A Bikeable Feast

Schooled by school children?

2012-02-14T00:14:00.000-05:00

Last Wednesday marked the fifth Sustainable DC working group meeting since Mayor Gray gave his opening remarks at the inaugural gathering back in November. (I've not seen him at a meeting since.) Session 5 was the first meeting to reconvene members of all 9 working groups for a larger group sharing session on what we've been up to in our specific work areas. "Oh, boy," I mumbled to myself as lactic acid built up in my legs along the near endless uphill stretch of Tilden Street on my bike ride to UDC amid wind and sleet on Wednesday night, "another whah-whah-whah-whah, talkety-talk, official meeting where everyone blathers on in government speak and pretends to care about sustainability and then nobody actually does anything." And yet... as much as I dread these sorts of government-talking-and-little-action sorts of gatherings, I must say that I was surprised and impressed with what my peers -- a pretty good cross-section of my fellow DC citizens and advocates and, yes, a handful of city government officials -- had to say about what our city needs and ways we can get to a more sustainable way of living here in the nation's capital.

I know, I wouldn't have believed it had I not been sitting in the UDC auditorium myself.

There were some darn good goals and concise, specific recommendations put forth by each of the working groups. After we heard each group's vision statement and recommendations for the top 10 highest impact changes needed in areas like water and waste management, food, nature, energy, green economies, and the built environment, DC residents circulated around a series of stations just outside of the auditorium -- each with a giant poster of possible goals and action items for a given topic -- and voted on overall priorities... using stickers, of which each attendee had exactly 25... just like we used to vote with in the 4th grade. (Only with less of an obvious black market sticker trade, perhaps.) Everyone had equal say -- democracy in action, for better or worse -- and it was fascinating to see how folks voted, which items outside of their own group's work garnered support. I can certainly say that I hadn't anticipated using so many stickers on transportation priorities, but that group had some excellent ideas.

Collectively, we voted for things like increasing double dollars at farmers' markets across the city (yeah, that got more than one of my stickers). Things like offering incentives to retrofit old buildings to be more energy efficient, requiring government agencies to source food locally, insisting that food businesses use biodegradable packaging. (Where am I, Portlandia?? It could happen.) Things like implementing a city-wide, 3-stream waste collection system to collect separated trash, recyclables, and compostables. Frankly, I am baffled as to why we don't already have a 3-stream system and am resisting the urge to look up how long the much larger city of San Francisco has had such a system in place. It's not hard, people, I've been doing with my middle school garden club since October. (Occasionally an apple core will end up in the recycling bin, but we're working on that.)

We've 4 more working group sessions to go over the next 2 months. There's a lot of potential here, some good ideas and momentum. I'm curious to see what the city government actually *does* with our collective ideas and votes. I've yet to see or hear any kind of follow-up from Councilman Wells' similarly ambitious urban agriculture public hearing last December, and I worry that our current mayor may similarly lose the good faith of the citizenry if he does not follow through with meaningful and timely actions.

It's not rocket science. I know some 7th graders that could offer some practical recommendations on how to live more sustainably.

A contest: give 'em the slip!

2012-02-13T23:04:00.000-05:00

Rest assured that there will be a few blogposts coming up quite soon -- on the Sustainable DC initiative, on seed starting workshops, on master gardening classes, on beer brewing and bread baking and more -- but for now I think it's time for a little contest, New Yorker magazine style.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to come up with a caption for this photo, taken during my ride up the 11th Street bike lane here in Northwest DC. I'll pick a winner next week and send along a little something fun -- prize TBA, depending on how amusing the winning entry is.

Deadline for entries: Feb 21. Yes, Fat Tuesday. (Not to be confused with Flat Tuesday -- last week marked flat #5 since my return to DC. *sigh*)

In search of a better bike route mapping tool

2012-02-05T23:32:00.011-05:00

"Dear Google Bike Maps staff,
Please remove South Capitol Street from all possible bike route options in Washington, DC. That road is barely fit for cars; it is a total disaster for some poor schmuck on a bicycle...."

Now, I'll admit that I've ridden around the country on all manner of inappropriate roads for a bicycle. Shoulderless truck routes, 10-mile-long gravel paths, steep and often shoulderless Highway 1 down the Pacific coastline, the occasional stretch of interstate highway across New Mexico and Texas (which was actually legal, if you can believe it). But these perhaps foolhardy route choices were made before google launched the supposedly ever-improving bike mapping feature that I've come to rely on quite heavily in recent months. Well, I think the mappers need more feedback, because there are a few "suggested" roads I've discovered lately that a bicycle has no business being on. Ever. Like South Capitol Street in Anacostia. I count myself lucky to be alive to tell the tale. Bikers, beware!

[Note: The other suggested google bike route from where I departing in Eastern Market involved Suitland Parkway, which, having been on it in a car numerous times on my way out to Drew-Freeman Middle School, I recognize as a road that only a cyclist with suicidal tendencies would tackle. Yet somehow that red flag did not elicit suspicion about South Capitol Street. Oh, silly Ibti....]

My foray with Ollie down a 2.5-mile stretch of South Capitol Street last Wednesday to get to Patterson Elementary was one of the most terrifying experiences I have ever had. (I know exactly how far it was, thanks to the snazzy new bike computer from Ryan -- a replacement for the one stolen at the farmers' market just before Christmas. I'm glad that the bike computer and I were not reduced to chalk outlines on the asphalt after our misguided adventure.) Going over the 11th Street Bridge under construction was scary enough on the 2-foot-wide sidewalk alongside speeding SUVs, but all was not lost... yet. (Am I losing my nerve a bit, getting soft with the comparatively easy city riding? Ah, who am I kidding, I'm not so tough. It is more likely my latent chickenheartedness emerging once again.)

Anyway, things seemed somewhat smooth with a nicely paved half mile of dedicated bike path along the Anacostia once I crossed the bridge into Southeast and it was a beautiful, sunny day after all. Then the bike path ended abruptly, so I rode on the sidewalk. See how calm and adaptable I was? Not even swearing... yet. Then the sidewalk simply ended, so I shook my head and crossed South Capitol (at a crosswalk: safety first!) to ride on the opposite sidewalk. Then that ended, too. I took a deep breath and crossed back over to ride on the right-hand road shoulder. Then that ended, so I crossed over to the left-hand road shoulder, now starting to really sweat as cars zoomed past. Thank god I was not there during rush hour, because right as I crossed under 295 that road shoulder ended, too. I will concede a few expletives and a few yelps of fear escaped as I saw the yellow line on my right scooting ever closer to the concrete barrier on my left. I decided that the safest option at this point was to cut over three lanes to ride in the right lane of the now sidewalkless, shoulderless road. Yes, that was the safest option. What the...? But things were looking more residential about a quarter mile ahead. Yes, I do believe I spied a sidewalk and the road appeared to get smaller, so I persevered.

I'm so glad I did. The school visit wound up being a delightful hour of singing and dancing and nibbling and talking about food with a fabulous group of preschoolers and a cadre of amazing teachers. I happily accepted a ride back to Columbia Heights with Vera afterwards, with Ollie lying comfortably in the car's spacious trunk. I also decided that next time I head out that way, I'm taking the metro.

I must be losing my touch

2012-01-31T22:21:00.002-05:00

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to come home tonight to find Ollie with a flat rear tire. It's been awhile. (If you've been following this blog for any length of time, you are no doubt familiar with my propensity for relating each flat tire incident in excruciating detail, and you will concede that I have not thrown Ollie wheels up in some time.)

After I hit some miscellaneous piece of road shrapnel in the bike lane three days ago, I'd been noticing a drop in rear tire pressure following every couple of rides around town. So the next day, Sunday, I took out the damaged tube and did the usual tire and tube check. For the life of me, I couldn't find the hole. I inflated the tube...no detectable leak. I deflated it and *really* inflated it a second time. Again, nada. It wasn't a faulty stem -- I'd know, I've had those, too -- and I couldn't see or hear an air leak anywhere. So what was I supposed to do, toss an inexplicably leaky tube? No. (This is as much due to stubbornness as frugality or eco-friendliness, mind you.) Maybe it was all in my head. I decided I would reinflate it and just keep an eye on things, so I put that same tube back in... which was more challenging than usual since I seem, owing to recent disuse, to have misplaced my single remaining tire iron. Flat-head screwdrivers aren't as apt a substitute as you might think.

Everything seemed fine -- with the noticeable exception of my gut, which kept telling me the ghost leak would manifest itself again. Sure enough, I came home from my inaugural Master Gardening class tonight to find Ollie markedly deflated. Gah! Alright, that's it: I pulled out the tube (now a third time), inflated it, and... Oh, heck, no luck. I finally caved and did the tried and true water test in my bathroom sink. Aha! There it was, clear as day! How did I not see or hear that giant, fingernail-shaped gash in the tube before it was submerged?? Guess I'm losing my touch.

Let the record show that once the hole was found, I checked the tire for lingering pointy things (there were none) and installed a new tube in under 10 minutes. Yes, sans tire iron. Maybe I'm not losing my touch after all....though I do plan to pick up a couple of tire irons and some of that super degreaser for my hands next time I'm near a bike shop.

The Physical Club

2012-01-30T23:07:00.001-05:00

I learn something every day. Or a few things. Like today.

This afternoon marked my second session back with the middle schoolers at Drew Freeman since the holiday break. The garden club project originally started with me being hired this past fall to teach a series of 12 after school lessons on sustainable living. I found myself falling in love with the students and the possibilities at this most unusual public middle school in Prince George's County right around the time I was asked to continue leading (and expanding) the club. How could I resist such a bevy of kale munching, beet craving, plant loving pre-teens? I can't. And once we take a final vote on our club's name, you'll fall in love with them, too, I bet, when you read all about our adventures in planting and cooking on the blog we'll be setting up. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First we need a name.

The motley crew of 7th and 8th graders have over the course of the past 4 months been alternately referred to as The SMILE Club, The Urban Farming Club, and the Garden Club, and gosh darn it, I'd been thinking lately, it's about time we chose our own name. Something that really solidifies for us -- and for the increasing number of interested folks dropping by to see what we're up to -- what it is we are all about. (Beet Freaks? They do love beets more than anyone ever could have anticipated. The Drew Garden Crew? Wooh, good thing I'm not the one doing the naming here....) The whole process of students brainstorming names for themselves was very telling. I tried not to smile too maniacally as I scrawled possible names they'd generated in their journals onto the chalkboard and asked them to explain their ideas: The Green Group ("because we're doing stuff to help the planet"), Going Green ("because we recycle and stuff"), The Cooking and Planting Club ("because that's what we do"), The Green Squad ("um, well, you know, we care about green things and we work together"), E.F.G. (The Eco-Friendly Group), and, admittedly my favorite, The Physical Club.

"Why did you suggest The Physical Club?" I inquired of the mild-mannered student who'd volunteered it.

"Well, Ms. Vincent," James smiled as he straightened his glasses, "it's because we do stuff here. We're not just home sitting on the couch." Yep, sometimes we do some pretty physical stuff in this program. Remember hauling the dirt for the raised beds in early November? I definitely broke a sweat.

Of course. They get it. This club is about doing things. Building things. Growing things. Recycling things. Reusing things. Cooking things. And making our world a little nicer. And, yes, some days are quite physical. Like today, as we collected, arranged, and zip-tied a 2-stage compost bin for our garden. Let me tell you, those pallets were heavy. (Don't be fooled by Nigel's smile, he was really working here.)

It took a bit longer than I'd anticipated as students and teachers measured and troubleshot -- what, it's a word (or should be, if it's not) -- and rearranged the wooden sides again and again until things lined up, and after zip-tying the whole shebang together and starting off the base layer with the remnants of our sprouted seed trays from the classroom, we at last headed back indoors to clean up and warm up and do a little cooking.

Look at the contentment on our faces. That's one good lookin' compost bin.

Next we'll be shredding up the cardboard boxes I've been stockpiling in the classroom to start mixing in with the food scraps we sort after snack time each week. But you'll have to read about that in our club blog... name TBD.

Date night

2012-01-24T23:35:00.005-05:00

Good old reliable Ollie -- my steady partner who doesn't cancel date night to stay at work until 10pm.

You know, it's not so bad, this relationship that we've developed over the past... wow, almost three years. We spend time together nearly every day. We support each other. We listen to each other (me usually cursing under my breath at traffic, lately with teeth chattering in the chilly night rides back to the apartment; Ollie squeaking to let me know that her chain needs oil or rattling a bit to remind me to tighten a few of those bolts).

I've been feeling a bit guilty that in the midst of all of the writing and teaching and traveling and volunteering and even going on a few dates (never with other bicycles, though), I've neglected my side of the arrangement, my Sunday bike maintenance ritual. It's been many weeks. I've been distracted. (Are human partners inherently unreliable? Maybe.) Ollie's not really one for flowers or jewelry -- part of why we get along, though I do like flowers -- and I've been wondering about how to make up for my recent weeks of taking my steady, steely partner for granted.

When my erstwhile human companion canceled tonight's date night, I decided it was a good time to give Ollie a little bit of much-needed TLC. With a glass of wine (for each of us) in my system, I took on the challenging task of installing a new pair of fenders I'd ordered from REI -- courtesy of a little holiday cash from Uncle Teddy, a fellow bike enthusiast. Things went much better than last time -- my attempt to install them this weekend ended in much muttering, no fenders being affixed, and the emergency watching of an action film on Netflix to distract myself -- I scrapped the directions and used just about every tool I could find to successfully get those water-repelling suckers on. Along with my newly re-waterproofed rain jacket, the new fenders will hopefully mean I will be significantly less wet while biking around town this season. (What? No, it's not all about me. I am only human, though.)

After a break to watch the State of the Union address with my upstairs neighbors, I continued the makeover, cleaning Ollie's chain, inflating her tires, and patching up some of the chipped paint on her racks. She's looking pretty good, eh? I think I'll keep her around for awhile longer. Yep, most definitely.

Not exactly walking on eggshells

2012-01-23T23:23:00.002-05:00

I’ve gotten quite a food education talking with my main egg supplier, Tom Hubric, over the course of the past few years. He’s shared some pretty thoughtful ideas on things like egg regulations. It’s actually kind of fascinating. And a bit scary. For instance, lthough one cannot legally sell anything less than “grade A” eggs – those less than 40 days old – in Maryland or DC farmers’ markets, there is a bit of a habit of egg farmers from West Virginia, Virginia, Delaware, and Pennsylvania selling mixed sizes of eggs as “unclassified” (no date stamped on the package) and “ungraded” (no uniform size requirement) in DC.

And that’s just at farmers’ markets. I was startled when I learned of the common practice of supermarkets to denote “fresh eggs” as those that had been on the shelf for up to nine months! NINE MONTHS?? Even before becoming a devoted local foodie that shelf life would’ve scandalized me.

