San Marzano Tomatoes

I've spent the summer canning. Obsessively. Pick a fruit. Any fruit. Okay, a local fruit. It's on my shelf. In a jar, in a syrup, a jam, maybe a jelly or a pickle. I've lost my fear of canning and for the first time I'm putting up everything. This week I'm on tomatoes. San Marzano tomatoes.

I would have passed the San Marzanos up at the farmers' market if I hadn't been told they were good. They look hot house, too shiny, too conformed, all the same size. They look like a chorus line, each one in the same costume. I shop for disheveled heirloom varieties. The lumpy, jowly varieties that are art when sliced in any direction.

The first time I sliced into a polished San Marzano I grimaced. Grocery store, I thought. Not a lot of meat or seeds, or, well, anything. It was nearly hollow. I tossed a few in a pan; with a little heat the skins came easily off. I worked them; but not too much, stirring, pulling out the peels. They became almost delicate.

Not expecting much I put a dimes worth on the end of the wooden spoon. The first taste I didn't believe. I put a nickles worth on the spoon, then a quarter. I was sure. The taste was sunshine. New sunshine. It tasted like the first part of the day when everything is still possible. It tasted pure, pure tomato, and it was love.

I've since slow roasted them, a few hours at 170, peeled back their skin, one half at a time and slid them directly into my mouth, the taste as brilliant as the inner mandala of an heirloom.

And I've turned the San Marzanos into sauce. It didn't take much; a warm pan, a food mill, they melted into sauce as fast as I could get them into jars and seal them.

Winter is going to be sweet.

I Love Beets

My husband doesn't like beets. He doesn't like them to the point that he has to tell me he doesn't like them each time I bring them into the house. And then he tells me every day they are in the house that he doesn't like them. He disassembles dinner asking, "are there beets in here?"

I love beets.

I loved beets when the only kind I knew came from a can. I don't even know how old I was when I first saw a real beet. I was older still when I first cooked one. All the scrubbing and peeling to cook them has quite frankly made beets in a can seem like not a bad idea. I know they taste better fresh but they've been such a stubborn root to prepare. Until now.

I've learned to simply cook the whole beet in a pot of boiling water. I know, where have I been? It feels like I'm getting away with something it's so easy. With a little coaxing the peels slide off leaving the pure beet jewel. I happily stop right there and eat it. Maybe a dash of salt but it's not required.

Then I saw that Doughgirl was canning beets and I wanted to can pickled beets too. So I did.

And I served them for dinner last night making noises of deliciousness.

"Do you want to taste the brine," I asked my husband.

He dipped his spoon, tasted. Went back for a quarter teaspoon. A little more. I was silent.

"Okay," he said. "I'll taste one."

I hadn't said a word. I was holding my breath. I wanted him to like them but I didn't want him to like them too; I'd only canned three jars.

He put a beet in his mouth. Chewed. No spitting. He didn't exclaim. But before he'd finished swallowing, he was reaching for another.

I found the recipe at Saving the Season. Cider vinegar, brown sugar, star anise, cinnamon, cloves. It's a keeper!

Underground Jam

Last Sunday I scored. In the smallest of antique stores; hardly bigger than my kitchen. I mean small. In this tiny store, with one pathway leaning from the front door to the back, which opened onto an expansive green field, there was half a case of wild blackberry jam on a faded red stool. Nicasio wild blackberry jam was printed in block letters on crooked sticky labels.

"She picks the berries down the road," the owners' friend said. She waved out toward the field. I didn't see blackberry bushes but I grabbed two jars; hugged them to me. It felt almost illegal. It probably was illegal, buying jam from some one's Grandma.

But really, I can't think of a better way to purchase a jar of jam. Berries down the road is the way jam is meant to be.

Kumquat Preserves

It happened last summer. When the kumquat season was come and gone. I spotted a jar of preserved kumquats at the Cowgirl Creamery in the Ferry Building.

