For several weeks, I have been thinking about giving out the recipe for a special dessert I often make at this time of year when I have my annual party. It’s a dessert that is hard to explain if you have never had it or seen it. It is called “Miserable”, and it comes from the recipe collection of my friend, Annie, an important part of my life in Belgium.
Her son, George, who is my age and with whom I grew up, asked her to make this dessert for his birthday and so with her love of challenges and adventures, she somehow managed to get the recipe from a famous pastry shop in Brussels where you see them lined up in the window display, artfully decorated and priced out of my range. Annie’s grandfather was a pastry chef and I think she somehow inherited not only his recipes but also his skill in the kitchen. Her kitchen has always been very practical and complete. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed many a good dinner at her family’s table, the most memorable sharing a family Christmas with all the extended family. Annie’s warm personality makes her a perfect hostess. Her laughter coupled with good food made me feel a part of the family at this fancy yet low key gathering.
Several years ago, when she made the trek to Goshen to see her friends, Annie brought along the recipe for “Miserable” and her goal was to teach me how to make it. So we spent one afternoon together at the bakery and she showed me the steps to making the meringue and the butter cream that form this incredible dessert. As we worked side by side, alternatively peering over the other’s shoulder as we whisked the egg yolks over the flame and whipped the egg whites to a stiff peak, we caught up on each other’s lives. She told me stories about her children and her piano lessons. I shared my dreams and caught her up on my family’s doings. At one point, engrossed as I was in talking, I inadvertently put an egg white where an egg yolk should have been. And I will never forget what she said to me in French: “Oh, miserable! You can’t do that!” I had to laugh when I realized that we were making just that!
Every year, when I throw my annual party, I think of Annie as I make this dessert. And every year, when people eat it, they say the same thing: “What was that dessert? I think it was the best thing here!” if they have never had it; “Ah, that miserable!” if they they are having it again.
Two days before my party, I received a phone call from Lansing, Michigan. The voice on the other end informed me that she had been in my shop eight years ago and had asked me for the recipe for the Miserable. She had had it once or twice and could not get it our of her mind. Eight years later, I told her I would write an article about it and post it on my blog so that she can finally try to make it herself. She told me that she thinks about it regularly and when I told her I would post the recipe, she said that I wouldn’t know how happy she would be to get it.
So what is this Miserable? It’s a layer of coffee butter cream sandwiched between two layers of almond meringue and then lightly sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. You will be miserable until you have it and once you eat it, you will be miserable until you have it again!
Miserable
(For this recipe, you need a scale. We had to translate the French grams into weight.)
Meringue:
6 or 7 egg whites (use egg yolks for butter cream below)
3.2 oz white sugar
8 1/2 oz. ground blanched almonds
8 1/2 oz. white sugar
1.6 oz flour
Beat egg whites, adding sugar slowly, until they form soft peaks. Mix ground almonds, sugar and flour together. Then gently fold egg whites into the almonds until well incorporated.
Prepare two loaf pans: grease and flour them and place a piece of parchment paper on the bottom. Divide almond meringue between the two. Bake at 375 degrees for about a half an hour or until set and just starting to turn brown. Immediately but gently turn out of pan and remove the parchment paper. Let cool.
Butter cream:
6 1/2 oz white sugar
4 large egg yolks
1/3 c. very strong coffee, cooled to room temperature
1/2 lb. butter at room temperature
Put sugar and egg yolks in sauce pan. Whisk until the sugar is dissolved and the mixture looks the colour of lemon. Slowly stir in the coffee. On a medium flame, whisk the mixture until small bubbles appear (temperature 165 or 170 degrees). Quickly remove from flame and immediately pour into a glass bowl. Let cool until it reaches room temperature. With a beater, beat the egg mixture with the butter until the mixture becomes creamy. It will take a little bit of time (5 minutes or so) for it to pass from the curdled stage to the creamy stage.
Place a layer of meringue on a platter, fill with the butter cream. Place second layer on top. Lightly sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar. Keep refrigerated until needed. Take it out of the refrigerator an hour before serving.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
December starts the holidays - Marzipan
Early December is when I start to celebrate the holidays. I wait for Thanksgiving’s food and family time to slowly unwind, then I’m ready for a whole new decor. Out with the orange and brown; in with the green, red and white. It all starts with the first Sunday in Advent. I find the five candlesticks I set aside in my drawer, go down to the basement to find our well-worn advent candleholder that Jim crafted many years ago and has many layers of wax from many advents. I set it on a tray on our dining room table surrounded by boughs of greenery. I’ll be ready to light it when the time is right. Growing up, our family had this tradition and I continue it to this day. Somehow the lighting of the candles, Sunday by Sunday, is a way to measure the passage of time. The light of the candles at this dark time of year brings hope and I like to think of this when I set the match to the wick.
In Belgium, early December announces the coming of St. Nicholas Day. Celebrated on December 6, this is when St. Nicholas, patron saint of children, comes to town on his donkey. He walks down the street with his impressive red velvet stole, his hands covered in white gloves, his fingers with jeweled rings. He holds a scepter of gold and as a child, I didn’t know if I liked him or was awed by him. He seemed to be a kind man despite all the religious finery and pomposity. Following him, Black Peter strode with a whip and a bundle of coal. For those who misbehaved, a lump of coal was the only gift.
The eve of December 6, we would put out our shoes at the bottom of the steps, hoping that St. Nicholas would come to our house. A large carrot was an added incentive for his donkey. The next morning, we would have a few small gifts left behind. St. Nicholas always brought oranges and chocolate coins wrapped in gold. He would also leave behind Speculoos, a spicy molded brown sugar cookie, and marzipan, shaped in fruit. With my daughters, a Christmas ornament was always part of the gift. Once St. Nicholas had come we knew it would only be a few more weeks until the Christmas gatherings.
During this time of year, I knew I could go to the bakery down the street and buy marzipan freshly made. A large metal cone would sit on the counter. A long coil of marzipan was wrapped around it, piled as high as it could go. It looked a little like the tower of Babel to my young eyes. The baker’s helper would cut off the amount I wanted and weigh it on a scale. After wrapping it in shiny white paper, she would hand it to me in exchange for my money. As I headed out into the street, I would start to nibble on it as I walked home. I love that stuff.
Once I moved here, I decided trying to make my own. My Belgian neighbor, Madame Vanderbeck, had given me the recipe. Since then I have made many batches. Sometimes I’ve taken it and rolled it into tiny potatoes which are then rolled in cocoa. Sometimes I have made fruit shapes with it and colored it with food coloring. I also put it in bread as a sweet filling. All I know is that it isn’t yet the holidays if I haven’t had a little marzipan. Here’s my recipe. Hope you enjoy it too.
Marzipan
2 1/2 c. finely ground blanched almonds
2 1/2 c. confectioner's sugar
1 large egg white
2 t. almond extract
Mix all the ingredients together. Knead until malleable. Shape as desired.
In Belgium, early December announces the coming of St. Nicholas Day. Celebrated on December 6, this is when St. Nicholas, patron saint of children, comes to town on his donkey. He walks down the street with his impressive red velvet stole, his hands covered in white gloves, his fingers with jeweled rings. He holds a scepter of gold and as a child, I didn’t know if I liked him or was awed by him. He seemed to be a kind man despite all the religious finery and pomposity. Following him, Black Peter strode with a whip and a bundle of coal. For those who misbehaved, a lump of coal was the only gift.
The eve of December 6, we would put out our shoes at the bottom of the steps, hoping that St. Nicholas would come to our house. A large carrot was an added incentive for his donkey. The next morning, we would have a few small gifts left behind. St. Nicholas always brought oranges and chocolate coins wrapped in gold. He would also leave behind Speculoos, a spicy molded brown sugar cookie, and marzipan, shaped in fruit. With my daughters, a Christmas ornament was always part of the gift. Once St. Nicholas had come we knew it would only be a few more weeks until the Christmas gatherings.
During this time of year, I knew I could go to the bakery down the street and buy marzipan freshly made. A large metal cone would sit on the counter. A long coil of marzipan was wrapped around it, piled as high as it could go. It looked a little like the tower of Babel to my young eyes. The baker’s helper would cut off the amount I wanted and weigh it on a scale. After wrapping it in shiny white paper, she would hand it to me in exchange for my money. As I headed out into the street, I would start to nibble on it as I walked home. I love that stuff.
Once I moved here, I decided trying to make my own. My Belgian neighbor, Madame Vanderbeck, had given me the recipe. Since then I have made many batches. Sometimes I’ve taken it and rolled it into tiny potatoes which are then rolled in cocoa. Sometimes I have made fruit shapes with it and colored it with food coloring. I also put it in bread as a sweet filling. All I know is that it isn’t yet the holidays if I haven’t had a little marzipan. Here’s my recipe. Hope you enjoy it too.
Marzipan
2 1/2 c. finely ground blanched almonds
2 1/2 c. confectioner's sugar
1 large egg white
2 t. almond extract
Mix all the ingredients together. Knead until malleable. Shape as desired.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
God answers prayers -- Potato Corn Chowder
Out my window today, I watch the sky in various shades of grey and I see the snow as it flurries, as it squalls, as it gently touches down on the ground and turns everything into delicate white lines. I’m happy to see it and thankful for an ever-changing scene. With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I think of other times and other snows.
When I was growing up Belgium, I was a part of a church youth group. We were a fairly close knit group who all went to the same school and participated in all of the church activities. We were friends and our parents were also friends. We each had our quirks but together we became a pretty close unit. My friend, Martin’s family were co-owners of a large farming property down in southern Belgium. He and his sister were both part of the youth group and they also lived right beside the church.
One late autumn when the youth group decided to have a weekend retreat, their family offered the use of the farm, “La Bicoque”, to us. So the trip was planned. My parents were to be the leaders and both my sister and I were to go along. As the group organized for the trip, my father, who was also the pastor of our church, suggested that everyone bring along their skis and sleds. The area where this farm was located was in the rolling hills of southern Belgium, out in the country where, if there were snow, these items would come in handy. Unfortunately, Belgium does not often get a lot of snow, not like Elkhart County. In fact, when it does snow there, everything stops because people aren’t used to driving on snowy roads. Cars spin out and slide and there is no heavy equipment to sand and salt the roads.
So on this note, my father’s urging us to bring our winter gear was taken with a grain of salt. Interestingly enough, everyone complied laughing at the possibilities. My father, falling into his role as guide of faith, suggested that we pray about it. “God answers prayer. He may not answer as we want but I will pray for snow.” Again, the group squeezed out some giggles and went along for the ride. My father was known to be unconventional in his church ministry and so to them, his suggestion was no surprise.
The trip down was uneventful. We were greeted by the caretakers and found our rooms. We unpacked and got the big house warmed up with a good fire. After a prayer of thanks for the safe trip and a call for blessings upon our gathering, my father added a precise request for a nighttime snowfall. We had a simple but tasty meal around the big wooden farmhouse table, enjoying good bread and soup shared with friends. After a time of reflection and later, some games, we all went to bed.
The next morning, the smell of coffee woke us up. Within the confines of the farm, the world outside seemed muted and still. But when we looked out the windows, we knew why. During the night, a beautiful white blanket of snow had covered the countryside and turned it into another world. My father’s prayers had worked. The unbelievers were surprised and quiet. Before starting in on breakfast, a prayer of thanks was given for the overnight snow and the answer to prayer. And then we all headed out with our skis and our sleds and spent an active morning enjoying our extra blessing. Those who were a part of that group will never forget my father’s faith in the possibility of snow. And as we remember it, laughing, we know that it was a good model of hope. Here is a good recipe to warm yourselves up after a roll in the snow.
Potato Corn Chowder
4 potatoes, diced
4 c. water
1 bay leaf
1/4 t. dried sage
1/2 t. cumin seeds
In large pot, bring above ingredients to a boil then simmer 15- 20 minutes, until tender.
3 T. butter
1 onion, minced
3 T. flour
1 1/4 c. cream
1 can corn
1/4 t. nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste
2 T. each chives and parsley, minced
1 1/2 c. swiss cheese, grated
1/2 c. white wine
In saucepan, melt butter and saute onion until translucent. Add flour and mix well. Add cream, whisking well. Pour into soup and add corn, chives, parsley, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Simmer for ten minutes. Stir in cheese and wine. Heat until cheese is melted.
When I was growing up Belgium, I was a part of a church youth group. We were a fairly close knit group who all went to the same school and participated in all of the church activities. We were friends and our parents were also friends. We each had our quirks but together we became a pretty close unit. My friend, Martin’s family were co-owners of a large farming property down in southern Belgium. He and his sister were both part of the youth group and they also lived right beside the church.
One late autumn when the youth group decided to have a weekend retreat, their family offered the use of the farm, “La Bicoque”, to us. So the trip was planned. My parents were to be the leaders and both my sister and I were to go along. As the group organized for the trip, my father, who was also the pastor of our church, suggested that everyone bring along their skis and sleds. The area where this farm was located was in the rolling hills of southern Belgium, out in the country where, if there were snow, these items would come in handy. Unfortunately, Belgium does not often get a lot of snow, not like Elkhart County. In fact, when it does snow there, everything stops because people aren’t used to driving on snowy roads. Cars spin out and slide and there is no heavy equipment to sand and salt the roads.
So on this note, my father’s urging us to bring our winter gear was taken with a grain of salt. Interestingly enough, everyone complied laughing at the possibilities. My father, falling into his role as guide of faith, suggested that we pray about it. “God answers prayer. He may not answer as we want but I will pray for snow.” Again, the group squeezed out some giggles and went along for the ride. My father was known to be unconventional in his church ministry and so to them, his suggestion was no surprise.
The trip down was uneventful. We were greeted by the caretakers and found our rooms. We unpacked and got the big house warmed up with a good fire. After a prayer of thanks for the safe trip and a call for blessings upon our gathering, my father added a precise request for a nighttime snowfall. We had a simple but tasty meal around the big wooden farmhouse table, enjoying good bread and soup shared with friends. After a time of reflection and later, some games, we all went to bed.
The next morning, the smell of coffee woke us up. Within the confines of the farm, the world outside seemed muted and still. But when we looked out the windows, we knew why. During the night, a beautiful white blanket of snow had covered the countryside and turned it into another world. My father’s prayers had worked. The unbelievers were surprised and quiet. Before starting in on breakfast, a prayer of thanks was given for the overnight snow and the answer to prayer. And then we all headed out with our skis and our sleds and spent an active morning enjoying our extra blessing. Those who were a part of that group will never forget my father’s faith in the possibility of snow. And as we remember it, laughing, we know that it was a good model of hope. Here is a good recipe to warm yourselves up after a roll in the snow.
Potato Corn Chowder
4 potatoes, diced
4 c. water
1 bay leaf
1/4 t. dried sage
1/2 t. cumin seeds
In large pot, bring above ingredients to a boil then simmer 15- 20 minutes, until tender.
3 T. butter
1 onion, minced
3 T. flour
1 1/4 c. cream
1 can corn
1/4 t. nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste
2 T. each chives and parsley, minced
1 1/2 c. swiss cheese, grated
1/2 c. white wine
In saucepan, melt butter and saute onion until translucent. Add flour and mix well. Add cream, whisking well. Pour into soup and add corn, chives, parsley, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Simmer for ten minutes. Stir in cheese and wine. Heat until cheese is melted.
An interesting walk in the dark -- Simple Bean Casserole
On a dark and chilly night, I head out for a walk in my neighborhood. My jacket keeps me warm against the biting wind but the drizzling rain feels a little like icicles scratching my face. I step gingerly trying to avoid the biggest puddles along the uneven sidewalk. It’s late and I walk as though I’m the only one out on the street when suddenly, I see a bicycle racing towards me. I stop short afraid the rider can’t see me and at the last second he veers off into a driveway. I plod on, trying to regain my walking rhythm. One, two, right, left. To my left, I see three huddled shapes that turn into three young men, out in the weather smoking. I try to walk by unobtrusively but hear a shout, “Hey, soldier! Hey, playboy!” They must be addressing someone else but I do speed up as I continue down the alley. Suddenly, out of my left eye, I see a human shape coming at me from the left. I freeze for an instant, scared, but it silently glides by engulfed in its own world.
I’m thinking that so far, this has been an interesting walk in the neighborhood. Then I hear a whistle. I can’t tell if it’s meant for me. The second time around, I realize it’s not a wolf whistle because it’s followed by a man’s voice calling, “Sunshine! Sunshine! Here, sunshine!” I’m slightly afraid that a huge dog will come bounding out of the yard ahead but after I pass the pet seeker, I finally get into my walking groove. A brisk step accompanies the intake of fresh air. My muscles, sore from a long day at work, slowly warm up and move me along. Despite the chill and dampness, I find energy and solace in this ritual.
I turn the corner into the darkest portion of my walk. This side street has little light and barely any sidewalk. As I head for the brighter main street, a cat crosses my path. I lean down to pet its white and black fur and realize at the last second that this cat is a skunk! I take in the beautiful shiny black fur with a broad shaggy stripe of white, a cute pointy nose and a long tail before both I and it discover we were not meant for each other. I veer into the street, he darts for the yard and laughing out loud, I reach the broader avenue.
Now it’s just a straight walk back to my house. Hands in my pockets, I ponder my outing, and again, I hear female voices calling for Sunshine, Sunshine. So I join in as I walk. “Sunshine, where are you?” All of sudden, I lose my footing on something soft and slippery. I think I just stepped on a dead squirrel. How further is it to my house?!
I see the porch light shining through the moist air. I turn into my entry, glad to be home. On the unheated front porch, I take off my wet and dirty shoes then make my way into the warm inner sanctum, plop myself down on the couch and say to Jim, “I just had a very interesting walk.” I tell the story. We have a good laugh. And now we wonder if maybe I did find Sunshine and just didn’t know it! I hope your walks are joyous and bright. And when you get home, maybe you’ll find a pot beans cooking in the oven for supper.
