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Posts Tagged ‘eating locally’

Eggs make frequent but unspectacular appearances on this blog.  Like dead metaphors–staples of language we barely notice–eggs are ubiquitous, humble, and very nearly necessary.

Aside from windowsill herbs, eggs are probably the easiest foods to find locally.   In every little region, you’ll find someone who keeps a backyard flock of laying hens.  Just ask around.

We eat eggs often, and of course not just for breakfast.  Like dairy products, eggs are nearly perfect foods, offering a healthy dose of fats and protein in neatly portioned packages.  They are also relatively cheap, when compared to other sources of animal protein.  And to top it off, they cook in minutes. Find fresh, local eggs whenever you can; the difference in taste and quality is huge.

The easiest, and no less delicious, way to cook an egg is to scramble it with some salt and pepper, heat a pan on high, melt a bit of butter, pour in the egg, turn off the heat, move it around a bit, slide it onto a plate, and eat.  Lunch in our house is often a changing combination of vegetables alongside an 8-minute egg.  Jack loves eggs in all forms, which gives us an easy dinner option when he refuses the bluefish or something “smelly” like that. (Though he did eat bluefish “pate” with relish the other day, when he thought it was just some salty spread.)  Fritatta is an easy dinner we have frequently.  Anything can be thrown in–from last night’s steamed broccoli to a bit of frozen bacon or a handful of fresh herbs.

One of the best, and simplest, fritattas I’ve had was made by a friend of a friend of the family’s whose apartment we were staying in for a night in Paris.  Peter and I were on a post-college trip, crashing for free when possible.  These friends of friends, whom we’d only just met that weekend, invited us to stay with them on the night before our early flight home.  They had a two-year-old daughter, Chloe, who had to be fed and put to bed before dinner.  They’d just arrived back home on a Sunday evening after a weekend at their parents’ in a suburb of Bordeaux.  It had been a long day, and a quick meal was in order.  The meal Valerie cooked up was a fritatta made with whole sage leaves spread in a six-pointed circle.  The eggy texture was perfect–set but still moist in the middle.  There was also a bit of salad and baguette.  Perfectly simple.

Fresh Herb Fritatta

6 eggs
6 fresh sage leaves
butter
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350.  Whisk eggs with salt and pepper until foamy. Heat an oven-proof skillet over moderately high heat, and melt a bit of butter, spreading it evenly and thinly over the whole pan.  Pour in the eggs and cook until it starts to bubble and form a skin on the bottom.  Lay in the sage leaves.  Pop it in the oven for about 10 minutes or until set.  When set, invert onto a serving plate, slice, and serve.

Or, introduce and endless variety of other ingredients….

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umrella hat

The other rainy night, we had a little casual dinner party with my parents’ best friends of four decades, who happen now to live on the same long dirt driveway in Norwich, Vermont.  I’d been wanting to make a recipe from one of my favorite bloggers, Tribeca Yummy Mummy, for roasted tomato pasta with scallops.  It was amazingly delicious, especially with picked-that-day organic sungolds and grape tomatoes and basil.  Here are the tomatoes, slicked with olive oil, sprinkled with salt and pepper, ready to get roasty:

roast tomat

We had spicy greens in a salad, and then a berry crumble.  I like making crumble, because it’s so easy.  You don’t even need to look at a recipe for the topping if you just remember “it’s all 1.”

Mixed Berry Crumble

Topping:
1 c. flour
1 c. sugar (mix brown and white)
1 stick butter, cut into small nobs
1 tsp. salt
1 handful sliced almonds (or walnuts, or oats)

Filling:

3-4 c. mixed berries (I used blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries)
1/3 c. sugar
a sprinkle of almond extract

Preheat oven to 400.  Mix the filling in the baking pan. Frozen berries are ok.

With your fingertips, blend the topping until it all clings together in clumps.  Sprinkle the topping evenly over the filling. Bake for 40 minutes or so.

berry crumble

Get it before it’s gone!

crumble

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When we got to the Hanover Farmers’ Market yesterday, thunder was rumbling in the not-too-far distance.  We wouldn’t be able to linger.  I went straight for the Cedar Circle Farm booth, where I was almost overcome by the vivid colors spread before me!

I spent all the cash in my pocket on this pile of (always organic) beauty:

cedar circ vegs

When we got back to my parents’ house at the far end of Turnpike Road in Norwich, it was still too hot to turn on the oven or even think systematically about a meal.  I pulled out a tub of hummus, and we used it as dip for the celery (the most celeryish celery I’ve ever tasted!) and the sungolds.

