On the surface of things

Looking out the window, it's hard to believe I'll be putting anything in the ground anytime soon. On the surface of things, the world looks--and feels--like we might be entering a new ice age. The wind is whipping around the buildings, sneaking into any uninsulated crevices it can find, and rattling any loose parts. The temperature feels like it's in the teens.

But in a 24-cell tray on the counter, onion seeds are waking up. In another tray, lettuce seedlings have already said their hellos. Spring will indeed be coming. When...well...that's beyond my powers of prediction.  The deer hope it will be soon.

 

This is the first year I'm growing onions, unless you count the six whole scallions I grew last year, as an afterthought. I seeded this year's batch on March 8, after soaking them in a compost tea. It is supposed to help with damping off, which I ran into with some of my pepper seedlings last year. They haven't made their appearance yet, but the spot in the kitchen where they're sleeping is not particularly warm.

The lettuce seeds, however, seem thrilled. They were seeded on March 9, and they're already up.  When they're big enough, I'll transplant some into the garden in Massachusetts, and some into pots to keep inside. We should be eating fresh lettuce by the end of April (earlier, if I take baby leaves from the side of the plants).

For now, though, there's a lentil and rice soup simmering on the stove, and we'll keep bundling up in (many) layers to head outside.  Except for Shiloh and Montana, who can't figure out why it takes so long to get out the door for a walk.

Beginning

March 11, 2014

So.

I'm leaving teaching.

I'm leaving teaching so that I can grow things.

I'm going to grow things, to see if I can feed us.

Growing things, feeding us—feeding others—is, for me, a lot like teaching. Growing things, feeding others and teaching are all acts of hope.  They are all acts of love. They all say, "I believe in something bigger than myself, bigger than right now, bigger than what is. I believe in what can be."  Growing things, feeding others and teaching all ask us to look at the world in a more benevolent light.  It has always been impossible for me to look at my eighth graders (even on the days I want to choke them) and not think, "They will do amazing things."  It has always been equally impossible for me not to lose myself in the single moments of cooking for others, in the single moments that make up the whole of a garden.  Impossible for me not to think about the beauty that exists in the ingredients spread out before me, and the alchemy that happens when they combine.  Kind of like the alchemy that happens when a student is paired with a just-right book.  These moments, when I stop and pause and think about them, remind me that in spite of what I read in the paper or see on the news, people are amazing. Life is amazing. And that gives me hope.

But.

I'm leaving teaching.

I'm leaving teaching, and it is so momentous, it has taken five years for me to realize that it is necessary, and two to bend my brain around the fact that it has to happen.

I'm leaving teaching, and it is so momentous, I don't quite have a fully-formulated answer to, "But what will you do?" I have been a teacher for 21 years.  I once thought that I would teach until I die.  "'Teacher" is part of my definition of myself.

But.

I can't stay.  I can't be part of what I'm being asked to do to students.  Every fiber of my being is opposed to standardization (in food and plants, too).  Every cell in my body shrieks as I sit through mind-numbing meeting after mind-numbing meeting about "data."  There are more and more of these meetings, as we seek to quantify the unquantifiable.

It's not data.  They are kids.  They are people, not percentiles.

And I can't do it anymore.

So.

I'm leaving teaching.

I'm leaving teaching so that I can grow things.

Because growing things and teaching are both acts of hopefulness.

I suspect my learning curve will be an almost vertical line.  But learning is an act of hopefulness, too.

And though my heart is broken and my brain still doesn't fully comprehend, I am hopeful.

Safe and Sound

I had to take my knives to be sharpened.  I don't have children, but I think it might have felt like leaving your kid with a babysitter for the first time.  They've come back in awesome shape, though, so we (the knives and I) celebrated by making a Late Summer Garden Risotto.

It started out as an eggplant and tomato risotto, from The Complete Italian Vegetarian Cookbook by Jack Bishop.  And then my husband walked in with our CSA share, and there was a lot more produce staring at me.  I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out: creamy and toothy from the rice, a pop of sweetness from the corn, the acidity of the tomatoes, and earthiness from the zucchini and eggplant.

The knives and I think it's a keeper, and my husband agrees.

Late Summer Garden Risotto

serves 6-8

1 ear of corn, kernels cut off, cob broken in half and reserved
5-6 cups of water
1/2 tsp salt
olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
1 cup of rice, Arborio or Carnaroli
1 small eggplant, or 6 Fairy Tale eggplant, chopped
2 small zucchini, chopped
1/4 cup white wine (optional)
2 small to medium tomatoes, seeded over a strainer, liquid pressed into the water above, chopped
salt and pepper to taste
Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, to taste
5 large basil leaves, sliced thinly
5 large mint leaves, sliced thinly

1.  Put the corn cob, 1/2 tsp of salt, tomato juice and water in a small saucepan.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to simmer.