Simple Bean Casserole
Fry together:
1 lb. ground chuck
1 onion, chopped
In a round casserole dish, mix:
2 c. cooked kidney beans
2 c. cooked butter beans
2 c. cooked pinto beans
You can use canned beans. Just make sure to drain and rinse.
Mix in:
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. catsup
2 T. vinegar
pinch of salt
Add meat and onion. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for one hour.
I’m thinking that so far, this has been an interesting walk in the neighborhood. Then I hear a whistle. I can’t tell if it’s meant for me. The second time around, I realize it’s not a wolf whistle because it’s followed by a man’s voice calling, “Sunshine! Sunshine! Here, sunshine!” I’m slightly afraid that a huge dog will come bounding out of the yard ahead but after I pass the pet seeker, I finally get into my walking groove. A brisk step accompanies the intake of fresh air. My muscles, sore from a long day at work, slowly warm up and move me along. Despite the chill and dampness, I find energy and solace in this ritual.
I turn the corner into the darkest portion of my walk. This side street has little light and barely any sidewalk. As I head for the brighter main street, a cat crosses my path. I lean down to pet its white and black fur and realize at the last second that this cat is a skunk! I take in the beautiful shiny black fur with a broad shaggy stripe of white, a cute pointy nose and a long tail before both I and it discover we were not meant for each other. I veer into the street, he darts for the yard and laughing out loud, I reach the broader avenue.
Now it’s just a straight walk back to my house. Hands in my pockets, I ponder my outing, and again, I hear female voices calling for Sunshine, Sunshine. So I join in as I walk. “Sunshine, where are you?” All of sudden, I lose my footing on something soft and slippery. I think I just stepped on a dead squirrel. How further is it to my house?!
I see the porch light shining through the moist air. I turn into my entry, glad to be home. On the unheated front porch, I take off my wet and dirty shoes then make my way into the warm inner sanctum, plop myself down on the couch and say to Jim, “I just had a very interesting walk.” I tell the story. We have a good laugh. And now we wonder if maybe I did find Sunshine and just didn’t know it! I hope your walks are joyous and bright. And when you get home, maybe you’ll find a pot beans cooking in the oven for supper.
Simple Bean Casserole
Fry together:
1 lb. ground chuck
1 onion, chopped
In a round casserole dish, mix:
2 c. cooked kidney beans
2 c. cooked butter beans
2 c. cooked pinto beans
You can use canned beans. Just make sure to drain and rinse.
Mix in:
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. catsup
2 T. vinegar
pinch of salt
Add meat and onion. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for one hour.
Food shares hope with others -- Apple Nut Pudding
As the rain gently falls and the leaves slowly spiral down, it sometimes feels like the world around me is dreary and dying. I like the feel of the raindrops against my skin as I run through the woods. Everything glistens and drips and the last of the fall colours still try to shine through. But autumn is the season of closure and with winter not far behind, it might seem like an endless downward spiral of dried up dreams and hopes. What keeps me going in those more dismal times are the glimmers I see around me of growth and colour: the smell of pine cones on my fingers, the last bunch of parsley in the garden, the greenness of mint against the crumpled leaves, the activity of birds and squirrels despite inclement weather. Maybe that’s what keeps me hanging on until another spring comes around.
Despite the troubles that I face, the pain I endure, the losses I suffer, as long as I have that little glimmer of hope, I feel that I can make it to a brighter day. Throughout history humans have lived through incredible odds. Sometimes faith, sometimes a relationship or even something in the natural world has sustained those living in the autumn of life. And somehow we know in our guts that the spring will come again as it has time and time again.
I’m reminded of a story told to me by a man who spent time in hiding during World War II. With the very real thought of life and death in front of him, his one solace was the bread that a village woman brought to his hiding place every day. That sustained him through a very tough period and maybe that’s why he is still alive today.
During a tough part of my life, when I lost my job and our family had no income, I discovered a strength within myself that I didn’t know I had. I also found that a community surrounded me. So today I want to be part of that community where we all feel each other’s pain and find a way to ease it.
Food has often played a part in that sharing of hope with others. We often cook and bake when others are sick or have lost a family member or are in transition. Sharing food is an intimate act that conveys our care and our hope. Making food for others can also energize the giver. So hope can grow as we share together.
Obviously, the slowing down of nature turns my thoughts inward. So enough philosophizing. Share your hopes with others. Here is an autumn dessert my mother made that provided a glimmer of good in my world. I hope it does in yours.
Apple Nut Pudding
1/2 c. flour
2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
2 eggs
1 c. brown sugar
2 t. vanilla
1 c. chopped walnuts
1 c. chopped apples
Mix flour, baking powder and salt. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs well, add sugar and beat with a mixer until creamy. Stir in the dry ingredients and mix. Add vanilla, nuts and apples. Pour this mixture into a well-greased 10 inch pie pan and bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes or until set. Serve warm with whipped cream. Serves six.
Despite the troubles that I face, the pain I endure, the losses I suffer, as long as I have that little glimmer of hope, I feel that I can make it to a brighter day. Throughout history humans have lived through incredible odds. Sometimes faith, sometimes a relationship or even something in the natural world has sustained those living in the autumn of life. And somehow we know in our guts that the spring will come again as it has time and time again.
I’m reminded of a story told to me by a man who spent time in hiding during World War II. With the very real thought of life and death in front of him, his one solace was the bread that a village woman brought to his hiding place every day. That sustained him through a very tough period and maybe that’s why he is still alive today.
During a tough part of my life, when I lost my job and our family had no income, I discovered a strength within myself that I didn’t know I had. I also found that a community surrounded me. So today I want to be part of that community where we all feel each other’s pain and find a way to ease it.
Food has often played a part in that sharing of hope with others. We often cook and bake when others are sick or have lost a family member or are in transition. Sharing food is an intimate act that conveys our care and our hope. Making food for others can also energize the giver. So hope can grow as we share together.
Obviously, the slowing down of nature turns my thoughts inward. So enough philosophizing. Share your hopes with others. Here is an autumn dessert my mother made that provided a glimmer of good in my world. I hope it does in yours.
Apple Nut Pudding
1/2 c. flour
2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
2 eggs
1 c. brown sugar
2 t. vanilla
1 c. chopped walnuts
1 c. chopped apples
Mix flour, baking powder and salt. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs well, add sugar and beat with a mixer until creamy. Stir in the dry ingredients and mix. Add vanilla, nuts and apples. Pour this mixture into a well-greased 10 inch pie pan and bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes or until set. Serve warm with whipped cream. Serves six.
It feels like Christmas - Hawaiian Rice Casserole
A week ago today, I awoke from a deep and refreshing sleep. I could see that the light of a new day had come as my body and mind slowly focused. No alarm had called out the time; only the natural end of sleep prodded me awake. Outside the cocoon of blankets, the room felt chilly and fresh. I sniffed the air; there was just something there. Everything felt right with the world and I said aloud to Jim, “ It feels like Christmas morning.”
Have you ever had that feeling? It’s a feeling that gives you comfort, a sense of wonder, a satisfied fullness and maybe a realization that despite all the bad news, there’s a place where I’m free from all that because the good things outweigh the bad, even if it’s just for that moment.
I think the reason I felt this way came from the day before. With the season slowly turning from summer to fall, and the first few days of frosty weather knocking at the door, I planned a seasonal get-together with my coworkers. Just as I do for any holiday, before I have people over, I like to get my house in order for myself. So we did our recycling, picked up our magazines and papers, vacuumed and mopped and generally made the little house sparkle a bit. Then there was the shopping. I went to the market and bought acorn, butternut and kabocha squash and long island cheese pumpkins, bags of McIntosh apples, a jug of fresh cider and lanky leeks. I brought up some tomatoes from the canning shelf in the basement. I bought some cheeses, including ricotta, parmesan and goat, and found a lemon in my fridge. I brought out the black currant wine that our friend, Vicki brought back from South Dakota, made from currants grown on her brother’s farm. I brought home some of the plump, smooth chestnuts that Darrel Weirich brought to me in his bucket from his farm. And I also found a pomegranate at Martin’s! It is a joyful thing when I’m gathering good things to eat and thinking of good friends.
So now I was ready to make some good food in step with the season. We started with cheeses and nuts, coupled with black currant wine. Then we dug into roasted vegetables with pumpkin goat cheese dip, a butternut squash and leek gratin, wontons filled with a butternut and cheese filling, baked and served with a spicy tomato sauce, bread as needed, and an arugula and greens salad with sliced apples, asiago cheese and pomegranate seeds. For dessert, I whipped up some chocolate lava cakes and we ate them piping hot from the oven with good vanilla ice cream. Then I remembered the green tea with roses that a friend brought back from India. As the tea steeped, I roasted chestnuts. So we pushed back our chairs and relaxed with our mugs of hot tea and warmed our hands peeling chestnuts to eat. Good food, good conversations (yes, we had to pull out the dictionary!) and some entertaining cats gave our bodies good memories. And that’s why, the next morning after everyone is gone, there is still that feeling in the air of Christmas.
Later on that week, Jim and I make a comforting casserole after a brisk walk at the park. I’ll leave you with that recipe which came to me from Elizabeth Bauman, a friend who has passed on but was a mother to me for a little while and shared Christmas with me.
Hawaiian Rice Casserole
Brown in large skillet:
1 lb. ground chuck
1 medium onion, chopped
Add:
2 c. chopped mushrooms
Stir in:
1/4 c. flour
Then 2 c. milk until slightly thickened
In a casserole dish, put:
1 1/2 c. raw rice
2 1/2 t. curry powder
1 clove garlic, minced
1 can pineapple chunks, in their own juice, drained
2 c. water
Stir in the meat mixture and make sure it is evenly distributed.
Bake, covered, for 1 to 1 1/2 hours at 350 degrees, or until liquid is nicely absorbed and rice is tender. Serves 6.
Have you ever had that feeling? It’s a feeling that gives you comfort, a sense of wonder, a satisfied fullness and maybe a realization that despite all the bad news, there’s a place where I’m free from all that because the good things outweigh the bad, even if it’s just for that moment.
I think the reason I felt this way came from the day before. With the season slowly turning from summer to fall, and the first few days of frosty weather knocking at the door, I planned a seasonal get-together with my coworkers. Just as I do for any holiday, before I have people over, I like to get my house in order for myself. So we did our recycling, picked up our magazines and papers, vacuumed and mopped and generally made the little house sparkle a bit. Then there was the shopping. I went to the market and bought acorn, butternut and kabocha squash and long island cheese pumpkins, bags of McIntosh apples, a jug of fresh cider and lanky leeks. I brought up some tomatoes from the canning shelf in the basement. I bought some cheeses, including ricotta, parmesan and goat, and found a lemon in my fridge. I brought out the black currant wine that our friend, Vicki brought back from South Dakota, made from currants grown on her brother’s farm. I brought home some of the plump, smooth chestnuts that Darrel Weirich brought to me in his bucket from his farm. And I also found a pomegranate at Martin’s! It is a joyful thing when I’m gathering good things to eat and thinking of good friends.
So now I was ready to make some good food in step with the season. We started with cheeses and nuts, coupled with black currant wine. Then we dug into roasted vegetables with pumpkin goat cheese dip, a butternut squash and leek gratin, wontons filled with a butternut and cheese filling, baked and served with a spicy tomato sauce, bread as needed, and an arugula and greens salad with sliced apples, asiago cheese and pomegranate seeds. For dessert, I whipped up some chocolate lava cakes and we ate them piping hot from the oven with good vanilla ice cream. Then I remembered the green tea with roses that a friend brought back from India. As the tea steeped, I roasted chestnuts. So we pushed back our chairs and relaxed with our mugs of hot tea and warmed our hands peeling chestnuts to eat. Good food, good conversations (yes, we had to pull out the dictionary!) and some entertaining cats gave our bodies good memories. And that’s why, the next morning after everyone is gone, there is still that feeling in the air of Christmas.
Later on that week, Jim and I make a comforting casserole after a brisk walk at the park. I’ll leave you with that recipe which came to me from Elizabeth Bauman, a friend who has passed on but was a mother to me for a little while and shared Christmas with me.
Hawaiian Rice Casserole
Brown in large skillet:
1 lb. ground chuck
1 medium onion, chopped
Add:
2 c. chopped mushrooms
Stir in:
1/4 c. flour
Then 2 c. milk until slightly thickened
In a casserole dish, put:
1 1/2 c. raw rice
2 1/2 t. curry powder
1 clove garlic, minced
1 can pineapple chunks, in their own juice, drained
2 c. water
Stir in the meat mixture and make sure it is evenly distributed.
Bake, covered, for 1 to 1 1/2 hours at 350 degrees, or until liquid is nicely absorbed and rice is tender. Serves 6.
All Saints Day celebrated in Belgium -- Red Cabbage with Apples and Juniper Berries
I like October with its clear blue skies and striking bright red, orange and yellow leaves. My hands tell me it’s time to wear gloves when I go outside as they dry and turn red. The chill in the early morning air is never quite erased by the sunshine’s warmth. These are the beautiful days of fall.
In Belgium, late October and early November usually meant grey and rainy days, the perfect setting for All Saints Day which we celebrated instead of Halloween. It usually meant a long weekend vacation from school but also represented a time when families gathered to remember those who had gone on before. The first of November was the official holiday so most businesses were closed as well as post offices and banks. More often than not, the weather cooperated with the holiday: dead leaves laying in piles slowly starting to decompose on the wet streets, a chilling rain falling from solid grey skies, and gatherings of people dressed in somber colours stopping at the cemetery to put flowers on family tombstones. The florist would sell chrysanthemums, large bursts of yellow and white coloured flowers, for families to take to the graveyard. After laying the flowers down, and silently remembering the loved ones, everyone would gather together as families to celebrate life.
When I would get back to school the following week, I would hear the stories from my friends. “We drove down south to my aunt’s house and after going to the cemetery, we had an amazing meal. All of my uncles and aunts were there and I even got to see all of my cousins. When the adults started getting crazy, we went out to the backyard and played games. Some of us went hiking around the little village. It was just a great time. Then we drove back and had a quiet weekend at home.” All Saints Day focused on the family both here and gone and somehow reminded us that life and death are a continuous cycle, always present in this world. It seems appropriate that it also coincides with the waning of life in nature, when trees and plants (and even some animals) go dormant.
So when Halloween rolls around and I see the children in costumes and carrying candy bags, I also spend a little time thinking about my family, those that are here and those that are gone, and I feel fortunate to be a part of such a varied family tree.
When the cold and wet days of November come, food becomes warmth. Hearty stews, filling casseroles and piping hot desserts appear on my menu. I make sure to have pasta and rice in my cupboard, along with root vegetables in my pantry basket. One of my favorite combinations is pork served with a red cabbage and apple dish. Featuring both vegetable and fruit and combining sweet with tart, it is one of those dishes that brings the earth to the table and makes me feel solidly a part of this world.
Red Cabbage with Apples and Juniper
1 medium head of red cabbage, sliced thinly
4 apples (I like McIntosh)
3 T. butter
1 red onion, diced
3 juniper berries
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
1/4 c. vegetable stock
1/2 t/ salt
1/2 t. pepper
Cube two of the apples. In a heavy saucepan, melt the butter. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Add cubed apples and sauté until slightly softened. Add cabbage and juniper berries and sauté until cabbage is glistening and color has lightened, about five minutes. Add vinegar and stir. Add stock, salt and pepper and simmer until cabbage is tender, about 15 minutes.
Peel then grate the two remaining apples. Add to the cabbage when it is done cooking. Serve with a good pork roast.
In Belgium, late October and early November usually meant grey and rainy days, the perfect setting for All Saints Day which we celebrated instead of Halloween. It usually meant a long weekend vacation from school but also represented a time when families gathered to remember those who had gone on before. The first of November was the official holiday so most businesses were closed as well as post offices and banks. More often than not, the weather cooperated with the holiday: dead leaves laying in piles slowly starting to decompose on the wet streets, a chilling rain falling from solid grey skies, and gatherings of people dressed in somber colours stopping at the cemetery to put flowers on family tombstones. The florist would sell chrysanthemums, large bursts of yellow and white coloured flowers, for families to take to the graveyard. After laying the flowers down, and silently remembering the loved ones, everyone would gather together as families to celebrate life.
When I would get back to school the following week, I would hear the stories from my friends. “We drove down south to my aunt’s house and after going to the cemetery, we had an amazing meal. All of my uncles and aunts were there and I even got to see all of my cousins. When the adults started getting crazy, we went out to the backyard and played games. Some of us went hiking around the little village. It was just a great time. Then we drove back and had a quiet weekend at home.” All Saints Day focused on the family both here and gone and somehow reminded us that life and death are a continuous cycle, always present in this world. It seems appropriate that it also coincides with the waning of life in nature, when trees and plants (and even some animals) go dormant.
So when Halloween rolls around and I see the children in costumes and carrying candy bags, I also spend a little time thinking about my family, those that are here and those that are gone, and I feel fortunate to be a part of such a varied family tree.
When the cold and wet days of November come, food becomes warmth. Hearty stews, filling casseroles and piping hot desserts appear on my menu. I make sure to have pasta and rice in my cupboard, along with root vegetables in my pantry basket. One of my favorite combinations is pork served with a red cabbage and apple dish. Featuring both vegetable and fruit and combining sweet with tart, it is one of those dishes that brings the earth to the table and makes me feel solidly a part of this world.
Red Cabbage with Apples and Juniper
1 medium head of red cabbage, sliced thinly
4 apples (I like McIntosh)
3 T. butter
1 red onion, diced
3 juniper berries
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
1/4 c. vegetable stock
1/2 t/ salt
1/2 t. pepper
Cube two of the apples. In a heavy saucepan, melt the butter. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Add cubed apples and sauté until slightly softened. Add cabbage and juniper berries and sauté until cabbage is glistening and color has lightened, about five minutes. Add vinegar and stir. Add stock, salt and pepper and simmer until cabbage is tender, about 15 minutes.
