elementary school. They nearly reached the basket ball hoop.<br />
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The place was a madhouse. I love the crazy <b><a href="http://berkshiregrown.org/holiday-farmers-markets-2011/">Berkshire Grown holiday markets</a></b>. I love working them, mostly so I can hang out with so many people who are thinking about cooking for the holidays.<br />
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That's a particular breed of loony, that one.<br />
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I'm tempted to bring a bottle of wine with me, so I can hand out little glasses while people tell me about how nervous they are to meet their brother's new girlfriend, and about how she's a <i>vegan</i> and have I ever stuffed a squash for thankgiving? I want Joey to make me a T-shirt that says, "Oh honey, it's all going to be okay."<br />
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But there's no time for that. I'm shoving change in people's hands, and telling them how to caramelize white turnips (sliced thin, tossed with salt and pepper and olive oil, 425 degree oven for 15 to 20 minutes), and I'm trying to convince people that broccoli greens are a fitting replacement for spinach on the Thanksgiving table. We sold so many turnips. Endless turnips. <br />
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There was serious panic about brussels sprouts. There were not enough in that little gymnasium, and anyone with a stalk poking out of their reusable bag carried it smugly like a trophy. More realistically, we should have probably been wearing shirts that said, "WE'RE SORRY. WE HAVE NO BRUSSELS SPROUTS." Then, perhaps <b><a href="http://indianlinefarm.com/">Elizabeth</a></b> would not have lost her voice.<br />
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Oh, honey. It's going to be okay.<br />
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A few things to remember:<br />
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If you are traveling, bring <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/03/car-snack-1.html">snacks</a></b>, lots of <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/09/car-snack-4-or-banana-oat-bar.html">snacks</a></b>. Give your kids their own snack supply.<br />
If you are a drinker, drink while you cook. Do not wait until the meal begins to have your first glass of wine. If you are a "no drinks before 6" kind of cook, break that rule.<br />
And while you're at it, put booze in your <b><a href="http://www.gilttaste.com/stories/3124-shallot-gin-cranberry-sauce-recipe-from-mission-street-food">cranberry sauce</a></b>. Put booze in your <b><a href="http://www.thepeche.com/home/2011/11/1/brussels-sprouts-with-gin-pancetta-caraway-and-sherry-vinega.html">brussels sprouts</a></b>. Why not.<br />
Don't forget the<b> <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/its-decorative-gourd-season-motherfuckers">fucking gourds</a></b> on the table. Even if you've read this one before, it merits a yearly rereading.<br />
Oh, no <b><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/food-network-thanksgiving-video-collection/videos/index.html">you don't</a></b>. Just don't!<br />
Don't mess with it too much. Just <b><a href="http://www.dinneralovestory.com/now-accepting-applications/">leave it alone</a></b>.<br />
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Today, I'm packing up for our very first ever family Thanksgiving travel experience. Oh yes, Denver- I'm talking to you.<br />
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And if you are one of the millions making there way through the Chicago airport tomorrow night, I'll be the one with the husband looking for the Chicago Dog (even if it's in another terminal) while I keep the girls from trying to ride on each other's rolly bags. <br />
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Yes! Here we go!<br />
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(You guys are so great, you know that? I'm not sure I tell you enough. All this grateful talk is making me feel, well, particularly grateful. I hope you all are having a good week out there, and... thank you.)<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-55428352054168641092011-11-18T17:14:00.001-08:002011-11-18T17:53:50.472-08:00the weekend mix<br />
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I was looking for something or other today, and I got lost in the polaroids. <br />
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They were tucked away, but before I knew it was sitting on the floor with them all around me. </div>
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It was that kind of day. But I made you <b><a href="http://www.megaupload.com/?d=VJTBGK5R">a mix</a></b> for the weekend. A quiet one. </div>
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Have a good one, friends. </div>
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I'll see you on the other side. Till Monday, then... </div>
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-18500085002055615822011-11-16T09:07:00.001-08:002011-11-16T18:22:07.364-08:00cranberry maple tart<br />
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Oh, yes. Here we are.</div>
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When I was sixteen, my friend Jette and I hopped on a bus to New York late late the night before Thanksgiving. The ride took nearly the whole night, and we arrived in the city just as the sun was starting to come up. We sat on the sidewalk and watched the massive balloons inflate for the Macy's parade. We wandered the empty city, resting in parks with the pigeons. (I know, I know. What did our mothers say? Honestly, I don't even remember.) It was a gray day, and we had no plan. Somehow, we got on a train and ended up at a friend's house outside of Philadelphia. I don't remember how we got the invitation, but I do remember sitting at his fancy table with his very proper family, struggling to use my knife and fork correctly. I remember being bleary with sleeplessness and thankful to be in that strange and warm place. I remember that Jette and I were proud of ourselves for stepping out of the lines, for making the holiday an adventure, and for making the holiday our very own.</div>
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Four years later, my friend Eilen and I cooked for days, and we invited every straggler we could find. My parents were there too, visiting our woodsy home in Santa Fe. My mother and I were really fighting for the first time in my life, and she kept out of the kitchen. Eilen and I rolled and chopped and baked, and we were grownups in our own kitchen. We, too, made that holiday our own.</div>
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We've had Thanksgivings with friends and Thanksgivings with family. We have cooked and been cooked for. Every year has been different. But through these years with all of those meals, we are always finding ways to make the holiday our own.</div>
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How do you do it?<br />
Have you found traditions that make this one yours?<br />
We have an <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/11/thanks.html">appreciations box</a></b>. We learned that one from <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2008/12/thank-you.html">Gould Farm</a></b>. Everyone writes down the things they are thankful for, and then we read them. That's a good one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OcgsxOLoQABkuFWSP7Z1l8dXyFkWzNSgG6IQPJdRwBg4i0aofVUccOM5VZKTceHS46DBlt33Xsl-5dgEEKRY1qkFABtvXG0llx1wxamXr36facU5wagJThb9bqj9nwbc0TzEZ_3Yb4tu/s1600/DSC_0215.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OcgsxOLoQABkuFWSP7Z1l8dXyFkWzNSgG6IQPJdRwBg4i0aofVUccOM5VZKTceHS46DBlt33Xsl-5dgEEKRY1qkFABtvXG0llx1wxamXr36facU5wagJThb9bqj9nwbc0TzEZ_3Yb4tu/s640/DSC_0215.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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I woke up thinking about this tart last week. I made it a few times before I found it. Joey and the girls can attest to this. (It's a hard life in the kitchen of a food writer) But then I found it.</div>
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I thought you might be interested, just in case you haven't settled on your dessert options for next week. This is easy to put together, and the maple, cranberry, and orange sing to each other in a way that brings out the best in each. </div>
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And while we're at it, shall we take a moment for some dessert inspiration? I'll give it a go...<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/09/pie-for-equinox.html">Pear pie</a></b>. <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/10/quince.html">Poached quince</a></b>. <a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/11/lucky-me.html"><b>Damp gingerbread with pears</b> </a>(I can't get enough of that one). <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/11/indian-pudding.html">Indian pudding</a></b>. <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/12/sweet-cornmeal-biscuits.html">Sweet cornmeal biscuits</a></b>. <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/03/apple-rhubarb-pandowdy.html">Apple rhubarb pandowdy.</a></b> <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/01/olive-oil-and-sherry-pound-cake.html">Olive oil and sherry pound cake</a>.<a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/09/god-and-apple-pie.html"> Apple pie</a></b>. <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/11/pumpkin-mexican-hot-chocolate.html">Pumpkin Mexican hot chocolate</a></b>. <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/10/buttermilk-spice-cake.html">Buttermilk spice cake</a></b>. Are we there? Did we find it? Let me know- we can definitely keep the list going.<br />
But in the mean time, let's have a piece of this one to keep the hunger at bay.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HMz8C4fiGW_40uOukNqjtyloR8VXbhwMim9IGrr3ulscF5AX2-X5D3tnmwxPiA4Q7lHlV4Fybv36s-zPxak0FPGTNra7olx9zgvUN_Ux7YDlzUKE-l7D82q5-Zo8mtsdETD-8IKdhsDk/s1600/DSC_0235.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HMz8C4fiGW_40uOukNqjtyloR8VXbhwMim9IGrr3ulscF5AX2-X5D3tnmwxPiA4Q7lHlV4Fybv36s-zPxak0FPGTNra7olx9zgvUN_Ux7YDlzUKE-l7D82q5-Zo8mtsdETD-8IKdhsDk/s640/DSC_0235.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<b>Cranberry Maple Tart</b><br />
serves 8 to 10, or thereabouts<br />
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For the crust:<br />
scant 1 1/2 cups (7 ounces) all purpose flour<br />
1 stick+1 tablespoon (4.5 ounces) cold unsalted butter (cubed) plus extra for greasing the pan<br />
the zest and juice of 1 orange (this will be in both the crust and the filling)<br />
1 teaspoon sugar <br />
1/8 teaspoon salt<br />
1 egg <br />
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For the filling:<br />
3 cups cranberries (fresh or frozen)<br />
1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon maple syrup<br />
1/4 cup brown sugar<br />
3/4 cup heavy cream<br />
3 egg yolks<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />
1/8 teaspoon salt <br />
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Lightly grease a 10-inch tart pan with butter. Combine the flour, butter, orange zest, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor fit with the chopping blade. Pulse about 10 times. Add the egg and 1 tablespoon orange juice, reserving the rest of the juice for the filling. Process just until the dough comes together around the blade. If it's too crumbly, you can add another teaspoon of juice.<br />
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Roll the dough out on a floured surface until it is a circle at least 14 inches in diameter. Transfer the dough to the tart pan. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour.<br />
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Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Take the tart pan out of the fridge about 10 minutes before you are ready to bake. Bake the crust for 10 minutes, peeking in to gently press down any air bubbles that might rise in the crust over that time. Remove the crust from the oven, but leave the heat on.<br />
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Combine the cranberries, 1/4 cup of the maple syrup, brown sugar, and remaining orange juice (it should be about 1/4 cup) in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce to medium heat and cook, stirring often, until the berries burst and the mixture thickens, 5 to 7 minutes. <br />
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Meanwhile, whisk together the cream, egg yolks, vanilla, remaining 1 tablespoon of maple syrup, and salt in a mixing bowl.<br />
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Spread the cranberry mixture into the crust, then pour the cream mixture over it. Put the tart pan on top of a baking sheet and bake until the top is firm and golden, about 40 minutes.<br />
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Allow the tart to sit at room temperature for at least 1 hour before serving. If preparing a day or two ahead (totally fine- this holds up beautifully!), store in the refrigerator, then let it come to room temperature for at least an hour before serving. This is good on it's own, but also lovely with whipped cream. I served it with orange flower whipped cream (1 cup heavy cream+1 tablespoon sugar+1 teaspoon orange flour water).<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-30355618426270914012011-11-14T04:19:00.001-08:002011-11-14T08:08:15.961-08:00quince jelly<br />
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I appreciate the element of uncertainty in the kitchen. This might make me an inferior food writer. But I've never been particularly good at faking it. <br />
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I did, after all, promise you jelly.<br />
Last year, I made a tiny batch of quince jelly--4 perfect half-cup jars. They were firm like tough jello- barely spreadable, but I was proud of the chemistry of that superhero pectin that lay within my beloved quince.<br />
This year, the jelly was soft, just short of dripping off the knife.<br />
You never know where the jelly's going to go. At least I don't. And although some might say I'm here to tell you what will work every time, when it comes to jelly, I promise to tell you when I figure it out. Until then, I'm wringing my hands, fiddling with my thermometer, and taking little plates in and out of the freezer.<br />
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I love making jelly.<br />
