an assortment of weeds

  

I love these few hot days mid-summer when the house is dim and cool and the garden is bright and hot and I wander between the two with stops each way for the hourly-changing shady reading spot on the porch or deck, happily torn between writing, weeding, and reading. There's dirt under my nails, sweat running down my neck, and streaks of lily pollen and blackcap juice on my shorts and tee. I am minimally ecstatic.

On one of those trips inside I inspect my friend El's excellent blog, Fast Grow the Weeds dot com, wherein a professional woman lives (close to where I grew up) in Michigan with her husband and child and various animals and gardens. She works from her home office at an entirely separate job while experimenting with eating close-to-completely-off-the-land -- mostly her own -- with local and area supplementation. This involves season-extension and preserving and what does not sound like, but we know is, an immense amount of work. Her latest addition is a goat, her latest activity is making cheese. It seems no hardship to her and hers, but, conversely, a joy. 

On her blog she has quoted Patience Gray in a permanent sidebar:

Good cooking is the result of a balance struck between frugality and liberality...[i]t is born out in communities where the supply of food is conditioned by the seasons. Once we lose touch with the spendthrift aspect of nature's provisions epitomized in the raising of a crop, we are in danger of losing touch with life itself. When Providence supplies the means, the preparation and the sharing of food takes on a sacred aspect. The fact that every crop is of short duration promotes a spirit of making the best of it while it lasts and conserving part of it for future use. It also leads to periods of fasting and feasting...

Patience Gray in the introduction to Honey from a Weed (New York: Harper & Row, 1986)

It is not the first time I have found like-mindedness between us. I was struck by the pertinacity of this thought to our local food culture of today, and in no time at all I had put my hands on this book so lovingly perused over the last two decades. It will stay out of the bookcase for weeks now as I taste its sweetness once again. Until, in fact (if I know myself), the snow flies.

On another topic, Michael Ruhlman posted a Zucchini Fritter recipe just now and he has several curves on it. It is here.

a nice culture of food

Last Tuesday I demo-ed zucchini fritters at the farmers’ market congruently with Jill Corey and cohorts from the Vermont Department of Health signing up a steady stream of WIC (Women, Infants, Children) recipients.

Fecundity was rampant, with babies both born and not yet born, women with high bulging bellies on which they rested their arms as they waited in line – as though leaning on a fence –  and chubby children.
The women seemed shy and shrank from my proffered wares – perhaps because they didn’t know they were free – but some children said “I’ll take one.” And, with a small dot of maple syrup on the top of the fritter – I think I called them pancakes – they liked them, and came back for more, and with their example others became less reticent. I had recipes for them – simplest thing in the world, cheap, easy, good food. Tasty. Great way to get zucchini down kids’ gullets.

Others stopped by, too, and said they recognized me from that glamorous picture with my Rutland Herald column, and were eager to talk about this fascinating thing – food! One of them, M, is a person I’ve known for many years but not well; not least, perhaps, because he lived in Italy for some years (in a 13th century house that he restored from ‘stones’). While I fried fritters, we chatted, and he rhapsodized about the food in Tuscany that “you would die for” – truffles, for instance, and local sausages and cheeses. Olive oil. M’s yield of olives came just over the brim of the amount needed to have his own olives crushed into oil that came exclusively from his own trees. How many of us can say that?

We talked of just the incandescent life of food from a place that has grown and made its own food for centuries the same, with very little industrial food or indeed food from “away”.  “These excellent zucchinis came from Radical Roots,” I tell him, “and the unsurpassed maple syrup from Smokey House.”

We grin at each other, he snaps a couple of photos (see above) and is on his way. Later he posts one of the pics on Facebook  but, most importantly, below the photo he commented with on-line punctuation, “theres a nice culture of food that gravitates around the farmers market and coop great world class cheeses breads and veggies and organic meat.”


Those words shook me to my very soul. They made me happy. We’re so used to keeping our noses to the grindstone, keepin’ on pushin’ that old boulder up the mountain that sometimes we forget to pause and just  recognize and enjoy what has been accomplished, tip the bottle of Vermont wine over the glass that is sometimes also made locally, and drink it with the pastured and gardened food, and realize what these last thirty years have wrought.

