Haiku Friday

Seven winter squash
on an old green wood table.
Comfort food for spring.

Butternut Squash Soup

My winter squash obsession has become more refined. That's overstating it a bit though. Let's just say I'm learning the names of the different winter squash. To date I have nine varieties and know the names of eight. One I can't pronounce and one, the one pictured, remains unknown. This is progress.

I grew up on butternut squash baked in boat shaped wedges filled with butter and brown sugar. Later I discovered pumpkin raviolis in a buttery white sauce at a country restaurant with a chef named Pierre. I never ordered anything else. "I'll have the ravioli's," I'd smile returning the menu without a glance.

The last pumpkin ravioli I had was at that restaurant too many years ago. The restaurant, the dirt parking lot, I think they're both gone.

The next time I ate squash it came in a box. Butternut squash soup in a box. I'd add green curry, ginger. Top it with chopped cilantro. It looked good, thick, golden, like the baked squash I grew up with. But it didn't have the dense flavor I remembered. It was butternut light. Butter without the nut. That must be what happens when its put into a soup, I reasoned.

My reasoning was flawed. I made my own butternut squash soup last week. It was as densely flavored as I remember those butter filled baked boats my Grandmother served. It was better than boats. And nearly as easy as opening a box but without the resulting trash.

Even Pierre, I imagine, would sit on a bar stool, his white apron half untied and kiss his fingertips over a bowl of this butternut squash soup. This then is for him.

Wherever he may be.


Butternut Squash Soup

Three Parts Chicken Broth
One Part Butternut Squash
Thyme
Ginger
Peanut or Almond Butter
Serrano or Jalapeno Chili
Creme Fraiche

Peel and cut butternut into two to three inch crooked cubes and wedges. Add to chicken broth and cook on medium heat with a small bouquet of thyme. Add one teaspoon of minced ginger and one teaspoon of nut butter for each cup of broth. For a medium spicy soup add half a teaspoon of minced pepper for each cup of broth.

Cook until squash is soft, remove thyme bouquet. Blend with an immersion blender and add salt to taste.

Serve topped with a circle of creme fraiche.


(Please note all measurements are approximate as I've yet to refine that fine art.)

Art Food

I don't think anyone has left on vacation this month. The farmers' markets are jammed. And with good reason. Forget carbon bites or food miles, forget taste and local economies; the markets this month are a visual destination.

I stopped on Sunday before I left the market to consider if I'd bought any food at all or if it was all impulsive food for my eyes.

I had handfuls of candy pears, three in each one. "Have a taste," the vendor insisted. I didn't care what they tasted like. They were miniature sculptures, Rodin's with a stem.

There were french prunes in my bag that inspired a vision of pheasant feathers, the whole bagged bird, burgundy roses, falling petals, hydrangeas and grapes so heavy on a table it sagged.

I had one pink lady apple, the first, chosen in a scented cloud of lavender. The basket of figs I'd filled myself was already almost gone. I'd bite into one, study it, the maroon and purple of it, and because it was prefect, picked before it was too soft, but only moments before, I'd stand in the center aisle, people coursing on either side and I'd practically pour the rest of those colors, their winey sweetness into my mouth. I should have bought more.

There were the tomatoes; sungold tomatoes, beads of sugary sun, a rope of summer jewels. And a musky red Russian tomato with deep green cheeks, "Paul Robeson, it's called. He was an opera singer," the grower sang. I wanted them all.

There were Gravenstein apples I couldn't resist for their freckles, eggplants purchased for their purpleness. I carried a rainbow of radishes, blue potatoes, orange cauliflower, raku stained Asian pears, elephant heads of garlic bursting from their seams. And three hand held squash blossoms. Three twisted, concubine orange squash blossoms.

All of it art but only temporarily so. We're eating it all way too fast.

What's beautiful on your table this month today?

Haiku Friday

A parrot tulip six days old.
Slicing open squash
I found spouted seeds, green stems;
leaves wanting to grow.

