Good Fats and Bad & the truth about canola oil

Dear Readers, I love most of you, but a few of you get a little overheated. Riled up. Just downright sad. And sometimes out and out belligerent.


Good fats to use include butter, olive oil, and coconut oil. They're good for you, and they're delicious Real Foods.

Case in point: I’ve slung a few arrows at the promiscuous use of Canola oil by everyone from home cooks to commercial fryolator drivers in my last few columns. Admittedly, I just slung ‘em, didn’t stop to correct my aim, didn’t explain – yet again – why I was slingin’. Maybe I never have – that’s the problem with writing columns – you can’t assume that your present reader has read the column from two years ago about the downside of vegetable oils, and assimilated the info thoroughly enough to be able to draw on it again when you mention canola oil today. Actually you can’t REMEMBER if you’ve already explained your bias.

First came four ladies with downcast eyes, who told me they were disturbed that I didn’t approve of Canola oil. Why didn’t I? They had thought they were being virtuous by using Canola oil. I felt badly about that, but I threw off four or five facile reasons, ending with “it’s a man-made oil and why trust man-made foods when we have great whole animal and vegetable foods readily available to us?”

We should know better, having been the recipient, en masse, of governmental and industrial proclamations and directives to eat fake instead of real – margarine instead of butter; something called, I believe, Eggbeaters, instead of eggs. Why? Because butter and eggs were bad for us! Why? Because they contained cholesterol, and it was believed that cholesterol in our food translated into cholesterol in our blood. And it was believed by some that cholesterol in our blood built up on our arteries and choked them off, so that blood couldn’t get to the heart, or that chunks of that plaque would break off and shoot directly into our brains or our hearts. Killing us. Incapacitating us. Chilling, isn’t it? Do you doubt that fake-food companies instill fear of whole foods into us so that we will buy their product?

How did this come about? Someone, long ago, back in that early and mid-century just behind us, got this cholesterol-as-demon idea in his head and instituted several massive studies, which never really proved his point. Nevertheless, cereal companies were really big, and they took the idea and ran with it. Kellogg. Post. People like that. They grew grains, puffed them up, flaked them, and sold us cereals. What a great boon if they could also sell us vegetable oils from those same seeds and grains to take the place of butter, lard and other animal fats, even olive oil, if anyone even knew what that was back in the '50s. The 1950s!

They got their chance when the McGovern Committee on Nutrition and Human needs began to meet back in 1968 in response to an increase in chronic diseases such as heart disease, cancer, obesity, and diabetes. But many renowned scientists of the day objected to the lipid hypothesis. They said that there was nothing to link cholesterol or saturated fat with the diseases. George McGovern replied, “I could only argue that senators don’t have the luxury a research scientist has of waiting until every last shred of evidence is in.” Watch that on a new video that’s just been released! Fascinating stuff!

In 1977 the McGovern Committee issued dietary guidelines that called on Americans to lessen their consumption of red meat and dairy products. The red meat and dairy industries objected, so the Committee replaced that wording with “choose meats, poultry, and fish that will reduce saturated fat intake.” Now THAT is an oxymoron. It’s also the beginning of ‘nutritionism’: that practice of recommending or dismissing parts of foods instead of whole foods.

They thought – 'well, it’s probably true that we should eat less red meat and fat even though we have no scientific proof for it.'
And they thought, 'even if it isn’t true, it can’t hurt us to eat less meat and dairy.'

Little did they know that by replacing animal fats with vegetable fats we would alter our diets, our environment, our health, our very way of life, our world, irrevocably. The entire middle of our country – millions upon millions of acres – is paved over with the industrial crops of genetically modified corn, soy, and rapeseed – the seed that makes canola. The residues of those crops drip down the waterways into the Gulf of Mexico creating environmental catastrophes in their beginning, on their way and upon their arrival. And the subsequent upsetting of the omega 6 to omega 3 ratios in our diets is increasingly being considered to be the cause of many of our chronic health problems, including a massive increase of autism in children.

But, specifically, Canola?
About 50% of that fat in traditional rapeseed was erucic acid, which causes heart lesions. Back in the ‘70s scientists bred a new rapeseed oil low in erucic acid, and called it canola, for Canadian Oil. In 1985 that new oil was granted the status of 'Generally Recognized as Safe' from the FDA. The coveted GRAS designation.

Note that erucic acid was not eradicated, but was merely lessened.

Nina Planck, in her book REAL FOOD, tells us that “animal studies have linked canola oil with reduced platelet count, shorter life span, and greater need for Vitamin E. The United States and Canada do not permit canola oil to be used in infant formula because it retards growth in animals. In one human study, canola oil raised triglycerides... while saturated fats lowered triglycerides.” She also points out that, since canola oil is a ‘new’ food, no long-term studies of it have been made.
“I never use canola oil,” writes Planck, “largely because I have no reason to. For flavor, health, and cooking, I simply prefer other fats. The flavor is nothing special.”

She, as I do, too, uses olive oil and butter for sautéing, and butter and lard for baking.

I simply do not use any vegetable oil except small amounts of dark sesame for flavor, perhaps a nut oil sometimes for the same reason; and I simply do not deep-fry, but if I did I think I’d splurge on beef tallow. That’s what many commercial establishments used to use before forced by the cholesterol scare to turn to hydrogenated fats, and then when the truth about trans-fats came out they switched to ... mostly canola oil as far as I can see. Beef tallow is also a very tasty fat and makes fabulous French fries.

But be sure to get beef tallow from grass-fed beef, and lard from foraged pigs, or you will be loading up on the antibiotics and hormones fed to enslaved animals.