Then, of course, we need to put our shoulders (nose?) back to the (let me continue to mix my metaphors here – all about pushing heavy things uphill) grindstone, wheel? and make sure it keeps going. We never reach the apex of the hill, but we reach plateaus, and then if we get too involved in enjoying the plateau we might begin to slide down again instead of... well you get the gist.


An editorial in Monday’s paper  rhapsodized about farm-fresh food and buying local from farmers’ market and farmstand, and pointed out what economic sense it makes to shop that way. Certainly the Rutland Farmers’ Market has matured beautifully into an every Saturday festival of lovely food, music, and crafts, with a smaller market taking place on Tuesday afternoons. And the Boardman Hill Farmstand out on rt. 4 West, as well as the Radical Roots Farmstand on Creek Road, are conveniently chock-full of beautiful produce. I stopped at the Timberloft Farmstand in West Rutland last week, too, for some of the last strawberries available.

We are lucky people in that, beyond the fact that we need not rely on industrial food, we also find a very genuine social structure when we visit with the farmers. For these are people with whom you, not occasionally but often, have eye to eye conversations. All the shades of social confusion are torn down and tossed streetward as you speak with like souls about the bones of life, really. It’s not passion as much as it’s basic stuff. We are talking of our births and our deaths when we talk of soil and food, and in these conversations we find real connection.


The Rutland Co-op was one glaring omission in the editorial’s laudation of local food, one that I am not sure was intentional but that some of us find deserved. For while our Co-op’s mission statement stresses a partnership between it and local farmers and the exhortation to offer to its members and other shoppers Local First, recently we find it is sadly falling short of that goal, as well as in the quality control of less local foods.

I try to do all my shopping at the Co-op, or at least 90% of it, but a few Saturdays ago I had to go to the supermarket for onions, of all things. The ones at the Co-op were sprouting and browning, while the kale – which was vibrant and plentiful at the Farmers’ Market I had just left – was, in the Co-op’s sparse presentation, yellowing and limp. I think we can all agree that the produce section of a co-op must be at the same time its lovely face and passionate heart, and ours has been let fall far from that ideal.


And it’s not just produce. Last week I went in to buy a bag of Smokey House charcoal. That charcoal is an amazing thing – not only is this old craft learned and practiced by the young people at Smokey House in Danby, which is something we should support, but we benefit by that support because the charcoal is excellent, burning with an even, intense heat down to the barest skim of ashes. I have not found any as good.


I feared I would be unsuccessful when I saw bags of generic charcoal ranged in front of the entrance. “No,” I was informed by the woman in charge of that department, they would no longer be stocking Smokey House charcoal, and if I insisted on having that particular charcoal I could always buy it at the Farmers’ Market!

Great marketing, huh? And one less reason why I would need to enter those Wales Street doors. But enter them I will, and I hope you do too, because we need to make our Co-op a strong link in a sustainable food system that is so important to our, and our children’s, very survival, and to that end we need to keep pushing that boulder up the mountain. I say “our Co-op” because if you are a member – $10 or $20 a year – then you are an owner, as I am, and you have a say in how our dear Co-op is run.  You’ve seen the bumper sticker: The Co-Op: We Own It! Well, it’s true.


We in this area are food centric in the way that other regions are who know their food from beginning to end and who go out of their way not to rely on industrial food. It’s timely and seasonal, so that when something comes along that must be captured and dealt with immediately or never we drop everything and... render some lard from a freshly killed pig, say, or drive up to Shoreham for a day of picking sour pie cherries in order to make a rare cherry pie; and to macerate some of them in rum and sugar for a Christmas liqueur and a New Year’s surprise of potent cherries.

From 6-24-2010 Pie Cherries

We have the opportunity to do that because we have a solid base in this state of producers of rare and decent foods – it’s food that demands respect. The wife of the owner of the orchard (Champlain) was thrilled that we had come to pick sour cherries instead of sweet because her husband had just remarked that nobody wanted sour cherries and he “might as well pull those trees out.” This is just one more instance of Use it or Lose it!