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I find deep satisfaction in the rough chopping of a whole piece of fruit, core and all. I like the process of coaxing the essence out of the fruit. And in this rare circumstance, I love not knowing if it's going to work.<br />
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There is, of course, always <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/10/what-to-do-when-jelly-doesnt-set.html">the cocktail option</a></b> if you "fail". But when there are cocktails involved, you have simply not failed.<br />
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So, in the last chapter of our quince romance for the year (perhaps, although I'd never promise that), for those of you who don't mind a bit of hand-wringing in the service of these perfect pink jars, I offer you quince jelly. And, understanding that we are just over a mere week before Thanksgiving, I promise that I will shift into the more reliable and useful foods that you might be searching for this week. I've got a tart on deck that I'm pretty excited about, and we'll do the usual brussells sprouts roundups, too. But first, the perfume, the gentle stickiness, and the pink.<br />
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<b>Quince Jelly Recipe</b><br />
(makes about 11 cups) <br />
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7 pounds quinces<br />
1 vanilla bean, split<br />
8 cardamom pods<br />
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice<br />
8 cups sugar<br />
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1. Wash the pubescence (the slight furriness) off the quinces. Roughly chop the fruit. Leave the skins on, and roughly chop the cores as well. Put the chopped quince into a large pot along with the vanilla bean and cardamom pods. Just barely cover with water. Cover, bring to a boil, and reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 1 1/2 hours, or until the fruit is so soft that it starts to fall apart.<br />
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2. Set up a jelly bag, or <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/10/what-to-do-when-jelly-doesnt-set.html">rig your own</a></b> with a pot, a colander, and a length of cheese cloth. Let the fruit drain (without smushing or poking!) for at least 3 hours, but up to overnight if that's convenient.<br />
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3. You should end up with about 12 cups of juice. Combine the juice, sugar, and lemon in a large pot and stir to dissolve the sugar. Bring the mixture to a boil, and keep it at a rolling boil until it registers 225 degrees on a candy thermometer OR (if you're thermometer-phobic) it makes a nice jelled drop when you put a bit on a plate that you have been storing in the freezer. This will take between 10 and 20 minutes of rapid boiling (and hand wringing).<br />
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4. Decant into sterilized jars and process for 10 minutes in a hot water bath. If you're new to canning, hop over <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/07/it-will-be-okay.html">here</a></b> first!<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-64350696930054786932011-11-10T05:04:00.001-08:002011-11-13T17:44:30.889-08:00jeans<br />
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Oh, my beautiful girls.<br />
Oy.<br />
This week, I bought Sadie a pair of new jeans.<br />
I rarely buy new clothes for the girls. My 13-year-old sister (who never spills anything on anything) passes all of her clothes down to Sadie (who spills everything on everything), and then Rosie gets the dregs. Rosie is okay with it, as long as she has socks she likes. I buy her new socks.<br />
My sister is narrow and willow-y like her father, and so as time goes by, I filter out the jeans and send them to goodwill for children of that tall and willow-y body type. And so, last week, when Sadie pointed out <i>another </i>pair of stretchy cotton pants that were all of the sudden 4 inches too short, I agreed to go in search of some new pants.<br />
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I picked up the girls at school and we headed to the outlets. Small planned city with manicured bushes. Really big strollers. Christmas music piping over the sidewalks. Cinnabon.<br />
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We were cheery. And with one girl's hand in each of my own, we crossed the street to start our adventure at the Gap. The girls laughed at the early Christmas music, and I thought to myself, this will be easy. In and out. Comfortable and inexpensive pants in hand.<br />
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Store 1: Into the dressing room with a pile of every fit and several sizes. And also lots and lots of these things called jeggings. Jean leggings. Jeggings. Rosie explained it to me. And then, one at a time, Sadie tries on each pair. She falls over trying to get the things off. She pulls them up. She struggles with the buttons. She runs around the dressing room and does the mandatory "squat in your jeans" test.<br />
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She shakes her head and hands them all back to me, one at a time.<br />
"Mom," she says. "I can't do the skinny jeans. I don't get them, and I can't get them on."<br />
It's either skinny or slim fit. And neither fits. I size up, and then they're huge. She starts to look discouraged.<br />
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Jeans are hard! I say. Maybe you're just not a Gap jeans kind of girl. Most people have to try on a million pairs before dining the right one.<br />
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Store 2: Again with the skinny jeans! Only these have silly zippers on them, too. They're out of almost every size, and so we try on more jeggings. Sadie shakes her head again. The staples-on paper label on the back pops off, and she bursts into hysterics.<br />
"My butt is too big for these pants! I popped the label off!" Rosie falls on the static-y carpeted floor laughing. Coldplay is playing Christmas music in the dressing room.<br />
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Store 3: There are lots of styles and sizes and I am hopeful. There is, however, no dressing room. I ask the woman at the counter where we can try things on, and she says, "try on? why?" We try to go into the back store room, but there are a bunch of guys in baggy pants in there. I grab the nearest skirt, a tulle tutu, and hand it to Sadie. She puts on the tutu, takes off her pants, tries on the jeans. Rosie is again on the floor laughing. Sadie shakes her head. <br />
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Store 4: It is dark, and we are hungry. Sadie is asking why there is Christmas music, and why all the jeans are skinny. I am telling her that some people don't even like wearing jeans at all! That we will find the right ones some day. That all these stores are lame and we don't want their jeans anyway.<br />
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I don't want her to hate shopping. I don't want her to hate jeans shopping, or swimsuit shopping, or situations when she has to be under bad lighting in front of a full-length mirror. I just need a pair of decent pants for my beautiful beautiful girl.<br />
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In the darkness, the inside of the another store calls to us. "GIRLS DENIM!" I repeat the words, and pull the girls into the store. There is a wall of jeans. None of them are skinny. They are "bootcut" and "straight" and there are jeans in every size. My arms are filled with little jeans, and we head to the large and empty dressing room.<br />
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The first pair fits. Perfectly. She slips on her sneakers and runs the full parameter of the store.<br />
"These are my jeans."<br />
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I exhale.<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-264190541453632062011-11-07T15:16:00.000-08:002011-11-07T15:17:00.063-08:00membrillo, or quince part one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I adore this fruit.<br />
There are a few foods I feel this way about. Rhubarb. Leeks. Celeriac. When I have a pile of quinces on the counter, I feel newly in love, tingly, unsure of what will happen next. I feel like I've discovered them. And I always have. <br />
This is something I want to do more, that is, adore my food. We talk all about being connected to the source of our food, thinking consciously about the social implications of our food, blah, blah, blah. And I don't blah because I don't agree- of course I agree! But I think that for me, the heart of it is somewhere else. I want to love the food itself.<br />
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Simple as that might seem, let's think about it together for a moment.<br />
Have you ever come across a food that stunned you with its beauty? Was it the fertile curve of an eggplant? The flowering spike of an artichoke? Was it the swirling marble of a perfect cut of meat? The pale glow of a triangle of wonderful cheese?<br />
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And then, catching yourself admiring that very ingredient, you prepared it--washed it, chopped it, cooked it to a perfect softness in whatever way was appropriate... and then, you ate it?<br />
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How did it taste? And how did it feel? <br />
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When I eat quinces, I feel like I am consuming art and perfume and beauty. I feel like I am eating history.<br />
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And then, instead of cooking because I <i>have to</i>, I'm cooking because I am in love with this fruit. (Which, incidentally, can not be eaten raw, so cook it we must.)<br />
<br />
<br />Last week, when we were buried under the snow, a friend asked me what to do with quince. Her tree, it turned out, had dropped most of its fruit under the weight of the blizzard, and she could not keep up with them.<b> <a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/10/quince.html">Quince chutney</a></b>! I told her, and <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2009/10/quince.html">poached quinces</a></b>! And without trying to sound too excited so as to give myself away, I offered to dispense with some of the beloved fruit in my very own kitchen in exchange for the results of my labor.<br />
<br />
And that is how I came to these particular quinces.<br />
<br />
When quinces sit in the kitchen, they perfume the entire house. My mother, who does not like most smells, kept asking, "What is that sweetness?" and I told her quince! My sister hovered in that corner of the kitchen in particular, smiling and breathing in. And for those few days before I had my way with the fruit, I walked in the door and breathed deep. And like a lover who has come back to her beloved, I dropped my bag and, shoes still on, made my way to the kitchen for a deeper inhale before I fully arrived in the space of home again.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIW_yDzkLC8O9rUy-5pNFA9Tar7bbgx6GQvvxGxLGjm7zbGElzSZC8n-IeTOdghzPeC0xQLFT6UgSu9a3djtJM6DqwFgJCtbIGtqgUKSdtF4_qkqxywQ__4rUW_D6sCQW4ABDL2NbHO6T/s1600/DSC_0177.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIW_yDzkLC8O9rUy-5pNFA9Tar7bbgx6GQvvxGxLGjm7zbGElzSZC8n-IeTOdghzPeC0xQLFT6UgSu9a3djtJM6DqwFgJCtbIGtqgUKSdtF4_qkqxywQ__4rUW_D6sCQW4ABDL2NbHO6T/s640/DSC_0177.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
<br />
These quinces, 12 pounds in all, met two different fates. I was having a party, and dreamed of serving sweet cubes of membrillo with cheese, and so that was one.<br />
And then, of course, there was jelly. That will be part two, soon, soon.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcDkqAnHOus1Rl3vupYeKXaPGifq58h2J_qz8GwE8EkPOWxCvTMJwYATfYnsfJj9gKhsyv1oVjwNban1dhNIQ3wHTIfqkhSaqo2gOA2ZVVHKtYjLuyeWhhWrp5aHmcLDLWskQYNl89Sr3/s1600/DSC_0211.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcDkqAnHOus1Rl3vupYeKXaPGifq58h2J_qz8GwE8EkPOWxCvTMJwYATfYnsfJj9gKhsyv1oVjwNban1dhNIQ3wHTIfqkhSaqo2gOA2ZVVHKtYjLuyeWhhWrp5aHmcLDLWskQYNl89Sr3/s640/DSC_0211.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
My friend <b><a href="http://www.artandlemons.com/">Nikki</a></b> showed up at the party with her fantastic<a href="http://www.artandlemons.com/2011/10/d-i-y-ginger-pear-vodka.html"> <b>pear ginger vodka</b></a>. I held out the tray of membrillo with manchego, and confessed that although I was in love with the rosy little squares, I might just never make them again. She's a cook too, and she laughed, I think, because she knew what it was to spend hours and hours making a 9x9 square of quince candy. And although I said it then, I think I'm taking it back. Because for my beloved quince, it's always worth it. And if you are having the right kind of day filled with stirring and warmth in your kitchen, this will be worth it for you too.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZCDP3Z0e-SGiAxUumd5S5tysauQVVD6BB5s5mS68OoNNRaT1O7tiUef4qerY2mAWz8NQ_Ilq7_0RHWRUTa9VE7hyqghgkclDW_pu144jbQNjuBPdUPLQyfbqjNQ0tdhvTcRGjz9mEODt/s1600/DSC_0224.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZCDP3Z0e-SGiAxUumd5S5tysauQVVD6BB5s5mS68OoNNRaT1O7tiUef4qerY2mAWz8NQ_Ilq7_0RHWRUTa9VE7hyqghgkclDW_pu144jbQNjuBPdUPLQyfbqjNQ0tdhvTcRGjz9mEODt/s640/DSC_0224.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Membrillo (quince paste)</b><br />
with help from <b><a href="http://userealbutter.com/2011/10/09/quince-paste-membrillo-recipe/">here</a></b>, and <b><a href="http://www.deliciousdays.com/archives/2006/11/16/membrillo/">here</a></b> too<b> </b><br />
<br />
makes one 9x9 square pan's worth<br />
<br />
(note: Most people peel and core their quinces when making membrillo, but I opted to keep both the peels and cores in the mix, as that is where most of the pectin comes from, and it's less work for you. Most of the fiber was removed in the food mill step, but the end result had just the slightest amount of additional texture from the pith of the quince. I admit that I love it! But if you want a smooth, smooth candy, then core the quince.)<br />
<br />
4 pounds quince, scrubbed of pubescence (the lovely fur), and roughly chopped<br />
peel of 1/2 lemon<br />
1 vanilla bean, split<br />
4 cardamom pods<br />
4 cups sugar<br />
1/4 cup lemon juice<br />
<br />
Put the chopped quince into a large pot and just barely cover with water. Add the lemon peel, vanilla bean, and cardamom pods to the water. Cover, bring to a boil, and then lower the heat to a simmer. Cook until the quinces are very soft, about 45 minutes.<br />
