she's just saying...

Loose morels

Morels are a type of wild mushroom that grow in the Northwest in the spring. Their flavor is deep and mysterious and substantial, and they look really cool too, like little alien coneheads.

There's an underground culture of mushroom pickers here in Central Oregon who jealously guard their picking spots, so really it's easier to pick them down at our local farmstand. Adam gets them from a picker on his way back into town every day, and sells them dirt cheap. 

For some odd reason most morel recipes online involve saltine crackers, bread crumbs, or even corn flakes. All you need to do is saute them in butter or olive oil. You can add some shallots, parsley, garlic and lemon juice, a splash of white wine, serve them on toast or whatever. Or eat them with a fork right out of the pan.

The morels of the story

(Puns: the last refuge of lame writers.)

Sure sign of spring: farm stand!

For those of you reading from below the 44th parallel, you must be wondering why we're still looking for signs of spring. Maybe it's the snow we had on Monday or the frost this morning, but we don't seem to quite be there yet. I'll take any sign that spring is returning to Central Oregon, and have spotted the best so far: the farm stand on my street has opened again.

You may remember my embarrassingly gushing post about my farm stand (I like to call it "my" farm stand, though I'll happily share it). But over the winter I watched concernedly while changes were happening to the closed stand. It was painted in bright yellows and orange, a new name was posted, the shack got a little construction work. It looked like new owners had bought it, and my heart sunk. 

Well, it's been open for a few weeks now and I've avoided it, afraid to see what out-of-town ag conglomerate had taken it over. (Okay, so I'm a little paranoid. It's my farm stand!) Yesterday on the way home from work I was hankering for a head of lettuce so pulled in and prepared to face reality. And there was my pal Adam!! I honestly can't tell you how relieved I was. It made my day.

It's now called Paradise Produce. Adam and a friend have leased some organic farm land and are getting serious about bringing in fresh-picked organic produce. As Adam said today, "We cut 20 head of lettuce this morning and it's all gone already!" 

There's a list of about 60 different products they're carrying.  The stand is mostly organic, and they've started a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture for those of you who avoid vegetables, and I'm looking at you, YrBigSis.)

I'm planning to volunteer my mad marketing skillz in exchange for peaches and tomatoes, so expect to hear a lot more about it.

Twelve kinds of tomatoes: I'm obsessed.

A Bread Revolution

These days Henry and I are enjoying freshly baked homemade bread right from the oven several times a week.

Unbelievable, you say? Has Melissa traded in her knitting obsession for a baking one, spending hours mixing, kneading, raising, punching, raising again, baking? Why, no! I have found a book that promises and delivers "the discovery that revolutionizes home baking."

The book is Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois. (Her name has both an umlaut and cedilla neither of which I care to figure out how to type here.) As described by the New York Times, "Soon the bread will be making itself...The crusty, full-flavored loaf that results may be the world's easiest yeast bread."

The idea is that you mix a fairly wet dough and store it in the fridge without kneading for up to 10 days. Every time you want bread, you pull off a hunk, form it and let it rise (takes about 40 minutes) and bake it. Done. Craziness!

The book takes a one page explanation and recipe and spins it into 242 pages which is a publishing miracle in itself. (They've also built a robust website as well - I sense a marketing mind behind this.) All variations of the same recipe, plus adding eggs, honey and butter to make brioche dough for pastries as well, which I haven't tried yet. I really don't need brioche dough around the house.

All the purists may scoff (because what else do purists do?) but it really works. I may never knead again! 

Okay, I'm not a food photographer. But doesn't it look a little like the book cover?

Just a little something to nosh

Whew. Busy weekend doing nothing. A new friend came to visit - more on that to come if the stars align. Meanwhile, Henry keeps growing. And eating. Here's this morning's order:

Courses from the foreground back:

Buttermilk biscuit with country sausage gravy (notice the apple was not touched),

Two eggs sunny-side up with two pieces of bacon

Topped off by a huge pancake, with a scoop of butter and half cup of syrup.

The waiter placed it all in front of him and declared: "Mission: Eat!"

