arcane december

My friend and neighbor, Photographer Lowell Snowdon Klock clicked her shutters and sent me photos

The mysterious nature of this time of year couldn’t have been more evident than during last week’s shining conjunction of Venus and Jupiter playing with the new crescent moon in the southwest sky just after dusk, bigger than life, just moments after that late afternoon sun had blazed there and made its fiery descent. Devastating!

This week, on Friday, the moon will be full at noon, and Uranus, Mercury, Mars and Saturn will be at the four points of the sky, right over the Guts of the Universe, otherwise called, by some, the Great Attractor. Don’t take your eyes off it!

It’s the perfect time to remake the acquaintance of an old friend.

...a friend comes to stay...

An old friend has come to stay, for good this time, I think, and she is nothing as I remembered. Oh, she can still cook – some of the earthiest, most elegant, yet down home dishes I’ve ever tasted with eye or tongue. Like Grandma cooked, but without the flour, and with a good deal more butter, a twist of wine, a kick of herb.

We’ve had Pot-au-Feu, the French boiled beef, rendered with technique so simple and transparent that the finished product is divinely so. That was followed by Boeuf Moroton – the perfect follow-up for the ‘leftover’ beef from the Pot-au-Feu.

She offers a garlic soup with up to a head of garlic for each person, depending upon our need, and a sugar tart made of yeasted dough and a bit of filling that flicks off the fingertips like water dampening clothes for ironing. All favorites of Parisians and people in the north of France, she tells me.

For she is French, of course, and generous with her secrets if you will only pay attention. But what I remember as a compact little thing with old-world shadows around her eyes, gray-streaked hair pulled back into a neat chignon, her pretty brown wool cinched snugly between pillowy bosom and ample hips, proves instead to be an angular tall person with jeweled fingers and a wisp of white hair, with faded velvets hanging from her shoulders and slim hips, a little like my old friend, Ms. Bomblatt who, like she, proves to be much more agile in the kitchen than she looks. But such is – not the failures of, but the permutations of – memory.

The last time I saw her was about 1995, and she was lent to me by Chef Stanti at the Inn. I used her mercilessly, not only for the Pot-au-Feu but for a lovely cabbage stuffed with, among other things, chestnuts, from the Auvergne – the central region of France – and a Breton poundcake (Gateau Breton), that was too delicious, from Brittany, for whose raisins I substituted, later, green tomatoes, and made a good thing of for a book.

What I like about my old friend is that she does not skimp on the things that make food taste good. She is unapologetic when ordering a teacup of rum to 6 large egg YOLKS, and 1 cup of the best butter you can find, to the 2 ¼ cups of flour of this poundcake. She does not make it every day, but when she does she will not skimp. No pale imitations for her.

On the other hand, another thing I like best about her is that she can take good simple ingredients like that homely cabbage and turn it into a silken offering, saying, “As far as cooking is concerned, poverty can be a hard but effective taskmaster. For it is a curious fact that the richest regions do not always produce the finest cuisine,” but that the poorest may.

Ever since I returned her to Chef Stanti over a decade ago I have regretted that I did, for when I questioned him about her he could not remember her. He squinched his eyes thoughtfully, but “No, No, do you not mean...?” and he would mention someone else I was not the slightest bit curious about. I could not remember her name and, as you see, I could not even remember what she looked like. It was hopeless.

But not too long ago I looked up one of her recipes from my files – the Tarte au Sucre, actually – and there I had included her name. I googled her, and found her, and ordered her back here poste haste.

...memory versus reality...

I had been expecting a large book, and thick, a brown-covered compendium of classic French recipes, serious, about the size of that Complete Shakespeare we all have mouldering in our bookshelves. But “France, A Culinary Journey” must have been one of the first oversized, over-beautiful books to’ve been published, or at least one of the first in my experience, because I did not categorize it as I would now, at first glance, as mostly a pretty face with mediocre skills. And no earthly good because I don’t have a free counter big enough to lay it on. Open, at least. It’s not even a coffee table book – it’s a dining table book! The only other one I own of that size and breadth is Provençe, The Beautiful Cookbook, and the only reason I own that is that it was compiled and written by Richard Olney, who is one of my favorite writers and one of the best food minds, in my own mind. It, like France, was published by Harper Collins.

She, or rather it, that is, France, A Culinary Journey, is divided into sections of that country, with comparatively short but in-depth intros into the geography, history, farming, and people of the region. Then, with no further ado (or would that be adieu) – dives directly into the serious recipes, the techniques of which are marvelous.

Each section is written by a different person or team of persons, and they may be individuals but are not the least idiosyncratic but together make a seamless whole, as though each had been asked to seek out the most classic and true foods of each region, and paid accordingly, so that each truly did not fall prey to worries about time and expense, but were free to do their best work. See if you can find a copy: France A Culinary Journey: Classic Recipes from the Regions of France, and invite her or inveigle her, or pay her to stay forever.

Pot-au-Feu

The broth of this is a sparkling, clear, flavorful distillation of the ingredients. Absolutely wonderful.

