It's been fun to plan out, plant, and tend a brand new garden, and all the more so since we decided to put it in the front yard. Indeed, as predicted by the "Food, Not Lawns" philosophy, I have met more of our neighbors in the past three months of working on this garden than I did in the six years since we moved in.
At first, I got alot of what felt like "uh, oh, there goes the neighborhood" looks. But since then, there have been an increasing number of friendly dog walkers, bike riders, and joggers who stop to chat, to shmooze about what we're growing, about the price of food in general due to the rise in corn prices and gas prices, and, as well, about other local issues.
A generation and more ago, goes the thinking, our grandparents had front porches where they'd sit outside in the summer; kids would play on the street in front of the house with the neighbors kids, and people would get to know each other. I can't confirm the veracity of that myth, but I am sure there is a great deal of truth to it.
What's for sure is that now anymore, the front lawn has become like the old English Manor lawn, tended, fertilized, watered, and certainly not walked- or played on. No, instead we build big back porches, screened in, or add nice metal gazebos cheaply purchased from the local hardware conglomerate. We sit in the rear of the house, only chatting with the people we've specifically invited. We play and socialize in the back yard, we fence in our yards to boot, and then wonder how it is that we don't know our neighbors.
It's time we get out from behind our literal and figurative fences and reconnect with the people around us.
As far as I'm concerned, if you want to build a fence to keep the deer from snacking on your tomatoes, that's fine. But why fence yourself off from humanity when you can learn so much from your neighbors about the latest gossip, or get tips about how to make the best compost, or just share in the common struggles of living in 2008? What is it that my kids sing incessantly from High School Musical? We're all in this together...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Pizza returns!
One year later, and with the encouragement of my local colleague Reverend Beth Quick, "The Pizza" is making a come-back!
So much to say, where do we begin?
I burned the first potato of the season. Yes, yes I did.
You see, inspired by a writer/permaculturist named Heather Flores who has the crazy idea of "Food Not Lawns," we planted a front yard garden this year. Sunflowers, carrots, a blueberry bush, basil, spearmint, rosemary, tomatoes, two kinds of lettuce, zucchini and potatoes are blossoming magnificently in our front yard in a 10 by 12 foot plot surrounded by metal fencing. It's gone so well, I almost fear to write about it.
Most of these things I've grown before, to some success. We threw the blueberry in for fun to see what happened, and then I planted the potatoes, sure somehow that since I have no Irish blood in me (as far as I know), I'd have no luck growing potatoes. And yet, there they are, going gangbusters!
The instructions that came with the potatoes said that as soon as they begin to flower, you can gently lift the plants and pick the small, new potatoes that are growing. I was so excited to see a flower and read this guidance that I ran right out and picked one. I ran back in, washed it, and put it in the microwave, hoping to pop the little guy right in my mouth, not two minutes removed from the ground.
Bad news. Two minutes in the microwave for a potato one-half-inch in diameter is apparently at least 90 seconds too long. I was impatiently puttering around the kitchen as the potato was being nuked, when Lys asked suddenly, "do you smell something burning?"
Yes, yes I did. One positively petrified potato.
If at first you don't succeed...
So much to say, where do we begin?
I burned the first potato of the season. Yes, yes I did.
You see, inspired by a writer/permaculturist named Heather Flores who has the crazy idea of "Food Not Lawns," we planted a front yard garden this year. Sunflowers, carrots, a blueberry bush, basil, spearmint, rosemary, tomatoes, two kinds of lettuce, zucchini and potatoes are blossoming magnificently in our front yard in a 10 by 12 foot plot surrounded by metal fencing. It's gone so well, I almost fear to write about it.
Most of these things I've grown before, to some success. We threw the blueberry in for fun to see what happened, and then I planted the potatoes, sure somehow that since I have no Irish blood in me (as far as I know), I'd have no luck growing potatoes. And yet, there they are, going gangbusters!
The instructions that came with the potatoes said that as soon as they begin to flower, you can gently lift the plants and pick the small, new potatoes that are growing. I was so excited to see a flower and read this guidance that I ran right out and picked one. I ran back in, washed it, and put it in the microwave, hoping to pop the little guy right in my mouth, not two minutes removed from the ground.