Peel then grate the two remaining apples. Add to the cabbage when it is done cooking. Serve with a good pork roast.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Some things are even better paired -- Pumpkin Squash Curry Soup
I bike home on a dark misty night. Leaves carpet the sidewalks and shine out their colour as my bike glides by. Cooler weather and dramatic skies underline the incredible palette on the trees. I ooh and aah quite a bit as I see nature in all its autumn glory. October definitely brings colour to the forefront.
This week, I’ve been thinking about marriages. In my parents bedroom, during my growing up years, a picture hung above their marriage bed. In my memory, it is an etching of a southwestern desert scene. A large bush or tree stands very close to a smaller, rounded cactus. Its title, “Companions”, seems to imply that these two very different forms work well together yet retain their individuality. Though we might not put them together, it somehow works.
All around us, we can see things that are good separately but are even better when joined by another. I’ve heard a gardener friend tell me that when she plants her tomatoes she always makes sure to also plant basil alongside. Basil is a good companion plant for tomatoes. They are said to grow better tomatoes and to detract bugs. And when it’s time to harvest, the two go well as flavours.
In the French vineyards where we walked, we noticed the rose bushes at the end of each row of grapevines. Roses grow in similar conditions to grapes but being more delicate they show disease sooner. So roses in some way protect the grapes and also enhance the vineyards.
This also true of our community. We each have strengths and brought together they make a better whole.
And so it is with foods. A slice of bread by itself is great but add a slice cheese, or even some fresh butter and it is even better. Vanilla ice cream satisfies the stomach but with some hot chocolate sauce ladled over it, it becomes a joy. I appreciate the flavours of each food in its simplest form but I also like to think of ways to mix these tastes and make them even more exciting. So at this time of year, pears, butternut squash and apples all bring their own specific colours to the kitchen counter but mixing them together makes for a happy marriage. That’s how I came up with this hearty autumn soup.
Pumpkin Squash Curry Soup
2 lbs of baked and pureed butternut squash and pumpkin
1 T. butter
2 c. peeled and chopped pears
2 leeks, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1/2 c. celery, chopped
1 bay leaf
2 t. curry powder
1/2 t. cinnamon
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 c. vegetable broth
1 c. apple cider
salt to taste
Melt butter in a soup pot. Add pears, leeks, onions, celery and bay leaf. Sauté for 10 minutes. Stir in curry powder, cinnamon and garlic. Sauté another minute. Add squash, broth, cider and salt. Stir well. Simmer for 30 minutes. Remove bay leaf. Blend with stick blender. Serve.
Originally published in The Goshen News, October 20, 2008
This week, I’ve been thinking about marriages. In my parents bedroom, during my growing up years, a picture hung above their marriage bed. In my memory, it is an etching of a southwestern desert scene. A large bush or tree stands very close to a smaller, rounded cactus. Its title, “Companions”, seems to imply that these two very different forms work well together yet retain their individuality. Though we might not put them together, it somehow works.
All around us, we can see things that are good separately but are even better when joined by another. I’ve heard a gardener friend tell me that when she plants her tomatoes she always makes sure to also plant basil alongside. Basil is a good companion plant for tomatoes. They are said to grow better tomatoes and to detract bugs. And when it’s time to harvest, the two go well as flavours.
In the French vineyards where we walked, we noticed the rose bushes at the end of each row of grapevines. Roses grow in similar conditions to grapes but being more delicate they show disease sooner. So roses in some way protect the grapes and also enhance the vineyards.
This also true of our community. We each have strengths and brought together they make a better whole.
And so it is with foods. A slice of bread by itself is great but add a slice cheese, or even some fresh butter and it is even better. Vanilla ice cream satisfies the stomach but with some hot chocolate sauce ladled over it, it becomes a joy. I appreciate the flavours of each food in its simplest form but I also like to think of ways to mix these tastes and make them even more exciting. So at this time of year, pears, butternut squash and apples all bring their own specific colours to the kitchen counter but mixing them together makes for a happy marriage. That’s how I came up with this hearty autumn soup.
Pumpkin Squash Curry Soup
2 lbs of baked and pureed butternut squash and pumpkin
1 T. butter
2 c. peeled and chopped pears
2 leeks, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1/2 c. celery, chopped
1 bay leaf
2 t. curry powder
1/2 t. cinnamon
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 c. vegetable broth
1 c. apple cider
salt to taste
Melt butter in a soup pot. Add pears, leeks, onions, celery and bay leaf. Sauté for 10 minutes. Stir in curry powder, cinnamon and garlic. Sauté another minute. Add squash, broth, cider and salt. Stir well. Simmer for 30 minutes. Remove bay leaf. Blend with stick blender. Serve.
Originally published in The Goshen News, October 20, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
October celebrations are a time to show appreciation -- Mulled Cider
Once a year, in October, I get a chance to recognize the two most important men in my life: my father and my partner. By now, I’ve lived with the latter longer than with the former but each has left their mark on me and will continue to do so for as long as I live. It’s probably not coincidence that they were both born in October under harvest skies and that, though very different, they both carry traits that I cherish: among them, steadfastness, a streak of stubbornness, a good dose of common sense, a thinking mind and respect from others in their chosen work.
I grew from newborn to college student under my dad’s umbrella. It’s from him that I get my urge to question the world around me and to look ahead with vision. Many times at our supper table, topics discussed required pulling out the heavy encyclopedia to check for a spelling, meaning or definition. To this day, I continue that tradition with a smaller pocketbook dictionary at the bakery. In our conversations there, we often have to dig it out to make sure we understand what we are talking about.
My father also encouraged reading and many a night I read beside him in our living room as he caught up on the latest news and the current literature to keep abreast of the world around him. My mother and he still send magazines my way when they are finished reading them and I will find underlined passages that they have marked as important. Because of his knowledge, he often became my encyclopedia on such subjects as the Vietnam War, utopian societies, European history, art appreciation, theology and faith.
As I grew up watching him, as children will do of their parents, I saw a man who always had an open ear for those who needed help whatever their status or origin. I observed a person who lived out what he believed and yet was open to those who believed differently. I picked up the idea that you have to work hard for what you believe in and always to try and do the best at any job.
Sometimes he became the devil’s advocate to make me think through what I was doing.
And much of this happened at the supper table where our family gathered every night to eat together, often with visitors from all over the world. So it is a privilege to celebrate my dad once a year and as each year passes, I appreciate what he has passed on to me more.
As for the other man in my life, I’m still learning new things from him. That’s what keeps him so interesting. Not to mention that he can fix just about anything and can make us a new kitchen from drawing board to finished product with an eye for beauty as well as use. I don’t need to say much more on his subject. He knows how I feel.
I believe it is good and even necessary to tell those we love around us what we appreciate in them because now is when we can. So today, here is my recipe for mulled cider, appropriate for mid-October festivities. Invite someone over to drink it with and tell them what you appreciate about them, before it’s too late.
Mulled cider
1 gallon cider, local if possible
2 sticks cinnamon
1 1/2 t. allspice
2 t. whole cloves
1 t. grated orange peel
Put the cider in a big pot. Mix in the spices. Bring up to a boil. Immediately, turn down to a simmer for about a half hour. Serve piping hot with pumpkin cookies.
I grew from newborn to college student under my dad’s umbrella. It’s from him that I get my urge to question the world around me and to look ahead with vision. Many times at our supper table, topics discussed required pulling out the heavy encyclopedia to check for a spelling, meaning or definition. To this day, I continue that tradition with a smaller pocketbook dictionary at the bakery. In our conversations there, we often have to dig it out to make sure we understand what we are talking about.
My father also encouraged reading and many a night I read beside him in our living room as he caught up on the latest news and the current literature to keep abreast of the world around him. My mother and he still send magazines my way when they are finished reading them and I will find underlined passages that they have marked as important. Because of his knowledge, he often became my encyclopedia on such subjects as the Vietnam War, utopian societies, European history, art appreciation, theology and faith.
As I grew up watching him, as children will do of their parents, I saw a man who always had an open ear for those who needed help whatever their status or origin. I observed a person who lived out what he believed and yet was open to those who believed differently. I picked up the idea that you have to work hard for what you believe in and always to try and do the best at any job.
Sometimes he became the devil’s advocate to make me think through what I was doing.
And much of this happened at the supper table where our family gathered every night to eat together, often with visitors from all over the world. So it is a privilege to celebrate my dad once a year and as each year passes, I appreciate what he has passed on to me more.
As for the other man in my life, I’m still learning new things from him. That’s what keeps him so interesting. Not to mention that he can fix just about anything and can make us a new kitchen from drawing board to finished product with an eye for beauty as well as use. I don’t need to say much more on his subject. He knows how I feel.
I believe it is good and even necessary to tell those we love around us what we appreciate in them because now is when we can. So today, here is my recipe for mulled cider, appropriate for mid-October festivities. Invite someone over to drink it with and tell them what you appreciate about them, before it’s too late.
Mulled cider
1 gallon cider, local if possible
2 sticks cinnamon
1 1/2 t. allspice
2 t. whole cloves
1 t. grated orange peel
Put the cider in a big pot. Mix in the spices. Bring up to a boil. Immediately, turn down to a simmer for about a half hour. Serve piping hot with pumpkin cookies.
Cooler weather means stockpiling -- Stuffed Acorn Squash
As I bike home from work, a deepening chill seeps through my jacket and up my sleeves. I am glad that I decided to wear gloves so that I can still feel the handlebars. Darkness creeps up slowly and I’ll be home before it has taken over the sky. In the brisk air, I smell the smoke of wood fires. Before me, squirrels scatter carrying walnuts. I’m glad that autumn has finally arrived. With colourful pumpkins and squash, with gourds of all shapes and sizes, with mums and asters blooming and the last of the tomatoes and peppers on the vine, I’m starting to feel like those squirrels. I’m looking for things to store. Apples, tomatoes, peaches and more slowly make their way to the storage shelves. Onions, potatoes and sweet potatoes sit piled in baskets. But this not only happens with food. I also start collecting yarn for knitting, pine cones for crafting and a list of good books that I can read once the weather turns ugly (and it will! We do live in northern Indiana!).
Back when we lived on the farm, we had to make sure we had a good pile of firewood for the winter. Many Saturdays were spent heading out to the woods with Poke and Polly hitched to the wagon and a good ax and chain saw laying in its box. The trips back and forth created a growing stack of logs leaning against the house. We knew that wood would keep us warm through the coming blizzards. That knowledge was our security blanket.
Every fall, I feel the same way. If I can just stockpile a few things, I know that I will make it through until spring. I will feel safe and cozy within these four walls. So that’s why I peel and chop, simmer and cook, stir and ladle until it’s time to can and store away. These jars will preserve the colour and the flavors of summer when the earth is sleeping in its muted blanket of snow.
These days, as the sun glides in and out of dramatic grey skies and all the colours seem a little brighter, I’ve been going mad with squash. Most recently, I took an acorn squash, cut it in half and seeded it, then cut each half into eighths. I brushed each wedge with melted butter, sprinkled them lightly with salt and pepper, and laid a sage leaf from my garden on top of each one. Baked in the oven at 375 degrees for one hour, I served them sprinkled with their own cleaned and toasted seeds. They definitely passed the flavour and colour test.
So go to the market and get yourselves some squash and come up with your own recipe. Here is one I came up with.
Stuffed Acorn Squash
4 small acorn squash
1 T. butter
1/2 large red pepper, diced
1 medium sized onion, chopped
1 lb. bulk salt and pepper sausage, browned
3 c. cooked brown or black rice
1/2 t. pepper
1/2 t. salt
1 c. craisins
a little honey
Cut the squash in half, scoop out seeds and set aside for toasting. Place cut side down on foil-lined baking sheet. Add a little water and bake in 375 degree oven until just tender.
Melt butter in a frying pan, add peppers and onions and sauté until tender. Mix with cooked sausage and rice, salt and pepper, and craisins. Mound in center of squash. Bake in oven until heated through, Drizzle with a little bit of honey and put back into the oven for another five minutes. Serves 8.
Back when we lived on the farm, we had to make sure we had a good pile of firewood for the winter. Many Saturdays were spent heading out to the woods with Poke and Polly hitched to the wagon and a good ax and chain saw laying in its box. The trips back and forth created a growing stack of logs leaning against the house. We knew that wood would keep us warm through the coming blizzards. That knowledge was our security blanket.
Every fall, I feel the same way. If I can just stockpile a few things, I know that I will make it through until spring. I will feel safe and cozy within these four walls. So that’s why I peel and chop, simmer and cook, stir and ladle until it’s time to can and store away. These jars will preserve the colour and the flavors of summer when the earth is sleeping in its muted blanket of snow.
These days, as the sun glides in and out of dramatic grey skies and all the colours seem a little brighter, I’ve been going mad with squash. Most recently, I took an acorn squash, cut it in half and seeded it, then cut each half into eighths. I brushed each wedge with melted butter, sprinkled them lightly with salt and pepper, and laid a sage leaf from my garden on top of each one. Baked in the oven at 375 degrees for one hour, I served them sprinkled with their own cleaned and toasted seeds. They definitely passed the flavour and colour test.
So go to the market and get yourselves some squash and come up with your own recipe. Here is one I came up with.
Stuffed Acorn Squash
4 small acorn squash
1 T. butter
1/2 large red pepper, diced
1 medium sized onion, chopped
1 lb. bulk salt and pepper sausage, browned
3 c. cooked brown or black rice
1/2 t. pepper
1/2 t. salt
1 c. craisins
a little honey
Cut the squash in half, scoop out seeds and set aside for toasting. Place cut side down on foil-lined baking sheet. Add a little water and bake in 375 degree oven until just tender.
Melt butter in a frying pan, add peppers and onions and sauté until tender. Mix with cooked sausage and rice, salt and pepper, and craisins. Mound in center of squash. Bake in oven until heated through, Drizzle with a little bit of honey and put back into the oven for another five minutes. Serves 8.
A walk in the vineyards -- Sweet Focaccia with Grapes
Exactly six years ago to the day, Jim and I are in the midst of a two-month walking trip of France. In a moment of creative brainstorming and looking to the future, we come upon this idea: a two-month hiatus from life-as-usual, a starting over of sorts, a change of pace to clear our minds and bodies. Our youngest has flown the coop and our lives are in a groove; it’s now or never. We dream of walking the Appalachian Trail but after perusing a book about walking in France, we’ve taken our first steps and find ourselves at the edge of a new adventure. We want to get to know France on foot for 2 months. And so it is that at the end of September, we begin our third walking tour by taking the train from Paris to Strasbourg and then a shuttle train to the small town of Barr where we get off in the dark and find our way to the bed and breakfast for the night. Our hostess, next morning over a breakfast of homemade bread and jams and piping hot coffee, tells us there is not really much to see in this town. Our goal is to take the train to the next town and then walk our way up and through and down the mountains and vineyards to another town. So we head out in the rain, loaded with our backpacks, towards the train station and decide to walk through the center of town. There we discover old, old houses with exposed timber on their second floors and painted an array of colours, blue, yellow, green,. pink, orange, with flowers hanging along the balconies. The streets are paved with old cobblestones that wind around to the town fountain, also decorated with flowers. Despite our hostess’ comment, we think it is one of the quaintest places we’ve ever seen, even in the rain!
We buy our trail map for this leg of the journey and start our hike in the town of Scherwiller. The air here is cooler and it seems like fall is in the air. The rain comes and goes as we fall into a walking rhythm. We have dropped down into the middle of the vineyards of northeastern France. The grapevines are loaded with fruit and we see the beginning of activity at the local wine properties. Even in the rain, tractors go by pulling loads of grapes and here and there, through an open door, we spot men bottling wine. Though our path takes us through the flat lands, all around us we see slopes and mountains. The colours of fall are everywhere. We are amazed at the beautiful houses, very nicely kept up, and at the age of some of the buildings. It’s hard to tell where one town stops and the next begins because it is all vineyards. But each little town has its own central hub with a church and a bakery and a little grocery shop. At one of these, we stop to gather provisions since we don’t know when the next one will be. We finally arrive at our next lodging in the town of Kientzheim. Here again, the grape growers are hard at work, picking, filling tubs full and loading them onto tractors for the ride back to the farm. We can even smell the grapes all around us. We soon spot our bed and breakfast and our hostess shows us to our room. When she finds out that we have been walking a ways in the rain, she quickly turns on the heat in our room and then leaves us to settle in. This tiny hamlet is right next to the mountain so we decide to test our legs on the very steep slope up to the top. We will have to climb this hill tomorrow with our packs on! After an all-day wet and exciting walk through the vineyards, we are ready for some down time. We spy a pizza place across the street and decide to splurge. We enter into a cozy space where it’s quiet and the owners themselves come to take our orders and serve us. We eat some delicious homemade pizzas and enjoy some wine and take our time as our legs slowly relax and our minds slowly unwind. Then it’s a quick dash through the autumn rain back to the bed and breakfast for a good night’s sleep among the vineyards so we will be ready to climb that mountain tomorrow. So here comes autumn in Indiana six years later and the following recipe takes me back to those vineyards of Alsace, France.
Sweet Focaccia with grapes
3 1/3 c. warm water
3 1/3 T. yeast
3/4 c. brown sugar
2 t. cinnamon
1 T. salt
1/2 lb. butter, softened
3 1/3 c. white flour
In a bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. Let sit for 5 minutes. Add 1 1/2 c. of flour, brown sugar, cinnamon and salt. Mix well. Then mix in butter. Add remaining flour as needed, kneading gently until dough forms a smooth ball. Cover and let rise for one hour. Divide into 1-lb pieces. Grease some cookie sheets. Flatten each piece by hand into a 7 inch circle. Let rest a half hour.