The following is another distillation, of the authors’ – in this case, Philip and Mary Hyman – words and my own. Mostly theirs. Mine I would bold, but I’ve also extracted, so just read this and trust me:

The goodness of a pot-au-feu depends on the cuts of meat, the quantity and quality of water and, especially, the proper salting of the water in which the beef is cooked. Use about 1 ½ quarts of water for every 2 pounds of meat, and 1 teaspoon of coarse sea salt for every quart of water (this is the most important thing). Only a few rules apply to the vegetables: cabbage is never cooked in the broth, and potatoes are best boiled separately. Only a few simple root vegetables are cooked with the meat, the amounts being left to the discretion of the cook.

A Pot-au-Feu should be served with a wide range of condiments – cornichons and other pickles, mustards of all kinds, and freshly grated horseradish – and a little coarse sea salt should be sprinkled over the meat and vegetables on each plate.

Leftover meat and vegetables can be served cold with a mustardy vinaigrette and the meat can also be made into another Parisian favorite, boeuf miroton.

• 4 ½ to 6 pounds of boiling beef, such as thick, lean short ribs, brisket or chuck. (I used a 3 pound eye of round.)
• 1 ½ quarts of water for every 2 pounds of meat
• 1 teaspoon of course salt for every quart of water used
• pinch of peppercorns (maybe 6 for every 2 quarts of water
• bouquet garni: 1 bay leaf, 2 thyme sprigs, 2 parsley sprigs
• 1 bulb of garlic
• 1 onion stuck with 3 cloves
• 1 lb carrots quartered
• 1 lb young turnips, quartered
• 2 lbs. leeks, halved, or quartered if large, tied into 2 bundles
• 6 celery stalks, halved and tied into 2 bundles
• 1 lb starchy potatoes (russets)
• 6 1 inch sections of marrow bones tied inside a cloth (I omitted this)

Place the meat in the bottom of a large pot and add the appropriate amount of water. Bring to a boil, skim off any foam that rises, then add the salt. Skim again, if necessary, then add the peppercorns and all the vegetables. Bring to a gentle boil, cover and cook over very low heat for 3 ½ to 4 hours. About 30 minutes before the cooking time is up, add the marrow bones, and cook the potatoes, if using, in a separate pan in boiling salted water.

Lift the meat, the vegetables and the bag of marrow bones out of the stock and keep warm. Discard the bouquet garni, the garlic, and the onion, and strain the stock. Leave it to rest for about 15 minutes, then skim off as much fat as possible. (Do not discard the fat. It can be used to make boeuf miroton.)

Reheat the stock and serve as a first course. Place the meat on a large platter, top with the marrow from the marrow bones, surround with vegetables and serve with an assortment of cornichons, vinegar pickles, mustards such as Dijon or Meaux, coarse salt, and a little extra stock for those who want to moisten the meat and vegetables.

Serves: 6

Tarte au Sucre (Sugar Tart)

I think of this as something served to children in their nursery by their governess, but it is an elegant dessert for grown-ups, too, and might even bring a nostalgic tear to the eye of someone who has experienced it in the aforesaid manner.

Pastry :

• ½ teaspoon dry yeast
• 2 tablespoons lukewarm water
• 2 cups (8 oz) all purpose flour
• ¾ teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon white sugar
• 1 egg
• ½ cup (4 oz) softened butter

Filling:

• 1 egg
• 2 tablespoons milk
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 3 tablespoons butter, in small pieces

Dissolve the yeast in the water. Place the flour in a mixing bowl, sprinkle with salt, make a well in the center and place the sugar, egg, butter, and yeast mixture in the well. With a fork, whisk all the latter ingredients together in the well, then begin to incorporate the flour, working very quickly with the tips of the fingers until a smooth, homogeneous dough is produced. Pack the dough into a ball, cover with a damp cloth and place in the refrigerator for 1 hour.

Roll out the dough and line a 10 inch pie pan or flan ring, then roll the edge of the dough toward the inside to form a sort of rope around the edge. Prick the dough base all over with a fork.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

For the filling: Mix the milk and egg together. Spread the sugar in an even layer over the bottom of the tart – it should be about 1/8 inch thick.

Flick the milk and egg mixture over the sugar, using a pastry brush or fork, or the tips of the fingers, as if sprinkling laundry to be ironed. Place dabs of butter all over the top and bake for about 30 minutes, or until the pastry has browned lightly. Serve warm or cold.

...what’s cooking, rutland?...

More good delicacies will be coming our way when Ann Clark, of Ann Clark, Ltd, a company that makes cookie cutters in a multitude of shapes and sizes that have found an enthusiastic audience world-wide, is the next guest on What’s Cookin’ Rutland, the PEG TV Show that will be taped next Monday evening, December 15th. We’re making it a cookie swap for those who would like that sort of thing, and if you are one of those people bring a dozen of your favorite cookies to the taping.

Ann will share a few of her favorite cookie recipes and techniques while chatting with host, Whitney Lamy.

The show is taped at PEG TV Studios in Howe Center starting at 6PM. Doors open at 5:30 for the seating of the live audience. A $10 donation is suggested, and reservations may be had by calling 508-813-8114 or emailing whatscookinrutland@gmail.com

A shoreham sun setting over a winter cornfield, by me

for all Pratico purposes

In a few weeks, we’ll have apples and winter squash littering our kitchens in bountiful and pleasant ways. But if the latter two descriptives are true, then the word ‘littering’ is not quite correct. Change that to ‘gracing’. But whatever. Today, what litters and at once graces our porches and kitchens is tomatoes. And really, it’s only the lucky ones of us – the ones whose gardens didn’t go into an extended sulk at the unprecedented amount of rain they were required to soak up – who have a litter of tomatoes to at once glory in and feel responsible to do something with.