In fact, it is standard practice in large-scale operations – aka egg factories – to remove the thin protective coating on the egg (known as the “cuticle” or “bloom”) using a power washer before spraying each egg with a light coating of vegetable oil to seal the egg’s shell. In grocery stores, such eggs usually stay on the shelf from 6 weeks to 2 months before they’re sold… but they can still be sold as “Grade A Fresh” for up to nine months. (Sorry for the repetition here, but I am still flabbergasted.) Tom, in contrast, cleans but doesn’t “wash” his eggs, and because the shells are not made porous by removing the protective cuticle, they could theoretically keep for longer. However, my egg farmer’s wares are consistently grade AA (less than 21 days old, according to Maryland grading standards), and labeled accordingly.

You can read more about Tom (and his mentee farmers, Ned and Eileen – my other favorite local egg farmers) in the February issue of Acres, USA. Yup, next month marks my fourth article for Acres. Guess that makes me officially a food writer. Or something. (Dang, did I not even mention the article on gourmet garlic that I wrote for the January issue? Guess it's tough for us food writers to keep track of all of our writings.)

Should you want to meet these local celebrity farmers and understand what the hullabaloo surrounding farm-fresh, pastured eggs is all about, you can pick up a dozen eggs of your very own, even during the winter months, from Ned in front of Meridian Pint (Feb 4 & 18 from 11am-1pm) or from Tom at the Dupont Circle farmers' market (any Sunday from 10am-1pm). Maybe I’ll see you there. I’ll be the short person bundled up against the winter chill and invariably talking about recipes... including the one for a familiar and much-beloved flourless chocolate torte (using 5 pastured chicken eggs) in the upcoming Acres article....

The spice of life

2012-01-21T10:12:00.001-05:00

This would've come in handy on my bike trip, eh? A little more compact than my own selection of 25-or-so critical spices in jars and ziploc bags, yes (nevermind the full-size wooden pepper grinder). Thanks, mom.

Not sure I'd've used up the included BBQ spice blend or the Jamaican Jerk mix on the road, but to be fair I've never actually *tried* them with lentils (my travel food staple). The result can't possibly be worse than the peanut butter and avocado sandwich debacle.

Anyhow, for those of you thinking of taking a cross-country bike trip sometime soon, maybe get yourself one of these. Me, I may just tuck it into my little messenger bag the next time I head to a friend's place to make dinner. Never know when I might need some emergency sweet paprika powder or Chinese 5-spice blend. Though I may need to include a supplementary kit with lavender, cumin, coriander seed, turmeric, saffron....

Ollie's favorite hot toddy

2012-01-20T18:27:00.002-05:00

Okay, folks, sorry for the lack of blogposts of late. I blame the stuffy head and tiredness. I've been fighting off a cold for well over a week now and I've about had it.

I've tried resting. I've tried exercising. Made many cups of ginger tea. Cold Season tea. Sleepytime tea. Spicy lentil soup. Curried pumpkin soup. Tom Ka Jae. Chicken soup (from scratch, made with the remainder of the delicious White House Meats heritage Cornish-Rock bird I roasted for dinner with friends and family earlier this week -- hey, I may be sick, but that doesn't kill my appetite or keep me from hosting dinner parties... it just keeps me from blogging, apparently). I've used the neti pot religiously. Doped myself up with CVS brand decongestant. Bought a new filter for the humidifier that's been running 24/7. Nothing's worked to kick this thing out of my system. So tonight I am testing out a popular theory of germ killing using a remedy almost as old as Civilization itself. I'm talking about alcohol.

In Mexico, my friends swore by tequila as the cure-all. Same thing with Japanese friends and sake or Irish friends and whiskey. (I have not had the good fortune to get myself to Japan or Ireland yet, but I hope to some day, and not just to research cold remedies.) Tonight, rifling through a rather lacking liquor collection, I decided to try making my first hot toddy. Because I had just a bit of brandy on hand and, really, what the heck else am I supposed to do on a Friday night with sniffles yet again?

Let me tell you: it's delicious. And as usual, made with what I had around the kitchen, because though I did a few online searches to get the basic gist of toddies, it is me we're talking about here ("recipe, schmecipe") and I certainly wasn't about to head BACK out into the chilly weather to pick anything up. I mean, my weather man has been talking about imminent sleet and I don't want this cold to get worse.

So tonight is officially hot toddy and movie night. Yep, just me, Ollie, a hot toddy, and, if it arrived in today's Netflix installment, Rise of the Planet of the Apes. (What, you think I only watch food policy documentaries or something?) I might make a toddy for Ollie as well. Because as a general rule I don't drink alone.

Boy, it's good. Should you want to recreate this delicious cold remedy -- frankly, I might use up my modest stash of cherry-infused brandy (made by my friend Cristina and her husband this summer with boozy, local cherries) before I have you over for dinner -- here's how to make your own:

Ollie's favorite hot toddy

Get yourself a nice big mug and drop in:
- 1 TBSP local honey
- 2-3 TBSP brandy/bourbon/whiskey
- 1 cinnamon stick
- 3 whole cloves
Fill the mug with boiling water and stir. Wait a few minutes for the spices to infuse everything (and also to let the water cool down so you don't burn off your tastebuds... not that I am implying my readers are necessarily impatient or anything....)

So there you have it. We'll see how I feel tomorrow. I'd better be less sickly, as I have big plans for dinner making and dancing....

The one-armed cook

2012-01-10T16:59:00.001-05:00

Some people think it's impressive that an 80s hair band can have a one-armed drummer. But I wonder: can he make a gourmet dinner?

Okay, well, Meghan does put Wes in his chair when she's chopping, but being a good cook and having a four-month-old is quite a challenge. He's often seen peeking over her shoulder as she stirs things like the amazingly delicious (and, I discovered, super simple) beet and mustard green risotto she made for my final dinner in Houston. Boy was it delicious. And much simpler than the flambed and constantly stirred version I usually make. (It is good, though. Ryan, back me up here.)

I begged Meghan for the recipe, which it turns out was based on a 2007 issue of Bon Apetit. Here, for your gustatory pleasure, is yet another scrumptious recipe with my favorite root vegetable (and one which makes spicy mustard greens surprisingly palatable). I've adjusted it to reflect a batch that feeds 3-4 people as a main course.

Beet Risotto with Mustard Greens and Goat Cheese

1/3 cup butter
1 1/2 cups fresh beets, peeled and cubed
2 cups chopped white onion
1 1/2 cups arborio rice
4 1/2 cups low-salt vegetable stock
1 1/2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 cups mustard greens, finely chopped
6 oz. soft fresh goat cheese, crumbled

Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add beets and onion, then cover and cook until onion is soft (about 8 minutes). Stir in rice. Add broth and vinegar, then bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, uncovered, until rice and beets are just tender and risotto is creamy, stirring occasionally (about 15 minutes). Season with salt and pepper. Spoon into shallow bowls and sprinkle with greens and cheese. Devour.

Yes, you don't even cook the greens! They wilt when you stir them in with the risotto and with the goat cheese getting all melty, the result is divine.

Never let it be said that I am incapable of making a simple meal. (Okay, well, I haven't made it myself yet, but I suspect the next time I have my gentleman friend over for dinner I will have some beets and mustard greens on hand....)

A delicata situation

2012-01-04T19:38:00.000-05:00

My best friend Meghan is one of the most consistently excellent cooks I know. I have yet to experience a remotely mediocre meal during my various trips to see her in Houston over the years. We've logged quite a few hours in the kitchen together, yet though we share an almost clinical obsession with local, seasonal ingredients -- I swear she can identify a perfectly ripe heirloom tomato at 100 yards -- our cooking approaches differ quite drastically. You see, Meghan is meticulous in her technique, precise in her acquisition and measurement of time and ingredients. Me, well...

I substitute ingredients in recipes quite often. In fact, I substitute directions in recipes quite often, too. This is not because I am incapable of following directions, but rather because I find that I'd prefer to use ingredients I have on hand as much as possible. And, okay, fine, in many cases I believe I have a better sense of what would really improve the dish, never mind whatever some Post Food Section columnist or cookbook author directs. I cook it for... awhile until it tastes... done. (I can't imagine why mom thinks I'm stubborn.) I can estimate this stuff when giving other people recipes, but in truth "precise" is not a word I would use to describe my culinary practice.

This year for my birthday, I decided that for perhaps only the second time in my life I would actually follow a recipe as written. I selected a savory Autumn Stroganoff from the Cafe Flora cookbook. In spite of dad's clamoring for a more meaty meal, I insisted that *I* should choose the recipes for *my* birthday meal and that my family would have a vegetarian feast. After all, the Portabella Wellingtons from the very same cookbook that rang in my 33rd year were well worth the effort. (Dad remains in disbelief that these were also sans meat. I think I heard him mumbling something about "stubbornness" between mouthfuls during his second helping that night, but it was hard to discern over the sounds of scarfing.) I'd given my parents the list of ingredients the week before and mom had picked up the sherry and tamari and mushrooms and pasta and... what was that, a butternut squash? No, no, the recipe called for delicata. No, the oblong yellow, stripey squash, you know? There were none to be found. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and ibtis.... I'd make do.

Not an hour after I started making the vegetable stock at my parents' house, my cousin Sonia called to ask me what she might do with the two delicata squash she'd impulsively picked up at the farmers' market. "What??" I about fell over and very nearly dropped the phone. "You can give them to me!" Dad was promptly dispatched on a squash reconnaissance mission and returned home an hour later with... two buttercup squashes. Agh. See? The universe doesn't *want* me to follow recipes. I cooked down the mushroom essence a bit more, poured in some more sherry (and another glass of wine for myself), and set to chopping and oven roasting the buttercup squash and baby bella mushrooms. Ah, might as well double the garlic while I'm at it. And that sauce needed more thickening... Recipe, schmecipe.

The end result was rich and delicious, especially dear because it continued the tradition of just the four of us cooking together. Still, I couldn't help teasing cousin Sonia about her misidentification when she came by later for dessert, since after Meghan and I my closest cousin is usually the most likely to correctly identify obscure vegetables. "No, no, it was in a basket labeled 'delicata,' I swear!" (Just like the basket in the picture here, except that this one, taken at a co-op on my way to Burlington last week, actually contained delicata. Ahem.) But all was forgiven over champagne and a made-from-scratch chocolate cheesecake that my little brother and I had concocted (following a recipe... mostly.)

Oops, enough teasing: looks like they're about to start boarding my flight to Houston! After waking up to zero-degree temperatures in Montreal at Becky's house this morning, I'm looking forward to cooking with Meticulous Meghan in Warmer Climes for the next week. The Tour de Friends (and Food) continues....

The year of warm socks

2011-12-28T23:48:00.005-05:00

I am not a fan of the cold weather. I attribute this in part to growing up in a desert climate during my formative years. I wonder some days if I suffer from a variation on Seasonal Affective Disorder that has yet to be documented, which scientists will some day discover is linked to temperatures below 60 degrees. Some winter mornings it takes every ounce of resolve I can muster to tear myself from the warmth of my flannel sheets to face the morning's bracing chill. (And if there's partner snuggling involved, forget about it: my feet might not hit the cold floor til noon.) Seriously, I have a hard time believing that I biked and camped all through the winter along the blustery Pacific coastline and southwestern high desert two years ago. I am not so tough as I once was.

Apparently those in my life who know me know this, too. In preparation for my Tour de Friends up north to Connecticut, Vermont, and Canada this winter, my close friends and family have been trying to help me whimper less.... My birthday and Christmas gifts consisted mainly of things to keep me nice and toasty: a hooded sweatshirt and knee-high socks from mom, a new pair of winter bike gloves from my brother (hopefully they will remain in my possession longer than the last pair), a plane ticket from dad to visit my best friend Meghan in Houston, a knit hat and convertible mitten-gloves from my cousin Sonia, two pairs of merino wool socks from my best friend Felicity. I am a happy, warm little Ibti these days, thanks to them.

What's that funny look for, eh? Have you ever worn padded hiking socks that are contoured to your feet, hosiery meticulously designed to hug the arch and ankle on the left or right foot specifically? Genius! I know I am tragically unhip, but how has it taken me so long to discover these little bits of woolen heaven?? The icy, tiled floor of my kitchen will be no match for these suckers when I'm back home in DC.

Comfy toes and cushioned heels. Warm hands. Snuggling. Yep, I think my 34th year is going to be a good one....

For the record

2011-12-17T10:08:00.005-05:00

Have I mentioned how I dread public speaking?

No, really. I'm not talking about when I'm teaching boisterous middle schoolers how to make pickles or instructing a roomful of ladies at a community center on how to can applesauce or doing a kale salad demonstration at the farmers' market -- shoot, I could do that all day long. (Some days I do.) I mean the kind of public speaking where you are standing at the front of the room with everybody looking at you, or, more frighteningly, behind a microphone, and you're expected not to faint but rather to present something thought-provoking in front of a roomful of people, most of whom know a heck of a lot more than you do about just about anything. Still, when I learned that City Councilman Tommy Wells was chairing an open forum on community gardens and urban agriculture, seeking advice on what was working, what changes are needed, and recommendations to move forward with integrating growing spaces more deliberately into the city's overall Plan, I had to master my natural chicken-heartedness and step up to the plate. Or in this case, the televised mic. (Eep.)

I spent most of Wednesday night agonizing and continued into the wee hours of Thursday morning preparing my 3-minute testimony for the public oversight roundtable. I'd considered submitting something in writing, thus circumventing the whole need for public speaking, but I wanted to be absolutely sure some of the things I've been talking with my local farmers and food advocates over the past year and a half made it onto the public record. An email or piece of paper can get lost, I reasoned with myself, but if I say it out loud it at this official meeting, well, it has to be noted in the official transcript. (Thank the lord I didn't know the session was going to be broadcast on live television or I never would have made it through the door to the conference room. "It has to get onto the public record" would've been right out the window.)

With the fate of urban agriculture in the District hanging in the balance, I joined more than 30 other DC residents -- gardeners, educators, park rangers, ANC commissioners, for-profit and non-profit farmers and small business folks -- and made my statement before Councilman Wells and his staff, as well as officials from Parks & Recreation, the Planning Office, Tax & Revenue, and UDC (our city's equivalent of a land grant university). I pleaded for a better system of cataloging and leasing land for those who want to grow food, and a means to sell the fresh fruits and vegetables and herbs they grow. Did you know that food grown on park land in the city cannot be sold? For heaven's sake, I argued (and, no, I didn't actually say "for heaven's sake," but I suspect it was implied in my tone), there are parts of the city where vacant land is way more common than healthy food options. We need some of that land to grow food and get it into the communities in which I work. We can build urban oases in these food deserts, we just need access to the land. (I wish I'd thought of the metaphor before this blogpost, alas.) Zoning and code in DC was not written with urban agriculture in mind, clearly, and we need to change it.

[BTW, speaking of city code, what are these silly stipulations I've heard about honey bees in the District needing to be contained in the hive? I actually first heard about that during the Sustainable DC food working group meeting the night before. (Seriously, 3 meetings on DC food policy held by 3 unaffiliated groups within 24 hours is a bit much. I will confess I missed the middle one, the Thursday morning HAFA planning meeting, still in bed and totally drained by the Sustainable DC meeting and then speech writing and hand wringing until all hours.) The whole point of having honey bees is to let them roam and pollinate. And make delicious honey, of course -- some jars of which have anonymously made their way onto the Councilman's desk down at City Hall. Bees can't do any of that when they're kept in the hive. Who is writing these policies?? Probably someone who was stung as a child and had a bad reaction. Get that guy an EpiPen, we need those bees out there working! And don't even get me started on the ridiculous anti-composting code.]