Yes, there is a nice culture of food here and in the greater Vermont and adjacent lands, but it is a young culture, burgeoning, and it needs tending and weeding and constant attendance. It is like a garden. If you only look out the window and smile to yourself how fecund it is, suddenly the weeds begin to strangle out the zucchini – and it is all because you did not walk among the rows and notice the first signs of danger. You did not give it your presence and presence is all.

By the way, the recipe for the zucchini fritters or pancakes can be found in the Co-op recipe area.

green showers

What I would like to iterate this morning after reading the Sunday New York Times on-line is the phenomenal gustatory satisfaction one might take in showers of flavorful little green leaves of herbs over almost any main dish; and how food just keeps happening when you give over a portion of your brain and time and activity to it. Which, I realize now is not just iteration but re-iteration, since that’s what I’m always talking about, isn’t it?

The latest and greatest finger-food at Saturday’s Farmers’ Market in Depot Park is barbecued chicken made by Sunset Farm’s Jeff & Cathy McMurry. I think Jeff’s in it for the new equipment – the big metal tow-behind barbecue, and now a lovely little battery-powered hot water gizmo. Cathy’s own BBQ sauce, neither sweet nor gloppy but with just the right combination of herbs and spiciness, that seems, when done, more likely to’ve been a dry rub than a sauce, is the perfect partner for the pastured chickens.

I shared half the half-chicken at the Market, then took the rest home and made a little two-person chicken salad for supper.  

For the salad: To the diced chicken, I added coarsely chopped black Moroccan oil-cured olives; a dice of preserved lemon (you may use fresh lemon zest and a bit of juice), French Breakfast radish (from Right Mind Farm), cornichon, and onion; chopped tarragon and lovage, with maybe some dill; then mixed it all up with olive oil and a little balsamic vinegar. After the flavors had time to mingle I served it over hot rice. But wait! That’s not all: Over all, I sprinkled chopped cilantro and lemon balm and rings of Egyptian onion. The heat of the rice woke up the many tastes in this little dinner so that every bite was a study in contrasts and comfort.

I’d been aware that an enormous chicken resided in my freezer. But, big surprise – as it thawed it turned into an enormous bag of chicken backs. Only then did I remember that Singing Cedars had given me them last fall, and I’d put them in the freezer. Anyway, I’d made a wonderful toothsome broth of them, just roasting them for the meat, then found they were skillfully cut and, really, just bones, which I then simmered in lots of water, plain, no onions or other stuff, until they made a really nice broth.

I’d seethed them, really, which I always took as simmering very slowly, as though in a warmer than warm marinade. Curiously, there are two definitions of the word – one is just that very slow simmer and the other is a very fast boil. Talk about oxymorons!

Anyway, to that finished, strained broth I added lemon grass, contemplated cascobel peppers, consulted Diana Kennedy on that matter and, while continuing to think about those peppers, went to the garden in a soaking mist for garlic, cilantro, and scallion. On my way back, I spied the young collard greens, almost walked past, thought, “perfect”, jerked to a startled stop, and brought some of them in, too. What a treasure it is to remember that you had planted those delicious greens and find they are ready to eat!
Black beans would be the other half of this dish. Maybe some rice?

And chopped or torn leaves of lemon balm over the top. I’ve grown lemon balm for years and NEVER used it in a dish. It was so delicious in last night’s chicken salad that it’s now become a decided component of my little herb salad garnishes, my green showers.

Back to those cascobel peppers: They are challenging, thin skinned little orbs that rattle when you shake them. Charring them eats the flesh and flavor. So I crushed them in half, emptied out most of the seeds and just simmered them in plain water, then tore them into bits into the broth. Their flavor is rich, deep, slightly chocolate, almost intoxicating.

Then I added ribbons of collard greens, and chopped garlic, and warmed up the refried black beans I had in the fridge.

I made a pool of hot broth and collard greens in a soup plate, plopped in refried beans, topped that with Lakes’ Edge Farm’s Pepper Chevre, which is just a very fresh goat cheese rolled in ground peppers – a wonderful summer cheese, sprinkled that with a handful of chopped salad of  lemon balm, Egyptian onion, and radish, drizzled that with garlicky olive oil and a sprinkle of lime juice, and served it up with tortilla chips.