Ten years ago I'd never heard of a kumquat. And it took a me a few years after recognizing them to try one and another couple of years after that to relax enough to like them. I remember everyone saying, watch out, they're sour. Be careful. Ha.

Kumquats aren't that sour. And the skins are sweet. Once I realized this I was hooked. I adore kumquats. The first juice of sour, the next bite into the sweet skin. They are alive with flavor.

I used a weeks worth of coffee money and bought the jar of preserved kumquats. Back at the office I spooned them over plain yogurt and ate each spoonful slowly. I wanted to eat kumquats and yogurt every day. Forever. It was then, rationing two preserved kumquats and one tablespoon of syrup to each bowl of yogurt so the jar would last that I promised, I swore, I would make my own preserves when the kumquats returned.

Now that I have, my insides smile each time I see them on the pantry shelf. I don't want to eat them. I mean I do, but I want to ration them again. I want to look at them, and at the same time sit down and eat an entire jar. My mouth waters in anticipation. It's crazy the things I get excited about.

Here's the recipe I used for the kumquats. I liked the addition of honey and I added sprigs of thyme too.

As much as I appreciated buying that first jar of kumquat preserves it's such a good feeling to be able to can my own.

Appreciations

1 - Going to the Sunday morning farmers' market in the rain. Great parking and easy access at every canopy. Okay, a couple people with umbrellas under the canopies are dangerous but otherwise access is a breeze. And everyone says, thank you for coming out. And means it.

2 - Spooning St. Benoits Meyer Lemon Yogurt straight from the returnable mason jar. The cream at the top is like lemon pudding. But better.

3 - Stopping at the Master Gardeners tomato starts sale in the bank parking lot yesterday. Did she really say they sold 4,000 starts? In three hours?

4 - Eating Rio Zape beans from Rancho Gordo. I don't know why they taste so good, but they do.

5 - Sharing a Marin potato pizza at Picco's with the cute guy and having asparagus cut like confetti added on. The perfect spring pie.

6 - Watching the movie Sweetgrass. Beautiful. Some rough patches. But still beautiful.

7 - Reading a Homemade Life by the popular blogger, Orangette. I ate it up. She is popular for a reason. Smart, funny, young and heartfelt. And so very delicious.

8 - Listening to An Organic Conversation with Helge Hellberg. I liked the first show I downloaded. The second show was better, the third better still and now I'm simply in love with them all.

9 - Having frozen jalapenos to cook with all winter long. And spring.

10 - Using organic cotton produce bags because they feel good and get even softer with age.

Haiku Friday

He ate two summer
apricots canned in a jar.
The rest are for me.

Pomegranate Honey

The mushroom lady recharged my kitchen life. Neither of us had any idea at the time. I was eavesdropping, she was sharing a recipe, I asked a question, and, well, my kitchen life has been recharged.

The recipe is an old remedy for a sore throat or cough soother but I've used it for anything but. "Put pomegranate seeds and some skin into honey. Leave it on the counter for a few weeks and put it in the refrigerator," the mushroom lady said. "It will last a year."

We looked at her disbelieving. "Put a spoonful into hot water," she continued. "Drink it. You'll feel better." At this she held her throat. Smiled. "Feel better."

I left with a beet red pomegranate.

At home I separated seeds into a jar, hesitantly added bits of skin and poured honey over it. A few days later the honey was a thick liquid; not exactly honey like. The seeds were red as ever though. I tasted a few. And then a few more. And a few more after that. You get the idea.

My jar of pomegranate seeds and honey was gone in a week and a half.

Out of necessity I added the mixture, minus the skins, to kale salad as it was the only honey in the house. The kale and pomegranate seeds, earthy and sweet tastes, they were meant to be together. The red seeds were sparklers against the dark green kale.

Then I baked apples and needed a thimble of juice in the cored out center of them. Adding dried figs first I spooned the pomegranate and honey into the apples. I topped each with a teaspoon of plain honey. Another success.

I also pour the honey and seeds onto plain yogurt. I love the crunch of the seeds, the thread of juice from the fruit. I love the color, the simplicity. I love that the mushroom lady passed the recipe along.