<br />
Use a slotted spoon to transfer the quinces to a food mill (or you can press them through a sieve if that is what you have and you want to work really really hard). Remove the vanilla bean and cardamom pods as you go and set them aside. Pass the mixture through the food mill. You want the puree to be fairly smooth (mine was not, because my food mill has big holes), and so, if needed, transfer to a blender or food processor to make it smoother.<br />
<br />
Wash the pot, and return the puree to the pot. Add the sugar and lemon. Put the vanilla bean and cardamom pods back in the pot.Then cook over low heat, uncovered, stirring often, until the puree gets quite thick and turns a rosy shade of reddish orange. <b>This will take somewhere between 1 1/2 hours and 3 hours. </b>I know this is a long time. You need to keep an eye on it and stir every few minutes, so this is a recipe for a rare day when you can just be in the kitchen making things. Perhaps you are also making jelly? Or dinner? Either way, the quince will merrily cook as you bustle around it--it doesn't need your full attention. Feel free to taste when you stir. It will keep you going all afternoon.<br />
<br />
Preheat the oven to as low as it will go. For me, this is 170 degrees. Line a 9x9 baking pan with parchment, and then grease the parchment with butter. Transfer the puree to the prepared pan, removing the vanilla bean and cardamom pods as you do.<br />
<br />
Bake for about 1 hour. Remove from the oven, and let sit for a few hours before cutting into squares.<br />
It will get more solid as it cools. <br />
<br />
Store in the refrigerator in a covered container. I am told that it will keep for up to 2 months or so, but I'll let you know if it makes it that long.<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_626941781"></span><span id="goog_626941782"></span>alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-80616122618206423222011-11-03T08:09:00.000-07:002011-11-03T08:14:25.098-07:00sisig<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOdCXVnOkfRupVUMxaKUL59uSZfhFfdk5fitEfaWvdzZi51sK_xNJjYq5VRpTbR3qo4GZ3032-wNYJSb7TSZS4InTW-b8BYKbTKOboLFH3hUPurYkPdOhXk6frw4ej9swEWTV8vaFx_3s/s1600/DSC_0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOdCXVnOkfRupVUMxaKUL59uSZfhFfdk5fitEfaWvdzZi51sK_xNJjYq5VRpTbR3qo4GZ3032-wNYJSb7TSZS4InTW-b8BYKbTKOboLFH3hUPurYkPdOhXk6frw4ej9swEWTV8vaFx_3s/s640/DSC_0137.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Well, sort of sisig.<br />
This is the story.<br />
Last week, on our final night in San Francisco, we went to eat at the food trucks at Fort Mason. I know <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/11/eating-off-grid.html">I've already told you this part</a></b>, but I've got to set the stage.<br />
This is my uncle, Gary.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrMo40hiNbdKKMkxgj4wG8pjPX4zIUxIOfO-5tl_1JKDJMlPjriep2SLbhwoahNrYIODRSbL1g0kqL1GqCcfLKiLRzUtrCdSGy5V8FTzvvEGfnJAZN12yW33axwSjlif4Po7M7sOqSaAO/s1600/DSC_0148.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrMo40hiNbdKKMkxgj4wG8pjPX4zIUxIOfO-5tl_1JKDJMlPjriep2SLbhwoahNrYIODRSbL1g0kqL1GqCcfLKiLRzUtrCdSGy5V8FTzvvEGfnJAZN12yW33axwSjlif4Po7M7sOqSaAO/s640/DSC_0148.JPG" width="640" /></a> Gary was at the heart of why I was there with my mother, and why I traveled up to San Francisco after <b><a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/lemony-olive-oil-banana-bread-recipe.html">Naya and Oliver's sweet wedding</a></b> in Carmel. It was a fortifying sort of weekend that left me full of love and hope and good food. Joey went home after the wedding, and I met my mother in San Francisco. In the interest of time, and of getting to talking about that bowl up there, I won't give you all the details, but I will tell you that we were there to do some work on a family rift (you know that rift that most families have in some shape or another? this would be ours), and that long ago, before the rift was so severe, it was Gary and his wife, Sondra, who taught me a whole lot of what I know about how to cook, and how to eat, and how to love food. <br />
<br />
And so, on our last night in that full-bellied city, Gary took us to the food trucks. And as he admitted that he had been there several times that summer, we took his recommendations as to how to prioritize. With so many choices, we had to eat wisely in order to draw out the appetite. It was necessary to imagine with each choice that we were eating the very best thing there- the pork buns with pickled daikon (the best!), the fish tacos on homemade tortillas (also, the best!) and finally, the pumpkin and mushroom dumplings (again, the best!). But sitting in my little black folding chair in the middle of the parking lot, one truck kept catching my eye. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTwfpTfdlqMputEbinFs3w7BUUGtYAFzNjYolpmJRDbA2FLp-KitADxbTsoP-u5rCgWg9vinbH6D3JGHQYNQBPGMh5n4wXCeQtRttcTc548uiLGlrCkqzKamH8FQyIwVUVbaXt78Xgmjn/s1600/DSC_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTwfpTfdlqMputEbinFs3w7BUUGtYAFzNjYolpmJRDbA2FLp-KitADxbTsoP-u5rCgWg9vinbH6D3JGHQYNQBPGMh5n4wXCeQtRttcTc548uiLGlrCkqzKamH8FQyIwVUVbaXt78Xgmjn/s640/DSC_0143.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
It's the brown one there. And finally, at the end of it all, I asked Gary the question that had been humming in my all night.<br />
"What, exactly, is Sisig?"<br />
I take a fair amount of pride in knowing my road (and food truck!) categories, and this one was utterly new to me. <br />
"Oh, it's good!" he told me. "But you'll never be able to fit it in your stomach now. It's brisket over coconut rice with an egg on top."<br />
Yes. I know.<br />
Brisket over coconut rice with an egg on top? Have you ever heard of anything so exciting? I thought (okay, I obsessed) over the combination as we packed up and made our way to the plane. I dreamed of it while I dozed over Kansas. I cursed the 2 feet of snow that fell within hours of our return- I cursed it because it prevented me from getting to the store to buy brisket so that I could create my own sisig NOW.<br />
But then on Monday, I went to <b><a href="http://www.themeatmarketgb.com/">The Meat Market</a></b>, our very own new and wonderful local butcher, and Jeremy gave me the brisket that would become my very own sisig.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15S2H5kgnIM1sL1OB_R-heS1G8tV7TS8VpT0nxhi9IbdMSiz_Azd1PfcscLh0dm5yDrL5bBfbLy6lq6L2GiLUoI4fWGKa55TAsQlVKh6vwJcUtROOgoUH0_-LQNLzon6syklnVa0RguXl/s1600/DSC_0149.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15S2H5kgnIM1sL1OB_R-heS1G8tV7TS8VpT0nxhi9IbdMSiz_Azd1PfcscLh0dm5yDrL5bBfbLy6lq6L2GiLUoI4fWGKa55TAsQlVKh6vwJcUtROOgoUH0_-LQNLzon6syklnVa0RguXl/s640/DSC_0149.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
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After I had the brisket safely in my possession, I did a little research to get more details on this new food. How should the brisket be spiced? Are there any other elements I need to include in there?<br />
<br />
I went through at least 10 obscure and cloudy websites on Filipino food before I entirely believed it- there is no brisket or coconut rice involved in sisig. The main ingredient that I needed was actually pigs ears.<br />
<br />
I have no pigs ears, although I know of a few places I could get some.<br />
<br />
As far as I could tell, I needed some pigs ears and some chicken livers, and a really really hot plate. It would ideally sizzle together with peppers and onions and ginger and a the juice of a fruit called calamansi. Then I would eat it on a street corner in the Philippines with a cold beer, and that would be sisig.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKPzl9qMLP6yHpI0NcA4GeyfH0yiUlqMACKd_CCW0d9Z1EC9-vtwquXOHErxv3gZs3YjaPmsVc4VGn7YCD1qh-bOJAcYKjsN_O-xD6KgmxvAc2mxLlOYDd6NXAtIz80rJpCsLy8TENxLF/s1600/DSC_0134.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKPzl9qMLP6yHpI0NcA4GeyfH0yiUlqMACKd_CCW0d9Z1EC9-vtwquXOHErxv3gZs3YjaPmsVc4VGn7YCD1qh-bOJAcYKjsN_O-xD6KgmxvAc2mxLlOYDd6NXAtIz80rJpCsLy8TENxLF/s640/DSC_0134.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
<br />
I don't know if Gary had it wrong, or if the food truck was actually selling a version of sisig that the obscure cloudy Filipino food websites weren't aware of. Either way, I had brisket, and I knew what I wanted.<br />
<br />
Brisket over coconut rice with an egg on top.<br />
<br />
I'm stubborn when it comes to cravings.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQazDtwV6h-ShnzCwKU39yfYDCyLrR9Luytx9aP0CDl7OLxmo14EKuQb01s54hb76fMv8TqMAxqvcBXRx8d2TnwQ2PgAbrr4oVlkqAE3pOdIJnZyhH8KbJVugZwYn5E_Z5CEKN-GrUaeQ/s1600/DSC_0157.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQazDtwV6h-ShnzCwKU39yfYDCyLrR9Luytx9aP0CDl7OLxmo14EKuQb01s54hb76fMv8TqMAxqvcBXRx8d2TnwQ2PgAbrr4oVlkqAE3pOdIJnZyhH8KbJVugZwYn5E_Z5CEKN-GrUaeQ/s640/DSC_0157.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
<br />
And so I'll call it sisig, because that's how it came about, but it's really not quite. It is, however, really, really delicious. It did not disappoint. And although it might look like a lot of steps, active time is pretty minimal. Very very worth it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaJc5gstkvXh7M2PkIfmtcxmlSemr5_y3Eiutw_UM99KmQyeeRs40YjQ0fxZ58vZDv6BvxpWA8Sbb8JOxeIjRkiv7EIoHlFpgOqeUdPqNbE804oIzh4dUcN3xbp48KyWeET7rjNJ0vzM4/s1600/DSC_0124.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaJc5gstkvXh7M2PkIfmtcxmlSemr5_y3Eiutw_UM99KmQyeeRs40YjQ0fxZ58vZDv6BvxpWA8Sbb8JOxeIjRkiv7EIoHlFpgOqeUdPqNbE804oIzh4dUcN3xbp48KyWeET7rjNJ0vzM4/s640/DSC_0124.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>Sisig, sort of</b><br />
serves 6 to 8<br />
<br />
<b> </b><br />
For the Meat:<br />
2 tablespoons olive oil <br />
One 2 lb brisket<br />
1 tablespoon soy sauce or tamari<br />
5 cloves minced garlic<br />
2 tablespoons rice vinegar<br />
1 tablespoon brown sugar<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
1 tablespoon chili garlic paste (fabulous stuff! It looks like this:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeQHW8fNG_xQw8irbbgmM6YQnpphLqzGrWhFeoO0nM29iYroJr9Nw-sEE3oAxvlNmagkzfrdltN231m7xw0kWPDSIrAgFsTRES3LXqLu_g0cYWO4Dsk_eASZD2BSs-vgAg3X7QH282MPU/s1600/DSC_0155.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOeQHW8fNG_xQw8irbbgmM6YQnpphLqzGrWhFeoO0nM29iYroJr9Nw-sEE3oAxvlNmagkzfrdltN231m7xw0kWPDSIrAgFsTRES3LXqLu_g0cYWO4Dsk_eASZD2BSs-vgAg3X7QH282MPU/s320/DSC_0155.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
but if you don't have it, combine about 1 tablespoon of chili powder with 2 cloves minced garlic, adding a drop of soy sauce and a bit of water to get a thick paste<br />
1 red onion, minced <br />
1 bottle dark beer<br />
4 cups water or beef broth<br />
1 dried d'arbol chile<br />
<br />
For the rice:<br />
2 tablespoons coconut oil (or butter if that's what you have)<br />
2 cups Jasmine rice<br />
2 tablespoons shredded coconut<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
1 15 oz. can coconut milk<br />
1/4 cup water<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt <br />
<br />
For the final bowl:<br />
2 tablespoons olive oil<br />
2 cups chopped sweet peppers (add in a bit of hot peppers here too if you can)<br />
1/2 onion, sliced<br />
1 tablespoon grated ginger<br />
salt and pepper<br />
1 egg per person <br />
<br />
Some sort of sliced pickle, for garnish<br />
<br />
Make the brisket:<br />
Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. <br />
Combine the soy sauce, garlic, vinegar, sugar, salt, and chili paste in a small bowl. Rub the mixture over the brisket. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet or roasting pan over medium high heat. Cook the brisket for a few minutes on each side so that a nice brown crust develops on the meat. Take the meat out of the pan and set it aside on a plate. Add the red onion, shuffle it around for a few minutes, and then pour the beer in the pan. It will bubble and sizzle- scrape all of the brown bits from cooking the brisket into the beer. Put the brisket back into the pan. Add the water or stock, and tuck the chili pepper into the liquid. Cover the pan with a lid if it has one- otherwise cover it with tin foil.<br />
Put the pan into the oven and forget about it for the better part of the day. Cook for at least 4 hours, but it could be 6 or 7 if that's what works for you.<br />
<br />
Make the coconut rice:<br />
I did this in a rice cooker, but if you're making it in a pot instead, you'll need to increase the liquid. Essentially, you'll need as much coconut milk as you usually use water when you cook white rice.<br />
So- in the rice cooker, first melt the coconut oil in the rice cooker bowl. Add the rice, stir to coat it with the oil, and close the lid. Let it it cook for 5 minutes. Then add the coconut milk, dried coconut, water, and salt. Close the lid and set it for the regular cooking cycle.<br />
<br />
Then, when the brisket and the rice are ready, finish it up!<br />
Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium high heat. Add the peppers, sliced onions, and grated ginger. Stir stir stir until it's all shiny and starting to brown. Transfer the mixture into a bowl, keeping the pan hot. Add a bit more oil or butter if the pan needs it--then fry one egg per person.<br />
<br />
Now the pickle- I leave this one up to you. Do you have a fridge pickle languishing in there from August? This is the moment. I had these beautiful pickled baby squash inspired by <b><a href="http://www.foodinjars.com/2011/08/pickled-baby-pattypan-squash/">Marisa</a></b>, and they were perfect. You can also make a quick carrot or daikon pickle- <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/11/pickled-daikon-with-lemon.html">this one</a></b> would be nice here too.<br />
<br />
And now... the bowl.<br />
First the rice, then the peppers and onions. Lay a few slices of the brisket over that. Then the egg on top of the brisket. Pour a bit of the spicy fatty sauce from the brisket over the whole lot of it. Then the pickle gets tucked in where the bowl needs a bit of color.<br />
<br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-74800007817674012452011-11-01T10:54:00.000-07:002011-11-01T10:54:04.877-07:00eating off the grid<br />
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Oh California.<br />
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I don't even know what to say. Do I laugh? Cry? Tease you?<br />
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Or do I jump in with glee? (my mug filled with blue bottle coffee and the sriracha mayo on everything)<br />