Another evening, a spring (now summer) shower of dill, cilantro, tarragon and flat-leafed parsley went over Red Houses’s spicy lamb sausages and Radical Roots cauliflower. Delish. That cauliflower? Steamed it al dente, then into a clay baking dish, dotted with butter, cream, cheese, baked until golden and tender, then showered with that little salad.

Next night was cool and I had ground lamb from Red Houses, and wonderful German Butterball potatoes from Heleba’s, so I made a Shepherd’s Pie, with the herbs both cooked in the meat filling and sprinkled fresh on top of the finished pie.

You know how to do this – brown the meat with garlic and onion, the herbs (especially lovage), maybe a little broth at the end. Put that into a casserole, top with mashed potatoes, maybe a sprinkle of cheese, and bake.

Grow some herbs and make some green showers of your own. Lovage, cilantro, arugula, dill, tarragon, lemon balm, sorrel, basil, parsley, mint, thyme... the list never ends. Mix and match. They’re lovely.

***

I know it seems impossible, but I erred when I called Erin at the Larson’s Farm stand at the Market the wrong last name. We can’t figure out how that happened, but when you stop by, please say hello to Erin Seward. My apologies.


A couple of other shout-outs to food ready-to-eat at the Saturday Market . The Domestic Diva doesn’t have a sign on her stand, but you will recognize her by the wide variety of lovely finger-foods. My favorite so far is the cupcake-sized fallen soufflé. It was delightful. I couldn’t share!
Other treats this last week were little tarts topped with thin slices of heirloom tomatoes, teensy profiteroles and cream puffs filled with savory and sweet substances, crispy, buttery puff-pastries, baklava, and pea-pods filled with creamy essences as well as peas.

Nancy, at Tweed-Valley Farm is now offering smoked quail, as well as quail eggs, peanut brittle, and shiitakes.

And Morgan Over is offering her home-made REAL bagels (boiled and double-cooked) with the honest-to-bagel taste and texture of real bagels, at a stand called Good Morgan Bagels. She’s going to start toasting them on the spot so you can get your real bagel & cream cheese fix as you do the rest of your shopping.

This lady sells a little bit of everything, delectable soaps, as well as these coconut rolls that come from her native Trinidad. I love coconut, and these are excellent!

***

That’s it for now, Folks. Do plant some herbs. These little plants have flavors and textures that will enlighten your cuisine, whatever it is, with some perfectly refreshing green showers.

satiate the soul

Every year that day before Mother's Day in early May is SUCH a treat – walking into Depot Park in Rutland on that first Summer Market Saturday, greeting old friends and discovering new – friends, farmers, and, at this time of year, foliage. This year, however, there had never been more miserable weather than we had that day – rain and wind and mud and cold! Nevertheless my eternal axiom had to hold true – the Farmers are going to be there and, thus, so am I!

We had radishes this year! It's always been a joke that the mayor will throw out the first radish at the first Farmers' Market, and someone has to go over to the supermarket to buy one! This year we had a splendiferous display of radishes – most notably at Foggy Meadow's stand – and the Herald got a great photo of young Ben Horton and those radishes to display on the front page.

As difficult as it is to be transported when you are hunching against the rain, racing through mud, icy rivulets streaming down your neck and up your sleeves, we shoppers managed it, and were able to greet some great new vendors as well as all the old beloved ones.

Here are a few of the former and one of the latter.

***

Lindsay Arbuckle and Scott Courcelle are new vendors this year, and their Alchemy Garden stand is a work of art, so beautiful that you might not gather how much sweat of the brow it demanded and got. From their smiles and easy-going manner it seems that it effortlessly, as its name suggests, sprang into being.

Not so, though, as the Arbuckle/Courcelle duo are busy people who are also the managers of the new co-op at Pierce's Store in Shrewsbury. No doubt they were able to polish their farming talents when they acted as Paul Horton's interns last summer at Foggy Meadow Farm in Benson, and they're putting those skills into practice now that they farm/garden on a piece of land at Greg Cox's Boardman Hill Farm in West Rutland. Lindsay also coordinated this year's Locally Grown Guide (just out – look for it) for RAFFL.