Collectively, we addressed existing successes, current issues with the way things are set up and suggestions for fixing them, and the need for the Planning Department to figure urban agriculture and community garden growing space into their future development of our city. It was pretty awesome listening to all of the knowledgeable, passionate urban food and garden experts. And a good thing, too, since I was there listening for five solid hours before I had my chance to speak on a panel, and then another half hour as things wrapped up. I didn't faint or anything. I will admit to having a bit of a deathgrip on the paper I read from and not looking up nearly as frequently as I previously encouraged students of mine to do while delivering a speech. But I was proud of myself for following through, and the Councilman commented that I'd given him quite a list of items to follow up on. (Good, that's his homework. Due...?)

I'm not sure what's going to come of all this, or the Mayor's Sustainable DC initiative, but at the end of the day, I'm glad to have said my piece on the public record. Someone, some day, might be accountable. Hopefully moreso than they were following the release of the District of Columbia's Food Production and Urban Gardens Program Act of 1986... with requirements for regular public listing and updating of a cataloging of land available for public leasing to grow food. Hmmm. That assignment's a bit overdue, no?

Give me five (percent)

2011-12-14T00:20:00.002-05:00

So I've been hanging around outside my local Whole Foods a lot over the past week. Admittedly, I did sneak in for a bit after a shift of handing out fliers on Friday night to pick up a few goodies from the miscellaneous cheese bin tucked in the corner of the store behind the wine section, but mostly I have been freezing my toes off with my colleague Robin to promote "5% Day." It's kind of a big deal.

You see, two area Whole Foods stores are giving 5% of all sales on December 14th to support a bonus dollars program for low-income folks at 4 small farmers' markets here in the District (including two that I often work at, and which would benefit HUGELY from a partial matching dollars program). That's right, 5% of sales on anything from olive oil to nuts to wine to toothpaste -- all day and all night, 5% of whatever is purchased at the P Street or Georgetown Whole Foods stores today, Wednesday, goes directly to supporting food stamps. So if you're in the city and you need to pick up some groceries, come in and stock up on the things you need anyway and you will help make fresh, local fruits and vegetables more accessible to all.

Wow, that just rolled off the fingertips. I've said some version of it quite a few times these past few days, often speaking to the person's back as they brush past midway through the first sentence as if I were an annoying chihuahua yipping at them. "Excuse me, sir, do you know that this coming Wednesday is 5% Day? Whole Foods is donating 5% of...." The worst have been the ones with headphones who just put their heads down and shake their heads (something about the total lack of interest in engagement with the world/humanity really irks me about them), but there are plenty of other ridiculous antics I've witnessed. I feel like some kind of cultural anthropologist, studying the habits of middle-to-high-income urban shoppers and taking detailed notes on my mental clipboard: some pretend that they're talking on their cell phones (while others actually are), others give me a wide berth and hope that I won't have a chance to chase them down, and still others wave me away before I even open my mouth, as if I am some servant that has displeased them.

I am not a salesperson by nature. (My students laugh when I tell them I'm an introvert, but it's true!) However, this particular program is such a no-brainer: minimal effort is required of people and the result is such a tangible, direct public good. I swallowed my natural disinclination toward walking up to total strangers on the sidewalk and attempted to engage them. It's rough on the ego, I tell you, getting turned away time and again, but overall there were quite a number of friendly people who stopped to hear more about the program and ask questions. This was especially true of the more laid back Sunday shoppers, particularly couples and older, non-white, single shoppers. "Wait, so I don't have to do anything except shop for the things I need anyway? Sure, I'll come back Wednesday." I wanted to hug them. If I see them on Wednesday, I just might. (The post-work, hungry, busy-busy-busy professionals were definitely the least friendly; receptivity to me or my message did not seem to depend on gender.)

I'm a City Girl. I know it gets annoying with people asking you for stuff on the street all the time. Give me this, buy this, sign this, but sometimes a cause is worthwhile. I'm the person who more often than not will at least stop to listen to a canvasser's spiel. (Let me be clear: I'm all for advocacy and signing petitions, but I don't think stopping people on the street to ask for money is very effective... or appropriate, frankly. I have been known to purchase a copy of Street Sense from time to time, but that's different.) Standing outside a store someone is already going into or out of to promote a special program at that very store which benefits the neighborhood, I'm fine with that, but some apparently couldn't be bothered. "People," I would occasionally grumble, "I'm not selling anything or asking you to sign anything. I'm just here to help spread the word about 5% Day on Wednesday, when this Whole Foods is giving 5% of all sales for the day to help us increase food stamp programs at local farmers' markets." I tell you, if not for my belief in the effectiveness of the SNAP (food stamp) program at farmers' markets, I would've probably given up on handing out informational fliers about an hour into my first afternoon approaching strangers to encourage them to return to the store to load up on staples for the winter.

One guy paused to begin to lecture me about how food stamps are not the solution, how he didn't see why his tax dollars should go to feed people who didn't care to work. "Excuse me? People who don't care to work?" Boy did he stop to belittle the wrong outreach person: the twenty-something white kid got an earful about the atrocious levels of unemployment in the city, a tirade about how hard it is to make ends meet or find sufficient paid work even with a graduate degree and substantial experience these days, and a mini lecture on generations of disenfranchisement and poverty among low-income populations before meekly nodding and accepting a flier. (Not sure I'm going to see him at 5% Day, but I couldn't help myself.)

Food stamps are not the solution to the problem of hunger, they are something of a band-aid covering a small scratch on the much larger body of systemic power inequities. Sure, I get that. People shouldn't be on food stamps or other government programs indefinitely. We need to educate and empower people to be able to support themselves. But until there are sufficient jobs and authentic opportunities for folks to support themselves and their families, to nourish and nurture them in safe and secure homes, I for one don't mind my (currently rather meager) taxes helping folks less fortunate than me. And if I can help directly by buying a few things I was planning to purchase in coming months anyway, if I know that 5% of my purchases will go to a program in my city to bolster critical access to healthy food, I'll stock up on shampoo and almonds and a few other things after my outreach shift at the store later today. Maybe I'll see a few of you in the miscellaneous cheese section.

A local celebrity

2011-12-09T15:59:00.003-05:00

I listen to my local NPR station every morning. This morning as I was warming up some breakfast I heard an excerpt from my very first radio interview on WAMU: a piece on the challenge faced by aspiring urban farmers to identify and secure a plot of vacant land to farm here in the District. Those who have tried to grow food on city, federal, or park land can tell you better than I can how circuitous and frustrating the process can be in this town. I happen to know a lot of them.

In fact, there are a number of challenges facing folks who want to raise crops, start a compost operation of any magnitude (thus building soil instead of loading up landfills), keep laying hens or honeybees, build aquaponics (fish farming) systems, or pursue other sustainable agricultural projects here in the city. Creating jobs, providing access to healthy food, improving the soil -- seems like a no-brainer that any politician or government office would love to support. (They could certainly use the positive press.) And yet.... In terms of the interview, I was speaking on behalf of the informally-named DC Urban Agriculture Coalition, a collection of local experts -- farmers, gardeners, educators, advocates, land developers, and policy folks -- who have come together to discuss ways we might inform city officials about the benefits of a robust urban agriculture sector, identify the barriers that currently prevent (or strongly discourage) food production and composting in our nation's capital, offer models from other cities, and propose a set of recommendations to encourage sustainable urban agriculture. (No, it's not one of my 6 paid part-time jobs; it's one of my 4 unpaid ones, and some days managing the group felt a bit like herding cats. Nice cats, mind you, but still tough to shepherd.) In the weeks since we drafted an advisory white paper and letter to the Mayor, many of us Coalition members have joined up with the recently announced Sustainable DC initiative. If there's even a chance of sincere commitment from city government to address some of the barriers to urban food production, I'll bike myself to the series of 8 meetings over the next few months.

I mean, seriously, what are our alternatives as supporters of healthy, local food? Some folks who have tried to grow here have given up. Some have started guerrilla gardening. Some have gotten jobs in the government to try and change things from within. Some have gone elsewhere to grow food, to places like... Baltimore??

Most in the sustainable food world know that Detroit is leaps and bounds ahead of DC in terms of urban food production. Some may have heard of similarly cool urban ag projects in Cleveland and Philadelphia. Okay, fine. But when, a few months ago, I learned how city officials in nearby Baltimore have been working with urban growers to revamp zoning regulations and streamline land assessment/leasing to encourage urban food production, I really got worked up. I mean, for crying out loud, the First Lady has an organic garden on the White House lawn... how are there not urban growing spaces on every street corner here in DC? I never thought we'd be looking up to Baltimore as a model for urban food production, but these are strange times. (Even so, I would not advise biking around there when you go to visit the urban farms.)

Anyway, at least three different friends sent me a message within a few minutes of the short broadcast this morning to say they were excited to hear me on WAMU. Yes, a five-second blurb on local radio. Well, I hope it helps spread the word on the urgent need for reforming the way vacant land is used in DC -- especially in areas of DC that are considered "food deserts," where fresh food is hard to find -- but I'm not exactly a local celebrity.

So you're the one teaching my daughter to make that stinky food

2011-12-06T23:41:00.001-05:00

As one of my heroes, Sandor Katz, once said, you can ferment just about anything. Well, a week ago, a roomful of adolescents and I made kim chi from the greens of daikon radishes. (We pickled the radish roots along with some beets and cucumbers during the following class, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Clearly, I am behind on the blogging about this fantastic project.) It was part of the sustainable food and garden club activities I've been running a couple of afternoons each week at a middle school in Suitland, MD, with my fearless co-instructor Jessica... and boy was it fun.

We started class with the students tasting some turnip green kim chi I'd made two weeks before. (See, this teacher is always thinking ahead: I wanted it to be good and spicy and stinky for them, heheh.) As they fished around the jar with chopsticks, we talked about Korean cuisine and food preservation methods. And, oh, the faces some of them made! It was hilarious. "Wow, that's really spicy!" and "Whoah, that really stinks!" echoed throughout the classroom. We passed around the various ingredients for students to see and smell and, if they wanted to, taste: fresh ginger, garlic, onion, red pepper flakes, sea salt. Then we hauled out the giant radishes that Jessica had brought from the farm, filled up some buckets with clean water for washing everything, and broke out the kitchen equipment.

The 7th and 8th graders really got into it, chatting and chopping and mincing and mashing away. If you've been following this blog for awhile, you might guess that it was a variation on the easy kim chi I've made a few times. (No, it's not exactly authentic kim chi. For one thing, it lacks the particular kind of peppers that are traditionally used. And it's vegan, so actually less fishy smelling than the real stuff.) If you're looking for the recipe we used, it's here.

I was tickled to find William showing a few of his peers the trick to removing garlic skins, to overhear Tiara and Tiffany discussing the complex smell of fresh ginger, to see sometimes rather rowdy teenagers mash, mash, mashing away one layer after another of greens and spices and asking each other if their jar needed more salt/pepper/garlic. I think it was one of the most popular classes to date. It was certainly one of the most intense on the nasal passages.

There was a bit of cleaning up to do afterwards -- note to self: end class 15 minutes early so the kids can help with the cleaning -- but it was definitely one of the more memorable classes for the students. And their parents, apparently. One mother who stopped in to pick up her daughter after the next class said that her teen had loaded up a hamburger with her homemade kim chi one night at dinner. (And here I thought the student wasn't paying attention when I'd casually mentioned doing something similar when Jessica and I had experimented with kim chi and hotdogs a few months ago. Who knew?) Another mother asked if I was the teacher her daughter had been talking about that sent her home with the stinky green jar. Yep, that's me. Sure, some of the food we're making can smell and taste a bit intense. But it's so good for you. And the kids are expanding their taste horizons. (And there is the added bonus of the kim chi's ability to mask the faint smell of garlic emanating from one's person. Or maybe that's just me.)

[Thanks to my dear friend Jeff for capturing some of this excitement on camera!]

I've been framed!

2011-11-29T11:29:00.006-05:00

I can hardly believe we actually finished the coldframe for my garden! And boy is it beautiful. Even my dad noted the sleek design and superior craftsmanship when he came by to pick me up for Thanksgiving. This meticulously crafted work of art will allow me to grow goodies in my garden through the snowy winter months. Or cold months, anyway -- one never knows about wintery precipitation here in the District.

It all started with my friend Jen dropping off her gorgeous, solid oak bedframe this past July, prior to her move back home to California. (I was sad for the departure of one of my favorite yoga teachers, but was somewhat comforted by the great second life I would be offering her heavy, wooden possession.) There we were, my new friend Jeff and I, with a pile of oak planks, a few bags of tools, and lots of hairbrained ideas about recycled materials and butterfly hinges and interchangeable screens. It seems like so long ago. Actually, I guess it was: nearly four months from start to finish. Look, there are spindly tomato plants still growing in the background as Jeff was getting started on the base boards.

Slowly, slowly, the pieces came together amid our other respective projects around town. Every week or two Jeff would stop by with his trunkful of tools (my favorite being the countersink attachment on the drill), the occasional homemade quiche (as he is aware of my food obsession and has himself begun tinkering with recipes), and additional pieces to integrate into our coldframe project (bits of wood, plexiglass, wood glue).

Here he is working on the top flaps during one of the warm spells earlier this autumn. Note the protective eyewear. And that cutting technique -- that seemingly precarious balancing act is a practiced, efficient, surefooted method used by those in the trade.

Things were moving along. By early November it was time for some hinges...

...and some braces... (Well, no sense in having snow-laden, hinged coldframe flaps falling on my head when I'm harvesting spinach in mid-February.)

He does nice work, eh? Not your usual old, termite-eaten window frames for this fancy coldframe.

I learned a ton in the process, and in spite of my constant harassment about using safety goggles and a dogmatic insistence on periodic snack breaks Jeff assured me that he also enjoyed the creative project immensely. If you ask him, my friend will most likely attempt to assign me a good deal of the kudos, but in truth this most humble carpentering friend of mine deserves all of the credit (and probably a good amount of spinach, come February) for the coldframe. I am merely The Carpenter's Apprentice.

Friendsgiving

2011-11-27T22:26:00.004-05:00

I love Thanksgiving. I mean, seriously, a day devoted to preparing and savoring a long meal with friends and family? We should do this more often as a culture, seems to me....

I shared the official holiday meal this year with mom, dad, my brother, his girlfriend, two of my uncles, and a tableful of food. No turkey, but still plenty of food. Dad started us off with some savory, free-range lambchops with cardamom and dried apricots in the slow cooker (a recipe from the Grassfed Gourmet cookbook I'd given him last year); mom went all out on the roasted brussels sprouts with pomegranate and the chestnut stuffing; I made decent work of the whole roasted duck with garlic, thyme, mustard, and tangerines with madeira gravy, and the sourdough baguettes put in a decent showing. As mom was serving up dessert, I scampered into the kitchen to get cracking on some duck soup. (What? You can't expect me to waste the best part of poultry! And she was taking too long cutting up my brother's belated birthday cake. Come on, I was back in time to sing Happy Birthday and scarf some red velvet cake before I went back to meddling with the broth.) That soup made for a lovely lunch the next day, let me tell you, with a couple of handfuls of purple stripey beans and a few carrots from the farmers' market plus a whole mess of herbs that dad and I kept tossing in. In case you can't guess, it is near impossible to leave my parents' house hungry. It gets a little heavy on the protein sometimes, though.