Haiku ... Saturday

Baked winter squash topped
with orange blossom honey butter
melts in my mouth.

Market Loyalty

Last night I had dinner with the muse.

"I've been going to the farmers' market," she confides. "But I feel bad when I walk by a farmer and no one is buying anything from them."

I shake my head. Take another bite of pizza.

"So this week I bought flowers from the woman that wasn't selling anything. But they weren't as alive as the ones I usually buy."

I couldn't help but laugh. "It's like me buying the orphan winter squash."

"Exactly," she nearly yells. "I never have this problem at the grocery store." There's a moment when it looks as if she will throw her napkin at me for complicating her life.

And I know what she's talking about. I have a regular egg farmer that knows I want the jumbos and that I'll have an empty carton or two to return from my canvas bag. We recently compared notes after each having the flu. We talk about the farm.

But now there's a new egg farmer on the market. And the eggs are pastured closer to home. But if I buy those eggs I'll be cheating. I'll be scum.

The muse is right, shopping was easier at the grocery store when all I did was swipe the credit card and let the money be disbursed to faceless corporations with industrially fertilized bottom lines. The roots of my loyalty didn't run deep.

Now I look the people holding the bottom line in the eye. I hand them cash. I care about them.

Which makes it damn hard not to bring home an occasional orphan or buy eggs somewhere else.

Banana Squash

Tonight I off loaded three quarters of the ten pound banana squash I've had in the pantry since September.

I remember the Saturday afternoon at the Petaluma market when I bought it. "I keep them in the barn all winter," the farmer told me. "Then I sell them to the market down the street. They cut them up and sell them by the pound."

I carried my apricot colored squash off then, proud to be a step ahead of the grocery. And I kept it in the pantry for four months and had to bully my friends, they are still my friends, to take a chunk home.

"I have two squash at home you already gave me," one complained.

"They aren't cut open. They'll last. Eat them for lunch." I commanded.

"I have one too," another tried.

"One is nothing," I countered. "Here."

They were more compliant than usual though as I'd invited them for dinner. "It's local," I said at one point.

"Duh," they responded in unison.

I was effusive of the mustard greens in the salad mixed with arugula and a hand full of my back deck baby greens. The salads were plated with Pt. Reyes blue cheese, rounds of pink lady apple, roasted pecans and drizzled with honey and olive oil.

"It has layers of flavor," my cook book friend complimented on the soup with Rancho Gordo tepary beans, summer stock, peppers and tomatoes from the freezer. I couldn't have hoped for higher praise.

The soup also had layers of story though. Other people have their summer vacation adventures to show and tell - I have soup. The buying, preparing and preserving of the summer harvests. It all went through my mind.

The best part though - sharing the meal. Even if it was merely a bribe to off load more squash.

Packaged Garlic

A friend offered to teach me how to make squash raviolis. "Great," I told her. "I have plenty of squash." A complete understatement but she had no idea.

"I'll bring the rest of the ingredients," she volunteered.

She unpacked her bag of cheeses and noodley skins onto the counter. "What's that in the package?" I asked.

She held up a square of clear plastic the size of a condom wrapper. Sealed on either side, the package contained three cloves of garlic. "Isn't this cool?" she said. "They peel and package them in individual servings."

Now I know that packaging garlic into ticky tacky little packages is nothing in terms of the enviromental, social and health issues facing the world but in that moment I was ready to give up. But not without speaking my mind first. I felt my cheeks getting hot, my hair beginning to smolder.

After spouting off about Trader Joe's and garlic from China and where all the plastic in the world is going to end up, I regained my composure and offered garlic from Brentwood. In it's original skin. My friend graciously accepted and told me to peel it.

An hour later the squash raviolis were terrific. Candle lit table, laughter, seasonal salad and brussel sprouts.