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You, my friend, are serious about your pickles.<br />
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Of, course, so am I.<br />
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And the cynical New England in me, the one that knew that I'd be sitting in 2 feet of snow in 24 hours, could not help but laugh, and say, California!<br />
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Every Friday night at Fort Mason, there are food trucks. Lots of food trucks. It's called <b><a href="http://offthegridsf.com/">Off the Grid</a></b>.<br />
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It's kind of like a Grateful Dead show, but for hipster foodies.<br />
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I was happy to play the part. If only for the fish tacos with pickled red onions.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejQ3SNeKwBOMb2sar0m3lG6zKCzGxwKe8ix8JrGS2nXBPceU4k6JJddS67kkIkfmtDKnsBEHQ9wLItWMr_qU4qAJ_KS2dkz1CeflD6KoovLg2dZOITdoUHVoivn7wQHCWer7QxZr8EwDu/s1600/DSC_0157.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejQ3SNeKwBOMb2sar0m3lG6zKCzGxwKe8ix8JrGS2nXBPceU4k6JJddS67kkIkfmtDKnsBEHQ9wLItWMr_qU4qAJ_KS2dkz1CeflD6KoovLg2dZOITdoUHVoivn7wQHCWer7QxZr8EwDu/s640/DSC_0157.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
And for pork buns with pickled daikon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QhZJOU8WHKRK1W5ZgGZP_frQaaZCnhnXN3A_ZnLQHnK9zcItW3XKgew4l0RIUPTtxnuuCCHGhUZrkCL-WAPTSlPTYMcNx6OCEghcElnRamsCLKgrhrMDrEhCo0fQATb8jeT0dc1qcsrL/s1600/DSC_0146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QhZJOU8WHKRK1W5ZgGZP_frQaaZCnhnXN3A_ZnLQHnK9zcItW3XKgew4l0RIUPTtxnuuCCHGhUZrkCL-WAPTSlPTYMcNx6OCEghcElnRamsCLKgrhrMDrEhCo0fQATb8jeT0dc1qcsrL/s640/DSC_0146.JPG" width="640" /></a> Oh, California. You and me, we go way back. And although you make me laugh and feel a bit silly about your best-of-all-possible-things-are-here ways, I'm always happy to come back to your kitchen.</div>
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Till next time, friend. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7s-cus0SA3gLtxAFy1lYWDUvYav5ps_Ru4zZ2Lp4GVTio212779za5MVopykdFJHnYizgE2PVhPqC8zizG_qOqU68zqIbS559C930a-LLrwtZf66yVsTVFq8u3aTcZaTEpLysuPWfTnM5/s1600/DSC_0202.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7s-cus0SA3gLtxAFy1lYWDUvYav5ps_Ru4zZ2Lp4GVTio212779za5MVopykdFJHnYizgE2PVhPqC8zizG_qOqU68zqIbS559C930a-LLrwtZf66yVsTVFq8u3aTcZaTEpLysuPWfTnM5/s640/DSC_0202.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-16994695142364528932011-10-27T23:53:00.000-07:002011-10-27T23:53:08.864-07:00what we eat after dark<br />
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We walked all the way to the ferry building again, just for the coffee. And without too much searching, there was a sandwich with fresh mozzarella and hard boiled egg. <br />
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The other night we were walking through Chinatown in search of noodles. And we stopped at a store that sold little silken shoes and shiny chopsticks, and we asked, "where can we get a good bowl of noodles around here?" The girl in charge pointed us to a little place up Clay Street called Capital Restaurant.<br />
"I don't know if it's good. But we get every single meal there."<br />
That seemed like enough of a recommendation. And so we hiked our way up the hill, and we walked into Capital Restaurant. Everyone turned around and looked at us, and that seemed like a pretty good sign.<br />
We ate wonton noodle soup with barbecued pork. Every bit of it.<br />
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Then last night, we ate Burmese food at hands down the most recommended place in this city, a little clean and coconut smelling joint called Burma Superstar. We met family we haven't seem in a long time, and we played it cool and kept track of our own worth. We worked out of love, and remembered that this is our work.<br />
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On our way home, we went to Maria's pastry and we sat with a napoleon and coffee. It was dark as we made our way back.<br />
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I am eating with my mother. And tonight we went to Zuni Cafe. My friend, Andrew, was working the chicken station and so that's what we had. And I sat there, happy, eating, getting drunk while my mother drank bubbly water, us, watching Andrew make chicken at the wood fired oven. He is a friend who feeds my soul. And when I had sobered up with quince sorbet and coffee, he took me downstairs to see the walk-ins. <br />
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My mother and I walked into the night, and, unsure of what bus might take us home, we hopped on the trolley car with the late night tourists, all abuzz with meals and city walks. The road was steep, and the air was clear, and as we passed California Street, my mother said, there! That's where I lived with your father. We slept on blankets.<br />
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I was born here in this city, you know.<br />
<br />
I have been away from the girls for nearly a week now. I'm thinking of their cheeks and their hugs, and their asking everything of me. I want to go home. I want to answer everything for them.<br />
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And Joey. He went home on Sunday morning, after our sweet friends were married, but before my mother came out so that we could do the family work we came to do. He's waiting for me at home as the snow falls. California's got nothing on an October snow. I can't believe I'm missing out on such weather. I'm ready to go home to him, too.<br />
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Tomorrow is our last day. I think we might go back to the ferry building, for coffee and cheese. And California will do it's thing, and then we will say goodbye. <br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-52486022026690450602011-10-25T21:36:00.000-07:002011-10-29T15:57:38.293-07:00we made it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear fabulous woman on the flight from Hartford to Dallas,<br />
I know that you'll be curious to know whether Joey and I made our connection in Dallas. You were so great to prepare us for what direction we should run, and to give us the hint about taking the skytram. Unfortunately, the tram was broken, and we had to run much longer than we originally thought. I was wearing my boots, and carrying a bag that was too heavy for it's own good, and so, well, I'll tell you that at one point I broke down, and I crumbled, and Joey had to drag me to the moving walkway and talk me through it a little. And by the time we got to the gate, I couldn't even see a thing except the flight attendant cheering me on. He was bald, and he had glasses. And they didn't even check my boarding pass- there was just, I think, a fair amount of jumping up and down, and shouting "You can do it!" until we took a running leap onto the tarmac. Or at least, that's how I remember it now.<br />
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So yes, we made it.<br />
And thank you for talking about your parents who don't have electricity in Alberta. And about work and politics and, most of all, the carrot soup that you made. It's rare that strangers will talk to each other about so many important things, and I don't know about you, but it makes me feel more optimistic about the world as a whole. Because we might have all sorts of differences that could stop us from talking, but if you made soup last week and I made soup last week, that's a whole lot we have in common.<br />
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Thank you.<br />
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That shared enthusiasm for soup started us of on such a good foot. And we made it to our funny white rental car, and we drove to the ocean.<br />
We really did make it.<br />
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And you know what I've been doing since then? I'm been talking to strangers a whole lot more than usual. You gave me that idea, really. And now, this week in the city, I'm talking to people when I order my coffee, or waiting for the bus. You've upped my optimism, to be entirely truthful about it. I am just a little more open this week. A little bit, but it can feel boundless.<br />
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Thank you.alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-15152584164770547032011-10-19T15:35:00.000-07:002011-10-19T15:35:01.300-07:00beets and leeks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9s7myzJeixJWxFmlQ5DZDbp0UqN9jyDMKyAT_bNO5k30JbbH3BHiN1igogY0FRJMz_kqV9GCXJ0fRy05mNlAecHtz9d5DfA08-mN-3h0FVYp_-EN7s9Tk9qFMgC_BpV4PCa4NwG2dtrx/s1600/DSC_0117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9s7myzJeixJWxFmlQ5DZDbp0UqN9jyDMKyAT_bNO5k30JbbH3BHiN1igogY0FRJMz_kqV9GCXJ0fRy05mNlAecHtz9d5DfA08-mN-3h0FVYp_-EN7s9Tk9qFMgC_BpV4PCa4NwG2dtrx/s640/DSC_0117.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
I'm packing.<br />
I have that strange feeling that I get when I'm about to go on a trip. Like everything is different already, exciting and ungrounded at the same time.<br />
I'm going to San Francisco.<br />
First, to be honest, I'm going south of San Francisco, to Carmel, so that I can be there to watch my friends start their marriage. I'm excited for that. Joey will be with me then, and after that he flies back home and basically changes places with my mother. She meets me on Monday in San Francisco. <br />
We'll be there for the week. We have some family business there (that's the short story), and it's been a long time since we've taken a trip together. Since I was little, really. I'm excited for that, too.<br />
It's also been a long time since I've seen that city, and I'm ready to go back. I was born there in a little house on Willard Street, and I've gone back for long stretches a few times in my life. I've somehow felt like I've failed San Francisco in the past. I've lived there at times when I wasn't so happy, and wasn't so...well, the only way I can think to say it is, I wasn't so me, and I've blamed it on the place, on the fog, on so many things. But at the same time, I think so longingly of it, and I can't wait to be there. It's been 10 years since I've been there, and I'm very me now. <br />
<br />
I wanted to leave you with a little something, and so we come to beets and leeks. Nice to say, isn't it?<br />
Kind of like as if Dr. Seuss got going about his farm share. <br />
<br />
Years back, I had a friend, Emily, and she was in town and came to cook for us right after Sadie was born. She's an opera singer now. She made us beets and leeks, and many other wonderful things I'm sure, but those beets and leeks had lasting power for for me. I've done it so many times, and it always feels special. It's the leeks, I think. Magical.<br />
<br />
This is a roasting the beets recipe, and I know everyone has their own method. As much as I hate using all that tin foil, this is how I do it:<br />
<br />
Cut the greens off the beets, leaving about 1 inch of stem. Leave the tail on. Wrap each beet individually in tin foil, putting a touch of olive oil and a dash of salt and pepper on each one before sealing the foil up. Roast in a 375 degree oven for and hour or so for medium sized beets, or more or less for big or small ones. Then take them out of the foil, and let them cool for a bit so that you can touch them. Slide them right out of their skins. Your hands will turn red. But I like that.<br />
<br />
Cut the beets in bite-sized pieces and put them into a bowl.<br />
<br />
And then, there are the leeks. For a bunch of about 5 beets, I use 2 leeks, but one would do if that's all you have. Cut the bottom root and the very top off the leek. Slice the whole thing in half lengthwise, and then slice both halves into 1-inch pieces. Transfer them to a bowl, add a touch of white or apple cider vinegar, and swish them around. This will release the dirt. Lift them out of the water into a colander.<br />
<br />
Melt a few tablespoons of butter or olive oil in a skillet. Add the leeks and cook, stirring often, until they are just starting to brown and your house smells like heaven. Pour the leeks over the beets, and add a glug or two of the best olive oil you've got. Then salt, then lots of pepper. Then it's ready.<br />
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I'll keep you with me in my travels, if that's good with you. I've got my camera, and I'll be looking for new things. New things! Aren't they wonderful? I'll let you know what I find. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-55025215367269912272011-10-16T07:47:00.000-07:002011-10-16T14:07:27.247-07:00how to freeze kale<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zzn5-r-VFZZc6YP5ldY5jUz0PF0hjIh3oQxjMyoeRRheGalRPyprpKQKB9_V74-rGduDa30unQ69D5qkhNVfUm_2LsCu2YNFa3_-nfzg5BSCrM1_r3jPg_gu5avpS-fzQQF_uym3Z8Qu/s1600/DSC_0133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zzn5-r-VFZZc6YP5ldY5jUz0PF0hjIh3oQxjMyoeRRheGalRPyprpKQKB9_V74-rGduDa30unQ69D5qkhNVfUm_2LsCu2YNFa3_-nfzg5BSCrM1_r3jPg_gu5avpS-fzQQF_uym3Z8Qu/s640/DSC_0133.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Six kale plants.<br />
A six-pack of kale starts will run you about $2.50. Kick in a little more for a bag of compost and you're on your way.<br />
Those six plants can be packed into a tiny garden bed in the spring. Nurtured. Watered. Even sung to, if that is how you roll.<br />
They will start to feed you by the end of May, in little fits and starts of delicate, baby kale. Any by July, you will have trees, a jungle of green leaves that grow faster than you can eat them.<br />
But that's not even the best part.<br />
Because long after the rest of everything has frozen and withered away, there is the kale.<br />
It is better after the frost, sweeter and worthy of eating it raw, even if you're not the kind of person who does that kind of thing.<br />
And, depending on the strength of the winter, the kale will feed you long after the world has bundled into its cold envelope, and you can trudge out through the deep snow to pick a few leaves for dinner. Even if it feels frozen, it will warm on the counter after a few minutes, perky and ready as it was in October. And after that? There has been extra all along, enough to freeze in little bags to get you through February, March, and April. Powerful stuff, this kale.<br />
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<br />