In spite of the sky–another storm brewing after some hot sun–we decided to cook out.

dark clouds over the back hill

dark clouds over the back hill

We had some grass fed ground beef from Hogwash Farm, so we decided to do burgers, corn on the cob, and a big chopped salad combining the tomatoes, some peppers, radishes from Killdeer, and cucumbers and herbs from our garden.  Dressed with a bit of mustard vinaigrette, it was flavorful, cool, and perfectly satisfying.

This is the only season when a raw salad like that, with little adornment or special treatment, tastes so vivid.

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Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie

pie

For the crust, check out my post of June 7, 2009, but make a double portion, since you’ll need extra pastry for the lattice. Make the pastry, shape into two discs, and chill for several hours.

For the filling, you’ll need 3 cups fresh cut strawberries and 2 cups fresh or frozen chopped rhubarb.  Mix these with 1/2 c. flour, 1/2 c. sugar, and 1 tsp. corn starch.

Preheat oven to 375.  Roll out two 11-inch rounds of pastry, put one in a 9-inch pie plate, and cut the other into strips.  Pour in filling, and construct an over-under lattice with the pastry strips.  Bake (with a cookie sheet underneath in case of drips) for 45 or so minutes, until the crust is golden.

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It’s summer.  It’s hot.  The fruit is ripe.  But what the heck, let’s fire up the oven.

We have Shiro plums, the mild little yellow variety which grew originally in Japan, and now grows all over the place here.

shiso

These plums are from Dummerston, Vermont.  (The name brings to mind Fort Dummer, near Brattleboro, where we used to go cross country skiing, and where my Dad would release the squirrels he’d caught in his “Have-a-Heart” trap.  These were crazed, ferocious squirrels that chewed our wooden siding and clung to the screens of our dining room windows while we ate dinner.)

Back on topic here… plums make a scrumptious rustic galette.  I had a helper this morning making pastry.  A pinch of salt:

J baking

And a demonstration of the frissage technique, which spreads and flattens those yummy bits of butter, providing the basis for flakiness (push with the heels, fold with the fingertips, repeat):

frissage

We also have chopped rhubarb and strawberries in the freezer–remains from an earlier season.  My sister, Bridget, has always loved strawberry-rhubarb pie.  We always thought her red hair and freckles predestined her to be a strawberry lover: strawberry ice cream, strawberry shortcake, strawberry-rhubarb pie, strawberries on cereal, strawberry lip balm, the list goes on.  She’s moving to North Carolina this week, where strawberries and rhubarb will be distant memories.  I think I’ll make her that pie.

And serve it warm with local vanilla ice cream, of course.

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Mmmm… I have such a craving for a luscious tomato tart.  Roasting brings out such intense flavors.  And melted cheese: the deliciousness of the thought speaks for itself.

However, it’s pushing 90 today, and I won’t be turning on the oven.  How to celebrate high tomato season with something a little simpler, more “rustic” and conducive to lazing around than the pretty spiral of tomato, mozz, and basil (though I have nothing against that salad!)?

Panzanella!  A bread salad made with summer’s basics: stale bread, tomatoes, basil.

panz ingreds

The structure of this basic flavor combination provides a strong background for additions, if they come in as accents.  Have some leftover anchovies or olives?  A wedge of lemon?  Toss in a few capers, too, from that bottle that always seems full.  Some other backyard herbs would be nice too, as long as the basil sets the tone.

We’ll have this tonight, with grilled chicken.  Killdeer folks: see you soon.

For the cooler nights later this week, though, I’ll be turning to the tart.  I think I’ll try this recipe, recently posted in the Times.

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Back in Vermont, now, where we’re having the hottest night of the summer.  Haze turned the Green Mountains graduated shades of blue-gray today, on our long drive home.  Our last day on Nantucket was a full one–from bikes and beach in the morning to a wedding party in the evening.  Blank from a day of travel, I’ll just post the highlights.

ubiquitous blue hydrangea

ubiquitous blue hydrangea

Jack and the tree that was probably a sapling when our ancestors, the Rodmans, Rotches, and Husseys were on this island worshiping the whales:

tree

Waiting for waves at Cisco Beach:

wave

And boogie boarding:

boogieb

Then, we were off to the celebration in Siasconset.  Ginger ale or Veuve?

shirley
Jack liked the “shrimp lollipops.”

shrimp

Jeremiah liked the Boston lettuce:

salad

And everyone liked the chocolate-espresso pot de creme:

choc. pot

And, since I did more body-surfing than web-surfing or researching of any kind, I’ll put in a link to an article on “Slow Fish” on a related island, Martha’s Vineyard.