While dough is rising, cut in half 1 c. cup of green grapes and 1 c. of red grapes. Mix with a little sugar, and a little wine. When circles have rested, make shallow indentations in them with your fingertips, brush them lightly with vanilla yogurt, then sprinkle on the grapes, pushing them gently into the dough. Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes or so, just until the dough starts to turn brown around the edges. These are especially good on a rainy fall day!
We buy our trail map for this leg of the journey and start our hike in the town of Scherwiller. The air here is cooler and it seems like fall is in the air. The rain comes and goes as we fall into a walking rhythm. We have dropped down into the middle of the vineyards of northeastern France. The grapevines are loaded with fruit and we see the beginning of activity at the local wine properties. Even in the rain, tractors go by pulling loads of grapes and here and there, through an open door, we spot men bottling wine. Though our path takes us through the flat lands, all around us we see slopes and mountains. The colours of fall are everywhere. We are amazed at the beautiful houses, very nicely kept up, and at the age of some of the buildings. It’s hard to tell where one town stops and the next begins because it is all vineyards. But each little town has its own central hub with a church and a bakery and a little grocery shop. At one of these, we stop to gather provisions since we don’t know when the next one will be. We finally arrive at our next lodging in the town of Kientzheim. Here again, the grape growers are hard at work, picking, filling tubs full and loading them onto tractors for the ride back to the farm. We can even smell the grapes all around us. We soon spot our bed and breakfast and our hostess shows us to our room. When she finds out that we have been walking a ways in the rain, she quickly turns on the heat in our room and then leaves us to settle in. This tiny hamlet is right next to the mountain so we decide to test our legs on the very steep slope up to the top. We will have to climb this hill tomorrow with our packs on! After an all-day wet and exciting walk through the vineyards, we are ready for some down time. We spy a pizza place across the street and decide to splurge. We enter into a cozy space where it’s quiet and the owners themselves come to take our orders and serve us. We eat some delicious homemade pizzas and enjoy some wine and take our time as our legs slowly relax and our minds slowly unwind. Then it’s a quick dash through the autumn rain back to the bed and breakfast for a good night’s sleep among the vineyards so we will be ready to climb that mountain tomorrow. So here comes autumn in Indiana six years later and the following recipe takes me back to those vineyards of Alsace, France.
Sweet Focaccia with grapes
3 1/3 c. warm water
3 1/3 T. yeast
3/4 c. brown sugar
2 t. cinnamon
1 T. salt
1/2 lb. butter, softened
3 1/3 c. white flour
In a bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. Let sit for 5 minutes. Add 1 1/2 c. of flour, brown sugar, cinnamon and salt. Mix well. Then mix in butter. Add remaining flour as needed, kneading gently until dough forms a smooth ball. Cover and let rise for one hour. Divide into 1-lb pieces. Grease some cookie sheets. Flatten each piece by hand into a 7 inch circle. Let rest a half hour.
While dough is rising, cut in half 1 c. cup of green grapes and 1 c. of red grapes. Mix with a little sugar, and a little wine. When circles have rested, make shallow indentations in them with your fingertips, brush them lightly with vanilla yogurt, then sprinkle on the grapes, pushing them gently into the dough. Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes or so, just until the dough starts to turn brown around the edges. These are especially good on a rainy fall day!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Busy cook slows down to truly enjoy life
Have you ever had one of those days that starts out smoothly and you imagine a decent finish and then, all of sudden, it slips out of your hands and dips this way and that and it’s exciting and your friend is here to visit whom you haven’t seen in a long time and the planning meeting you attend takes off and the delivery you were expecting is late and another friend is here to pick up food and the phone rings and the man is here to talk about cheese and... and...and...when you finally emerge out of all of the confusion, you realize that it’s been a pretty good day with a lot of exciting possibilities ahead. Well, I just had a day like that. When I finally biked home, I walked in the house and said to Jim, “Do you want to walk at the park? I think I really need it tonight.” So off we went and as we walked through the woods and grasses, birds around us settling in, I slowly began to quiet my mind and my body enough that I started to think about supper. My energy zapped by the day, I suggested the easy way out--Chinese take-out. As we climbed out of the swamp and paused to look for frogs or turtles, Jim reminded me that we had some pork chops in the refrigerator from “our pig”. He suggested we go home and see what we could come up with for supper.
This is what we found: some new Carola baby potatoes from Dale’s booth at the market, a small bag of pole beans, fresh peaches and yellow onions from Creekside Farms and those famous pork chops. No longer in any hurry, we started up the oven. Jim washed and quartered the potatoes into the green square ceramic dish, tossed them with some olive oil ( a gift from our friends, the Buhrts) and dried herbs brought back from France given to us by the shopkeeper where I bought our colourful tablecloths. Dish number one went into the oven.
I pulled out the pork chops, remembering the time I went to see the pig running about on a summer morning. I laid them in our glass dish. Then I sliced the onion into thin rings and put some on each of the pork chops. A pinch of salt, a spoonful of brown sugar and a tiny bit of catsup went on next. Then, I took some fresh peaches left from my peach canning spree. I cut them in half, pitted them and peeled them carefully. I sliced them onto the pork chops. I decided that would be good enough. I covered the dish with tinfoil and it went into the oven. Half an hour later, as the smell of goodness slowly made its way to our nostrils, I peeked into the oven, stirred the potatoes and took the foil off of the pork chops. Then I tackled the pole beans, washed them and snapped off the ends then put them to steam on the stovetop.
For another half hour, while the stove did its magic, I read the paper and Jim caught up on our e-mail messages. We both emerged from our worlds ready for a true feast. We set the table as darkness enveloped the world, warmed by the stove and the smells in the air. There seemed to be one missing element until I remembered the bottle of wine I had put to chill in the refrigerator. A friend of Jim’s who collects wine had given him a 1995 bottle of Chablis. As I poured it, we marveled at its beautiful colour, and then later, at its complex flavour, a perfect accompaniment to the simple dishes we dug into. As we enjoyed the pleasures of the table, we reflected on the food and its origins, mostly local and provided by friends. We decided we would partake of this over Chinese take-out any day. And so I discovered again that it’s easy to let hurry lead to hurry. But if I slow down, that’s when I will truly enjoy life and what it has to offer.
P.S. The recipe is self-enclosed above.
Published in the Goshen News, September 15, 2008
This is what we found: some new Carola baby potatoes from Dale’s booth at the market, a small bag of pole beans, fresh peaches and yellow onions from Creekside Farms and those famous pork chops. No longer in any hurry, we started up the oven. Jim washed and quartered the potatoes into the green square ceramic dish, tossed them with some olive oil ( a gift from our friends, the Buhrts) and dried herbs brought back from France given to us by the shopkeeper where I bought our colourful tablecloths. Dish number one went into the oven.
I pulled out the pork chops, remembering the time I went to see the pig running about on a summer morning. I laid them in our glass dish. Then I sliced the onion into thin rings and put some on each of the pork chops. A pinch of salt, a spoonful of brown sugar and a tiny bit of catsup went on next. Then, I took some fresh peaches left from my peach canning spree. I cut them in half, pitted them and peeled them carefully. I sliced them onto the pork chops. I decided that would be good enough. I covered the dish with tinfoil and it went into the oven. Half an hour later, as the smell of goodness slowly made its way to our nostrils, I peeked into the oven, stirred the potatoes and took the foil off of the pork chops. Then I tackled the pole beans, washed them and snapped off the ends then put them to steam on the stovetop.
For another half hour, while the stove did its magic, I read the paper and Jim caught up on our e-mail messages. We both emerged from our worlds ready for a true feast. We set the table as darkness enveloped the world, warmed by the stove and the smells in the air. There seemed to be one missing element until I remembered the bottle of wine I had put to chill in the refrigerator. A friend of Jim’s who collects wine had given him a 1995 bottle of Chablis. As I poured it, we marveled at its beautiful colour, and then later, at its complex flavour, a perfect accompaniment to the simple dishes we dug into. As we enjoyed the pleasures of the table, we reflected on the food and its origins, mostly local and provided by friends. We decided we would partake of this over Chinese take-out any day. And so I discovered again that it’s easy to let hurry lead to hurry. But if I slow down, that’s when I will truly enjoy life and what it has to offer.
P.S. The recipe is self-enclosed above.
Published in the Goshen News, September 15, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Finding Common Ground
It’s starting to look dark in the morning when I get up and our walks at the park are now close to dusk. The changes of light tell me that the calendar is now on September’s page. With Labor Day come and gone, we are back into the routine of work, though my Labor Day was pretty intensive: we canned salsa and tomato sauce, enough to see us through the winter, we hope! Jim also worked on our new back room and I cleaned things up around the yard.
This week, with political conventions aplenty, I had occasion to think about how easy it is to make assumptions about people and things before I get to actually know them. That’s why I always say: I wish I knew their story. I have often found that my first impression of someone slowly changes once I have gotten to know them as a real person. In my line of work, I meet all kinds of people and that’s one of the things I like about what I do. When I have staff turnover, I try to teach them not to make assumptions about others. What I have often discovered is that the reason people act a certain way is usually related to their story. The best thing I can do is to be accepting of everyone knowing that there are reasons for the choices they make and the attitude they bring to my door. I cannot put someone in a box just because they have a name in town or are wealthy or are poor or are always grouchy or too talkative. Each of those persons still has something that makes them interesting to me and I want to find that thread that becomes a common ground that we can build on. Sometimes I am truly at odds with others. I cannot find one redeeming quality in their life. In those instances, I have spent time meditating on those people in a loving way and I find that the next time we cross paths, I see them in a different light. These loving thoughts have changed me to truly be able to accept them as they are, not as I might want them to be.
So how does this relate to food, you might ask? It’s the same thing with food. I often make assumptions about food based on the way it looks. Lately, I’ve started to dig a little deeper. I ask: where does it come from? how is it made? how is it grown? what is its story? Even though some foods look great, I’ve discovered that they doesn’t always taste good because they come directly out of a can or have chemicals added to make them look prefect even if they aren’t that fresh! So just like I do with people, I go back to the basics. I make it from scratch and I get to know my food on a more intimate level. I talk to the farmer who grew it and I know the hard work it requires. I handle it myself from market to table and discover its good and its bad sides. Basically, I develop a relationship with it so I know what I’m dealing with. Onions will make me cry, jalapeno peppers will irritate my throat, mint will lift my spirit. And I love them all dearly. Jack will make me laugh, Troy will make me think, Marilyn will brighten my day and I love them all dearly also. It’s the daily give and take with people and with food that enriches our lives.
So here is a recipe that might break down some of your assumptions about whole wheat flour.
I’ve used it for many years in many ways: bread, rolls or coffeecakes. It makes an excellent raisin cinnamon bread and even better pecan or orange rolls. Once you get to know it, you’ll find the one that works for you.
Whole Wheat Sweet Dough
Mix in a liquid measuring cup:
1 T. yeast
1/2 t. sugar
1/4 c. warm water
In a large mixing bowl, measure and mix:
1 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. unbleached wheat flour
1/2 T. salt
1/3 c. powdered milk
Cut in 1 T. butter and add 2 c. hot water and 1 c. mashed potatoes. Stir then add the yeast mixture. Stir until smooth. Let rest and bubble at least 1 1/2 hours.
Add:
2 eggs at room temperature
1/4 c. melted butter
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. white sugar
Stir, then add 3 c. whole wheat flour and enough unbleached flour to make a smooth dough. Knead until smooth. Put in a greased bowl, cover with a damp towel and let rise until doubled. Cut into two pieces. Roll them out into a 9 by 12 rectangle. Spread with butter, ground almonds, raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon. Roll up into a loaf. Place in a greased loaf pan and let rise for 3/4 hour. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.
(You can also shape these into cinnamon rolls, five to a pie pan, and bake for 25 minutes or until golden brown. I also make them into orange rolls and pecan rolls.)
Originally published in The Goshen News, September 8, 2008
This week, with political conventions aplenty, I had occasion to think about how easy it is to make assumptions about people and things before I get to actually know them. That’s why I always say: I wish I knew their story. I have often found that my first impression of someone slowly changes once I have gotten to know them as a real person. In my line of work, I meet all kinds of people and that’s one of the things I like about what I do. When I have staff turnover, I try to teach them not to make assumptions about others. What I have often discovered is that the reason people act a certain way is usually related to their story. The best thing I can do is to be accepting of everyone knowing that there are reasons for the choices they make and the attitude they bring to my door. I cannot put someone in a box just because they have a name in town or are wealthy or are poor or are always grouchy or too talkative. Each of those persons still has something that makes them interesting to me and I want to find that thread that becomes a common ground that we can build on. Sometimes I am truly at odds with others. I cannot find one redeeming quality in their life. In those instances, I have spent time meditating on those people in a loving way and I find that the next time we cross paths, I see them in a different light. These loving thoughts have changed me to truly be able to accept them as they are, not as I might want them to be.
So how does this relate to food, you might ask? It’s the same thing with food. I often make assumptions about food based on the way it looks. Lately, I’ve started to dig a little deeper. I ask: where does it come from? how is it made? how is it grown? what is its story? Even though some foods look great, I’ve discovered that they doesn’t always taste good because they come directly out of a can or have chemicals added to make them look prefect even if they aren’t that fresh! So just like I do with people, I go back to the basics. I make it from scratch and I get to know my food on a more intimate level. I talk to the farmer who grew it and I know the hard work it requires. I handle it myself from market to table and discover its good and its bad sides. Basically, I develop a relationship with it so I know what I’m dealing with. Onions will make me cry, jalapeno peppers will irritate my throat, mint will lift my spirit. And I love them all dearly. Jack will make me laugh, Troy will make me think, Marilyn will brighten my day and I love them all dearly also. It’s the daily give and take with people and with food that enriches our lives.
So here is a recipe that might break down some of your assumptions about whole wheat flour.
I’ve used it for many years in many ways: bread, rolls or coffeecakes. It makes an excellent raisin cinnamon bread and even better pecan or orange rolls. Once you get to know it, you’ll find the one that works for you.
Whole Wheat Sweet Dough
Mix in a liquid measuring cup:
1 T. yeast
1/2 t. sugar
1/4 c. warm water
In a large mixing bowl, measure and mix:
1 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. unbleached wheat flour
1/2 T. salt
1/3 c. powdered milk
Cut in 1 T. butter and add 2 c. hot water and 1 c. mashed potatoes. Stir then add the yeast mixture. Stir until smooth. Let rest and bubble at least 1 1/2 hours.
Add:
2 eggs at room temperature
1/4 c. melted butter
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. white sugar
Stir, then add 3 c. whole wheat flour and enough unbleached flour to make a smooth dough. Knead until smooth. Put in a greased bowl, cover with a damp towel and let rise until doubled. Cut into two pieces. Roll them out into a 9 by 12 rectangle. Spread with butter, ground almonds, raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon. Roll up into a loaf. Place in a greased loaf pan and let rise for 3/4 hour. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.
(You can also shape these into cinnamon rolls, five to a pie pan, and bake for 25 minutes or until golden brown. I also make them into orange rolls and pecan rolls.)
Originally published in The Goshen News, September 8, 2008
Picnic at the Park
Sometimes life seems like a balancing act. Most of the time I can keep myself steady on the tightrope. I try not to look back too much. I definitely look forward to where I’m going. But if I look down, I start to feel that I could lose my delicate balance and then I have to catch myself before it’s too late. When those periods come, I really do have to remind myself that keeping focused on what is ahead is what matters. I forget that all I have to do is just put one foot in front of the other and before I know it, I’m walking again on solid footing.
Maybe it’s when the seasons start to turn that I also feel myself shifting. I’m ready for a change but it’s not there yet. Summer still lingers even though leaves already lay in my yard. School is back in session even though vacations only just finished. Hot days continue though cool nights beckon. With my feet in two seasons, isn’t normal that I should feel a little unsteady? So here I am. I’m trying to enjoy the last of the summer produce by using as much of it as I can while I’m already thinking about squash and apples. I’ll also start to put some of it away for winter and I’ll plan the last summer picnic using as much from the market as I can.
On a day that is cloudy and promises rain, we prepare a “local food” focused picnic at a city park. The park is hosting one of their “Summer in the Park” music events and it seems a perfect venue for a picnic among good food lovers. As the evening unfolds, the covered sky turns into blue, the sun comes out and a nice breeze blows in for a delightful backdrop. On several picnic tables, we set up the dishware and silverware along with the dishes we have brought. A big cooler full of meadow tea and a bin full of iced drinks complements the food. So what is the menu for a summer’s eve? We start out with a cold Moroccan Tomato Soup, using local tomatoes, onions and honey along with North African spices. Our trio of salads feature all the good things we can find at the market these days: a variety of cherry tomatoes mixed with fresh mozzarella, fresh basil and our very own balsamic vinaigrette; a potato salad with carrots, celery, eggs, green beans and cheese with a sweet sour dressing and finally, a melon salad with mint and parsley accented with prosciutto and cheese slivers. For the meat eaters, sloppy joes is available served on homemade buns. Or you can build your own sandwich with fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and a trio of cheeses. Let’s not forget dessert: last week’s recipe, peach and blackberry crumble and/or the richest chocolate brownies you have ever had. Was it a picnic or a feast? I decided it was the latter when I looked at my filled plate and oohed over the colours and then took many bites and aahed over the flavours. With great music to listen to from Drop the Dawg, the food tasted even better. I’m glad to exit summer with such a memory.
The lists of local products used follows: onions, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, basil, potatoes, carrots, eggs, green beans, honey, melon, mint, parsley, ground beef, bread made with local flour, cucumbers, peaches and blackberries. I urge all of you to make a meal using as much local foods as you can. It’s one way to keep ourselves grounded. Here is a recipe for a cold soup that I have been enjoying the last couple of weeks using many local products.