I've been thinking about revolution lately. A withered word in itself, I think, and sometimes I wish that I'd been there to make a difference in the decades before I was born, back when revolution was revolutionary. Back when there just seemed to be more conviction in the power of revolution.<br />
<br />
A year and a half ago, when<a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/04/yogurt-and-herb-bread.html"> <b>I decided to run for office</b></a> in my little town, I was sick of feeling like I couldn't make a difference. I felt fed up with apathy and anger, and I decided that I would strike out and do something I had never considered. I would participate.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure that the experiment has entirely been a success. Most days when I walk out of meetings at town hall, I feel less empowered and more hopeless than I ever did before. I feel like there is such a divide between people and government, and I somehow I feel it more profoundly from this side, the government side. Local government and national government are different enough that it's hard to make accurate comparisons, but in someways, I think the comparison is fair. And this divide between the people and government? It undermines democracy itself. If the people don't participate, there really is no democracy.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3D-D3A2nQ0kDvZ3AOX4t7OfNnrDUI6pjmB9A-23wL2asbaaN7Kfb4WEN7xogGc-V5ESzQR8iXO-JjVjFfJHeA1JOJv760iOELix6eUS1JH5iF5i59VYgfgXIH_tICOokzBxbo9gg9w0PR/s1600/DSC_0211.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3D-D3A2nQ0kDvZ3AOX4t7OfNnrDUI6pjmB9A-23wL2asbaaN7Kfb4WEN7xogGc-V5ESzQR8iXO-JjVjFfJHeA1JOJv760iOELix6eUS1JH5iF5i59VYgfgXIH_tICOokzBxbo9gg9w0PR/s640/DSC_0211.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
But I'm still plugging along. And I think, in the end, that participation really does create change. I think that the decision to be there, to go to a local town meeting, to run for office, to write to your representative, to stand on the street in New York or just your own home town and to say what you think--I think that each one of these actions strengthens democracy and (depending on how you feel about the present state of things) brings it back to life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkylfHTmNFSiPM1mtYEhmpQKUQdphGQzNjYsz6U1TrNkRM6rD5We1CIA4-SSaNtCbkKIk-v-ceaKbsvuZDEIhQjV8UEPParc2mVIH0qC_b8WMTfUfqDSq6RWdfstBLkKUXG_3amT6ASeIc/s1600/DSC_0225.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkylfHTmNFSiPM1mtYEhmpQKUQdphGQzNjYsz6U1TrNkRM6rD5We1CIA4-SSaNtCbkKIk-v-ceaKbsvuZDEIhQjV8UEPParc2mVIH0qC_b8WMTfUfqDSq6RWdfstBLkKUXG_3amT6ASeIc/s640/DSC_0225.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
Which brings me back to kale.<br />
Six plants. $2.50. If you've got a tiny bit of space and you're thinking about turning it into food, I'd start there. And every time you take your food production into your own hands, you are participating. If you believe you can make change, it's a self-fulfilling prophesy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4cTK3CU3Mp8tX8VT6XZ8XcDw5824oLVB37_J1e9M9T1rgK4MYxDo1RZKsGvyqEmxKZmKHY3fM45RW_olEVB45rA6zkluOxQNYWMrKaKWki6wmAHhcJq8iDI1VrcRURJP94PedcOdmASj/s1600/DSC_0142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4cTK3CU3Mp8tX8VT6XZ8XcDw5824oLVB37_J1e9M9T1rgK4MYxDo1RZKsGvyqEmxKZmKHY3fM45RW_olEVB45rA6zkluOxQNYWMrKaKWki6wmAHhcJq8iDI1VrcRURJP94PedcOdmASj/s640/DSC_0142.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
This is my mom, Jamie, and my stepfather, Chris. Last weekend, I was heading out for the day, and they offered to demonstrate (for you!) how to freeze kale.<br />
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They asked for a quick refresher on the method, and so before I left, we went through one batch. They put on some Steely Dan, and I took that as my cue to get out of the kitchen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhWSuwicOkT-chgTSbRm9bBh7OS_FCRdjm3ukihgNjtnNdj-bFdf973ojBHfhqa5Wsuj6rNd21bB0a8KsZ1TjcXfu5XacQGLd0iqWk3j9UJLz1vYIuxn72cjRuK9iIo_mYk0I5GgeJCMw/s1600/DSC_0154.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhWSuwicOkT-chgTSbRm9bBh7OS_FCRdjm3ukihgNjtnNdj-bFdf973ojBHfhqa5Wsuj6rNd21bB0a8KsZ1TjcXfu5XacQGLd0iqWk3j9UJLz1vYIuxn72cjRuK9iIo_mYk0I5GgeJCMw/s640/DSC_0154.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
And so, (with thanks to Chris and Jamie for documenting the experience),<br />
<br />
HOW TO FREEZE KALE<br />
(or, revolutionary food preservation)<br />
<br />
1. Soak the kale in the sink to remove dirt and bugs.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw6_Hg68vm0myOvtgNlNCGMLXTpWMPPIusGRVJJKK2plgr3t7wkkArPtsg41qTB5mppdW07flxq1q8XV4IkkfiL9Daxn2bcDSGcbJ3caidM-xNukUCCRW5Q0ubr2ODfaPJkbpSCqMSa_9/s1600/DSC_0128.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw6_Hg68vm0myOvtgNlNCGMLXTpWMPPIusGRVJJKK2plgr3t7wkkArPtsg41qTB5mppdW07flxq1q8XV4IkkfiL9Daxn2bcDSGcbJ3caidM-xNukUCCRW5Q0ubr2ODfaPJkbpSCqMSa_9/s640/DSC_0128.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
2. Take the leaves off the stem by holding the stem at the base and running your hand up the length of the stem. Chop the leaves roughly.<br />
3. Bring a large pot of water to boil. Set up a large bowl of ice water on the counter. Next to it, put a large colander inside a pot or bowl. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVUJHgzmih5qGwxWeZOGM2gGz79ajeZn2PFa9Yrg6Ot6ldhHDQjJD33Jy9M7Jqe0BnPteKhHWj1w3-zI9ae9zAQQUeAu0UAmA3uTxHuDWchCurdyxRaDv2yPjXGBWpV14_G65vsDqEAOy/s1600/DSC_0147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVUJHgzmih5qGwxWeZOGM2gGz79ajeZn2PFa9Yrg6Ot6ldhHDQjJD33Jy9M7Jqe0BnPteKhHWj1w3-zI9ae9zAQQUeAu0UAmA3uTxHuDWchCurdyxRaDv2yPjXGBWpV14_G65vsDqEAOy/s640/DSC_0147.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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4. In batches suited to the size of your pot, submerge the kale in the boiling water for 30 seconds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryDUgs8DtEWXBjtzNYsPutqpdkFEc7F3Ip01B7jmuWthtc864EREUQ40T2Rji_Sp56NU9A9xinXOoGweX9yPsNj-GIKLqIrAsYCtkwwZsa9pQVLO_kjnBXU60kwvGUVQjdn0NhQ76DIS5/s1600/DSC_0130.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryDUgs8DtEWXBjtzNYsPutqpdkFEc7F3Ip01B7jmuWthtc864EREUQ40T2Rji_Sp56NU9A9xinXOoGweX9yPsNj-GIKLqIrAsYCtkwwZsa9pQVLO_kjnBXU60kwvGUVQjdn0NhQ76DIS5/s640/DSC_0130.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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5. Use tongs or a slotted spoon to transfer the kale to the ice water. Keep it in there for a few minutes, or until it is fully cooled. Replenish the ice as you go, so that the water stays cold.<br />
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6. Then, transfer to the colander, gently squeezing the water out as you do so.<br />
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6. Transfer the kale to small freezer bags. Press the air out, seal, and flatten out the contents so they will stack nicely in the freezer.<br />
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Use in soups all winter. You can defrost first, or just stick a kale-sicle in a pot of soup as it cooks.alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-48663192699820476602011-10-11T20:08:00.000-07:002011-10-11T20:10:45.821-07:00joe beef's jerusalem artichokes with ketchup<br />
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All last Fall, when we were working on the<b> <a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/11/photo-piece.html">photos for the book</a></b>, <b><a href="http://www.jennifermay.com/#/About/">Jennifer May</a></b> was so wonderful to work with that she made me feel like I was the only book she was working on. She spent endless hours with us, played with the girls, played with the cat, and of course, she took so many beautiful photographs. <br />
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The other books that she was doing at the time came into conversation here and there. I knew that she was spending many of her days with artful cuts of <b><a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780307716620">sustainable meat.</a></b> And I knew that on the weekends she wasn't hanging out with us, she was living it up in Montreal with the Joe Beef cookbook.<br />
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I was quite aware that her weekends with us were the quiet ones, the rural and family friendly ones, the days where she ate homemade crackers instead of foie gras sandwiches. And I was okay with that! I knew that Jen loved her time with us, and that her other needs were satisfied by her exotic time in Montreal with the other woman, er, I mean, cookbook.<br />
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A few weeks ago, the book arrived in the mail. I did not ask for it, but it showed up, beautiful, hip, both feminine and masculine at the same time. And if this book was the other woman, she was wearing clothes I would never think to try to pull off, and man oh man did she pull them off! She knocked on the door (at least, UPS did), cigarette hanging from her mouth, and in a faint Montreal accent, she greeted me and pushed her way in. And just like that, after Jen had been seeing us both, separately, for so long, we were there in the same room. And I fell for it. I fell for that cookbook.<br />
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This book has some recipes I can't wait to make, and some that I know I will never attempt. The photos are (of course!) stunning, and the writing is wonderful and witty. And, true to its name <i>The Art of Living According to Joe Beef</i>, the book conveys an entire atmosphere, a way of relating to food, yes, but also time, and love, and communication. The recipes are sexy, but in the way that Montreal is sexy. If you have been to Montreal, I'm guessing you know what I mean.<br />
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I have never known a city to be filled with more beautiful people than Montreal. But unlike some other cities where I feel outside of it all, there seems to be no standard, no model of beauty. People are all shapes and sizes. Fashion is all over the place, and always fantastic. And it is contagious. When I am in Montreal, I feel so beautiful, exactly as I am.<br />
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I'm looking forward to my next trip out there. I want to go to Joe Beef.<br />
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In the recipe for <i>bagna cauda and aioli</i>, we are instructed to "sit down in a garden chair with a bottle of rose or pastis, a cutting board on [our] knees, and good paring knife. Throw the peels straight into the garden."<br />
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I know! Sighs, blushes, and an ever so slightly shaking hand. <br />
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I wanted to tell you about one of the simpler recipes in the book. It deals with jerusalem artichokes, those strange little tubers that grow beneath what you might think is a bushy sunflower. They look like ginger, but they taste like something between a potato and an artichoke. And no one quite seems to know what to do with them.<br />
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This was my first year growing jerusalem artichokes. I did it against everyone's advice. "They'll take over!" people said. "You'll never get them out of your garden!" That's okay with me. While the weeds strangled everything else, that jerusalem artichoke grew taller than me. The deer ate it every day, and every day it grew anyway. That's my kind of plant. One that can survive anything.<br />
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And so, in the way of Joe Beef, I roasted those indestructible tubers. I flipped them over, and then I roasted them some more. And then I popped a jar of the special occasion peach tomato ketchup, and Joey and I ate them in the garden, as we were meant to. <br />
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<b>Jerusalem Artichokes with Ketchup</b><br />
adapted from <a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781607740148"><b>The Art of Living According to Joe Beef</b>,</a> by Frederic Morin, David McMillan, and Meredith Erickson (with photos by Jennifer May)<br />
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8 large jerusalem artichokes<br />
a handful of coarse salt<br />
butter, for greasing the pan<br />
more coarse salt (or pretzel salt, if you have it)<br />
a few sprigs fresh thyme<br />
ketchup<br />
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Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Smear a baking tray with a good layer of butter.<br />
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Put the jerusalem artichokes into a heavy duty freezer bag with a handful of coarse salt and a few tablespoons water. Seal the bag, and shake it several times. This will clean the jerusalem artichokes.<br />
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Rinse off each tuber, and cut in half lengthwise. Lay them cut side down on the prepared tray. Sprinkle with salt, and then with the leaves from the thyme sprigs. <br />
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Roast for 45 minutes, then flip the jerusalem artichokes over and roast for 30 minutes more. Allow to cool slightly, and then serve in the garden, with a side of ketchup.<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-46797750149463082252011-10-07T16:22:00.000-07:002011-10-07T16:22:21.949-07:00pear, kale, and sorrel salad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week, I came into the small fortune of 20 perfect seckle pears. Those pears were so beautiful, we almost missed their ripeness because we were so busy admiring them. The first one spouted a few tragic snowflakes of delicate mold, and then it became clear that we had 24 hours to eat the rest of them. We did it. We rose to the challenge, and at any given moment of that day (and into the night), there was a pear attached to someone's face. There was juice running down arms, and there were pears in everything. <br />
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And so we found this happy combination, well-timed, I think, as we are waiting patiently for our first killing frost. Still, still waiting, and then the plants, and more importantly, <i>the weeds</i>, will wither and keel over, and the site of them will stop making me feel... well, I'll just come out and say it, like a failure.<br />
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I know that this is the second post in a row in which I've talked about failing my garden, and I know (or at least I'll go ahead and imagine) that you're saying, "lay off it, Alana! We're all there- we've all given up, the weeds have taken over!" Or, even, "garden! I don't even have a garden! Stop being so hard on yourself!" <br />