Bad news. Two minutes in the microwave for a potato one-half-inch in diameter is apparently at least 90 seconds too long. I was impatiently puttering around the kitchen as the potato was being nuked, when Lys asked suddenly, "do you smell something burning?"
Yes, yes I did. One positively petrified potato.
If at first you don't succeed...
Thursday, June 21, 2007
A Rhubarb by Any Other Name...
My father loved rhubarb. We had a patch of rhubarb growing in our backyard growing up, and while I can't really remember ever actually trying any, I have always been convinced that I hated it, detested it, couldn't imagine ever trying it. Apparantly the plant is like a viscious weed-- you can never get rid of it once you plant it. I have no idea how he prepared it-- I'm fairly certain that he was the only one in our house to eat it. Elyssa has equally negative associations with the red red stuff.
And then, insert dramatic music here, the rhubarb arrived in our farm share. What to do? What to do indeed? We have resolved to use everything we get in our farm share each week. So far, it's been alot of greens and spices-- good, safe stuff so far.
But rhubarb? I didn't even know what I might do with rhubarb, even assuming I was so inclined. So I did a scientific study. And here's what I discovered. Seven out of ten people living in the Northeast offer nothing but blank stares when asked, "What should I do with the rhubarb I got in my farm share." And the other three say, "make rhubarb pie." When asked for a recipe, however, it transpires that even those three have never actually eaten rhubarb pie. It just seemed like the thing to say, apparently.
I went foodnetwork.com and saw all manner of rhubarb recipies, most prominently for varieties of rhubarb pie. Then I came across a recipe for rhubarb walnut muffins. It looked fabulous (other than thr rhubarb, of course), and easy, so we tried it. When they came out of the oven, I cut one in half and brought the 2 halves in to Elyssa for us to each try.
We have this funny thing we do whenever I make something I've never made before. I obnoxiously stare at her, making her try the first bite, just to make sure nothing terrible happens to her. She's always a really good sport, and I must say that what I cook usually turns out all right.
But not tonight. I brought the plate in, and she didn't flinch. Both of us looked at our muffin half like it might taste like castor oil. She lifted the muffin to her mouth, and then stopped, waiting to be sure that I was actually going to try the thing. In a gesture that qualifies us to mediate the Middle East conflict, we wordlessly agreed to pop the muffin in our mouths at the same time.
And suprise, suprise, we really like them!
Somewhere my father is laughing his head off.
And then, insert dramatic music here, the rhubarb arrived in our farm share. What to do? What to do indeed? We have resolved to use everything we get in our farm share each week. So far, it's been alot of greens and spices-- good, safe stuff so far.
But rhubarb? I didn't even know what I might do with rhubarb, even assuming I was so inclined. So I did a scientific study. And here's what I discovered. Seven out of ten people living in the Northeast offer nothing but blank stares when asked, "What should I do with the rhubarb I got in my farm share." And the other three say, "make rhubarb pie." When asked for a recipe, however, it transpires that even those three have never actually eaten rhubarb pie. It just seemed like the thing to say, apparently.
I went foodnetwork.com and saw all manner of rhubarb recipies, most prominently for varieties of rhubarb pie. Then I came across a recipe for rhubarb walnut muffins. It looked fabulous (other than thr rhubarb, of course), and easy, so we tried it. When they came out of the oven, I cut one in half and brought the 2 halves in to Elyssa for us to each try.
We have this funny thing we do whenever I make something I've never made before. I obnoxiously stare at her, making her try the first bite, just to make sure nothing terrible happens to her. She's always a really good sport, and I must say that what I cook usually turns out all right.
But not tonight. I brought the plate in, and she didn't flinch. Both of us looked at our muffin half like it might taste like castor oil. She lifted the muffin to her mouth, and then stopped, waiting to be sure that I was actually going to try the thing. In a gesture that qualifies us to mediate the Middle East conflict, we wordlessly agreed to pop the muffin in our mouths at the same time.
And suprise, suprise, we really like them!
Somewhere my father is laughing his head off.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Nothing like fresh greens...
