Food, Literature, Philosophy

Pie Love

2012-01-24T20:55:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago, I became very excited about and consequently purchased a pie book. I've made pies a few times previously, and although they have always been very good, I've never gotten to be quite so enamored with pies (as enamored as others are? as enamored as I could be?). For one, I've been making simpler, less fatty pie crusts (not knowing how the fattier, flakier crusts are quite the pay-off for the effort). And then, as I said, I'd never made that many pies. The book was almost a personal challenge to make more pies, and in the ten (or so) days that I've had it, I've made two pies. The first was a maple-blueberry pie, made with blueberries that my friend Alicia and I picked in the heat of summer last year. Because I used frozen berries, the pie was a little runny, but the flavor made up for the small failure.

On Sunday, I made the maple-pecan pie you see pictured above. I'm certain that I've only had pecan pie one other time in my life, and wasn't thrilled about it then. But now! Now, I am in love with pie. Alicia helped me make this pie, and upon tasting it told me that it is not as sweet as pecan pies usually are. It's sweet in the complex combination of good sugar, molasses, and maple syrup. The pecans are good quality. The crust is also exceptional, if I may say so.

I'm sure that in the next week I'll make another pie--there's no stopping me. I've made enough cookies and cupcakes and cakes to be a little bored with them. But pie, pie is new. In the summer, I will be diligent about saving fruit for pies--it'll be a new addition to the routine. For now, I'll use what's at hand and extend the pie challenge to you; will you consider making a pie this year (or this month, or this week)?

Dystopian Novels: Samuel Butler, Religion, and Erewhon

2012-01-19T08:56:00.007-05:00

I have been reading a lot of post-apocalyptic, utopian and dystopian novels over the last year. Most of the ones that I have been reading I have read in the past but wanted to take a fresher look. My interest was first sparked after I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road. There was something about the sparse narrative that was well suited to the horror of the story. Maybe I unfairly lump together post-apocalyptic and dys/utopian novels, but they seem to me to share a speculative nature and to, in some ways, have a similar goal of positing a world that is different from our but that looks back on and critiques ours.

The most recent book that I have re-read is Samuel Butler's 1872 novel Erewhon. I first read this book in a 19th century British literature course in my undergrad. I was not impressed with it at the time, which is one of the reasons that I wanted to return to it. I think that I may not have given the book its due when I first read it; I was not terribly interested in 19th century British novels. My interested was also re-kindled in this book after reading a passage about it in Wayne C. Booth's A Rhetoric of Irony in which Booth discusses the paradoxical position on the narrator regarding his stance toward religion. But I'll return to this in a moment.

Much of Erewhon is as I remember it. It is presented as a travelogue. The narrator travels into the unexplored interior of some continent (he does not specify), finds a civilization that has not yet been contacted by the West, lives amongst the people for a time, and then returns to England hoping to make his fortune from his experiences. One of the key differences between this discovered civilization and the one the narrator comes from is that crimes are treated as though they were diseases and vice versa (this is Butler's device to criticize what he sees as the punishment of misfortune under the guise of criminality). One element that I did not notice on that first read is Butler's criticism of religion along with these other elements. At one point Higgs, the narrator, believes that the Erewhonians are one of the lost tribes of Israel and he vows to either make a name for himself by converting this lost tribe to Christianity and thus showing himself to the be equal of the Old Testament prophets or to sell his story and then exploit the natural resources of the unknown country to his own massive profit.

Butler presents this situation less to criticize the institution of religion than what he sees as the duplicity of its adherents. Higgs plans to take full advantage of his fortuitous discovery in whatever way is most advantageous to himself. Rather than desiring to convert the Erewhonians for their own salvation, he desires to convert them for his personal fame. Add to this the fact that he would then elevate himself to the level of the most important Biblical prophets, laying bare his selfish intentions. Higgs relates this to the reader unselfconsciously; he believes that he will be praised for his initiative and business sense.

Booth writes of a critique that is more subtle but exposes Butler's ironic intention in the work. After escaping a difficult situation, Higgs says ". . .As luck would have it, providence was on my side." Booth's point is that Higgs attribute his salvation to both luck and God, clearly a contradictory statement. Booth continues to parse the semantic advantages of Butler's selection of the word "luck" over "fortune" and "providence" over "God," but the point remains. In this example, as in the one I cited above, Higgs professes a kind of piety that he seems not to actually feel. Had his beliefs been true, he would have sought to convert the Erewhonians whatever the benefit to himself and he also would have attributed his salvation to God alone. The fact that he does not -- and these are just two examples of many -- indicates that his professions and his true beliefs do not match up.

Although religion is not Butler's primary focus in this social allegory, it is an important element of the text. His method of treating religion is fairly standard in dystopian texts of this kind, however. For the critique to be effective, Higgs must remain unaware of his hypocrisy. This should, ideally, lead to the reader's questioning his or her own beliefs to determine whether or not they match up with his or her actions.

Since the dystopian novel has been a fascination for me lately and because I have been thinking about them a lot, I have planned a series of posts about both utopian and dystopian literature. This may end up including some post-apocalyptic stuff, too. Coming up: some general thoughts about utopian and dystopian literature, a segment on Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, narrative technique in dystopian novels, and much more.

Mustard and Jelly Canning Workshop

2012-01-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

Today was probably the coldest day of the winter, so far. It was the kind of day that made me long for the scorching days of summer, many of which I spent preserving the season's fruit and vegetables. Standing in front of the stove laden with multiple steaming pots, I wished for a break; now that I am consuming the contents of all those jars, I look forward to canning again.

The winter is certainly a good time to rest and collect ideas for the upcoming year; thus, it is a great time to learn how to can--or to practice canning--without the pressures of imminent harvest and piles upon piles of produce. Winter canning has a different, less frantic pace, and I'm very glad to be teaching a canning workshop now. During this workshop, we will make two items: a garlic & lemon mustard and a habanero wine jelly. Both of these have a complex flavor, while being relatively easy and fun to make.

The class costs $22 (payable in advance of the class date) and includes a print-out of basic canning instructions and the recipes, as well as a jar of each of the items--the jelly and the mustard. The class is appropriate for any level of canning enthusiast.
The class will take place on Sunday, January 29th from 1:30-4:45 at the Birdhouse (800 North 4th Neighborhood Center).

The class will be capped at 12 people; you must reserve your space in the workshop through purchasing a "ticket" through the PayPal link (you do not need a PayPal account to buy). Also, RSVP to me, the instructor, to let me know you're coming. Space in the workshop is not guaranteed if you have not reserved your spot. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.

Wild Fermentation

2012-01-02T21:30:00.000-05:00

Sandor Katz

About a month ago, the Beardsley farm team and I had the chance to attend a Local Food Summit in Nashville, TN. Sandor Katz was one of the invited guests, and led a brief fermentation workshop. In addition to demonstrating the process of making a radish kraut and talking about the history of fermented products, Katz explained that we are in the midst of a very misguided cultural moment that wages war on bacteria. "In fact," he exclaimed, "much of the bacteria that surrounds is is not harmful!" And by creating bacteria-killing agents, we are depriving ourselves of the beneficial bacteria that help us digest food more efficiently, or fight off diseases, or reduce our bodies' toxicity. "We, more so than any of our predecessors, need to be conscious of re-populating our bodies with beneficial bacteria," Katz urged.

This is a very important perspective to foster in a time when sanitizing wipes and antibacterial soaps abound--we get so carried away with killing off microorganisms, that we forget how important they are to our well-being and survival. It was also helpful to be reminded about the plethora of different fermentation methods; as a canning enthusiast, I sometimes overlook alternative ways of food preservation. So maybe it's about time that I try making beet kvass, or something else outside of my usual repertoire...

I have had Katz's book Wild Fermentation for a year and a half--about as long as I've been seriously into the process of fermenting--and recommend it to anyone who is interested in the process of fermentation. Katz also has a forthcoming book that will be even more extensive in scope and cover fermentation practices from various cultures.

I am so very glad that I had a chance to meet Sandor Katz and hear him talk about the subject he is so passionate about. Here's to a new year full of beneficial microorganisms!

An experiment in student engagement

2011-10-03T19:31:00.005-04:00

I presented an extra credit opportunity to my class today to try to entice their interest in the analysis of poetry. The assignment runs like this: they select from a list of songs that I provide them to prepare a presentation for the class in which they get to play the song and then give an analysis of one verse and chorus using the various poetic elements that we've been discussing in class. This isn't so out of the ordinary, I've heard of other instructors using this method in class, particularly for lower-level courses (mine is a freshman writing course with an emphasis on literature). To make this interesting for myself as well as my students, I've selected songs that I like and I want to hear in class. Here are the songs I've chosen:

"A New England," and "To Have and Have Not" by Billy Bragg,

"Career Opportunities" by the Clash,

"99 Problems" by Jay-Z,

"There is a Light that Never Goes Out" by the Smiths,

"I Hung My Head" by Johnny Cash,

"Don't Worry about the Government" by Talking Heads,

"A Fond Farewell" by Elliott Smith,

"Hang Down Your Head" by Tom Waits,

"She's Lost Control" by Joy Division, and

"Wave of Mutilation" by Pixies.

My criteria for choosing these was that they must have a distinct verse and chorus (to provide structural variation), could not be too repetitive (this alone ruled out much of Joy Division's catalogue and all of the Ramones), could not be too esoteric that the song could not be found free somewhere online, and, if possible, I went for better known songs by the band if it met other requirements. I wanted to include more hip hop, but was a little embarrassed by how dated my collection is, which is odd considering I have no problem at all including Bragg, the Clash, Joy Division, and the Smiths. I've already made a playlist of these songs and find that they hang together quite well.

My goal is that my students will gain an appreciation for the broader applicability of the analytic methods we've been practicing in class and be able to recognize the poetry that surrounds them. Maybe they'll find some new music they like as a bonus.

Fallow

2011-09-14T21:24:00.000-04:00

Transplanting brassicas.

This year, I've devoted quite a bit of time and effort cultivating my online presence (although not lately). I've posted to this blog frequently, made connections with like-minded people, and kept up some great conversations. And for the most part, I've been missing lately.

Part of the reason for my absence is the (physically and emotionally demanding) full-time job at Beardsley Farm. I like what Beardsley does for the Knoxville community and I'm glad to be there.

This summer, I started visiting and working (volunteering time) at the farm where we've been getting our CSA for the last three years. Most recently, I've also put in a couple of days of work at another farm, working with Jim and his hot peppers. My time at the first farm started a change in me, and I'm not sure what to call it yet. It's a different awareness of farmers and their work, but that's not all. Being at both farms makes me exuberant and incredibly sad. I am so glad to have the chance to spend time with such hard-working and earnest people, but I hate to see them almost constantly so behind in their work. Jim, especially (because he tends his farm alone), tends to get discouraged. And all this has started affecting me personally--I want them to succeed, to be appreciated. More than anything, I want to help them. And for now, this means going to lend them my hands, my younger and less-tired body.

I hope you understand. I may not be around online as much. I may not offer canning classes for a little while. Please understand that I'm trying to put in effort where I think it'll count most.

Sudden, red.

2011-09-07T21:52:00.000-04:00

Karina, Jim with his fermented Tennessee Cherry peppers, and Sarah

This past Monday a group of AmeriCorps volunteers and I visited Jim Smith; because it was continuously rainy, we ended up helping Jim take care of things inside the house, rather than helping him on the farm. We readied peppers for the dehydrator and learned about their various flavors and uses. Jim has had a difficult few years, as he is operating the farm alone. Nevertheless, he keeps going.

What I love about this picture is that while the women are working, Jim has opened a large jar of fermenting Tennessee Cherry peppers, and is smelling a spoonful of the spicy brine. It makes me think of a Robert Hass poem from Time and Materials.

The Problem Of Describing Color

If I said--remembering in summer,
The cardinal's sudden smudge of red
In the bare gray winter woods--

If I said, red ribbon on the cocked straw hat
Of the girl with pooched-out lips
Dangling a wiry lapdog
In the painting by Renoir--

If I said fire, if I said blood welling form a cut--

Or flecks of poppy in the tar-grass scented summer air
On a wind-struck hillside outside Fano--

If I said, her one red earring tugging at her silky lobe,

If she tells fortunes with a deck of fallen leaves
Until it comes out right--

Rouged nipple, mouth--

(How could you not love a woman
Who cheats at the Tarot?)

Red, I said. Sudden, red.

Saving Seeds

2011-09-01T06:58:00.000-04:00

Daniel, saving seeds from an over-ripe zucchini.

I've posted about saving seeds a few times already--here, here, and again in my most recent post. The thing is, all of those posts are fairly general, or focus on a specific event, rather than the specific action of saving seeds. I feel very strongly about saving seeds, even though I'm fairly new to it. There's something autonomous about the action--yes, there are great seed companies out there, and I have written in praise of a couple Etsy seed sellers; nonetheless, saving seeds is a logical step in the cycle of growing. When I save seeds, it allows me to get to know the plant better. I learn to look at the fruit/plant health not just in terms of what will be useful for eating, but also in terms of quality of seed. Sometimes we forget that plants are not only food producers, but also self-perpetuators. Also, saving the seeds from something usually yields a lot more seeds than are usually in a seed packet.

Before beginning to save seeds, it is important to know whether the plant you wish to save from is an heirloom (or open-pollinated) or hybrid. Heirloom and open-pollinated plants produce seeds that will re-create the plant variety true to type. So if you have a Cherokee Purple tomato and save seeds from it, the seeds will grow into a Cherokee Purple when planted. Hybrid plants, although often seemingly strong and perfect, will produce seeds that will not have the complete genetic information from the plant; when planted, seeds from hybrid plants will often make a plant that reverts to the characteristics of one of the parent plants. For example, if you save seeds from a SunGold tomato and plant them, you may have a couple plants that are scrawny, a few plants that produce tomatoes quite unlike the SunGold (too small, and probably not very sweet), etc. When I was saving seeds last year, I didn't know about this, and saved a lot of SunGold seeds. Most of the plants from those seeds weren't strong enough to survive hardening off, and once I realized that I'd planted a hybrid, I got rid of the remaining 2 plants, not wanting to nurture a plant that would later disappoint me.

Once you know that the plant is open-pollinated or heirloom, you can proceed to saving seeds. Last year, I saved the seeds of sweet peppers and squash, seeds that I'd usually discard. (I later learned that squash cross-pollinates very easily, but not until I grew some strange--but edible--mystery squash.) So far, at Beardsley Farm we have saved the seeds of okra, zucchini, cucumber, and sunflowers. All of these have very evident seeds that are easy to save. All that it took to save the seeds was cutting or splitting the vegetable and taking out the seeds. We had to dry the seeds of the cucurbits, but the okra and sunflower seeds were already dry, so all we had to do was collect them. Also, you should select the seeds from the most ripe and most perfect fruit. If you have seen the seeds of a plant (during planting time), you know what they should look like as you collect them. For example, okra seeds are dark greenish-black, whereas in edible young okra, the seeds are white; as the okra pods mature and become too tough to eat, the seeds mature, too. Finally, when the okra pods dry out, the seeds are ready for saving. This process is similar with cucurbits--wait until they are ripe (for cucumbers and summer squash, they should be ripe beyond what is acceptable for eating), and then collect seeds, drying them out as necessary. Saving tomato seeds is a little more involved, but there are resources out there to help you with that, too.

Once you have saved the seeds, make sure they are dry and ready for storage. I've been storing my seeds in small jars or paper envelopes. The very things a seed needs to germinate--light, water, soil--are the opposite of what a seed needs to remain dormant. Saved seeds need dark, cool, and dry storage areas.

I wish I could write more about saving seeds; I have become quite passionate about it. I try to save many different kinds of seeds--just earlier in the week, I plucked a dried out marigold flower, and saved the seeds from it. There's something wonderful about noticing the cycle of plants and helping them continue it. Keep an eye open for a local seed swap near you, and start collecting seeds to trade with others.

New Beginnings

2011-08-24T22:31:00.000-04:00

Saving seeds.

Today was my second day at CAC Beardsley Farm, and as completely exhausted as I am I wanted to express how excited I am to be working there. I've been a volunteer there for over a year, and very shortly after I began visiting the urban demonstration farm I became interested in working there full-time.
Today, we watered all the vegetables; harvested tomatoes and okra; cleaned up around the farm; cleared an unused community garden plot; and wound down the day by saving seeds from okra and an over-ripe zucchini. Every day, I plan to learn more about the community, gardening, and my own strengths. I am also glad to be sharing my experiences with you. Thank you for your (implicit and explicit) support.

Time's Viscid Pawprint

2011-08-21T16:59:00.000-04:00

Jars of beans from John Coykendall's visit.

This past week I began the orientation for my new job at Beardlsey Farm. It has been some time since so much was asked from me, in terms of time; not having a steady job this summer has had its drawbacks, but I have been happy to have the time to do anything that I wanted--canning, spending time with farmers, gardening. At this point of transition, I feel uncertain, stretched a little thin. As a result, I've been uneasy, agitated. In this time of change, I want to remind myself to pay attention to the things at hand, the everyday objects, which can be good anchors. In this, I couldn't not be reminded of Robert Pinsky's chapbook First Things to Hand. I'll share this poem with you.

3. Glass

Waterlike, with a little water
Still visible swirled in the bottom:

Earth changed by fire,
Shaped by breath or pressure.

Seemingly solid, a liquid
Sagging over centuries
As in the rippled panes
Of old buildings, Time's
Viscid pawprint.

Nearly invisible.
Tumbler. Distorting,
Breakable--the splinters
Can draw blood.

Craft of the glazier.
Ancestral totem substance:
My one grandfather
Washing store windows
With squeegee and bucket,
The other serving amber
Whiskey and clear gin over the counter,
His son my father
An optician, beveling lenses
On a stone wheel. The water
Dripping to cool the wheel
Fell milky in a pale
Sludge underneath the bench
Into a galvanized bucket
It was my job to empty,
Sloshing the ponderous
Blank mud into the toilet.

Obsidian, uncrystallized silicate.

Unstainable or stained.
Mirror glass, hour glass, dust:
Delicate, durable measure.

Why I can't read The Pale King right now

2011-08-11T23:17:00.007-04:00

This story goes back a month and a half and it also goes back six years. The different time-spans will become apparent in just a moment. This story is about David Foster Wallace and his posthumously published but incomplete novel The Pale King. Kat bought me a copy of this last novel for my birthday when we were in Louisville and it has sat on my shelf since then. Had this been a completed novel, I would have begun reading it almost immediately, but there is something about attempting to read this incomplete novel that has been bothering me.
This part goes back six years when a friend of mine suggested that I read Wallace. Not knowing where to begin, I picked up a copy of Oblivion, his most recent collection of short stories at the time. The first story, "Mr. Squishy," put me off completely and I couldn't even get through the whole thing. The story includes, in part, an intensely detailed description of a focus group and the products under review. The density of detail threw me because I had not read anything like it before. I didn't realize until much later when I reread the story that the alienation I felt was purposeful -- the obsessive attention to detail in the story parallels the narrator's unhealthy obsession with retail snack-cakes and presages his eventual hostile actions. It was more than a year before I picked up Infinite Jest and I found more of the same in that novel. I found it dense beyond belief and a little knowing -- precious, in a word.
The thing rubbed me the wrong way from start to finish from its incredible depth of irony to the extensive use of end notes, but I stuck it out and read the whole thing. I was alternately bored and frustrated by it, but I kept thinking about it. In fact, I kept thinking about it for more than a year, much longer than I would expect to think about a book I thought I didn't like. Then I reread it and changed my thinking completely about it. The characters I had found so annoying the first time around became vivid and struck me as true representations of flawed individuals this time around. The timeline, built so heavily upon what I thought were dull, scatological jokes struck me as trenchant social criticisms. In short, I fell in love with the work. To this day -- after rereading the novel another half-dozen times -- Infinite Jest has become one of my favorite novels of all time.
This contributes to the trepidation I feel about reading The Pale King. Even DFW's other works, which I hadn't particularly liked, have resonated with me more since reading Infinite Jest. It is because that novel means so much that I can't read The Pale King right now. My fear is that, because it is a partial novel, it will be mediocre -- it won't live up to the other works. This, of course, would be disappointing. The greater fear I have is that it will be brilliant, even in its incomplete state. I fear reading this fragment and recognizing in it the greatness of his previous work, knowing that it will never be complete.
The last novel by David Foster Wallace will have to sit on my shelf a while longer, until I'm ready to see it. Or at least until my curiosity outweighs my trepidation. It has more value for me as a metaphor for the cut-off life of its author -- I'm content to leave it at that for now.