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But those who have sat in my "garden" this summer while I try to distract them with cocktails know the truth. I never had a chance this year. My friend, Brandee said it best sometime in early July, as I hacked at the thistle in order to get at the mint for her pimm's cup. <br />
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"Oh, honey. You need some help out here."<br />
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But there have been successes. A proud number of green zebra tomatoes. 3 crimson lee peppers. Very happy jerusalem artichokes (always happy, of course). Enough tomatillos for a damn fine bowl of salsa. 6 stalks of brussels sprouts that just might be ready by December. And 4 vigorous kale plants that only have more sweetness ahead of them when the frost comes.<br />
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Hooray for kale. It makes me feel like a winner in every way.<br />
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<b>Pear, Kale, and Sorrel Salad </b><br />
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1 small bunch curly kale<br />
2 seckel pears (or 1 larger pear)<br />
6 leaves sorrel (You can, of course, leave these out if you don't have them, but they add a delicious tang to the whole dish)<br />
juice of 1 lemon<br />
2 T olive oil<br />
1/4 cup toasted almonds, roughly chopped<br />
peeled parmesan<br />
salt and pepper<br />
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Tear the kale off the stem, and chop it finely. Do the same with the sorrel. Cut the pear into 1/2-inch slices and toss with the greens. Squeeze a lemon directly over the whole thing. Then spoon the olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to combine. Finish off with the toasted almonds and parmesan. This will serve 4 as a side dish, or you alone if you bring it out to the back yard to watch the sun set as you reflect on the beauty of things. <br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-13184033320630015692011-10-05T11:23:00.000-07:002011-10-05T11:25:10.930-07:00fall clean up, and a few announcements!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have a few things to tell you! (don't you just love a good announcement?)<br />
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The first... is that this site is getting a bit of an upgrade and a makeover. My outrageously talented friends <b><a href="http://www.aureldesaintandre.com/">Aurel</a></b> and<b> <a href="http://mohodesigns.com/">Molly</a></b> de St. Andre are working on it as we speak, and I can't wait till the whole thing goes hoppin' live. I'm just telling you now! I know that change can be a little jarring, and so consider this a gentle preparation. It will look different, but it's still me, just with a bit more lipstick on, shall we say. Soon! Soon!<br />
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Also, for you who are in the area, I am so excited to announce that I'll be teaching a food writing workshop this fall. We'll meet over the course of four Thursday nights around that big lovely table at Rubi's Coffee and Sandwiches in Great Barrington- reading some great food writing, writing some of our own, and talking about ways to get our writing out there. And the best part? Plenty of wine and cheese is included in the cost of the workshop. (How can we talk about food writing without getting hungry?) We'll meet November 3, 10, 17, and December 1, and the cost of the workshop is $225. Just send me an email through the contact link up there if you are interested in registering.<br />
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And... one more for the locals! Berkshire Grown is hosting a pretty fantastic (and FREE) series starting tonight. They will be showing 9 videotaped lectures from UC Berkley from a series called <i>Edible Education </i>in the lecture hall at Simon's Rock College in Great Barrington. You can go <b><a href="http://berkshiregrown.org/edible-education-the-rise-and-future-of-the-food-movement/">here</a></b> to learn more about the series, but just to entice you, here's the line up:<br />
<img alt="http://berkshiregrown.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Edible-Education-16.1-KB.jpeg" src="http://berkshiregrown.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Edible-Education-16.1-KB.jpeg" /><br />
<b>October 5: FOOD AS CULTURE- Peter Sellars</b><br />
<b>October 12: THE POLITICS OF FOOD- Marion Nestle</b><br />
<b>October 19: PERSPECTIVES ON RACE, PLACE, AND FOOD- Alegria de la Cruz, Rebecca Flournoy, and Yvonne Yen Liu </b><br />
<b><b>October 26: NUTRITION, HEALTH, & DIET-RELATED DISEASE- Patricia Crawford and Robert Lustig</b></b><br />
<b><b>November 2: CORPORATIONS & THE FOOD MOVEMENT- Jack Sinclair and Michael Pollan</b></b><br />
<b><b>November 9: SCHOOL LUNCH & EDIBLE SCHOOLYARDS- Ann Cooper</b></b><br />
<b><b>November 16: FEEDING THE WORLD- Raj Patel</b></b><br />
<b><b>November 30: AGRICULTURE AND SOCIAL JUSTICE- Eric Schlosser, Gred Asbed, and Lucas Benitez</b></b><br />
<b><b>December 7: WHAT IS AN EDIBLE EDUCATION?- Alice Waters</b></b><br />
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That's all for today, friends... Happy Wednesday! <b><b><br /></b></b><br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-21214269033329385972011-10-03T13:07:00.000-07:002011-10-03T13:10:28.241-07:00what to do when the jelly doesn't set<br />
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It seems that although jam making is on the rise, jelly making is making a slower comeback.<br />
Perhaps it is the sweetness that puts people off? The slight jello-ness that undermines its sophistication? Or for some, perhaps, it is the fear that the jelly won't set.<br />
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I have always used pectin in my jams, and I never feel the need to experiment outside of my beloved <b><a href="http://www.pomonapectin.com/">Pomona's Pectin</a></b>. This gives the jam a good set with minimal sugar, and I don't have to think too hard about it. But when I get my hands on a basket of really high pectin fruit, I can't help but envision a delicate and clear jelly, and these are the few times in my canning career that I mess with gel points and thermometers. Last year, I made quince jelly, and the fruit was so high in pectin that it hardened as if thickened with gelatine. It was pink and smelled like flowers, and I hoarded my few little jars of it all winter. This year I made red currant jelly, and the little bit of precious juice overflowed onto the stove when I boiled it with sugar. I ended up with one prized burgundy jar, and it was perfect.<br />
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I thought that we'd go through the jelly making process here, in case it is a new one to you. Except this time- with this recipe, I didn't end up making jelly at all. I had to confront the moment and figure out what to do when my jelly didn't set. The day comes for us all, and all we can do is be prepared.<br />
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The process of making jelly starts with the process of making juice. The fruit must be clean, because you will use every bit of it. Pectin, that magical stuff that makes the jelly gel, is more densely in the skin, core, and seeds of the fruit. So cut the fruit roughly, and throw it all into the pot. Then we add water, and cook it all until it it is soft.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9uUO4LuNfk96wrAwtqfl4OK4WsqzxweyWSylJMxIm5S0RJ4btgSfad1sl74DG8DJUAq2MoT-RQ2CogBmkDVFCZkIiVKMSxdCiN06VXV3Pba5yffz0em38rbuzP020DuMatco_SqJtEab/s1600/DSC_0125.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9uUO4LuNfk96wrAwtqfl4OK4WsqzxweyWSylJMxIm5S0RJ4btgSfad1sl74DG8DJUAq2MoT-RQ2CogBmkDVFCZkIiVKMSxdCiN06VXV3Pba5yffz0em38rbuzP020DuMatco_SqJtEab/s640/DSC_0125.JPG" width="640" /> </a><br />
You might have a special tool called a jelly strainer- this is basically a mesh bag suspended over a plate. You can rig up your own with a piece of cheese cloth. I tie it to opposite ends of a colander, and then put the colander over a bowl to catch the juice. The key is to suspend the cloth- this will get you clearer and more wonderful juice. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AsQyghXR-2ySyVWELC8tPprN41mrepitdyBUM0HUqUMzhffUOxH32RbTua-45g042e95x04LWfjk82LNWQA7rux45Tp8E3m52x0hmWzA03Txb7I_6MOo-cdx0M46Dxm0RuUFlDa1RzS7/s1600/DSC_0126.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AsQyghXR-2ySyVWELC8tPprN41mrepitdyBUM0HUqUMzhffUOxH32RbTua-45g042e95x04LWfjk82LNWQA7rux45Tp8E3m52x0hmWzA03Txb7I_6MOo-cdx0M46Dxm0RuUFlDa1RzS7/s640/DSC_0126.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
Pour all of the softened fruit (along with the liquid) through the cheesecloth. Let the whole thing drain for at least 3 hours, but up to a day. Let it drain on its own without squeezing or poking it. I'm serious about that- one good squeeze will give you cloudy jelly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC3jIL27DG3QaSgrGr47-0s7i8Yjq41p5oHIXlYWxUmmFqiI5J1PQPzVVmEwTrfadcB0iNa8SOBvGR5m9ZI87NsGmCGhuBzVwi0xRTSgRTV79ANyjJUV_iyhGY-rELXEsWLNdnyTAu6Di/s1600/DSC_0129.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC3jIL27DG3QaSgrGr47-0s7i8Yjq41p5oHIXlYWxUmmFqiI5J1PQPzVVmEwTrfadcB0iNa8SOBvGR5m9ZI87NsGmCGhuBzVwi0xRTSgRTV79ANyjJUV_iyhGY-rELXEsWLNdnyTAu6Di/s640/DSC_0129.JPG" width="640" /> </a><br />
When the fruit has finished draining, you now have juice. Combine the juice with the sugar in a pot, and boil until the mixture reaches 220 degrees F. You can also keep a plate in the freezer, and when a drop of the mixture solidifies on the frozen plate, you know that you have reached the gel point. Then the jelly goes into jars, and sometime in the next day, it gels, and it doesn't slosh around in the jar when you nervously pick it up to see if it has turned firm and lovely. <br />
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Except when it does slosh around. And when and if this ever happens to you, you have 2 options. Crying and dumping out the contents of your jars is not one of these options. You don't have to. You can make this better!<br />
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The first option is to unseal your jars and re-cook the jelly. Add more sugar, add some pectin, and you'll get your gel. Resterilize your jars, top with new lids, and process again.<br />
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I know. It sounds a little exhausting, right? If so, this is your path. When the jelly doesn't set, it's time to make cocktails.<br />
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In my case, I know exactly why it didn't set. I was living dangerously and laughing in the face of well-established science. One thing you might notice about jelly recipes is that they have so so much sugar. Enough sugar to make your teeth hurt when you eat it. And so every time I make jelly, I mess with the sugar. This time, I went too far. But sometimes the mistakes taste better than the goal. And so, I present you:<br />
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<b>Apple Mint Syrup</b><br />
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Mixed with gin or vodka in a shaker with a little ice, this is pretty fantastic. And, (need I say it), paired with a ribbon and a little bottle of booze? It's a DIY apple-tini holiday gift bag.<br />
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makes ten 8-ounce jars<br />
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7 pounds apples<br />
1 large bunch mint (stems and leaves)- I used a variety called apple mint that seemed quite fitting<br />
6 cups sugar<br />
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Coarsely chop the apples without peeling or coring them. Put them into a large pot with the mint, and just barely cover with water. Cover, bring to a boil, and lower the heat to medium low. Continue to cook until the apples are very soft and breaking down, about 45 minutes.<br />
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Set up a large piece of cheese cloth over a colander and a large bowl. Pour the mixture through the cheese cloth and let it drain without poking or squeezing it. Let it drain for at least 3 hours, but up to a day.<br />
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You should have between 12 and 14 cups of juice. Combine the apple mint juice with the sugar in a large pot. Bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Let the mixture cook at a rapid boil for ten minutes. (If you want to make jelly instead of syrup, increase the sugar to 10 cups, and make sure that the mixture reaches 220 degrees F.)<br />
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Pour into sterilized jars, top with lids, and process in a water bath for 10 minutes. <br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-9025685401810367582011-09-29T13:54:00.000-07:002011-10-01T05:28:19.399-07:00car snack 4 (or, the banana oat bar)<br />
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Last week, I visited the middle school classroom at the Montessori school where Joey teaches and the girls learn. The middle school is in its second year, and the small group of brave (isn't it just brave to wake up and move through the world at that age?) tweens and teens have been busy planning out the year ahead. One of the projects they started last year was a snack program where they purchase snacks and sell them to the rest of the students several times a week. The money they raise through the snack program helps to fund trips and other exciting activities, and the kids get to have the experience of running what is essentially a small business.<br />
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Julie Haagenson runs the middle school program, and in the end of the summer, she asked me if I would be willing to come in and do some cooking with the kids. She thought they might be interested in making some snacks instead of buying them, and she was hoping to give them some tools as they moved into the discussion.<br />
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The whole program is small- maybe 8 kids if that, and when I walked in last week, they were sitting around a U-shaped table. They had invited me to come for four sessions over the course of the Fall, and this was to be our brainstorming session about what we might like to make together. I started with the snacks that they already offer, and we talked about some alternatives. Popcorn from a bag? Why don't we use an air popper? The result will be far less expensive and taste a whole lot better. Everyone loves the days when the kids offer goldfish as a snack--I asked if they were interested in learning how to make their own cheese crackers.<br />