After all of that meat -- I come from a family of carnivores and still marvel at my ability to survive as a strict vegetarian for 5 years before my bacon relapse -- I needed a bit of detox. I had a stellar dinner of roasted root vegetables, a giant pear-walnut-bleu-cheese-red-lettuce salad, curried carrot salad (or as she and her husband refer to it, "Armenian New Year Salad" -- so delicious, who was I to point out that the onset of 2012 was more than a month away?), and chocolate pudding at cousin Sonia's last night. And as if reading my mind, my friend Abbie invited me to her co-op's annual vegan Friendsgiving potluck tonight. What a perfect ending to a long, sunny weekend filled with good people and food. And a welcome source of potatoes and cornbread and mushroom gravy and pumpkin pie after a long bike ride with my friend Ryan earlier in the day. (No, no, I packed snacks, of course, and we had a little picnic along the way, but I was hungry again after the 20-mile jaunt.) I had no idea what fun the large group meal would be, nor how delicious the offerings would be among the meatless crowd. Oh, that carrot soup! And the mashed potatoes with corn! And I must know who made that divine nut-based whipped cream! (I, lover of all things dairy, never thought the sentence "that vegan whipped cream sure was yummy" would ever come out of my mouth, but there you have it.)

My own offering was a simple curried butternut squash soup, which is fast becoming a staple of my culinary repertoire. Unfortunately, my attempt to bike it over to Abbie's place in Petworth was less than graceful, but nobody seemed phased when I dumped half of the soup that had puddled at the bottom of my pannier into the sink. The soup that remained in my malfunctioning tupperware warmed up nicely and in the end everything turned out alright. The various local beers on hand certainly didn't hurt the whole experience. (Hey, I said I'm taking a break from meat, not alcohol...though that might not be a bad idea, either. Maybe next week....)

Lest I be accused of being a full-time carnivore, I offer this relatively simple recipe, adapted from the wonderful, vegetarian Cafe Flora Cookbook (a birthday gift from my best friend Meghan last year, and also the source of the spectacular Portabella Wellington recipe):

Curried Butternut Squash Soup

Dry roast 1 tsp cumin seeds + 1/2 tsp coriander seeds until fragrant. Grind with a mortar and pestle, then add in 1-2 tsp curry powder. Set aside.

In a large pot, saute 1 onion (diced) in olive oil for a few minutes before adding a head of garlic (peeled and chopped) and a 1-inch piece of fresh ginger (peeled and minced).

Add 3-4 cups of fresh butternut squash (peeled, seeds removed, and cut into chunks) and stir in the spice mixture to coat the squash. Add 4-6 cups of vegetable broth and a bay leaf, then simmer until squash is soft (about 20 minutes).

Puree soup -- I look for any excuse to use Mike's immersion blender, but a regular blender or food processor would work almost as well -- then stir in 1 can of coconut milk. Season with salt and pepper and serve. (Don't be shy with the salt, either. I think tonight's iteration of the soup could've used a bit more of it, to be honest.)

I like to eat this alongside a hunk of sourdough and a big green salad. It's delicious and vegan-friendly...if you're into that kind of thing.

(Er, sorry, no pictures this time. I was in a bit of a rush this morning making soup and cookies and some mini quiches before the bike ride.)

A Bike House in search of a Home

2011-11-24T01:15:00.004-05:00

So a few months ago, I wrote about my first (awesome) experience with The Bike House. I had meant to get involved right then, so impressed was I with the co-op members' friendliness and helpfulness and commitment to empowering cyclists young and old to ride -- and fix -- their bikes. And yet, like many folks with 146 balls in the air these days, the mental note fell off my mental notebook page. At least until a reminder email popped up in my inbox from Maggie, The Bike House's volunteer coordinator, a few weeks ago inviting me to a volunteer orientation. So I went.

I tried to explain that I was a self-taught, MacGuyver-style mechanic, but the group was not phased by my tales of sticks-in-place-of-screws or possibly-inappropriate-use-of-duct-tape or self-wounding-with-a-multi-tool. They smiled and said that enthusiasm and curiosity and a desire to help were the only criteria. There I was the very next Saturday afternoon helping neighborhood kids that pulled up into the alley behind Qualia Coffee pump up their bike tires and clean their chains, then furrowing my brow in concentration as I watched more experienced mechanics install new brakes and realign derailleurs. I did don an apron, at least, and apparently had sufficient amounts of chain lube and bike grease on my hands that I was taken for someone who knew what they were doing.

A week later, I found myself at the Bike House holiday potluck with a loaf of pumpkin bread, half of which disappeared within 20 minutes of my arrival. So they like food, too, it seems. My kind of people....

So you should not be surprised that the next morning, I rolled up for a shift at the Bike House's stand at the Bloomingdale farmers' market. Before my very eyes, a capable team of volunteer mechanics got 15 folks back on the road over the 2-hour session of brake adjusting and chain cleaning and tire inflating. (I helped mostly with these last two items, plus taking photos and checking folks in on the very official looking clipboard.) I could see myself getting involved with this group more long term. He must've seen it in my eyes, because Ryan chased me down later that afternoon while I was selling pasta to invite me to the bi-monthly Bike House planning meeting.

This past Monday night I joined my newfound biking friends for a brainstorming session as their 3-year tenure at Qualia comes to a close. They must know I am developing a soft spot for the place. Or rather, a soft spot for what the Bike House stands for. You see, the Bike House is actually an idea, though an active one, made up of a devoted core of cycling advocates with a couple of bike stands and a few sets of tools. There isn't actually a Bike HOUSE. At least not yet.

The co-op is currently in search of a home for the upcoming year, a place to store tools and run regular bike repair clinics and classes (on Saturdays, but possibly even during the week if they find the right place). They're such a community asset, this group, that I'm surprised there aren't hordes of local business owners with extra space banging down the Bike House's virtual door. There are a few possible options on the table at present, but they're still on the lookout. If you know of a place that might be a good home for the Bike House clinics, especially in the general vicinity of Petworth, drop 'em a line.

Meanwhile, drop by Qualia for the final few Saturday clinics. They run from 12-3pm until Dec 10th. More than likely, I'll see you there...

Fermentation without Representation

2011-11-19T17:06:00.003-05:00

Something about Thanksgiving always makes me think of good beer. Most likely it's the memory of the roasted pumpkin ale that Nick and I made at my cousin Caroline's place in the Poconos back in 2003, and which we drank like water it was so smooth, sharing it with our collective families during that Thanksgiving dinner. (Well, really it was Nick's masterful brewing, but I like to think I played a decent Igor role in the affair. "Bring me the hops!" "Yesss, massster....") Dad and I still reminisce about that pumpkin ale every now and then, usually around this time of year.

I may not make beer myself (yet), but I know a thing or two about it. I believe my appreciation of beer began a few years after my AmeriCorps days of drinking $2 pints of Bud Light, when I was living and teaching in Brooklyn and dating the aforementioned wonderful young gentleman who had gotten his hands on his first used homebrew kit. Those were good nights and weekends of us concocting blackberry wheat ales and caramel fig porters and scottish red ales. Mmmm. I've been angling for exceptional beer (and an exceptional partner) ever since. And, oh, that pumpkin ale. With a few empty carboys lazing around under the back deck behind my apartment and a Rogue Nation homebrewer's card in my wallet, I'm thinking it's high time I got cracking on recreating that delicious brew. But first: research.

Small-scale craft beer brewing has really taken off recently in these United States. While there's quite a tradition of homebrewing and microbrewpubs in parts of the Pacific Northwest especially, it's only more recently that folks around DC have had access to anything approaching "local" beer. (My backup since college has been Pottsville, PA's own Yuengling lager, though Flying Dog and a few Baltimore-based breweries have sprung up over the past handful of years.) Ah, but earlier today I joined my newlywed friends Meredyth and Greg for a tour of DC Brau -- the answer to the thirst for what D.C. has not had in over 60 years: a brewery whose product is available in local stores and on tap outside of its site of production. Here's a snapshot of Mere and Greg at the end of our tour -- don't they look happy to have a local source for good beer?

The tour itself was pretty interesting once we got past the rather nondescript, giant metal tanks and into the area with cask-aging ales and the secluded sour beer fermentation room (where rare, wild yeasted brews do their thing for a couple of years before being imbibed). The canning machinery was also pretty fun to learn about, though it wasn't running when we walked past while sipping on samples from the 4 varieties on tap and admiring the cool sculptures and murals scattered about the space. I especially liked the Belgian-style Citizen tripel and the (also Belgian-style) Penn Quarter porter. Looks like I'll have to make my way over to Meridian Pint for a taste of the Fermentation Without Representation, DC Brau's seasonal pumpkin porter, as there was none to be found on site at the brewery for us to fill up Greg's growlers.... Maybe I can pick up some free empty 750ml bottles while I'm there, instead of drinking endless 4-packs of Grolsch like Nick and I used to do to build up our supply of resealable bottles. I do love all things pumpkin, after all (and have a hard time looking at a bottle of Grolsch after that first summer of being a homebrewer's assistant.)

Speaking of local breweries springing up, I also just a couple of weeks ago tried out a few of the inaugural offerings of Cerveza Nacional and Cornerstone Copper Ale from Chocolate City Beer. It was part of the background research I was doing on local entrepreneurs for the next issue of Bittersweet Zine. No, really. I haven't yet toured their brew space, nor that of the soon-to-open Three Stars Brewing Company, but I aim to get myself to both in coming months. So much beer to try, so little time. Oh, wait, no, that's not quite right. I am a food educator, after all, and high-quality, locally-made beer must somehow fall under my purview. It's for the good of the food community, I assure you, as few things complement a good, locally-sourced meal like a good, locally-sourced drink.

I must have that recipe!

2011-11-13T20:50:00.003-05:00

Today marked the first Slow Food University event that I have organized: a book talk and potluck with local author and culinary adventurer, Nani Power. She's my kind of woman. In fact, we have quite a bit in common:

1. We share a persistent search for meaning, love, and community through food.

2. Food is officially an obsession.

3. We find cooking therapeutic.

4. We are both just itching to get ourselves to India, primarily for the food.

We probably share a lot of ideals that I don't even know about yet. I need to get myself a copy of her latest work, Ginger and Ganesh, which tells the story of her life-changing experience learning to prepare authentic Indian cuisine from women all around her native Northern Virginia -- a two-year adventure which began with a simple ad on Craigslist offering to supply ingredients + $10 per hour for in-home cooking lessons from Indian women. Yep, I do believe this may be next up on my reading list. And I'm pretty sure quite a few of the 40-some folks at the gathering were thinking the same thing as we stacked chairs and bid our adieus at the end of the event.

So, yes, in spite of the past 48 hours of hand-wringing... and fear that nobody would show up... or that a bunch of people would arrive but wouldn't have brought any food... or that the guard would be home sick and hadn't unlocked the building... or... I swear I'm not a worrier (that's dad's specialty)... it was a resounding success. It's not just my own impression, either, I swear. Our esteemed speaker asked if I might be able to gather some of the recipes for the food offered by our humble Slow Food DC community this evening. A number of attendees seconded the request.

As I await the recipe for the divine coconut burfi made by my friend (and former teaching colleague) Carol, I offer my own Indian-inspired concoction. No, not the curried chickpeas with sweet potatoes and kale. (What can I say, I was worried people wouldn't bring enough food, so I made a few dishes.) I'm talking about the

Dark Chocolate Torte with Cardamom and Ginger Whipped Cream
...which is not so much authentic Indian as inspired by Indian spices...

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Brush an 8 or 9-inch cake pan with butter and dust with flour.

Melt in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring frequently:

7 oz dark chocolate, cut into pieces
1 1/2 sticks (12 TBSP) butter, cut into pieces

Remove from heat and whisk in:

1/4 cup cocoa powder
seeds from 6-8 crushed cardamom pods
a dash of ground allspice

Let cool for about 10 minutes.

In a separate bowl, beat together until thick (6 minutes or so) with an electric mixer:

5 large farm fresh eggs, at room temperature
1/4 cup raw/brown sugar

Gently fold chocolate mixture into the egg mixture until just mixed (uniform color). Pour batter into prepared pan and bake 40-45 minutes.

Cool in pan, run a knife around the edge of the pan to loosen if needed, and then turn out on a wire rack or plate to slice.

Serve with fresh whipped cream beaten with:

a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar
a dash of ground/powdered ginger

Yeah, pretty delicious. Let me know if you try it at home!

Pastapalooza

2011-11-07T22:48:00.002-05:00

From my dear friend Alessandra in Des Moines who has to date made the best gnocchi with morels of my young life, to the smoking hot Italian gentleman that courted me for a couple of months here in the District who concocted the best Puglian-style pesto orecchiette with green beans and potatoes that I still daydream about these four years later (the pasta, that is), I can't get over how ridiculously delicious the pasta is that comes from talented Italian hands. Alas, I have no native Italian blood in these veins, which may explain why my ravioli always come out a little too tough. But boy can I appreciate a well-made noodle. Luckily, I will be heading to Tuscany this summer for a couple of weeks for my friend Jen's wedding, so I'll get to eat lots of good pasta while I raise yet another glass of Montepulciano to the health of the newlyweds. But there's a good chance I may be eating more of the good stuff before then, even....

Mille grazie to my friend and colleague, Robin, who clued me in to the best handmade pasta I have had in some time, which she'd brought along as an appetizer for a dinner party last night: Copper Pot's delicate braised oxtail tortellini and maple-roasted pumpkin ravioli that I drizzled with thyme-infused butter and a pinch of salt... ohhhh, a girl could get used to this. So after the massaged kale salad, and the curried butternut squash soup, and the goat stew and the apple pie, we determined that there was too much food, and guess who got sent home with the remaining half dozen packages of fresh pasta made from scratch. Go on, guess. (Between those and the giant bag of compost I lashed on with bungee cords, Ollie and I must've been quite a sight to behold biking home.)

It's going to be a veritable Pastapalooza* here today at the apartment, I thought this morning as I warmed up a little bowl of braised rabbit cappellacci for breakfast. Delicious. (Sorry, Thumper.) Before heading off to teach this afternoon, my friend Jeff joined me for an extravagant lunch -- I mean, this stuff is TOO GOOD not to share -- that was a mix of duck confit ravioli and more of the divine pumpkin ravioli, this time served with some butter and dried basil and a few grinds of black pepper. With a splash of soup and a small salad, I was sated well into midafternoon. (Hmmm? What's that? Why, yes, that was lunch. I'm a food educator, sometimes my midday meals get a little bit elaborate.)