I called my friend the next day to apologize - again. She admitted the garlic we used was really good. "It tasted," she hesitated. "Well, it tasted garlicy."

I nodded my head silently on the other end and allowed a small smile.

"But you've got to work on your delivery," she added.

Winter Salsa

Our downstairs, except for the kitchen is covered from floor to ceiling with plastic and blue tape while our ceiling is being somethinged. Retaped, refinished, Somethinged.

So I decided to cook. Not my usual mono-meal, squash in a bowl or brown rice with an egg. No. I decided to have every burner going while I stirred and flipped, griddled and mashed. Did I mention the pantry door is also draped and taped with plastic. Anything in there is off limits. More forced creativity.

And we had the best local meal ever. Upstairs on the bedroom floor. Watching the third season of Lost on a DVD due back tomorrow.

I mashed potatoes with milk and butter all from Sonoma County. Sauteed delicata squash that I'd under baked the night before. Quick steamed kale from the Sunday farmers' market. And I put together a winter version of salsa I'd dreamed of in the summer. It's took me until now to make it a reality.

In August and September I slow roasted peppers, pureed and froze them. Tonight I added the spicy cubes with a touch of water to tomatoes I'd also froze. Once the tomatoes, which had been roasted, with olive oil, garlic and sea salt, were partially thawed I easily removed the skins. That was it.

"Why's it so sweet," the cute guy asked.

It had to be the tomatoes. They were from the elderly man in Petaluma that grows them like they are members of his family. Buying them felt like kidnapping even though I was the one paying.

The cute guy also bought a roasted not-really-a-free-range chicken tonight and tortillas, both from the next county. Being mono-meal people though we layered one thing on top of the other into one bowl each and covered everything with salsa.

Yes, it was sweet.

The house is going to be taped up for a few days, which is fine with me. I'll cook.

Kabocha Squash

I figured out the best way to cook winter squash -- have the cute guy do it!

Tonight he baked a centerpiece kabocha squash, smashed it up with butter and a bit of brown sugar. It was the best squash he's ever made.

"It's the only squash I've ever made," he reminded me.

Still it was delicious. He made good points.

25 Green Days of Christmas

Day 18 --

Postcards

I realize I'm protecting the environment by not adding greeting cards I receive to the landfill. I hoard them instead.

I have every card and handwritten note I've received from the last fourteen years. There's a three shoe box size shopping bag full in the princess room closet. There are 100's hidden in a plant pot I've converted to a night stand. And more in the cute guys storage unit downstairs.

And that's after throwing away the envelopes that they came in. Ummmm... I'm adding to the landfill after all. Damn it!

After taking that into consideration, I'm sending postcards this year.

But don't get excited, you're more likely to get a squash than a card.

Freezer Food and Squash

The best part of eating local the last week was pulling food from the freezer.

First there was the pork butt roast from a farm in Tomales that the cute guy and I made into chili verde with Canvas Ranch tomatillos. I'd cooked them with Brother Bill's backyard jalapenos. I could still taste the sunshine in them.

Twice this week I made corn muffins with Full Belly Farm cornmeal, the chicken hat lady's eggs, Stauss milk and blueberries bought last summer from the seasonal farmers' market in Fairfax. The berries seem bigger now that it's winter and bake up juicy and sweet. The muffins disappear so fast the cute guy claims the neighbors help themselves while we are out.

I also experimented for the first time with Rancho Gordo pozole. I read recipes online, waved the advice aside and used what I had, which was celery, onions, garlic, serrano peppers, carrots, a couple chicken legs with thighs and oregano. And I served it to guests. My brother and I had seconds and still the leftovers lasted two nights. And it got better. Especially when the leftover chile verde was added.

Faced with no more pozole I made a pan of potato and leeks with rainbow chard tossed in at the last minute and served it in a bowl with eggs over easy. It wasn't picturesque but it was hearty, fragrant and perfect for a ridiculous cold night.