I'm making more tomorrow. A lot more. My kitchen life would be so dull through the winter without it.

Local on Our Table - November

Farmers' Market
Acorn Squash
Brussel Sprouts
Buttercup Squash
Butternut Squash
Cabbage
Carrots
Cilantro
Delicata Squash
Fennel
Fuyu Persimmons
Galeuse d'Eysines Squash
Garlic
Jalapenos
Kale
Kohlrabi
Leeks
Lemon
Limes
Little Green Onions
Mint
Musquee de Provence Squash
Onions
Parsley
Pears
Pomegranate
Potatoes
Quince
Radishes
Rainbow Chard
Red Kuri Squash
Red Onions
Satsumas
Sweet Potatoes
Tomatoes
Tomatillas
Turnip
Walnuts

Back Deck Harvest
Oregano
Serrano Peppers
Thyme
Tomatillas

Gleaned and Gifted
(From Someone Else's Yard)
Apple Sauce (Thank you, Olivia)
Bay
Eggs (Thanks, Dad)
Lemon
Persimmons

Froze
Slow Roasted Tomatoes

Corn Zipper

This is a funny little post but it's important given the season. It's about corn.

I have a thing about corn. Mostly about how corn is grown but that's another story. This story is about putting up corn in the freezer for winter meals. For the last two years I've been cutting corn from the cob and it's a mess. The knife blade is straight, the cob is round; the two simply aren't great mates. Kernels fly around the kitchen, some rows are cut off too close, some aren't. But I've persevered.

Until now. I was gifted with a Kuhn Rikon Corn Zipper. It's a marriage of a potato peeler and a cheese slicer made especially for corn. The blade is curved. It glides down the cob. Brilliant.

I've got twice the amount of corn in the freezer than before and we're eating half of it before I have a chance to get it in the freezer.

I'm just getting started.

Calabacitas
This is my take on a recipe from the cute guy's Dad who uses canned corn and peppers. (Which has never stopped me from eating too much of it.)

1 Diced Small Onion
3 Coined Zucchini
1 Minced Jalapeno
1 Cup Corn Kernels

Saute onion until soft. Add the zucchini and jalapeno. When zucchini is barely pliable, approximately five minutes, add corn. Cook another three to five minutes being careful not to overcook the zucchini and serve with hot tortillas, eggs and salsa, eat alone or as a side dish. I start eating it before it gets to the table.

Haiku Friday

Sunday afternoon -
ten jars of strawberry jam
on the pantry shelf.

Local On Our Table - September

Farmers' Market
Apples
Asian Pears
Broccoli
Cabbage
Carrots
Cauliflower
Cucumber
Fennell
Gravenstein Apples
Kale
Leeks
Limes
Little Gems Lettuce
Little Green Onions
Melons
Mint
Peaches
Pears
Pink Lady Apples
Plums
Potatoes
Quince
Radishes
Red Onions
Spinach
Tomatillas
Tomatoes
Turnips
Zucchini

Back Deck Harvest
Black Cherry Tomatoes
Lovage
Oregano
Parsley
Serrano Peppers
Shiso Leaf
Thyme
Tomatillos

Gleaned
(From Someone Else's Yard)
Bay Leaves
Jalapenos
Pears
Roma Tomatoes

Canned
Peach Jam
Poached Pears

Froze
Apple Juice
Corn
Slow Roasted Tomatoes
Tomatilla Sauce

Flowers
Sunflowers

Rose Geranium Apple Juice

The easy thing to do would be to go to the corner store and buy a jar of apple juice. But I had something else in mind. The cute guy and I picked apples from an old tree down the road, maneuvered around the bags of them on the kitchen rug for a week and then for two hours I quartered, cored, cubed, fed, encouraged, skimmed, wiped, poured, quartered cored, cubed, fed, encouraged.... you get the idea.

The cute guy helped clean up - I must have good karma from a past life. When the compost was cleared there were two quart sized mason jars of juice. Sweet elixir.  Worth every minute.