My god, who knew food could be this light and flavorful but still satisfying after 8 or 10 pieces? And though I suspect the actual making of the pasta and its filling was rather labor intensive, the cooking of it was a snap. Getting the water to a boil was the longest step. Maybe I can suggest a new slogan for the small, local company: "Slow Food in 3 minutes or less."** Eh? Eh? (Come on, you can't even make a bowl of Ramen noodles that quickly and let me tell you, this stuff is about 3 universes beyond Ramen.)

I had a chance to meet Stefano (again, thanks to Robin) and chat with the genius behind Copper Pot about his inventive preserves, about recommended sauce and pasta pairings, and about how under-appreciated oxtail is in American cuisine. (Well, it's true.) Within about two minutes, I knew I'd met a kindred spirit. That was even before I learned that he sourced his ingredients quite literally from other farm stands at the market. Yeah, I think that wasn't until about 10 minutes into the conversation. "Ah, yes, the cheese, she is from Keswick," Stefano smiled, "and the duck, he comes from the farmer next to me at the 14th Street market last Saturday." What was that he said about sweet potato gnocchi? "Ah, I make pasta different each week. It depends on what there is is season for me to work with." Good lord, I wonder as I gaze at the two remaining packages on the top shelf of my fridge, does this man need an assistant? I must have more of that pasta....

----

*Thanks to John, who was not only the inspiration (and the gracious host) for last night's dinner party, but who also coined the title of this blogpost.

**Speaking of Slow Food, if you're around DC this weekend, you should come to an event that I'm organizing: a free talk with Indian cookbook author Nani Power, followed by a potluck. There are still spaces left, so RSVP today. I suspect there won't be much in the way of fresh pasta at this gathering, but since it's a Slow Food DC event, you can bet folks will be bringing their culinary A-game to the potluck. Should you need recipe ideas, try one of these. Or flip through a copy of my all-time favorite curry reference.

Whisked away

2011-10-30T23:15:00.001-04:00

I believe I am pretty good at recognizing superior baked goods when I taste them. Like the divine lavender cupcakes we transported to my friend Meredyth's wedding the six and a half hours from Columbia Heights to Charleston, WV (by car, yes, I'm a slacker, but we carpooled, at least) earlier this month. Or my friend Alessandra's focaccia, which I used to feast on regularly back when we both lived in Mexico. Or the outstanding sweet and savory goodness on hand as I pinch hit on some sales for the good folks at Whisked! earlier today.

I'd been clued into the two-woman baking operation during a few of my farmers' market cooking demos over the summer and was pretty impressed, but as I do a fair bit of baking myself and tend to have more of a salt-tooth than a sweet-tooth I don't generally splurge on those sorts of things. When my friend Heather told me she braved yesterday's wind and sleet and 30 degree weather to pick up a 6-inch savory apple tart (with caramelized onions and bleu cheese, ohhhhh) from the ladies at the 14th & U St farmers' market, I made a mental note to check out their wares more closely at my next opportunity. And wouldn't you know it, later that very afternoon I got a call from Robin (who runs both the 14th & U St market and the Bloomingdale market) asking if I might be able to help out selling a variety of Whisked goodies at her other market, to test out whether it might be a good fit for the bakers to join the Sunday market next season.

Well.

Yes, of course.

So this morning Ollie and I made our way to 1st & R St, NW at the crack of 9am. (Yes, that's early for this nightowl, and had it not been so beautifully sunny there would have been a lot more grumbling about the frost-covered ground we biked over to get there. I was glad to have my new faux-fur-lined boots to keep me warm. Thanks, mom!) The market managers helped me set up a display table and Jenna came by with a number of crates of... beautiful... flaky... buttery treats, and talked me through the names, ingredients, and pricing of each. Then the baker zipped off to a catering gig and I was left to my own devices, arranging the pear tarts and pumpkin coffeecake and cheddar-jalapeño loaves, suggesting folks try bits of the beef pot pie or sweet potato pie made with local sweet potatoes from Garner's Produce, cutting up bits of molasses-spice cookies and turtle bars and boozy blackberry handpie. "Boy oh boy, just look at those granola bar samples. They're spectacular. Go on, try one...."

Just two hours after the market opened, I had nearly sold out! Dozens of market shoppers strolled over because they'd heard about the pumpkin swirl bars or the salty oat cookies or the brownie whoopie pies, but alas, I told them, I'd already sold out of the large box of 'em. I really hope the artisanal baking duo decides to frequent the Bloomingdale market -- I'm certainly not their only fan. I wasn't the only one whisked away by my tastebuds this morning. Not by a long shot. Jenna and Stephanie, should you ever need an assistant -- especially a taste-tester -- call me. Any time.

Cinderella Pumpkin Bread

2011-10-24T21:18:00.002-04:00

I've been doing quite a bit of work with my friend Jeff the carpenter lately. No matter whether we're building a coldframe, inoculating mushroom logs, fixing that persnickety light in my bathroom, or constructing raised garden beds, our conversations invariably turn to food. (Don't look so surprised....) More often than not I am the one sharing new recipes, which my friend promptly scribbles into his pocket notebook. But a few weeks ago Jeff shared one of his favorite childhood recipes with me: pumpkin bread. And you know I love all things pumpkin. I was delighted. The original iteration had quite a lot of sugar (my teeth hurt reading it), but there was a great base recipe for me to tinker with, and Jeff was very encouraging of my effort to make it a little healthier. After picking up a beautiful, 8-pound Cinderella Pumpkin at the farmers' market a few days ago, I made a couple of loaves. With lots of pumpkin remaining, I made a couple more loaves last night, which ended up in my picnic basket along with a chickpea-chard-couscous salad and a whole mess of apples for today's Food Day Group Picnic downtown.

Moist and delicious, this one was inspired by the original recipe by Margaret Wilkes, handed down by her son to me....

RECIPE: Mom’s Pumpkin Bread Redux
(makes 2 loaves)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour 2 loaf pans.

Whisk in large bowl to blend:
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1 ½ cups whole wheat flour
• ½ cup brown sugar
• 2 TBSP ground flaxseed (you can grind whole flaxseed in a coffee grinder or use a mortar and pestle)
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1 tsp nutmeg
• ½ tsp ground cloves
• ½ tsp ground allspice

Add in:
• 1 cup apple sauce
• ½ cup olive oil
• 2/3 cup water
• 4 eggs
• 1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced
• 1-2 TBSP maple syrup
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 2 cups roasted pumpkin (To roast pumpkin: Cut a fresh pumpkin in half, scoop out the seeds, roast at 400°F for an hour or so until soft enough to scoop out and mash.)

Stir just until incorporated. (Do not overmix.) Pour half of batter into each of the two prepared baking pans. Bake for about 1 hour, until a toothpick poked into the center comes out clean. Run a butter knife around the perimeter of the loaf pan to loosen, then cool loaves on a wire rack.

For a fancy, more dessert-y experience, toast slices of pumpkin bread in the oven, then drizzle on a glaze made by blending the following:
• 8 oz package of cream cheese
• 1 tsp lemon juice
• 1/4 - 1/2 cup powdered sugar
• sometimes I add a splash of cream or a few TBSP butter

No matter how you slice it, this pumpkin bread is downright delicious. Especially alongside a good cup of coffee or tea during a blustery afternoon. Without the frosting, it's pretty darn healthy. (But c'mon, a little frosting isn't going to hurt anyone.) Now go out and get yourself a pumpkin and get baking!

The Adventures of Peapod Ibti

2011-10-23T23:24:00.000-04:00

While I was out running errands earlier today, something suddenly reminded me that I'd forgotten to post something on the blog about DC Farm to School week...hmmm....

And then, lo not 10 minutes later, a message popped up in my inbox with a photo attachment from supermom Laura over at Watkins Elementary:

Yep, that's me dressed as a giant peapod. Why would I agree to such silliness, you ask? I couldn't help myself: I love Farm to School Week. And admittedly I rather enjoy opportunities to dress up. I'll agree that it was not the most flattering of costumes, but it was apparently very effective: I was told there was a huge line for the cafeteria salad bar the following day as a direct result of my veg promotional efforts. To be honest, I think it was the bright, crunchy veggies and delectable champagne vinaigrette that the friendly folks from SweetGreen brought along, but, hey, if a smiling stranger dressed as a legume and handing out stickers helps encourage consumption of seasonal produce, I'm happy for whatever part I played.

I will say that I was impressed that nearly every kid that scampered up to the salad table we'd set up in Watkins' brand new beautiful playground knew what I was. (You may not think that's a big deal, but can I tell you how many kids in this country can't identify a tomato not in ketchup form?) Only one little boy asked if I was a cucumber... his classmate quickly corrected him. Props to the school's FoodPrints program for getting kids excited not only about identifying lots of veggies, but also about preparing and eating them. Yes, it didn't take long for a few of the older girls to ask to help mixing ingredients together in large bowls and serving the fresh salad samples (using plastic gloves) to their peers. I couldn't stop grinning the whole ride home. (No, not in costume.)

Don't worry, I don't plan on breaking the peapod getup out again any time soon. I've got my hands full making a cape for tomorrow's Food Day group picnic....

Kale Carbonara

2011-10-20T22:17:00.002-04:00

Yes, you read that correctly: kale carbonara. Don't wrinkle your nose until you've tried it. I made it a few nights ago and I'll tell you, it was pretty tasty. Huh. I can see you're going to need more convincing....

Now, if you've been following this blog for any length of time, or spoken with me in person for more than, say, 20 minutes, you know that I am something of an improvisational cook. Well. I'd been away for the weekend at my friend Meredyth's wedding in West Virginia and thus hadn't stocked up on produce during the usual weekend farmers' market trolling. My cupboard was relatively bare, but I was HUNGRY. As I rifled through my freezer in search of edamame for a completely unrelated dish I started concocting, I stumbled across a few strips of Niman Ranch bacon I'd squirreled away. In the fridge, I discovered a few eggs... a bit of cream... a lemon.... Some fresh basil and parsley were still holding onto dear life out in the backyard garden patch.... I could only assume that the universe was telling me that I was destined for more carbonara that night. (After making my way home from my weekly volunteer shift at Brainfood an hour before, I had carbonara sauce on the brain. We'd made a quick chicken carbonara as our snack at the end of class, but I was ravenous. I blame this sudden cold front.) Yes. Carbonara would do nicely. But I had no chicken. I did have some kale that needed to be used up.

Necessity is the mother of invention, right? And I am pleased to report that this invention was downright delicious.

After much prodding by my friend Jeff, whose mouth watered so much during my relation of this latest cooking experiment earlier today that I felt bad for eating half the pot for dinner and the other half the following morning for a hearty breakfast without sharing a bite of it, I give you...

Kale Carbonara

Chop up 3-4 strips of thick-cut, pastured bacon into 1/2-inch pieces and fry in a small saucepan until almost crispy. Remove bacon to a small bowl and let cool while you proceed.

In a medium pot, boil 1/2 lb pasta. (I used fusilli, but shells or fettucini would work just as well. Actually, shoot, use whatever you have handy. I think classic carbonara is made with spaghetti anyway.)

In a medium bowl, whisk together:
-3 or 4 yolks from pastured eggs (save whites for another dish)
-the zest of 1 lemon
-1/4 to 1/3 cup cream
-a handful of freshly grated parmesan
-2 or 3 garlic cloves, minced
-a few spoonfuls of freshly chopped basil
-a few spoonfuls of freshly chopped parsley
-5 or 6 kale leaves, washed, de-stemmed, and chopped into bite-sized pieces
-salt and pepper to taste

Return drained pasta to pot, turn burner to low, add in bacon pieces and egg mixture, stirring constantly until pasta is completely coated and everything is heated through. Scarf, maybe with a nice glass of white wine.

Yeah, it's not low calorie or anything, but if you use good ingredients it's not really bad for you. And it is tasty and relatively inexpensive and makes a fair bit -- enough for 2 or 3 people, anyway. Try to share, eh?

A semi-spontaneous group picnic: Oct 24

2011-10-15T15:02:00.000-04:00

So October is officially Food Month, featuring:

Oct 1-16: the Right 2 Know March (to advocate for the labeling of GMO foods)
Oct 3-7: DC Farm to School Week (to encourage schoolkids to eat more healthfully)
Oct 8: dad's birthday dinner
Oct 9-10: prime time for garlic planting (can go until Nov 1, according to Farmer Mo)
Oct 16: World Food Day (focusing this year on mitigating the global food pricing pendulum)
Oct 24: CSPI's more domestically oriented Food Day
Oct 31: when I invariably find myself wearing some kind of food-themed Halloween getup....

Let's focus here on Oct 24 -- Food Day -- and its infinite potential for ways to celebrate healthy, sustainable, and fair food. There are tons of ways you can participate, no matter where in the country you happen to be on that Monday in late October: cook dinner with friends, have lunch with a colleague and maybe even share a little something you made yourself, make an effort to eat something local/seasonal that day, patronize a restaurant known for its conscientious procurement and labor practices....

Should you find yourself in DC, however, I invite you to join me and Ollie downtown for a semi-spontaneous picnic lunch! Yes, take a break from work for a REAL lunch break, celebrating good food and conversation in the out of doors. (Or indoors -- I have some thoughts on a rain location.) Bring your friends/colleagues, a picnic, and a blanket. Those who bring a dish with at least one local/seasonal ingredient get a big hug, and the first 75 or so will get... a surprise Food Day memento. (Ooooh, the anticipation!)

Relax, it's not a rally. It's not a protest. It might be considered a flash mob, but one that the cops have nothing to worry about. It's a picnic... with a few hundred of my closest friends and DC-area food lovers to celebrate Food Day. The location will be announced the morning of the 24th, but I can tell you that it will be metro accessible.

A pork-stravaganza

2011-10-09T22:51:00.000-04:00

I love this time of year. Sunny days and crisp, cool nights. Garlic planting. Long weekends. Apple cider making. And cooking up something ridiculously elaborate and tasty for dad's birthday dinner. This year, in honor of the big 7-7, it was a pastured pork extravaganza, courtesy of a little inspiration from the most recent issue of Bon Appetit and a bevy of local, seasonal ingredients from a few farmers' markets around town.

Poor mom was once again subject to a little miscalculation on my part on the amount of prep time required, so we had a rather, er, European experience, dining at 9:30 last night. The consensus: delicious, and somewhat less work than my brother's (in)famous turducken. Here's a pic of it just before going into the oven:

Pork Three Ways

FILLING

In a large, deep pan, saute:
-2-3 TBSP butter
- 3-4 small onions, peeled and diced
- about 1 cup mushrooms (I used a few handfuls of dried porcini, soaked in hot water, but I think fresh would be just fine as well)
- 1 large apple, cored and diced
- 3-4 cloves of garlic, minced

Stir in:
- 1-2 TBSP brandy
- 1 tsp thyme
- 1 tsp fresh rosemary
- 1 lb. ground pastured pork (mine came from EcoFriendly Foods)
- 1 tsp salt
- 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

Your filling is complete. Well, almost. You should also de-stem 8-10 fresh kale leaves, then blanch (i.e. boil for about 30 seconds) and quickly rinse them (under cold running water).

ROAST

Preheat the oven to 400F.