Golden Gazpacho (adapted from Moosewood Cookbook)
3 yellow tomatoes
1 c. vegetable bouillon
1/2 jalapeno chile pepper, finely minced
1/2 c. lime juice
1/2 t. turmeric
2 c. orange juice
2 ripe peaches, diced
2 c. ripe cantaloupe, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1 cucumber,, diced
2 T. olive oil
1/2 c. green onions, sliced
1 T. cilantro, minced
salt and pepper to taste
Peel and chop one of the tomatoes. Put tomato, bouillon, jalapeno, lime juice, turmeric, salt, orange juice, 1 peach and 3/4 c, cantaloupe in blender and puree until smooth. Pour mixture into glass dish.
Dice remaining tomatoes and add to the soup with other peach and rest of cantaloupe. Add peppers, cucumbers, olive oil, green onions and cilantro. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and chill for at least 30 minutes. Serve cold as a refreshing starter.
Originally published in The Goshen News, August 31, 2008
Maybe it’s when the seasons start to turn that I also feel myself shifting. I’m ready for a change but it’s not there yet. Summer still lingers even though leaves already lay in my yard. School is back in session even though vacations only just finished. Hot days continue though cool nights beckon. With my feet in two seasons, isn’t normal that I should feel a little unsteady? So here I am. I’m trying to enjoy the last of the summer produce by using as much of it as I can while I’m already thinking about squash and apples. I’ll also start to put some of it away for winter and I’ll plan the last summer picnic using as much from the market as I can.
On a day that is cloudy and promises rain, we prepare a “local food” focused picnic at a city park. The park is hosting one of their “Summer in the Park” music events and it seems a perfect venue for a picnic among good food lovers. As the evening unfolds, the covered sky turns into blue, the sun comes out and a nice breeze blows in for a delightful backdrop. On several picnic tables, we set up the dishware and silverware along with the dishes we have brought. A big cooler full of meadow tea and a bin full of iced drinks complements the food. So what is the menu for a summer’s eve? We start out with a cold Moroccan Tomato Soup, using local tomatoes, onions and honey along with North African spices. Our trio of salads feature all the good things we can find at the market these days: a variety of cherry tomatoes mixed with fresh mozzarella, fresh basil and our very own balsamic vinaigrette; a potato salad with carrots, celery, eggs, green beans and cheese with a sweet sour dressing and finally, a melon salad with mint and parsley accented with prosciutto and cheese slivers. For the meat eaters, sloppy joes is available served on homemade buns. Or you can build your own sandwich with fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and a trio of cheeses. Let’s not forget dessert: last week’s recipe, peach and blackberry crumble and/or the richest chocolate brownies you have ever had. Was it a picnic or a feast? I decided it was the latter when I looked at my filled plate and oohed over the colours and then took many bites and aahed over the flavours. With great music to listen to from Drop the Dawg, the food tasted even better. I’m glad to exit summer with such a memory.
The lists of local products used follows: onions, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, basil, potatoes, carrots, eggs, green beans, honey, melon, mint, parsley, ground beef, bread made with local flour, cucumbers, peaches and blackberries. I urge all of you to make a meal using as much local foods as you can. It’s one way to keep ourselves grounded. Here is a recipe for a cold soup that I have been enjoying the last couple of weeks using many local products.
Golden Gazpacho (adapted from Moosewood Cookbook)
3 yellow tomatoes
1 c. vegetable bouillon
1/2 jalapeno chile pepper, finely minced
1/2 c. lime juice
1/2 t. turmeric
2 c. orange juice
2 ripe peaches, diced
2 c. ripe cantaloupe, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1 cucumber,, diced
2 T. olive oil
1/2 c. green onions, sliced
1 T. cilantro, minced
salt and pepper to taste
Peel and chop one of the tomatoes. Put tomato, bouillon, jalapeno, lime juice, turmeric, salt, orange juice, 1 peach and 3/4 c, cantaloupe in blender and puree until smooth. Pour mixture into glass dish.
Dice remaining tomatoes and add to the soup with other peach and rest of cantaloupe. Add peppers, cucumbers, olive oil, green onions and cilantro. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and chill for at least 30 minutes. Serve cold as a refreshing starter.
Originally published in The Goshen News, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A basic loaf of campfire bread
When I’m on vacation, I take time away from my work to indulge in hobbies or totally immerse myself in books. I did both of those this year. But sometimes I still think about my work because it is my passion. So it was no surprise when I decided that one of my dreams for our camping week would be to try and bake bread out in the open. I remember, during my cub scout and girl guide days, how we made an entire kitchen out of gathered wood lashed together with rope and secretly, I always wanted to move out into the wild and see how I could carve out a life from resources I found around me in nature. Now that I am ensconced in a life of ease within the four walls of home, I still take that spirit with me when I go camping.
So armed with directions I found on the Internet, I left on our trip with all that is needed to make a loaf of bread (flour, yeast, salt, a mixing bowl and a baking pan) and all that is needed for an outdoor oven (a large cardboard box lined with aluminum foil and matches). About halfway through the week, when I was needing some new activity other than sleeping, eating, reading and sitting on the beach, I decided it was time to try my hand at outdoor breadbaking. First, I had to scavenge some cans left by litterbugs and fill them at least halfway with sand. Once I had those in hand, I got down to the basics of breadmaking. Take a mixing bowl. Measure 2 1/2 cups of water into it. Set it in the sun until the water reaches a warm temperature. You might be able to read one chapter in your book while the sun does its work. Add two tablespoons of yeast and stir. Let stand for a few minutes while the yeast activates. Slowly you can see the yeast coming to the surface and bubbling. Add 4 c. of flour. Beat with a wooden spoon until the texture is smooth and stringy. Stir in 1 tablespoon of salt mixed with a tablespoon of cold water. Then add enough flour to make a smooth dough. Knead for several minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic. Place back in the bowl and cover with a moistened cloth. Let rise until doubled. While the dough rises, it’s time to start the fire. You don’t need a huge fire but one big enough to provide a nice bed of coals the size of your pan. Jim was eager to build the fire for my baking, knowing that fresh bread might be the result. My daughter, on the other hand, was sure that my cardboard oven would burn. As the fire burned down, the dough rose. It was now time to punch it down, cut it into two pieces and shape them into loaves. I greased two loaf pans, placed the springy parcels in them, set them on a baking sheet and again, let them rise. As these finished rising, we gathered the coals in a space equivalent to the size of my baking sheet and placed the four cans of sand at each corner of the rectangle. Then I placed my baking sheet holding the loaves on these cans and covered the whole thing with my foil-lined box. Finally, I found two large stones that I set under two sides of my box to let some air through to keep the coals burning. All that was left to do was wait. Maybe the box would burn! Or maybe the bread would bake...
After ten minutes, we could smell that sweet aroma of baking bread. Forty minutes later, after numerous other “smellings”, we slowly lifted the cardboard box off of the pans and there they were: two precious loaves of bread awaiting butter and Nutella, perfect for a mid afternoon camping snack. The bread passed the taste test and the whole experiment was deemed a success. Next year, we will try cornbread to accompany campfire chili.
Communing with nature at Presscraft Papers
At least biannually, our family enjoys a break away from the nitty-gritty of life with a trip and sojourn in Canada. For me, it’s a chance to get away from the allergies that come with ragweed season. We drive far enough North that the landscape and climate offer respite from the pollen that attacks me. For everyone, it also becomes a time of renewal and re-creation in the great out of doors. We have been going there for long enough that we can’t quite remember how many times it’s been. When we arrive at our destination, we are always amazed at the loveliness of the Lake Superior coastline and the different moods it creates. From still and sunny to raging white capped waves and rain, we live alongside its life for a week and appreciate the power of nature around us. It puts us back in our place and reminds us that our life is only one small part of a huge vast world that continues to move forward despite us.
On our trip back to Goshen, we often make a special detour so we can stop in at Presscraft Papers. My mother discovered this place when she worked at a camp close by. Now our family continues the tradition. Instead of taking the straight road South, we make a right toward Benzonia, Michigan where Gwen Frostic, owner of Presscraft Papers, lived until her death in 2001. This remarkable woman inspires me in what I do. Her life was dedicated to making us see those things around us in nature that we never take the time to look for. She was an artist who transferred her love of nature to linoleum block prints. In turn, these are still being printed on old Heidelberg presses at Presscraft Papers. So what you will find, if you take the detour, is a couple of miles of country road and, all of sudden, a turn down into a natural grass framed parking lot. The shop is built as though it is a part of the surrounding landscape with an old piece of found wood to open its door and large boulders supporting its frame. Inside, the sound of water greets you as you walk by the natural fountain and you can take your time perusing all the different images Gwen Frostic put to paper. Reflecting our visit to Lake Superior, her prints depict all the moods of nature. An extensive nature library is open to the public for their perusal because Gwen wanted to pass on her passion with others.
The time that I spend at the Gwen Frostic shop is always like a break in time. I enter into this natural environment and let go of the busy driving and the madness outside. I look at her work and peace envelops me. Her snippets of nature slow me down and remind me that what is right around me really matters. When I leave, I find myself thinking about food in that same way. I hope that the work I do makes others stop for awhile away from the busy-ness and the madness and “appreciate loveliness” ( a quote from the Gwen Frostic catalog). Her philosophy is one that says you do what you have to do and that might mean following the beat of a different drummer. In the smallest ways, you can change the world. And food is one of those ways. When I head on back to Goshen, I carry with me that philosophy. I find the goodness around me and hope to spread it on.
Here is a salad that brings out the beauty and flavor of ripe fruit in a simple way.
Summer Salad
1 pint blueberries
1 pint red raspberries
1/2 c. goat cheese, crumbled
1 avocado, peeled and sliced
1 5 oz. bag mixed greens
Arrange mixed greens on six plates. Artistically arrange blueberries, raspberries and avocado. Spread with goat cheese. Serve with balsamic vinaigrette and lime peel.
On our trip back to Goshen, we often make a special detour so we can stop in at Presscraft Papers. My mother discovered this place when she worked at a camp close by. Now our family continues the tradition. Instead of taking the straight road South, we make a right toward Benzonia, Michigan where Gwen Frostic, owner of Presscraft Papers, lived until her death in 2001. This remarkable woman inspires me in what I do. Her life was dedicated to making us see those things around us in nature that we never take the time to look for. She was an artist who transferred her love of nature to linoleum block prints. In turn, these are still being printed on old Heidelberg presses at Presscraft Papers. So what you will find, if you take the detour, is a couple of miles of country road and, all of sudden, a turn down into a natural grass framed parking lot. The shop is built as though it is a part of the surrounding landscape with an old piece of found wood to open its door and large boulders supporting its frame. Inside, the sound of water greets you as you walk by the natural fountain and you can take your time perusing all the different images Gwen Frostic put to paper. Reflecting our visit to Lake Superior, her prints depict all the moods of nature. An extensive nature library is open to the public for their perusal because Gwen wanted to pass on her passion with others.
The time that I spend at the Gwen Frostic shop is always like a break in time. I enter into this natural environment and let go of the busy driving and the madness outside. I look at her work and peace envelops me. Her snippets of nature slow me down and remind me that what is right around me really matters. When I leave, I find myself thinking about food in that same way. I hope that the work I do makes others stop for awhile away from the busy-ness and the madness and “appreciate loveliness” ( a quote from the Gwen Frostic catalog). Her philosophy is one that says you do what you have to do and that might mean following the beat of a different drummer. In the smallest ways, you can change the world. And food is one of those ways. When I head on back to Goshen, I carry with me that philosophy. I find the goodness around me and hope to spread it on.
Here is a salad that brings out the beauty and flavor of ripe fruit in a simple way.
Summer Salad
1 pint blueberries
1 pint red raspberries
1/2 c. goat cheese, crumbled
1 avocado, peeled and sliced
1 5 oz. bag mixed greens
Arrange mixed greens on six plates. Artistically arrange blueberries, raspberries and avocado. Spread with goat cheese. Serve with balsamic vinaigrette and lime peel.
Friends make party memorable
When the end of July rolls around, for many in this town it means the end of the fair. For me, it also means vacation and birthday time. When I was young, our family often took time out of our daily routines at the end of July to travel and rejuvenate ourselves in a totally different environment. I have celebrated my birthday in Odense, Denmark, Snasa, Norway, Aberdeen, Scotland, Paris, France as well as in my home in Belgium and my home here in Goshen. I also remember a birthday spent at my Grandma Hollopeter’s house in Medina, Ohio. But one of the most memorable birthdays happened here in Goshen on the day that I turned thirty.
I decided to host a group of about forty people to celebrate the passing of the years. Since it was summer and we were having such a large group, I chose to have an indoor/outdoor party. I first designed and addressed all the invitations by hand, choosing friends from various walks of life and making sure that each coming would know at least one other person there. I handed out all the invitations in person about one week before the event, hoping that everyone would be able to come. I specifically asked those coming to bring musical instruments, hoping the evening would end in a jam session. (Many of our friends seem to have musical talents since Jim is a musician himself). I made sure to tell the neighbours that they might be serenaded that night!
Then, I started in earnest with the planning: I needed a great but simple menu, some creative ideas for decorating the place and a good week to get extra cleaning done. The menu took on a Spanish theme with beans, a beer chili stew, salsa and cheese, a green salad and tortilla chips. I also included two of my favorite summer drinks: meadow tea and sangria. I was lucky that my sister and her husband decided to come for the weekend. She helped me with the last minute cleaning on the back porch and went out with me on the byways and back roads to gather wild flowers for our decorations. We had fun finding odd containers, bottles and pitchers around the house to fill with a mix of wild flowers at their peak. I especially remember Queen Anne’s lace and baby blue bachelor buttons, alongside some wild grasses, sitting on the wooden countertop in a green jug. Then we got down to business: meat to cut and sear, onions, sweet peppers and chilies to chop, tomatoes to peel and dice and all of it set to simmer to bring out all of its flavour. Beans were soaked then boiled and again set to simmer with spices. The mint was cut and brewed with sugar, water and lemon to bring the taste of summer to the party. And the last piece of the puzzle: the sangria. I chose this drink because of the pleasant memories I have of sipping it at a party in Barcelona. I love cutting oranges, lemons and limes to release their fragrance in the wine and adding just enough of everything else to make it taste just right. The taste testing doesn’t hurt either.
So there I was. The table was set with dishes and silverware and napkins. The punch bowls were full of minted goodness and ruby red wine. The flowers set a festive note. Soon the guests arrived and the party took off. It was a low-key affair with friendly banter, good company and lively music. As dusk fell, we lit candles on the back porch and voices slowly quieted. The first guest came at 6, the last at midnight. Finally, around two, we said our last good byes, gave a quick once-over to the backyard and rooms, and fell into bed, very happy and very tired. I was now ready to enter my thirtieth decade. Once in a while, it is fun to have a good party!
Sangria
1 bottle of Rioja wine
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
1 lime, sliced
1 1/2 cans lemon-lime spritzer
3 T. sugar
3T. orange juice
Slice the fruit. Put it and its juices in the bottom of a small punch bowl. Add the wine, the spritzer, the sugar and the orange juice. Mix well. Allow to sit for several hours so the flavours can mellow. Serve on ice or well chilled. Serves four.
I decided to host a group of about forty people to celebrate the passing of the years. Since it was summer and we were having such a large group, I chose to have an indoor/outdoor party. I first designed and addressed all the invitations by hand, choosing friends from various walks of life and making sure that each coming would know at least one other person there. I handed out all the invitations in person about one week before the event, hoping that everyone would be able to come. I specifically asked those coming to bring musical instruments, hoping the evening would end in a jam session. (Many of our friends seem to have musical talents since Jim is a musician himself). I made sure to tell the neighbours that they might be serenaded that night!
Then, I started in earnest with the planning: I needed a great but simple menu, some creative ideas for decorating the place and a good week to get extra cleaning done. The menu took on a Spanish theme with beans, a beer chili stew, salsa and cheese, a green salad and tortilla chips. I also included two of my favorite summer drinks: meadow tea and sangria. I was lucky that my sister and her husband decided to come for the weekend. She helped me with the last minute cleaning on the back porch and went out with me on the byways and back roads to gather wild flowers for our decorations. We had fun finding odd containers, bottles and pitchers around the house to fill with a mix of wild flowers at their peak. I especially remember Queen Anne’s lace and baby blue bachelor buttons, alongside some wild grasses, sitting on the wooden countertop in a green jug. Then we got down to business: meat to cut and sear, onions, sweet peppers and chilies to chop, tomatoes to peel and dice and all of it set to simmer to bring out all of its flavour. Beans were soaked then boiled and again set to simmer with spices. The mint was cut and brewed with sugar, water and lemon to bring the taste of summer to the party. And the last piece of the puzzle: the sangria. I chose this drink because of the pleasant memories I have of sipping it at a party in Barcelona. I love cutting oranges, lemons and limes to release their fragrance in the wine and adding just enough of everything else to make it taste just right. The taste testing doesn’t hurt either.
So there I was. The table was set with dishes and silverware and napkins. The punch bowls were full of minted goodness and ruby red wine. The flowers set a festive note. Soon the guests arrived and the party took off. It was a low-key affair with friendly banter, good company and lively music. As dusk fell, we lit candles on the back porch and voices slowly quieted. The first guest came at 6, the last at midnight. Finally, around two, we said our last good byes, gave a quick once-over to the backyard and rooms, and fell into bed, very happy and very tired. I was now ready to enter my thirtieth decade. Once in a while, it is fun to have a good party!
Sangria
1 bottle of Rioja wine
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
1 lime, sliced
1 1/2 cans lemon-lime spritzer
3 T. sugar
3T. orange juice
Slice the fruit. Put it and its juices in the bottom of a small punch bowl. Add the wine, the spritzer, the sugar and the orange juice. Mix well. Allow to sit for several hours so the flavours can mellow. Serve on ice or well chilled. Serves four.