I also love coconut oil – there is quite a bit of proof that the slathering on of coconut oil can help you lose weight. Besides, it's delicious. You can buy it at the Co-op.

Isn't this amazing stuff? You probably don't believe me --it is, not to put too fine a point on it, unbelievable that a hoax such as this has been perpetrated upon an entire country! So, to you doubters, it's time for you to do your own work:

Watch THE FUTURE OF FOOD to see to see how some of our so-called healthy industrial foods are grown, and the effects on the land and the farmers who farm it. Read QUEEN OF FATS by Susan Allport if you’d like to know more about the omega 6/omega 3 conundrum. And certainly, if you have not read IN DEFENSE OF FOOD by Michael Pollan, do that. I also like THE GOOD FAT COOKBOOK by Fran McCullough, the aforesaid REAL FOOD by Nina Planck, EAT FAT LOSE FAT by Dr. Mary Enig, and... well, that should keep you busy for awhile. But if you still have time, read GOOD CALORIES, BAD CALORIES by Gary Taubes. He takes on all the studies that have been done trying to link saturated animal fats with cholesterol and cholesterol to heart disease. The proof is simply not there!



I really did not want to spend my Sunday afternoon getting these particular fat ducks in a row, but after the opening at the Brick Box a week or so ago, when one of my “Fans” actually became rather physical in his frustration with my denigration of poor little canola, I felt the need. And when I got a note from another dear reader saying, “Perhaps sometime you can educate readers a bit more about so-called ‘canola’ oil,” I knew Sunday was a bust.

So there you have it, and for being such good and attentive readers, I’ll give you a technique for

Corn Fritters
Very seasonal just now.

TAKE 2 or 3 ears of cooked corn and scrape the kernels off into a bowl. You might use the edge of a round cookie cutter for this, to get the most cream out. Make a tiny dice of whatever complementary vegetables you might have – jalapeno, sweet pepper, tomato, that’s about it. Add them to the corn.

Whip an egg or two, a tablespoon or two of milk or cream, a tablespoon of flour, salt and pepper... mix them up. Add them to the corn. Let the whole melange just lie there and meditate with each other for awhile.

Then, when you are ready to eat, heat a pan, scrape some butter and olive oil into it, let that get hot and just beginning to brown, and ladle in a half cup or so of batter. Turn it after three or four minutes. When it is done, put it on a plate, sprinkle, if you like, with some very finely chopped onion, some lime juice, pour a few drops or spoonfuls of maple syrup over it, add salt if you need to, and eat it

up.

Tomatoes! Get ‘em while they’re green!

This was an enormous just-ripening Striped German tomato, the flower end of it fully yellow, the rest still green.
I sliced it rather thin, dredged it in flour, then beaten egg, then panko crumbs.
It was totally delicious. I had the leftovers for breakfast this morning.
Greasy, salty, hot and crispy on the outside,
and al dente sourness inside. Mmm.

A year ago about this time, Leo and I were in a little hamlet called Hot Springs, in North Carolina, the town that straddles the Appalachian Trail on the one hand and boasts a beautiful place called the Mountain Magnolia Inn on the other. Different clientele, you might say.

It was our daughter Isobel's birthday and we took her and boyfriend-in-law Jesse to the Inn to celebrate. By far the most interesting item on a menu that did not lack interesting items was a fried green tomato and lobster appetizer. Rustic and elegant – down-home and up-town. I envisioned medallions of lobster tail alternating with medallions of fried green tomatoes. Instead, the chef used claw-meat, which was cheaper, to be sure, and just as tasty as the medallions would have been, if not as intuitively beautiful. But appearance hardly mattered, since we ate on the sweeping veranda and the lighting was less than brilliant, unless you count the moon and stars pointed to by the tall pointed mountains. As a matter of fact, it was an interesting experiment not to know what you were putting in your mouth until your tastebuds went into effect. How good are YOUR tastebuds.

I had not a bit of trouble recognizing the taste of a good fried green tomato – I could do it in my sleep! Greasy, salty, hot and crispy on the outside, and al dente sourness inside. Mmm. One of my favorite things. Another is fried eggplant, treated just the same way – dipped in flour, then egg, then flour again or crumbs – and fried in... oh, butter and olive oil or lard or coconut oil, until crisp and golden outside and puddeny on the inside. The difference between the two is that texture as well as the taste: the tomato’s tang is recognized in the back of your throat; the eggplants’ with a slight puckering of the roof of your mouth.

A platter of fried green tomatoes, fried eggplant, fried zucchini blossoms, and fried okra, with basil leaves and nasturtium blossoms tucked in here and there would seem a very good thing. With one caveat – it’s pretty, but it takes too long to fry each of these things, while the ones already fried sit on newspaper, cooling and uncrisping. Each one of these foods should be eaten hot, straight out of the pan, with a good shake of salt.
Olive oil is a very good oil for frying. Somehow people worry that it can’t stand extreme heat. Well, no fat can stand extreme heat for very long, nor can our innards, but olive oil is sufficient – if the miracle of an extra virgin olive oil by any name could ever be deemed only ‘sufficient’ – to most tasks. Adding butter to it creates more complicated taste and a good color.

Eugene Walters, who styled the movie Fried Green Tomatoes some years ago, suggests frying in olive oil and bacon fat, and he likes to use celery seed and dillweed in the flour binder. Another time he suggests using truly hard green tomatoes and coating them with mayonnaise before dipping them into toasted breadcrumbs. My grandmother always used smashed saltines as a coating.