And he did. He started slowing down by the second egg and the last half of the pancake, but since that one pancake equaled three normal ones, we decided it was Mission Accomplished.

Most amazing home appliance ever

Henry's Uncle Steve, known to loyal readers as YrBigBro, sent Henry an amazing device that should profoundly influence the direction of our lives from now into the distant future.

Behold: The Muffin and Egg Maker!

It toasts the English muffin AND cooks the egg and even heats a sausage patty ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Brilliant, yes? Whoever invented this is a genius. I've even experimented with adding a little cheese to the egg cup and it works great. Instant egg mcmuffin!

This will radically improve our mornings and Henry's breakfast diet, which will help him concentrate better in school thus getting higher grades, getting accepted to a top school and earning the means to support his dear old mother in her impending old age. Wow. All from a little toaster. Isn't America great?!?

(For family unity I should note that the original toaster idea came from Dr. Sister who sent one to Steve who then sent another one to us. Thank you, family!)

 

"Cold, tired, hungry...

a woman is always one of the three."

- quote from a former boyfriend. And you know, around him it was true.

I'm reminded of that quote by a question from my sister re: blog topics:

"...what food do you instinctively reach for when you are tired, cold and hungry? I read somewhere that there are 2 types: English muffin people and baked potato people, each with appropriate fixings. Me, I'm an elbow macaroni woman. I say this as I'm making some at 11:00 at night, with 2 meetings and a 3 hr. class under my belt since 4:00 pm (but no dinner)."

Buttered elbow macaroni was a staple when we were kids. Elbows, butter, salt and pepper. Yum. I still occasionally go for that, though being a sophisticate, I add Parmesan. I think many comfort food preferences are set in childhood. PB&J, grilled cheese, cereal and milk - high in cals and carbs, warm, soft and filling. Mmm. Like a hot bubble bath. OK, I'm getting kind of grossed out now.

As an adult, I actually tend to be a cheese and crackers person (with wine, but that's a given). Or if I have time to boil a potato, mashed potatoes. With gravy if there's some congealing in the fridge. I've been known to spread butter on a saltine in an emergency.

Henry is more of a top ramen or chicken pot pie guy. Or cinnamon toast (he got that from me).

What about you guys? 

Really?  You actually need a book?

What you do in Texas

back from the land of meat

Well, we can safely say I'll never be one of those bloggers who write long boring fascinating travelogues while on the road. I took a blogging, no, actually a computer break for the week. Ironic as I was surrounded by computers in a tech-rich environment.

Here's one shot that gives you a taste of Texas.

What's in your cupboard?

I love and admire my big sisters. They're role models and (now that they're no longer babysitting me) friends. And they're both great cooks.

Sister #1 (the eldest) visits me at Christmas about every other year. She loves to take on cooking the big fancy meals and I love to let her. She always has a new recipe or approach she wants to try as well as the old favorites. We're both "foodies" (I know, I hate that word too) and use what some might call exotic or gourmet ingredients. But every year, there's an ingredient she needs for a dish that I don't stock.

The first year, it was white pepper. I'm a black pepper fan and had never seen the need to use any other color, but after not having it that year, I was sure to keep it in stock. (It's a more delicate flavor and doesn't mess up a white dish with unsightly black flecks, if you have to know.)

The next year it was capers, which I do normally have, but had run out and not restocked. Two years ago it was Kitchen Bouquet. "You don't have any Kitchen Bouquet???" she asked incredulously. I'll confess I had no idea what it was, though I'd seen in in my mom's cupboard. I also don't cook beef so didn't use it in gravy, which was what S#1 wanted it for. This sticks in my mind because my niece innocently asked what was wrong with the gravy, and was informed that it looked that way because "Melissa doesn't have any Kitchen Bouquet!" You better believe I went and bought some after that.

This year, I carefully checked my supplies, laid in several more pounds of butter and a quart of half-and-half and figured I was good. And I was, pretty much, except for dried tarragon and white wine vinegar. Honestly, how can you make Bearnaise sauce without tarragon and w.w.vinegar?  (I didn't get any points for growing fresh tarragon as it had already died. And I had FOUR other kinds of vinegar, but oh well.) 