...The Pratico tomato...

There are, as usual, exceptions to that rule, and I am one. My garden DID sulk, but I was the grateful recipient of a basket of Pratico tomatoes, which I talked about last year in an article called “Sex in the Garden” which dealt with, among other things, the Menduni and Pratico tomatoes.

If you’ll remember, the Pratico came from seeds given to Stephen Chamberlain of Dutchess Farm in Castleton by an elderly person at the Farmers’ Market one summer day, in the hopes that Steve would propagate an old family favorite. S/he said he’d developed them, part beefsteak, part paste tomato. Luckily, Steve did propagate them, thereby saving an incredibly ugly but luscious tomato. It’s a fat, long tomato tapering to a pointed blossom end. It has very little core, the shoulders are as tender and meaty as the rest of it, it has few seeds and jel, and lots of flavorful flesh.

...patsy...

After that article was published Ray Pratico, Jr. called me and offered this conjecture.

He thinks it was his great-uncle, Pasquale (Patsy) Pratico who developed – hybridized – the Pratico tomato. Patsy was the brother of Ray’s grandfather, Anthony Pratico, who started Pratico’s Barber Shop on Strongs Avenue next to Gill’s Delicatessen.

The brothers came from Reggio in Calabria, Italy, Patsy in 1918 and Tony in 1920.

Back in 1918, Pasquale escaped a horrendous depression in Italy and worked hard so that he could send back $35 for his brother’s passage. The depression taught him well. Ray remembers fishing with his Uncle Patsy on Lake Champlain, and when they caught an eel Patsy would bring it home to eat. “Fish that you and I would never consider eating, he would consider a delicacy.” He was a champion skeet shooter – learning when he was in Italy by being charged with taking a shotgun and shooting robins for the family’s dinner, “and he wasn’t to waste a shell by shooting only one robin, he had to shoot six at a time.” We imagined that they’d taste pretty good with a little tomato sauce.

Ray says that Uncle Patsy had a beautiful garden in his back yard at the south corner of Union and Forest in Rutland where he grew, not so much broccoli or cucumbers, but peppers “as big as my head,” and tomatoes – presumably developing, along the way, our precious Pratico – onions, garlic and eggplants, all the ingredients for a great sauce and parmesans. “And you did not want to be caught playing out in that back yard.” I did some exploring, and if what I found was Pasquale’s backyard and it is the same size it was then, I have to say it is truly tiny. But apparently Patsy planted every nook and cranny of it.

Anthony Pratico died in 1999, close to a hundred years old. Pasquale died in 1990.

Do they still have seeds for the Pratico tomato? Still grow it? Ray is uncertain, but he says, “Everyone buys Ragu, it’s cheap and it’s easy.”

I think I know where you could get some seeds, Ray, and continue carrying on a tradition.

...and grandmother menduni...

The Menduni had been saved from extinction by Claire Clarino, whose grandmother Menduni had brought seeds from her town in Italy called Chella, and had grown them until she died, when Claire took them over. “Claire saves seeds each year and grows them in her mother’s garden in Rutland, her ex-husband grows them in Key West where they climb to six feet or more, and a market gardener in Grand Isle grows large crops of them for sale,” I wrote then. They are a large, meaty plum shaped tomato, with excellent taste. Apparently they take a little longer to ripen, for I have not yet got my first taste of them this year.

...spreading the seed...

I saved seeds from the Menduni and the Pratico, and gave some to Paul Horton at Foggy Meadow Farm in Benson – he who was the giver, this year, of the basket of Praticos – and my friend Dana Squire in Virginia – she with a climate which allows her to plant the seeds directly into her – prolific – garden! – and Marilyn Burnham, gardener and cook extraordinaire, in South Wallingford.

Marilyn had no luck with them. They were fine until she put them into her rainy garden, and then they just stood right up and died. Dana, on the other hand, emailed me photos of her “thrilling” crop, saying, “I processed some last night – I don't usually grow plums – and what bliss to not have squirts going off in every direction. Delicious flavor. They will be featured all next month. They are huge – like 6" long!”

Paul Horton had good luck with germination, and planted about 20 plants, from which he and his partner, Sally Beckwith have “probably put up 40 pounds, and maybe we’ll get another 30 pounds.” They will not be widely available at the Foggy Mountain Farm stand at the Farmers’ Market this year, but he hopes for a larger crop next year.

In a couple of serendipitous asides, a friend gave Paul some tomato plants this spring that hailed from Providence, Rhode Island. By the time he got them they were rather sickly looking plants that he’s nursed along until they are producing some fruit that is now almost ready to taste. They are, he thinks, both a red and yellow Sergi Sicilian tomato, the red called Doro Rossi Lunghi, and the yellow P. Lunghi Gialli, and they are in appearance remarkably like the Pratico. Googling does nothing on this subject, but we wonder if they could possibly be from the same town in Italy, Reggio, each brought by different émigrés, a supposition that might hold a little more water if we did not already think that Pasquale Pratico ‘developed’ his tomato from beefsteak and plum tomatoes.