Simple Summer Dinner

2011-08-10T23:27:00.004-04:00

Summer produce continues to roll in--from the markets, from friends, from my own small garden. It occupies the refrigerator, counters, stockpots... And as much frenzy as there is to preserve the vegetables so abundant now, I like to remember to eat well in the present moment, too.

A couple days ago, when I was canning tomatoes, I briefly reached a point where I thought it was impossible for me to fill another jar--ever. I was suddenly (and momentarily) tired of canning. I couldn't bear another moment of the canner humidifying the whole kitchen. Luckily, the moment passed once I started thinking about the (delayed) gratification of eating the things I was canning, and I was content once again. But that little frantic moment also reminded me that it's not all about the later--the putting away into jars; it's also about the now. Even a simple dinner of whole-wheat spaghetti topped with squash, tomatoes, greens, broccoli; and a side of tender green beans should have its place of respect. I remember that when I was eating this particular dinner (a couple weeks ago), I told myself that if I ever complain about the heat of summer, or any such thing, I should remember dinners such as this: fresh and vibrant with the produce so recently obtained from market. I took a picture of it to remind myself of the pleasures of the present moments, and thought I'd remind you, too. Even if you're not canning this season, take a minute to notice the great food available now--and savor it.

Tennessee Cherry Pepper

2011-08-08T16:31:00.004-04:00

I've been taking the Tennessee Cherry pepper for granted. What I mean is--even though I dedicated a post to the hot sauce that we've been making with these fermented peppers, there was little discussion about the peppers themselves. I just thought everyone could visit their respective farmers markets, and get a handful or two of Tennessee Cherries. Or, surely, this was a pepper variety that was common in Tennessee, right? The more I talked with the farmer who was selling these tiny, intense peppers, the more I began to understand that he had created the peppers. One day, he explained that the bright red peppers I was purchasing that particular day weren't quite the Tennessee Cherry peppers, yet; they were what he called the "Tennessee Cherry, Jr.," or a plant that had reverted to the characteristics of the true Cherry pepper's predecessors. The Jr. pepper is a little bigger and not quite as smooth as the Tennessee Cherries I'd bought last October. Jim, the farmer, assured me that by next year, he'd have a true, open-pollinated Tennessee Cherry Pepper.

It's a little difficult to tell, but most of these peppers are smaller than a dime, and some are as small as a single elder-berry. They are very fleshy and seedy when cut, and pungent. The true Tennessee Cherry is more regularly ovoid, and the size of a pinto bean, or even a little smaller. I've never tried to eat the peppers raw, but they are quite spicy--spicier, I'd say, than a habanero; it may be even spicier than a Scotch bonnet, although I can't be sure. Jim actually grows all of those peppers, as well as the Bhut Jolokia chili pepper.

I have used the Tennessee cherries in a salsa, and it's just about the spiciest salsa that I've ever made. As I mentioned earlier, I've also fermented the peppers to make hot sauce; the sauce is similar to the one that Jim sells at Market. He recommended that I ferment the peppers in brine made with salt and a sweet white wine (for 2 months), and blend with rice vinegar to make the final sauce. Once fermented, I blend only about a quarter cup of the peppers with 3 to 4 cups of vinegar and a pinch of salt; the resulting sauce is relatively thin, but tolerably spicy to us, and quite flavorful (we use a bottle with a pipette to apply it to our food). The flavor that comes through is a little peachy, and a little dusty, but not unpleasantly so. The fermentation and the mild vinegar give the hot sauce a nicely sour complexion without overwhelming the flavors of the peppers.

I'm sighing a little as I write this--I think I'm a little bit in love with these fierce, tiny peppers. The flavor and intensity is one thing, but over the course of purchasing these peppers, I have developed a great respect for the farmer who grows them. I am so glad to know him, talk to him, and to be able to support his efforts in whatever small way that I can.

A bottle of hot sauce and more peppers fermenting for the next batch.

Cucumber-Jalapeño Tequila and the Margarita Made with It

2011-07-28T20:09:00.003-04:00

The cucumber-jalapeño tequila idea is not original to me. There's a relatively new (and wonderful) bar in town--the Public House--that serves chilled shots of the very same (except with tequila blanco). And of course, I got hooked on this wonderfully-infused liquor. I order it even on the hottest days, just to feel the smooth, cool cucumber flavor, almost immediately followed by a not-unbearable heat of the jalapeño. It is a refreshing and brazen drink, albeit expensive. Ever since first tasting this tequila, I swore to make it myself--once I'd grown my own cucumbers and jalapeños. I have only had this particular tequila straight up, and have been wondering what it would be like to experiment with mixed drinks (but lacked the money to ask the Public House bartenders to make me some). And now, months after first trying the spicy tequila, I'm happy to say that my two lonely cucumber vines have produced a few cucumbers, and my two lonely jalapeño plants have produced a couple peppers. Here is what you should do right now if you have a cucumber, a jalapeño, and a bottle of tequila: infuse the tequila!

Ingredients:
-1 liter of mid-range tequila (I used 30-30 Tequila Reposado, but you can use anything you like)
-1 medium (5-6 inch) cucumber, quartered longways
-1 small/medium jalapeño, also quartered longways

Method:
1. Pour tequila into a half-gallon jar, or split up between two quart jars. (Save the bottle.)
2. Add the cucumber and jalapeño (or split up evenly between whatever jars you're using)
3. Put in a cool, dark place for 4-6 days. I'd recommend that you taste the tequila as it's infusing--I like a spicier infusion, so I let it sit for 6 days. If you'd like it more mild, you could probably let it sit for as few as 3 days.
4. Strain the tequila into the original bottle (or just fish out the cucumber and jalapeño pieces) or a vessel of your choice; discard (or compost) the cucumber and pepper.
5. Serve thoroughly chilled, or make margaritas (see suggested recipe below).

Using shot glasses to measure; one is orange liqueur, the other is half lime juice/half agave syrup.

Cucumber Margaritas (with cucumber-jalapeño tequila)--serves 2

-2 small/medium cucumbers, peeled and rough-chopped
-4 ounces of tequila (cucumber-jalapeño infused tequila, in this case)
-1 ounce orange liqueur/triple sec
-1/2 ounce lime juice (or juice of half a lime, approximately)
-1/2 ounce agave syrup
-pinch of salt
-a few ice cubes

Combine all ingredients in a blender, blend until the cucumbers and ice are fully-incorporated, and serve.

I did not salt the rims of the glasses because I thought that salt would overwhelm the delicate flavors, rather than contrast with them (as is the case with sweeter margaritas). You can do as you wish. The margarita is a little frothy, but I don't mind; if you do, you could use fresh cucumber juice to substitute for the whole cucumbers. If you're wary of using cucumbers, you could substitute with the flesh of watermelon or cantaloupe (if you're using those, consider omitting the agave syrup). I'm definitely not through playing around with this infused tequila; please let me know what drinks you come up with, if you decide to infuse your own.

I have to say that in addition to being inspired by the ingenious cucumber-jalapeño infused tequila of the Public House, I was also prompted by Kaela Porter's spicy jams in making this drink. I'd been drooling over the recipes on her blog for a long time, then started trying them out a few weeks ago, and have not been able to stop. She introduced me to the idea that a moderate level of spicy does wonders for a not-too-sweet jam. So, this margarita is a little of both--not too sweet, but deliciously spicy. Thanks, Kaela; if I could share this drink with you, I would.

This is the season of peaches

2011-07-27T10:27:00.000-04:00

This morning, Matt finished reading Margaret Atwood's The Year of the Flood, and mentioned something about the poems interspersed throughout the novel. This reminded me that I hadn't looked at Atwood's poetry in a long time; however, when I picked up a book of her selected poems from the shelf, I had a hard time finding a poem that resonated with me (which tells me--maybe now is not the time to return to Atwood, but maybe in a couple more years). Instead, I found a poem that was evocative of the season. I may post something by a different poet later, but thought I'd share this poem for now.

Late August

This is the plum season, the nights
blue and distended, the moon
hazed, this is the season of peaches

with their lush lobed bulbs
that glow in the dusk, apples
that drop and rot
sweetly, their brown skins veined as glands

No more the shrill voices
that cried Need Need
from the cold pond, bladed
and urgent as new grass

Now it is the crickets
that say Ripe Ripe
slurred in the darkness, while the plums

dripping on the lawn outside
our window, burst
with a sound like thick syrup
muffled and slow

The air is still
warm, flesh moves over
flesh, there is no

hurry

-----------------------
On my first read-through, my immediate thought was: "Of course there is need to hurry! Who's going to preserve all those plums and peaches!" This is just indicative of my shift in thinking--I want to preserve everything. But of course, the last line, set apart as it is, indicates the very opposite of what the literal words say. Reading this poem two or three times, I start to notice how insidious the ripeness is, how briefly it lasts. But I'll stop commenting now, and let you read the poem again on your own.

Tomatoes

2011-07-25T11:02:00.001-04:00

Tomatoes have been around farmers markets for a few weeks already, but it seems it's just been in the last few days that they have started appearing in great quantities. I've been eyeing them, trying to figure out how we would be able to afford to purchase enough tomatoes--even at their cheapest, they are about a dollar a pound. I have absolutely no problem with paying farmers fairly, but since I've only had two weeks of employment this summer, money is getting tight. In order to really put up enough salsa, soup, marinara, and just plain tomatoes to last us a full year, I need over a hundred pounds. I couldn't bear the thought of a tomato-less winter, so I kept looking around for slightly damaged or over-ripe tomatoes in bulk. As luck would have it, I found out that the University of Tennessee Organic Crop Production has just this--plenty of tomato "seconds." This is what I hope to be only the beginning of the tomatoes for the season; I'm using the very last of the tomatoes from these boxes this morning, and will be getting a couple more boxes on Friday.

As I've been making my way through the tomatoes, I've also been thinking about my purpose in putting up. Although I love preserving fruit, even in its most utilitarian form--in extra-light syrup--fruit still doesn't seem quite as necessary as putting up tomatoes, soups, stock, and other savory items. And because putting up tomatoes--and other vegetables--creates something which will sustain us in the winter months, there is more urgency in the process. The relative fleetingness of the tomato season makes the tomatoes precious, and I ~~almost~~ have a reverence for the jars of tomatoes in my pantry. I'm trying to say something that I can't quite vocalize, or perhaps something that I understand so well, that there are no longer words for it. Why do I preserve? Why do I make the effort to obtain such a heavy load of fruit and then spend several full days in the kitchen monitoring the simmering, and the processing? Because this is what there is here and now. Even though I did not have a hand in growing these tomatoes, they are of this land, and with my efforts, they will last a year, until the next tomato season. Preserving emphasizes the value of what is in season; there is an aspect of making do with what one has here and now, rather than seeking the same food on an as-needed basis. Anyone can go to the store and purchase almost anything--salsa, tomato sauce, canned tomatoes--on a whim. Preserving is deliberate. I have to plan for the full year when I put up; prior to canning, I'd never really thought about how many jars of marinara we go through in a year, but now, I could tell you an exact number. Last year, I only canned a dozen jars of plain tomatoes, and by early April, we'd run out; we ended up buying a couple cans of tomatoes throughout the spring, but it was not the same. The flavor was flat, and there was no satisfaction in opening them. This year, I know better. I know that to many, these kinds of efforts sound a little crazy; but just you put up a few jars of roasted tomatoes, open one in the middle of January (to eat on toast, pizza, or in soup), and you'll know where I'm coming from.

Urban Land Scout Camp

2011-07-22T14:47:00.000-04:00

Katie teaches young Urban Land Scouts how to use a compass to earn the mapping badge.

Today was the final day of the first ever Urban Land Scout camp. I have been supporting the Urban Land Scout program in small, personal ways for over a year, and was definitely glad to have the opportunity to be a counselor and propagate Urban Land Scouting to our group of young people. Over the course of the week, Katie, I, and eight young scouts spent time at Beardsley Farm; in addition to working on earning the first five ULS badges, we learned about the workings of the farm and helped with farm chores. I was glad to see the campers' enthusiasm for learning about native edible plants, collecting seeds, and taking cuttings of herbs. Go forth, young scouts!

The Garden Returns

2011-07-15T19:34:00.000-04:00

Clockwise from beets: Holy basil, mustard greens, dinosaur kale, tomatoes, cucumbers, dill, basil.

It's been a little while since I've mentioned our little backyard garden, and I thought I'd write about it briefly. The garden itself looks quite different than it did a month ago--the tomatoes are towering over their stakes, the squash is spilling out of the delineated beds, and the three lone cucumber plants are threatening to take over not just the trellis, but that whole side of the fence. Almost every other day, I can walk into the back yard and harvest something. Just earlier in the week, we got our first ripe tomato; we've gotten about eight cucumbers, and a couple of squash, too. What you see here is the last of the beets that I planted in the non-amended clay (the bed that I built almost on a whim). The beets have been small, but they have beautiful and delicious greens, and so have been well-worth the effort. The kale is a little eaten, but still quite good; it's getting ready to bolt, and so I'll be replanting it soon, for fall.

Every time that I walk outside, I am amazed--we had so few things growing last year, and now, what a variety we have!

Nocino

2011-07-15T13:19:00.000-04:00

Old and scratched jar; the liquor already dark.

It has been approximately six months (give or take a few weeks) since I'd started the multiple batches of limoncello, meyer lemon limoncello, lime-oncello, orange liqueur, and blood orange liqueur. I'm so glad that I started several different liqueurs at the peak of citrus season, as now we have the various flavors to incorporate into our favorite drinks. The slightly floral and milder meyer lemon limoncello has been my favorite (chilled, with a splash of sparkling water); I also love the fact that we now have orange liqueur that is good enough to drink on its own, if we wanted to. All the liqueurs will continue to improve with time, and will last us a good, long while.

I've been thinking about making nocino ever since I discovered limoncello. I was curious about what it would taste like, and had been gearing up to pick walnuts on the customary day (Solstice), and completely forgot about it (we were out of town for so much of June, it was easy to forget). Fortunately, I remembered about it about a week ago, and hurried to pick the walnuts before their shells had hardened any further. The walnuts I found were quite large, and it took only 16 of them (quartered) to fill a half-gallon jar. I used this recipe, for the most part; if there's anything that my experiments with liqueurs have taught me is that I prefer a less sweet liqueur. Thus, I only put a couple tablespoons of sugar in with the walnuts, and actually combined all the ingredients (including the Everclear) in the jars all at once. Now, I wait for two months, shaking the jars (two half-gallons) every now and then; in two months, I'll strain the liquor and add simple syrup. The Nocino will be ready by January, just in time for the colder months.

I know that this cycle of making liqueur takes a long time, but now that I am imbibing the earlier infusions, I'm growing to appreciate the process. It's secondary to my main food preservation, but I like it--there's something quite irresistible about home-made liqueurs, and it impresses people without a lot of hands-on effort on my part.

If you can get your hands on some green walnuts, why not start a batch of nocino of your very own?

Peachy Coffee Cake

2011-07-10T11:55:00.003-04:00

The early peaches started coming in here in Tennessee at the end of June, and although there was a lull in varieties ripening last week, by mid-July (in just a few days) peaches should be in full-swing. Before I started canning, I only purchased a few peaches a year--beyond eating them fresh and baking with them, I didn't quite know what to do with them. I especially didn't know about the versatility of peaches--I never thought that they could be made into a salsa, or a barbeque sauce, or peach butter. I made all three (slightly different versions) last year, and kept being surprised by the ways in which peaches could be transformed by the different flavors and textures. So far (already this year), I've made a batch of barbeque sauce and taught a canning class on the peach salsa; both came out exceptionally well, and I've gotten a few incredibly enthusiastic reviews of the barbeque sauce (what can I say, I took it to a party where there was a hot grill and some corn, asparagus, and zucchini--of course they got slathered in the sauce and grilled!). But what I'm trying to say is--if it's just minutes away from being peach season again, the peaches that were canned last year need to be consumed as soon as possible.

Last year, I also canned peaches in light syrup, and we'd been enjoying them in our cereal and in fancy rum drinks; when I checked in the pantry, there was a lone jar of these very peaches still left, right next to a jar of peach butter. I took out the jars and carried them around with me for a little while before I remembered a fall-inspired coffee cake from Celine Steen's The Complete Guide to Vegan Food Substitutions. The original recipe uses ginger syrup, roasted apples, and apple sauce to add moisture and sweetness to the cake--and I have to say, the original recipe makes one of the most wonderful coffee cakes I've ever had. However, the peaches also work wonderfully well, and provided me with a good opportunity to use up those last few jars before I put up this year's harvest.

Ingredients:

For the cake: For the Streusel:
1 cup peach syrup (from canned peaches) 1/2 cup pecan halves, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup peach butter     1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup vegetable or canola oil   1 teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 cup whole wheat flour      2 teaspoons vegetable oil
1 cup all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 cup canned peach halves, diced

Process:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9" round cake pan or an 8" square pan.

In a medium bowl, combine peach syrup, peach butter, and oil. In a large bowl, sift together flours, baking powder, salt, and spices. In a separate small bowl, combine the streusel ingredients and set aside.

Fold wet cake ingredients into dry, being careful not to overmix. Fold in the diced peaches.

Pour the batter into the greased pan and spread so the batter covers the pan evenly. Sprinkle streusel evenly on top.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, until the cake is golden brown and firm in the center. Transfer to a wire rack and cool before removing from the pan.
----------
The cake isn't overly sweet, and isn't overly peachy--it's everything I want in a coffee cake: slightly crumbly, moist, and flavorful. If you don't have the peachy ingredients available, now you have a good reason to put up peaches so you can make this coffee cake later in the year.

Using the CSA Basket: Making Stock

2011-07-08T14:40:00.005-04:00

This week has gone by very quickly--tomorrow, we pick up our CSA share again, and we still have carrots, celery, parsley, and chard left over. With the exception of the chard, everything will keep in the fridge quite well for a few weeks (and I happen to know that we're planning to have wilted chard on our pizza tonight).

The last time that I wrote about canning vegetable stock, I focused on the pressure-canning process, as it was my first time using the canner. Today, I want to talk about the stock itself. I have to admit that prior to the batch of stock I made in April, I didn't hold stock in high enough a regard--I nearly took it for granted. We'd made stock before, and usually froze the leftovers; what I didn't realize was that the stock was losing some of its flavor in the process. Canning stock captures all the fullness of flavor of a vegetable stock that has been cooking for several hours; it's fragrant and savory, and I fell in love with it every time that I opened a jar. It was dark and rich, and did wonders for polenta, soup, risotto, etc.; and we ran out of it in less than three months.

I've been waiting to receive celery in our CSA share to make stock again, as Adrienne and her farm team grow the most flavorful, deep green celery I have ever seen. (If you'd like a comparison, the stock pot above has a few pieces of organic store-bought celery at the six o'clock position, and a CSA celery leaf at the 4 o'clock position--it's that green throughout.) We've been saving scraps for stock all week, too (rather than composting them)--carrot tops, outer layers of onions, bottom portions of mushrooms, etc. In addition to those, I added (to each of the large stock pots) half an onion, half a head of garlic, a few stalks of celery (and celery leaves), carrots, dill, parsley, basil, oregano, summer savory, peppercorns, bay leaves, coriander, fennel seed, and a dried pepper or two. Keep in mind that the stock cooks for a long time, and that thus dried herbs and sturdy vegetables/greens are most suitable. I kept wanting to add fresh basil to the mix, but Matt reminded me that it would disintegrate too fast, making the stock more bitter.

Making stock is relatively easy: combine vegetables and herbs in a large stock pot (or two), cover with water (allowing for room to boil), bring to a boil, and then reduce to a simmer for a couple hours. Then, strain out the vegetables, and simmer the stock for 1-2 hours before canning.

I hope to make at least a couple more batches before the winter, as I know that stock this good won't happen again until next year's celery and carrots start coming in.

Using the CSA Basket: Roma Beans

2011-07-07T21:27:00.000-04:00

I'm not ever sure if these beans warrant a post all of their own, but I figured that if I'd started documenting some of the things that we've been making with our CSA share this week, I'd better continue. I love how excellent vegetables lend themselves so easily to being prepared simply. These beans were just parboiled, and then sautéed with some garlic and fresh basil in olive oil. I'm sure there was also a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper. These are some of the first green beans that we've gotten so far, and they made an excellent light lunch, along with the last of the purple coleslaw.