If you love fried green tomatoes, but no one else does, yet, I suggested this in my book, Tomato Imperative! “Make a private treat for yourself of a fried green tomato in the middle of a hot summer day. Take the plate of slices with a big napkin and a good book out to the hammock, and if there’s anyone else around, particularly children, even picky eaters, pretty soon they’ll come nedging along and asking, “Whatchoo doin’? Whazzat yer eatin’... all alone?” And then they’ll want a taste, and then you’ll have to get up and fry another tomato.”

This year, of course, our entire crop of tomatoes is imperiled by the dratted Black Death, or more precisely Late Blight. I thought I was escaping it, having planted an heirloom Striped German along with a newfangled Sweet Olive miniature tomato together in a sunny spot in rich soil. They were mammoth, with multitudes of green tomatoes on them, when suddenly I spotted a wrinkled leaf, then the black spots, the bruises on the stems, and finally, looking closer, the incipient black sores on the tomatoes themselves. Oddly enough it was the miniature, hybrid, tomatoes that showed the blight first. But since the two plants were so intertwined, I just picked off leaves and diseased tomatoes in order to save the heirloom. I harvested a lot of the Sweet Olives, one or two ripe Striped Germans, and finally picked all of the green Striped Germans, which had finally succumbed, trimmed them of bad spots, sliced the rest and fried ’em up. Yumm.

I’m not quite sure how Grandma, of good northern European stock, learned to take such satisfaction in frying green tomatoes. It seems to have remained a southern technique, probably an African one, brought forth to utilize New World foods such as tomatoes and cornmeal and, from the ubiquitous pig, lard. But since she did, the mere thought of the taste of them brings to me a stab of excitement, of nostalgia for long-lost times and loved ones.

Most northern people pickled green tomatoes, made them into chutneys and mincemeat, and there are recipes for that. But I think that come early season or end of summer, people through the centuries have been tossing a few chopped green tomatoes into soups and stews, paellas, risottos, and/or pastas – depending upon their culture of origin – without thinking about it too much or writing it down in a recipe to pass on to future generations. There lies the danger that, as youngsters spend less time learning from their elders, this kind of unwritten wisdom will disappear from culinary practice.

Farmers' markets are good sources for green tomatoes. At this peak season
time of year, if you don't find any, ask the farmer.
S/he'll be sure to bring some to you.

Still need a recipe? How about some guidelines, a technique? Let’s start with one large green tomato with just a blush, somewhere on it, of incipient pink. Core it. Slice it about a third of an inch thick. Dredge it in flour and tap off the excess. Dunk it in beaten egg, tap off the excess, then dredge in seasoned flour, crushed saltines, cornmeal, or fine bread crumbs. If you have a bag of Panko around, try that. Gently tap the slice again, then place on a folded newspaper, preferably one with my column on it. Let them dry a bit, to create a harder coating, as you heat a sauté pan over medium high heat. When the pan is hot scoop about a tablespoon of butter into it and pour in an equal amount or a bit more of olive oil. You want a little depth to the oil on the bottom of the pan.

When that is hot, place the slices into the hot oil, maybe turn the heat down a bit – you want the coating to become crisp and golden in the same amount of time it takes the inside to become tender. After 3 or 4 minutes – watching carefully – turn the slices and allow them to cook just the same way. When they’re done, sprinkle with salt and eat them!

If there are more slices to be fried, run the pan under hot water to get out the burned bits, wipe with a paper towel, and start all over again with new butter and oil.

Now do the same with eggplant. Ditto Okra.

But this is not brain surgery. The other night I had no eggs, but I did have green tomatoes that needed to be used before they got ... gasp... ripe! So if I couldn’t do the traditional flour, egg, flour coating without eggs, what would I use to make those slices crisp. I remembered cornstarch, and poured and thumped a quantity into a used plastic bag, along with a quantity of flour and salt. The result? Best Fried Green Tomatoes ever.

Bon, as they say, Appetit!

Splendid Burgers

A visit to the Farmer's Diner in Quechee yesterday was spectacular. This is what I want Rutland and Wallingford to offer me -- a 6 ounce hamburger made of grass-fed beef with a tomato slice, onion, lettuce and blue cheese all from local farms within a 70 mile radius. And a homemade bun from Klinger's. And a pile of hand-cut potatoes grown right here -- at Chapelle's Potato Farm, in fact -- and, I would like to think, deep fried in suet (but no, I called them and found out they deep fry with bleccchhh Canola Oil that man made stuff that used to poison cows. But I digress.) And lemonade/iced tea in a pint canning jar with a handle and no bottom. It was refilled three times! And hush puppies made of cornmeal grown at Butterworks Farm, served in a little cast iron frying pan with a maple BBQ sauce.

Photo by Lowell Snowdon Klock

Lowell had a NY style Rueben with Farmers Diner house cured corned beef, Boggy Meadow Swiss, sauteed
sauerkraut, creamy 1,000 Island Dressing on grilled LaPanciata rye, and Claudette, was clearly drawn to the Cock and Fire, which billed itself as a tender roasted Misty Knoll Chicken, finished with housemade buffalo sauce, topped wth GreenMountain Blue Cheese, all wrapped in a soft, warm flour tortilla.

Photo by Lowell Snowdon Klock

The wait-staff was made up mostly of pert young things, but our waitress was mature woman, Judy, who, when pressed just the slightest, erupted with passionate pride in the place and the product. Soon she brought out the young chef, Scott, who showed equal passion and accessibility. We talked and talked, and learned that there's a Farmer's Diner in Middlebury, too, that I will visit next week with my friend Dana, who will be visiting from Virginia. And that there are plans for one to open in Burlington. And two in San Francisco.

Tod, The only fault I can find is that you fry in Canola oil. Please consider switching to something more sustainable, like cow fat.