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As savvy business people, those kids wanted to provide a product that all the other kids in the school would be interested in buying. And as they considered whether they should start making food from scratch, the question arose as to whether kids would want snacks that were "more healthy". Right now, there are healthy snack days (cucumber slices, oranges) and there are the other days (goldfish, bagel and cream cheese). If goldfish were replaced by homemade cheese crackers, would that be a healthier choice? Or would it be perceived as one?<br />
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"Whoa, hold on a minute there!" I couldn't help but jump in. "Who said anything about making healthy food?"<br />
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I was raised on health food. I have always been able to list the seven ancient grains, and I know the difference between white and red miso. I've turned many people on to sprinkling their popcorn with nutritional yeast. But I don't think the health label is helping anyone. Honestly, I think it's just confusing. Because whether something is healthy really depends on who you ask and what their definition of the term is. Are they concerned about their weight? Then they think whole milk is unhealthy. Sugar? Then maybe diet coke is healthy. Really, I have no idea what the term means.<br />
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So what if we choose a word that is in full acceptance of that it means different things to different people? How about if the goal is good food? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-QG3izXT7t4XgkGf1_A4q0WzJu_C73htfqWO-r3YjJ79phi4gqf7bYmHCDKTUq_Yun3mLmfRrr9ARb6nfUbGUagzs33-m-p3nFZ3hQ2Zb2rPKloHqYpS5_HxB1d-FidNan7HHRy60McG/s1600/DSC_0118.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-QG3izXT7t4XgkGf1_A4q0WzJu_C73htfqWO-r3YjJ79phi4gqf7bYmHCDKTUq_Yun3mLmfRrr9ARb6nfUbGUagzs33-m-p3nFZ3hQ2Zb2rPKloHqYpS5_HxB1d-FidNan7HHRy60McG/s640/DSC_0118.JPG" width="640" /></a> <br />
I continue to cling stubbornly to the idea that taste will lead us to the right place. All summer, I worked with kids in the kitchen at<b> <a href="http://food-adventures.org/">food camp</a></b>, and they supported this idea with every meal. There were all sorts of ideas about what was healthy and what their parents wanted them to eat, but in the end, what inspired them and made them sparkle was the first bite. So many kids went home and cooked for their parents--they left the camp kitchen saying, "I can't wait for my dad to try this. He's not going to believe how good it is!"<br />
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I'm no nutritionist. I can't even begin to sort through the constantly changing information about food and health. I start to wade through some of the mess that we're in around food safety, and I feel like the system is broken, and I'm not sure how to navigate through it. But I keep coming back to this idea of good food, and of always going towards food that tastes good to us. It seems simple, I know, but it's the best I've got. And if there's a possibility of raising a new generation of people who actually pay attention to what they put in their mouths, and who even can have a sense of whether it feels good or bad in their bodies? This could be nothing short of a revolution.<br />
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And with that, we move to the car snack. Oh yes, old friend, we've returned.<br />
The short story is that the car snack is the granola bar, the energy bar, the bag of goldfish, the fruit leather, or whatever else you pack for your kids to ease the panicked hunger of 3:00. Of course, it's for grownups too, and you can eat it in whatever vehicle you choose. I wrote about car snacks <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/03/car-snack-1.html">1</a></b> and <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2010/04/car-snack-2.html">2</a></b> a ways back, and car snack 3 joins them in <b><a href="http://www.eatingfromthegroundup.com/2011/09/corn-and-nectarine-salad-with-basil.html">the book</a></b>. But all three involve a fair amount of butter and varying amounts of refined sugar, and I've gotten a bunch of requests for a healthier car snack.<br />
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And so I bring you...the banana oat bar. No white flour, no refined sugar (except the wee bit of chocolate), and no butter or oil either. It comes together quickly, holds together well for the car, and (need I say it?) tastes really really good.<br />
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<b>Car Snack 4 (the banana oat bar)</b><br />
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Makes 20 bars (about 2 1/2 x 3 inches)<br />
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3/4 cup whole wheat flour<br />
2 cups rolled oats<br />
1 1/2 cups puffed rice cereal<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg<br />
1 teaspoon cinnamon<br />
3 very ripe bananas, peeled and mashed<br />
1/4 cup honey<br />
1/4 cup plain yogurt<br />
1/4 cup peanut or almond butter<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
1/2 cup bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chips<br />
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1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9x13 baking pan with parchment, leaving enough hanging over on the edges so you can pull out the finished product.<br />
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, oats, rice cereal, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon, stirring well to combine. In a second large bowl, combine the banana, honey, yogurt, nut butter, and vanilla. Stir until the mixture is fairly uniform.<br />
3. Pour the dry ingredients into the wet ones and stir until they come together into one uniform mixture. Gently stir in the chocolate chips. Transfer to the prepared pan and flatten down with a spatula. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until just starting to brown on top. Remove from the oven and let cool for at least 1 hour before removing from the pan and cutting into squares.<br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-83257419494920828472011-09-26T05:50:00.000-07:002011-09-26T05:52:50.177-07:00the fall festival circuit<br />
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It's finally Fall festival time.<br />
I went to my first Fall festival 9 years ago. At least, that was the first fall festival that I remember. It seems that they should be part of my childhood memories growing up around here, but I'm not sure that I ever got to one before I was a grownup.<br />
Joey and I had just graduated from college, and we had recently migrated to the Berkshires to be nearer to my family. We were 23, and I was pregnant. It was one of those in-between times--we were living at my parents, planning our wedding, and trying to figure out where we would live and what our life would look like. We took my sister Maia to the Apple Squeeze festival in Lenox, and Joey walked through the sidewalks lined with cider donuts and crafts of varied quality with wide eyes. Maia was four, still small enough that we could play family and try out the feel of parenthood. The next weekend was the Harvest Festival at Berkshire Botanical gardens, and the weather was in cahoots with the perfect bratwurst and the fantastic book sale. They all worked together, somewhere in the midst of that sparkly day, Joey said that he thought we should just stick around and move to the Berkshires for good.<br />
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A year later, we were at the Apple Squeeze again, this time with new friends. We had all met in birth class the previous winter, and one late pregnancy double date (greasy Chinese food works!) set off both of our labors in April. Sadie and Willow were born 12 hours apart, and at that point, sitting at the table on the sidewalk drinking cider, we could only fantasize about the girl's future together. Meagan and Todd were thinking about moving to Tennessee to start a Montessori school, and we were trying to keep our heartbreak quiet. But that day, while the girls played in our laps, they said that they were thinking they might actually stay here and start a school, crazy as it all sounded.<br />
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Yesterday, those girls ran around the Apple Squeeze festival, their little sisters running behind them, totally independent. I sat in the Montessori School information booth at the festival with Joey, and he talked about how new the school was--only in its sixth year.<br />
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I love these festivals most, because for me, they mark the passage of the time. More than any holiday, they are fixed in the girls memories, and they know everything they have eaten or made at every festival. We always eat too many sweets, and we come home exhausted. But these festivals always make us so happy to be here, and to be here right now.<br />
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This weekend, we packed it in. Saturday, we went to the Harvest Festival at Hancock Shaker Village. A<a href="http://ginahyams.com/"> <b>friend</b></a> had asked me if I would be willing to judge the food vendor competition, and I was excited to get to this festival for the first time. It was Apple Squeeze weekend too, but really- that's what we have a 2 day weekend for, right?<br />
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I wandered through the vendors, sampling shortbread and smelling lavender sachets. And Joey and the girls stayed put in the food tent, following along with the pie contest. <br />
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Each pie went to the judges first, and then slices went out for 2 bucks a pop. Joey bought every kind he could get to, and the girls sat like baby birds in the nest, waiting for bites.<br />
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They all agreed the apple was the best, and in the end, it won.<br />
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Next week is the Harvest Festival at the Botanical gardens. That one is pony rides, and music, and pumpkins, and more bratwurst. I admit that I love it the most. But all through these weeks there are Fall Festivals all over this part of the world, and so I thought I might compile something of a list. If the Fall Festival is new to you, it is so worth your weekend. They take all different forms, but there is always cider, and people playing music, and the air tends to smell especially fantastic. I'll list a few that I know about here, but if you've got one where you are, pipe in and let us know.<br />
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October 1, 2<br />
<b><a href="http://www.berkshirebotanical.org/Harvest_Festival/">The Harvest Festival</a></b>, Berkshire Botanical Gardens, Stockbridge, MA<br />
<b><a href="http://garlicandarts.org/">North Quabbin Garlic and Arts Festival</a></b>, Orange, MA<br />
<b><a href="http://www.festivalofthehills.com/schedule/">Conway Festival of the Hills</a></b>, Conway, MA <br />
<a href="http://www.stonebarnscenter.org/our-work/public-awareness/harvest-fest/"><b>Stone Barns Harvest Fes</b>t</a>, Pocantico Hills, NY<br />
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October 8, 9<br />
<b><a href="http://www.ashfieldfallfestival.org/">Ashfield Fall Festival</a></b>, Ashfield, MA<br />
<b><a href="http://hawthornevalleyassociation.org/fall-festival">Hawthorne Valley Fall Festival </a></b>(just October 9), Ghent, NY<br />
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October 15, 16<br />
<b><a href="http://www.sheepandwool.com/general-information/index.asp">Dutchess County Sheep and Wool Festival</a></b>, Rhinebeck, NY<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-91638473358694729832011-09-23T09:32:00.000-07:002011-09-23T09:32:54.274-07:00apple celeriac soup<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is not the first time I have been inspired by a celeriac root.<br />
It wasn't just the soup. It was the day. And although the day was filled with all sorts of other agenda items, this celeriac root was hanging out around my thoughts like a muse. If I am to be entirely honest, I must tell you that it was not one, but two celeriac roots, and I had brought them home from the market on Saturday in the hope of this very inspiration. I didn't know what they would be, but I knew I would love them.<br />
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There was also a leek, and an imposing pile of apples in the kitchen. And throughout the day, I thought about these soups of fall made of ingredients that I never have in such abundance save for now. A bunch of leeks in the supermarket in February, and I'll be out five bucks- more if I fall for the organic. Apples are so precious for their place in the lunchbox, and at other times in the year, I would never think of disappearing them into a soup. But right now? It's all abundant. The vegetables that I love and crave and wring my hands over in the supermarket all winter are in my fridge right now. They are all in my fridge. They come from the farm, or the market, or my very own garden. There is no end to the celeriac.<br />
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What happened on that day was this: As I got through this and that, and I thought about celeriac through it all, I dreamed about making dinner. Just that dreaming felt like an accomplishment in itself. Because all too often, even though I love to cook and I love to eat and I love to feed these people I love, I feel heavy when I try to plan it out. I sigh, and I think about the 30 minutes I've got before this meeting, or about how so and so won't want to eat this, or about how I just wish it wasn't my night to cook. I end up cooking fast, with my attention half on the stove and half on everything else. I have created a quick weeknight meal, a meal in 30 minutes! and some of the time, I'll be damned if I even remember what it was a few days later. Quick, weeknight non-memorable meals. Hooray.<br />
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<br />But on this day, I set up at 4:30, and I turned on NPR. I poured myself a glass of wine. I did the residual dishes from the day. And then I made dinner.<br />