Butterfly two 1 1/2-lb pastured pork shoulders (mine came from Smith Meadows Farm), place a clean towel or piece of plastic wrap on top, and pound to about 1/2" thickness. You should now have two big rectangles of pork.

Lay cooled kale on top, then spread on a thick layer of the pork/mushroom/apple filling. Roll each rectangle into a log, then wrap with prosciutto (mine came from La Quercia via Whole Foods) around the outside.

Tie the whole thing closed with kitchen twine (or, if you're fresh out of kitchen twine, have your brother help you only moderately mangle the prosciutto-wrapped pork rolls while tying them with fishing line) and tuck in a few sprigs of fresh rosemary, then place the rolls atop 3-4 chopped, cored apples in a roasting pan.

Pour in:
- 1 cup apple cider (I used hard cider, but I think nonalcoholic stuff would work just as well)
- 1/2 cup of chicken stock

Place the pan in the oven and turn it up to broil for 3-5 minutes (to brown the outside), then reduce heat back to 400F and cook, uncovered, for about an hour and 20 minutes, until a meat thermometer placed in the center of each pork roll reads 140F. Let the meat rest for about 15 minutes before carving. Use the pan drippings to make a savory gravy. Serve pork slices alongside sauteed kale with garlic, baked sweet potatoes, and some good red wine.

(In case you're wondering, no, the four of us did not eat both roasts last night. We saved the second one to accompany our eggs florentine and a big salad for brunch this afternoon. I swear I am not a huge carnivore -- no, really -- but with all of this sustainable, pastured meat around I can't help myself. Bulking up for the winter, I suppose.)

Saucy

2011-10-06T01:44:00.001-04:00

Since devoting myself entirely to food (with periodic breaks for dancing and biking and laundry, of course), I find that sometimes my work and play lives blur. I know, it's a tough life. But truly, it's been a busy few weeks, dear readers, and I've been meaning to tell you all about the food education adventures of late. Food stamp outreach at the Kwanzaa Kitchen Breakfast (work). Jeff's kind assistance with setting up my very first batch of shiitake mushroom logs (play, though there is a related magazine article in the pipeline -- see what I mean about the blur between work and play?) and drafting the last couple of FoodPrints lessons, hopefully soon to be available online (work). Curriculum writing for elementary and middle school after school programs I'll begin co-teaching later this month (work). Dressing up like a peapod to help get kids at a nearby primary school excited about their new salad bar. My first shift with the brand spankin' new Brainfood MVP program. (These last two were both volunteer gigs earlier this week.) And, last but not least by a long shot, making and canning applesauce with my friend, Farmer Gail (play).

(Note: this post, as implied by the title, is about making applesauce. For those of you who want to read more about some of the other recent food adventures, sit tight: I've got some writing to do. And Ibti Peapod pictures to bury in case I ever decide to run for public office one day.)

All food all the time. Every so often I worry that I might stop loving food so much. Then I remember it's me we're talking about here. Have I grown tired of canning? Ha! Hardly! When Gail came by to pick up me and my spices on Sunday afternoon, I must say I was a little giddy. I hadn't made apple sauce since last fall. Autumn, indicated by the onslaught of apples at farmers' markets as much as the troubling drop in temperature, was officially here. (What's that you ask about the spices? Just 3 or 4 of them plus a couple of fresh lemons -- a far cry from the cache of 25+ baggies of key ingredients like cardamom and star anise that I schlepped around the country.) I looked up a couple of basic recipes -- mostly to check the processing time and triplecheck that I had not misread, that it was in fact OKAY that I would not be bumping up the acidity level with the addition of a mess of lemon juice or vinegar or something, as I do in normal canning to stave off bacterial growth (raise your hand if you've lost sleep over fears of botulism) -- and my cooking companion broke out the handy dandy apple peeling and coring contraption.

[I love that gadget. If I ever get married, that thing is going on my registry. They seem hard to find, these apple peelers, but less so than, say, a loving life partner. Actually, recent broken hearts considered, I may as well go ahead and buy one for myself and cut out the interminable wait. Yes, let me just take a look on Craigslist....]

With Gail washing and peeling, and me slicing and spicing, we had two big pots' worth of applesauce simmering on the stove in no time. Wash out and boil the jars, fill 'em, check 'em for air bubbles, wipe the rims, twist on the lids, submerge the filled jars at a rolling boil for 20 minutes, cool on a wire rack... I daresay I'm getting pretty handy at this. (And a good thing, too, since I'll be co-teaching another bilingual canning class, featuring homemade applesauce, later this month.) Though she admitted to a shared fear of botulism before we got started, Gail seemed delighted at how simple and straightforward the whole process was as we cooled the jars and checked the lids. I suspect that she'll be tackling the rest of the half bushel of apples soon, empowered by the confidence (and deliciousness) inspired by this initial batch of sauce.

Have you made applesauce yet this season? If you need ideas or have questions about spice variations, you know who to call....

Sent from my Verizon Wireless Blackberry

No cyclist left behind

2011-09-25T20:36:00.001-04:00

It's been nearly a year and a half since Ollie and I returned to our beloved District after riding over 7,800 miles through 29 states and working on farms. Admittedly, from time to time we do muse about tackling those other 21 that we missed during our round-the-country trip. (Okay, maybe Hawaii and Alaska weren't really ever part of the plan. Still....) Yesterday we had a chance to take another crack at a multi-state bike tour, courtesy of WABA's annual 50 States ride. Well, first we had a volunteer shift with these lovely ladies:

After nearly four hours of handing out burritos and wisecracks at the Eastern Market pit stop, I tagged along with the "sweepers" that brought up the rear ranks, keeping an eye out for lost riders or those in need of help changing a flat. You know, the NCLB team. (I do believe that our "No Cyclist Left Behind" policy was more effective than our nation's similarly abbreviated educational initiative, but I digress....) As we rode along, I marveled at our curiously perfect cycling weather -- in the 70s and slightly overcast -- and mentally checked off a few more states: Arkansas, Utah, North Dakota, Colorado....

It was just like being on a real cross-country bike tour: I got ridiculously hungry every 15 miles or so (luckily, Mike handed me emergency dried mangoes and granola bars); we got notably lost (Alan and I missed the turnoff onto West Virginia Avenue, realizing our error multiple miles later as we wandered the precarious trolley tracks along Benning Road in Northeast); I found myself swearing on my way up hills (I'm talking to you, Montana and Hawaii Avenues). Of note: South Dakota remains my least favorite street in the city, closely followed by New York, Michigan, and Florida Avenues. (Hopping onto the tour when I did, I was fortunate enough to have missed oft maligned and poorly signed Texas Avenue over in Southeast.) We made it to the end, though, covering the final 35 miles (which included, I believe, 26 states), huffing up California to collapse, sweaty and proud, into picnic chairs at the after-party in Adams Morgan. We arrived just in time to grab a couple of free pints of Fat Tire (the lovely west coast brew premiering here in DC on tap at last) and our commemorative t-shirts. Not bad, eh?

I am happy to report that I drank a full gallon of water and slept for a solid nine hours last night. I am, however, a little mortified to report how tired my legs were when I awoke. I totally took the metro the measly 5 (but ahem, mostly uphill) miles to the Takoma Park farmers' market this morning to meet up with my dear friend Susan. Me, who used to ride 60 miles a day without blinking! Who a year ago biked the 25 miles to Upper Marlboro and then worked for 6 hours at Clagett Farm! Gettin' old, I guess. I think I'll be doing a little training before next year's 50 States ride.... Maybe by then we will have a 51st state... Maybe? Ah, I probably have a better chance of getting another flat tire than a senator before then.

Go car free this Thursday!

2011-09-19T14:14:00.001-04:00

Leave the car keys on the counter and break out that bike helmet. Or walking shoes. Or maybe take a look and see if you have a few bucks left on on your SmartTrip (TM) card. Go car free this Thursday. All the cool kids are doing it.

Car Free Day is apparently an international event meant to encourage us city folk to get around without cars. Activities are organized in various cities throughout the world in different ways, but with the common goal of taking cars off the streets. There are all kinds of reasons to be a part of a less individual-car-reliant culture: less traffic congestion, no parking issues, a greener environment, reduced gasoline consumption, getting in a bit of exercise or socializing instead of grumbling in your car alone while sitting in traffic. The list goes on. According to the website, Car Free Day includes celebrations in 1,500 cities in 40 countries. Certainly there are lots of partners in Northern VA, MD, and DC, so you don't need to live/work in DC proper to participate in our local activities.

Around the District, we have lots of options: in addition to walking or bicycling, we can take a commuter train, metro, bus. We can carpool. If you absolutely need a car for a long commute from home to work, try being a "slug" for a day and hop into the HOV lane for a change. (I can't help giggling every time I read a reference to slugging, which apparently originated in Springfield, VA. Mom and dad, I wonder if there will soon be a Slugging Museum down the street from you, heheh.) You can also arrange to telecommute for the day. Car Free Day is open to everyone in the DC metropolitan area, and even if you don't drive anyway you can still pledge to add your non-driving effort to the larger group's effort (and get some free pizza or a free bike in the process). To participate, all you need to do is fill out the pledge form, then go car free (or at least carpool, ya slug!) on Sept 22. Go on, do it.

p.s.- In the event that I don't see you in the bike lanes on Thursday, perhaps we'll see each other at WABA's 50 States ride this Saturday!

Born to be wild

2011-09-17T22:30:00.001-04:00

I can't help but gush about my favorite moment of today's Heritage Harvest Festival: meeting Sandor Katz -- the inspired author of "Wild Fermentation." I have blathered on about this book a few times on the blog, yes. Kim chi. Sourdough. Yoghurt. Pickles. Lebneh. Sauerkraut. If there is a fermentation bible, this book is it.

[Note: I generally turn my nose up at any cookbook that markets itself as any kind of "bible." The Bread Bible. The Cake Bible. Bah. This is the real deal... and there is no "bible" in the title. Though the author could probably walk on water. Or kombucha, rather. The man knows fermented foods, and any food lover I have ever met that has heard of his book loves it. And owns it, actually.]

I was skulking about the postcard section of the Monticello museum shop for a good 20 minutes before he showed up for a book signing, unescorted and unassuming in a plaid shirt. In spite of being a celebrity of sorts, Sandorkraut was really very personable and down to earth. We had a chance to chit chat for a bit before he signed my well-marked, dog-eared copy of the manifesto on food diversity and self-reliance. On the page with the kim chi recipe, of course. And then I overcame my natural shyness -- what, I am shy! -- to ask him to take a quick picture together. (Unlike that time I stood 3 feet from Michael Pollan, tongue-tied and blushing, at the Food For Thought Festival a few years ago. See? I've come a long way.)

Boy, oh, boy. Not only did I learn that Mr. Katz has a new book coming out -- more to learn, and likely more fermentation ideas to integrate into my own food education adventures around town -- but he'll be in DC this spring for a talk. I wonder if he'd like some of that wild-caught sourdough starter that I've been nurturing for about a year now. Is it weird for a fan to show up to a book talk with a jar of fermenting local yeast?

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Si se puede!

2011-09-11T21:53:00.005-04:00

One of the things I love most about educating is that I almost always learn as much as I teach. It's both exhilarating and humbling. During my time working in the public school system, as I taught about subject-verb agreement and irony, my high schoolers gave me a primer on rap and fashion and slang. ("Who is this '50 Cents' character, and what the heck did he ever do to get shot NINE times? And those pants, why, you can see his underwear!" Yes, I had lots to learn. Still do.)

Teaching and learning don't just take place in the classroom, of course, and the pattern has not abated since my shift from teaching English literacy to educating about sustainable food. At a recent canning workshop in Takoma Park -- the first multicultural Padres Latinos/Linkages to Learning weekly gathering of the school year at Rolling Terrace Elementary -- I am certain that I learned at least as much as the dozen or so latina ladies I had been hired to teach. In this case, I was leading a hands-on workshop in Spanish on preparing and preserving fresh salsa, by special request of the group of local moms from a variety of Latin American countries. After an overview of the canning process and passing out of ingredients and equipment, everyone laughed and chatted away as we proceeded to prepare and process pint jars of spicy, aromatic salsa fresca. I found myself learning useful new words like "hervir" (to boil)... and realizing that I had mistranslated a few things on the worksheet I'd handed out. Luckily most of my errors were pretty obvious to the ladies -- one doesn't use "pepinos" (cucumbers) in salsa, but rather "pimientos" (peppers) -- and they helped me with a few of the technical terms like "higienica," which I said no less than 17 times as we sterilized and sealed our jars (kindly donated by the local ACE Hardware) filled with freshly made salsa (with beautiful organic produce donated by Potomac Vegetable Farms).

It was a lot of fun, and the women were kind enough to tolerate my Spanglish. (Michelle, my capable co-teacher, began far fewer of her sentences with "Como se dice..." than I did, to be sure, and often stepped in when I got flustered trying to explain concepts like checking to be sure the button on each jar lid was sucked downward during cooling to ensure a safe seal. Mil gracias, Michelle!) My vocabulary turned out to be less of a challenge than some of the technical limitations of the stove-less space: unfortunately, the electric, single burner contraptions we were using to heat giant pots of water didn't "hervieron con fuerza" during the 2-hour session. (Note to self: next time make sure a giant pot of water *can* get to a rolling boil on a single-burner stove.) I left the program director, Maria, with very detailed instructions and she told me later that after the requisite 45 minutes at a rolling boil and cooling of the jars, all but one of them sealed successfully. Hooray!

Even the principal seemed excited when a few of us brought some of the extra salsa to the main office at the end of the session, and a number of the ladies departed with extra jars and ingredients to try making more at home. Ah. What a day of learning for us all.

(5 points for those of you who didn't roll their eyes at my nerdy bilingual pun subject heading.)

Chocolate and garlic: a match made in heaven

2011-09-07T22:25:00.002-04:00

It appears that not that many folks have tried -- or even thought of -- blending two of the most important food groups on the planet: garlic and chocolate. Some of you might have done a double take when I wrote about testing roasted, chocolate-covered garlic on the Mountaindale Farm blog awhile back. (Not mom, though: she asked for a batch posthaste.)

Well, the public had a chance to try out this little bit of culinary genius (if I do say so myself) this past weekend at the 2011 Pocono Garlic Festival. The reviews were generally pretty positive, actually. Dunked in dark Belgian chocolate, no less (Farmer Gary's favorite), we went through tray after individually-wrapped tray of them. It's not proprietary or anything, so should you want to make your own, here's the recipe.

I don't know that I'd make 900 hand dipped, individually wrapped cloves again -- that was a little extreme, even for my maniacal cooking tendencies (and thank the lord the peeling and roasting happened before I arrived on Wednesday night) -- but don't they look lovely?