Summer means good things grown locally
Even when the summer heat and humidity seems interminable, I try to look at the positive side of this season. When I shop at the downtown market, I am now inundated with good things to eat. Some of my favourites right now are red raspberries and cherries, followed closely by fresh, unadulterated carrots and new potatoes. Herbs are producing well and we picked and ate the first of our Sungold cherry tomatoes. I think I am truly lucky to have such great, fresh produce so close at hand. I don’t have to go far to get it and the farmer doesn’t have to go far to bring it to town. I’m impressed by what can be grown so close to home.
The past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about pigs. When we lived on the farm, we only had calves, cows and steers. I also remember chickens and horses but no pigs. So we were happy when we discovered that our kitchen scraps could be used to feed some growing pigs. Friends of ours were raising hogs on a small scale and, along with their healthy feed, they asked us to fill buckets with our kitchen leftovers. These pigs were happy pigs, running in the woods, and even more happy it seems when they knew it was time to get our kitchen scraps. One morning, I rode my bike to see the pigs receiving their breakfast. It was already hot even though still early morning. A slight haze was rising from the ground as my feet walked through the tall wet grass out to their pen. And there they were: a winsome group, snorting slightly as we approached. We climbed over the fence and into their enclosure and they seemed glad to see us, ready to sniff and smell and enjoy some human company. Standing there among them, I made my decision. If these pigs grew up on my scraps, I would have to have some of the meat when butchering time rolled around. What more perfect circle could there be?
So today was butchering day and at least once an hour, I thought about the pigs. I saw them out in the field, imagined them loaded on the truck and awaiting their fate. I know that this meat will have been produced with a diet of love and good food and when I eat it, it will be with the reverence of what it takes to come to my table. I have many friends who don’t eat meat. I have at times cut it out of my diet but ultimately I have chosen to continue to eat meat because I really like it. I also like to know where it comes from. So in this case, happy hogs will make happy eaters. And again, that all this can happen within miles of where I live is awesome!
Next week, I’ll get to savour some meat but meanwhile, I’m still filling up on cherries. I tried my new recipe for cherry salad and I think you’ll agree that it’s a keeper. It’s cool, refreshing and it might raise your spirits like it did mine when I was thinking about the pigs’ final hours.
Fresh Mozzarella and Fresh Cherry Salad
2 c. small fresh mozzarella balls, halved
1 pint fresh cherries, washed and pitted
a handful of cherry tomatoes, halved (I like the Sungold for colour)
2 green onions, diced
1/2 sweet red pepper, diced
1 T. fresh cilantro, chopped
1T. fresh mint, chopped
Mix all of the above. Add vinaigrette.
Balsamic vinaigrette:
1/2 c. olive oil
1/3 c. balsamic vinegar
1/2 t. sugar
1/3 t. dried basil
1/4 t. pepper
1/2 t. salt
Mix well. Take 1/3 c. dressing and add 1 1/2 t. grated lime zest. Mix into salad and serve.
The past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about pigs. When we lived on the farm, we only had calves, cows and steers. I also remember chickens and horses but no pigs. So we were happy when we discovered that our kitchen scraps could be used to feed some growing pigs. Friends of ours were raising hogs on a small scale and, along with their healthy feed, they asked us to fill buckets with our kitchen leftovers. These pigs were happy pigs, running in the woods, and even more happy it seems when they knew it was time to get our kitchen scraps. One morning, I rode my bike to see the pigs receiving their breakfast. It was already hot even though still early morning. A slight haze was rising from the ground as my feet walked through the tall wet grass out to their pen. And there they were: a winsome group, snorting slightly as we approached. We climbed over the fence and into their enclosure and they seemed glad to see us, ready to sniff and smell and enjoy some human company. Standing there among them, I made my decision. If these pigs grew up on my scraps, I would have to have some of the meat when butchering time rolled around. What more perfect circle could there be?
So today was butchering day and at least once an hour, I thought about the pigs. I saw them out in the field, imagined them loaded on the truck and awaiting their fate. I know that this meat will have been produced with a diet of love and good food and when I eat it, it will be with the reverence of what it takes to come to my table. I have many friends who don’t eat meat. I have at times cut it out of my diet but ultimately I have chosen to continue to eat meat because I really like it. I also like to know where it comes from. So in this case, happy hogs will make happy eaters. And again, that all this can happen within miles of where I live is awesome!
Next week, I’ll get to savour some meat but meanwhile, I’m still filling up on cherries. I tried my new recipe for cherry salad and I think you’ll agree that it’s a keeper. It’s cool, refreshing and it might raise your spirits like it did mine when I was thinking about the pigs’ final hours.
Fresh Mozzarella and Fresh Cherry Salad
2 c. small fresh mozzarella balls, halved
1 pint fresh cherries, washed and pitted
a handful of cherry tomatoes, halved (I like the Sungold for colour)
2 green onions, diced
1/2 sweet red pepper, diced
1 T. fresh cilantro, chopped
1T. fresh mint, chopped
Mix all of the above. Add vinaigrette.
Balsamic vinaigrette:
1/2 c. olive oil
1/3 c. balsamic vinegar
1/2 t. sugar
1/3 t. dried basil
1/4 t. pepper
1/2 t. salt
Mix well. Take 1/3 c. dressing and add 1 1/2 t. grated lime zest. Mix into salad and serve.
A picnic at the lake will lift the spirit
In the middle of summer, when the heat and humidity become almost unbearable, we have sometimes made our way to the lake. Even if you don’t swim, just walking along the water’s edge can bring a feeling of relief as bare feet sink in the wet sand and splash into the waves. The breeze that comes off the water not only brings relief from the heat. It also soothes the spirit.
We have several artist and craftsman friends who follow the art fair circuit and, in the middle of July, they make their way to the one in St. Joseph, Michigan. So when the sun beats down and Lake Michigan beckons, we plan a Sunday getaway to the Krasl Art Fair. We know that many others will be there too so as soon as we get to town we look for a parking space on a side street and, if we’re lucky, it will be in the shade! We slowly make our way toward Lake Michigan and, on the grassy bluff overlooking the Lake, 200 or so artists have set up their wares for sale. I like to meander among the booths and stop when something catches my eye. Jewelry, fiber arts, painting, printing and photography are represented as well as ceramics, sculpture, wood and paper artists. I enjoy this art fair because of its location and because it offers some of the better art work I’ve seen. It always amazes me to see how creative humans are and how each artist seems to have a passion for their specific art. That in turn gets passed on to me the onlooker and always leaves me with my own creative juices flowing. Sometimes what I see just draws me in and I have to bring that special piece home with me.
I like to have art work in my house. It lifts my spirits when I walk in my front door and it helps me see the world through someone else’s eyes. Sometimes the artist’s view is somber, sometimes it is humorous. Sometimes it even takes the world as I know it and turns it upside down. Art can call to me by its colour or its shape and sometimes it represents a feeling I have better than I could describe it in words. In other words, it sharpens the way I see the world.
I feel that same reverence for food. I know that when I’m cooking or baking, the way I feel about my world will also make its way into the finished product. So when I’m working in the kitchen, I think about those who will eat the food and, depending on what I’m making, I throw in some positive energy or healing energy or even spiritual energy. My love and passion for making food will carry over to those who partake of it and hopefully, it will make them see the world in a new light. Those who gather around the food also bring their own feelings to it and that adds to the eating experience.
So I leave the art fair enriched and I’m finally ready to walk along the beach and soak in some sun. We follow the pier to the edge of the Lake and then make our way to a picnic area with some much welcome shade. We enjoy the light lunch with cold drinks that we packed and brought along and then we lazily return to our car for the trip home, appreciative of a breakaway from our busy life. I leave you with a recipe for a refreshing summer salad that also packs a little heat.
Couscous and Roasted Vegetable Salad with Harissa Dressing
1 large onion, sliced in thin wedges
1 green pepper, sliced in thin wedges
1 red pepper, sliced in thin wedges
1 medium zucchini, sliced
2 large tomatoes, cut in wedges
2 T. fresh basil, cut in thin strips
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/2 c. couscous
1/2 c. feta cheese, crumbled
4 c. mixed greens
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Mix the vegetables ( you can make your own mix depending on what is available), the basil and garlic. Sprinkle with a little bit of olive oil and put in a pan. Roast in oven, stirring every ten minutes until starting to brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Cook the couscous, according to the directions on the package. (I usually add a little bit of butter to the water.) When couscous is cool, place in a bowl. Top with roasted vegetables and feta cheese. Top with greens. Drizzle with dressing as desired.
Dressing (based on a North African sauce)
1/4 c. olive oil
1/2 t. cayenne
1 T. cumin
1 1/2 T. tomato paste
2 T. lime juice
Mix all the ingredients. You can choose how spicy you want it to be by increasing or decreasing the amount of cayenne pepper.
We have several artist and craftsman friends who follow the art fair circuit and, in the middle of July, they make their way to the one in St. Joseph, Michigan. So when the sun beats down and Lake Michigan beckons, we plan a Sunday getaway to the Krasl Art Fair. We know that many others will be there too so as soon as we get to town we look for a parking space on a side street and, if we’re lucky, it will be in the shade! We slowly make our way toward Lake Michigan and, on the grassy bluff overlooking the Lake, 200 or so artists have set up their wares for sale. I like to meander among the booths and stop when something catches my eye. Jewelry, fiber arts, painting, printing and photography are represented as well as ceramics, sculpture, wood and paper artists. I enjoy this art fair because of its location and because it offers some of the better art work I’ve seen. It always amazes me to see how creative humans are and how each artist seems to have a passion for their specific art. That in turn gets passed on to me the onlooker and always leaves me with my own creative juices flowing. Sometimes what I see just draws me in and I have to bring that special piece home with me.
I like to have art work in my house. It lifts my spirits when I walk in my front door and it helps me see the world through someone else’s eyes. Sometimes the artist’s view is somber, sometimes it is humorous. Sometimes it even takes the world as I know it and turns it upside down. Art can call to me by its colour or its shape and sometimes it represents a feeling I have better than I could describe it in words. In other words, it sharpens the way I see the world.
I feel that same reverence for food. I know that when I’m cooking or baking, the way I feel about my world will also make its way into the finished product. So when I’m working in the kitchen, I think about those who will eat the food and, depending on what I’m making, I throw in some positive energy or healing energy or even spiritual energy. My love and passion for making food will carry over to those who partake of it and hopefully, it will make them see the world in a new light. Those who gather around the food also bring their own feelings to it and that adds to the eating experience.
So I leave the art fair enriched and I’m finally ready to walk along the beach and soak in some sun. We follow the pier to the edge of the Lake and then make our way to a picnic area with some much welcome shade. We enjoy the light lunch with cold drinks that we packed and brought along and then we lazily return to our car for the trip home, appreciative of a breakaway from our busy life. I leave you with a recipe for a refreshing summer salad that also packs a little heat.
Couscous and Roasted Vegetable Salad with Harissa Dressing
1 large onion, sliced in thin wedges
1 green pepper, sliced in thin wedges
1 red pepper, sliced in thin wedges
1 medium zucchini, sliced
2 large tomatoes, cut in wedges
2 T. fresh basil, cut in thin strips
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/2 c. couscous
1/2 c. feta cheese, crumbled
4 c. mixed greens
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Mix the vegetables ( you can make your own mix depending on what is available), the basil and garlic. Sprinkle with a little bit of olive oil and put in a pan. Roast in oven, stirring every ten minutes until starting to brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Cook the couscous, according to the directions on the package. (I usually add a little bit of butter to the water.) When couscous is cool, place in a bowl. Top with roasted vegetables and feta cheese. Top with greens. Drizzle with dressing as desired.
Dressing (based on a North African sauce)
1/4 c. olive oil
1/2 t. cayenne
1 T. cumin
1 1/2 T. tomato paste
2 T. lime juice
Mix all the ingredients. You can choose how spicy you want it to be by increasing or decreasing the amount of cayenne pepper.
Cherry picking gives a bird's eye view of the world
Yesterday, as I rode my bicycle home from work, I saw amazing flashes of lightning all over the already dark night sky. In their own way, the lightning bugs around me were also performing a natural light show. But tonight it’s time for the human inspired lightning. I can hear small cracks to loud booms coming from every direction as I sit here and write this piece and the smell of gunpowder fills the air. It must be July and that means cherry season is in full swing.
Have you ever gone cherry picking? I have. I lived in a small town on the top of one side of the river valley. Our church building sat on a lot in the next town on the other side of the valley. It had a large grassy lot in the back and on it stood two or three cherry trees. So when the cherries were ripe and before the birds would get to them, we grabbed our biggest Tupperware containers and whatever other large buckets we could find and headed out in the car from our house to the church building. The route took us around a curvy sloping road that turned from blacktop to cobblestone down to the cool and green river valley bottom, and then back up around another bend lined with trees where the surface became blacktop again. We would then be in the next town and make our way to the church building with its parking lot out front. Out we would clamber with our containers and walk around the back to the trees. Back in the days when I was lithe and limber, all I needed was a low branch to swing up on and the cherries were ready for the picking. I liked being up in the tree and looking down on the backyard below. I felt as though I had a bird’s-eye view of the world. Ladders also leaned against the tree trunks so we could reach the branches. The cherries I picked there were not the big ruby juicy cherries that I bought this week at the market. They were yellow cherries with a light red blush. I liked the innumerable colour variations and the feel of the smooth, cool fruit against my fingertips. Of course, as we picked, we would eat our fill and see how many pits we could keep in our mouths at once. We would also use the cherries as earrings if we picked them in strands of two. Slowly but surely, the plink sound would make way to the plunk sound and our tubs would fill up. And just as surely, our bellies would say enough. It was time to go home with our harvest. I don’t remember what we did with those cherries other than eat them on the spot. We knew that for a few short weeks, they would be the best thing on earth.
These days, I do the same thing. I buy some at the market and eat as many as I can, stopping before my belly says enough. But this year, I’m trying out some new recipe ideas with them so that I can enjoy them in more ways than one. My latest idea is for a fresh mozzarella and cherry salad which I’m going to try this week. But meantime, I will give you a recipe for a delicious cake made with cherries and served with cherries. And remember, there’s always the traditional standbys: homemade cherry pie and cherry crumble.
Cherry Sherry Cake
1 1/2 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1 t. salt
1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. ground nutmeg
1/2 c. Sherry
1/4 c. orange juice
3/4 c. butter, room temperature
1 c. sugar
2 large eggs
1 t. vanilla extract
1 t. grated lemon peel
4 c. fresh pitted cherries
For topping: 2 T. sugar and 2 T. butter at room temperature
Heat oven to 400 degrees. Butter 10 inch springform pan. Mix first five ingredients in a bowl to blend. Combine Sherry and orange juice in another bowl. Beat the butter and sugar in a large bowl until blended. Beat in eggs, vanilla and lemon peel. Beat in Sherry mixture in 2 additions alternating with the flour mixture. Transfer to the buttered pan. Sprinkle evenly with 3 c. of fresh cherries.
Bake until cake top is gently set, 20 to 25 minutes. Reduce oven to 375 degrees. Dot top of cake with 2 T. butter and 2 T. sugar. Continue baking for another 10 to 15 minutes. Cool in pan. Release pan sides. Once the cake is totally cool, serve in wedges with real whipped cream and the remaining fresh cherries. Serves 8.
Have you ever gone cherry picking? I have. I lived in a small town on the top of one side of the river valley. Our church building sat on a lot in the next town on the other side of the valley. It had a large grassy lot in the back and on it stood two or three cherry trees. So when the cherries were ripe and before the birds would get to them, we grabbed our biggest Tupperware containers and whatever other large buckets we could find and headed out in the car from our house to the church building. The route took us around a curvy sloping road that turned from blacktop to cobblestone down to the cool and green river valley bottom, and then back up around another bend lined with trees where the surface became blacktop again. We would then be in the next town and make our way to the church building with its parking lot out front. Out we would clamber with our containers and walk around the back to the trees. Back in the days when I was lithe and limber, all I needed was a low branch to swing up on and the cherries were ready for the picking. I liked being up in the tree and looking down on the backyard below. I felt as though I had a bird’s-eye view of the world. Ladders also leaned against the tree trunks so we could reach the branches. The cherries I picked there were not the big ruby juicy cherries that I bought this week at the market. They were yellow cherries with a light red blush. I liked the innumerable colour variations and the feel of the smooth, cool fruit against my fingertips. Of course, as we picked, we would eat our fill and see how many pits we could keep in our mouths at once. We would also use the cherries as earrings if we picked them in strands of two. Slowly but surely, the plink sound would make way to the plunk sound and our tubs would fill up. And just as surely, our bellies would say enough. It was time to go home with our harvest. I don’t remember what we did with those cherries other than eat them on the spot. We knew that for a few short weeks, they would be the best thing on earth.
These days, I do the same thing. I buy some at the market and eat as many as I can, stopping before my belly says enough. But this year, I’m trying out some new recipe ideas with them so that I can enjoy them in more ways than one. My latest idea is for a fresh mozzarella and cherry salad which I’m going to try this week. But meantime, I will give you a recipe for a delicious cake made with cherries and served with cherries. And remember, there’s always the traditional standbys: homemade cherry pie and cherry crumble.
Cherry Sherry Cake
1 1/2 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1 t. salt
1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. ground nutmeg
1/2 c. Sherry
1/4 c. orange juice
3/4 c. butter, room temperature
1 c. sugar
2 large eggs
1 t. vanilla extract
1 t. grated lemon peel
4 c. fresh pitted cherries
For topping: 2 T. sugar and 2 T. butter at room temperature
Heat oven to 400 degrees. Butter 10 inch springform pan. Mix first five ingredients in a bowl to blend. Combine Sherry and orange juice in another bowl. Beat the butter and sugar in a large bowl until blended. Beat in eggs, vanilla and lemon peel. Beat in Sherry mixture in 2 additions alternating with the flour mixture. Transfer to the buttered pan. Sprinkle evenly with 3 c. of fresh cherries.