I've had a lot on my mind lately, and it seems things won't quite slow down enough for me to think about everything properly; already, it is almost the middle of blueberry and blackberry season here, and peaches will start ripening in earnest very soon. I'll have a peach coffee cake recipe for you all soon. Until then!

Using the CSA Basket: Borscht

2011-07-05T10:18:00.002-04:00

As I've mentioned before, we've been subscribing to a CSA share from the same farm for two and a half years. We fell into the share almost by accident--I'd never heard of CSA, and actually thought that shopping at the farmers market was too expensive. Then, it came about that someone from the English department where I was studying wanted to pass off their CSA for the summer; we took it over, and by the end of the season made up our minds to not give up our share. That first year, it was a little challenging to make good use of everything in our weekly basket--we were figuring out what to do with the bounty of fresh vegetables, especially in early spring. Now, however, nothing goes to waste. As I mentioned earlier, I'm particularly happy with the contents of this week's basket, as I can almost see how I will use all the vegetables. Once I saw the beets, carrots, potatoes, and cabbage, I knew that they would be destined for borscht.

I grew up on borscht; it's the quintessential soup for people of Russian and Ukrainian heritage. The versions that I remember always contained meat, and were cooked for a good long while (to cook the meat), so the vegetables would be all dyed a vibrant magenta. I've only made the soup a few times on my own, and actually haven't made it since my mother criticized my preparation of it ("no meat? no sour cream? you put vinegar into it?!"). With this recipe, I decided to make a soup that had the spirit of borscht, but retained the integrity and distinctive flavors of the vegetables. I think it turned out quite well--a filling, but light soup that is translucently pink and very tasty. The vinegar (or kraut) is not absolutely necessary, but it provides a nice contrast to the root vegetables.

Recipe:

1/4 cup olive oil
1 onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic, minced
3 small/medium carrots, sliced
1 celery stalk, diced
3 small/medium beets, diced
3 small/medium potatoes, diced
2 sprigs of parsley
1/2 head of a small cabbage
1.5 teaspoons vegetable bouillon
1 teaspoon of salt
2 quarts of water
freshly ground pepper, to taste
1.5 tablespoons red wine vinegar (or 1/3 cup sauerkraut with brine)
2-3 sprigs of dill, minced

Process:

Warm the olive oil over medium-high heat in a medium soup pot while preparing the onion and garlic. Once the oil is hot, turn the heat to medium and add onion.
Sauté the onion for a few minutes, until translucent, and add the garlic. While the onion and garlic are cooking, slice carrots and dice celery. Proceed to add the carrots and celery to the soup pot. Continue by dicing the beets and potatoes, and adding them to the pot, and so on with parsley and cabbage.
Once all the vegetables are in the pot, stir and sauté for 2-3 minutes, then add water, salt and bouillon. Place lid on pot and bring soup to a boil; once the soup comes to a boil, lower heat and simmer soup for 30 minutes.
After 30 minutes, the potatoes should be cooked; add pepper, vinegar, dill, and stir to combine. Taste and adjust spices. Serve with extra dill and a dollop of sour supreme.

Using the CSA Basket: Purple Slaw

2011-07-04T01:01:00.000-04:00

Although I'm always excited to receive our CSA basket, there is something especially thrilling about the produce that starts to become available in mid-summer; once the garlic, onions, and potatoes start coming in, I know that we can make more and more of our meals from the vegetables in our weekly share. Yesterday, these were the contents of our basket: parsley, celery, red cabbage, green cone cabbage, garlic, chard, roma beans, onions, beets, basil, carrots, broccoli, zucchini, and potatoes. We bought two additional heads of garlic and the chicken of the woods mushrooms. We were so very excited about all the produce (not that we're not normally so excited, but this was after we'd missed a couple of weeks of the CSA, too), that we thought we should write about some of the things that we make throughout the week.

Because we got two heads of cabbage and had another two in the fridge from a previous basket, using them was a high priority. Matt and I don't really eat cabbage often, and we were discussing ways of using it, when suddenly it struck me: I should make cole slaw! It must have been a least a year since I've made cole slaw--it's one of those things that is simple, and good, but also something that I forget about. Maybe I forget about cole slaw because in my memory, it's something that is overly-dressed with mayonnaise, made with dry cabbage and carrots, and not very flavorful; no wonder that so often slaw is an unwanted side item. However, the spectacularly fresh cabbage and carrots, and fresh spices really make for a fine slaw. I like, too, that it's almost all raw and almost all local; it makes for a very nice side when the tender salad greens of early summer are fading away with the heat. I'm rather pleased with the way that this purple cole slaw came out, and I'm glad to share at least the recipe--if not the salad--with you.

Recipe:

-small head of cabbage, red or green, shredded
-3 medium or 2 large carrots, grated
-1 teaspoon caraway seeds
-1/2 teaspoon salt, or more--to taste
-2 tablespoons raw apple cider vinegar
-1.5 tablespoon Vegenaise
-1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper or spicy chile powder
-freshly ground pepper, to taste
-1/2 cup sauerkraut, with brine (optional)

Mix all ingredients thoroughly in a large bowl; allow the slaw to sit for a few hours before consuming--the flavors will meld better this way. The kraut is absolutely optional; I've been looking for ways to use up the beautiful purple kraut that I made last winter, and I think it added an extra level of complexity to the slaw.

If you've recently gotten a cabbage and carrots--or have access to some--I say that coleslaw deserves another chance. It's tangy and spicy, and practically anchors a meal; if you have less than favorable memories of slaw, I definitely commend you to try this zesty version of it.

I laugh as if my pots were clean.

2011-07-03T15:19:00.000-04:00

Every few months--ever since I discovered Lyn Hejinian's book My Life--I come back to the (prose) poems; and every time, something different catches my eye. Although upon first reading the book, I thought the poems too oblique and impersonal, over time I've learned to follow the associative leaps Hejinian makes. And beneath the veneer of opacity, the poems are personal and sincere, and yet not undemanding of the reader. It's a longer poem, but I thought I'd share it with you nonetheless. I encourage you to read it more than once--and I hope that you can enjoy it. (Oh, and the "line breaks" are in actuality how the lines fit on the book's small pages--I thought I'd replicate the experience for you.)

One begins as a    Back and backward, why,
student but   wide and wider. Such that
becomes a friend   art is inseparable from the
of clouds      search for reality. The con-
   tinent is greater than the
   content. A river nets the
   peninsula. The garden
   rooster goes through the
goldenrod. I watched a robin worming its way on
the ridge, time on the uneven light ledge. There as
in that's their truck there. Where it rested in the
weather there it rusted. As one would say, my
friends, meaning no possession, and don't harm
my trees. Marigolds, nasturtiums, snapdragons,
sweet William, forget-me-nots, replaced by chard,
tomatoes, lettuce, garlic, peas, beans, carrots, rad-
ishes--but marigolds. The hum hurts. Still, I felt
intuitively that this which was incomprehensible
was expectant, increasing, was good. The greatest
thrill was to be the one to "tell." All rivers' left banks
remind me of Paris, not to see or sit upon but to
hear spoken of. Cheese makes one thirsty but on-
ions make a worse thirst. The Spanish make a little
question frame. In the case, propped on a stand so
as to beckon, was the hairy finger of St. Cecilia, cov-
ered with rings. The old dress is worn out, torn up,
dumped. Erasures could not serve better authen-
ticity. The years pass, years in which, I take it, events
were not lacking. There are more colors in the great
rose window of Chartres than in the rose. Beside a
body, not a piece, of water. Serpentine is fool's jade.
It is on a dressed stone. The previousness of plants
in prior color--no dream can come up to the origi-
nal, which in the common daylight is voluminous.
Yet he insisted that his life had been full of happy
chance, that he was luck's child. As a matter of fact,
quite the obverse. After a 9-to-5 job he got to just go
home. Do you have a compulsion to work and then
did you have a good time. Now it is one o'clock on
the dot, but that is only coincidence and it has a
bad name. Patriots drive larger cars. At the time
the perpetual Latin of love kept things hidden. We
might be late to the movies but always early for the
kids. The women at the parents' meeting must wear
rings, for continuity. More sheep than sleep. Paull
was telling me a plot which involved time travel, I
asked, "How do they go into the future?" and he
answered, "What do you mean?--they wait and the
future comes to them--of course!" so the problem
was going into the past. I think my interests are
much broader than those of people who have been
saying the same thing for eight years, or so he said.
Has the baby enough teeth for an apple. Juggle,
jungle, chuckle. The hummingbird, for all we know,
may be singing all day long. We had been in France
where every word really was a bird, a thing singing.
I laugh as if my pots were clean. The apple in the
pie is the pie. An extremely pleasant and often comic
satisfaction comes from conjunction, the fit, say, of
comprehension in a reader's mind to content in a
writer's work. But not bitter.

Purple Basil and Blackberry Ice Cream

2011-06-22T14:38:00.006-04:00

Last year, I found a recipe for Thai basil ice cream ~~somewhere~~ on the Conscious Kitchen blog (which has since closed down)--we were getting a lot of Thai basil in our CSA basket, and I could never use enough of it, until I found the ice cream recipe. I made Thai basil ice cream a good few times last summer; I liked its subtle floral and spicy flavor, and it was incredibly refreshing during the hot Tennessee summer. Because I was foolish enough not to copy the recipe, I've had to try to re-create it on my own; I'm happy to say that this latest ice cream attempt has been a great success--the addition of the blackberries gives the ice cream a little textural interest and complements the basil quite well. Without any more ado:

Ingredients:

-2/3 cup blackberries

-2 tablespoons orange liqueur

-1 tablespoon sugar

-1 1/2 cups coconut creamer (or soy/almond creamer)

-1 1/2 cups soy milk (or other non-dairy milk)

-2/3 cup basil, packed (purple is best; I used a mix of purple and Genovese)

-2/3 cup sugar

-2 tablespoons tapioca flour

-pinch of salt

Process:

1. Combine blackberries, orange liqueur, and the tablespoon of sugar in a bowl and set aside to macerate.

2. Combine the creamer and soy milk in a medium saucepan, and bring to just near a boil over medium heat; once the mixture is hot and lightly steaming, take off heat and stir in the basil. Allow the mixture to infuse for at least an hour; if you would like a more intense flavor, let it sit overnight (refrigerated). (If you choose to infuse for longer than a few hours, also refrigerate the blackberry mixture.)

3. Once the ice cream base is infused to your liking, strain out the basil, squeezing the leaves to extract flavor.

4. Combine the ice cream base, sugar, and salt in the medium saucepan, and bring to a near-boil over medium-high heat, whisking regularly. When the mixture is hot, sprinkle in the tapioca flour, whisking steadily; continue to whisk for 5-7 minutes, or until the mix thickens noticeably.

5. Pour the ice cream base into a wide bowl and allow to come to room temperature before refrigerating. When the base has cooled sufficiently, mash the blackberries with a fork until no whole berries remain. Fold the blackberries into the ice cream base.

6. Follow the ice cream maker's instructions, and wait patiently while the ice cream freezes.

The ice cream in my pictures looks a little icy because our ice cream maker decided to die on us right in the middle of making this; nonetheless, the ice cream is wonderful. If you doubt the combination of basil and blackberries, I wish that I could let you taste some of this (I happen to be eating some right now), as the flavor would make you rescind any doubt. The basil makes the wild blackberry flavor more intense, and itself tastes almost a little like mint. If you had to guess the flavor of the ice cream, I bet it would take you a few tries to get to basil. I love this ice cream because it is both a little unusual, but yet somehow familiar; and I also like to be reminded that basil is more than just a savory herb--that it shines, but differently, when combined with sweetness.

I'm so glad that blackberries are starting to come in again, and I'm particularly lucky to have a large bramble within walking distance. Most of the berries are out of reach (and shielded by thorns), but last year, I picked at least a couple of quarts (and used some in a cake!). I think this year I'll freeze them as I pick them and try to make a jam with whatever is left over after making the ice cream.

A Spring Tonic: Ode to Greens and Root Vegetables

2011-06-20T10:13:00.005-04:00

There were three things that I was eager to do immediately upon our return to town: pick up Lucy from the kennel, go to the farmer's market to get our CSA basket, and visit our community garden plot. Although Louisville has great vegan food, I missed the fresh vegetables from the market and our garden. There's nothing quite like planning meals around what's in season--it's this very thing that's made us so attached to the CSA (we're in our third year with A Place of the Heart Farm). When I visited our community garden plot, there were over half a dozen cosmic purple carrots ready to pick; I was surprised by how big they were--some as long as eight inches. It was my first time to try to grow carrots, and I only put in a couple short rows of them, but I have really been enjoying the results: the carrots are spicier and tastier than even the organic ones from the store. And they're just so beautiful, not only on the outside, too--I always look forward to seeing the contrasts of orange flesh, greenish-yellow core, and the purple skin when I slice them.

The soup I'm about to introduce isn't just about the carrots, although they are an integral part of it; the soup is more of a convergence of a few different greens and vegetables that have flourished in our garden. In fact, the only ingredients that are not local are the onion, olive oil, and the salt/pepper--everything else came either from our CSA (garlic, parsley, mustard greens) or was grown by us (beet, turnip, carrot, arugula, sorrel, thyme). It is a wonderfully quick soup that has a good depth of flavor without relying on stock; it also allowed me to use up a good amount of the greens that have proliferated in the week of our absence.

I've had Deborah Madison's Vegetable Soups for at least four years, and have only used recipes from it a couple times because when I first bought the book, I had a very primitive understanding of soup, and a good few of her recipes call for stock, or patience, or both. Lately, though--and especially with this soup adaptation, my interest has been piqued--it's such a simple soup, and yet so good that I can only imagine how wonderful some of the more complex recipes will be. Also, now that we have a garden, some of these more elusive ingredients are readily available.

I picked the soup recipe specifically for the greens that have been missing from my diet in the last week and a half--it's called "A Spring Tonic," and although we're almost out of spring and into summer, it was definitely nourishing and restorative. The original recipe calls for nettles and watercress, but I didn't have any on hand; it also calls for two small potatoes--but alas, we finished off the rest of our potatoes before leaving town, so I substituted a good-sized turnip. I think that the soup I made yesterday was every bit as good as the original recipe, as I stayed true to the concept: lots of greens with some starch for consistency.

Ingredients:
-2 T olive oil
-1 medium turnip, cubed
-1 medium onion, diced
-2 carrots, diced
-5 garlic cloves, chopped
-sprig of fresh thyme
-handful of parsley
-2 cups sorrel, chopped
-1 cup arugula, chopped
-2 cups beet greens, chopped
-1 cup mustard greens, chopped
(feel free to include radish tops, carrot tops, or other odd greens
-sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Process:
1. Warm olive oil in a wide soup pot. Add onion and garlic and cook until onion starts becoming translucent; add turnip, carrots, parsley, and thyme. Give a good stir and cook over medium heat for several minutes, and then add the greens. Season with 1 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cook over medium heat until the greens have collapsed, about 5 minutes, turning them every so often.

2. Once the greens have wilted, add 2 quarts of water. Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer until the root vegetables are soft, 20 minutes or so. Puree the soup and adjust the spices; serve with a swirl of olive oil or chive blossoms.

As you can see, I chose to not puree the soup (at first), and just had it as is; the soup is just as Madison describes, "the sum of the flavor [of the ingredients] is always larger than the parts." I pureed the leftovers, and am looking forward to eating it again. I can see continuing to make this as "A Summer Tonic" on those days when I need rejuvenation or an extra dose of iron. I'm so glad that I've returned to this book of soups, and I'm sure I'll be using it soon to make cool soups for the hot heart of summer.

Back again, before departure.

2011-06-18T14:24:00.001-04:00

View from our hotel room.

As I mentioned a few days ago, we have been in Louisville, Kentucky for the last week; we are now back home for a few days before we travel north again--for Matt's sister's wedding. I like Louisville a whole lot: I visited it first when I accompanied Matt to the AP reading three years ago (I was not actually working, but he was), and we seem to be coming back to it with some regularity--at least twice a year. It's a nice city, and conveniently half-way between Knoxville and north-east Ohio, where Matt's parents live. The food is good in Louisville, and the bourbon plentiful.

I have spent the last week in a ware-house-like room with a few hundred people, reading hundreds of student essays and sitting in an uncomfortable chair. The work wasn't too bad, but I hope that I can get a good deal of time outside in the next few days before we travel again. July should be more exciting, too, as the canning workshops resume, and the tomatoes start coming in. This month is full of transience and home-sickness--but the end is in sight.

View from my seat at the AP reading.

So marvelous and dangerous...

2011-06-09T21:20:00.001-04:00

Today, I feel untethered; imminence is everywhere. Here is a poem by Lisel Mueller from her collection Alive Together.

Sometimes, When the Light

Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles
and pulls you back into childhood

and you are passing a crumbling mansion
completely hidden behind old willows

or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks
and giant firs standing hip to hip,

you know again that behind that wall,
under the uncut hair of the willows

something secret is going on,
so marvelous and dangerous

that if you crawled through and saw,
you would die, or be happy forever.

Pickled Radishes

2011-06-07T13:08:00.002-04:00

Pickled watermelon radish.

Last year, the nice folks over at Beardsley gave me a couple giant black radishes because they thought I'd like to experiment with them (and probably because they had no idea what to do with it themselves). They were beautiful and unusual, and after a little poking around, I found out that it was a Black Spanish Radish. To be honest, I didn't really know what to do with it, either--and the radishes were big, bigger than even a good-sized turnip; so I pickled them, just as an experiment. When we opened a jar of the pickled radishes a few months later, we could hardly tear ourselves away from it: the radishes were softer, but still crunchy; briny and spicy; savory in a way that is hard to describe, too. This past weekend, we had some friends over to the house, and we finished off a 24 ounce jar of those same radishes--all in one evening.

After eating that first jar of pickled radishes, I decided that I would not only try to grow the Black Spanish Radish (I'll be trying my hand at this in the fall--ordering seeds from the Sand Hill Preservation Center), but that I would also try pickling other radishes.

When I saw the watermelon radishes at market a few weeks ago, I knew that they would make a beautiful pickle. I got a couple bunches, one of which included a radish that was the size of both of my fists put together (and trust me, I do not have small hands). I tasted them as I was preparing to can, and they were quite spicy and crunchy--perfect for pickling. Once I peeled and cut up the radishes, I stuffed them into three pint jars with garlic, ginger, whole coriander seeds, yellow mustard seeds, and black peppercorns. I used a brine solution that had slightly more vinegar than water (as radishes are in no way acidic), and about a teaspoon and a half of salt per pint. Once I processed the jars in a boiling water bath, the radishes gave off some of their brilliant pink color and tinted the brine--although not so much that I can't discern a little of the white and green on the outside of the slices. They're easily some of the most beautiful pickles I've ever made, and I think they'll be every bit as good as the Black Spanish Radish pickles I made last fall.

A Crooked Little Garden in a Rented Space

2011-06-05T12:49:00.002-04:00

Matt and I started renting our present home shortly before we got married two years ago. We didn't know then--and still don't know now--how long we'll be living in Knoxville, and so renting makes a certain kind of sense for us. However, any time that we're walking around the neighborhood, we look at people's houses and talk about what our house will be like when we move; I would like as little lawn as possible, and a sizable garden with a few beds of established perennials--rhubarb, asparagus, strawberries... Until then, we've decided to make the best of things at this present place, and got permission from our landlord to put in a small garden.

Cinder-block cilantro

I actually started planting things in our back yard before I even got permission. I thought that if I put in just a few plants here and there, the landlord wouldn't mind. Last spring, I put a couple salvaged drawers into the ground, along with some cinder blocks, and grew a couple pepper plants, basil, oregano, and one sad Mortgage Lifter tomato. It was an experimental kind of garden--I had no idea what I was doing, and I didn't want to dig up too much of our yard (or ask the landlord for permission), but I wanted to grow something. Somehow, as the summer progressed into fall, the

number of drawers filled with dirt kept multiplying. My parents brought me a horseradish root, and I had to put it somewhere; then, I started volunteering at Beardsley, and decided that I wanted to plant collards--and they, too, had to be planted somewhere. Before knew it, I was preparing beds for next year's squash and tomatoes. Then, a friend gave us some seed garlic, and we built a small raised bed to plant it in; then, another small raised bed for the Egyptian walking onions. At the end of this past winter, I put in a small bed for peppers and a larger bed for kale and root vegetables (for which the neighbors donated unused masonry stones).
Just a couple months ago, I put in a small bed for beans after John Coykendall got me so excited about planting them. I'm also growing potatoes in a couple buckets, just to see if I can. We bought a small blueberry bush, and I'm growing cucumbers, dill, and loofahs along the fence. The patch of dirt in our front yard that had previously been overtaken by ivy now has sorrel, chamomile, cilantro, mint, and dill.