Well, S#1 managed with fresh parsley and shallots (both of which I did have on hand), and the Bearnaise and the entire meal was incredible. Then she made Hopping John for New Year's and that was delicious as well. (I ran out of onions for that one but the neighbors came through.) It was a wonderful visit and I'm glad she made the trek across the continent to see us.

Of course, now I'm a little paranoid about the deficiencies of my pantry -- what will it be next time? Any guesses?

The mysterious "Kitchen Bouquet"

Soft ball and hard crack

Q: What do those phrases stand for?

A:  Stages of sugar in candy-making. It's what the mixture does when dropped into cold water. If you're new at it, or not, it definitely helps to have a candy thermometer.

I like to make candy -- it's an adventure. I especially love to make real fudge so I can eat it. NOT the recipe with marshmallow fluff: the real candy-thermometer fudge. It's a messy process and a little tricky, as it crystallizes easily and then you get that gritty mouthfeel - sign of an amateur candymaker.

I may or may not make fudge this year. However, every year I do make nut brittle for my dad. It's like peanut brittle but with cashews, hazelnuts, pecans, brazil nuts, etc. instead. Very decadent. And murder on the fillings.

Here are some pics of Nut Brittle in the making. Recipe available upon request (I'm too sleepy to post it right now)

The set up:

Approaching the hard crack stage (300 degrees)

You stretch it while it's still hot (it's not as dark as it looks here)

Done. Yum.

Nouvelle plastic

Scene: The upscale restaurant of an unnamed Portland hotel. Three women having lunch. Chatting, laughing, eating. One of the women has the "chicken noodle soup": a bowl of broth, two petite chicken roulades and a large vegetable ravioli on the bottom. Very nouvelle.

Suddenly: "Is this food?" the woman asks, taking a ring of plastic out of her mouth and examining it, possibly mistaking it for cellophane noodles.

It was not.

After much hilarity, discussion and negotiations with the staff, the soup charge is removed and a dessert is provided.

Final question, when the bill is presented: "Do you take plastic?"

Waitress answers: "No, we only serve it." Ba-dum-bump.

The soup

The object in question

 

Covered in steamed milk and Yeti fur

Quick - what's that a picture of?

A yeti in a snowstorm!

We've got yeti on the brain right now, as Henry decided (on Sunday night) that was what he was going to be on Halloween. Not Friday night or even Saturday, when I had time to go out and round up yeti paraphernalia. But if life weren't like a sit-com, who would read blogs?

Luckily Joanne's Fabrics had perfect hairy white fabric, and on sale! After considering and rejecting the hot glue gun or spray mount, I decided I had to bite the bullet and sew. Now, I hate to use my sewing machine, so this was truly an act of motherly sacrifice. Plus, once it's out and set up, I have some hemming I can do.

Meanwhile, at the same time, Mr. G's fifth-grade class was assigned an independent (read: parent-produced) project which involved a speech, audio visual aids and samples of "Our family's favorite snack." Since Chardonnay and olives were probably inappropriate, we settled on Italian vanilla steamed milk, which Henry gets me to make if he gets up before the expresso machine cools.

So, this morning had me sewing up the last seams of the Yeti costume while steaming hot milk for 32. And of course, I was wearing black velvet head to toe for my annual kitty cat costume. The long white fur shed everywhere, the steamer wand popped off spraying sticky milk everywhere, and I was swearing and yelling and generally starting the day off with a (hairy) splash.

How was your morning?

A social caterpillar

I remember a time when I went out every night. Actually it was many times. I remember thinking if I stopped wanting to go to a club my life would be pretty much over. This was when I was in Boston, or NYC, or maybe LA, where that's what you did. Well, those days are long over, though my life seems not to be. So over, in fact, that I can't remember the last time I went to anything resembling a club. (Well, yes I can but that's another story.)

I don't even go out to dinner or drinks any more. Maybe once a month? That used to be a couple-times-a-week kind of thing. Much of that has to do with being single, as in solo. That may be the second thing I miss most about being in a relationship.