Please note, all you local mid-priced restaurants (my meal cost me a whopping $13), that it can be done. Note it, and do it!

Please, I mean.

Please, please, please, please!

My Life with Julia

Julie Powell never met Julia Child, though she cooked her dishes every day for one whole year, as I understand it, and wrote a blog about it called the Julie/Julia Project. Then there was the book, and now the movie, and what a lot of bling there is about that, mostly because Meryl Streep reportedly does such a fantastic job ‘getting’ Julia’s warble and stance while at the same time softening the granite outlines of the large woman in a way we have never seen before but know must exist.


Julia so adored her husband, Paul Child that we know there must have been a winsomeness beneath it all; and she was so passionate about France and food that we know her public persona must have been but a banked and presentable version of the white-hot passions that filled her.

Poor Julie, though – she’s not getting much respect from most critics. How she must wish that director Nora Ephron had not tied HER book to Julia’s. Or not. After all, what would JULIE AND JULIA be without Julia’s MY LIFE IN FRANCE? But then, would it have occurred to anyone to make a movie without Julie’s blog/book?

Well, who knows. What I do know is that I’ve watched and heard a multitude of interviews with Meryl Streep and Nora Ephron, and others peripherally associated with the matter, but I’ve not heard nor seen hide nor hair of Julie Powell. But more to the point is the fact that the interviewers are always saying “I never met Julia Child, but...”
Nora Ephron said that, too. “I never met Julia...”
“But,” I suddenly think with a jolt, “I did!”

And I did, not only once but several times – well, at least three. As a matter of fact, lots of Vermonters met Julia and spent some time with her – the students and instructors at the New England Culinary Institute, for example. That’s where I first met her, in 1990, when Julia and Robert Mondavi had founded the American Institute of Wine and Food. She was at NECI at the Inn at Essex, to promote AIWF, to preside over the first commencement there of eight young cooks, and to promote her latest and last book, THE WAY TO COOK. I followed the great lady on her rounds all day and wrote about it in a piece for the Vermont Sunday Magazine called The Zen of a Day with Julia Child. When I said goodbye to her she told me, “Keep talking about food. Write about it. Keep it in front of others.”


She was concerned, she told us, that a fear of food generated by contradictory reports on the bugaboos of fat and cholesterol and pesticides, etc., at a time when the old avenues of learning about food had fallen into disuse, would permanently cripple American gastronomy.
“We must try to make sense about ridiculous things like oat bran – things that keep popping up and scaring people.”

The next time I met Julia was the celebration of her 80th birthday with a glorious dinner at Hemingway’s, orchestrated by Ted and Linda Fondulas. That was on August 18th, 1992. I wrote about that, too, but I can’t find the article though I’ve searched high and low. In so doing I’ve had a fascinating time looking through old columns – I had two columns a week in the Herald back then – and I have to say that I did my best to recognize and battle against the deepening degradation of our diet even then, and to celebrate real food.

That wasn’t easy, because the government and the big food producers were feeding us a lot of crapola that we had only our own hunches to rely on in opposing it. We have a lot more proof now that it WAS not only rubbish, but deadly rubbish, but we also have twenty years of brainwashing to undo.

Just the other day I was listening to an interview done by the host of the radio show Here and Now with some peripheral Julia people, when she squeaked, “but we can’t go back to eating that way – Butter!!! Now that we know it’s killing us!”

Oh. My. Dear. God! If butter is killing us, imagine what the antibiotics, hormones, chemical fertilizers, pesticides and herbicides are doing to us. Just imagine what Julia would say to such idiocy! Food Science? What an oxymoron. We don’t know enough about food to invent it.

I never did find that article about the Hemingway/Child dinner, but I wrote about it later in Issue 1 of my foodletter Cook/Speak, where I detailed one of the dishes we had at Hemingway’s that night – Halibut and Lobster with Vanilla Butter and Sweet Corn. I went into great detail in that recipe (which Ted Fondulas graciously explained to me) but the main point to be gleaned is that a vanilla bean cooked with wine and shallots until reduced is a wonderful drizzle for lots of foods in the vegetable and fish families, and maybe even beef.

I sent Julia a copy of that first Cook/Speak, and have a lovely little thank-you note from her still, signed by her in green ink.


The last time I saw her, Leo and I were just leaving a food seminar at Radcliffe, in Cambridge, when I heard that familiar trilling voice and, before I could stop myself, had turned and said hello. Julia was flanked by two equally tall people bundled in winter coats – it was November, just before Thanksgiving as I remember – and they created a warm and intimate coterie of which I immediately felt an interloper. But she was charming, and I had no choice but to introduce her to Leo, who said, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Child.” And he should have stopped right there but did not. “We so enjoyed hearing you on Garrison Keillor last night.” She may have looked puzzled as I looked at her, aghast.

I think, I hope, I truly trust that Julia Child had never sat down to a lovely glass of wine and a sumptuous Saturday night supper in her beautiful Cambridge kitchen with the radio tuned to Prairie Home Companion, and listened as Garrison’s sound effects man warbled a bad imitation of her. I’m sure she hadn’t – didn’t she always have good friends with whom to enjoy food and intelligent conversation?

I clamped Leo’s arm firmly in mine and dragged him away, waving my last goodbye to Julia Child. As I say, so many people are exclaiming that they never met Julia Child. Why, I lament, oh Why could not Leo have been among them?

Julia, oh Julia. Thank you for championing good food for nearly fifty years.
I’m so glad I knew you – ever so slightly!

... we’re so lucky...