Clockwise from bottom left: horseradish, squash and onions, garlic, potato bucket, mystery tomato, oregano.

As I list everything, I realize just how much I've expanded our garden since last year--all in little increments. It's all a little crooked: the beds are not even, the stones (and even cinder blocks) are not level, and most of the drawers are starting to warp after a year of holding soil and water. I've had to put chicken wire on top of the bigger beds because the neighborhood cats like to use the loose soil as a litter box--thus, the beds look even more strange. But I love it nonetheless. It has taught me a few important lessons--that a garden does not have to be aesthetically pleasing to produce food; that even clay soil is fertile; that compost is indispensable; that I can make a garden with mostly found materials; and that it takes about a year to put in beds, amend the soil, and start an active compost pile. This all gives me hope that wherever we go next, whenever that happens, I will be able to grow something.

Peach Salsa Canning Workshop

2011-05-31T08:00:00.008-04:00

Summer is upon us, and the arrival of heat signals the advent of fresh fruit. However, the fruit won't be around for long, and what better way to extend the flavors of the summer than through canning? During the July canning workshop we will be making peach salsa. This salsa has it all--it's sweet, tangy, spicy, and flavorful; it will also be made with local peaches.

The class costs $20 (payable in advance of the class date) and includes a print-out of basic canning instructions and the recipe, and a jar of the peach salsa. The class is appropriate for any level of canning enthusiast.The class will take place on Saturday, July 2nd from 1:30-4:30 PM. Although the original location of the class was EarthFare's community room, due to their event on the same day, the class will be held at my house. Please email me for more information.

Small Batch Sour Cherry Jam

2011-05-30T15:20:00.006-04:00

Earlier this month, when we were picking strawberries, I noticed that the pick-your-own place also had a few cherry trees. It's been over twenty years since I've picked cherries, but I have very distinct memories of my mother buying a bucket of cherries from the market in Dushanbe, and gathering the family in the kitchen to prepare and process them for jams and compotes. I was pitting cherries by the time I was four or five years old--sour cherries, mostly, as their sweet counterparts weren't valued for preserves, but for eating out of hand. I remember being quite fond of eating the sour cherries fresh then too, despite finding them a bit too tart for my present tastes. Sprinkled with even a little bit of sugar--which actually helps draw out the fullness of the sour cherry flavor--they are exquisite.

So when I spotted the cherry trees, I knew that I would be back to pick the cherries; and once I tasted them while picking, I knew that I wanted to make something simple, with just a touch of sugar. By the time I finished making boozy cherries, I had just over two pounds of un-pitted cherries left for this beautiful, low-sugar jam.

Sour cherry jam in the front, boozy cherries in the back

Sour Cherry Jam

Ingredients:

4.5 cups pitted and mashed sour cherries
1.5 cups sugar, divided
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1.5 teaspoons Pomona's pectin*
1.5 teaspoons calcium water (mix included in pectin box)

Process:

1. Prepare jars, canner (or a medium pot, as this is a small batch of jam), and cherries. I started out with just over two pounds of fruit, and by the time they were pitted and mashed in the preserving pan, I had about 4.5 cups.

2. Add half a cup of sugar, lemon juice, and calcium water to the cherries in the preserving pan, stir to combine, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

3. Meanwhile, mix up the remaining sugar with the pectin in a medium bowl; set aside.

4. Cook the cherries on medium heat for 15 minutes; you want the cherries to fully release their juices, but you don't want to overcook the fruit. While cooking, skim off any foam that may form.

5. Once the jam has the desired consistency, add the pectin and sugar mixture, and bring the jam to a rolling boil for two minutes. If you want, check the set of the jam; my jam has a medium-firm set, but I think that this would be great even as a sauce, if you want to omit the pectin.

6. Pour jam into sterilized jars, leaving 1/4" headspace; wipe the rims and process for 10 minutes in a boiling water bath.

Yield:

Approximately 2 pints.

Is this jam worth the trouble for such a small batch? Absolutely. It's much more sophisticated than a simple strawberry jam, and unusual. This past weekend, in addition to the drunken cherries, I also made a sweet cherry-rhubarb jam, and I can safely say that the sour cherry jam is my favorite of all.

*Sour cherries have a higher pectin content than sweet cherries, so I kept the amount of pectin quite low.

Homesickness one way, wanderlust the other

2011-05-26T10:13:00.000-04:00

Here's a poem by Galway Kinnell from his book Imperfect Thirst; it's from the section "Sheffield Ghazals." I remember reading this poem three years ago and becoming instantly implicated in its language--it's what a good poem does to a person, makes complicity. Kinnell does not adhere to the ghazal form strictly, but uses it as a sort of guide; this is especially evident in the maqta, where he names himself--partially to claim credit for the work, but also to deeper involve himself in the poem's events.

Driving West

A tractor-trailer carrying two dozen crushed automobiles overtakes a tractor-trailer carrying a dozen new.
Oil is a form of waiting.
The internal combustion engine converts the stasis of millennia into motion.
Cars howl on rain-wetted roads.
Airplanes rise through the downpour and throw us through the blue sky.
The idea of the airplane subverts earthly life.
Computers can deliver nuclear explosions to precisely anywhere on earth.
A lightning bolt is made entirely of error.
Erratic Mercurys and errant Cavaliers wander the highways.
The girl puts her head on a boy's shoulder; they are driving west.
The windshield wipers wipe, homesickness one way, wanderlust the other, back and forth.
This happened to your father and to you, Galway--sick to stay, longing to come up against the ends of
the earth, and climb over.

Making Polenta

2011-05-23T21:59:00.001-04:00

Vegetable stock and polenta

In the last month or so, we've been eating a lot of greens: the arugula and turnips have done incredibly well in our community garden plot, and once the CSA season began, we started getting spinach, chard, mustard greens, three different kinds of kale, and more arugula. This sudden abundance has challenged our creativity--we've made curries (both Indian and Thai), used greens in pasta, had wilted greens as a side, but still sometimes had more greens than we knew what to do with, and wanted to expand our repertoire. Every now and then, we'd buy pre-made polenta in the plastic sleeves, at about $2.50 per pack. Matt would

Garlic scapes and green onion

slice it up and fry it in a pan with garlic and olives, adding the greens at the end, and wilting them--and it makes for a very good light lunch or appetizer. And then one day, I had an epiphany: the "grits" (also known as coarse-ground cornmeal) sold in the bulk section of our coop is polenta! I don't know why it took me so long to realize this--maybe because I don't like grits (something about the mushy texture), and have never associated squishy grits with the crispy-on-the-outside and savory polenta. Whatever the reason for my previous oversight, I'm glad that I've made the (mental) leap because polenta is incredibly easy to make and so cheap!

Quick sautee in olive oil and salt

Adding stock

Not only is polenta cheap, but versatile, too. The spices and the liquid ingredient can be varied according to the occasion. What I had on hand were green onions, garlic scapes, and vegetable stock. (Remembe r when I said that I "wasn't thrilled about canning the stock?" I take it back. I've used up almost all of the seven quarts of stock--some has gone into soups, but my polenta discovery will have me using stock much more often, for sure.)

The basic thing to keep in mind about polenta is that the liquid to grain ratio is about 3 to 1; you could use water for the liquid, and as long as the polenta is organic and good quality, the final result would probably be wonderful. As I was making this particular polenta, I kept thinking of the flavor combinations that I could make in the future; sun-dried tomato and basil (or oregano); cilantro and jalapeno; pumpkin and thyme...

Polenta gets pretty thick; keep stirring!

Allowing the polenta to firm up

All this talk about polenta, and no recipe yet. What can I say, I got carried away contemplating it!

Recipe:

2 green onions, white and green parts, chopped
2 garlic scapes (or a clove or two of garlic), minced
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dried basil (or other herbs)
4 cups vegetable stock
2/3 cup of water (as needed)
1.5 cups polenta/ corn grits/ coarse-ground cornmeal

Sauté the onions and garlic scapes in olive oil for a few minutes, just until they're starting to cook. Add the salt and herbs, stir to combine flavors; pour in the stock and bring to a steady simmer over medium-high heat. Once the stock is simmering, add the polenta in a slow and steady stream, and stir constantly with a wooden spoon or spatula for 25-30 minutes. As you're stirring, be sure to stir from the bottom of the pot, as the polenta will become quite thick quickly--and you want to both keep it from burning and keep it cooking for the full time, or else it will be too gritty. Add as little as 1/4 and as much as 2/3 cup of water during the cooking process--the polenta should be quite thick, but not too thick to stir effectively. At the end of the cooking time, taste and adjust spices; take the polenta off heat and transfer into a greased 8"x8" (or a 9"x9", depending on how thick you like it) baking pan, and allow to cool for a couple hours.

After the polenta cools, you can slice it and store in an airtight container for up to a week, refrigerated. As I mentioned earlier, to fix it, just fry some up with more garlic, onions, and greens. You can also decrease the recipe and use 1 cup of polenta for 3 cups of liquid, but (personally,) I like a thicker slice of polenta.

Polenta is also something that is often sold locally, and thus could be a delicious platform for an almost all-local meal.

Weekend Project: Potstickers

2011-05-23T08:00:00.021-04:00

I love potstickers. Actually, I love all kinds of dumplings, steamed buns, and pretty much anything that is a savory filling in dough. I like making these things, too--there's something great about the process of making the dough and the filling, and shaping the potstickers, steamed buns, pies, etc. It usually takes a few hours for everything to come together, but the resulting food is usually enough to eat several times. Every few months, I set aside a half a day or so for the process; the previous time (a few weeks ago), I made kimchi-filled steamed buns--we liked them so much, there was barely any left over after dinner. I'd never made steamed buns before, and mine were far from pretty, but they were so good! I also like that I could make the dough for them myself, whereas with potstickers, there's just no way that I'm willing to roll out quite so many perfect circles of dough.

Yesterday, Matt and I worked on potstickers with three different fillings--one was tofu and green onion; another had king oyster mushrooms and buna-shimeji; and the third was a mix of mushrooms, napa cabbage, and green onions. We'd gotten the vegetables on Saturday in our CSA share, and although I had wanted to make kimchi, I realized that we still have some left from our last batch; the potstickers took more effort, but I'm glad that we've made them. We also made a batch of the steamed buns with a couple of the different fillings, and put everything away into the freezer for later.

I like doing this--putting away food for later; it's probably why I became so enthusiastic about canning so quickly. And canning paved the way for making more things like this... Not only can I make things that taste so much better than what I can get at the Asian market, but I can also use up the local ingredients that we get from our CSA basket.

Urban Land Scouts--Composting with Worms

2011-05-20T09:47:00.000-04:00

This past Wednesday at Beardsley farm, the Urban Land Scouts had their penultimate meeting of the series and learned how to make worm-bins out of five gallon buckets. And although I'd known about composting with the help of worms for a while, I've never really bothered to do it--after all, we have a (somewhat successful) compost pile. Why bother with the worms, I thought? Actually, that's not true, and that's not what I thought at all. Earlier in the spring, I tried to make a worm bin out of buckets, and failed; I knew my failure by the worms' determined escape from the home I had created for them. I abandoned the project and released the worms back into our compost pile, not really reflecting on my failure until now.

At the workshop we learned that if worms are escaping their home, that means something is not right in their environment; we also learned that it is necessary for worms to have some sort of moist bedding--we used soaked newspaper shreds--to be happy. (After all, as Shannon reminded us, "A dry worm is a dead worm." The picture is of her showing us how to make the bedding.) It is exactly this bedding that I neglected to make in my earlier attempt, although I knew that worms love to eat half-composted fruits and vegetables and need a little shovel-full of dirt in their habitat.

I still feel a little strange taking worms out of their natural habitat and keeping them in a bin in our kitchen; however, now that I know that this type of worm thrives on food scraps, and would soon die off if put into the garden bed (as was soon to be the fate of the worms we dug up from Beardsley's compost), I feel a little better.

For some reason what was most surprising to me was that Shannon was handling the worms and the compost without gloves, and so lovingly! She would take a mostly rotted apple, break it apart and show us how the worms love its moist environment. She instructed us to feed the worms in our bin by burying the food scraps somewhere beneath the bedding, and as squeamish as I started out the workshop, I think that I will be ready to do this in a day or two. After all, it's just worms, and my own food scraps, and newspaper--all things that I decisively handle. Make soil with the help of worms!

Inside the worm bin--see the worms?

Plans and Provisions

2011-05-17T08:00:00.002-04:00

Same soup, a couple months ago.

In a few weeks, Matt and I will be spending nine days in Louisville grading the essay portion of the AP Literature exam. We love the city--it's not too big, but still has things to do, and really good restaurants that we've come to like over the last few years. We go to Louisville at least a couple times a year because Matt's parents live in Ohio, and Louisville is just about the halfway point between there and Knoxville.

ETS, the testing agency that hires teachers to grade the AP tests, pays for much of the stay--the hotel and some lunches are covered. However, the lunches are often not suitable for vegans, and from what Matt tells me, if there is anything vegan, there's not much.

In the last couple of years, I've stayed behind at home and eaten raw for ten days or so; this year, I'm glad to have been accepted to be a grader. Because we're both going to be there, I want to be sure that we have food to take up with us. This is where our pressure canner comes into play: I'm planning to make and can a couple different soups, so we can take jars of soup with us--they won't need refrigeration, and a jar is just the perfect amount for lunch. Today I made the lentil soup that has been a favorite for the last few months. The batch made nine pints. I'm still getting the hang of the pressure canner (it's only the second time that I've used it), and it was a stressful couple hours to get the pressure canner ready, sealed properly, venting, and to the right pressure to can the soup. All the jars sealed incredibly well, and the Tattler lids are especially concave, indicating a very strong seal. Matt's going to try one of the jars of soup for his lunch tomorrow, but a good few or the others will be packed away and awaiting the trip north.

There have been a couple times that people have expressed surprise and dismay at the cost of our pressure canner; nonetheless (and despite having used it only twice so far), I think that it is more than a worthwhile investment--it will last us a lifetime, and it will be so useful! I love that I am able to can soups with it, and to have those jars in reserve for when we need them. Yes, it takes a good bit of extra time to plan ahead, but to me it is worth it. I think many people forfeit such things in favor of spending money on other things, or sticking to convenience--after all, it's much easier to buy soup in cans; but good quality and organic (vegan) soup is expensive (whereas the soup that I made today cost at most seven dollars or so). The main issue, too, is time. Xan expressed it best in a recent blog post, "When I tell people about this [in my case, canning], the near-universal response is awestruck (sometimes patronizing) admiration, followed by the statement 'where do you find the time' or 'well, that's great, but I don't have time for that.'" There is always time if people want to make time for things; I know that I'm mostly unemployed for the summer, but last summer, when I was working a shit job full-time, I still found time to can almost every other day in July and August. And speaking of (mostly) not being employed over the summer--it was a choice on my part because I knew that I could trade a few months' income for the ability to be at home and to have the full summer season to volunteer at Beardsley and other farms, and to be canning. It's a different way to make provisions, not using money, but using skills and connections.

Re-examining Stewardship

2011-05-16T22:34:00.007-04:00

A little while ago, as I was in the process of writing the essay on stewardship for the Urban Land Scouts blog, I was talking my ideas over with Matt, and he said, "When you talk about 'stewardship,' you're still talking about a hierarchical relationship of people to everything else--nature, resources, animals. I realize that it's not within the scope of your essay, but you should think about what 'stewardship' really means." I've been thinking about it ever since then, and thought that I'd share some of my thoughts with you.

To me, stewardship has religious connotations--in the sense that stewardship is the equivalent of dominion over plants and animals, as dictated by a higher power. Of course in that sense, stewardship still implies responsibility and a more heightened sense of awareness. However, it still definitely describes a system where people are overlords of everything else--nature, animals, resources--just using everything, but more responsibly, perhaps. If a steward is "a person whose responsibility it is to take care of something," there is the implied power given to people; it does not necessarily mean that people should be consistent, or doing everything within their power to make the environment better, through sustainable and responsible practices. (You see how difficult it is to shift from our normal way of thinking? I'm having trouble even wording this...)

What I mean is that even when adopting the notions of stewardship, we believe ourselves to have the most control, to have the best solutions for the troubles that we create in the first place. The solution of retaining power, but using it a little more responsibly only sounds better; but how much does it really accomplish? If stewardship just reaffirms the rather unnatural position of human superiority, how do we re-order our thinking to make ourselves a part of nature, rather than an entity superior to everything else? How do we get to a point where it's not even a matter of instituting stewardship, but a matter of maintaining a close correspondence with nature, recognizing ourselves as a part of it?

When I visited Narrow Ridge Earth Literacy Center last month, Bill, the grounds manager, talked about a different way of living in the world. Everyone at Narrow Ridge lives off the grid, uses composting toilets, small wind turbines, and solar panels, collects rain water for bathing and uses spring water for drinking. They also live in sustainably-built houses--most are straw-bale houses, others are built from the trees growing right there on the land. Bill explained that they view technological advances as part of the natural processes, and utilize them to benefit both them and their environment. I keep thinking of ways that I could occupy a more fitting role; I know that veganism is a part of it--I'll keep you posted on other things as I discover them.

Where can we build/ the house of spring

2011-05-12T08:19:00.000-04:00

It's just the second week of May, but it seems like the seasons have sped up--it's already quite hot out. As my friend Katie said, "Sweat begins [now] and doesn't end until October." And I, at a later point, replied that I feel like I haven't been hardened off properly, and can't get used to the heat if it comes on so suddenly. Even if it doesn't feel like it, here's a poem by Laura Kasischke for

The Second Week of May

What will we buy with Judas's money?
Who will live in Hitler's house? What

shall we do with this veil stolen

from the murdered bride, this
blanket lifted from the sleeping child?

I will buy candy, says the sweetheart.
I will grow here, the primrose sings.

The lightness of silk in the perfumed breeze, soft
as cashmere, pale pink.

Where can we build
the house of spring,

the one built
on a clear conscience, the one
in which no innocent

civilian has ever been killed?
Yes. Imagine.
Every day
a clean kitchen, every night a Puritan's pillow.

But it's May, and the lilac
whispers to the wisteria,
Whose shadow shall I wear
this year to prom? Whose

white scarf sewn from a virgin's last breath is this?

(From Gardening in the Dark)

Community Garden Plot

2011-05-09T15:09:00.001-04:00

Because we are renting this house, we can only do a limited garden in the back yard; even though our landlord is very supportive of my gardening efforts, I just don't know how long we'll be staying in Knoxville. And I don't want to put in a full garden just to leave it behind in a year.

However, I am ambitious, and want to grow so many different things. This is where the community plot at Beardsley farm comes in. In addition to providing produce for those in need, Beardsley also provides over twenty garden plots for people in the neighborhood, and others in the area who would like to garden, but don't have the space. Or people like me, who would like to expand on their existing small garden spaces.

The community garden plots are tilled every fall and spring, amended, and turned over to the gardeners. So far, ours has been doing pretty well; we're growing broccoli, radishes, turnips, carrots, and arugula. I had also put in some chard and beets, but those were mysteriously pulled out (cleanly and completely) last weekend; as distraught as I was at the loss, I understand the hazards of having the spot open to the public. And besides, because of the rains, I've only been visiting the plot twice a week. This means that everything has been growing relatively maintenance-free, and maybe the chard and beets are just the price to pay for all this.

Yesterday, when we went up to water the plot, I put in a few Black Valentine beans and more arugula. I'm looking forward to visiting my plot and seeing how everything is doing when I volunteer at Beardsley.

Urban Land Scouts--Saving Seeds with John Coykendall

2011-05-05T23:39:00.000-04:00

Yesterday for the Urban Land Scouts workshop (level 7), the scouts had a chance to spend time with John Coykendall, the master gardener at Blackberry Farm.

John has been collecting heirloom beans for over four decades, and knows an astonishing amount about the history of the various beans that he's tracked down. Some of the beans that he's acquired were guarded by families for generations; one of the field peas that he showed us dated back to the 1790s! Not only did the beans have fascinating histories, but they were also very beautiful. I'd been wanting to see (and grow!) Christmas Lima beans for a while now, and John had some of those, along with at least a dozen other varieties of beans and peas.

John also brought a few different gourds and explained about the various different uses for them. Before there was Tupperware, gourds were used for storing salt and sugar; they were also used as bowls and dippers. But I digress. What I loved the most was to hear John talk about the seeds.