Warm salmon on fresh greens with honey mustard dressing and slivered almonds. If there is a world to come, this might be a taste of it. And when the greens are really fresh-- like, picked this morning less than an hour away-- there's something truly extraordinary about them.
Our farm share deliveries started today, and the best part was how excited the boys are. Our eldest was so excited to help divide up the three types of salad, the collard greens, the garlic greens, and the fresh mint which made the whole synagogue smell good. And 41 families from the congregation and outside had a taste of local and organic tonight.
Now it's time for what Israelis call tea eem nana, tea with mint. I can't wait!
Our farm share deliveries started today, and the best part was how excited the boys are. Our eldest was so excited to help divide up the three types of salad, the collard greens, the garlic greens, and the fresh mint which made the whole synagogue smell good. And 41 families from the congregation and outside had a taste of local and organic tonight.
Now it's time for what Israelis call tea eem nana, tea with mint. I can't wait!
Saturday, May 26, 2007
How does your garden grow?
We've gotten past Shavu'ot, and the weather is beautiful.
From a historical perspective, this Jewish festival celebrates the Israelites receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. But it's also an agricultural festival, marking the season of the first fruits of the harvest.
The major Jewish holidays, Passover, Shavu'ot, and Sukkot, all have agricultural roots to them, but I feel that we rarely stop to think of those roots, perhaps because we're so removed from the importance of that cycle. We generally focus instead on the historical associations with the holidays. Don't get me wrong-- those associations are critically important, too. But I do feel that getting back to the agricultural meaning of the days might just help us reconnect with the earth in ways it seems we've also forgotten.
We are eagerly trying to be organic gardeners, so, like Farmer Rich, we've been counting the days since Passover, watching as our garlic, tomatoes, carrots, and green pepper have gone from seeds to tiny plants in our kitchen window, and then into the ground in our backyard. They've endured benign neglect from the Mosbacher Family, late frosts from Mother Nature, and an early attack from our resident ground hog. At the risk of jinxing the whole enterprise, things seem to be going well, so far:
Left to right: tomatoes, green pepper (mystery plants in back), carrots
In the bed: Heirloom Garlic
The garlic, planted last October, appears that it might actually make it!
We even have a couple of mystery plants in the bed behind the pepper plant; Elyssa speculates that these are pumpkin plants sprouting up from some pumpkin seeds that must have made it into our bionic compost. Oh, we're so organic, I can't stand it!!
From a historical perspective, this Jewish festival celebrates the Israelites receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. But it's also an agricultural festival, marking the season of the first fruits of the harvest.
The major Jewish holidays, Passover, Shavu'ot, and Sukkot, all have agricultural roots to them, but I feel that we rarely stop to think of those roots, perhaps because we're so removed from the importance of that cycle. We generally focus instead on the historical associations with the holidays. Don't get me wrong-- those associations are critically important, too. But I do feel that getting back to the agricultural meaning of the days might just help us reconnect with the earth in ways it seems we've also forgotten.
We are eagerly trying to be organic gardeners, so, like Farmer Rich, we've been counting the days since Passover, watching as our garlic, tomatoes, carrots, and green pepper have gone from seeds to tiny plants in our kitchen window, and then into the ground in our backyard. They've endured benign neglect from the Mosbacher Family, late frosts from Mother Nature, and an early attack from our resident ground hog. At the risk of jinxing the whole enterprise, things seem to be going well, so far:
Left to right: tomatoes, green pepper (mystery plants in back), carrots
In the bed: Heirloom Garlic
The garlic, planted last October, appears that it might actually make it!
We even have a couple of mystery plants in the bed behind the pepper plant; Elyssa speculates that these are pumpkin plants sprouting up from some pumpkin seeds that must have made it into our bionic compost. Oh, we're so organic, I can't stand it!!
Fair Trade for Nine-Year Olds
My bright nine year old and I headed to our favorite donut-shop-that-must-not-be- named this morning. As we were exiting with our purchases, my son was nearly trampled to death by other impatient coffee-starved patrons as he stopped to read every decal on the exit door. You know, the ones that tell you the store hours and which credit cards are accepted.