It goes without saying we are still eating squash. Baked squash. And it's good. But I'm not ready to admit that I may have bought a couple too many or a few more than we are excited to eat.

I am determined they will not go to waste though. I know way too many people for that!

If you find one on your doorstep you can bet it's from me.

Happy Holidays!

Haiku Friday

California

Eating squash grows old,
In the blue sky winter days;
Brown hills turning green.

Sustaining Farmworkers

Some weeks ago I went to a talk titled Food, Labor and Justice: Fair Wage Farming and sat by the door just in case. Ten minutes into it I quietly moved to a seat up front, in the middle. And I stayed after the talk was done.

The young man presenting, Lucas Benitez, a farmworker and co-director of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers and his translator, a powerhouse in her own right, Melody Gonzales, of the Student/Farmworker Alliance were rock stars except they didn't know it. The key to Lucas's success in securing the first wage increase for tomato pickers in 20 years by taking on Taco Bell, McDonald's and now Burger King is his humbleness . Although his smile and straight talk surely support his efforts.

The much celebrated wage increase that was hard fought and won by the CIW was a penny more per pound to go directly to the farmworkers. The average wage for decades has been .45 cents for a 32 pound bucket of tomatoes or two and a half tons of tomatoes picked in one day to make the current minimum wage. With no benefits or overtime.

I can't remember the last time I had to pick up 32 pounds of anything let alone toss it to somebody on the top of a flat bed truck.

This afternoon I received a link to a Thanksgiving commentary that addresses the Florida farmworker's wages which is worth reading and a link to Oxfam America to support the CIW by signing a petition to be presented to the CEO of Burger King to raise farmworkers wages.

Before heading to the kitchen to continue preparing our holiday meal I considered the men and women that handle our food and I signed the petition for Lucas Benitez, Melody Gonzales, the CIW and all the farmworkers that keep the world fed; one 32 pound bucket at a time.

Delicata Squash

Tip for Next Year:

Label the winter squash as to which farmer you buy it from.

I ate the sweetest delicata squash of my life today. Plain, baked, no butter, no sugar, nothing added except a touch of sea salt. I even ate the skin and the taste kicked my butt.

The delicatas came from Paradise Valley or the Harry Potter farmers in Pt. Reyes. I can't remember.

The cute guy had some for lunch too. He called me at work. "What did you put on the squash?"

"Nothing."

I could hear him considering that. "Wow," he finally said.

(The photos is a palm sized hubbard squash that I also baked and it had no squash to it. It was all skin. Disappointing except that I had loved looking it.)

Pt. Reyes Farmers' Market

On Saturday I bought french heirloom galeux d'eysuves and sucrine de berry winter squash from a trio of Harry Potter's at the Pt. Reyes farmers' market. The sheriff was selling tomatoes but I couldn't figure out what the woman in the leopard print dress and pink sweater was selling. She was all over the place.

The 9:00 a.m. bell ringer that announces the opening of the market was convincingly dressed as a farmer. As he made his way from one end of the L-shaped market to the other I realized it was the last time this year I would be witness to it. Next week is the last of the west Marin market and Saturday mornings at Toby's Feed Barn will be just that; Saturday mornings at Toby's Feed Barn. Until spring returns bringing the market with it.

I remembered the early crowd at the first market of the season, three deep at each vendor. The coffee line had been impossible that day, the picnic tables full of people eating hot cheese and egg sandwiches and small children had run in circles down the middle aisle when they weren't poking at the feral cats at the adoption tent. The only thing missing had been the clowns.

The early novelty seems to have dimmed with the season though. As the market opened the cheese sandwich man hadn't yet lit his grill and the aisles were free of children. The coffee line was manageable and the honey women were set up offering tastes with no waiting. I was first everywhere I went making it a tough decision to pick which end of the season I like better.