At the same time, a neighbor brought Paul some Jimmy Nardello pepper seeds, a multi-dimensionally sweet and intensely flavored banana-shaped pepper. They came originally from Seeds of Change, a company that was founded to save heirloom seeds that were in danger of dying out.

“This to me is really fascinating,” Paul told me, “because I think it’s really important that we have crops that we can save and share the seeds of, to reproduce these older varieties, because they’re reliable, and delicious, and because we need our own source of seeds without relying on seed companies.” Seeds of ordinary plants, like green beans, for instance, are getting much more expensive and even hard to get, other farmers have told me. Paul elaborated on that thought by saying, “More and more seed companies are being bought by big companies and the seed being hybridized and sold back to farmers.” It’s not good, we agree, when the seeds for our foods are all owned by industry!

That was the thought of Tom Stearns, the founder of High Mowing Seeds in Hardwick. In an article in the 9/03 Seven Days entitled Hungry Hardwick, Suzanne Podhaizer writes, “In 1995, [Stearns] began saving the seeds from his garden. ‘I was interested in having as self-sufficient a home garden as I possibly could,’ he recalls. After moving to Vermont, he realized he had more seeds than he could use, so he put together a miniature catalogue. In 2000, Stearns quit his day job to focus on his seeds full-time, and in 2005, decided to take the business national; with the economy in a slump and more people aiming to grow their own food, the move is paying off. ‘There’s a lot of people gardening who weren’t before,’ Stearns suggests.”

A little aside here – if you don’t follow Suzanne in either the online http://www.7dvt.com/ or the free hard copy of Seven Days, you should! She’s an indefatigable food sleuth, and what she doesn’t write about food from Middlebury to Montreal probably doesn’t merit writing about.

...saving tomato seeds...

Saving seeds, though, is a laborious process, especially if you want to save enough to take the product to market. So far, Sally and Paul are keeping most of the Praticos (the Mendunis aren’t quite ready yet) for their own use. Steve and Julia Chamberlain, too, keep most of their Praticos, though a few show up at the market. “Aren’t they the best tomatoes!” exclaims Julia, adding that it’s lucky for her that the tomatoes aren’t the gorgeous things that buyers expect. Steve adds that they’re poor yielding, too, and he can’t afford the time to train people to buy them for the taste. He mentions, though, that a Pratico relative from the Midwest, after reading the Sex in the Garden article, emailed Steve for some seeds.

Saving tomato seeds is a process of fermentation. Since Pratico tomatoes have very few seeds and little gel, lots of meat, you’ll have to do some digging. Slice the tomato in half lengthwise, maybe even into quarters. With a spoon, scrape the jel and seeds into a small bowl. Add a couple of tablespoons of water to the seeds. Cover the bowl with a piece of plastic wrap and then poke a small hole in it to allow for transpiration. Place it in a warm spot for two or three days, removing the plastic wrap each day to stir the mixture, then replace the plastic. There will be a layer of scum on top of the liquid when the fermentation process has separated the jel from the seeds, and destroyed many of the possible tomato diseases that might be harbored there. When this happens, pour the seeds into a fine kitchen sieve and rinse with water several times. Drain well and place on a piece of parchment or waxed paper and spread them into a single layer. Let them dry for maybe a week, stirring often. When they’re dry they do not stick to each other. To store them, wrap them envelope-style in parchment paper and label them with the name and the date.

...mfk symposium...

Lots of readers here seem to like MFK Fisher’s writing, and since this year she would have been 100 years old, the New School in NYC is hosting an MFK symposium on Sept. 22. It’s free for all students, only $8 for others, as I read it. Thought some of you MFK diehards would grab the chance. More details: A panel of distinguished guests celebrate the life of Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher, master food writer, and discusses her relationships with other American food celebrities, including Julia Child, James Beard, and Alice Waters. Panelists include Amanda Hesser, food writer for the New York Time; Judith Jones, editor and author; Joan Reardon, author; and Kennedy Golden, Fisher’s daughter. Andrew F. Smith, editor of the Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink, moderates. This event is offered in conjunction with a short course, MFK Fisher: Poet of the Appetites, beginning September 15; please visit www.newschool.edu/food studies for more information. Tickets: 212 229-5488 or boxoffice@newschool.edu

...didn’t i already mention marilyn...

My friend and neighbor Marilyn Burnham will be the next guest chef on What’s Cookin’ Rutland at Peg TV on Monday, 9/15. Marilyn is the superintendent of the Vermont State Fair’s culinary competitions, among other things, and she will introduce this year’s apple pie winner, Barbara Taraska, of Wallingford and points south, chat with host, Whitney Lamy, about the pleasures and tribulations of baking for, organizing, and judging the fair’s food contests, and show us how she makes her own apple pie. Studio guests will taste apple pies from Marilyn, Barbara, and Whitney.

What’s Cookin’ Rutland is taped from 6:00 – 6:30 PM, doors open at 5:30, and members of the audience must be seated by 5:45. You may bring your own beverages, if you like, a $10 donation is suggested, and for reservations call the Chaffee Art Center at 775-0356.

...hungry bikers wanted...