Note the lovingly-created seed packets and signs by Lindsay. Whew, that lady is a busy bee!

***

Another new vendor is Larson Farm from Wells, selling, most notably, pasture-raised veal. Some of you readers have asked about humanely raised veal, and here it is. It is rosy colored, very tasty. I made cutlets out of it last week, pounded thin, lightly breaded, sauteed in butter and olive oil.

Erin Seward woman's the enterprise, and brings along, so far, her own wildcrafted ramps, fiddleheads and, these few weeks green garlic.

Probably many people don't realize that garlic can be eaten at any stage of the game. Right now it is simply bulbous, like a scallion, so tender it can be eaten all the way up the stem. Soon you will find cloves being formed, the outer skin toughens, and the skin surrounding the individual cloves easily splits to uncover the tender cloves inside.

Erin also offers a pesto, made out of green garlic, and homemade hummus. Soon she will add her own garden-grown produce.

One of the things that is most heartening about these new vendors is the pure joy they take in what they're doing.

***

This splendid new vendor is Radical Roots Farm. We have watched Dennis Duhaime and Carol Tashie all this long spring sweating it out on their land out on Creek Road. That sweat has paid off with, among other things, broccoli raab at the very first market on May 8.

Now there's a story behind that raab that dates back to when Dennis was the Co-op's produce manager and I urged him to get some in, offering to do a tasting of it if he would. It's one of my favorite vegetables but most people had never heard of it. Dennis fell in love with it and now, finally, we have it available at Market.

Here's the way I wrote about its preparation last year:

….. toss the raab into boiling salted water and bring it just back to boiling, hold it there maybe a second more, then drain it. In the meantime you’ve warmed about a quarter of a cup of olive oil in a sauté pan with a finely chopped clove of garlic. When the raab is drained, and the garlic has had time to flavor the olive oil without turning a bit brown, turn the heat to high under the pan, and when the oil is hot (don’t let that garlic turn) throw in the raab and shake, rattle and roll until the raab is hot, has cooked a couple minutes more and is, my goodness, coated with the oil. Sprinkle with salt to taste, then a teaspoon or so of hot pepper flakes, and there we go! Serve it warm or even cold, or put it in a sandwich of crusty whole-grained bread.

Don't you love that sign? It's the work of Carol's brother.

Carol and Dennis also had the earliest regular broccoli ever on May 22. Here's Carol with it in her hands.

***

Not a new vendor but one of my favorite old ones is Rebecca Worthing of Poultney who offers her incredible made-from-scratch-and-lots-of-butter pastries almost every week, winter AND summer at her Rebecca's Kitchen stand at the Market. They're fresh each day! You know what this means? She's up most of the night before Market.
The reason I haven't written about her before or even, I think, mentioned her, is that I was saving her for a feature article. Well, I just don't seem to get around to features anymore, so it's high time to tell you how wonderful she is while I'm writing about other wonderful people.

My favorite is that bearclaw. I've never eaten better – flaky and rich and perfectly balanced between shaley savory crust and nutty, sweet filling. Perhaps an interesting sidelight here: a year or so ago I asked Rebecca how she made her pie crusts. She uses sweet butter in everything else, but she said that was too expensive for pie crusts so she used a no-trans-fat shortening. I was probably visibly disappointed, because, as you all know, I advocate for natural fats – preferably half butter and half lard in my crusts – and she was also visibly distressed, as any artist is at even a hint of criticism.
Recently, though, she confessed to me that she had taken my advice, and now all her pastries, including pies, are butter rich. Right on, Rebecca.
She picks all of her berries and apples fresh and in season. She has a young family, too. I don't think she sleeps, ever.

***

What else is new at the Farmers' Market?

These lovely little salad turnips (from Foggy Meadow) are exquisite out of hand – halfway between a radish and an apple; sweet and juicy – or simmered slowly in butter, with a bit of tarragon, along with their greens. What an unctuous, sweet, meltingly fresh, lovely vegetable this is, either alone or curled around a perfectly grilled porkchop.