As I yanked him (gently) to the relative saftey of the parking lot, he looked up at me with those bright eyes and asked, "Aba, what does 'We sell only Fair Trade Coffee' mean?"
This led to a great discussion about who makes/grows the food and drink we consume, and how much they do (or don't) get paid. The best part of the discussion was when he said, "Aba, that reminds me of The Story of the Pizza!" (Yeah, us!!)
He generously offered that if he owned the shop, he'd charge 4 dollars for a cup of coffee and give 2 dollars to the farmer. Praising him for his kindness, I reminded him that, from his remaining 2 dollars, he'd need to buy coffee cups, pay the electrical bill, pay someone to serve the coffee in the shop, and pay the rent on the shop itself. Leaving little or no money left over for the generous owner to buy Bionicles or Pizza for his family.
The talk then turned to a consideration of capitalism, roughly entitled, "Why Can't the Owner of the Donut Shop Charge 8 Dollars for a Cup of Coffee so that She Can Give 2 Dollars to the Farmer and Still Make a Profit?"
I'd say I handled the lecture on "Intro to Market Forces for Nine-Year-Olds" quite well, especially when you consider that the caffeine hadn't yet reached my nervous system!
As I yanked him (gently) to the relative saftey of the parking lot, he looked up at me with those bright eyes and asked, "Aba, what does 'We sell only Fair Trade Coffee' mean?"
This led to a great discussion about who makes/grows the food and drink we consume, and how much they do (or don't) get paid. The best part of the discussion was when he said, "Aba, that reminds me of The Story of the Pizza!" (Yeah, us!!)
He generously offered that if he owned the shop, he'd charge 4 dollars for a cup of coffee and give 2 dollars to the farmer. Praising him for his kindness, I reminded him that, from his remaining 2 dollars, he'd need to buy coffee cups, pay the electrical bill, pay someone to serve the coffee in the shop, and pay the rent on the shop itself. Leaving little or no money left over for the generous owner to buy Bionicles or Pizza for his family.
The talk then turned to a consideration of capitalism, roughly entitled, "Why Can't the Owner of the Donut Shop Charge 8 Dollars for a Cup of Coffee so that She Can Give 2 Dollars to the Farmer and Still Make a Profit?"
I'd say I handled the lecture on "Intro to Market Forces for Nine-Year-Olds" quite well, especially when you consider that the caffeine hadn't yet reached my nervous system!
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Liberation Food for thought
Okay, so eating for Passover certainly makes me think a great deal about what I eat.
It's impossible not to be incredibly cognizant of food intake during this holiday. We have been suprised and impressed about how good the kids have been in not complaining about what they can't eat; I think they've been better than we have!
Passover marks our liberation from Egyptian bondage, but it is also tied to the agricultural cycle. While it has been unseasonably cold here and around the country, in the past week, and promises to remain so, it is the time for new growth in the fields-- a time when anxious farmers wait to see the early signs of whether it'll be a good harvest year or not. I like that we as Jews have a tradition of counting the days between Passover and Shavuot-- it for me serves as a reminder of our connection-- no matter how tenuous these days-- to the land. No doubt in a more agrarian society, this is a time of counting each day, examining so careful the growth of new sprouts, the quantity of water that falls, and so on.
We can see a microcosom of this on our windowsill; two weeks ago, the boys and I planted tomato, carrot, bush bean, and flower seeds in pots, and they've all bursted through the soil. We've taken to calling the bush beans "Audrey," because they look suspiciously like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. We have a small appreciation, through these plants, of what it must be like for Farmer Rich to be watching his fields each day.
Speaking of Farmer Rich, we have been talking to folks about signing up for the community supported farm we bought a share of last year. I think that 15 families or more that we've spoken to are buying shares, which is terrific! There'll be a drop off at our synagogue, so people can pick up their veggies very conveniently. We're very proud of this small effort to encourage people to eat locally and organically.
It's impossible not to be incredibly cognizant of food intake during this holiday. We have been suprised and impressed about how good the kids have been in not complaining about what they can't eat; I think they've been better than we have!