It was fun peddling (rather than pedaling, for a change) some tasty wares this weekend. In addition to four varieties of heirloom garlic, bottles of garple, and beautiful garlic braids, there was lots and lots of garlic-chocolate goodness for sale. Dozens of folks came by our booth each afternoon asking for Caroline and Joanie's famous -- but by then sold out -- garlic chocolate chip cookies. Well, people, when I say "no pressure, but we sell out every year, so there might not be any left later in the day," it is not just a sales pitch. One thing I cannot supply here is the recipe for the wildly popular cookies, but I can assure you that they are darn good. Caroline and Joanie made over 700 of them, and we sold out by 2:30 both days. Fear not, I suspect there'll be more next year. If you can't wait, get yourself to one of these upcoming festivals.

Chocolate and garlic are a match made in heaven. Luckily, cousin Caroline loaded me up with Music, German White, and my favorite Siberian Red garlic. And, oh look, there are a few bars of Green & Black's 70% Dark in the pantry. And organic butter in the fridge. Mmmm. Yes. Next up: garlic truffles.

Come on, Irene

2011-08-29T17:33:00.002-04:00

I've never had a guest blogger here on the Bikeable Feast. One thing about having your own blog is that you have total control over the content. Moo ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, the power!

Actually, speaking of power, I am lucky to have it after this weekend's hurricane, unlike some of my neighbors who suffered quite a beating from Irene. The past few days' crazy weather has both tormented and inspired some of us in the DC area (and all up the coast, I suppose -- my best friend up in Montreal hasn't had electricity since yesterday morning, which her kids loved, as it meant lots of candles and marshmallow roasting). Sandbagged inside my basement apartment during much of Saturday, I got to thinking about how different people prepare for and react to natural disasters. It often brings out the best in people, some kind of latent kindness and helpfulness that we are otherwise too busy and caught up in our own lives to extend. (Like my next door neighbor Henry calling to see if I needed help or sandbags amid the torrential rain. Not that he isn't usually helpful or friendly, but he was concerned about my apartment flooding again.) I thought about writing a little something about this myself, but frankly the best encapsulation of the triumph of local community in the face of environmental adversity came in the form of the weekly email from my friend Michele over at the Crossroads Farmers' Market. I've excerpted her note below:

"Though most DC area farmers markets closed on Sunday (and understandably so!), a bunch of brave Takoma Park vendors loaded their trucks during the height of the storm and drove in for business as usual. Which meant that I was on for my regular Sunday gig, selling at the Takoma Park farmers market for Pennsylvania-based Keswick Creamery. At the time, I was wholly unimpressed. Ok, after a sleepless night of whipping winds, crashing branches, and no electricity, I was downright cranky at the prospect of setting up market on a powerless street with gusts of wind still swirling through. After all, who in their right mind would be out to shop?

My question should have been: who wouldn't? In sweatpants and galoshes, the neighborhood came out. With trees and power down throughout virtually all of Takoma Park, the market was the only game in town. While the rest of the area was at a virtual standstill, our local food supply was vibrant and intact, our local farmers still able to provide a brilliant array of fresh, nourishing produce. So, though grocery store shelves were wiped of bread, the local bakeries provided; though people had stocked up on non-perishables, the abundance of fresh, local fruit, tomatoes, greens, and dairy ensured that folks would be well fed with real, whole foods until power was restored.

And perhaps equally important? It didn't matter than the ATMs weren't working and that refrigeration was scarce. People came to the market to congregate, to share stories, to laugh, to find their friends and neighbors and engage within a collective space. The takeaway: while this weekend's storm could have been so, so much worse, it was a tremendous reminder of how absolutely critical, how non-negotiable and essential, it is that we collectively build and support a thriving, robust local foods system. And it was a wonderful reminder of the ways in which food, markets, and the allure of a perfect heirloom tomato create such fertile ground (no pun intended) for fostering community."

In tribute to our local food system, to our farmers who need some extra support after loss of crop and revenue in the storm, come check out the Crossroads Farmers' Market this Wednesday from 2:30-6:30pm. (7676 New Hampshire Avenue, rain or shine -- and shine seems likely!) I suspect there will be a good crowd in attendance, especially for the tomatoes following my first ever canning workshop on salsa making with the Padres Latinos group that morning... in Spanish. (Que bueno, eh?)

La Vida Local

2011-08-22T22:32:00.003-04:00

In the midst of a lovely dinner at Ripple yesterday evening -- I daresay it's becoming my favorite local restaurant, certainly giving Cashion's and Restaurant Nora and Founding Farmers a run for their money -- my dear friend Jeanne asked me point blank if I was planning to set out on another cross-country bike trip in the near future. No, I assured her, I should be around for awhile yet. I've gotten the big travel bug out of my system. (And it's not like lovers in other parts of the country are sending me amorous pledges of their undying affection.)

Actually, there's quite a bit to learn and see and do here in the DC area. Yes, in addition to all of the cooking and watching of tennis (at my favorite local sports bar -- I still refuse to pay for cable, but I can't miss the matches leading up to the US Open). There is the work I'm doing with FoodPrints and GrowingSOUL, as well as more intensive SNAP outreach in communities in the vicinity of a few farmers' markets around town. There are cooking demos and canning workshops to lead, and more writing to be done for a great local magazine. (Oooh, speaking of magazines: I got my copy of the September issue of Acres USA in today's mail, featuring my second article for the national eco-agriculture magazine! And it's looking like I'll be doing a bit more writing for them this winter.) Yeah, I have, like, six part-time jobs. C'est la vie.

So I'll be here. Mind you, it's not like I'm planning to sit still. It's simply not in my nature. I do have some short trips coming up soon to eastern Pennsylvania for the annual Pocono Garlic Festival, then to Charlottesville for the Heritage Harvest Festival. For those of you who may be wondering, I don't have plans to bike to either of these. Guess these 13 months of comparatively sedentary living in the same apartment and biking a mere 5-15 miles per day around town have made me soft: I'll be taking the bus.

For now, for the most part, I'll be here. Living La Vida Local, as it were. Mom and dad, aren't you relieved?

(This is not to say that should a Fulbright to study food traditions in India emerge I would turn it down. I'm just sayin'. It's probably best for friends and family to ply me with lots of fresh figs and good wine so I am sure to stick around.)

Challahlujah!

2011-08-15T23:48:00.003-04:00

Maybe it's the Jewish men I've dated these past few years. Maybe it's the fact that roughly half of my friends are Jewish. But there's just something about challah.

Today, with the help of a recipe from Wild Fermentation, I made my first loaf. (I splurged on a used copy a few weeks ago in order to brush up on my fermentation knowledge before teaching another workshop on making kim chi. To be honest I'm kind of enamored with Sandor Katz's loving tribute to all things fermented.) I'll bet you didn't even know you could make a sourdough challah. I sure didn't.

Note: I am a night owl by nature, but it is admittedly a little late to be baking. Working with wild-caught (rather than packaged) yeast does seem to add an hour or more onto most recipes, but I did start it at 9 this morning. There were a few additional challenges along the way. My real near-meltdown came during the heating of oil, sugar, salt, and eggs until they formed "a creamy, custard-like texture." The process was less clear or speedy than one might think. I mean, seriously, does this look like it's going to turn "custard-like" any time soon? It's been half an hour in a makeshift double boiler on my stove!

But finally, through the grace of Yahweh, it thickened. Then hubris set in -- directions, shmirections, I've been baking sourdoughs for nearly a year now -- I decided to go against the advice of the cookbook and combine ingredients directly on the counter (instead of in a bowl), old school Italian style, so this:

quickly became this:

(Doh!) But not irresolvable. See? Nothing ten solid minutes of intense kneading can't fix:

Three hours of rising, a break for yoga class, a little braiding, a second rising, and here it is going into the oven:

Just moments before midnight, I'm done.

Here it is -- beautiful and golden and perfuming my apartment with the most divine scent. I'll sleep well tonight. Tomorrow morning: egg sandwiches!

Let me entertain you

2011-08-14T11:16:00.000-04:00

It's summer. While you're grilling or picnicking with friends and family, you may be on the lookout for tasty, easy recipes to pull together that require minimal cooking. Lord knows I used a few such dishes this weekend for mom's retirement party: lemon juice and holy basil marinated zucchini "noodles," honeydew with fresh mint, cherry tomato and cucumber salad, refrigerator pickles.

Here's a little something I just made at the 14th & U farmers' market this past Saturday. It was quite popular. Free food always is, I suppose, but people seemed genuinely interested in the recipe: I saw a few excited market shoppers beeline from my demo station to the farm stands to pick up the requisite ingredients. I do believe Cherry Glen will have more of their divine chevre next week, and hopefully North Mountain Pastures will have more pickled beets so I can pick some up myself to make my own batch of...

Pickled beets and goat cheese on baguette slices

Ingredients:
-1 baguette, sliced into ¼ to ½-inch coins and brushed with olive oil
-1 pint jar of pickled beets (sliced or grated)
-1/4 cup chevre (or other soft goat cheese)
-a handful of dried fruit (raisins, chopped up dried apricots, dates, figs) OR fresh herbs OR toasted walnuts
-salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Toast bread slices on a cookie sheet in the oven, on the grill, or in batches in a nonstick skillet on the stovetop until golden. Top each baguette slice with a bit of pickled beet and a spoonful of goat cheese. If your pickled beets are really tart, try topping the goat cheese with a few sweet raisins. Or garnish with fresh herbs (a spring of basil, parsley, fennel, etc.). Or should you want to base the appetizer more closely on the dish that inspired it -- roasted beet salad -- you can top the goat cheese with a toasted walnut.

The recipe makes about 2 platefuls (enough for 4-6 people, as an appetizer… assuming you don’t eat one plate yourself while making them) and you can assemble it in just a few minutes for impromptu entertaining. While I am rather insistent on seasonal cooking wherever possible, the core ingredients are all available year round. And it's equally good with a light red or chilled white wine. Imagine that.

A word of caution: beware of talking with the market manager while slicing bread or you may end up with one of these:

It doesn't look bad now, two days and half a tube of neosporin later, but it was a gusher. Thankfully, I didn't cut through the nail. Just as importantly, I didn't bleed all over the food. I got everything cleaned up and myself bandaged before the next round of eager tasters arrived at the cooking demo booth. (Honestly, I don't slice into my hand that often....)

Sniper for hire?

2011-08-09T13:19:00.000-04:00

I've been garden-sitting for my friend Mike for the past week and a half and for the most part things have been going well. With the much-needed bouts of rain, the plants are looking lush and the harvest has been pretty impressive. The cucumbers and melons are going bonkers, corn and chard and fennel have been putting on a good show. But most of all, the tomatoes are looking just lovely. And Squeazle apparently thinks so, too....

Honestly, what kind of self-respecting squirrel would only *partially* eat a beautiful, ripe red tomato like this?? Jerk. I harvested a number of just-barely-orange ones a few days ago -- preventive measures after three days in a row of half-eaten evidence around the garden.

I wonder if one or two of the snipers that guard the White House garden might want to moonlight at Mike's place a few nights a week. I couldn't pay much, but I'd feed them well: tomato and fennel bruschetta, cucumber corn salad, chard and feta quiche.... (Oh, come on, there *must* be snipers posted around the perimeter of Ms. Obama's garden else there'd be no produce for the photo ops.)

These city rodents are ruthless, I tell you. Ruthless!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

The family jewels

2011-08-07T18:05:00.003-04:00

Now, I don't come from wealth. If I have kids one day, the family heirlooms will most likely be in seed form. Bagdad melons, Polish garlic, and a whole lot of tomato varieties. Those are my family jewels. Though most folks have heard of "heirloom" varieties in the context of tomatoes, there is actually a wide variety of heirloom fruits and vegetables from around the globe, carefully cultivated and passed down for generations.

But speaking of heirloom tomatoes, just this morning I was organizing an heirloom tomato tasting with red, green, yellow, orange, and purple varieties at the Bloomingdale farmers' market. Many of these luscious varieties from Snow Bear Farm, Truck Patch Farms, and Reid's Orchard made their way into my cooking demo. Mild White Queens, sweet Hawaiian Pineapples, tart German Greens, mellow Brandywines, Purple Cherokees, Pink Oxhearts... mmm.... Incorporating fresh bread from Panorama Bakery and topped off with fresh fennel fronds and a pat of quark (Keswick Creamery's German-style cream cheese with which I am becoming intimately familiar), the seasonal bruschetta samples were going as quickly as I could crank them out. Not that I was going at a maddening speed, but there wasn't much of a break in the hour and a half demo and when things slowed even a bit I was asked all sorts of questions as I doled out rounds of samples: where can I find these tomatoes? do you grow any of these yourself? which one is your favorite? how did you become a food educator? do you teach adults? do you have any recipes for cold summer soups? (Do I ever....)

It was a lovely way to spend the early part of my Sunday (the late part being absorbed with the Legg Mason tennis tournament finals and a couple pints of beer): working with beautiful produce, preparing and sharing tasty food, encouraging folks to get excited about their new favorite variety of tomato. I could get used to this. Because I ran out of copies at the market, and because some of you, dear readers, were unable to make it to the market this morning for this tasty treat, I thought I might post the recipe here on the blog. (So there are a lot of cooking-oriented posts these days. Can I help it if this is the most bountiful time of the year in terms of fresh produce?)

Here it is, the much sought after

Heirloom Tomato and Summer Peach Bruschetta recipe:

Ingredients:
-1 baguette, sliced into ¼ to ½-inch coins
-4-5 heirloom tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and diced
-3-4 ripe peaches, peeled, cored, and diced
-1-2 tsp balsamic vinegar
-a handful of fennel fronds OR fresh basil, finely chopped
-salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
-optional garnish: 1/4 cup cheese (feta, chevre, quark, grated parmesan, etc.)

Directions:
Toast bread slices on a cookie sheet in the oven, on the grill, or in batches in a nonstick skillet on the stovetop until golden. Combine remaining ingredients in a medium bowl. Top each baguette slice with a generous spoonful of the tomato-peach mixture. Top with a sprinkle or dollop of cheese and a spring of basil or fennel. Serve immediately. Don’t expect leftovers.

*The quick version: don’t peel the tomatoes or peaches. Thinly slice baguette, but don’t toast it. Otherwise, proceed as directed. You can also make the tomato-peach mixture a day ahead and store in the fridge.

A night out

2011-08-04T13:34:00.000-04:00

I don't get out as much as I used to, though by many people's standards, I still am out and about more than most. (Except, perhaps, my friend Ronn, who makes normal social butterflies look like homebody moths.) Okay, so I like exploring DC. It's not all happy hours and late nights of salsa dancing. This past Tuesday I participated in my first National Night Out -- an annual event whereby local police departments all around the country organize family-friendly events (usually featuring a band, some informational booths, food, a moonbounce, and if you're lucky, as I was, some poor fellow dressed up as McGruff the Crime Dog). In my case, I was helping out at the GrowingSOUL/Crossroads Market tent at the Takoma Park Night Out. My task: cooking demos. Oh, goodie....

While the live band got cranking, folks of all ages and colors wandered by to see what I was up to. Some timidly asked if they could try making a small jar of kale/collard kim chi, others sauntered up and reached right into the big bowl of tomato corn salad I was offering (made with some of the gorgeous tomatoes that Crossroads had for sale). Especially fun were the kids who walked past a few times and then couldn't resist coming over and trying their hand at mashing up the ginger, garlic, hot peppers, and leafy greens with salt to make small jars of kim chi to take home. Some of them really got into it. So did my compatriots from GrowingSOUL and Crossroads. We went through a good 6 or 8 bunches of greens and many, many old spaghetti jars.