In these days when produce is hybridized to withstand exceedingly long transport--as so many plants and vegetables are bred to create tougher, more uniform-looking fruit and seed--we are losing genetic diversity.

Not only that, but if we shop at most supermarkets, what we often buy--and get accustomed to--is bland, flavorless produce whose main goal is to arrive at its destination unbruised. Or we become used to just a few different kinds of grain, legume, or fruit, and don't even know about the value and taste of the hundreds of other varieties. I know that when I was canning apple sauce last fall, I was surprised to learn that some apples are better for sauce, while others are best for cider. And it's the same with beans: we know so few varieties, when there are still so many in existence!

This is why the conservation of heirloom seeds is so important--it preserves diversity and a wider genetic base. It keeps the history of our food alive; it keeps food important in ways greater than just sustenance. As the Urban Land Scouts were gathered around to begin the meeting, John Coykendall looked around the circle and said, "This is going to be the future of seed-saving--it's going to be you, and people with such interests."

I walked away from the day with a good bit of knowledge about seeds--for example, I learned that saving seeds of hybrid plants is no good, as the offspring will likely develop undesirable traits of one of the parent plants; this means that the Sungold seeds that I'd saved earlier are no good (and maybe it's for the best that those tomato plants got pummeled by hail). I also walked away with a pocket full of beans. I sat down when I got home, and sorted them--I have a couple of most of the types of beans and peas that John brought. They'll be good for the next 4-5 years, with at least a 50% germination rate, and I'll try to grow a few of them, maybe even this summer. The good thing is, even if I have one or two of the beans, I can grow them, and have more than enough seeds for the following year.

I hope to have the pleasure of John Coykendall's company again soon; he may be coming back to Beardsley next year, and I just might make a trip to Blackberry Farm to follow him around for a while. If you have a chance to spend some time with him, I highly recommend it!

Strawberry Season

2011-05-03T20:43:00.006-04:00

I knew that it was going to rain today, and so I made time to go down to The Fruit and Berry Patch to pick the first (for me) strawberries of the season. Here in East Tennessee, strawberries have actually already been around for a couple of weeks, but I've been resisting buying them, even at markets, saving myself for the enormous satisfaction of picking them myself. So yesterday afternoon, putting down ungraded papers and leaving the landlord in the middle of fixing a window that was broken during last week's hail storm, I went to pick strawberries. I think this is the first time that I've ever been berry-picking alone. When I started out, I was alone in the strawberry field--it was mid-afternoon, and the sun made the berries practically radiate that ripe strawberry smell. It was a wonderfully sweaty and gratifying experience; I picked ten pounds of berries, most of which are already designated for various projects.

After I learned how to can (only a year and a half ago?!), and then canned barbecue sauce in the fall, strawberry jam was my first spring project. It turned out fine, but it wasn't anything to write about (and I didn't, in fact); it was runny, and a little over-cooked, and a little too sweet for me. I liked it fine, but I think there's still a jar of it left. So I took it upon myself to try and make a strawberry jam that would translate the true flavor and excitement of the berries that I love so much. I looked to other bloggers for inspiration, and can say that the first strawberry jam of the season--strawberry-rhubarb jam--was a great success.

I didn't have a lemon on hand, so I substituted the lemon zest in the recipe with orange zest. This jam came out still tart, and even though I had slightly less rhubarb than the recipe suggested, it came out wonderfully. I can't quite tell that the rhubarb is in the jam, but the strawberry flavor somehow seems more genuine--maybe it's the sharpness of the rhubarb that carries it through.

I have some strawberries macerating in the fridge, awaiting another jam project; strawberries--I now know--signal the beginning of the full-swing canning season. After strawberries, the blueberries, blackberries, peaches, and plums come rolling in, one right after the other. And I'm looking forward to it all.

If you're looking for something to do with all these strawberries that are going to be pouring in for the next few weeks, and need a little guidance with canning (or if you would just like to try a new recipe), you can sign up for one of the upcoming canning classes--there's one next Saturday. Let me know if you are interested, and please--spread the word to your friends. There's very little that is more exciting than opening a jar of home-canned strawberry jam, and being reminded of the wonderful flavor of fresh-picked strawberries during the month of November!

Tennessee Love

2011-04-30T14:48:00.001-04:00

Narrow Ridge Earth Literacy Center

A couple days ago, when the south part of Knoxville got hit by the incredible hail storm--"hail the size of baseballs"--I realized that I've lived in Tennessee for fourteen years (it was probably just as I was saying, "I've never seen anything like this, and I've lived here...how many years?!"). I've never lived anywhere else longer, and it's grown on me; I've grown to love it, especially after getting to know places like Beardsley Farm, A Place of the Heart Farm, and Narrow Ridge Earth Literacy Center.

A Place of the Heart Farm

This has been a somewhat difficult week: we lost electricity on Wednesday, and only had it back for a couple hours late last night, just to lose it again in the early morning. There's some damage to the house and our cars, but it's relatively minor; the experience has been more disorienting than anything. However, we went to a farmer's market preview, and got beautiful bread and a couple produce items. A farmer even gave us a small head of lettuce for our lunch salad when we said we didn't have power.
It may be a few days before I post again--even if we get electricity back today, I'll spend a few days catching up on cleaning, laundry, grading, and re-planting.

Beautiful beginnings of four of my favorite books.

2011-04-26T20:08:00.003-04:00

He speaks in your voice, American, and there's a shine in his eye that's halfway hopeful.

See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folks are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father had been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him.

Fear presides over these memories, a perpetual fear. Of course no childhood is without its terrors, yet I wonder if I would hvae been a less frightened boy if Lindbergh hadn't been president or if I hasn't been the offspring of Jews.

A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare to now.

The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart

2011-04-25T21:34:00.002-04:00

Today was mostly sunny, and then the late afternoon and evening unexpectedly turned into thunderstorms and rain. Thinking about the sunshine, I decided that this poem by Richard Siken, from his book Crush, would be appropriate.

Visible World

   Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow
   flat on the wall.
   The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs.
You had not expected this,
   the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light
   pummeling you in a stream of fists.
   You raised your hand to your face as if
   to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light
streamed straight to the bone,
   as if you were the small room closed in glass
   with every speck of dust illuminated.
   The light is no mystery,
the mystery is that there is something to keep the light
   from passing through.

Ramps

2011-04-25T06:25:00.000-04:00

Before yesterday, I'd only had ramps once. We were on a day-trip to Nashville (three years ago), and saw them on sale at Whole Foods; I didn't think much of them, but Matt knew exactly the kind of delicacy that we'd found.

Since first tasting them, I'd been on the lookout for ramps, but hadn't been able to get any until this weekend. As we were digging up the succulent ramps, I couldn't help but be mindful of over-harvesting. I want the ramp spot to provide people with this spring-time delicacy for years to come, and I feel like we were almost too greedy, taking not just he leaves, but the bulbs, too.

I hope that this year isn't the last time that we have ramps, but I'm willing to forego them if it means preserving them for the future.

Pressure Canning Adventures: Vegetable Stock

2011-04-21T11:00:00.003-04:00

A month, or so, ago, I agreed to teach a pressure canning class in the summer; it sounded so easy--just teaching a single-item pressure-canning workshop with tomatoes. We'd just gotten a pressure canner, and it was gracing the kitchen with its shiny presence; I had read the instructions, and everything made perfect sense. I had seen fellow bloggers' posts about pressure canning, and the process seemed very clear. I felt ready. I felt ready, that is, until the pressure canner was actually on the stove, and I had to begin the process; then, at that very moment, some little voice inside of me commanded me to be terrified of pressure canners. Once I put the couple inches of water into the canner, once I filled the jars half-way with water, and began bringing the contents to a simmer, I understood all the fears of pressure canning. "What if it explodes," I said to myself, "what if it doesn't work and never achieves the pressure?" "What if my jars all break once it reaches pressure?" All those people who had come to my canning workshops and told me that they have a pressure canner, but are too intimidated by it, suddenly made sense. I swear, if I hadn't spent 4 hours making vegetable stock, I would have stopped right then and there...

The pressure canner, next to two 7-quart pots of stock.

I also knew that I couldn't back down because I had to learn how to pressure-can before I could teach others how to do the same--and overcoming my irrational fears of pressure canning meant that I could dispel similar fears in others.
(I don't know if the pictures quite portray the stature of this pressure canner. It's not only large, but it's also made of cast aluminum, and thus quite heavy. This model also doesn't have a rubber gasket to create a seal between the canner and lid; the six thumb screws hold the lid in place.)

One jar of stock among others.

The weight is on, and the pressure rising

So I took a deep breath, and started the process.

Just as with water-bath canning, it is important to get the jars hot before filling them. Jars are definitely made to withstand high heat, but don't do well with quick temperature changes and can break because of temperature shock. Jars are half-filled with water, and then placed into the pressure canner (which is filled with 1.5 or 2 inches of water); the whole thing is then brought to a simmer over medium-high heat. It's not necessary to sterilize the jars ahead of time, as they will become hot enough during pressure canning to kill off any and all unwanted bacteria.
Once the contents of the canner were happily simmering (not to self--this takes longer than expected), I took out one jar at a time, emptied the water, and filled it with near-boiling vegetable stock until all the jars were full. Then, I screwed the lid on, turned up the heat, and waited for the steam to vent for 8 minutes before putting the weight on. Once the weight was on, the pressure started rising. I had to regulate the heat a couple times to make sure that the weight wasn't "jiggling" too often--this indicates that the water is evaporating too fast, as the weight "jiggles" to release steam and to keep the canner from overshooting the pressure.
Once the gauge reached the appropriate pressure, I started the timer--35 minutes for vegetable stock; afterwards, I just turned the burner off, and let the canner de-pressurize on its own overnight. All seven quarts of the vegetable stock sealed quite firmly, and I'm looking forward to having those to use throughout the next few months.

A few things of note: because this was my first time handling the pressure canner, Matt helped me throughout the process--he encouraged me, read and re-read instructions, helped me screw on the lid, fill the jars, etc. If you're tackling pressure-canning, I highly recommend doing it with a friend. Secondly, the process took a lot longer than I expected, just because I wasn't quite sure what to expect: the canner took a long time to come to a boil, to come to pressure, and to de-pressurize. When I started out, I thought that I'd be able to just pop off the lid once it was done, and to take out the jars for instant canning gratification. But that's not so. The large warning label on the lid of the canner warns not to take the lid off too early, lest you want to acquire steam burns; thus, I decided to wait to extract the jars until the following morning. This means that if I'm teaching a class on pressure-canning, I will need to build in the time to let the canner come down to normal pressure.
Overall, I'm so glad that I tried pressure canning now, so I can have plenty of practice before I am canning corn and tomatoes. I wasn't thrilled about canning the stock (I make bullion to use in soups, usually), but it was worth it to have the practice.

Strawberry Jam Canning Workshop

2011-04-18T22:20:00.002-04:00

I am happy to announce that after this short April hiatus, the canning classes will resume next month! During the May canning workshop we will be making strawberry-vanilla bean jam. This jam is a variation on the sweet classic of spring: the vanilla beans add a nice depth to the already flavorful (locally-grown) berries.

The class costs $20 (payable in advance of the class date) and includes a print-out of basic canning instructions and the recipe, and a jar of the strawberry jam. The class is appropriate for any level of canning enthusiast.

The class will take place in the Turkey Creek Earth Fare community room on Saturday, May 14th from 1:30-4:30 PM.

I'm looking forward to strawberries and the workshop!

The Concept of Happiness

2011-04-14T20:30:00.000-04:00

Bertrand Russell opens his book The Conquest of Happiness by suggesting that we are all familiar with happiness and unhappiness and that we can identify these emotional states in ourselves and in others, but that we are often at a loss to find the sources of these states. Russell stakes out what he sees are the causes of both happiness and unhappiness with the idea that helping folks to recognize the sources will help them to live their lives in a way that will heighten the chances for happiness. It isn't enough to just try to be happy, we must avoid unhappiness as much as strive for those things that make us happy -- family, productive work, individual interests, and so on.

In sources of unhappiness, Russell writes four general maxims:
1. remember that your motives are not always as altruistic as they seem to yourself
2. don't overestimate your own merits
3. don't expect others to take as much interest in you as you do yourself
4. don't imagine that most people give enough thought to you to have any desire to persecute you.

I like these maxims because they remind us to be aware of two things: that our judgments of ourselves are often stilted in our own favor and that our vision of others is often clouded by this. Russell asks us to be more aware of who we are in relation to others and to be vigilant in taking others into consideration.

*I had originally planned a much longer version of this which included some thoughts on Aristotle and some lines from Nietzsche's Ecce Homo. That version was scrapped because this draft had been languishing in the FLP ether for too long and it became obvious that I would never have finished the whole things as I had envisioned it. mr

Urban Land Scouts--Fed by the Land

2011-04-14T10:51:00.002-04:00

Jeff Ross, discussing the onion

When I earned my Urban Land Scout Level 4 badge last year, I didn't know much about foraging. Well, I knew something--just enough to put a few things on the Urban Land Scouts map, and know that I could handle the thorns of the wild blackberries in order to make dessert out of them. I also knew that there was wild garlic growing around our neighborhood, but I wasn't quite sure what to do with it.
I was looking forward to yesterday's workshop as a kind of chance to re-affirm my level 4 badge--I definitely wanted to learn more about the edible things that could be foraged in the urban and suburban environment. Once Jeff Ross, the garden manager from Blackbery Farm, started talking, I couldn't help but try to hurriedly write down everything that he said. In the hour and a half of the tour, we barely made it outside of the grounds of Beardsley Farm; in that time, Jeff identified at least twenty five different edible or useful wild plants, and discussed some of the lesser-known points of a couple cultivated ones. In the picture above, he's demonstrating that the stringy roots of onions--the ones most people usually cut off and discard--have a lot of the great onion flavor, and taste incredible when flash-fried.

My head is still spinning a little, not just from the sheer amount of information Jeff presented yesterday, but with the knowledge that it was only the beginning. There is so much more to learn! I'll leave you with a picture of my notes--maybe you can make some sense of them. By the end of the workshop (on the following page, not pictured), my notes deteriorated into exclamatory remarks, such as, "Forsythia is NOT edible!! Pea tendrils are delicious! Let your collards go to seed and eat the florets!" Let me know if you have any questions, and keep in mind that a lot of the notes are specific to Beardsley. (Also, I probably misspelled or mis-wrote a few things....)

African Yam Soup

2011-04-12T08:24:00.031-04:00

There are many foods and flavors that systematically avoided until I became vegan. Until about three years ago, I refused to eat greens (raw or cooked), beans, peanut butter, popcorn, onions, anything spicy...(the list is quite long--too long and embarrassing for me to flesh it out here). When I became vegan, that all changed, almost overnight; when I stopped eating meat and dairy, I suddenly wanted and loved all those things that I'd previously refused to eat. From the way that I lovingly talk about massaged kale salad, you'd never be able to tell my previous mis-inclinations. Every now and then, however, when I read a new recipe, I am filled with the old qualms--especially if it's a soup recipe that includes ginger, garlic, cloves, cardamom, allspice, cinnamon, cumin, chile powder, cayenne pepper, orange juice, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, miso and peanut butter. Oh, did I mention that once I categorize a spice as either sweet or savory, I have a hard time using it for its opposite purpose? So when I saw the African Yam Soup in The Artful Vegan cookbook (the ingredients of which are, for the most part, listed above), I was intrigued, but very hesitant. How could orange juice and cinnamon ever go together with onions and tomatoes?!

Here's the truth: I'd recommended this soup to a friend a couple months ago, when she'd gotten into a food rut, and had all these extra sweet potatoes sitting around. I thought: this soup sounds so adventurous; maybe she'll try it and tell me how it tastes! Well, my friend loved the soup (and at the time I thought she was crazy). It took me these couple of months to work up the courage to try making it, and I'm sorry that I've waited this long. Once everything is cooked together, the soup gets blended, and served with cilantro and roasted peanuts. We stirred some leftover black beans into it--just for added texture--and ate this soup for lunches last week. It was spicy, and tangy, and satisfying; the orange juice and cinnamon that I was worried about so much gave it that extra depth and interest.

And the soup also gave me a chance to use one of our last jars of spicy tomatoes that we put up last summer. Next year--as I've told myself numerous times already--I'll put up more tomatoes, and keep the recipe to this soup marked and on the ready once autumn begins.

How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed

2011-04-11T09:04:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking about posting some more poetry, and simply couldn't help myself with this one. I've always been rather neutral towards Robert Frost, and now, suddenly, I can't stop reading his poems--especially those that are new to me.

Putting in the Seed

You come to fetch me from my work tonight
When supper's on the table, and we'll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea),
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

(1916)

It's that time here in Knoxville; even though the official Last Frost date is about a week off, I don't think we'll have another frost before then. Plant those beans!

Urban Land Scouts--Seed Bombs

2011-04-07T09:59:00.007-04:00

Last year, when Katie Ries was showcasing her Urban Land Scouts exhibit, I had just gotten a Shitty Summer Job, and could only make it to one of the events. It was then that I vowed that if the Urban Land Scouts were to ever meet formally (or informally), I'd be there. I have been fortunate to attend the weekly evening workshops at Beardsley farm for the last couple of weeks, and am starting to look forward to the rest of the meetings even more.

At the workshop yesterday, we made seed bombs (and no, they're not nearly as violent as they sound--just balls of compost, clay, and seeds). As much as I am excited for and supportive of the Urban Land Scouts, I have to admit that at first, I wasn't looking forward to making these; they seemed haphazard and unimportant. However, as my hands sank down into the bucket of compost and clay, as I began mixing and forming the seed balls along with my seed-ball-forming team, I started to understand the process in a different way. First of all, it was just that--a process; I got to spend time with fellow scouts, talking and keeping my hands busy. And as Katie said, the seed bombs are a hopeful gesture--they are little parcels of seeds that go where a gardener wouldn't, and they provide edible plants for an uncared-for space. Because seed bombs are (often) not tended by anyone, they are at the disposal of nature's cycles; when it rains next, the seed bombs we launched last night will start disintegrating, and some seeds will (hopefully) begin germinating. I think that my initial hesitance about seed bombs was about just this: I was only in control of depositing them, but not much else, and because it's my first year growing anything, I've wanted to have control over the plants at every stage. With seeds sown outside of my control, I don't have a say, and so can only observe what happens. And I think I'm fine with that.

(And this part is more for my records than anything else, just in case I want to look in on some of the seed bombs we threw last night: in the planter on the side of the Technology Center; in the raised beds in the front yard of an abandoned house, the old playground, the abandoned school..)

Urban Land Scouts--Saving Seeds

2011-03-30T11:54:00.003-04:00

7 - The Urban Land Scout plants and cares for seeds.

Seed saving is an important gesture of both hope through the winter and self reliance. It is how generations of growers have preserved heirloom varieties or hybridized new strains with combinations of desirable traits.

Sungold

Last year, our CSA share included Sungold Tomatoes. I don't know what it was--I usually prefer a slightly tart tomato, and love Green Zebras--but the Sungolds won my heart. I would dig them out from the half-bushel basket as soon as we would get into the car to drive home, and eat a few right then and there. I tried rationing them throughout the week, but quickly found out that when ripe, these little golden spheres don't last long; I knew that I'd been saving them for too long when a few of the Sungolds' skins broke. It was then that I decided that I must save some of the seeds and plant them in the spring, rather than just composting the tomatoes.
I know that because we're signed up for the same CSA this year, we'll probably get more Sungolds, but I don't care--I could eat these tomatoes every day. Besides, there are rumors that the Sungolds make a beautiful tomato jam, and I'm itching to try to make a few pints of this, knowing how much I like home-made ketchup. So, about a month or so ago, I started some of the tomato seeds inside. We haven't had as much sun as I'd hoped for, and our window sills aren't the best for tomatoes, but they seem to be doing well. I have a couple plants of few different varieties, but I'm most excited for the Sungold tomatoes.

If you've never saved tomato seeds before, you should try it; it's not difficult, and very satisfying. Even if you just grow one tomato plant, the work is worth it; and it's completely worth it to know exactly where the seeds came from, too!

I would also like to encourage you to consider Urban Land Scouts. There are several workshops coming up, and all of them are a great way to sharpen awareness of the natural world and to meet some wonderful folks. Being a part of the Urban Land Scouts has challenged me personally to do more, to be involved in the community, to be aware of my environment. As I expressed in my essay for the ULS blog, the program is a positive "response to fragmented communities, and people's dissatisfaction of being alienated from their surroundings." The steps it encourages you to take may be small, but they have deeper reverberations in your life and the life of others.