Rutland Area Farm and Food Link is sponsoring Jill Richardson, one of my favorite speaking-out bloggers and author of RECIPE FOR AMERICA: WHY OUR FOOD SYSTEM IS BROKEN AND WHAT WE CAN DO TO FIX IT, on Tuesday August 18, 6:30pm at the UU Church of Rutland on West Street. Jill is a fresh voice in the movement to create a healthier and sustainable food system. This book will be part of the burgeoning food social movement, as it provides a guide to the most important issues and how to work on them. This event is free and open to public. Come learn more about the work that RAFFL is doing to create a sustainable food system right here in the Rutland region and how this work relates to the bigger national picture. And enjoy a tasting of locally grown and produced food!

Just... Summer

At the Farmers’ Market the other day, somebody asked, “What do you do with beets. Nobody seems to know what to do with them. They seem to be the forgotten vegetable, and they’re so GOOD if you know how.”
I didn’t say that there was no excuse for not knowing what to do with them! Didn’t I write a whole column about them a couple of years back? I bit my tongue instead. So here’s a recap, about them and some other things too.



Just... buy a bunch of gorgeous beets from a farmer, take them home, cut off the stems an inch or two from the beet, swish them through some cold water – they don't need to be immaculate – put them in a pan, cover with cold water, salt the water with a teaspoon of salt, bring to a medium boil and low-boil them least a half an hour with a cover aslant over them before testing them with a table fork. If they are tender, not mushy, drain them and let them cool a bit before sliding the skins and stems off with your hands. If you can’t push that fork firmly into them, cook a bit more. At 45 minutes they’re probably done whether you think so or not. You can serve them warm with just butter or you can slice them and add... yes, the proverbial three – olive oil, vinegar – in this case balsamic, I would think – and sliced garlic, as much as you want. If you don’t have balsamic don’t go out and buy some just for this – the beets are sweet enough as it is. They make sugar out of them, don’t they? Salt and pepper. You can go on from there with sliced onion or chives. You could add dill? or basil. You could even add some broken toasted walnuts, if you like, and sprinkle each serving with feta or chèvre. Umm.

That’s just the beginning, of course.

Just... toss a red pepper on the grill and singe that skin until it’s black, then rub it off. Slice the pepper in strips (save those thick juices, but flick out the seeds with the point of a knife) and anoint with oil, garlic, and vinegar.

Or if you find those small heart-shaped sweet red peppers – I think they're called lipstick – you can stuff them (after they’ve been skinned) with fresh goat cheese, chèvre, that’s been mixed with something sweet like raisins and something crisp like toasted pine nuts, put them back on the (warm) grill for just a few minutes, carefully – want to keep that sweet cheese inside. Serve with forks. A drop of balsamic vinegar as a finish would not be out of place. (Idea from Tapas by Joyce Goldstein)

Just... cucumbers, fresh off the vine, as good as anything: slice them thin, cover them with cold water with a few ice cubes, add some dill heads to this cold stew and put them in the fridge for awhile. The edges pucker up a bit to make a scoop. They’re crisp, and dill-scented.

Or make Asian-flavored Cucumbers. Slice one or two cukes into irregular slabs, cover with cold salted water for an hour or two in the fridge, drain them, dry well in a clean towel, put them into a bowl with a knob of ginger that’s been julienned (cut into thin strips), and add a tablespoon of sugar, 2 of rice wine vinegar, a teaspoon of dark sesame oil and 2 roughly chopped garlic cloves. Yummy. (Smashed Cucumbers with Ginger from Saveur, Issue #113)

Just... cook dried fava beans (cover with water, bring to a boil, turn to a simmer, about 45 minutes, adding more hot water as needed not to burn, salt to taste during the last ten minutes), spread them out on a plate, top with lots of olive oil and garlic, a strew of chopped jalapenos, and dip up with robust young celery, dark green and positively sweet. I am enamored of the Farmers’ Market celery – who knew it could even be grown here, much less so er, ah, tastefully. I would almost treat it like the cucumber chips – cut into leafy sticks and refresh in icy water for awhile. Then crunch away.



Just... tiny new tomatoes eaten plain, of course, at first, then halved and fried with garlic in olive oil while you blanch those first new green beans in boiling, salted water for 2 minutes. Drain them (the beans), plunge them into cold water, and chop a clove or two of garlic and add to the tomatoes, which should be browning on the cut side. Stir and fry until you can smell the garlic, drain the beans again and add them to the tomatoes. Turn the heat to high and stir-fry everything until tender enough. Not too long. Tear some basil leaves over them for the last minute, turn off the heat, season with salt and pepper and maybe another drizzle of olive oil. You could serve these with soft scrambled eggs for a simplified version of a dish called piperade. Now I'm thinking – serve them with bits of chèvre sprinkled over the top. I've just finished a plain omelet sided with cut cherry tomatoes and chèvre and it was delicious, so sweet and so good.



Just... silken, buttery cabbage, technique from Simon Hopkinson. For 2 people use 1 of those football-shaped cabbages, quarter it lengthwise leaving the core in. Plunge it into boiling salted water and cook until very tender. Drain it well, remove the core, melt a sufficient amount of butter in the empty pan (please, not too little, you’ll spoil the dish), don’t let it brown, add the cabbage to it, grind salt and white pepper over it, turn and turn until it is a buttery mass and then turn it out onto plates or into bowls. If you like, a sprinkle of vinegar – I’d say cider or sherry – to finish it off.

I heard someone ask Paul Horton at Foggy Meadow Farm what he had been eating that had, up to now, called themselves carrots – certainly not these fresh, bright, sweet, crunchy things. Yvonne Brunot from her Wallingford Right Mind Farm (don’t you love the name), a new vendor, made a Moroccan Carrot Salad to sample hers, serving them with The Foreign Kitchen’s lovely crackers to dip it up with, and a little bowl of sheep’s milk yogurt to drizzle over each bite. She gave me the recipe to pass on to you, so here you go.