2.  Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium.  Add garlic and onion, and cook gently until softened, about 4 minutes.  Add rice; stir to coat with oil.  Add eggplant and zucchini, stir to coat with oil.  Cook about 5 minutes.  Add wine if using; cook, stirring, until mostly absorbed.

3.  Add 1 cup of the corn cob liquid to the rice mixture.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid is absorbed.  Keep adding liquid by the 1/2 or 1 cupful, stirring occasionally, until the rice is almost al dente (this will take about 15 to 18 minutes).  Don't use all of the liquid--use about 3 1/2 to 4 cups.  Add about 1/2-3/4  tsp of salt and black pepper.

4.  Add the corn kernels and tomatoes.  Add 1/2 cup liquid, stir til absorbed.  At this point, keep tasting the rice.  You don't want it to get mushy.  Keep adding liquid until the rice is the consistency you want it, creamy but "toothy."

5.  Stir in the cheese; taste, and add additional salt if desired. Stir in the herbs, and serve immediately.

Almost a meal

I am not normally a smoothie kind of person.  At least not as a meal.  I don't feel like I've eaten after I have one, which kind of defeats the purpose.  But smoothies have been on my brain lately, since I have to have my wisdom teeth out in a week, so I thought I'd play around with them.  I like this one.  And I have to say, one thing smoothies have going for them: they sure are easy to make!

I was toying with the idea of turning a smoothie into "food."  What could I add that would make one more substantial?  Then I was thinking about muesli, and how if you soak oatmeal in milk it doesn't have to be cooked because it softens on its own.  The next thought was, "Well, yogurt is milk.  And it feels a little more substantial."  Blueberries were the fruit in the fridge, and voila: a blueberry-oatmeal smoothie.  It's a little sweet from the honey, a little tart from the blueberries and yogurt, and a little nutty from the oatmeal and walnuts.  There's also a texture to it from those last two.

Blueberry-Oatmeal Smoothie
serves 1

3/4 cup Greek yogurt (I used plain)
1 to 2 tbsp oatmeal, uncooked
1/2 cup blueberries, washed, water still clinging a little
1 to 2 tsp honey
1/4 tsp cinnamon
2 tbsp milk
2 tbsp to 1/4 c walnuts
ice cubes (optional)

Add the yogurt and oatmeal to the blender.  Let them sit for a few minutes, so the oatmeal begins to soften.  (You could do this overnight.)  Add the rest of your ingredients and blend until as smooth as you can get it. 

No Blah Here

This is my new favorite summer salad.  It's almost too pretty to eat.

Hahahahahaha!

As if.

It is really pretty, though, and it couldn't be any easier or more customizable.  The basics:  chop the stems of rainbow chard into 1/4 inch slices, and chop or tear the leaves into bite-sized pieces.  Place the chard stems in the bottom of a colander, put the leaves on top.  Boil a cup (or more) of orzo--I used whole wheat.  When the orzo is done, pour it over the chard.  Drain really well, and then mix in what you want.  This salad has sliced zucchini and radishes, shredded yellow squash, diced tomatoes, and basil.  Add the cheese of your choice (this one has feta), and the dressing of your choice (I'm partial to a red wine vinaigrette), stir, and either eat right away, or chill and serve cold.

Normally, I find pasta salads either overdressed, really boring, or both.  But there's no blah here, and doesn't have to be because you can change up what goes in each time.  Hooray!

Twee Tasty Tartlets

We had a surfeit of blueberries this week, and more than any other fruit, except possibly apples, blueberries inspire me to cook with them.  We've had blueberry muffins, blueberry scones, and now, miniature blueberry tarts.

My first thought when I saw the recipe was, "Ugh.  Fussy."  But they weren't.  Here are my tips:

1.  Get yourself a tart tamper.  It will make putting the dough in the mini-muffin tin a heck of a lot easier.  I was singing my sister-in-law's praises for recommending this little beauty.

2.  Don't be tempted to overfill the tart cups.  You'll have blueberry lava flowing and merging all over the tin.  (If, like me, you can't resist, make sure you start smoothing the lava back into each cup shortly after you pull them out of the oven.  Also, start carefully loosening the tarts as soon as you've re-sorted the lava.  And clean the tin as soon as you have the tarts safely on the cooling rack. Once that blueberry stuff cools, it takes a jackhammer to remove.  I've done it both ways, and prefer the non-jackhammer way.)

3.  After you fill the cups, pop them back in the fridge for a while, even though the recipe doesn't call for it.  Especially if it's a 90 degree day, as it is here.  