This is how I socialize these days: I stay home. Friends come by, usually one or two at a time. My single and even a few married friends love to hang out and drink wine while I cook, eat a grazing meal of cheese, olives, bread, apples and whatever odd sauce or chutney I have in the fridge, chat, watch a ball game or knit or just read the paper in each other's company. This happens several afternoons and nights a week. I like it because I don't have to go anywhere and I can keep some semblance of control over Henry. They like it for the family energy, the nurturing, the wine and of course my company.

I do get antsy, especially around Friday or Saturday early in the evening, when a change of venue would be welcome. But I love my compound, summer or winter, and I love to entertain casually, so it's all pretty good. This is how I've matured: I now know that going-out opportunities will come again, so I'm content to enjoy what I have right now. But I do have some wild memories of late late nights at dark loud clubs. I'd do it again, for sure.

It's not instant coffee, it's Ready Brew.

Starbucks is possibly the only company that could pull off making instant coffee hip, and I'm not sure even they can do it.

Yes, I had to buy some VIA pods or whatever they're called. They're just so cool, and super-cute! (High praise from someone who makes purchase decisions based on packaging design.) I really wanted to like the coffee too. But it's pretty flat, and I never wanted to finish the cup, which is telling. Either variety.

Starbucks has pumped up the marketing machine for this one, complete with taste test comparisons and re-branding: not instant coffee, ready brew.

"It's made with the highest-quality, ethically sourced 100% arabica beans. The magic is in a proprietary process, all-natural process that we spent years perfecting. We microgrind the beans in a way that preserves all of their essential oils and flavors. No other coffee company takes this step, and it makes all the difference."

Starbucks' stock and earnings have taken a hit in the last two years, and I guess this is their way of offering cheap coffee to get recessionistas to come back to the brand. Or of getting a share of the grocery store instant coffee biz, which in spite of the fact that no one you or I know drinks the stuff, is a huge business. [Correction: my parents drink it. Anybody else know of someone?]

What I don't get is why they're willing to put their own coffee up to a taste test with Via. If Via wins or even ties, isn't that saying that Starbucks brewed coffee isn't worth the extra $2? They set it up to cannibalize their own business. I wish I was a fly on the wall during those planning meetings.

Yes, they're positioning it as a way to get Starbucks while in the office, on a plane, hang-gliding or whatever. But that's a pretty small market and they must be counting on in-home use.

Strikes me that Starbucks loses either way. Instant coffee drinkers (cost-conscious folk) probably won't buy the stuff due to its high price vs. other instants (and don't think those brands are not rolling out their own little pods). And people who think it tastes just like a Starbucks cup may switch cause it's a lot cheaper.

Anybody want to take me up on a bet on this? I say it's pulled within a year.

Beet Me, or, What I Did Last Night

Local alert: Richard's Produce Stand is closing down for the season Oct.15. (I asked Adam what I'm going to do all winter without him, and he said: "Eat citrus." It's going to be a long winter.) 

I'm already anticipating the produce withdrawal and it won't be pretty. So meanwhile I'm overbuying and it's a great time to do it as everything is at the peak of ripeness. I'm putting up sauteed tomato chunks and garlic, freezing peach slices, jarring peeled garlic cloves in olive oil* and making parsley salsa. And last night I roasted beets.

I've never cooked beets before due to memories of their canned weirdness, but they looked really cool at the produce stand and I felt adventurous. Plus, the New York Times decreed "Beets: the New Spinach" so I had to jump on the trendwagon.

I fired up the gas grill (with soaked wood chips for a nice smoky touch), tossed slices of unpeeled beets with olive oil/salt and slow-grilled them for 40 minutes or so, turning once. I also threw thick slices of onion and a head of garlic in foil on there just to be efficient. They all came out caramelized and smoky and really transformative.

Beets pair well with goat cheese to cut their sweetness and add a creamy tang, so I'm making a beet/arugula/chevre salad with vinaigrette to serve with crusty bread and pinot gris. Dinner's at seven.

the beetness of beets

*Note: storing garlic cloves in olive oil at room temperature is a perfect recipe for botulism. Refrigerate.

