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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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