___________

Of course, I later learned that saving seeds from the Sungold tomato is not advisable, as it is a hybrid. You can see my post about heirloom seeds and John Coykendall here.

Future Canning Classes

2011-03-24T09:24:00.000-04:00

Aside from just a few things--kimchi ingredients.

This month's preserving workshop was a fantastic experience both for me and (dare I speak for them?) the people who attended. The change of pace from canning was really nice, as I had the chance to share with people my rather new-found passion for all things fermented--not just kimchi. Especially during the second round of the kimchi workshop, I got a few people excited about brewing their own kombucha! And as always, I got to spend time with some great people and talk about preserving, gardening, and all those exciting things that are on their way with the spring season.

Next month, there will not be a canning or preserving class because I am still in the process for looking for a new space, however, I have a few exciting prospects in mind, and will resume classes (maybe even have more of them) starting in May (just in time for strawberry season). I also recently acquired a pressure canner, and hope to be teaching a class using it sometime in June or July. Stay tuned--there are many exciting things under way.

Fermented Pepper Hot Sauce

2011-03-17T20:41:00.001-04:00

In November, as the farmer's market season was winding down, and as there were fewer and fewer vegetables available at farmers' booths, we bought the hot sauce that would change our lives. Jim, the creator of the hot sauce, had sold us some of his jalapenos, which were some of the spiciest I've ever had; he also usually had a good variety of peppers available. And it was just something about that cool and cloudy day that prompted us to try some of the hot sauce (he dripped a little onto our fingers with a pipette); after one taste, we were hopelessly hooked on the stuff. It had a pleasant spiciness that intensified after a few seconds, and a slightly sour/complex taste that often accompanies fermented things. The flavor was also bright and tangy, and slightly sweet. I couldn't imagine 1) that I'd gone through life without this stuff and 2) that I used to not like spicy things.

I liked the hot sauce so much, I knew that I had to try making some of our own, so we got some Tennessee cherry peppers from Jim. At his instruction, we went and bought a decent bottle of riesling, made a brine using the wine, and fermented the peppers in that brine for two months. After two months, we split up the peppers into 3 groups: one was frozen for later use, one went into making a simple hot sauce, and the third was blended with peaches, molasses, mustard powder, and other delicious things to make a sweeter, more complex hot sauce.
Hardly a savory meal goes by without us using one of the hot sauces. Even though we made at least a quart and a half of hot sauce, we have gone through half of it already, and I'm glad that we have some peppers frozen, should there come a day when we run out.

Tonight, we doused our southern-themed (sauteed collards, barbecue tofu steaks, and pumkin cornbread) dinner in the plain hot sauce. If you've never considered making your own hot sauce, I ~~suggest~~ admonish that you at least give it a go--you won't be disappointed with the results.

Robert Frost Poem

2011-03-14T17:20:00.001-04:00

Every now and then, I am reminded of the name of this blog, and the fact that more often than not, I write about food, but not literature or philosophy. And although Matt engages with philosophy more often than I, I still read and teach a course on writing about literature. I'm not making any promises, but I'd like to post about literature more often.

I taught this poem a few weeks ago, and had forgotten about how complex it is. Now that I'm grading student essays on poetry, I thought I'd revisit it and share it with you.

The Silken Tent

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

My students often miss the comparison that begins the poem, and so I spend a couple minutes at the beginning of class explaining how it works. I also like this poem because it reminds me that summer is on its way, and soon.

Reduce, Re-use

2011-03-12T15:00:00.008-05:00

Three years into being a vegan, veganism is normative to me; it's not necessarily always easy (I still have to ask questions every time I eat at an unfamiliar restaurant, and I continue to meet people to whom I explain veganism), but it is what is normal. There are definitely some things that I could still continue to figure out--in terms of cooking, or buying, or what-not, but for the most part, I don't spend as much time just contemplating veganism. And I think that I miss that, a little. I like thinking about the importance of daily objects, and how the domestic is the political. I know that making ethically-informed purchases is important--whether it's shampoo or food. And partially as an extension of my canning endeavors--which have shifted our dependence onto a different, and often local producer of ingredients, I've started thinking about other things in slightly different terms. Now that veganism is normative, I want to see if there are other areas in my life that I can change for the better.

Part of the change that I'm envisioning is a more radical reduction in my production of trash. I'm not sure how much I can reduce our output of trash, but I'm starting to try. I try to ask for ceramic mugs at coffee shops, where the baristas often automatically reach for the paper cups. I'm going to start trying to take more of my bulk containers to the co-op when I'm buying bulk items. I recently made lotion again, and am storing it in a mason jar. As of tomorrow, I will be out of shampoo, and I'm not buying any more; for that matter, I'm never buying body wash or face wash again, and am using castille soap and baking soda for cleaning not just myself, but just about everything. I know that a lot of the things that I'm not going to be buying anymore come in recyclable containers, but many of these containers are plastics that get down-cycled instead of recycled. Too often, we forget that reducing and reusing come before recycling. Reducing and reusing is more difficult than recycling, too, in that both force us to re-examine our methods of consumption, rather than just adding a step to our methods of disposal. Reducing, or doing without some things ultimately makes a bigger difference.

The main questions that I've been trying to ask of things are 1) Do I need this at all? and 2) Can I make (cook, can, or grow) it myself? I know that I can't make essential oils or baking soda or castille soap, but I know that buying those things means a much greater reduction in the number of cleaning agents that I buy. I hope that I can keep up with this, along with my resolve to not buy new clothes this year, and I'll try to note the kind of difference that it makes, before this, too--I hope--becomes natural and normative.

International Women's Day

2011-03-08T11:09:00.000-05:00

Today is International Women's Day--give some extra attention to the women in your life!

Also, today marks three years of being vegan.

I predict a good day all around!

Mustard Tiger--A Year In

2011-03-04T08:01:00.002-05:00

It has been about a year since we've taken Mustard Tiger into our house. As you can see, he has fully recovered from his injury; he is incredibly well-adjusted and friendly to everyone. He is one of the most loving cats I've ever met, and there is not a day that we are not grateful for having him in our lives. I am so glad that we made the right decision and offered him a home, even when things were financially difficult for us. Thank you for a great year, Musty!

Kombucha

2011-03-03T10:47:00.001-05:00

Kombucha is not photogenic. The kombucha mother is especially unattractive, but I thought I'd post about this anyway--partially because I can't help but feel a certain sense of pride for this grown-up kombucha mother. You see the thick, firm white layer? You see the nicely active fermentation bubbles? I grew this kombucha mother using a bottle of GT's kombucha, some tea and sugar.

I first heard about kombucha a few years ago, when I was eating raw for a week while Matt was away at Louisville, and I decided to try it, despite its price. I can't say that I loved it immediately, but there was something intriguing about the taste, and it reminded me of kvass--something that I used to drink during my childhood in the former USSR. So I kept coming back to it, buying it occasionally, as a little boost for a crummy day, or just because. On one of these casual acquisitions, a cashier at Whole Foods turned to me, just as I was leaving, and said, "You know, you can make this stuff yourself. It's not that hard."

I, of course, took that as a challenge, and became determined to make my own kombucha. I started reading about it, obsessing about it, looking up reputable dealers of the mother culture...and actually didn't do anything about it for over a year. I kept telling myself that I didn't have enough time to tend to kombucha, that I would somehow ruin it and let it mold, that I wasn't a fit parent. And then what?

Jars came along. I've written a little bit about how canning has changed the way I look at food; but it's not just about canning. Jars have changed the way I look at food. We buy more bulk items because I love storing them in jars. And once I acquired a few half-gallon jars, I just had to put them to use. One of them holds the granola that I make almost weekly, a few of them hold the mellowing liquors, and one of them is a dedicated kombucha jar. It wasn't until I had the proper vessel that I decided to brave the kombucha-making experience.

To grow the beautiful mother that you see, I bought a bottle of kombucha, dumped it into a sterilized half-gallon jar, and added two cups of strong black tea sweetened with a half-cup of sugar. Because I started the growing in the winter, it took about a month for the liquid to form a thin, but cohesive film layer. I added a few tablespoons of sugar every few weeks, to feed the baby culture, and two months later, I had a mother culture that was barely over an eighth of an inch thick, floating smugly atop the vinegary-smelling tea ferment. I may have rushed things a bit, but at that point, I started the production of kombucha--I poured off about 3/4 of the finished kombucha, then brewed about 6 cups of tea, sweetened it with half a cup of sugar (waited until it was at room temperature), and added it to the jar. And thus, every week for a couple months, now. I've even flavored small batches of kombucha with ginger-syrup! I'm glad that I gave it a try. If you would like, ask me in a couple months (when the mother culture is stronger yet,) and I can share a little baby SCOBY with you, too.

March Kimchi Workshop

2011-02-23T17:05:00.011-05:00

The March canning workshop will be a little change of pace--instead of canning, we will learn a different skill: making kimchi. Kimchi is a spicy, tangy, and delicious Korean fermented cabbage mix.

The class is appropriate for any level of fermentation enthusiast. During the class, you will learn how to make kimchi, get started on a batch, and have a chance to talk about other fermenting projects. You will take home a container with a gallon of kimchi, jars in which to store the finished kimchi, and instructions/recipe.

$30 will cover the materials and ingredients.

Because of the limitations of the available space, I am capping this workshop at 6 people. You must reserve your space in the workshop through purchasing a "ticket" through the PayPal link (you do not need a PayPal account to buy). Also, RSVP to me to let me know you're coming.The workshop is on Sunday, March 20th from 1:30-4:00 PM, and will take place in my own South Knoxville kitchen: 969 E Moody Ave., Knoxville, TN 37920.

Please bring a cutting board and a knife to the workshop.

Please email me if you have any questions, or if you would like me to give you directions. I look forward to seeing you at the workshop!

Dessert at a Moment's Notice

2011-02-23T12:50:00.000-05:00

Canning has changed the way that I look at food in several ways: for one, I am more used to having food around. And even if what comes out of a jar isn't the centerpiece of a meal--the sauces, condiments, jams, and pickles have become indispensable in the every-day. Multiple times a day, I open jars--either something from the pantry or something in the fridge--to add to a meal. Canning has also made cooking easier, with some of the decisions about ingredients made months prior, at the moment of canning conception.

When I got a craving for dessert on Monday night at 9:15 PM, I knew that I could turn to the pantry to provide for me. I plucked a jar of apple-cranberry relish, and looked at it for a few seconds before declaring that it would be just right in a galette. In fact, The Millennium Cookbook has a recipe for something very similar to this. I used their recipe for a walnut pastry crust, plopped down some apple cranberry relish, and thirty minutes later, we had (an albeit late) dessert. If it's been a while since you've had a galette, I highly recommend it: it's easier than a pie, less messy than a cobbler, and still a great platform for the fruit filling.

February Canning Workshop

2011-02-22T09:57:00.001-05:00

Last Sunday's canning workshop was another great success. We made red-onion/red wine relish--a wonderfully simple condiment made with just that, red onions, red wine, and balsamic vinegar. As I was preparing for the class, collecting ingredients, and typing up the recipe, I kept being almost slightly embarrassed at teaching something so simple. After teaching a class on marmalade (a notoriously difficult thing to make properly) last month, and one on mincemeat--with its impressive list of ingredients--the month before, the onion relish seemed too unchallenging. But as the class began, and I started talking about acidity necessary for water-bath canning, the caramelization of onions, and possible ideas for using the relish, I realized that I just may have chosen this relish for its simplicity. As the relish comes together, there is a subtle playfulness among the ingredients: the sweetness of the onions and wine; the complex acidity of the wine and vinegar; the flirty pepperiness of it all is quite nice. And the simplicity of the relish allowed me to focus on more aspects of canning, as I wasn't just focusing on supervising the process of what we were making. I got a chance to channel a little Julia Child, too, as I talked about the importance of quality ingredients, and demonstrated (unintentionally) how to recover from a minor mistake when canning.

I love teaching these workshops not only because I get a chance to share canning with others, but also because of the group of people that comes together. We had some great discussions about growing food--both successes and failures. Sunday was the perfect day to spend canning: it was a warm day, and the hum of imminent Spring was in everything.

The Steadfast Little Collards

2011-02-17T09:38:00.003-05:00

It's February, and although just a few weeks ago I was posting about how cold it is, and how good soup is on a cold day, it is now warm. At nights, the temperatures hover above freezing; during the day, it is warm enough to almost wear short sleeves. And so, I've taken the cover off the collards, and there they were. I sowed the seeds for these collards sometime in September, and by November, the leaves were big enough for us to eat for a meal. They're planted in a large drawer, which doesn't really allow them that much room, but they seemed to be doing so well when it got cold for the winter, that I just covered them with a bedraggled scrap of plastic, pinned the plastic down with stray bricks, and all but forgot about them until a couple weeks ago. And they're doing just fine, aside from a few spots eaten away by the persistent slugs.

Yes, the collards are growing out of a large drawer. The garlic, Egyptian Walking Onion, and oregano (above) are also in drawers, albeit smaller ones. (The other two in this location are empty for now, but I think they will make good homes for herbs in the near future.)

There is an abandoned school on our street--just on the next block; the building has been standing vacant since the '80s, and we started exploring it shortly after we moved into this house. One of the more interesting rooms in the building is a large home-economics classroom--it has three stations, each with a sink, counter space, and empty spaces where the ovens used to be; one of the stations has an old dishwasher, even! Directly beyond the classroom is a storage area, with shelves and drawers. On one of our exploratory visits to the school, it occurred to me that the drawers would make great make-shift raised-beds, and we started taking some of the drawers to our back yard. They're not very sturdy once filled with dirt and exposed to "the elements," but we don't expect to be living in this (rented) house for all that long, and they will suffice for our purposes.

Part of the reason for scavenging is that we just can't afford to pay for all the supplies for our small garden: we've bought tools, and some materials, and dirt, but the drawers have certainly helped out. Another reason for using found materials is that, as Katie declares in the latest Urban Land Scouts blog post, "I believe that thrift is a virtue and waste is a sin." The school is becoming more and more unsafe as it succumbs to the destruction of nature and pot-smoking vandals (and scavengers like us). There was some construction going on there over a year ago, but stopped almost as soon as it started; the building is destined either for slow decomposition or demolition. And the drawers are materials that would otherwise be going to waste...

And the collards seem to like it fine in the drawer; I sowed arugula in the drawer adjacent to it, and it's coming up quite happily, although the sprouts are too little yet to even photograph.

What Lies Ahead

2011-02-15T20:17:00.000-05:00

Today I accepted a position for the 2011/2012 term at Beardsley Farm.

I have volunteered at Beardsley on and off, starting last August. I sought out the farm when I was between jobs--a little discouraged, unhappy, and in need of productive work. I didn't know then how much the work of Beardlsey would inspire me and give me purpose. Beardsley works to connect communities through organic food and education; this is an action in which I believe very strongly, and have been trying to nurture it in my own small way(s). I know that the work there will be both challenging to me (just in terms of physical labor), but also something that I can be passionate about.

My term there doesn't begin until August, but I'll certainly be at the farm volunteering before then, especially as the weather gets nicer and spring finally comes around. I encourage you, too, to see the place and to give your efforts. I'll be sure to post more about it in the future!

Kimchi Love

2011-02-10T12:17:00.003-05:00

We're relatively new to fermenting--I think that we made our first batch of Kimchi last October. Ever since we started fermenting, we have been in love with it. Previous to making our own, I wasn't very keen on store-bought kimchi; there are few kimchis out there that don't have anchovy paste, and the ones that are vegan were fine, but nothing I ever got very excited about. The flavor of home-made kimchi is just so much...cleaner. It's tangy, and sour, and salty in all the ways that I appreciate; and maybe it's because we control the duration of fermentation and the ingredients, I don't know. Once we made kimchi, and saw how incredibly easy it is, we expanded into sauerkraut, fermented pepper hot-sauce, and kombucha. There is literally not a day that goes by that we don't consume something that is a product of home-fermentation.

I've been talking to a few folks around town about a kimchi workshop for March (in stead of the regular canning workshop), and I think that by next week, I'll make that decision. I hope that circumstances line up, and that the workshop can happen, as I would really like to share kimchi-making with others.

Eating Animals

2011-02-08T08:01:00.002-05:00

I read Jonathan Safran Foer's book Eating Animals over a year ago--shortly after it was first released--but have been thinking about it since then, on and off, and was reminded of it again recently. It wasn't anything specific that reminded me, but I was thinking about the ways in which an argument becomes compelling, and I was reminded of Foer. Foer does not advocate for veganism, but what he does do is open a conversation (or a mindset or a framework) in which veganism becomes a meaningful stance to a greater number of people. He examines the kinds of relationships that people have with food--with meat, specifically--and he traces those relationships to their origins, both in terms of conceptualization and production. Foer exposes the kinds of activities that make meat production possible on the level demanded by the population of the United States. He is not the first to do this, as many are quick to point out; in fact, he does not discuss anything that is beyond the scope of such authors as Gary Francione or Michael Pollan (I know that these two are rather different in their perspectives, but they are useful in this illustration specifically because of their differences). As I was reading Eating Animals, I kept trying to pinpoint the exact factor that made the book different from others I'd read on the same topic--I thought that it was somehow more compelling, more convincing, and more capable of inciting people to re-write their own outdated and harmful relationships with food. I could see how the book could encourage people to either refuse to eat meat altogether or consider more seriously the origins of meat and the ramifications of continuing to consume it.

The looming question, nonetheless, was always "why is Foer so compelling?" As a vegan, I find Gary Francione's books and opinions to be clear, straightforward, and quite convincing. I like Francione's insistence on vegan education and consistency (of beliefs and practices) as major ways of enacting change; Foer, on the other hand, presents himself as someone who often wavered in the ethics of food choices, and oscillated between being an omnivore and being a vegetarian. However, when speaking to others about veganism, I am more likely to mention Foer, not Francione, despite the fact that I disagree with several of his points.

This week, as I was reading through Carl Dennis' Poetry as Persuasion--the section on political poetry, specifically--I realized exactly what it is that makes Foer's voice more effective--it is not only Foer's willingness to speak more for himself than for the overall cause, but also his recognition of the limits of his position. Dennis maintains that this is an element necessary for effective political poetry, lest is become propaganda. Foer does not impose limitations, but opens possibilities for dialogue, as I mentioned earlier. Carl Dennis also argues for "a greater openness to the world" rather than a "subjective agenda." Foer, in his empathy with the great variety of people--from animal rights activists to "livestock" farmers, does this, too. I certainly do agree with Francione in my own personal beliefs in practices--that veganism is the moral baseline; but people have to first stop to consider food at all before stopping to consider the ethical implications thereof. Thankfully, based on the recently-passed Dietary Guidelines, people are starting to reconsider food. And this is a step in the right direction, indeed.

Starting from Seed

2011-02-07T15:50:00.005-05:00

Until last September, I viewed seeds as a type of magic, or novelty, or a little of both--they were something that others could bring to life, but not I. They were things that had too many requirements to bother with, and I was never patient enough with them to see the return on my efforts. And then, I planted some collard seeds, and by November, there was enough for us to have as a side for a meal. And those collards have actually survived the winter, battling the slugs, the cold, and my neglect--and in a few weeks, there'll be enough to eat, again. So I'm glad to finally give starting from seed a chance.

Yesterday, there was an exchange of seeds at The Birdhouse, and it was so good to be around people who were as excited about seeds as I was--although I understand, mine is a newcomer's joy. I was glad to see so many people with so much faith in seeds (their magic, their life)! The picture above is the first Sturon onion seedling; since then, I've had four more sprout. I keep them close-by, on my work-table, and watch as they unfold their spindly little greens. There is nothing more beautiful to me now. Last night, when I was trying to fall asleep and could not, I imagined that I was a restless little seed, waiting for spring.

Lentil Soup

2011-02-05T13:13:00.006-05:00

This is a pretty crummy picture of some really great soup that I made last weekend--we ate it for lunches over the course of the week. The soup is seriously the easiest soup I have ever made: it involved about 7 minutes of hands-on time, and most of that time was spent cutting up vegetables, and me figuring out that we didn't have any "regular" lentils. Instead, I used a combination of French lentils and red lentils--the red lentils fell apart completely over the course of cooking, and thickened the soup. This was also the first time for me to use home-made boullion, which is incredibly easy to make, and really saved the soup, as I didn't have any stock on hand. The recipe comes from Cubit's Organic Living, a great blog, and the supplier of several of my seeds. If you're planning a garden, you should see if Cubit's has anything for you; I've had nothing but great experiences with them.