3.  Make sure your mini-muffin pan is really, really non-stick.  Life will be easier.

4.  If some of the tartlets resist coming out of the pan, eat the evidence.  Heck, there are 24 of them.  Who's going to miss one?  Or, um, two. 

Here's the link.  Enjoy!

http://www.marthastewart.com/275045/blueberry-recipes/@center/276955/seasonal-produce-recipe-guide#/254674

Delicious Experimentation

I know.  It's been awhile.  These nachos were inspiring, though (and my sisters asked what the heck was going on with the blog) so here I am!  But more importantly, here are these nachos.

The town we live in is just south of Boston, Massachusetts.  We have a wealth of restaurants in Boston, of course, but our town is no slouch, either.  You can get great Vietnamese at Pho Hua, great fried seafood at Tony's on the beach, tasty "modern comfort food" at Remick's, and AWESOME nachos at the Fat Cat. 

The nachos in question are Roasted Garlic-Pulled Pork nachos.  In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that when I'm having an especially bad day, I have been known to eat the entire plate (minus a few naked chips) by myself.  I'm sure it's only about 7,000 calories and 920 grams of fat.  Fortunately, I don't have those kinds of bad days too often...!  Usually, I'm willing, nay, I prefer, to share.

As you can imagine, there's nothing low-fat about these suckers.  But making them at home, it's easier to control that somewhat.  There's nothing fast about these if you don't already have the pulled pork made, but do yourself a favor:  roast a pork shoulder for dinner one night over a weekend, roast some garlic at the tail end of the roasting, and shred and save about 2 cups of the meat so you can make these.  You won't be sorry.

Roasted Garlic and Pulled Pork Nachos
idea taken from the Fat Cat Restaurant

Roasted Pulled Pork and Roasted Garlic
one 4-5 pound bone-in pork shoulder roast, with fat left on
salt and pepper
2 bulbs garlic

Preheat oven to 425.

1.  Score the fat on the pork in a diamond pattern, making sure not to cut into the meat.  Rub about 1 tsp salt into the cuts.  Salt and pepper the other sides, to taste.  (see Jamie Oliver for an amazing recipe for this)
2.  Put the meat fat side up on a rack in a roasting pan (I used a cooling rack inside a jelly-roll pan, because I left my roaster in NY.).  Bake for 30 minutes, or until the fat starts to get crispy (crackling!).
3.  Cover the meat tightly with foil, lower the heat to 325, and roast for 3-5 hours (depending on the size of your roast) or until the meat is shrinking from the bone and pulls apart with two forks.  Remove the foil for the last 1/2 hour so the crackling crisps up again.  If you want to eat it.  If not, don't bother. 
4.  One and a half hours before the pork is done, cut the top off of the garlic bulbs, so that all garlic cloves are showing.  Place each on its own square of heavy-duty foil, drizzle each with about 2 tsp olive oil, wrap tightly, and roast in the oven until soft. 
5.  Remove pork and garlic from oven.  Shred two or so cups of the pork to use for the nachos, and enjoy the rest for dinner!  Or, well, maybe a few dinners... 

Nachos
(serves 4...or in our house, two for dinner)

2 cups shredded pork
1 cup barbecue sauce of your choice, divided  (a balanced sweet-tangy is best here)
roasted garlic, cloves squeeze out of the papery husk (use as many of the cloves as you want--I used a little more than half of a bulb; the restaurant definitely uses more)
1 cup cooked corn  (frozen is fine here)
two to three handfuls of tortilla chips per person
4-6 oz shredded smoked mozzarella or smoked cheddar (or a mix)
pickled jalapenos (optional)
Corn and tomato salsa (see below)
plain Greek yogurt or sour cream for serving (optional)

Preheat oven to 325.

1.  In a medium saucepan, heat the pork, 3/4 cup barbecue sauce, and garlic over low heat until warm.  Add corn, cook until warm.
2.  Scatter the tortilla chips on a jelly roll pan.  Evenly distribute the pork over the chips, drizzle over remaining barbecue sauce, sprinkle with jalapenos (if using) and evenly sprinkle cheese over all.  Bake on middle rack of oven for 20 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and edges of chips are just starting to brown.
3.  Remove the nachos from the oven.  Evenly distribute the corn and tomato salsa, leaving the juices behind, over the nachos.  Return to the oven on the top rack, and bake until the tomatoes start to soften and the chips are browned at the edges, 7-10 minutes.  Serve with yogurt or sour cream, if desired.

Corn and tomato salsa

1 cup cooked corn* (fresh is better here, but frozen-quick cook it and drain it well-is fine)
1 cup chopped tomato
1 tbsp shredded basil
salt, to taste

Mix all ingredients to combine.
*If your corn is fresh, you could pan roast it or grill it to add a slight layer of smoky flavor.