And these beauteous young beets:

Really, there's nothing better in spring than young beets and greens. Last night I cut the stems about 2 inches long and simmered the beets until they were almost tender – for as little as 10 minutes, really – then added the greens to the pot and simmered for perhaps 10 minutes more. I drained them, slipped the skins from the beets (but saved the stems), and added the quartered beets, stems, and greens to a saute pan in which I had steeped over a low flame some fresh green garlic in a plethora of olive oil, turned the heat up a bit and tossed just until the beets had absorbed that lovely, garlicky oil.

At that point I may have sprinkled them with a few drops of vinegar, showered them with grated hard-boiled egg, salted and peppered them, or strewn them with hot pepper flakes, but whatever I did (and I've done all for different suppers this month), they all satiate the soul!

***

Okay. What's missing here? Oh, of course, Greg Cox, the Grand old Man of the Farmers' Market, the Philosopher-Farmer. Where's Greg?
Well, Greg's recuperating from long-delayed and well-deserved knee surgery!
About time you took care of those knees, Old Man! You're going to need them for many years to come, and maybe now that you're pain-free and agile as a gazelle you'll quit grumbling like an old bear and accomplish even more for Rutland and its food and farmers!

***

Satiate the soul. Hie yourself to the Farmers' Market wherever you be!

New Garden

warmer than in air

Saturday was that first day that, when you walk out the door, the air is warmer out than in. Not that the air conditioner is on in. Not that we have an air conditioner, at least not if you don’t call fireplaces and chimneys and cellars a natural form of air conditioner, which they are. If those builders in 1809 didn’t know how versatile they were making this house in terms of keeping it cool in summer and warm in winter then they were at least more intuitive than they would need to be now.

From blog warmer than in air

Leo came in as I went out and I mentioned in passing that I had no ideas for supper, and then I continued out to the deck and sat down in the chair that tests my ability anew each year to be able to get up out of it, and picked up my book. Pretty soon, though, it nearing 6pm, I felt a stirring – not of hunger, but of a need to cook.

Cooking gives me space and time to think, to combine, to surprise myself, to get the juices flowing. Cooking and music are a divine combo; add a glass of wine and you’ve got a pretty heady process going on.

In the kitchen was a vase of ramps – I had garlic and shallots, too, but you don’t need them with ramps, which you may know as wild leeks – and a handful of fiddleheads. There was a bit of spinach, too, and some coconut dal I’d made the other night. I had eggs, in more ways than one – which is always a good thing – and good multi-grain bread. Cheese. There was smoked polish sausage from On the Edge Farm, but did I need it? And what else?

Tarragon, basil, & lovage are luxuries of the season, that make me smile every time I cook and walk outside to pick some. Last Sunday I couldn’t resist chopping two stems of tarragon into the filling of a rhubarb pie. There were people who noticed, with questioning and, I think, with real pleasure. Herbs that we think of as savory do indeed go nicely in sweet pies. Rosemary in apple, for instance. Basil would be good except that even a touch of heat reduces its taste to nothing. I decided to make a simple frittata – an omelet of sorts – with ramps and fiddleheads, lovage and tarragon.

Do you know the best way to get those coppery husks off fiddleheads? It's this: Put them in cold water and bring them to the boil and then immediately (almost) tip them into a sieve. The husks have turned into coppery fibers unrelated in any complicated way with each other. Spray the green fiddleheads to take the husks to the bottom and lift the green things out. Dump the husks in the compost. No quicker way to stop up a sink than fiddlehead husks.
I tell you this from experience.

Now, my biggest quandary is – do I use the little hydroponic tomato or stick to the wild, just-grown things? My instinct says no, but my palate says yes.

Instinct is a good thing to follow, especially in spring. A week or so ago I began to think about shad roe. Shad is a river herring, very bony, and its egg sacs are prized by anyone who loves seasonal food and, probably, fish eggs. Its availability works its way north until now we’re getting them from somewhere in Pennsylvania and New York. I stopped into Earth and Sea in Manchester and those expert and friendly people told me they’d call me when they got some in. They called last Thursday, so I did a little carbon footprint thingy and drove down to Manchester and got the roe and, while I was at it, a Branzini, a whole, small European sea bass with white, sweet flesh. Apparently it’s farmed in a very sustainable way, feeding on plants and algae, its waste eaten by microbes instead of by other fish.