Rose Geranium Apple Juice

5 to 6 Pounds of Apples
1 to 2 Fingers of Ginger
8 to 10 Mint Leaves
4 to 5 Rose Geranium Leaves

Quarter, core and feed apples through juicer. Add ginger, mint and geranium sparingly, or more bravely if the mood strikes between rounds of apples. Taste and adjust. Repeat. Makes approximately one quart.

I created this combination accidentally last year, experimenting with what was growing in the backyard. This spring I replanted rose geranium, with another pot of mint specifically to make it again.

The apples partner with the ginger and mint immediately. The rose geranium remains it's own character, adding fragrance, a hint of roses. Its flavor is nearly imperceptible, a whisper. Leaving you wondering.

Wonderful.

As much as I covet this juice fresh it was nearly as good frozen and thawed for a rainy day remedy.

Local Pantry

This is how I know it's spring - I cleaned out the pantry. Okay, the pantry is the closet under the stairs but it has shelves in addition to a rack to hang our coats.

Two years ago the shelves were cluttered with organic canned foods; stewed tomatoes, pinto beans, Amy's chile. And non-organic canned foods; olives, tuna, chicken stock and butternut squash soup in boxes. There was an inedible selection of Indian simmering sauces and chutneys. All of which, well, almost all of which, were rotated through meals with expiration dates too far in the future to consider.

And then I decided to eat local to reduce our carbon bite.

The canned and boxed foods sat. I read their labels. Spaghetti sauce from New York. Soy milk from the east coast. Nearly nothing was from nearby. It was well traveled industrial food and I eventually gave it up and away before it expired. Which was good but it was also the reserves in the event of a long term emergency. Now what?

Should something happen we would be eating last years sweet pickles from Canvas Ranch or rose petal sugar from Allstar Organics. We might last a day on apricot jam from Happy Girl Kitchen and if not we could drink their ketchup (it's that good). The flageolet or yellow indian woman beans from Rancho Gordo would be good but it's difficult to keep a meaningful supply on hand. There's almond butter from Full Belly Farm but rarely more than half a jar.

With the shelves cleaned up I see there's emergency stocking to be done. But in a new way with locally grown foods. Which gives me pause.

What foods do you keep on hand for an emergency?

Cloth Produce Bags

I have a new favorite thing.

It's an ecobag, produce bag, being sold at the Marin Farmers' Market. They're made of unbleached organic cotton and weigh less than a handful of arugula. I feel decadent filling them with clementines or dropping a bunch of dirty carrots into them. And it feels natural using the soft cloth, foregoing the plastic, reused or not. I swear the spinach let out a sigh of relief as it went into the bag this morning. "Thank you for not suffocating me," I imagined it saying.

The ecobag website recommends putting the cloth produce bag into plastic as a way to keep produce fresher longer in the fridge. At first I balked at the advice but it makes sense. The plastic bag won't have to be washed given it's only an outer cover and therefore can be reused forever. Unless of course the produce turns into a science experiment and then, well, then the zucchini will eat the cotton bag and the plastic bag will save your life from the ooze and a proper burial blessing should be chanted before the entire mess is mummified into the landfill for generations to come.

At $2 each the produce bags sold at the' market are less than the online price at ecobags unless you buy 50 or more. Which would be an investment but not a bad idea. They're a great gift on their own or filled with some local flavor. They're also clever gift wrapping that won't go straight to the landfill.

I've been looking for a good alternative to plastic produce bags for some time. The bags made from old t-shirts were good for tree fruits but too heavy for lighter more delicate foods. The ecobag net sacks and organic cotton bags were heavy too and pricey to the point I didn't enjoy them.

The new produce bags are just right.

Have you seen them or do you have another great alternative to the plastic produce bags? I'd love to know.

Tomatillos

When I wasn't spooning chocolate sauce from the jar this weekend, I was cooking tomatillos.