Got this note from Shelby Hammond of Rural Vermont about the TOUR DE FARMS event that Rural Vermont is hosting with the Addison County localvores and VT Bike-Ped Coalition. Choose a 10, 25, or 30 mile bike tour with stops through Shoreham at various farms and orchards to sample farm fresh goods. It's on Sunday the 21^st at 10:30 a.m. meeting in Shoreham. It’s $15 per adult and $8 for 15-and-unders, and you pre-register by calling (802)223-7222 or email Shelby@ruralvermont.org.

I’ve just done some investigation into Shoreham’s vital farm scene, and hmmm, wonder if my old bike still works...

The article “sex in the garden” can be found at http://thriceshy.blogspot.com/2008/03/sex-in-garden.html

This post was published As Twice Bitten Column in the Rutland Herald here.

What do we think of when we think Baked Potato?

Sadly, what most of us must think of is, number one, BIG. Humongous! Tasting mostly of the butter (or margarine, if that’s our mindset) and sour cream (probably the oxymoronic low-fat) with which it’s slathered instead of complemented; the flesh, which should be tasty in itself, obscured by the condiments; the skins, especially in the summer, flabby and thin because they were wrapped in aluminum foil the way so many people think they must be. Which, of course, only defeats the purpose of a tasty, crisp skin, and dry and mealy flesh (the better to absorb the moist and unctuous toppings) and was originally employed simply to steam the potatoes on the grill or in the oven to hasten the cooking. Might’s well boil ‘em!

And then, expanding on that mind-set, the potatoes not eaten for themselves, but as an accompaniment to a thick pound o’steak – industrially raised, got from the supermarket, probably flabby in itself, and watery, having been grilled ON TOP of aluminum foil! What strength of will I showed the last time I saw this desecration taking place by not shoving aside the griller, grabbing the spatula and ripping the foil from under the steak! Then we wonder why that baked potato – and that steak, too, if we stop to think about it – was not the treat we anticipated.

But let’s forget the steak for now and concentrate on that baked potato.

I’m thinking back to the article in Sunday’s Herald (8/3/8) by Gordon Dritschilo about the Ethnic festival and the baked potatoes served at the Republican booth. Senator Hull Maynard was quoted as saying, “I’d like to say these are locally grown, but I don’t think at this time of year we’d have potatoes this mature.”

Well, Senator Maynard, although a very nice and knowledgeable man in many ways, with a GREAT sense of humor, I fervently hope, was wrong, of course. There are wonderful little russet potatoes – not large, but mature – grown by Don Heleba at his Center Rutland potato farm. I’ve had them – a lovely starchy meat to them, with a crisp and substantial brown skin. And man! do I like my baked potato skins, filled with real butter, salted and peppered, sprinkled with chives. The best part of a baked potato, I’ve always thought, and these are the best of the best!

But perhaps the Senator, though a Republican – that party that attempts to take responsibility for Vermont’s Buy Local movement – had not been to the Farmers’ Market – an absence that, in itself, would be a shame – and seen the extraordinary number of varieties of freshly dug potatoes that Don and his wife Diane offer their patrons at their booth that, along with Spring Lake Ranch and Bear Mountain Bread, pins down the southern edge of the Market. Or perhaps the Senator HAS been there, but to his eye none of those smaller potatoes leapt up and shouted BAKED POTATO. And really, who could blame him? You’d need two or three of these beautiful and modest little guys to make one industrially raised potato.

Now perhaps someone in the planners for this event suggested that it would be nice to serve locally grown potatoes. That little voice in the wilderness would have been quickly shushed, because ‘although local is nice, it is not essential’. And that is not just a Republican mindset! I can’t tell you how many times I have been shushed with the words, from the mouths of admitted liberals, when I’m working on any of the food-related things I’m involved with, “Oh, Sharon, not EVERYTHING has to be local.” But ‘Not Everything’ becomes ‘Very Little’, then ‘Why?’ and a blank look, and then totally fades from mind.

But buying and eating locally SHOULD be essential! Especially when it comes to potatoes, for industrially grown, non-organic potatoes are among the worst offenders in absorbing chemical fertilizers and pesticides and passing them on to us. And, besides, they can be tasteless, and watery. And, besides, the buying of them does not benefit our local farmer and/or our local economy. And besides, serving industrially-grown potatoes does not make the point that the Republican party is conscientious in its aim to ‘Buy Local.’ But then that just proves the old axiom, “There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip.”

... Many words will not fill a bushel ...

It reminds me of stopping by the supermarket one day in early summer in search of a particular kind of mango grown in India that I’d read about. Dennis, the Co-op produce manager, had not been able to find them. There at the supermarket I met two very good Co-op customers with their carts piled high with industrially grown vegetables and fruit and meats. “Well, you can’t buy EVERYTHING at the Co-op,” they sputtered somewhat shamefacedly, and one continued, shoveling little red potatoes into a bag, “especially those dried-out little spuds the Co-op’s got just now.” Well, admittedly this was before spring veggies were very prolific at the Co-op and Farmers’ Market, and we were still buying over-wintered potatoes and beets and turnips and what have you. At the very end of the season, just before Don began to dig new potatoes, those over-wintered potatoes tended to put out sprouts very quickly. But I remembered buying freshly imported carrots at the Co-op, attracted, if guiltily, by their smooth, fresh, orange skins, choosing them over the hulking, scabbed, over-wintered, local ones, and finding them absolutely insipid in taste and watery in texture while the over-wintered ones were sweet and substantial.