Bake until cake top is gently set, 20 to 25 minutes. Reduce oven to 375 degrees. Dot top of cake with 2 T. butter and 2 T. sugar. Continue baking for another 10 to 15 minutes. Cool in pan. Release pan sides. Once the cake is totally cool, serve in wedges with real whipped cream and the remaining fresh cherries. Serves 8.
Keeping it simple on humid summer days
As June turns into July, the enveloping humidity starts to take over our world. A walk in the park becomes a drippy shower; a run to the park turns into a sweat bath. But the birds seem to like it. As I wake up, work and later, go for a walk, I experience the bird world at its peak. I hear their singing as I lay in bed not yet ready to get up. Through the windows at work, I see their flying shadows. Later at the park, in the open meadows, we see them flying into the wind, before finally settling down in the trees. Blue herons, cardinals, crows and hawks cross our path. At home, hummingbirds come to visit our feeder. And on a recent jog along the Millrace, I see two Baltimore orioles fluttering around a tree. This bird world reminds me that my world is only one of many that I share with other beings on this planet.
But back to the humidity: I find myself slowing down, my brain not thinking straight and sweating everything I drink. After a long hot day at work, the first thing on my mind when I get home is a cool beverage to quench my thirst before I even start to think about solid foods. So for this week, I choose the motto “Keep it simple”. I focus on foods that do not require a lot from me and yet come through in all their flavour. Good bread, tasty cheese and fresh greens become an old standby. But during these summer months, I think of all the foods in the raw that offer flavours of all sorts to keep me happy. In the woods, nuts and berries bring substance and sweetness. Mushrooms add earthiness. From the fields, sweet corn, tender soybeans and baby potatoes give me starch and grains. In the garden, radishes, baby turnips, greens, carrots, broccoli, green onions offer crunch and freshness. And let’s not forget the garden of herbs (or garden of delights!) with mint, cilantro, thyme, oregano, basil, parsley, chives and sage. I can see already that this list could go on forever and each of you could add your own favorites.
So on a recent summer night, I pulled out my new green marble mortar and pestle, went out and gathered basil, thyme, oregano and parsley, threw them into the mortar with a couple of cloves of garlic and a little bit of salt (advice from my friend, Margaret, and yes, it adds friction to make my work easier) and ground these herbs into a pulp. Then I took some potatoes and sliced them into finger sized pieces, tossed them with some olive oil and the herb mixture, then roasted them in the oven for about an hour. As the potatoes slowly released their aroma, I cooked some sweet corn and Jim fired up the grill to cook some jerk chicken. As dusk fell, we sat out on the porch, watching and listening as the birds settled down, and ate our simple feast along with some crisp baby turnips. Fresh cherries for dessert with maybe a bowl full of Chief ice cream brought the meal to a perfect end. What more would a queen ask for?
So this week, think simple. I include a recipe for Jerk spices that I use on chicken or pork. The meat can be eaten as is or served with the fresh pineapple salsa recipe of a few weeks ago. I also use it in a salad, with mangoes, oranges, fresh pineapple and greens. Or put the meat in a sandwich. Brush the bread with a mixture of olive oil, lime juice, a little bit of sugar and black pepper. Add meat, greens and slices of sweet red pepper. That’s how simple to leads to simple!
Jerk spices
2 t. chili powder
1 t. allspice
1 t. garlic powder
1 t. salt
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/2 t. black pepper
1/4 T. cayenne pepper (or more if you like it hot)
Combine all ingredients. Place meat in a ziploc bag along with the spice mixture and a little bit of olive oil. Let marinade at least two hours or overnight in the refrigerator. Cook as desired.
But back to the humidity: I find myself slowing down, my brain not thinking straight and sweating everything I drink. After a long hot day at work, the first thing on my mind when I get home is a cool beverage to quench my thirst before I even start to think about solid foods. So for this week, I choose the motto “Keep it simple”. I focus on foods that do not require a lot from me and yet come through in all their flavour. Good bread, tasty cheese and fresh greens become an old standby. But during these summer months, I think of all the foods in the raw that offer flavours of all sorts to keep me happy. In the woods, nuts and berries bring substance and sweetness. Mushrooms add earthiness. From the fields, sweet corn, tender soybeans and baby potatoes give me starch and grains. In the garden, radishes, baby turnips, greens, carrots, broccoli, green onions offer crunch and freshness. And let’s not forget the garden of herbs (or garden of delights!) with mint, cilantro, thyme, oregano, basil, parsley, chives and sage. I can see already that this list could go on forever and each of you could add your own favorites.
So on a recent summer night, I pulled out my new green marble mortar and pestle, went out and gathered basil, thyme, oregano and parsley, threw them into the mortar with a couple of cloves of garlic and a little bit of salt (advice from my friend, Margaret, and yes, it adds friction to make my work easier) and ground these herbs into a pulp. Then I took some potatoes and sliced them into finger sized pieces, tossed them with some olive oil and the herb mixture, then roasted them in the oven for about an hour. As the potatoes slowly released their aroma, I cooked some sweet corn and Jim fired up the grill to cook some jerk chicken. As dusk fell, we sat out on the porch, watching and listening as the birds settled down, and ate our simple feast along with some crisp baby turnips. Fresh cherries for dessert with maybe a bowl full of Chief ice cream brought the meal to a perfect end. What more would a queen ask for?
So this week, think simple. I include a recipe for Jerk spices that I use on chicken or pork. The meat can be eaten as is or served with the fresh pineapple salsa recipe of a few weeks ago. I also use it in a salad, with mangoes, oranges, fresh pineapple and greens. Or put the meat in a sandwich. Brush the bread with a mixture of olive oil, lime juice, a little bit of sugar and black pepper. Add meat, greens and slices of sweet red pepper. That’s how simple to leads to simple!
Jerk spices
2 t. chili powder
1 t. allspice
1 t. garlic powder
1 t. salt
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/2 t. black pepper
1/4 T. cayenne pepper (or more if you like it hot)
Combine all ingredients. Place meat in a ziploc bag along with the spice mixture and a little bit of olive oil. Let marinade at least two hours or overnight in the refrigerator. Cook as desired.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Crazy about Cheese
What a wonderful week of summer weather! I’m sleeping with the windows open and using a blanket again to keep the chill away. It makes me sleep more soundly and I feel truly refreshed when I get up in the morning. My mind is clearer when not filled with 80 percent humidity. I’m starting to really enjoy the vegetables appearing at the market. Snap peas and baby turnips are some of my favorites right now. It’s a luxury to be able to bike downtown and find fresh, locally grown items. As soon as they’re in my possession, I can’t resist the urge to eat some on the spot. I snap the pea and crunch into it and I find myself already reaching for the next one.
When summertime rolls around, I get great satisfaction out of simple meals centered around good bread and good cheese. Start with a great loaf of bread full of flavor and substance like a five-grain loaf or a flax seed sourdough or even a crusty French baguette. Then add a side of cheese. Along with a few fresh veggies and a glass of meadow tea, and later, some strawberries, it’s all I need to be keep my stomach satisfied.
I admit. As my father before me, I am a cheese lover. I need a little bit of cheese every day. I grew up on Emmental and Gruyere, both Swiss cheeses named after the actual areas in Switzerland where the cheeses are made. My ancestors came from this region and so I always think that maybe my genetic makeup was built on cheese! I remember when we had cheese for supper, we would always “even” the cheese chunk out, which meant slicing off a piece and eating it. My mother often served us soup for supper and along with it cheese and bread. I still have in my cupboard here at home small rectangular wooden boards that we use as plates when we have these kind of simple suppers.
The thing with cheese is that no matter what dish you make, cheese always makes it better. French onion soup, scalloped potatoes or pizza, they just would not be the same without cheese. I am a cheese snob. I can eat grocery store cheese but if I can have something more handmade with more flavor, I’ll choose that instead. I like it sharp, hard, buttery, soft or tangy. I like it blue, yellow, white or orange. I like it plain or with nuts, wine and dried fruits. I like it in chunks, crumbled, sliced, spread or grated. It doesn’t matter. Those of you who are cheese people know what I mean!
So these days, I’m truly enjoying the soft summer evenings, sitting on the front porch, with a large hunk of bread and several pieces of cheese, a glass of wine and some of those just-picked vegetables and fruits: an easy no-cook meal with all of the flavors of summer. And when fall and winter come around, I’ll be making cheese fondue and macaroni and cheese as comfort foods. Wherever I go, I pray I will never be far from a cheese shop. When I lived in Barcelona, Spain, one day I headed out to the Saturday market. As I walked through the streets, I suddenly saw a vision: coming towards me, a horse pulled a wooden cart filled to the brim with wheels of cheese. The driver was truly tall, dark and handsome. His skin was burnished by the sun and wind of the mountains he had come down from. His dark hair fell in wisps around his face and his mustache framed his white teeth smile. His beret sat proudly on his head as with one hand he held the reins and with the other he waved to me. I decided right then and there that if he would ask me to marry him, I wouldn’t think twice. I would jump up on the cart and become the cheesemaker’s wife. Back here in Goshen, a year later, I became the guitarmaker’s wife. And he likes cheese. That’s the good life (la bonne vie)!
Fondus au Fromage (Cheese Melts)
1/4 c. butter
1/4 c. plus 1 T. flour
1 c. milk
7 1/2 oz. Swiss cheese, grated (preferably Gruyere)
3 egg yolks
3 egg whites
salt and pepper to taste
bread crumbs
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Stir in the flour. Add the milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens and pulls away from the side of the pan. Remove from stove. Add grated cheese, salt, pepper and the egg yolks, stirring until well incorporated. Pour into a greased rectangular glass pan. Let cool and refrigerate for several hours. Cut into 1 1/2 by 2 1/2 inch pieces. Coat with flour, then dip in egg white, then in bread crumbs. Let sit in refrigerator for several hours until they are firm. Then fry them in a pan. Serve immediately. These are great as appetizers or served with a fresh green salad.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 23, 2008
When summertime rolls around, I get great satisfaction out of simple meals centered around good bread and good cheese. Start with a great loaf of bread full of flavor and substance like a five-grain loaf or a flax seed sourdough or even a crusty French baguette. Then add a side of cheese. Along with a few fresh veggies and a glass of meadow tea, and later, some strawberries, it’s all I need to be keep my stomach satisfied.
I admit. As my father before me, I am a cheese lover. I need a little bit of cheese every day. I grew up on Emmental and Gruyere, both Swiss cheeses named after the actual areas in Switzerland where the cheeses are made. My ancestors came from this region and so I always think that maybe my genetic makeup was built on cheese! I remember when we had cheese for supper, we would always “even” the cheese chunk out, which meant slicing off a piece and eating it. My mother often served us soup for supper and along with it cheese and bread. I still have in my cupboard here at home small rectangular wooden boards that we use as plates when we have these kind of simple suppers.
The thing with cheese is that no matter what dish you make, cheese always makes it better. French onion soup, scalloped potatoes or pizza, they just would not be the same without cheese. I am a cheese snob. I can eat grocery store cheese but if I can have something more handmade with more flavor, I’ll choose that instead. I like it sharp, hard, buttery, soft or tangy. I like it blue, yellow, white or orange. I like it plain or with nuts, wine and dried fruits. I like it in chunks, crumbled, sliced, spread or grated. It doesn’t matter. Those of you who are cheese people know what I mean!
So these days, I’m truly enjoying the soft summer evenings, sitting on the front porch, with a large hunk of bread and several pieces of cheese, a glass of wine and some of those just-picked vegetables and fruits: an easy no-cook meal with all of the flavors of summer. And when fall and winter come around, I’ll be making cheese fondue and macaroni and cheese as comfort foods. Wherever I go, I pray I will never be far from a cheese shop. When I lived in Barcelona, Spain, one day I headed out to the Saturday market. As I walked through the streets, I suddenly saw a vision: coming towards me, a horse pulled a wooden cart filled to the brim with wheels of cheese. The driver was truly tall, dark and handsome. His skin was burnished by the sun and wind of the mountains he had come down from. His dark hair fell in wisps around his face and his mustache framed his white teeth smile. His beret sat proudly on his head as with one hand he held the reins and with the other he waved to me. I decided right then and there that if he would ask me to marry him, I wouldn’t think twice. I would jump up on the cart and become the cheesemaker’s wife. Back here in Goshen, a year later, I became the guitarmaker’s wife. And he likes cheese. That’s the good life (la bonne vie)!
Fondus au Fromage (Cheese Melts)
1/4 c. butter
1/4 c. plus 1 T. flour
1 c. milk
7 1/2 oz. Swiss cheese, grated (preferably Gruyere)
3 egg yolks
3 egg whites
salt and pepper to taste
bread crumbs
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Stir in the flour. Add the milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens and pulls away from the side of the pan. Remove from stove. Add grated cheese, salt, pepper and the egg yolks, stirring until well incorporated. Pour into a greased rectangular glass pan. Let cool and refrigerate for several hours. Cut into 1 1/2 by 2 1/2 inch pieces. Coat with flour, then dip in egg white, then in bread crumbs. Let sit in refrigerator for several hours until they are firm. Then fry them in a pan. Serve immediately. These are great as appetizers or served with a fresh green salad.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 23, 2008
June is Rose and Strawberry Month
June is rose and strawberry month, it’s true. The sun is out, the rain comes down and everything is growing by inches. I found my first rose blooming on the same day I tasted my first fresh local strawberry. When I bought those first strawberries, I just popped them in my mouth as is. Then it was time to have a little shortcake and now every morning I’ve been eating them with my granola. That red color and flavor is wonderful. They carry the sun’s rays with them to my table.
Growing up, we were lucky to have our own strawberry patch in the backyard. I remember the plants blooming and, when the berries started to appear, we planted sticks with tin foil tails to keep the birds away. When the berries reached the perfect ripeness, we would gather them fresh for our supper table. During the month of June, when they were producing, we had them plain, with ice cream, in pie, with shortcake or in mousse. I liked decorating the top of the pie with curlicues of whipped cream.
After coming here, my mother took us to the fields to pick as many as we could to eat and to store for the winter. We would drive to the strawberry patch in the early morning, before the heat of the day became too much to bear. We grabbed the baskets and chose a row. Our fingers would find the reddest, ripest berries and slowly, our baskets would fill as our backs and our knees stiffened. In a couple of hours, we had picked enough for our family. We froze them, whole or sliced, to have in the middle of winter. We also made strawberry jam until the kitchen was sticky and sweet. The smell of those berries would fill our noses for several days and our fingers would be stained reddish green from stemming and slicing. Later, a jar of that jam would be opened when guests came for a meal and then we spread it on our breakfast toast. The frozen strawberries often made their appearance on Sunday as a special topping at the end of the meal.
The end result of that hard work was always pleasure.
What I also remember about those picking days was the time spent with family members going to the field, picking, and then talking and laughing in the kitchen as together we put away the berries. Those moments working with food created community. Later, I enjoyed similar times with friends I stayed with and with my own family. Now that we are down to two at our house, I haven’t gone picking. I just enjoy the ones I find locally and “go strawberries” for a couple weeks every summer. This week I’ll make the strawberry pie I grew up with and when I take that first bite, I will again savour the season of strawberries and roses.
Strawberry pie
1 1/2 quart of strawberries
3/4 c. sugar
3 T. cornstarch
1/2 c. water
1 T. lemon juice
1 t. butter
Line a baked pie crust with whole or halved large berries. Crush remaining berries and add to sugar,, cornstarch and water. Cook, stirring constantly until mixture is clear and thick.
Remove from heat. Add lemon juice and butter. Allow to cool before putting in baked crust. Top with real whipped cream or serve with ice cream.
Growing up, we were lucky to have our own strawberry patch in the backyard. I remember the plants blooming and, when the berries started to appear, we planted sticks with tin foil tails to keep the birds away. When the berries reached the perfect ripeness, we would gather them fresh for our supper table. During the month of June, when they were producing, we had them plain, with ice cream, in pie, with shortcake or in mousse. I liked decorating the top of the pie with curlicues of whipped cream.
After coming here, my mother took us to the fields to pick as many as we could to eat and to store for the winter. We would drive to the strawberry patch in the early morning, before the heat of the day became too much to bear. We grabbed the baskets and chose a row. Our fingers would find the reddest, ripest berries and slowly, our baskets would fill as our backs and our knees stiffened. In a couple of hours, we had picked enough for our family. We froze them, whole or sliced, to have in the middle of winter. We also made strawberry jam until the kitchen was sticky and sweet. The smell of those berries would fill our noses for several days and our fingers would be stained reddish green from stemming and slicing. Later, a jar of that jam would be opened when guests came for a meal and then we spread it on our breakfast toast. The frozen strawberries often made their appearance on Sunday as a special topping at the end of the meal.
The end result of that hard work was always pleasure.
What I also remember about those picking days was the time spent with family members going to the field, picking, and then talking and laughing in the kitchen as together we put away the berries. Those moments working with food created community. Later, I enjoyed similar times with friends I stayed with and with my own family. Now that we are down to two at our house, I haven’t gone picking. I just enjoy the ones I find locally and “go strawberries” for a couple weeks every summer. This week I’ll make the strawberry pie I grew up with and when I take that first bite, I will again savour the season of strawberries and roses.
Strawberry pie
1 1/2 quart of strawberries
3/4 c. sugar
3 T. cornstarch
1/2 c. water
1 T. lemon juice
1 t. butter
Line a baked pie crust with whole or halved large berries. Crush remaining berries and add to sugar,, cornstarch and water. Cook, stirring constantly until mixture is clear and thick.
Remove from heat. Add lemon juice and butter. Allow to cool before putting in baked crust. Top with real whipped cream or serve with ice cream.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Biking in Holland
Hot, humid weather is here. I feel it like a fog, pushing down on my lungs, staying on my skin, making me slow down. I can’t rush around when the air is so thick. I just pace myself and know things will get done in their own good time. I remember that plants thrive in this warm moist environment.. My basil and my tomato plants are growing by leaps and bounds. I get to pick oregano, parsley and basil for my spaghetti sauce this week.