Aside from the heirloom squash I found cabbages the size of a Cyclop's one eye, bought three and filled the remainder of my canvas bag with familiar butternut and delicata squash and made the second trip to the car before having coffee and a ginger scone. The scones alone are worth the trip to Pt. Reyes which doesn't take into account the bob cat, deer, hawks, turkeys and vultures I saw on the way there. Or secondary, the saddle shop across the street on the corner that is literally packed to the rafters with good finds or the book store a few doors down from there. One of the best bookstores in the county with old plank wood floors that creak like Halloween all year long.

As much as I'll miss the Saturday market adventures I've stored their stories under flour sack towels in the pantry in the form of four heirloom squash I can't pronounce, five butternut and half a dozen delicata's. I can't wait to serve them but I doubt anyone will believe I bought them from one of three Harry Potter's whose cape constantly blew into the scale as he weighed them on a foggy Saturday morning.

Kabocha Squash

This morning I nearly bought more squash. My favorite potato and dry farmed tomato farmer had a big display of orange kabocha and another farmer had a celadon ugly Hubbard that I was smitten with. They had my name on them but I couldn't leave them locked in the car all day and carrying them would have been over the edge for even me.

Instead I bought dry goods; cornmeal, popcorn, almonds and poppy seeds from Full Belly Farm. Poppy seeds! Can you believe it? What in the hell am I going to do with poppy seeds? But I felt so grown up buying them. Like a woman with a Viking Range I dropped them in my borrowed Puffins cereal bag and shoulders held high handed the man a twenty.

Maybe I could add them to the kabocha squash cake with brown sugar cream recipe that Deborah from Canvas Ranch sent in our CSA bag this week. It sounds good and what's a few seeds going to hurt? They will make the cake my own.

All joking aside eating local this week has been a breeze. We are back in the swing of putting a face to our food. I shopped at my first market in the rain on Tuesday. Hardly a real rain but a gentle introduction. If it were really raining I'm afraid I'd stay in the office. And starve.

The cute guy and I had butternut squash burritos with Rancho Gordo pebble beans one night. "Does food get any better?" I asked.

"Mhgmghmhgmghbmh," he answered. I took that as a no.

And we had a hearty not quite winter salad that was heavy on the chicken, cheese and pumpkin seeds pan roasted with minced jalapenos and sea salt. Not a shred of which was wasted.

But I'm in a quandary about how much squash we can eat this winter. It's not like stocking up the freezer where once it was full I was done. I have a hundred places to store squash. And that scares me.

Dark Days Eat Local Challenge

Okay. I've signed on for the Dark Days Eat Local Challenge started by Laura at Urban Hennery. Sure it will be winter but I bought 50 pounds of winter squash alone today which should last for a meal a week until the acacia bloom. It wasn't that long ago I had to buy every pepper that had a hint of red and now it's every squash with a dimple or gourd with a curl. I buy two or three at a time. And then I hide them in the trunk. And buy more from someone else.



Here's the rules for the Dark Days Eat Local Challenge copied from its website -

Each participant can set their own rules, but generally they are:
We have to cook one meal a week with at least 90% local ingredients
We have to write about it - the triumphs and the challenges
Local means a 200 mile radius for raw ingredients. For processed foods the company must be within 200 miles and committed to local sources.
Keep it up through the end of the year, and then re-evaluate on New Year’s Day

Here's the rules for me -

-I'll cook three meals a week with at least 90% local ingredients.
-I'll write about a couple of them.
-The 200 miles for the winter sounds good. Still a decrease in my carbon bite compared to how I used to buy food.
-Through New Years is good.
-To include friends and/or family in at least a couple of the local meals a month for fun and to share the local tastes and conversation.

None of which means I'm going to start eating like I do with the cute guy on the sail boat for the remaining meals but I want to leave some leeway as I don't know the winter local season well enough. Next year I'll have a better idea, maybe a bigger freezer and the comfort of fresh canned jars on the pantry shelves.

And likely I'll be well versed in cooking winter squash too.