In comparison, the aisles and aisles of fresh-from-California produce at the supermarket were very tempting in that early-season time. But, though I was tempted by the aisles of fresh-looking produce from California or South America in the supermarket that day, I also remembered the old saying, ‘Many words will not fill a bushel’ and, since I did not find the mangos I was looking for, I stood by my darn-tootin’ scruples and left empty handed.

...chinese potatoes and native American rice...

But getting back to potatoes: when I was growing up in the Midwest we had potatoes every night, and mostly they were peeled and quartered and boiled. You were meant to fork them up, mash them, butter and salt and pepper them, and eat them down. I hated them. I liked the mashed potatoes my grandmother made, that she served onto your plate and then, with the gravy ladle, made a crater in the volcano and filled it with gravy. I could stand baked potatoes but really wanted only the skins, and I hated the potatoes my mother fried with bits of bread. I spent hours sitting in front of a greasy plate at a table otherwise emptied, under the admonition to clean up my plate! Children in China were starving to death. I wondered how many potatoes Chinese children were forced to eat?

We love potatoes now, eat them weekly, and once in a blue moon we have a supper of just baked potatoes. Take two or three – or one, if you’re being abstemious – small Heleba russets apiece, rinse them off, thread them onto metal skewers (or potato nails), and put into a hot oven or on a non-flaming grill until they are perfectly fork tender. Roll them over often if you’re grilling them. While they’re cooking, prepare a potpourri of toppings – I like garlicky olive oil or butter, sour cream or crème fraiche, chopped scallions or shallots, chives, crumbled bacon, sea salt and freshly ground pepper, caviar, fresh, steamed broccoli... the sky’s the limit. When they are fork tender – and don’t rush this, there’s nothing worse than anticipating a good baked potato and finding it hard as a rock – roll them on the counter to mush them up inside, make a shallow cut through the skin of one side lengthwise and pinch the ends towards each other to open a place for the toppings. Let each person add their own favorite toppings. Now don’t make a pig of yourself.

...elsewhere at the ethnic festival...

At the same time the Republicans were baking industrial potatoes, the Dems were selling bits and pieces of pastry. I can only hope that they were made by a local baker, of as many local ingredients as possible, but I wouldn’t know, as I hadn’t time to get to either booth. I was volunteering at the Co-op, first cooking up a storm in the new kitchen with Susan and Annabelle and Carol – and that was FUN, the first time the kitchen had been used that way, and with all the attendant bustling and gossiping that goes along with four women in a kitchen, with a pleasant deadline – and then selling, and sometimes giving away, our product at the Co-op booth. Our theme was Native American, and our offerings were a Wild Rice Pilaf and Corn Cakes. The wild rice, of course, came from that wonderful Orwell farmer who plants it in the shallow grassy southern tip of Lake Champlain! Well, no... possibly from Minnesota, but probably not industrially raised.

We were asked for the recipes by several people, so I’ll give them to you here. I believe that all the ingredients are available at the Co-op:

Sunflower Seed Wild Rice Pilaf:

* 4 cups veggie bouillon or broth
* 1 cup wild rice
* 1 3/4 cup bulgur
* 1 cup sunflower seeds
* 1 cup dried cranberries
* 1 bunch scallions, thinly sliced
* 1/2 cup cilantro &/or parsley, chopped
* 1/2 cup fresh mint, chopped
* 1/2 cup chopped almonds (we omitted these, but missed them)
* Zest from 1 orange (we wanted to add the orange segments, too)
* 2 tablespoons olive oil
* salt & pepper to taste

In a medium saucepan, bring the broth to a boil. Add wild rice, reduce heat & cook, covered, for 50 minutes or so, being careful not to overcook. Remove to a large bowl. In the meantime, cook the bulgur in about 1 1/4 cups boiling water; simmer 15 minutes and let rest another 15 minutes. Add to rice and combine with all other ingredients. Serve at room temperature.

Corncakes With Fresh Corn and Chives

* 1 ear fresh corn
* 2 tablespoons flour
* 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
* 1 teaspoon sugar
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1 cup boiling water
* 1 cup yellow cornmeal
* 1/4 cup milk
* 1 slightly beaten egg
* 1 tablespoon snipped fresh chives
* Butter for frying

Cut corn kernels from cob. Reserve. Combine dry ingredients and set aside. Stir boiling water into cornmeal to make a stiff mush; add milk and blend until smooth. Stir in everything else, adding the dry ingredients last, stirring until just combined. Drop batter by rounded spoons into hot butter, or a mixture of olive oil and butter. Fry until golden on the bottom, and top is solidifying. Turn once and brown till golden. Transfer to a serving platter and keep warm.

...more platitudes, axioms, metaphors, etc...

You know, we can talk up eating and buying locally, but if we don’t follow it up with action, if we allow those slips ‘twixt cup and lips’, then it doesn’t matter how many words we utter – they won’t fill up the basket. And beyond that, and as I hope I’ve shown, bigger is not better when it comes to most things, even potatoes. So how do I put this? Eating locally is no big potatoes – it matters! Or, maybe, the Devil’s in the Details.

...starring indian food...

If you’re a fan of Indian food, don’t miss Dr. Sanjukta Ghosh, professor of cultural and women’s studies at Castleton State College, who will be the guest chef on the next edition of What’s Cookin’ Rutland on PEG TV, sponsored by Chaffee Art Center on August 18.