Passover marks our liberation from Egyptian bondage, but it is also tied to the agricultural cycle. While it has been unseasonably cold here and around the country, in the past week, and promises to remain so, it is the time for new growth in the fields-- a time when anxious farmers wait to see the early signs of whether it'll be a good harvest year or not. I like that we as Jews have a tradition of counting the days between Passover and Shavuot-- it for me serves as a reminder of our connection-- no matter how tenuous these days-- to the land. No doubt in a more agrarian society, this is a time of counting each day, examining so careful the growth of new sprouts, the quantity of water that falls, and so on.
We can see a microcosom of this on our windowsill; two weeks ago, the boys and I planted tomato, carrot, bush bean, and flower seeds in pots, and they've all bursted through the soil. We've taken to calling the bush beans "Audrey," because they look suspiciously like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. We have a small appreciation, through these plants, of what it must be like for Farmer Rich to be watching his fields each day.
Speaking of Farmer Rich, we have been talking to folks about signing up for the community supported farm we bought a share of last year. I think that 15 families or more that we've spoken to are buying shares, which is terrific! There'll be a drop off at our synagogue, so people can pick up their veggies very conveniently. We're very proud of this small effort to encourage people to eat locally and organically.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Two out of three ain't bad...
So I got ambitious yesterday. Cooking for me is relaxing; spending time thinking about food is getting to be a great barometer of how crazy my life is. When I don't have time to think about it or cook, then life is just too darn hectic.
So in recovering from Rosh Hashanah, I decided to cook up a storm. And I wouldn't, of course, want to pick EASY things to make, so I decided to make pasta as a main dish-- specifically, tortellini. Note to self: don't try to make pasta without a pasta maker. Elyssa did a masterful job rolling the dough out by hand, thin as we could make it. We used an Alton Brown recipe, which, I have to say, was less than Altonesque, what with the ingredients listed out of order and the instructions kind of unclear, too. But ultimately, it came down to too-thick pasta. We cooked the stuff for 45 minutes and it was still, let's generously call it, "chewy." Yuck. The filling was nice (with garlic and basil from the farm), but the stuff was generally one of the more complete failures I've ever prepared. "The Story of the Pasta" was, in this case, a comedy of errors.
On to the garlic bread-- a gourmet Emeril recipe that was a fantastic success. And because of the utter meltdown of the main dish, it became the primary source of calories in the meal portion of this program. We used fresh parsely from the farm and a range of spices that left our mouths pleasantly tingly. It was great-- a definite keeper.
And then, the piece d'resistance (sp?). Peach upside down cake. Alton Brown redeems himself with this gourmet but incredibly simple recipe. It would be very impressive for a party. So chic. So delicious. And with peaches in season, quite fresh as well.
So two out of three made for a nice evening, especially since we fed the kids earlier and ate after they went to bed!
So in recovering from Rosh Hashanah, I decided to cook up a storm. And I wouldn't, of course, want to pick EASY things to make, so I decided to make pasta as a main dish-- specifically, tortellini. Note to self: don't try to make pasta without a pasta maker. Elyssa did a masterful job rolling the dough out by hand, thin as we could make it. We used an Alton Brown recipe, which, I have to say, was less than Altonesque, what with the ingredients listed out of order and the instructions kind of unclear, too. But ultimately, it came down to too-thick pasta. We cooked the stuff for 45 minutes and it was still, let's generously call it, "chewy." Yuck. The filling was nice (with garlic and basil from the farm), but the stuff was generally one of the more complete failures I've ever prepared. "The Story of the Pasta" was, in this case, a comedy of errors.
On to the garlic bread-- a gourmet Emeril recipe that was a fantastic success. And because of the utter meltdown of the main dish, it became the primary source of calories in the meal portion of this program. We used fresh parsely from the farm and a range of spices that left our mouths pleasantly tingly. It was great-- a definite keeper.
And then, the piece d'resistance (sp?). Peach upside down cake. Alton Brown redeems himself with this gourmet but incredibly simple recipe. It would be very impressive for a party. So chic. So delicious. And with peaches in season, quite fresh as well.
So two out of three made for a nice evening, especially since we fed the kids earlier and ate after they went to bed!
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