Which is quite something to think about – the sustainability of fish – when in the next breath I think of what we are doing to that very strange world that comprises the majority of OUR world, and ALL of theirs – the underwater world and the ocean floor – which is killing great swathes of it completely mindlessly.

I found one of those papery brown moths the other day in the kitchen. They look like tiny, dried-out tea bags when they’re dead. I put him under a jeweler’s cup and saw that he had a monkey face and all kinds of differentiated markings and feelers and little feet not intelligible to the naked eye.

Why do we always look up and go outward when we could find just as many worlds by looking down and within and into the tinier and more and more microscopic levels?

Is that why we haven’t concentrated on exploring that ocean but do concentrate on outer space? And is that why, even while we know next to nothing about that land covered by water, we are content to destroy it in the name of BTUs and so-called progress. Shame.

The Branzini was beautiful to cook and to eat. I zested a lemon over it, diced some preserved lemon, sprinkled salt and pepper and olive oil, stuffed it with chopped ramps, wrapped it in parchment and baked it at 400 ° for about 20 minutes.
In-parchment is a very good way to cook almost any fish. It encloses it to keep the air out and the juices in, and the parchment browns to a coppery mess. It’s always an adventure tearing it away.

From blog warmer than in air

I served the Branzini with a coconut dal, the recipe for which I’d found in a big, beautiful, expensive cookbook at the Northshire that very same day. I did not buy the book but, while flipping through its pages, spied the recipe and memorized the ingredients – it was easy, they were mostly c words. Except for garlic and shallot, for which I substituted ramps, it has coriander, curry leaves, chile, and coconut milk. Along with those little orange lentils that cook so quickly. (I did buy David Chang’s Momofuku, which I will give to Jesse when I’ve had my way with it.)

For the Coconut Dal, simmer a cup of the lentils in 2 cups of water for 20 minutes or so, until tender. Meanwhile, sauté the garlic and shallot, or ramps, then add in the ground coriander, the curry leaves and the crushed hot chile until browned and amalgamated. Add a cup of the coconut milk (I used the whole can) and stir in the lentils. It was delicious but it needed cilantro, which I added to the leftovers. Those are good dipped up with corn chips.

The shad roe were two pretty pink crescents that I prepared Friday night after looking up Jasper White’s technique, which is to braise them in enough butter to almost cover in a slow oven – 350° for about 10 minutes a side. Handle them very carefully so that the sac doesn’t split. I used some of the leftover butter in the mashed potatoes that sided it, and still have some left, and I had the leftover roe the next morning for breakfast.

Which was interesting, because the skin on the cold cooked sacs is thin and brownish pink and veined all over with a web of what looks like black silk thread, and reminds you of other thin-skinned sacs you’ve seen, of a deeply personal nature, though those are not usually cooked. Inside, the eggs are grainy and briny and solid and healthy as surely all eggs are that hold the beginnings of life. Mineral and fascinating.

The frittata was not nearly as fascinating, but it was good, made out of what was on hand, and filling, and Leo liked it.

By the way, I went with my palate instead of instinct – which is just another kind of instinct, I guess – and used the little tomato. I’m glad I did. But when choosing which kind of cheese to top it with – that took me awhile. I thought Swiss, but once I opened the cheese drawer the choice was easy – all I had was cheddar ends, so cheddar ends won out.

So this is quite a bit about eggs and fishes, and sacs and other gelid things, and I’m reminded of what Oscar Wilde said one time, and that was "An egg is always an adventure; the next one may be different." I believe he could be talking about any kind of egg, but especially fish eggs.

***

My little brown moth lay under the jeweler’s cup all day, and when I lifted him up when I was ready to make the frittata, preparatory to sweeping him into the trash, he came alive, teetered on my finger, flew into my hair, and when I ducked outside he flew away into that warmer than in air.