As I peddle to work, a slight breeze breaks through the heat rising from the pavement. But as the drops of sweat roll off my brow, I know that it’s for a good cause. This is Bike to Work Week. With the high price of gas, I’ve been trying to be more religious about biking whenever I can and, from what I can tell, other s are also. So I’ve learned to carry a backpack with all the things I might need (including a jacket for drops of rain). I have found several routes to use that are safe and give me variety. I enjoy the daily encounter with the elements. Most days are favourable but at least once this week, I got caught in a downpour on my way home for lunch! I found myself singing at the top of my voice as the rain came gushing down.
On one of our trips over seas, Jim and I made full use of public transportation. We took the train from busy Brussels, Belgium to the town of Bruges, worth a story in itself. There we caught a bus to Breskens, a town on the North Sea. Next we took a ferry through rain and mist to Vlissingen and finally another bus to Middelburg, our chosen destination in Holland.
In this small Dutch town, bikes are as common as cars. The city streets include lanes for bicycles and bikes are part of the traffic as much as cars or buses or trucks. In front of every shop there are rows of bikes awaiting their owners and when you see people riding, you realize that for them it is second nature. Children grow up bicycling and seeing their parents bicycling. People ride their bikes in whatever uniform they wear to work: suits, high heels, coveralls, jeans and sweaters, skirts. We even saw two people biking side by side holding hands. Bikes also carry many things: bread, groceries, papers, laundry, tools, ropes and children to name a few.
So, of course, we went down to the train station on a typical Dutch day. The sky had traces of blue, enough to fix a Dutchman’s breetches. For a small fee, we rented bikes for the day, two very nice Batavus bikes, dark blue, three-speed with traditional handlebars and fenders. We had to first make our way through the city on the designated bike lanes which was like driving a car in an unfamiliar town. Then we got out into the open country and pedaled through fields and by canals and traditional windmills. We finally came upon Gapinge, a small town with its own church and windmill. At a small intersection, we stopped to look at our maps and found ourselves smiling hello to a man biking with his wooden shoes on. That whole day, we spent on our bikes, stopping in small towns, along canals, and sometimes pedaling along below the waterline, next to us, where the dykes keep the water out. We slowly made our way back to Middleburg, after seeing the sight of the massive dam that keeps the flow of water under control so the North Sea will not flood that area of Holland. We were amazed at the mix of old and new and how it all works so well together. And we ended the day determined to come back to the States and use our bikes a whole lot more.
So as summer comes upon us, I encourage you to get out on your bikes, feel the weather, see the sights and save yourself a little gas money. I’ll in turn leave you with this recipe for a waffle common to Belgium and Holland. My next-door-neighbor would often offer me these when I went to visit at her house.
Galettes
1 c. flour
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
1 pinch of salt
2 eggs
Mix everything well. Ladle onto a heated and greased wafflemaker. Cook until brown.
These will keep well in the cookie jar.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 9, 2008
As I peddle to work, a slight breeze breaks through the heat rising from the pavement. But as the drops of sweat roll off my brow, I know that it’s for a good cause. This is Bike to Work Week. With the high price of gas, I’ve been trying to be more religious about biking whenever I can and, from what I can tell, other s are also. So I’ve learned to carry a backpack with all the things I might need (including a jacket for drops of rain). I have found several routes to use that are safe and give me variety. I enjoy the daily encounter with the elements. Most days are favourable but at least once this week, I got caught in a downpour on my way home for lunch! I found myself singing at the top of my voice as the rain came gushing down.
On one of our trips over seas, Jim and I made full use of public transportation. We took the train from busy Brussels, Belgium to the town of Bruges, worth a story in itself. There we caught a bus to Breskens, a town on the North Sea. Next we took a ferry through rain and mist to Vlissingen and finally another bus to Middelburg, our chosen destination in Holland.
In this small Dutch town, bikes are as common as cars. The city streets include lanes for bicycles and bikes are part of the traffic as much as cars or buses or trucks. In front of every shop there are rows of bikes awaiting their owners and when you see people riding, you realize that for them it is second nature. Children grow up bicycling and seeing their parents bicycling. People ride their bikes in whatever uniform they wear to work: suits, high heels, coveralls, jeans and sweaters, skirts. We even saw two people biking side by side holding hands. Bikes also carry many things: bread, groceries, papers, laundry, tools, ropes and children to name a few.
So, of course, we went down to the train station on a typical Dutch day. The sky had traces of blue, enough to fix a Dutchman’s breetches. For a small fee, we rented bikes for the day, two very nice Batavus bikes, dark blue, three-speed with traditional handlebars and fenders. We had to first make our way through the city on the designated bike lanes which was like driving a car in an unfamiliar town. Then we got out into the open country and pedaled through fields and by canals and traditional windmills. We finally came upon Gapinge, a small town with its own church and windmill. At a small intersection, we stopped to look at our maps and found ourselves smiling hello to a man biking with his wooden shoes on. That whole day, we spent on our bikes, stopping in small towns, along canals, and sometimes pedaling along below the waterline, next to us, where the dykes keep the water out. We slowly made our way back to Middleburg, after seeing the sight of the massive dam that keeps the flow of water under control so the North Sea will not flood that area of Holland. We were amazed at the mix of old and new and how it all works so well together. And we ended the day determined to come back to the States and use our bikes a whole lot more.
So as summer comes upon us, I encourage you to get out on your bikes, feel the weather, see the sights and save yourself a little gas money. I’ll in turn leave you with this recipe for a waffle common to Belgium and Holland. My next-door-neighbor would often offer me these when I went to visit at her house.
Galettes
1 c. flour
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
1 pinch of salt
2 eggs
Mix everything well. Ladle onto a heated and greased wafflemaker. Cook until brown.
These will keep well in the cookie jar.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 9, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
We have had some beautiful weather lately. Deep blue skies and low humidity make northern Indiana seem like southern France! This is usually my allergy season but so far, these clear days have kept it mostly at bay. I watch everything growing: grass, gardens, ducklings, birds. I even saw a baby snapper turtle today. When I wake up in the morning and the sun is already shining through my window, I know it’s going to be a great day.
When I see how blue the sky is it takes me back to Guillestre, a tiny town in the southern Alps of France, almost in Italy. Several years ago,Jim and I went on a walking adventure. We wanted to stay somewhere in the mountains and my brother had recommended this little town to us. So we plunged ahead and took the fast train to a station on the edge of the Alps and from there, late at night, we took a slower train up into the mountains. It chugged and rattled its way around winding tracks and finally stopped in the town of Gap. We ended up, somewhat lost, trying to find our way to a hotel for the night and unsure of where we were headed the next morning. But as the saying goes, everything seems better after a good night of sleep and a quick phone call to a bed and breakfast in Guillestre guaranteed us a bed for the next night. We took the train out of town and arrived at a quaint station in the middle of the mountains where our hostess had came to meet us. She immediately took us under her wing and back to her home and our apartment in a renovated stone water mill. We settled in and soon realized that this was a wonderful spot. The town was completely surrounded by mountains-not the sharp pointed mountains of the north but rather the softer peaks of the south. Down in the valley, the turquoise waters of the river churned over rocks and through deep canyons. The sky was deep blue almost purple and we learned that this area gets 300 hundred days of sunshine a year. The air was clear and fresh.
We were eager to discover the village and we were also hungry from our travels so we set out to find a place to eat. The town seemed quiet in those early afternoon hours. As we walked up the narrow main street, everything was still. The bakery was closed as well as the butcher and the bookstore. No one seemed to be about. We decided to explore and we soon saw an old church with its bell tower. We went inside and reverently stood for a moment of silence. As we came out, we noticed a stone archway to our left. We went through it and found ourselves on a beautiful small sunny square. And here we found the people. They were all eating at the little restaurant, both inside and outside where tables and chairs spilled out onto the sidewalk. Men in work coveralls, people in suits, a young family with kids had all found a place to have lunch. So we found a spot in the sun, petted the restaurant dog as he walked by and ordered ourselves a feast: first a bottle of wine, then salads and homemade pizza and house made pasta and we topped it off with real french fries. We sat in the sunny space, drinking in the views, absorbing the humanity, and enjoying the food for a good two hours. And finally, we lazily got up and wandered up the hill to see the rest of the village, with its sundials painted on the houses, and its clear fountain, and its mountain vistas. Slowly we circled back to our new abode, feeling happy and tired, and when, we finally got there, we realized we had both gotten a good sunburn! That town became our home and we walked all over its mountains during that short week of bliss, and when we left, our hostess had to hug and kiss us goodbye with a tear in her eye. Whenever I see that deep blue sky, I remember an afternoon of good food and fresh air and mountain sun that is unforgettable. I leave you with a recipe that I adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Italy, which reminds me of the flavors and warmth of that place.
Beef, sausage and bacon rosemary skewers
1 lb. beef fillet, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 lb. italian sausages, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 lb. good quality smoked bacon, cut into 1 inch pieces
12 fresh sage leaves, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/2 c. olive oil
sprigs of fresh rosemary to use as skewers
Put the cut meat in a ceramic or glass bowl, along with the chopped sage leaves, minced garlic, lemon zest and juice and olive oil. Marinate for several hours.
Take the rosemary sprigs and gently thread on the beef, bacon and sausage. Grill until done or roast in a 400 degree oven on a greased pan for 20 minutes. Serve with a lemon wedge and some wild rice.
Published in The Goshen News, June 2, 2008
When I see how blue the sky is it takes me back to Guillestre, a tiny town in the southern Alps of France, almost in Italy. Several years ago,Jim and I went on a walking adventure. We wanted to stay somewhere in the mountains and my brother had recommended this little town to us. So we plunged ahead and took the fast train to a station on the edge of the Alps and from there, late at night, we took a slower train up into the mountains. It chugged and rattled its way around winding tracks and finally stopped in the town of Gap. We ended up, somewhat lost, trying to find our way to a hotel for the night and unsure of where we were headed the next morning. But as the saying goes, everything seems better after a good night of sleep and a quick phone call to a bed and breakfast in Guillestre guaranteed us a bed for the next night. We took the train out of town and arrived at a quaint station in the middle of the mountains where our hostess had came to meet us. She immediately took us under her wing and back to her home and our apartment in a renovated stone water mill. We settled in and soon realized that this was a wonderful spot. The town was completely surrounded by mountains-not the sharp pointed mountains of the north but rather the softer peaks of the south. Down in the valley, the turquoise waters of the river churned over rocks and through deep canyons. The sky was deep blue almost purple and we learned that this area gets 300 hundred days of sunshine a year. The air was clear and fresh.
We were eager to discover the village and we were also hungry from our travels so we set out to find a place to eat. The town seemed quiet in those early afternoon hours. As we walked up the narrow main street, everything was still. The bakery was closed as well as the butcher and the bookstore. No one seemed to be about. We decided to explore and we soon saw an old church with its bell tower. We went inside and reverently stood for a moment of silence. As we came out, we noticed a stone archway to our left. We went through it and found ourselves on a beautiful small sunny square. And here we found the people. They were all eating at the little restaurant, both inside and outside where tables and chairs spilled out onto the sidewalk. Men in work coveralls, people in suits, a young family with kids had all found a place to have lunch. So we found a spot in the sun, petted the restaurant dog as he walked by and ordered ourselves a feast: first a bottle of wine, then salads and homemade pizza and house made pasta and we topped it off with real french fries. We sat in the sunny space, drinking in the views, absorbing the humanity, and enjoying the food for a good two hours. And finally, we lazily got up and wandered up the hill to see the rest of the village, with its sundials painted on the houses, and its clear fountain, and its mountain vistas. Slowly we circled back to our new abode, feeling happy and tired, and when, we finally got there, we realized we had both gotten a good sunburn! That town became our home and we walked all over its mountains during that short week of bliss, and when we left, our hostess had to hug and kiss us goodbye with a tear in her eye. Whenever I see that deep blue sky, I remember an afternoon of good food and fresh air and mountain sun that is unforgettable. I leave you with a recipe that I adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Italy, which reminds me of the flavors and warmth of that place.
Beef, sausage and bacon rosemary skewers
1 lb. beef fillet, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 lb. italian sausages, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 lb. good quality smoked bacon, cut into 1 inch pieces
12 fresh sage leaves, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/2 c. olive oil
sprigs of fresh rosemary to use as skewers
Put the cut meat in a ceramic or glass bowl, along with the chopped sage leaves, minced garlic, lemon zest and juice and olive oil. Marinate for several hours.
Take the rosemary sprigs and gently thread on the beef, bacon and sausage. Grill until done or roast in a 400 degree oven on a greased pan for 20 minutes. Serve with a lemon wedge and some wild rice.
Published in The Goshen News, June 2, 2008
Sometimes life sails smoothly by and that’s when I least notice its passing. It’s mostly when I’m nudged by those waves, threatening a storm, that I truly appreciate its glory and its humanity. This week, I felt a little like a capsized boat. I was tossed here and there by medical issues. I started out the week by dealing with the removal of two moles when I went for my annual physical. It continued with a visit to the dental surgeon in South Bend to have some work done on my gums. It ended with a quick mid-night trip to the emergency room. I usually enter these kinds of situations by thinking positive thoughts. But I discover that I never know entirely what the results will be. Though I’m told what will happen and what can happen, I can only live through it to truly experience it. Don’t worry! In all of these cases, the results were the best possible outcomes. But when I’m the middle of living them, I find myself on an uncertain footing, not knowing where it will all lead. Here is where the element of hope plays in. I hope for the best and at the same time I try to be realistic about the living of it.
So how does this relate to food, you say? Well, after going to the dentist, I discovered that I was supposed to eat only soft foods until my mouth told me it was O.K. to chew again. So I planned meals of brothy soups and applesauce, pudding and vegetable spreads. And all of a sudden, I realized that I was going to miss a whole lot of textures and flavors. I saw visions of crusty French breads and chunky granola out of reach for breakfast. I had to forego crisp radishes and baby turnips now available at the market. And seasonal rhubarb crunch could not stay on the dessert menu. I could no longer snack on carrots and nuts. I pretended that a whole world of food did not exist. I found myself trying to enjoy more subtle flavors. And luckily, ice cream was allowed!
My mouth healed quickly and now that its world has opened back up to me, I relish that first noisy crunch into celery and carrot. I savor the texture of pizza crust and croissant dough. I appreciate the grainy feel of cracked wheat on the tongue. I enjoy the crispness of stir-fried peppers and onions. I also find that food is a healer. After spending time in more institutional and sanitized medical settings, it’s good to see real food. Today, on the table, side by side, I see sliced moist red tomatoes, white and green zucchinis, smooth avocados, curly red cabbage, fine sprouts and creamy white goat cheese spread. I eye shiny red peppers, ruby beets and fragrant mint leaves alongside chewy golden focaccia bread. All that color and all that texture brings me back to life and I find myself getting back into the groove. Good food heals the mind and the body. I hope that as spring turns into summer, it will continue to feed me.
When I was thinking about soft foods, I remembered a recipe for a dessert that my Belgian best friend’s mother, Anny LeFort, made when strawberry season rolled around. My mother also made it at our house from strawberries picked in our backyard beside our red-gravelled lane. Thank you, Mother, for passing on this recipe!
Strawberry Mousse (Mousse aux fraises)
Combine:
4 egg whites and 1 c. confectioner’s sugar in double boiler and beat with electric beater on medium for 10 minutes or until the mixture is a brilliant white and takes shape (but not stiff). Cool.
Mash:
1 quart of washed and hulled strawberries and add juice of one lemon.
Beat:
1 c. heavy whipping cream.
Fold strawberries and whipped cream into the cooled egg white mixture. Keep cool in refrigerator until time to serve. Serves six.
Published in the Goshen News, May 26, 2008
So how does this relate to food, you say? Well, after going to the dentist, I discovered that I was supposed to eat only soft foods until my mouth told me it was O.K. to chew again. So I planned meals of brothy soups and applesauce, pudding and vegetable spreads. And all of a sudden, I realized that I was going to miss a whole lot of textures and flavors. I saw visions of crusty French breads and chunky granola out of reach for breakfast. I had to forego crisp radishes and baby turnips now available at the market. And seasonal rhubarb crunch could not stay on the dessert menu. I could no longer snack on carrots and nuts. I pretended that a whole world of food did not exist. I found myself trying to enjoy more subtle flavors. And luckily, ice cream was allowed!
My mouth healed quickly and now that its world has opened back up to me, I relish that first noisy crunch into celery and carrot. I savor the texture of pizza crust and croissant dough. I appreciate the grainy feel of cracked wheat on the tongue. I enjoy the crispness of stir-fried peppers and onions. I also find that food is a healer. After spending time in more institutional and sanitized medical settings, it’s good to see real food. Today, on the table, side by side, I see sliced moist red tomatoes, white and green zucchinis, smooth avocados, curly red cabbage, fine sprouts and creamy white goat cheese spread. I eye shiny red peppers, ruby beets and fragrant mint leaves alongside chewy golden focaccia bread. All that color and all that texture brings me back to life and I find myself getting back into the groove. Good food heals the mind and the body. I hope that as spring turns into summer, it will continue to feed me.
When I was thinking about soft foods, I remembered a recipe for a dessert that my Belgian best friend’s mother, Anny LeFort, made when strawberry season rolled around. My mother also made it at our house from strawberries picked in our backyard beside our red-gravelled lane. Thank you, Mother, for passing on this recipe!
Strawberry Mousse (Mousse aux fraises)
Combine:
4 egg whites and 1 c. confectioner’s sugar in double boiler and beat with electric beater on medium for 10 minutes or until the mixture is a brilliant white and takes shape (but not stiff). Cool.
Mash:
1 quart of washed and hulled strawberries and add juice of one lemon.
Beat:
1 c. heavy whipping cream.
Fold strawberries and whipped cream into the cooled egg white mixture. Keep cool in refrigerator until time to serve. Serves six.
Published in the Goshen News, May 26, 2008
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