Last year I tossed them in a pot with jalapenos, turned the heat on and spooned the resulting sauce into ziplocs for the freezer. I didn't know what I was doing but the bags were in the drawer for reuse by November 3 with a note to put up a lot more this year.

The first tomatillos of any merit I've seen this year showed up at Happy Boy Farm last week. The price was good at a dollar a basket so I smuggled four baskets back to the office in my purse.

Melinda must have read my mind because the next day she posted a roasted tomatillo salsa recipe. The recipe promoted my quick pot of tomatillos and jalapenos to salsa verde muy bien. And muy bien without it being a terrible chore.

I roasted the tomatillos slower than Melinda's recipe but only because the flames from the broiler freak me out. And I put the jalapenos in the oven to roast with the tomatillo believing myself clever until I found pepper skins like corn silk in the finished salsa. The skins didn't effect the taste but they did remind me that occassionally it would be wise to follow directions.

The salsa was so good though I bought more tomatillos on Sunday to repeat the recipe. The biggest problem with eating seasonally however is it tends to not stick to a strict script. The tomatillos were called for instead in a soup of pinto beans along with a mariachi band of jalapenos. We ate them without a thought of the winter ahead, as if summer would be our personal fiesta filling my purse and canvas bags forever.

Hopefully tomatillo harvest will continue a bit longer because I'm only getting started with this juicy green fruit. Or is it a vegetable?

Either way, it's delicious.

Chicken Harvest

I was born with chicken farming in my blood. My Great Grandparents were chicken farmers on one side, mixed farmers on the other. And my Grandfathers were both poultry farmers, one chickens, the other turkeys. All relationships with poultry ended there though. KFC is the chicken I remember.

But this weekend my ancestral roots grew arms. The cute guy's son, Jeremy, taught me how to harvest chickens. He seems to have been born with an innate knowledge of animals and he did the parts his wife, sister-in-law, and I didn't have the muscle for.

I arrived in my Vote With Your Fork t-shirt, a generation removed from the land but with good information from El at Fast Grow the Weeds. She recently wrote her process of harvesting chickens that gave me not only front row information but confidence too.

It sounds odd to say we had fun but we did. The women, yes, me too, got a little choked up at first. Then we got to work in a rhythm accented by the sounds of scattering chickens, the spray of the hose and the smell of wet feathers. There was respect for each new bird, we harvested a dozen, but it was equally matched with the laughter of working together.

The little kids were in and out too; curious but non-plussed by the operation. They pulled a feather here and there, touched the pimply skin, asked a few questions then ran off half way through the answer.

Jeremy dissected a stomach for his son to see what the chicken had recently eaten. To every one's surprise there was a free range screw.

We had the luxury of working in the barn kitchen for the final step of cleaning the chickens for the freezer. Everyone but Jeremy exclaimed that running water made the job easier. We were able to harvest the necks, livers, hearts and most of the gizzards for stocks or dressings.

It's safe to say I won't take eating chicken for granted again. Something different happened being intimately involved in the process of taking the animals life. My appreciation for the chicken multiplied. Not just for a meaty breast or juicy thigh, but for every part of the bird. Also for the workers that harvest chicken for a living. It's a smelly business.

Have you every hunted, raised and harvested or prepared an animal for food? Was it a good experience? Would you do it again?

Slow Roasted Tomatoes

The cute guy didn't say a word when I handed him a 30 pound box of tomatoes this morning at the farmers' market. He just carried it to the car. I on the other hand was a little skeptical.

The grower had said the tomatoes wouldn't get any better than this though. The weather has been hot making the tomatoes naturally juicy. And the time was right for me after the conventions for some peace and quiet preserving.

My plan was to slow roast and freeze the tomatoes. I cut the tops off a couple dozen and arranged them cheek to cheek on the only cookie sheet I own. Then I emptied the cupboards of Pyrex dishes and muffin trays, moved oven racks, arranged more tomatoes, drizzled olive oil over all of them and filled the oven. An empty tomato box of success on the kitchen floor.