Dr. Ghosh, who writes and lectures widely on South Asian issues, grew up in the Himalayan foothills of Kashmir and Kumaon, and in New Delhi, India. She will speak with host, Whitney Lamy, of some of the dilemmas and delights of Indian food while she prepares a peak season stir fry of eggplant and tomatoes called Baigan Achari, a Bengali Chicken Curry, and Jeera Pulao, a rice pilaf.

What’s Cookin’ Rutland is taped at PEG TV Studios in Howe Center starting at 6PM. Doors open at 5:30 for the seating of the live audience. A $10 donation is suggested, and reservations may be had by calling Chaffee Art Center at 775-0356.

You can watch Sanjukta and Whitney here: http://www.pegtv.com/ipegvideo.html . Look for What's Cookin' Rutland, and choose any show you like.

Twice Bitten columns are archived (sometimes with added information and recipes) at www.thriceshy.blogspot.com Thanks for your comments and questions, emails and calls. They reach me at the Rutland Herald, P.O. Box 668, Rutland, 05702 or by email at snimtz@gmail.com

Of Mices and Spices

...Hypocrisy...

It is that time of year when we continually bait the mouse traps and wait for the snap, and then the flip-flop. A mouse, taken by the neck just as it prepares to enjoy an agreeable tidbit – it can’t be pleasant. But they become untenable, with their nibbling and constant leavings in our butter dish until, with growing dread, we finally bait the mousetrap, than which nothing has been found to be more effective if not humane, and find, next morning, the big mouse, the daddy mouse; the next, a smaller one; and finally, a hungry baby. A shame, but how do we live amicably side by side, the mouses and us.

Ironically, I bait the first mousetrap only hours after sitting at my computer and tearing up over the videos on the Humane Society website of the cows being mistreated so horribly by people who have lost their humanity – the videos that prompted the belated recall of 143 million pounds of beef. These are hard to watch, but I encourage everyone to take their sensibilities in hand and just do it, because it’s easy to KNOW what goes on in the big Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations, from which we get most of the meat we buy in grocery stores, but we don’t FEEL it until we watch it. If we don’t immediately become vegetarian after watching, we will at least think twice about buying any but free-range meats that our accountable neighbors have raised. Because carnivores eat free animals, they don’t torture them.

The half a pig I had just acquired had been content during his life – his owner had warmed up the neighbor’s milk and fed it to him and his two doomed compatriots, and she had woken in the middle of the coldest nights to warm water to give them to drink. She had fed them the best of food, and scraped their bristly backs until they oinked with pleasure. She adored them, but she was admittedly relieved when it came time to say goodbye. They were a LOT of work.

I thought of the life taken, especially when I was up to my elbows mixing sausage meat, rendering lard, or looking over the butcher’s shoulder to make sure he was cutting it up the way I wanted it done. After watching the videos, and seeing one of his kind trapped in a cage, the size of which exactly conformed to his body, where he would spend his entire short life, raging insanely at the bars in his misery, I was glad that mine was raised kindly, but still I had no appetite for pork for awhile, nor anything else, not even a turnip.

So where is my cruelty line drawn if – even in desperation – I set a mouse trap? Is it okay just because a mouse is smaller than a pig, a cow, or even a chicken? What I’m doing here, of course, is posing the question of whether or not our quibbling decisions about what KINDS of things to eat or kill actually do not all come down to size. Small, indeed infinitesimal, animals eat vegetables, and when we eat vegetables we eat the teensie things, too. Anyone who has ever pondered the limits of time or space perhaps recognizes that universes exist not only outward towards the stars and immensity, but inward to infinitesimally smaller worlds, and there is reason to assume that the inhabitants of each assumes itself to have the right to continue to exist. A pig, a rutabaga, a microorganism, stardust, you, I... The mouse!

But back to my mousing conundrum. Responses from various friends, many of whom live in old houses like mine with inexhaustible crevices and passageways for small critters, recommend keeping a cat. While I admire cats from a distance, I do not admire their litter-filled accoutrement. Furthermore, given a choice between a playful guillotine with claws and a nice crisp trap, I’d head towards the trap any old day. Nor does being glued to a piece of sticky paper for an interminable length of time attract me. Ditto eating poison, no matter how cheese-flavored, becoming desperate for water and smelling up the walls for, as one person told me, “a really very short amount of time.” Considering.

BANG! goes the trap. Using garden gloves and kitchen tongs I toss them off into the snow under the crabapple tree. And I tell you, those little bodies have disappeared within an hour or two, or at least by next morning, because we live in a world of hungry carnivores, all of whom eat to live. At least the mouse does not go to waste. What more could anyone ask?

...appetite redux...

The Wallingford Locker is looking really good these days, from the inviting new sign painted by Donna Wilkins, chief honcho and artist of Foggy Creek Folk Art, and the gracious porch/walkway, to a larger selling floor, and yes, their new local products! “Look! Look what we’ve got!” Donny shouted when I walked in the door the other day, pointing toward the back freezer: Free-range, grass-fed Black Angus beef from Pawlet’s Maple Tree Farm, processed by Locust Grove in Argyll, New York.

Yes! I crowed.