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I’ve eaten much more fish in the past two months than I normally eat in a year.  I’ve been lucky enough to visit these seafood capitals of the northeast.  Eating locally on an island is pretty easy at this season.  For Nantucket, in particular, striking a balance between conservation and sustainability on the one hand and the inevitable conspicuous consumption of a resort island on the other, is especially important, and tricky, because people come for the timelessness of its beaches and weathered shingle cottages, but also come to vacation and to do all of the spending and  consuming that entails. My Nantucket Quaker ancestors rode the wave of one tide of American capitalism centuries ago, and helped to whale nearly all of the sperm whales out of the Atlantic.  The great white whale is now a threatened species.   Bluefish are abundant, due to regulated sport fishing, and stripers are vulnerable, so I’ll savor them when they’re fresh and local.  We’ve come too late in the year for Nantucket Bay scallops, the sweetest, smallest morsels in the sea.  When I worked at a restaurant in Somerville, near Boston, those of us in the kitchen snuck a couple of raw ones when the small, highly priced shipment came in.   They have a brief season, anticipated by seafood lovers, and hopefully protected by sustainable harvesting practices.

We saw some small-scale fishermen working quickly the other night, just before the dinner hour, to clean and portion these tunas.

fish cutting

albacore

A large vegetable and flower farm here has turned to sustainable energy,

turbine

but I also saw some spray tanks attached to the tractors.  Their seasonal produce, displayed in a bountiful tumble of color, is wonderful, though.   There were at least four kinds of eggplant; I bought bunches of the Japanese and the “Fairy Tale” varieties, along with a pile of pattypan squash, and roasted them last night (it was chilly outside).  (Olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh rosemary, 425 for 40 or so minutes.)

eggplants

pattypan

Another local institution I like to frequent when I’m here is the bread bakery and sandwich shop, Something Natural.  They bake hundreds of loaves daily, and construct hundreds of jumbo sandwiches for a steady stream of people.  Their chocolate chip cookies, with dark chocolate chunks and a chewy-crispy buttery crumb, are the best.

something nat.

bread
When the endless possibilities for people watching turn tedious, it’s fun to find the animals.  We watched swallows gathering on the wires, and the flock seemed to grow by the hundreds every few minutes.

swallows

more

more

even more

even more

Bunnies hop out of the bushes, and scurry back in when they see Jack coming.

bunny

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We’re on Nantucket for a bit this week.  My cousin’s getting married, so our family (minus Peter, who’s at Breadloaf) is crashing in a mothbally cottage that sits on a rare high hill on this island, and would have a 360-degree view if it weren’t for the fog, clouds, and rain.  “It’s ANOTHER blustery day!” shouts Jack, thrilled by any weather.

I’ve been enjoying local food steadily, but don’t have a steady stream of internet access.  I’m sitting in a corner in the “Atheneum”–the town library–right now, but I forgot to upload the great pictures I took last night of three tunas being butchered dockside.

So… more on tuna and other treasures of the sea, and the organic farm, and Something Natural, later.

Jack and I enjoyed a simple meal on the ferry on the way over: slices of Jarlsberg, “crispy wheats,” amber ale, lemondade.

Jack ferry

His favorite part was watching the wake.

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Artist friends, look at this!

Purple beans

Look at these colors.  They don’t spring out.  They are dark and intuitional, like Arthur Dove’s.  Not as overt as Georgia O’Keefe’s, though I’m asking you to look at the small, wet extremity that splits the color spectrum into two.

It’s shocking, disappointing, and then, simply life.  These beans, when boiled, go from purple to green.  The most intense purple, deep, darkly fertile.  To green.  Basic beany green.

Romano.  String. Wax. Green.  Jack and the bean stalk.  There’s still some magic, despite the Anglo-Saxon simplicity of name.

Jack's sprout

Jack is thrilled to see his bean coming to fruition. Fruition. It is a fruit. First the little, tender stem. Then, the tiny, furled leaf.  He planted it in a Dixie cup full of soil. He didn’t, and doesn’t, know what it was.  But his enthusiasm for the greenness of the green shoot is boundless.  He’s contemplative, in awe, amazed, incredulous, proud. It’s a pleasure to watch. Does it have anything to do with his asking, “Mommy, why did you decide to grow a baby? … I mean me?”

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