After fifteen hours on the lowest oven setting and the tomatoes will be shiny red orbs of summer love in a skin. That was the easy part. I was left with nine dozen tomato tops I hadn't counted on.

I started cutting. Meat side down I sliced four times around the stem leaving a square dime of waste. The remnants were solid, meaty. I started dicing the pieces and filling a bowl for salsa. As much as we love salsa, there was more than we would eat. It's impossible I would even consider the words, too much salsa, but really, there was a lot.

I cooked the remaining tomato top leftovers for dinner; sweet tomato sauce with browned garlic served over fresh spinach and angel hair pasta. My mouth is still sweet from the taste of it and the peaceful afternoon.

My advice to the presidential, and vice presidential candidates: Make sauce, not rhetoric.

Jalapenos

I've always thought all jalapenos were created equal. That it was a pepper to slightly fear. And then I would have a jalapeno mild as a bell pepper. The next time I'd pile them on and damn if I wouldn't have volcano mouth. It was confusing.

I'd think back to where I bought the peppers. It must be the grower, I'd conclude. They were either doing something right or wrong. But the theory didn't hold. It must be the season, was my next idea. Then, where the pepper was grown, if they buried milagros beneath the plants, planted them under a new moon, picked them young, mature, at noon under a devil red sun.

Finally, in a weak moment and unwilling to gamble with what will be our winters storage of frozen peppers, ala Yankee Food, I asked a grower.

"There are different varieties of jalapenos," he said. How logical. He named several. All I remember is he had dimples when he smiled. "These are hot," he confirmed weighing the bag I'd handed him.

He was right. I've had fire-mouth all week.

From now on, he's my pepper man, but if I do find myself buying jalapenos somewhere else, I'll be sure to ask. I don't want to risk a single meal with peppers to having them be mild.

Free Fruit for the Food Bank

Melinda at One Green Generation was the first person I'd heard of planting a portion of her garden for the local food bank. The idea was revolutionary and Melinda has been a Superhero of ingenuity to me ever since.

More recently Audrey at Eat Local Northwest has planted a portion of her community garden space for the food bank. I love reading of her trips delivering her donations and most especially the man who greets her and accepts them.

Until last Friday I'd counted myself out of being able to participate in the goodwill of sharing fresh food with our local food bank. That is until I remembered the plums in our yard. There are a lot of them and they're good.

I made plum jam last weekend determined to not let the free fruit go to waste. Two jars of plum jam. It took forever. The plums are small and had to be pain stakingly separated from their skin and pit to the point I don't want to make more. But we can't eat all the fruit on the tree.

I called the food bank. They would love the plums. The delivery times are impossible; exactly during working hours but that's not going to stop me. I've got ideas; one of which I'm sure will work.

Food Waste

Paul Roberts, the author of The End of Food did a radio story this afternoon about Prime Minister Gordon Brown speaking up about food waste. Paul Robert's voice sounds like Michael Pollan and as I'd missed the first part of the four minute segment I thought he was.

I've been wanting to read The End of Food and after hearing the author talk on the radio it has moved higher on my list. If Paul Roberts is half as good a writer as he is a speaker the book will be terrific.

And I was happy to hear a world leader involve everyone in the solution of food security by starting at our own tables. I know big solutions are necessary but it makes sense to start at home.

All of which got me thinking about the ways I've learned to waste less. Throwing food away from the farmers' markets is much harder than when I used to go to the grocery store. The food has a face now instead of a brand. It's not filler, it's personal.

Here's a few things I do:

- Make croutons with the ends of old bread.
- Freeze leftover rice for fried rice another day.
- Make veggie broth with the bottom drawer odds and ends and freeze it for a soup base.
- Try to buy less.
- Package leftovers for lunch.
- Substitute recipe ingredients with what's in the fridge.
- Strip a roasted chicken and cook the bones for broth.

None of these ideas are earth shattering but they're far more satisfying than filling a garbage bag.

What do you do to shop wisely and waste less? I could use some new ideas or to be reminded of old ones long forgotten.