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I'm sure there was chaos involved. It was, after all, the hour before dinner. But I was so happy to be happy cooking. The slowness and luxury of actually feeling the desire to be there made me float through it. It made me pause to do a braid for Rosie's doll without any hesitation. It made me pause to cut Sadie an apple to tide her over. It made me pause to give Joey that hug that I want to give him at that time of day. A long conversational hug, punctuated by a real kiss.<br />
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Do you know the study that a Japanese man did on emotions and water? Someone told me about it when I was nursing the girls, and we were talking about whether the emotions we feel while nursing affect the actual quality of the milk. If you've never heard about it, <b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1-0ulKgmio">go take a peek</a></b>. There's all sorts of controversy over his methods and conclusions, but whatever surrounds it, I think that it holds extreme merit as a philosophical idea. <br />
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Essentially, he says that water responds to the emotions that we put into it. It makes sense, right? And as most of what we are and live with are mostly water, this means more than just talking to a glass of water. It means that the water in my children and it myself will behave differently depending on what emotions I shoot at it. Stay with me here! Because I only bring it up because not only are we and our children made of water, and so much of the world made of water. Let's get to business and get down to what really matters. That's right. I'm talking about your soup.<br />
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How many days do I cook dinner in a half panic? It's a rough time of the day, and everyone needs me, and I'm not always my best self. I may not be talking to the soup, but I'm talking around the soup, and at the air. I move fast and I burn the bottom of the pot, I burn my hand, I break a glass, or all of the above. What that soup gets is a whole lot of profanity. But on these other days, when I love every moment of it, and I am inspired by what goes into that pot? I'll say it. I'm sending love into that pot, and that in itself seems to make a damn fine soup.<br />
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I'll leave that one out of the ingredients list. Because if I only cooked when I was calm buddha mom, we wouldn't eat all that much. But even without it, the apple and celeriac might pull you through. And after all, I think it's a soup that's hard not to love.<br />
<br />
<b>Apple Celeriac Soup</b><br />
<br />
2 tablespoons butter <br />
2 tablespoons olive oil<br />
2 medium leeks, washed and sliced (using all of the white and half the green)<br />
2 cloves garlic, minced<br />
1 small onion, roughly chopped<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt<br />
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg<br />
4 medium apples, peeled, cored, and quartered<br />
2 medium celeriac roots, peeled and roughly cubed<br />
8 cups water<br />
1 cup milk<br />
pepper<br />
optional (but fabulous, if you have it): piment d'espelette, for serving<br />
<br />
In a large, heavy bottomed pot over medium heat, melt the butter and olive oil together. Let it brown, just slightly. Add the chopped leeks, garlic, and onion, and cook, stirring often, until the veggies are soft and shiny, about 5 minutes. Add the salt and nutmeg and continue to cook for another few minutes.<br />
Add the celeriac, apples, and water. Cover and raise the heat to high. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until the apples and celeriac start to fall apart, 30 to 40 minutes.<br />
If you have an immersion blender, stick it into the pot and blend until smooth. Otherwise, transfer to an upright blender in batches and return to the pot. Add the milk, and taste to adjust salt and add pepper.<br />
Serve with healthy dusting of piment d'espelette, if you have it. A nice smoky paprika will also do the trick.<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-63056002221927090192011-09-20T18:54:00.000-07:002011-09-20T18:54:02.085-07:00dance with your shadow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When the sun comes through, just so.<br />
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And there it is. <br />
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Screw it. If the shadow wants to dance, might as well go for it.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?izr3zrb32ksk8dr">Here's a few tunes</a>,</b> if you need 'em.<br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-18575402035154142822011-09-15T18:30:00.000-07:002011-09-15T18:30:12.687-07:00peach cinnamon butter<br />
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There are just a few things that I'd like to talk about, and then, if you like, we'll make peach butter.<br />
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<br />
I've been following this pretty beautiful train of thought on twitter, something started by the photographer <b><a href="http://www.pennydelossantos.com/">Penny De Los Santos</a></b>. I can't say I follow too much on twitter, but I check in and I read along here and there. Penny has just moved to New York, and in support of her journey and new beginning, she has began talking about her "<b><a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/search/realtime/%23dreambigandleap">dream big and leap</a></b>" moments, and asking people to share theirs. <br />
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If you ever do look at twitter and you haven't gotten to breathe these moments in, just type in "dreambigandleap" and there you will be. <br />
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I was talking to a woman who I know just the littlest bit. I was tired, and after one meeting and before the next, and I had stopped in to buy myself a coffee. I was waiting for it, and there she was, waiting, and we said hello. We shared the kind of conversation that happens when you don't know each other all that well but are plenty happy to be talking, and just like that, she told me that she had just left her job so that she could start making cheese.<br />
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I couldn't help it. I clapped my hands. I think I might have even let out a little whoop.<br />
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Reading through these moments, I look for patterns. I think I see them. That they are times when we decide not to give over to the fear and whatever else might try to lead. These are the times when we finally decide to do what we love, to be who we want to be, to get through the day with our own heart leading the way.<br />
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Imagine what we could do, if we only believed that we could, right? If only those moments of honesty and bravery could come more often. I guess we should be thankful for their appearance, here and there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgbjsINYkIKsO6XoI7VcbHbiJNFxgf9ixIss2JKpVQde5RgKG1bD_q9P_ABWavLW1qfN8smlSMBMMwfPWCdCX2tTxF86-uFbqTVKcT2GGroecItVqPgaLrTBaUwRtyfPyR6DAuDZg19nI/s1600/DSC_0119.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
And maybe I'm crazy, but I can't help but notice that there are certain things that people seem to dream big and leap <i>towards. </i>Love, of course always love. And art, that's in there too. But food! Is it just me? What is it about food? How many people have left their jobs to work in bakeries, or to start a business based off that delicious thing they make? Let's hear it for the new cheese makers out there!<br />
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I get it. Because food is so real. There's no fooling when your creating nourishment, deliciousness, dinner. And it belongs to all of us. Anyone of us can cook for anyone else, and they will say thank you. The power to feed is weighty and mighty and big.<br />
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Thank you Penny, for bringing these words into my past week. I'm working on it.<br />
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I started thinking about peach butter when I read <b><a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/09/peach-butter/">this</a></b>, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. And as I chopped and stirred, I was overwhelmed by this memory of being in high school (boarding school! but that's another story) and standing in the breakfast line with my friend, Cea. We're still friends now, and then we were fifteen, and searching for something delicious to eat. It was a difficult task, but someone back there in the dark chasm of the kitchen had decided that instead of just canned peaches, there would be yogurt, and dense swirls of cinnamon. And so on certain days there were these little pitiful green bowls of peach cinnamon yogurt. I think of Cea, because I remember that on those mornings, we would cheer, and we would fill our trays with a few bowls each, as one bowl might have only contained one or two slices of peach.<br />
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So as I stirred this lovely bright orange peach butter, I wanted it to be brown, and spicy, and warming. I put so much cinnamon in, and then I put more. I only made enough that night for one jar, but a few days later I found myself enough peaches to make a real batch. I try to stay rational about my canned goods, to keep my wits about me. I can't. I want this on everything.<br />
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<br />
<b>Peach Cinnamon Butter</b><br />
inspired by Smitten Kitchen (original recipe <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/09/peach-butter/"><b>here</b></a>)<br />
<br />
<br />
makes about 6 cups <br />
<br />
5 pounds peaches<br />
1 cup water<br />
1 cup sugar<br />
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice<br />
1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons cinnamon, to taste<br />
<br />
Quarter the peaches and remove their pits. Combine the peaches and water in a large pot, cover, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to medium low, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the peaches are tender, about 20 minutes. Send the whole mixture through the food mill. (Alternatively, you can blanch and peel the peaches before you cook them, and then put them in the blender at this point.)<br />
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Add the sugar, lemon, and cinnamon to the peaches. Increase the heat to medium, and cook, uncovered, stirring often, until the mixture thickens. This will take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the water content of your peaches. Taste, and adjust for sweetness and spice.<br />
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To can the peach butter, process in a water bath for 10 minutes for 1/2 cup or 1-cup jars.<br />
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<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5550235196991576571.post-27716627407671183932011-09-13T05:36:00.000-07:002011-09-13T05:36:50.483-07:00the surprise canning tool (and a winner!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Okay, before we get too deep into this here, we have a winner of my favorite cookbook!<br />
I've got to say, if you haven't read through the comments, do it. The assortment of cookbook favorites is pretty amazing- new, old, quirky, classic- they're all there. But the winner is....<br />
#23, Amanda! She talked about Melissa Clark's new book (on of my favorites too), and <i>Bull Cook and Authentic Historical Recipes </i>which I am officially now looking for. I do need to learn how to skin a badger, Amanda, I really do. Send me an email via the contact link- and I'll have <i>Rustic Fruit Desserts </i>off to you!<br />
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And now, to the day's business.<br />
Although some people can their hearts out all summer, fall canning is my favorite. I make a little jam here and there through the various berry seasons, but the deep contentment of clutching my jar grabber and holding my face over the voluminous canning pot hits me in September. Then it is applesauce and canned pears, and the really good peaches, and then... (dare I name it?) my beloved quince.<br />
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So I've been going for it, and on many late nights you'll find me hunched over the food mill (a tool, which incidentally I hate, but I have yet to buy one of<b> <a href="http://www.tomatomilling.com/product_detail_5982.aspx?gclid=CMbsrt6dmqsCFQHf4Aodvgryiw">these</a></b>). There are jars on the counter every day waiting to be taken down to the dusty shelves in the basement, and yes- I'll admit it! I keep the jars on the kitchen counter for a while because every time I look at them, I feel contented, and happy, and just a little bit smug. That's the magic of the home-filled jar.<br />
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Today, I don't want to talk about what goes into the jar, I want to talk about what goes <i>on</i> it. How we label jars is one of those individual choices, and every canner has their own method. Me? For the most part, I'm a top labeler.<br />
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I don't use those sweet little labels that comes with the jars because I hate peeling them off when it's time to reuse the jar. Because lids can't be reused anyway, I label the top. And here's the secret part... (ready for it?) I use my favorite surprise canning tool- THE SHARPIE PEN.<br />
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Have you seen these? They have a little spring loaded mechanism so that they work like a ball point pen. They have a really thin tip, so you can fit a lot of words on the lid if you're prone to complicated canning recipes (this week- pear-apple star anise butter). I know it's not rocket science, but this pen is amazing. I can label the world!<br />
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By the way, Sharpie has no idea that I'm promoting them. They didn't send me any free pens or anything (although Sharpie executive, if you're reading, go ahead! I love these pens so much- I have no shame).<br />
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That's all for today, friends. Congrats to Amanda, and happy Tuesday! I'll be back in a day or two with an actual canning recipe, I promise. <br />
<br />alanachernilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871098814944560411noreply@blogger.com4