But about the soup--I'd forgotten how nice it is to have soup when it's cold outside. And distributing the soup into pint mason jars makes it very easy to take along for lunch when we're getting ready in the mornings.

Liqueurs, Continued: Home-Made Orange Liqueur (or Triple Sec)

2011-02-04T11:29:00.005-05:00

It's still winter--even in Knoxville, there is a steady chill, despite the few warm days last week. But it's the last stretch of winter, and in all my internal impatience for spring, I like to perform the actions of patience--the very patience that I will need to use in bringing little plants to life from seed. Making flavored liqueurs takes a kind of patience, as it takes time for the liqueur to mellow; and there's just something nice about making the liqueur now, but not drinking it until June (when it will be warm, and we can drink margaritas in the moderate heat of early summer). (Making liqueurs, however, is a lot less labor-intensive than I had ever anticipated, so maybe not at all like growing little seedlings...)

After beginning the process for limoncello (and a small batch of lime-oncello), I kept coming back to the idea of an orange liqueur--something like triple sec, but less sweet, and with a stronger orange flavor. I also wanted it to be less potent than the limoncello, which will be about 40% alcohol when it's finished. And after looking up a few recipes for home-made triple sec, I was ready to try it. I do want to say that I changed the proportions of the recipes that I looked at, as they had in mind something all too sweet and syrupy. I imagine my orange liqueur retaining some of the bitterness of citrus, and some of the complexity. Here is what I used:

One liter bottle of Tvarscki 100 proof vodka
Seven large citrus, a mix of cara cara oranges and minneolas
two and a half cups of sugar

1. Peel the citrus with a sharp peeler and deposit the wide strips into a glass container.

2. Juice the citrus and measure at least 3 cups of the juice. If your citrus is less juicy than what I had, supplement with water until the liquid is at 3 cups.

3. Deposit the juice (or juice and water) into a medium pot with the sugar. Bring just to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring often to dissolve the sugar. Skim any foam that may form on the surface of the mixture.

4. Allow the juice and sugar mixture to come to room temperature; once you're completely sure that it's cooled, pour into the jar with the peels. Add the contents of the bottle of vodka to the jar.

5. Place the jar in a cool, dark place and let it sit there for 4 months.

6. After 4 months, strain the peels out, and bottle the liqueur. It will get more and more mellow as it ages, but should be quite good after the 4 months of waiting.

Some notes:

I had a half-gallon jar, but it wasn't quite big enough for everything. About half a cup of the juice/sugar mixture didn't fit into it, so I reserved it, freezing it, and will add it back to the orange liqueur once we've had some of it. This is why it's better to add the vodka to the jar later, as it doesn't matter if you have a half cup of vodka left over. I'm sure you'll figure out something to do with it, although if you're using Tvarscki, I recommend NOT fixing a martini with it.

Or, alternatively, you can split the liquids between a few jars, instead of using a larger vessel--just be sure that everything is distributed evenly between the jars/bottles.

The quality of the vodka absolutely does not matter in this recipe. In fact, it's better to make it with the cheap, strong stuff--the higher alcohol content means a higher level of flavor extraction. And besides, it will mellow out quite a bit, and will taste great. The blueberry liqueur that I made last year was made with Tvarscki, and there is no way anyone could ever detect anything cheap about that liqueur.

Banana (Peach Butter) Bread

2011-02-02T10:43:00.004-05:00

I am a person who was brought up to firmly believe in the importance of breakfast. My family would gather at the table promptly and sullenly, and eat breakfast no matter what--and no one ate breakfast alone, either. It wasn't an on-the-go affair--we all sat down and ate breakfast together, always.

Even before I got married to M., I would make muffins, or quick breads, and surprise him with the food for breakfast. At the very least, I'd make sure that we had some cereal. My favorite days are when we can have a leisurely breakfast of toast, scrambled tofu with vegetables, and hash browns from scratch (with a good bit of home-made hot sauce all over everything). But the leisurely breakfast only occurs a few times a month, which leaves many more mornings unaccounted for. And although we don't make as big a deal of it as my parents did, we have a good breakfast every day. Recently, I made some fantastic cocoa hazelnut granola, which we have been enjoying quite thoroughly--especially with some cherry soy yogurt (chocolate and cherries for breakfast? yes!). And as that is now running low, yesterday I made a banana bread that I adapted from several different recipes. I know that banana bread recipes are ubiquitous. I know. But this banana bread has several qualities that make it outstanding, in my opinion: it's both sturdy (sturdy enough to hold up to buttering, or Earth Balanc-ing), and delicate. It can incorporate a wide variety of flavors, too: I've tried making it with everything from apple sauce to jam, to peach butter. (Peach butter was a fantastic experiment from last summer, but it's something we haven't been eating fast enough for some reason. I can also imagine this banana bread with something like blueberry butter, too!) That, and it'd just delicious, and easy. And not too sweet. It's a recipe that I keep coming back to, over and over. I haven't gotten bored with it yet. Here it is:

3 very ripe bananas
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3/4 cup soy milk
1/3 cup peach butter (or applesauce, or...whatever)
2 tablespoons agave syrup
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2 cups flour (I use white whole wheat, but a mix of that and all-purpose would work, too)
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1(+) teaspoon cinnamon
dried fruits and nuts of your choice, up to 3/4 cup, combined (I used dried cranberries and walnuts in the most recent batch)

-Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease an 8"x4" bread pan.

-In a medium bowl, mash up bananas with a fork or a potato masher. Add the liquid ingredients and sugar; stir to combine and allow to sit for 3 minutes to sour the soy milk.

-Combine the dry ingredients, except the fruit/nuts, in a large mixing bowl, and stir to distribute the spices and baking soda/powder.

-Stir the wet ingredients into the dry until everything is well-combined, and fold in the fruit/nuts.

-Pour batter into the prepared pan and bake for 50-60 minutes.

And that is all.

Resolve

2011-01-30T12:05:00.004-05:00

I don't often buy clothes, and so at the beginning of the year, it seemed logical for me to make a plan to not buy any new clothes or shoes for the entire year. I am allowing myself to buy used things (from consignment stores, for example), but only things that I would really need. And the funny thing is, I can't really think of an example--what is something that I'd have to have badly enough to buy? I have a small but versatile collection of teaching clothes. I have summer clothes, and winter clothes. I can work on mending my old coats to make them sturdier for next winter. So right now--a month in, this doesn't seem too difficult a resolution to keep. I know (already) that after this year, this will make me an even more conscious consumer.

Lemons Twice Over: Limoncello and Lemonade Mix

2011-01-21T16:27:00.012-05:00

January is citrus season, and beyond my experiments with marmalade, I'm venturing to make a few other things with the great organic citrus that seems so abundant. I've wanted to make Limoncello for a while, but for some reason, kept thinking of it as a summer beverage, and only recently realized that it'd be best to make it NOW (when, as I said, citrus is abundant), so it can have a few months to age before we consume it.

I've made infused liquor exactly once--soaking blueberries in vodka for a few months, then mixing with a simple syrup and allowing the mixture to mellow. At the time that I made it, it was only half-intentional--we had too many blueberries for me to know what to do with (at the time), and a bottle of vodka sitting around; thus, the liquor was born. And because we only had a quart of it, it's been carefully

rationed--in fact, we still have some sitting around on the bottom of a jar in our liquor cabinet.

Most limoncello recipes are pretty basic: zest or peel (organic) lemons, put the zest into a glass container with (some kind of) grain alcohol, and wait. Then strain the mixture, mix with simple syrup, and allow to age/mellow for a few months before consuming. Usually, the ratio of simple syrup to alcohol is 1:1; usually, the zest is allowed to infuse for at least two weeks. Otherwise, the limoncello recipes vary little--some people swear by a fine zest, while others insist that peeling the lemons in wide strips produces a clearer limoncello. Most people will recommend a higher proof alcohol (the highest you can find, really), as it extracts more of the lemon essence. For our batch, I mostly peeled the lemons, after realizing that our old zester is getting dull, and put the peels into containers with 190 proof Everclear. I think that after thirty days, or so, it'll be ready for the next step of the process.

After peeling a dozen or so lemons, I was left with...well, the lemons. I looked at them for a minute or so, and decided that there was no better way to use them than to make a lemonade mix (or lemon syrup). I combined 2.5 cups of lemon juice with 4.5 cups of sugar, brought it just to boiling, ladled into jars, and now am a proud owner of two and a half pints of lemon syrup! The syrup will be good to have on hand for many things, especially when summer comes around; we usually end up buying a few bottles of good organic lemonade at the store because it looks so tempting, and the syrup will be a good substitute.

Taking Stock

2011-01-21T09:03:00.002-05:00

This morning for breakfast, we had scones with strawberry preserves, which were my first canning attempt at jam last year. And it's not really a jam, but strawberries in a thick syrup--which is just fine for scones, but I'm already thinking of ways I can make it better this year. I know it's only January, but I'm already thinking of May. And because in my mind I'm already gearing up for the strawberry season of this year, I'm taking stock of what we have, in terms of canned items. Last year was the first year we were serious about putting up, and I know that I got pretty excited about certain things and made too many, while we're already almost out of others (canned tomatoes, apple sauce, etc.).

Keep track, keep track! If I keep better track of the things that we make and the kinds of things that we're more likely to use, I think I can extend the list of things that I will never have to buy again pre-made. And besides, I like this kind of know-how, this kind of independence from unknown entities of food production (which is also dependence on the seasons, the local farmers, and my own ability to make time for making these things).

Marmalade Canning Class

2011-01-20T11:14:00.007-05:00

I always get very anxious before teaching--whether it's the first day of a new semester at the college, or a new month and a new canning workshop. For some reason, I was more nervous about this marmalade class than any before--maybe it was because the first batch of marmalade I ever made was a failure; maybe it was because marmalade is finicky and sometimes, no matter what the measures, still doesn't set just right. I was so nervous, right up until the moment when I saw the group that had signed up for the workshop--they were excited to be there, excited to be doing this, and so I forgot about the nervousness, and told them everything I know about marmalade.

We had Cara Cara oranges, mango blood oranges, grapefruit, and minneolas at our disposal for the workshop. Because of this great variety of citrus, the marmalade had a good depth of flavor. I had also run into the co-op on my way to the Birdhouse, and got some vanilla beans, which added nice undertones to our marmalade.

By the end of the workshop, I had just about lost my voice (still getting over being sick), but was very happy with the enthusiasm of the canning group. Canning alone, as I often do, or even canning with one other person is one thing--canning in a kitchen with twelve other people is a different type of excitement yet: people who've come to a couple canning classes were filling in those who had never canned before; and canning veterans were still learning some new techniques. It just feels so good to share about canning--it's such a tangible way of teaching about food democracy, about eating in-season (and local, when possible), and about the flavors that surpass anything that is available in stores. I look forward to the next canning workshop already.

Half the class processes the citrus, half the class looks on--the Birdhouse kitchen has limited space, so people trade off working on the project.

You can see how careful everyone is with the peels;

in the pictures up top, you can also see the wonderful Heart of Fruit and the citrus bits in the preserving pan.

"If words matched their things we'd be imprisoned within walls of symmetry."

2011-01-12T19:31:00.004-05:00

This is my niece, right before she received Christmas presents; in the midst of opening them, she remained interested almost exclusively in these stacking cups.

"The new cannot be melodic, for melody requires repetition."

Again, I return to the same poems, the same simple daily rituals.

Winter Shadows and Marmalade

2011-01-10T16:24:00.003-05:00

On Sunday, I am teaching a canning workshop and teaching people how to make marmalade. The thing is, marmalade is still rather mysterious to me.

I made this apple-rosemary marmalade last month, and a few other kinds of marmalades since then, but I'm still now quite sure what happens to make a goo of rinds and pulp actually form into something so wonderful. I hope that by Sunday, I'll know a little more, or just be able to humbly admit my shortcomings to the class.

Food Security and Community

2011-01-10T14:41:00.000-05:00

I've been reading Sharon Astyk's Depletion and Abundance. The book expresses several concerns about the possibilities of food and energy shortages, and presents possible solutions for when such disasters are closer at hand. And despite being open to many of Astyk's ideas, I read the book with some skepticism--some of her projections seem unrealistic (apocalyptic). Will people need to prepare for a life without any electricity? I don't know. Should everyone keep a 2-year supply of food stowed away in a basement? Although our present food situation isn't good, I think that the 2-year supply is a little extreme. (Of course, immediately after I say something like that, I see something like this, which makes me wonder--maybe Astyk is correct, to an extent, in her predictions.)

So I have been gleaning from the book that which I think will be most useful in my present situation.

The first of those things is her support of informal economies--economies made outside of the more visible structures of supermarkets and money. Astyk encourages people to make connections within their communities, to talk to neighbors, to look into the community farm; although this may be an obvious point to some people, she points out that those connections can help us meet our needs. I first started volunteering at Beardsley because I was between jobs and between paychecks, and wanted to feel productive and useful. I also needed a way to supplement our meals. And yes, I got to take home a few vegetables for my volunteer hours, but I gained much more than that--a sense of connection and purposefulness.

Something that is a little more difficult for me is connecting with neighbors. This is mostly a difficulty because it's easy to go to work, come home, and stay there; going out of the way to interact is something for which I've lost the knack (or perhaps it's my shyness, or conditioning). It is one of my goals to communicate with our neighbors more, to see what I can offer them in return for things I'd need. One neighbor has a stack of building materials that could be used for more vegetable beds; another neighbor has a large (unused) planter in the front yard; a third has fruit trees. And I'm sure that I could provide something to them in exchange for their offerings--it's only a matter of making the first move, asking, becoming involved. It would be an informal economy at work, practicing "rituals of non-consumption" through sharing what we already have.

Another thing that I like about Astyk's book is her passion for growing food, cooking, and putting up--all things that take time. She reminds that "some things you do because they are right, not because they are expedient." This will be the first year for us to try to really grow food; last year we had one tomato plant (that grew maybe 3 tomatoes) and some herbs. This year, my goal is to grow enough to be able to can some of our harvest. I don't know much about growing food yet, but I can't learn until I try. If it doesn't work out, there will always be next year. Now, I am collecting seeds, making a little plan for planting, and looking forward to warmer days ahead.

New Year's Eve Dinner

2011-01-06T16:33:00.005-05:00

For the last few years, we have tried to have a special dinner planned for New Year's Eve. We like staying in and spending time with each other on food preparation; and we like to make something a little nicer than what we'd usually eat for the last night of the year. Last year, we rolled our own pasta for cannelloni; this year, M. offered his expertise and made nine different sushi rolls. That, folks, is a lot of sushi (also, as you can see from the picture, we had a mountain of tempura vegetables).

I hope that this year, whatever our New Year's Eve dinner is, we can make use of something we grow ourselves.

Worry is a Groove Worn Deep Quicker in Winter, It Seems

2011-01-04T20:43:00.008-05:00

I received a small meyer lemon tree for my birthday this year.

We've had it indoors, and it doesn't like that--it's been dropping leaves and looking unhappy.

I've read up on this, and the word is: if the branches look healthy and green, don't worry about it.

But of course, I worry nevertheless.

A small note to myself--

Remember: making leaves is Spring work.

Winter is the time to withdraw resources

underground: grow roots, be dormant.

Good advice for all of us.

Sharing

2010-12-21T18:56:00.007-05:00

Recently, we had a few good friends over; we were playing a rousing card game, and somehow ended up a with this spread of food on the table. Even I was a little surprised at the variety of things we pulled out of our fridge for the tasting. And I was reminded (once again) how much I love to share food with others. Here are some things on the table: home-made granola; sauerkraut; white bean (Great Northern) hummus; coarse grain beer mustard; mini mincemeat pies and mini cranberry relish pies; pickled Spanish radishes; peaches in light syrup; samples from two different batches of kimchi. Hiding behind the metal bowl is a small jar of roasted pepper hot sauce that we made. The only thing we didn't make that is in the picture is the beer, chips, and the two different kinds of hot sauce (made from fermented peppers).

And of course, we are now in the process of fermenting peppers for our own hot sauce. I can't help but feel a sense of awe and pride at how much I've learned since last year. Humbly, I will proceed to learn more, to mark progress as I go.

10 Books and 10 books

2010-12-12T19:57:00.003-05:00

There are some books I can't seem to escape. A lot of them are novels that I teach or that I work with in the course of my own studies. I tend to choose books to teach and to work with that have been important to me. This is a short list of 10 books that I will read again this year. They have shaped me as a person and they have shaped my intellectual interests and development.
1. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
3. Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
4. Anatomy of Criticism by Northrop Frye
5. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
6. The Political Unconscious by Fredric Jameson
7. Meditations on First Philosophy by Rene Descartes
8. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
9. Phenomenology of Spirit by G.W.F. Hegel
10. White Noise by Don DeLillo
11. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

This is a second list of books that I will read this year, but which I have not read before. I anticipate them having a similar effect.
1. On Liberty - J.S. Mill
2. Goldbug Variations - Richard Powers
3. You Bright and Risen Angels - William T. Vollman
4. The Pale King by David Foster Wallace
5. Minima Moralia by Theodor Adorno

Story of Stuff

2010-11-27T14:48:00.006-05:00

Every semester that I've taught at the college level, I teach my students the Proposal Paper. It's not a paper usually assigned by instructors; it's something that M. has been teaching for a while, too, and after I considered the assignment, I thought it was a much better option for my students than, say, writing a simple "Argument Paper." I think of the proposal as a type of argument (an argument in favor of acknowledging and resolving a problem), and it teaches my students valuable skills--after all, they'll most likely write proposals for a future employer, or for a graduate application. The proposal is also just good practice in getting others to listen to you--it teaches students how to appeal to an audience, how to be respectful, and how to accept a compromise in order to get something they want eventually. Here is how the beginning of the assignment goes:

For this paper, you will define a particular problem close to you (one here on campus, at work, or in your home community) and propose a specific solution. The action should be one for which you can provide ample reasoning and supporting argument. Keep in mind that not only is it important to present your proposal coherently and persuasively, but it should also be a proposal that has a realistic chance of success.

Aside from practicing how to write an argument, it is of course my goal to encourage students to effect change in their lives. Too often we ignore small problems and not make anything happen. I have students writing on a range of topics--from installing more recycling bins in their school to fixing potholes in their neighborhoods. Overall, the proposal is usually their most successful essay, not just because they write it late in the semester, but because they are invested in the issue. I always advise students to revise proposals after I have graded them, and to send them off to their intended audience--after all, they'd have nothing to lose, and their proposal would already be written. I suspect that not all my students actually send their proposals off, but even if it's just one or two from a class who take that initial action, I think it's worth me teaching for two weeks of the semester.

In addition to writing proposals, my classes also view and read a number of texts that propose action. We start of with "A Modest Proposal," read "My Amendment," and watch "The Story of Stuff." The latter is an ambitious, but very necessary project--and a proposal, too. I know that I have a soft spot for stick-figure animation (as in, Don Hertzfeldt's work), and I know that's part of the reason why I like "The Story of Stuff" so much. But of course, I also like Annie Leonard's explanations, thoroughness, and urgency. It turned out that this year I showed the video two days before Black Friday--in class discussion it was clear that even if some of my students don't plan to halt their holiday shopping completely, they were going to be more thoughtful about it.

And I, too, have been thinking about it more. I've seen "The Story of Stuff" at least six times (in preparation for class discussion, and once for every three of my sections of composition), and each time I get something new out of it. The last time around, I really zeroed in on "...recycling will never be enough..." And yes, Leonard urges, yes recycling is good, but it doesn't address the core of the problem. If you haven't seen the short video, I encourage that you do--and maybe you'll take something away from it, even if you're already aware of the state of the planet. Leonard is empowering, in a way, and although her proposal offers a very large problem, I think that she is effective in inciting her audience towards a solution.

A decade in.

2010-10-29T21:02:00.002-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I celebrated the tenth year of my veganism. In the weeks running up to the day, K and I had a lot of conversations about the amount of time that had gone by and about that initial decision to become vegan. It seemed to me to be something monumental when I made the decision, but it has become so second-nature that most days I don't even think about it anymore. It is automatic. In our house it is normal.
The day passed and it was like every single other day in the last ten years: it was easy, it was natural, it was good.
In those early days when veganism was difficult and most folks had not even heard of the concept I had to be much more vigilant. The world now is a little more accepting of vegans.
I won't let this carry on too long.
I mainly wanted to jot a quick note to give the day a nod because I recognize that the decision to become vegan was one of the most important ones I've ever made. I cannot conceive of my life differently.
I am very grateful to my wife for sharing this aspect of our lives.