“We’re just trying it out, seeing if there’s a market for it,” he grumbled. “It’s expensive,” he groused.

Way to sell me, Donny! Let’s hear WHY I should buy this expensive beef. Maybe because it’s eaten grass or hay up to the very end of its happy life; it’s not shot full of antibiotics and hormones, opens a pathway to healthy food that will become less expensive as more is sold and infrastructure, such as slaughterhouses, is built to satisfy demand; pays the farmer a living wage, encourages other people to become farmers, keeps farmland open and free of development, improves the health of the soil. Oh, and by the way, it really IS delicious.

Donny’s wife, Holly, was positively beaming about carrying more local products. Gorgeously decorated cookies, for instance, from the Mt. Holly business, A Dozen Eggs. And from what I gather, the Locker will be the only place to get Burnham Hollow Pies now that the store has closed on Woodstock Avenue. They continue to carry Stonewood Farm Turkey products, and eggs from upstate. But the new product the whole Keeler/ Hagenlocher gang at the Locker is most excited about is one they’ve created – Wallingford Locker Cob-Smoked Cheddar Cheese! Now that should be a big-seller!

...yoo hoo, brunch is on...

Come this Saturday to a Winter Brunch Fundraiser held by Rural Vermont at the Winter Farmers’ Market in the back of the Co-op. We’ll be serving dishes inspired by Rural Vermont’s Local Foods Cookbook including Butternut Squash Soup, Vegetarian or Meat Strata, and Maple Apple Crisp, and of course most of the ingredients will come from market vendors. Full spread, $10 or individual items $3 to $4. All proceeds benefit that wonderfully effective organization, Rural Vermont. 802/223-7222. Brunch 11 to 1; Winter Market 10 to 2.

...nice spices...

The tastes, no matter how minute, of morels, wild leeks or ramps, fiddleheads, dandelion greens, hover in our comparatively near future. It is my considered opinion that even homeopathic amounts of whatever is in these foraged foods are important to our health and well-being, and so I imagine that is true also of some tastes that recently tempted me, and are available year around, dried, at any well-stocked health food store or Co-op to make Five Spice Powder. Measure out 1 oz star anise; 1 oz cassia or cinnamon; 1 oz or 5 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorns (smells like orange peel); 1 oz cumin seeds; ½ oz. cloves; ¼ oz (black)coriander seeds (or seeds from about 5 or 6 pods) and put each, separately, into a flat-bottomed pan over low heat, shaking occasionally, until they give off their aroma. Pour them into a bowl once they’ve reached the odiferous point and let cool. Then grind in a coffee grinder or mortar with pestle. Use on ... well, anything. I made up a new snack of dipping dehydrated banana slices in the spices and eating them with a few roasted peanuts. Yum! Normal people use Five Spice to flavor rice, lentils, yogurt, and other foods to give an eastern or middle-eastern taste. I was reminded of it vis a vis braised pork belly.

...MFK Fisher on cauliflower...

“There in Dijon, the cauliflowers were small and very succulent, grown in that ancient soil. I separated the flowerlets and dropped them in boiling water for just a few minutes. Then I drained them, and put them in a wide shallow casserole, and covered them with heavy cream and a thick sprinkling of freshly grated Gruyere, the nice rubbery kind that didn’t come from Switzerland at all, but from the Jura. It was called râpé in the market, and was grated while you watched, in a soft cloudy pile, onto your piece of paper.”

This is another instance where it is necessary to read the author’s words in order to make a dish turn out as succulently as it should. I KNOW how to do it, but if I don’t read MFK’s words first it doesn’t work. She continues:

“I put some fresh pepper over the top, and in a way I can’t remember now the little tin oven heated the whole thing and melted the cheese and browned it. As soon as that had happened we ate it. The cream and cheese had come together into a perfect sauce, and the little flowers were tender and fresh.”

Darn Tootin! This is a perfect dish, all we need for supper, with the leftovers for lunch!

...what’s cookin’ rutland...

After months of work, trial and error, lines in the sand, and misfortunes that threatened to bring the project to a standstill, a small group of civilians working with PEG TV has managed to get Rutland’s first cooking show, featuring – what else – local food, on air.

PEG TV built a dream kitchen – that wide granite counter needs to be in MY kitchen – that will be available to anyone who lusts to become the next Julia Child – Whoops! Catch that chicken! – after signing up for a video training session, that is. But What’s Cookin’ Rutland is the name of the regularly scheduled show we’ve all been working on, sponsored by Chaffee Art Center and featuring Whitney Lamy as the host and Greg Cox as the regularly visiting farmer, with guest chefs – both home and restaurant – to be taped before a live audience on the third Monday of each month. Well, usually. May’s taping will be on the 12^th. Our own Randal Smathers, Managing Editor of the Herald, will be cooking with the Localvores on March 17^th. You can get tickets for it by calling the Chaffee at 775-0356. Suggested donation, $10.

Now, besides that first taping, the show will be seen on Channel 15 Saturday evenings at 8PM and intermittently throughout the month. You can also catch it online at pegtv.com through their streaming video service, or download it by clicking video on demand.

The first show, featuring Clarke Congdon, chef at Sabby’s, winner of last summer’s Iron Chef Contest, should be available as we speak!

This column was published in the Rutland (Vt) Herald on03/04/08