Just... cook 1 pound of scrubbed new carrots – mix and match yellow, orange, purple, pink, for visual fun – until just crisp/tender – you don’t want mush – in boiling, salted water, drain and chop them rather finely and toss with 1 tablespoon of red wine vinegar, 1 teaspoon of cinnamon, ¼ cup olive oil, ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper, and salt to taste. Let sit around to marry the tastes. Serve as a salad or as a dip with crackers. Don’t forget the yogurt. Delish! (Exigencies: I used Sherry vinegar, added a scattering of green cilantro seeds, and used ancho pepper because that’s what I had).

Just... make a whole meal of fresh corn on the cob with just butter and salt and pepper. Or mix a quarter pound of butter with lime juice, lime zest, garlic, salt and pepper, hot pepper flakes or powder or chopped fresh hot pepper... chopped cilantro... anything that strikes your fancy.
Leftover butter can be used when you next bake some of those lovely russet potatoes to be found at Heleba’s market stall.

Just... make thin-leaved, spiky Frissée (a curly endive) from Boardman Hill into a classic poached egg salad in the style of Simon Hopkinson in his Roast Chicken and Other Stories, my newest acquisition in the way of Cookbooks. For Salade Frissée aux Lardons everything has to be done at once – the bacon fried, the egg poached, the vinegar heated. The fewer people, the easier it is.

It basically involves cleaning the frissée, maybe half a head for two people, and putting it into a heatproof bowl. Season it lightly with salt and pepper. Make some croutons by rubbing a couple of slices of bread with a cut clove of garlic, cutting them into cubes, and frying them in olive oil. Set aside. Put two eggs into simmering vinegared water to set them poaching. Fry 3 thick bacon strips, cut into pieces, in 3 tablespoons of olive oil until crisp and golden. Toss bacon and fats onto the frissée and toss. Put the pan back on the heat, add 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar to it, swirl around, add to the frissée, which should be wilted, and toss. Add the croutons and toss. Arrange the frissée mixture on plates, top with a poached egg, sprinkle with sea salt and a grinding of pepper, and............. EAT!

I used to think this seemed to be a winter salad, but it always gets chilled around the edges. So now I think it’s a summer salad – perfect for a cool night. Oh, right, you could sprinkle all this with chopped parsley if you like.



Just... substitute garlic scapes for basil in your favorite pesto. Into the food processor go, say, 10 garlic scapes, ½ cup each of toasted walnuts, parmesan, and olive oil... chop it up good, amalgamate, add more olive oil if it needs to be loosened, salt, spoon it over pasta, or tomatoes, or spread it on bread.


These are just a few of the fresh new vegetables we’re gloriously JUST keeping up with these days, and along with a handful of berries – the latest is blackcaps mixed with fresh, unpasteurized Jersey cream and frozen – provide most of our meals these days.

...from marble to merlot...
is an event to benefit Dimensions of Marble and Rutland Area Farm and Food Link (RAFFL) where you can, for $10, sample all these foods – wines from Neshobe River Winery, produce and cheeses from Rutland area farms and producers. It’ll be held at the Vermont Marble Museum on Wednesday, August 5, from 5 to 7. 802-459-2300 or theforeignkitchen@yahoo.com .

Cast Iron Dhal

When I saw the enormous cast-iron wok at a garage sale I wasn’t thrilled yet, but I asked Cassie how much she wanted for it. My sly young friend cocked her head at me and asked, “What’s it worth to you?”
I tossed off a figure – five dollars, maybe – and she accepted. I hefted it into the car – it’s a heavy thing – and thought that it might be just the thing to put on/over my Big Green Egg (a kind of outdoor grill/cooker), in order to cook with more variety outdoors this long hot summer.

As it turns out, of course, the summer, if that’s what this is, has not been onerously hot, and I’ve made good use of that wok on the stove-top. Its glorious expanse of hot cast-iron heats the entire kitchen nicely, not a bad thing in this subzero July.

I was struck by the quandary, recently, egged on by a website called Gherkins and Tomatoes, of whether cuisines grew up around available cooking utensils rather than utensils being invented to fit the cuisine. This wok (labeled Mr. Bar-B-Q and made in China) tapers from a 14 inch rim to a six inch flat bottom, and the cast iron conducts heat through the entire pan. You can make a pretty sizable stir fry in that without overflowing. You can also steam vegetables in it by setting a bamboo steamer over water in its bottom; you can make rice in it – a rather large lid fits down inside of it – and I imagine you can even make a soup or a casserole. It’s a pretty all-purpose, one-pot-meal kind of thing. Now I’m getting a little more thrilled.

That wok wasn’t my only new (or used) acquisition lately. Down at Northshire Bookstore in Manchester, I was checking out the cookbook section when Simon Hopkinson charmed me with his lead-in to a recipe, Spinach and Coconut Dhal, in his book, Second Helpings of Roast Chicken. He described it as "Sloppy, warming, comforting, and astonishingly delicious. Also, extremely gassy. Time to tether the duvet to the bedposts." That made me chuckle and it made me buy the book.

The book is organized alphabetically, somewhat haphazardly, mostly by ingredients but sometimes by genre. For instance, Cabbage, Celery, Chicken, Chillies, lead to Cocktails. After that comes Cocoa, Cucumber, and then Curry. Under each chapter heading are three recipes, and under Curry is Mrs. Pringle’s kofta curry, Constance Spry’s original coronation chicken salad dressing, and the aforementioned Spinach and coconut dhal. The paper is thick and very white, which I know is just wrong, but I love the texture. But the best thing about this book, besides the originality and imagination of the recipes, are Hopkinson’s words. He has a sly and irreverent take on everything, and I find myself looking forward to his description and humor.