Canning Workshop

2010-10-26T19:52:00.005-04:00

Earlier this month, and with the help/organization of my friend Katie Ries,

I led a canning workshop at The Birdhouse.

The group was very receptive, despite my nervousness. I tried very hard

to keep my hands off the process and let them handle everything.

In the end, everyone had had a turn doing just about every part of the preparation and canning.

We made ginger-garlic mustard, pickled carrots, and chunky apple sauce.

The workshop was a great success and taught me a few good lessons.

Firstly, I love teaching, and I love canning.

Therefore, I love teaching canning.

Secondly, canning things that are in-season is very exciting.

Thirdly, just because I am able to can multiple things in one session in our own kitchen

does not necessarily mean it's a good idea when teaching a group.

By the end of the workshop, I was completely drained, as were several participants.

This is why the next workshop will be a single-item one.

The next workshop will be at 1:00 PM

on Sunday, November 14.

We will be making apple-cranberry rum relish.

If you would like to attend, contact me for details.

(Most of the photos were taken by Katie Ries, too!)

For Winter

2010-09-30T22:04:00.005-04:00

As the seasons change, and the weather is finally getting cool, the produce at the farmers' markets is shifting from tomatoes and okra to squash and greens. With this change of seasons, I've found myself canning less; don't get me wrong, I've still been canning about once a week, but it's not the daily frenzy of summer canning. This summer had a few very memorable weeks, with the bushel and a half of tomatoes, half bushel of okra, and then bushel and a half of apples. But now, things are moving at a more leisurely pace. I'm trying new things, for example, I'm making granola for the first time, and finding it quite satisfying. For the first time, too, I'm freezing things for the winter. I'm not one to take revelatory pictures of our fridge or freezer, but I felt particularly proud of it at this point. On the bottom shelf, as you see, there is ice, ice cream, and ice packs; but in the larger compartment, there are a few real gems. There are containers of pesto, jars (and bags) of okra, a bag of butternut squash, jars of pureed pumpkin, and a loaf of rustic rye bread. I hope to get a few more pumpkins over the course of next month, and preserve them in various forms in the freezer; they will be incredibly appreciated in soups, casseroles, bread, granola, and pies. If I plan things out correctly, I won't need to buy canned pumpkin, ever (unless our use of it greatly exceeds my estimations).

I was surprised today by how much better this pureed pumpkin tastes than the store-bought kind. I read about a few methods of preserving it, and decided against boiling or steaming it--or, horror of horrors, microwaving it. Instead, I roasted slices of pumpkin on a large sheet pan until the skin began blistering and browning. Once the pumpkin cooled, I peeled it and pureed, tasting it all the way. I highly recommend this method; yes, it takes longer, but none of the flavor or nutrients are lost to the water or the evil microwaves. I encourage you to try preserving pumpkin in this way, especially now that pumpkins are starting to appear everywhere. And like the woman at the farm-stand said: it's called a "pie pumpkin" because it's perfect for one pie!

Blackberries

2010-07-15T23:48:00.003-04:00

I realize that blackberries have been gone for a while, but as I was submitting pictures of a cake made with foraged blackberries to Urban Land Scouts, I fell into some great reminiscing. The cake that I made was a conglomeration of ideas: the actual cake part was the vanilla cake recipe from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World, the icing was the lime "buttercream" from the same book, and the filling (as well as the coulis) was improvised by me, with Matt's help. Blackberries and lime seemed like a good combination, and I scraped a vanilla bean into the cake better for a more intense flavor. If you have never macerated berries, I highly recommend it. You can just let them sit in sugar for an hour or so, until they release their juices; or you can make the berries very happy by soaking them in booze (and also sugar). I soaked the blackberries in brandy, and used the resulting deliciousness as the filling for the cake. I also cooked down some berries with brandy and sugar for a coulis, which made me feel very fancy. Here are some pictures of the process. I'll go and quietly remember the blackberries and think of more season-appropriate posts. Until later.

Canning

2010-06-25T23:25:00.005-04:00

Last week, Matt and I canned a few jars of dilly beans, cauliflower, and one jar of pickles. I used the recipe from my canning workshop: mustard seeds, peppercorns, dill seeds and garlic. There were a couple notable things about this canning experience. It was my first time re-using jars that I did not get specifically for canning; we'd gotten some pasta sauce a few months ago, and I realized that the jars it came in were Mason jars! The large jar on the left with the dilly beans is the reused jar. This was also my first time using the large Weck jars. We'd preserved some strawberry syrup in a tall Weck juice jar a few weeks ago, but somehow, the large jars seemed to behave differently--they took longer to seal. And of course, because I was impatient to test the seals, I ended up unsealing the two Weck jars, and had to re-process them the next morning. The re-processing worked out just fine, and the jars sealed. I learned a valuable lesson: the heavy glass lids and thick rubber seals of the Weck jars take longer than thin metal lids to seal.

If any of you are wondering, I bought the beautiful Weck jars at the co-op. I've been coveting them online for a good few months, when I unexpectedly ran into them in the bulk isle of the co-op. When I was buying a couple jars for my mom, the cashier commented that she'd never used an "alternative" method of canning. I was quick to correct her that this method of canning--with the rubber gasket and glass lid--predates the metal lids that we are so used to now. The Weck jars, although more expensive, are much more aesthetically appealing than the Mason/Ball jars; the lids are also reusable, and I would imagine it would take a good few canning sessions to wear out one of the rubber gaskets. I think that as long as the co-op is carrying the jars, I will continue to add to my collection; I look forward to more canning with them, too!

Urban Land Scouts--Badges

2010-06-22T00:14:00.005-04:00

Just a quick post tonight; I received my first Urban Land Scout badges today, and just had to share. They are the badges for the first two levels, and for the seventh level. I looked back over the list and think that I may have a few more coming my way in a few weeks. Here they are:

I have also had the fortune of the gift of vegetables from one of my co-workers: a whole bucket of green beans, several zucchinis and yellow squash, cucumbers, and hot peppers. One of the zucchinis was as big as my arm! So tonight we made double batches of both sweet and savory zucchini bread. I'm taking some to my co-worker (after all, he brought us the produce), and will be posting another short post soon about our canning adventures.

Convictions

2010-06-12T23:49:00.004-04:00

Today--my fourth of ten days raw--was not difficult, per se, but I wavered in my conviction of doing the project (or cleanse, whatever you want to call it). I worked an eight-hour shift, and the food at work smelled and looked a lot more appetizing than the chard and guacamole wrap that I'd brought for lunch. Don't get me wrong, I love guacamole, but the potato chips and the roasted portobellos were calling my name so much, that I turned to a co-worker and said, "Would it defeat the purpose of the raw period if I had raw all the time at home, but had (cooked) sandwiches while I was at work?" He looked at me and said, "Yes, of course it would. You're the one always telling me about willpower, why quit now?" And he's right, of course. It was my choice to do the raw thing, and I will do the full ten days of it, possibly having some cooked food on Friday night, but not before.

Of course, that got me thinking more about choice and commitment and how those are ways of acting upon knowledge/the acknowledged. I acknowledge that eating raw for a stretch of time is incredibly good for my body and mind, partially because it allows me to have a break from caffeine and alcohol. (There are also practical reasons for doing it: the CSA baskets this time of the year are almost all leafy greens and salad mix; because Matt is out of town, this means that I have the task of eating all of them on my own--and what better way to do it than raw?) So, if I acknowledge the benefits (finishing the CSA basket, cleansing and feeling better, experimenting with new ways of raw food preparation), I can see how choosing raw has a positive impact on my ten days. In a more extensive way, I can acknowledge the positive impact that veganism--my veganism--has, and I know that it is a choice that I make on a daily basis. I choose to be vegan. As Matt once said, "It wouldn't be so much of an issue if meat didn't taste good." But to most people, it does, and it is certainly more convenient to be an omnivore--and therefore, being vegan isn't a simple preference, but a conviction, a commitment, a choice.

I had to write all of this out because I recently found out that one of our friends who was vegetarian isn't so anymore. And when I found out, it bothered me--and it took me a while to figure out why. This person is someone with rather strong convictions, and it was just so strange to hear that he had abandoned them! It was a choice made for whatever reasons, but a choice made in direct opposition to the previous acknowledgements of the harms enacted by the meat industry.

I'm tired. It has been a long, long day, so I will close with these words form the first chapter of Cafe Gratitude's Dessert Cookbook Sweet Gratitude. I came across this book completely by accident today, but the words resonated with me, and so:

Our choices are not isolated incidents, they are powerful decisions that create a ripple effect on the rest of the world. What we choose now sooner or later has a direct impact, not just on ourselves, but on many others and the whole planet. Sometimes what we choose is influenced by habit or what makes us comfortable. To step into our power of choice is to be consciously aware of why we are making a choice and to be present to its impact

Raw Again-Day 1

2010-06-09T20:42:00.004-04:00

As one co-worker exclaimed, "You already have one of the most restrictive diets, why would you want to eat raw for any specific amount of time?" I corrected him--I don't think of veganism as restrictive; if anything, I eat a greater variety of things now than I did two and a half years ago. And eating only raw for a little while (the goal is ten days, like last year) reminds me to appreciate the produce of the season in a different way. I look forward to the CSA basket more than ever! Just as last year, I will have to be just a little more creative than I would on a daily basis, but this just means that I'll end up trying more different things.

Today, I made the raw ranch dressing from Gena's wonderful blog. I also started the raw coconut yogurt, and hope to have it tomorrow for breakfast. I'm excited about the next week, and know that the various little raw projects will keep me occupied while Matt is away in Louisville.

Full-Circle, or--A Year Later

2010-05-30T22:52:00.007-04:00

A little over a year ago, Matt and I started this blog as we were moving into this house. Now we are quite settled in, married for almost a year, and I find myself recognizing the season more meaningfully as I search the area for edible native plants and cultivate our own little garden. I return to what I wrote about a year ago, believing more than ever that

"Eating is an action with consequences beyond a single individual, and it should be a conscious decision with awareness of implications, with every meal."

My present concern (as was last year) is with bread. Recently, we bought a little garlic loaf at the grocery store, and although it had better than average ingredients, I couldn't help but think about production and value of bread--where it comes from and who puts the effort into it?

I have been reading about making bread and going through the introduction of Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice. Reinhart writes with such clarity and passion, it is difficult not to catch his enthusiasm for the craft. Many of his recipes, however, take several days to make, and I promised myself that I wouldn't start baking from his book until I finished the introduction. Thus, I revisited Dough, and made fougasse to go along with our dinner. I used half a batch of the "white dough" and hope to make breadsticks with the rest tomorrow. As I learn about fermentation and other parts of the bread-making process, I appreciate bread more; I am starting to visualize the process by which good bread comes to be--the release of the sugars, the resulting caramelization of the crust. I love bread!

Of course, as I'm expanding my knowledge of bread, I'm preparing for ten days of raw food. Soon, Matt will be away in Louisville for a week, and I thought that I would repeat last year's raw week. I've started making kale chips and flax crackers, and am experimenting with raw bars (dates, raw cacao, walnuts, and pumpkin seeds). This year will be more challenging, working full time, so I'm focusing more on things that can be more portable. I foresee myself making a few things on my days off (dressings, nut pates, etc.) and eating them for a few days. I'm glad that I'm over last year's unease over my love for bread--I realize that I can eat raw when I want (and when the produce is exceptional and in season), and I can cultivate my bread-making skills. The two aren't necessarily in conflict with each other, and there is a time and a place for both.

Cinnamon Buns and Working in a Non-Vegan Environment

2010-05-16T15:19:00.011-04:00

Today, in my day off work, I am making cinnamon buns. I've been thinking about these buns for quite some time, but had not previously worked up the nerve to make them--after all, it's quite a bit of work for something that is not savory (and there's all the sugar! and EarthBalance!). However, having worked for a good few weeks at the little bakery and sandwich shop, I became a little envious of the customers who were coming in and eating enormous cinnamon buns with their morning coffee. Sweet Celebrations makes cinnamon buns that are approximately six to seven inches in diameter. These buns are enormous, but also, apparently, delicious. I started thinking about cinnamon buns, and realized that I hadn't had one in over thirteen years. I remember eating one at Cinnabon, before I became too self-conscious about my eating habits and cut out most fats and sugars out of my diet. When I became vegan, I embraced the fats and sugars (and vegetables!), but not in the form of a cinnamon bun. There was still the issue of the time and effort involved in making them; I knew that I could't exactly go out and buy one because where, pray tell me, am I supposed to get vegan cinnamon buns in Knoxville?!

The envy of the customers at my work, and pride in my baking skills finally took over, and so the dough is rising for the cinnamon buns. If they turn out exceptionally well, I just might take some in to work and show them off to my boss and co-workers.

This brings me to the topic of working in an environment that is not altogether hostile to vegans, but is definitely not vegan-friendly. Every sweet that we make at Sweet Celebrations has dairy butter and milk; with the exception of two items on the sandwich menu, every lunch item has meat--and some have several different kinds of it. We also have a large cooler of ice cream and gelato. The little shop is famous for its quiche and reuben sandwiches. Working there full-time means that I either have to bring my lunch or combine the few ingredients that are vegan to create meals: sometimes, I have a veggie wrap, and sometimes the portobello sandwich. Although I'm not bothered by the lack of options, I find myself sometimes covetous of the things that one of my co-workers brings from his other job in a gourmet kitchen; these are hand-made and long-cured salamis, hand-made chocolates, and other things. I don't necessarily regret not trying those things, but I want the interaction that surrounds them--I want the communal experience of sampling a delicacy and discussing it. I suppose that until this point, I have been quite sheltered from the omnivorish world, and able to make it a disgusting or risible realm--nothing of which I'd want to partake. As Matt and I would say, "Who eats better than we do?" And now, now that I am constantly around people who eat tasty food, sometimes it becomes a task to remind myself that their food comes with a heavy price. Is this a fault or flaw on my part, to momentarily waver? I don't think so.

There are things to be grateful for, too. The main chef at Sweet Celebrations used to be vegan and is sensitive to my desires. Whenever he's not too busy, he whips up lunch for me--things that are not available on the normal menu. I brought in Vegenaise and a few blocks of tofu at his request, and he told met hat he'll try to broaden the range of food that I am able to eat while at work. Yes, yes, yes.

The dough for the cinnamon buns has risen, so off to roll and cover it in Earth Balance and sugar and cinnamon.

Urban Land Scouts

2010-05-13T18:06:00.006-04:00

I've been thinking of personal responsibility (to the environment and the community) beyond veganism. For many, veganism is a step in becoming more aware of food consumption and production, but of course, there is more to conscientiousness than just eating vegan food (or not wearing animal products). There are other steps an individual can make towards conserving resources and living sustainably. As a result of all this thinking, I bought a composter with the rest of my tax return, and we moved 2/3 of our winter compost pile into it for quicker composting. I've been combing the area for native edible plants, and I've also been attempting to start a small container garden (out of wooden drawers that we've been taking from the abandoned school next door). Because of all these things--and my interest in building community and supporting the environment, I was incredibly excited to become a part of Urban Land Scouts.

The Urban Land Scouts is a project created by Katie Ries, and it is part of her Master's Thesis work, although I think that it has been coming along for a few years. Katie is involved around town, and is very conscious about people's interactions with the land that they occupy. Here is a brief description of the organization from their website:

The Urban Land Scouts are a new group helping modern urban people become better stewards of the land and communities where they live. Membership is open to all.

Also, here are the core values of an Urban Land Scout:

1 – The Urban Land Scouts looks at the land daily; he is observant of and attentive to it.
2 - The Urban Land Scout tries to identify and use the plants in her neighborhood.
3 - The Urban Land Scout seeks to cultivate native or edible plants in whatever soil he can access and tend.
4 - The Urban Land Scout is fed by the land in which she lives.
5 - The Urban Land Scout makes an effort to grow vegetables.
6 - The Urban Land Scout plants and cares for seeds.
7 - The Urban Land scout shares information freely and teach others what she knows.
8 - The Urban Land scout is lucid, patient, and rooted in the land where he lives.
9 - The Urban Land Scout composts with the help of worms.
10 - The Urban Land Scout shares her harvest.

These are also the ten levels of the Urban Land Scout, and you can see the logical progression--from observing and identifying to harvesting, sharing, and composting. What I especially like about ULS is that it's a project with built-in accountability on several different levels; yes, the project itself is about being mindful of our (urban) environment and connection to food creation. But also, in order to earn a badge, each of the scouts has to document the achievement and report back to the site. One of the tenets of the group is to share information (to blog about it!), resulting in wider awareness of the project and its goals.

As many of us become more and more estranged from the sources of our food, we can become less and less aware of the kind of impact our consumption makes on the community and environment; it is thus critical to pay attention to the land one inhabits--to take care of it, in any way, even if these actions are just small changes to the everyday routine (such as saving seeds from vegetables bought at a local farmer's market). I strongly encourage everyone to become an Urban Land Scout, officially or not. Everyone can become a genuine steward of the land! Everyone can become more responsible to the land and to our respective communities!

Water Capture

2010-04-24T17:36:00.003-04:00

After watching No Impact Man a couple of weeks ago Kat and I have been thinking more about our patterns of consumption and ways that we could work to reduce our own impact. One of the things we noticed is that we haven't been the best at conserving and limiting our water usage. This is just a list of some of the things which we have decided to do to reduce the amount of water that goes to waste every day.
- Follow the rule "if it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down"
Using this method, we've reduced the number of times per day that we flush the toilet. Both of the toilets in our house are 1.6 gpf (gallons per flush), so we save approximately 6.4 gallons of water per day just by letting the yellow mellow.
- Save captured water from the dehumidifier.
I've done some research into safe use for water captured in this way, and there aren't a lot. Most sources I found say that water from this source in not potable and should not be used to water plants grown for food (I've read conflicting information on that last part, but we decided against taking the risk). One website suggested using captured water in the iron, but we had been capturing a full bucket every day or so (1.5 gallon capacity) and only refill the water in the iron about once a week. When we first got the dehumidifier we were dumping out the water because we didn't know what else to do with it. I finally came upon a solution. I turned off the water to the toilet in the bathroom that I use more and use the captured water to flush the toilet. This is easier than it sounds. When the water is turned off, the tank does not refill after flushing. Rather than keeping a bucket in the bathroom that the pets could get into, I've started pouring the captured water into the tank so that the toilet will flush normally. This move cuts in half our already-reduced waste water usage.
- Rain barrel to water plants.
We have not purchased our rain barrel yet, but this will be our next big purchase after we get paid. A rain barrel costs between $80-100, has a screen over the top to limit the debris in the barrel and a threaded spigot at the bottom for attaching a hose. This summer we hope to completely eliminate using water from the tap to water our plants.
- Shower water reclamation.
When Kat first told me about this idea I was skeptical but the idea has grown on me. Again, this is an idea which we've talked about but haven't yet begun. The idea is to put a bucket or other receptacle behind yourself in the shower. The bucket will catch water that would normally just run down the drain. Like the dehumidifier water, this is unsafe to drink or water plants, but it can be used to flush toilets as well.
- Toilet tank volume reduction.
Putting brick in the toilet tank reduces the volume of water used per flush. This effectively turns a normal toilet into a low-flow. I don't know the exact change in volume, but this is a way to reduce water consumption that is completely effortless.

With these changes, we hope to see a dramatic reduction in water usage in our household with a minimum of extra effort. These changes are all rather easy and only require a slight bit more work than doing nothing.

EDIT (by Kat)

After I read this post, I remembered something that we did when we were visiting my grandparents in Germany three years ago. The reason why I didn't remember it until now is...I hated doing it and swore that it was something I'd never do voluntarily. When visiting in Germany, my aunt informed me that they turned the water off in the middle of the shower: wet the body, turn water off, soap the body, turn water on--rinse, and finish. At the time, I rebelled against this simple rule as much as I could (after all, how could they tell me what to do)! Standing cold and soapy in the shower wasn't my idea of fun. However, especially with a rather warm spring upon us, I don't think that this will be too unpleasant to try. In fact, when I tried doing this today, I probably used a third of the water that I usually use during a shower!

Of course, reducing water consumption in these several ways has got me thinking about what else we could reduce use of or do without completely. We already don't use disposable facial tissues (and haven't for years), but could we do without paper towels? Napkins? All kinds of plastic bags?