But will it feed the dog and program the TIVO?

We've been cooking a lot of rice around here lately. It fits the four basic Henry food requirements:

• filling
• cheap
• can eat any time of day
• goes well with butter and/or sugar

So I've been looking at rice cookers. They seem sort of unnecessary, like a Mr. Tea maker, but people rave about them and I'm all about more appliances.

If I could afford it, this would be my first choice, based on my motto "Why pay less?"

Zojirushi NS-ZCC10 5-1/2-Cup Neuro Fuzzy Rice Cooker and Warmer

List Price:	$233.00
Price:	$159.99

Multi-menu selections using advanced Neuro Fuzzy logic technology control the temperature for efficient cooking of many different types of rice including white, sushi, mixed, porridge, sweet, semi-brown, brown, rinse-free, and quick cooking.

Because I think it's important to cook with fuzzy logic. That's how I approach everything else, frankly.

Can you count the guilt in this picture?

 

Answer:

1. Going to the evil Starbucks instead of a local coffeehouse.
2. Using the drive-through, pretty lazy and burns too much fuel.
3. Buying a grande 1-pump vanilla caramel macchiato, basically a high calorie milkshake.
4. Not making a latte at home for 1/3 the time and price.

Almost enough guilt to spoil the coffee, but not quite. Cheers!

Spud.

I'm primarily a perennials gardener. I never fall for the "color spot" annuals and don't specialize in roses or lilies or begonias, in spite of my horticultural heritage. I've also never gotten serious about vegetables.

To get good veggie results in Central Oregon you have to dedicate your spring to babying seeds and starts in a greenhouse, setting up walls'o'water, running out to protect crops from frost in August, and  fighting off the birds and bugs. It's a very short season and doesn't seem worth it to me.

However, in the past I have produced some tomatoes, a pumpkin, two eggplants and bushels of parsley and mint, which appear to be my specialty. (I also try and fail every year to grow arugula - it's a mythic struggle.) But today I can raise my head proudly and declare myself a farmer: I have grown a potato.

I don't actually remember planting potatoes, but occasionally when one starts to sprout in the vegetable bin I take it out and stick it in the ground. While harvesting parsley this morning, I pulled up what I thought was a weed and found a small red potato at the other end. 

I can't describe the awe and pride I felt when I held it up. Any suburbanite can grow tomatoes and zucchini, but to produce a potato seems like an authentic farmer-type accomplishment.

I think I'll steam it in a (tiny) pan and eat it with butter and salt and pepper.

Note to Kathi D.: no need to be flaunting your Cali harvest abbondanza - we're talking high desert here!

How to prepare for eye surgery

1. Go to Costco.
2. Clean the house.
3. Freeze casseroles.
4. Mow the lawn.
5. Wash the dog.
6. Begin Pinot Grigio detox.
7. Hit the bank, return library books, rent movies.
8. Get a pedicure.
9. Update the iPod.
10. Remove toe ring.
11. Buy pretty panties.
12. Clean the fish tank.
13. Prepare low-vision knitting strategy.

I think I'm ready.

What would be on your list?

Produce and the City

[Note that I used the word "city" in the title of this post. I've been informed that Bend does indeed have an escalator; therefore by my own definition it is a city.]

I love farmers' markets. Who doesn't love farmers' markets?  However, I'm very happy these days that I don't need to go to the Bend Farmers' Market any more. (correct possessive apostrophe of a plural noun there.) There's the small matter of parking, for one thing; getting there on time, waiting in lines, dodging the shiny happy families and so forth. Just saying.

The reason I don't have to go you-know-where is that a farm stand has opened two blocks from the house.

And it's a great farm stand.

Tomatoes that taste like my dad's eaten right there in his garden.

  Big fat and little donut peaches.

 

Local berries, herbs, beans, potatoes, onions, beets, corn delivered daily right from the field. etc. It's thrilling.

And it's really local.

The best part? I can send Henry down with a backpack and a grocery list. I'm telling you, after nine years of doing it all myself, I'm finally reaping some payback. And it's character-building too.

This is Adam from Richard's. Tell him Melissa sent you.