I had everything I needed for the Dhal except the black mustard seeds. I substituted black radish seeds which I had, somehow, in my spice cabinet. I always have a quantity of roasted cumin seeds because they are a favorite snack. For the tomatoes – which are not yet in season – I used almost a quart of crushed canned ones from Foggy Meadow Farm. I have onion, garlic, cilantro, and mint in my garden. And I happened to have red lentils and canned coconut milk in my pantry. As for the spinach, mine is either not growing or bolted, but it’s the usual spinach contest between Dutchess Farms, Foggy Meadow, and Boardman Hill at the Farmers’ Market. I hold really sweet taste photos in my mind of each of these spinaches, and perhaps will tell you about them in the future, but for now, let’s just say that I’ve bought spinach from each of them, it is all excellent, and I cannot remember whose this is in a plastic bag in my fridge.

As you’ll see, Hopkinson recommends serving this Dhal with Naan, a flat – well, puffed – Indian bread made with yogurt, enriched with egg, risen with yeast. I remember seeing a recipe for it that I trusted lately, but I cannot find it when I need it, of course. I’ll pass it along when I do. At its lack, I served this with thinly sliced, lightly toasted Bear Mountain Honey Oatmeal bread, which was not awfully authentic but was awfully good. So now, without further ado...

Spinach and Coconut Dhal
Serves 4
9 oz onions, peeled and finely chopped
6 tablespoons butter
1 ½ tsp whole cumin seeds, roasted
1 tsp whole black mustard seeds, roasted (I used black radish seeds because that’s what I had)
4 cloves
4 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
2 tsp ground turmeric
½ tsp chilli powder
¾ cup plus 2 tbsp split red lentils
1 2/3 cup water
1 2/3 cups coconut milk
3-4 thick slices of fresh ginger, unpeeled
1 lb fresh ripe tomatoes, peeled and roughly chopped
9 oz fresh leaf spinach, washed, trimmed, and roughly chopped
plenty of freshly ground black pepper
juice of 1 large lime
1 tbsp freshly chopped cilantro
2 tbsp freshly chopped mint
1 tsp salt
Serve with
naan or pita bread

Fry the onions in 4 tbsp of the butter until pale golden. Add the whole spices and half the garlic and continue to cook gently for a further 5 minutes. Stir in the turmeric and chilli powder until well blended, and cook for a couple of minutes. Tip in the lentils and the water, coconut milk, ginger, tomatoes, and spinach. Bring up to a simmer, add the pepper, and cook very gently, stirring occasionally, for about 30 – 40 minutes, or until the lentils are tender and have all but dissolved into the liquid.

Remove the pan from the heat. Melt the remaining 2 tbsp butter. When it starts to froth, throw in the rest of the sliced garlic and stir around vigorously until it starts to take on a little color, and the butter starts to smell nutty. Immediately tip into the lentils and stir in. (There will be spluttering, so watch out.) Add the lime juice, the cilantro, mint, and salt to taste. Cover with a lid and leave to mellow for 10 minutes before serving, remembering to remove the slices of ginger before you do so. Eat with hot and fresh flat bread, such as naan or, failing that, pita bread.

**

I find that my beautiful cast-iron wok retails for less than $30 on Amazon.com, and receives less than glowing tributes. Apparently a better one is made by Lodge, and sold for slightly less than $80, though it would probably be over $100 by the time you paid Amazon's shipping. Nevertheless, I made the Spinach and Coconut Dhal in mine, and it was nothing short of delicious. Incredibly satisfying, not at all gassy, and the duvet stayed put.

The Giraffe in the Shrubbery

I thought Lysander got the last strawberry out of my little patch – almost two weeks ago, but this morning – this cold morning – I see that a small handful, several small berries, have ripened to the requisite jeweled sheen, and I pick them and they are unmarked – must be it’s too cold even for slugs – and I rinse them off and pop them into my mouth, and they are the best, the absolute best, of the season. And definitely the last.

Lysander and his parents were here only a few hours this year, and Lysander is an energetic three year old. Almost immediately he got up in the old high chair I keep for him and devoured some strawberry shortcake. Then he led us on a merry chase until I gave him the hose with a trickle of water and a couple of buckets. That kept him intently occupied for at least an hour, until Leo stuffed one of his big fingers down the hose to show Lysander how to make it squirt.


"Oh very good, Leo," I said, and escaped into the kitchen to get together a small supper of egg salad sandwiches and more shortcake. A tearful Lysander came in and told me in a quavery voice, "Giraffe bite." Leo had placed a wooden giraffe inside the small tree off the deck, and I have to admit that the first time I discovered it it was a bit of a shock.

"No," I said, "that giraffe doesn't bite."

"Giraffe Bite," he insisted. "Leo told me!"

"You tell Leo," I said, "that if he doesn't behave himself he's cruisin' for a bruisin!"

A week or so later I found this small giraffe at SolarFest. I'll mail it to Lysander with the little clothes that Leo pinned on the line and forgot to send along with him when he left. Maybe I should wash them first.

Oh, Strawberry Seasons!

Now that it is finally here we find ourselves racing through this season. The flowers click past – bloom, prime, soggy mess – and foods ripen, linger on the tongue, then become memories until next year.

Iris are outgoing, laid prone like dead things by the rain, or, if still upright, having turned soggy all the way down to the last silken cocoon that will not blossom anywhere near as stoutly as that first one that yelled, “I’m HEE errr” a week or so ago.