From blog warmer than in air

Farm to Plate Initiative

being a report/review of the recent Farm to Plate Statewide Food Summit held in Rutland. Thank you to India Burnett Farmer for allowing me to publish it.
Below, Greg Cox is about to nibble on one of his luscious greens. Greg and India are a big part of RAFFL (Rutland Area Farm and Food Link), which sponsored the summit.

From Farmers' Market Farmers

The auditorium of the Rutland Middle School was packed with at least 300 people this Saturday to hear Kenneth Meter’s keynote address at the Farm to Plate Statewide Food Summit. Meter, an experienced food system analyst, presented the findings of his study of the farm and food economy of Southeast Minnesota, Finding Food in Farm Country. Meter’s study identified disturbing trends that mimic the Vermont farm situation. Most dispiriting perhaps was the loss of independence and autonomy farms are facing – decades of diminishing farm profits directly related to commodity prices and expenses that are out of the control of farm operators, the increasing rate of money flowing out of farm communities in the form of interest payments as farmers become more dependent on non-local financial institutions and the decreasing share of the retail dollar farmers realize for their product.
Meter was quick to note that even though the economic hardships plaguing the nation’s farm families are also hitting home in Vermont, he also sees a lot of promise for farms to thrive here. Meter noted the significance of the Farm to Plate planning process to strategically guide agriculture at a statewide level. This, coupled with the grassroots groundswell of support for local food and the presence of so many innovative farmers, bodes well for our agricultural future.
The short of it: the current food system takes wealth out of local communities, while community based food systems provide a path towards economic recovery.
The Farm to Plate Initiative, and the work of the numerous farm and food organizations like the Rutland Area Farm and Food Link, supports the strengthening of community-based food systems here in Vermont.

Meter stressed that the key to strong community-based food systems is the presence of direct relationships between a wide variety of players. This is where I see Vermont excelling - we are a small state, and these relationships are already strong. Examples abound - diversified farms know their customers by name, Vermont Fresh Network introduces farmers to chefs, RAFFL mixers build community between beginning farmers and link farmers and institutions like the local hospital.
As our food systems strengthen and expand, new relationships will develop. As processing and distribution hubs come on-line, farmers will know the face of brokers, distributors and specialty food processors. Brokers and distributors, in turn, will better know the food service directors at our schools and institutions. It is these relationships that stimulate creative partnerships between producers, processors, consumers, and more that increase demand for and value of agricultural products. This web of economic activity, when focused on local, statewide and regional relationships, will capture the dollars running through Vermont’s agricultural economy and help rebuild the wealth of our rural communities.
I found the success stories that Meter shared from across the country most inspiring. Examples that I’m excited to see folks explore here in Vermont include:
• Farms that are pushing the envelope in season extension (12 month greens production), marketing prowess (hydroponic operation capturing majority market share in the Twin Cities) and exceptional sales numbers at intensive scales (CSA with $70,000 sales/acre)
• Restaurants that are truly committed to impacting the farm economy (Cafe that sources 59% of inventory locally from over 50 producers)
• Institutional sales successes (University leadership to buy locally has led to 25 stores & institutions in Northern Iowa buying $1.8 million of local food)
• Regional food processing center (involves community players, stimulates new markets like hospital, food co-op and schools)
• Producer and buyers co-op that includes farmers, hospital food service, distributors and truckers as owners.
• Co-operative marketing models (Poultry business cluster addresses scale issues - co-op allows independent small scale production with larger scale processing)

A slideshow of the Farm to Plate planning process updated us all on the effort thus far. Break out sessions throughout the day allowed for input and discussion on the many sections of the Farm 2 Plate Strategic Plan, including the proposed 20 Goals for 2020. The draft of the plan is set to be competed by the end of June (incorporating everything they’ve heard during this summit and many other focus group sessions around the state).
A fantastic lunch sourced from many local farms was served. Pulled pork from Brown Boar Farm, fresh salad greens from Vermont Herb & Salad Company, Beet Salad from Foggy Meadow Farm and more from Brown’s Farm Stand, Thomas Dairy, Boardman Hill Farm, Perry’s Potatoes, Green Mountain Coffee and Dellveneri Bakery.

by India Burnett Farmer