First peonies yesterday, and they will be even quicker, just at their glory, if all goes as usual, when rain and wind will mangle their pretty sweet carcasses. “Oh, Weep,” they go, drooping their draggled heads, forsaken even by the ants. But mourning is cut short as the loud orange poppies shout out their flamboyant birth. And they, too, will pass.

February hovers in the background, rubbing her hands together and croaking, “Dance, my pretties. Dance!” So. Might as well dance! Gorging ourselves on each sweet seasonal treat as it comes along.

Strawberries last Tuesday.

I was not expecting them, spied that berry sign, my heart quickened. Mmm, they are good. Oh. Juicy, speckled, just the slight crunch of the infinitesimal seeds on the outside. Are they the only fruits with seeds on the outside? Sweet, with a bite almost crisp, while your teeth force the juice down through the cellulars of it. Oh my goodness! They are more than taste, they are primordial season, they are eating exercise, they are experience.

Oh, Strawberry Seasons! Don’t get me started.

Long scorching rows, crouching, kneeling, silent pickers sliding carriers along between rows, knees stained crushed-crimson, islands of chatter under the blasting sun, an occasional guffaw almost lost in the hot infinity, weed patches, older children watching young ones in the shade of the tree line, hillbillies, we called them, migrants, packing shed romances, the check clutched at the end of the season, oh, new refrigerator that we’ve needed so long; oh, engagement ring – “Please be my strawberry partner?” But I told you... don’t let me get started!

But eating them. One by one they’re good, until the quart is gone, and I have to drive down past the farm again, and this time I stop and buy two quarts. I eat them plain, from the green cardboard basket, pinching the cap into a handle and nibbling all around it, berry after berry, all the way to Manchester. They are so clean, but with a fine grit once in awhile, so then I’m home again putting them in a large bowl in mucho cold water, roiling them gently and scooping them in double handfuls into a colander. A surprising amount of dirt stays behind in the bottom of the bowl, all of which would have no doubt done my digestive system a good deed.

Sometimes I dip a finger into roasted cumin seeds and a bit of salt to go with the strawberry bite. There is fantastic fresh chèvre, right now, because the goats are eating fast-growing green grass, and their milk is delicate and healthy, the cheese creamy and fresh as violets. And when you have sliced a strawberry not quite in half from the flower end toward the stem end and tucked a tiny sliver of goat cheese between two halves, with a bit of roasted cumin, and sea salt sprinkled there, too, and you have a plate of those, sprinkled with whole mint leaves, or basil, and maybe just a drop or two of balsamic vinegar or lemon juice, that is not too shabby a treat.

The last berries of that first basket were part of a perfect little scatter that served as dinner that night: First was sautéed a quantity of Swiss chard with lots of fresh green garlic from the garden, and that was mounded on some of Al Sheps’ multi-grain toasts, with his fresh mozzarella (never refrigerated) torn over the whole thing, and some weird little pasta balls called Sa Fregula Sarda boiled up and scattered there, too, and the quartered strawberries, and over all a drizzle of basil vinaigrette.

I seldom go to Manchester without stopping at Al Ducci’s to see Al and Nancy, and to pick up some fresh mozzarella that remains soft and layered and oozing creamy liquids until it’s refrigerated, after which it is used for pizza.

I’m on my fifth quart of berries @ $4.75 apiece, when I remember to ask if they’re organic. No, they are not! The owner would not dream of growing organic berries. They would be too expensive. My expression is downcast. I cannot think of words. I have gorged on these berries. These berries have been my sustenance for a week; their strawberriness must last me for the next year. I’ve even eaten the little bit of tasty dirt that dusted their shoulders. Chemical fertilizers? What is expensive?


Well, Woods Market Garden, in Brandon, is charging $5.50 per nicely rounded, mounded quarts of organically grown but not Certified Organic, strawberries. But when U pick U’r own they will be $2.75 per pound, which translates to about $3.45 per quart.

So, I ask, What’s expensive? New knees are expensive, and I may need some after crouching and kneeling. But, you only live once, right?

Now I’m thinking I should quit rhapsodizing and kvetching and give you a recipe, and the one that quickly springs to mind is a Strawberry and Spinach Salad that appears every year at Eldred and Lily’s 4th of July Pig Roast, and it is a battle to get a taste.

Spinach and Strawberry Salad
Caveat: I can’t remember who gave me this recipe, and for that I apologize to her. I give it here to you
only if you promise NOT to take it to Eldred and Lily’s 4th of July party!

Wash and dry about 1 ½ pounds of garden-fresh spinach. Clean, hull and slice 1 pint of strawberries. Toss them together with this dressing:

• ¼ cup sugar
• 2 tablespoons sesame seeds
• 1 tablespoons poppy seeds
• 1 ½ tablespoon minced onion
• ½ tsp Worcestershire sauce
• ¼ tsp paprika
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• ¼ cup cider vinegar

Shake or whisk all ingredients together and dress the salad.

And since now is the season for the most gorgeous lettuces and spinaches and other gorge-worthy foods, as well as basil and the other herbs, which are all so simple to prepare and arrange on nibbling plates like I described above, perhaps you would like a recipe for the dressing I mentioned, too.

Basil Dressing
From the Gourmet Magazine website

• 1 cup loosely packed fresh basil
• 1 ½ tablespoons chopped shallot
• 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
• ¾ teaspoons salt
• ¼ teaspoon black pepper
• 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Blend all ingredients in a blender until smooth.

Enjoy all this. Slow it down. Don’t let it go by without wringing out of it the most awareness possible. We are just now preserving enough food nostalgia to last us for the coming year.