Somewhere along the line, a random guy (I'm pretty sure he was sober) wandered up and without asking reached into the display kim chi jar and ladled a few forkfuls onto his hotdog. I was speechless, as much from the lack of asking "Do you mind if I take some of this?" as the idea of adding this totally organic, fermented food to what is widely regarded by most as nitrate-laced, ground up pig lips. Then, I'm not going to lie, Jessica and I ran to get our own hotdogs and try out the kim chi on top.

Yep, like I said, I'm no purist.

I would say that the evening went really well. Lots of folks went home with new recipes and fresh, local produce (made even more affordable by Crossroads' Fresh Checks) and fermented goodies. Not a bad night out.

And, okay, for those who complain that there are no photos of me on this blog -- ahem, mom -- here's one for you:

Sheesh.

Bring us your squeaking, your pied, your untrued wheels

2011-07-31T17:21:00.001-04:00

Ever since I picked her up from her tune-up at a bike shop across town in early July, I've been noticing an odd clicking feeling in Ollie's pedals. It only seems to happen when I'm in the lowest few rear gears, but so far as I could tell the clicking wasn't affected by moisture, temperature, terrain, or how much stuff I was schlepping. The shop had installed a new chain and cassette (covered, thankfully, by my Keep It Rolling plan), and supposedly replaced all of the cables and housing (part of the not inexpensive mid-level tune-up), but this clicking was new (a freebie?). I noticed the pedal pressure oddity and a notable-yet-not-constant squeaking on my way home from the shop, but rode Ollie around for a few days just in case it was simply due to some of her new parts settling in.

Though I've ridden a fair number of miles by now, and though I'd worked briefly at a bike shop (mostly updating the website and moving bikes in and out of storage), what did I know? I knew only enough to ascertain that something was amiss rather than what the cause might be. I didn't even know the names of all of the parts that could be involved. Maybe it was just the cables stretching, the mechanic suggested when I called. And the sporadic, high-pitched squeaking on one side? Was I riding around on a suicide cycle?? I was hoping for a second opinion.

Thus I was glad to happen upon the friendly guys who were staffing the free bike repair tent at the Bloomingdale farmers' market this Sunday. Jeff quickly determined the source of the odd clicking in the pedals. As I leaned in, he pointed out how in certain gears the chain was clicking against the...um... the metal part that usually keeps it lined up correctly. (I think it's part of the derailleur, technically.) We tried adjusting the...er... placement of the clamp that holds the derailleur in place, but that seemed to make it worse. Maybe it's not quite the right part that was installed during the tune-up? Maybe there is a more precise adjustment that needs to be made in a fully outfitted bike shop? Hmm. The mystery, to a degree, continues. We didn't fix everything, but I left the market feeling much better about things, and glad that someone else noticed the pedal clicking and the occasional and inexplicable high-pitched squeak. I was also glad to learn that I was not riding an imminent-deathtrap around, though I was advised to bring Ollie into a shop as soon as I am able.

I love these sorts of programs, run for free by folks who just want to help and teach and empower others. (I find myself doing this quite a bit myself with food education, but I do need to pay my rent so I have been trying to get better about charging something for the more substantial work.) There are a number of free bike clinics around the city, mostly at farmers' markets, including the Petworth (Friday), Glover Park (Saturday), Mount Pleasant (Saturday), and Bloomingdale (Sunday) markets.

The Bike House folks are also running mobile bike clinics at various locations around Wards 7 & 8 -- apparently wards that are not only food deserts but bike shop deserts as well. Yes, this is a program after my own heart. Those who are interested in helping out the Bike House can find information here on volunteering (or donating or contributing items on their wish list).

So thank you, kind Bike House peeps. I didn't have more than $2 on me to contribute to the donation jar for your friendly services, but I can offer this poem that Ollie and I wrote in thanks:

Bring us your squeaking, your pied,
Your untrued wheels, you need not take the bus,
The flats and brakes we can repair market-side.
Send these, the carless, traffic-tossed, to us:
We lift our multi-tools so all may ride.

Need help buying food? Ask me.

2011-07-25T23:03:00.006-04:00

Saturday marked my first visit to the Ward 8 Farmers' Market, set up next to the impressive ARC facility on Mississippi Avenue in Southeast DC. I'd been hearing about the market for a number of months from my friend Michael (the market's manager) and the chance to do some SNAP outreach with my friend Crissa (of DC Hunger Solutions) presented me with the perfect opportunity to check out this seasonal market not so very far from the Southern Avenue stop near the end of the green line metro.

SNAP -- for those new to food policy or this blog -- stands for the federal Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which in DC can be in the form of EBT (Electronic Benefits Transfer) cards, WIC (Women, Infants, and Children) vouchers, and/or Senior FMNP (Farmers' Market Nutrition Program) coupons. In short: food stamps. Thanks to a group called Wholesome Wave, the Ward 8 market, like a growing number of farmers' markets in the area -- including the Columbia Heights Community Market, the Crossroads market, and some of the FreshFarm markets -- offers Double Dollars. Most of these subsidized markets will double up to $5 or $10 (per shopper, per market) the amount of fresh, local food that low-income shoppers can purchase using EBT, WIC, or FMNP payment methods... but the Ward 8 Market is the first one I have ever been to that will double all of these without a limit on per-market usage. So someone with, say, $30 to spend can get $60 in fresh, healthy fruits and vegetables in a single visit. (I can totally consume $60 in fresh produce in a week. So can a normal family of four.) Now that's pretty awesome.

[Actually, speaking of awesome, my favorite story about the Ward 8 market involves a local group of do-gooders who call themselves The Awesome Foundation: Having been chosen from among the inaugural pool of applicants for the first round of DC's Awesome Foundation grants, Michael told me of an afternoon a few months back when a woman handed him a paper bag full of cash -- $1,000, to be exact -- so that his fledgling market could offer free, snazzy canvas bags for first time market shoppers to tote their produce. True story. And much less shady than many of the recent goings on involving piles of cash and officials in this fair city of mine....]

While the Ward 8 Farmers' Market is not overly large -- two produce vendors, a potted plant seller, a guy selling fresh bread and frozen pastured meats -- it was well attended by a nice mix of loyal regulars and first timers who came by the information tent to pick up their double dollars. I had donned a bright green "Need help buying food? Ask me" t-shirt and as I worked alongside Crissa to hand out informational fliers and recipe cards, I quickly learned that most folks that I spoke with at the market who can receive food assistance benefits already know about and receive them. There were a few who asked for more information on behalf of friends or relatives who were new mothers or elderly, but most were pretty savvy. (I will say that it was a little unsettling to realize that these days I would actually qualify for food stamps myself. Eep.) It was a friendly group of neighborhood shoppers and farmers who, I must say, were pretty generous souls. I mean, how often does a complete stranger offer me some of his delectable fresh peaches from the market on the walk to the subway? (Okay, that sounds sketchy, but it totally wasn't!) I learned as much about the generosity of the human spirit as I did about food assistance programs that day.

I am not sure how typical Saturday's market day was -- the site was shared with an FCA Community Day -- but it was a pretty steady crowd and I saw lots of produce and vouchers exchanged. I have a hunch that Michael and his small cadre of local food producers will continue to contribute to building a happier, healthier community of local food shoppers out in Ward 8 for quite awhile.

In a pickle

2011-07-22T15:11:00.002-04:00

Much as I don't "follow" recipes as such, I must say that after the flavor mishaps with my inaugural attempt at pickled okra last summer I am not keen on the idea of slaving over many jars of preserved produce for mediocre effect. Yet neither do I generally opt to make things out of a package. Hmmm. After reading recipe after online recipe calling for "premade pickling spice," I came across a basic recipe for pickling spices (thank you, simplycanning.com).

Pickling Spice

-6 TBSP mustard seed
-3 TBSP whole allspice
-6 tsp coriander seed (or, er, however much you have, which in my case was only 3 tsp)
-6 whole cloves
-3 tsp ground ginger
-3 tsp red pepper flakes
-3 bay leaves, crumbled
-3 cinnamon sticks, crushed (I used a hammer... nothing like breaking out the tool box in the kitchen)

Mix all ingredients together and store in an airtight container.

Seriously, could it be any easier? Now, on to the pickle making....

I needed to use up the cukes I picked last weekend while helping out at Walker Jones Farm. Okay, I may have been suffering from greedy hand syndrome, I admitted while preparing the dozen regular and lemon cucumbers (those would be the round, yellow ones in the photo). I tell you they were just sitting there looking ripe and prickly and waiting to be pickled and I couldn't resist. Though Mike kindly loaned me Moshkov (formerly known as Boris) for my canning projects in coming weeks, it is just too darn hot out -- over 100 degrees! -- to steam up the basement apartment with a pressure cooker. So I started trolling the internet for refrigerator pickle (aka those that won't require boiling and processing) recipes. Here's what I made after cobbling together a few recipes for which I had most of the ingredients:

Easy Refrigerator Pickles

Combine in a large glass bowl or jar:
-6-10 cucumbers (depending on the size, you may want to slice or quarter them)
-2 C water
-1 3/4 C white vinegar
-1/2 C sugar
-8 cloves garlic (conveniently, I had some from my visit to cousin Caroline's farm)
-1 1/2 TBSP pickling spice (well, look at you, you've made your own!)
-1 1/2 tablespoons coarse salt

Stir, and let stand at room temperature for 2 hours, until the sugar and salt dissolve. In clean jars, place:
-a sprig of dill (because these are pickles, after all)
-a grape leaf (whose tannins add crunch)
-a garlic clove (because, really, 8 cloves wasn't enough)
-a hot pepper (optional, for the tough guys)
-cucumber pieces (as many as will fit)

Ladle the pickling liquid into each jar to cover cukes, topping off with a half-water/half-vinegar mixture if needed. Seal and refrigerate for 10 days before eating. Use within 1 month. (Oooh, these should be ready just in time for mom's retirement party next month. Score.)

BTW, a few folks have commented on how this blog seems a little recipe heavy these days. Well, can I help it if there's a ton of gorgeous produce this time of year waiting to be cooked and blogged about? No, no I can't. (Neither can I help this brutal weather pattern. Ugh. 100 degrees in the shade!) But I swear I've been writing about other stuff, too, just in other places. Places like the artsy, activisty new Bittersweet Zine. Don't worry, I'll get back to ranting about food justice and the lack of respect for bike lanes in DC soon enough....

Lock your doors, zucchini season is here

2011-07-17T22:00:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, I borrowed a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" from my friend Jeanne. I recall there being an amusing anecdote in it suggesting that the only time rural Southerners locked their doors was in the summer, at the height of zucchini season. Well. Though DC is a Southern town, I don't think I am in any danger of being reverse burgled with squashes. However, between friends at Arcadia and Walker Jones farms I do seem to have come into quite a lot of courgettes.

I love zucchini. Chef Allison over at DC Central Kitchen made a lovely "zucchini ribbons with lemon juice and mint" dish for a reception I volunteered at last week that I mean to replicate soon. A small crowd enjoyed some slightly charred baby zucchini at Henry's barbecue yesterday. I am still perfecting the chocolate zucchini cake recipe -- it's coming, I promise -- which I plan to bring to a dinner party next weekend. Tonight I thought I'd change things up a bit and fiddle with a zucchini soup recipe.

Now, you might think hot soup is the last thing one would want in July, but it gets rather cold in the basement apartment when the air conditioning is cranked to combat the summer heat upstairs, so a steaming bowl of soup was actually rather welcome this evening -- a satisfying but not overly heavy bowl of creamy goodness and a slab of sourdough were a nice calm meal after all of the excitement of this afternoon's barbecue and viewing of the FIFA women's final. Here's how you might whip up a batch yourself. (And incidentally, it's also good cold.)

Curried Zucchini Soup

Saute 2 small onions + 5-6 cloves of garlic in 1 tsp olive oil in a large pot on low for 5 minutes.

Chop 3-4 zucchini into thick coin slices -- it works out to, I dunno, 4 cups' worth -- and add to pot.

Sprinkle in some curry powder and cayenne powder (1/4-1/2 tsp each, depending on how spicy you like it) + a pinch or two of salt, stir, and turn the heat up to medium. Cook for 2 or 3 minutes, being sure zucchini is coated with spices.

Add in 5-6 cups of good veggie stock -- enough to cover zucchini -- then simmer for 20 minutes, until zucchini is soft.

Remove soup from the stovetop and puree in batches using a blender or food processor. Or use an immersion blender directly in the pot (as I did with one Mike loaned me, pictured above -- I need one of these for myself, I'm hooked). Then stir in 1-2 TBSP plain sour cream or whipping cream. (Yes, whipping cream. Not that stuff that comes in an aerosol can, I mean the good stuff.)

Serve in bowls with a couple grinds of black pepper and a slab of toasted sourdough bread. Yum.

My oh my, with all of this beautiful produce around, if I'm not careful this may turn into an all out cooking blog. Maybe it's time to get serious about a bikeable feast cookbook....

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"Beet it" brownies

2011-07-16T16:39:00.001-04:00

I helped out at Walker Jones Farm recently and pulled some beets to take home. Aren't they gorgeous?

Some people seem intimidated by these beautiful, magenta root vegetables and aren't quite sure what to do with them. Some are weirded out by the fact that it turns your pee kind of pinkish. Not me. Borscht, caramelized beet and goat cheese salad with walnuts, roasted beet and potato home fries... bring on the beets, I say. I recognize that some folks aren't huge beet fans. At least not yet. (Some folks were purportedly not kale fans until they tried my massaged kale salad, and yet just today I got two emails from folks that came to my chef demo last weekend at the Columbia Heights farmers' market thanking me for one of their new favorite recipes.) I'm just sayin': trust me here. I'm your friendly neighborhood food educator, I wouldn't lead you astray.

The word on the street is that President Obama doesn't like beets. Well, I'll bet he's never tried my chocolate beet brownies. Kids of all ages like 'em. In fact, I have a batch in the oven right now to bring to my neighbor Henry's barbecue this evening. The inspiration for the sneaky beet infusion comes from a conversation I had almost two years ago on my way through Madison, Wisconsin while I was yakking with one of the after school food educators over at Sherman Middle School. I was intrigued and begged her for the recipe, which she kindly sent along. Here's my adaptation (with less sugar and more roasted beets)....

"Beet It" Brownies

Wash and remove the greens from 3-4 small beets. Drizzle with a little olive oil, wrap in tin foil, and roast in a 400F oven until soft (about 40 minutes). Cool beets, then puree and set aside.

Preheat oven to 350F, then butter and flour a small (8" or 9") cake pan.

Melt 1 bar of good chocolate (3-4 oz). Set aside to cool.

In a small bowl, mix together:
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
a pinch of salt

In a large bowl, use a hand mixer (or a lot of elbow grease and a whisk) to beat until creamy:
6 TBSP butter (easier at room temperature)
1/4 cup brown sugar

Beat in:
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 eggs (at room temperature)

Stir in:
the beet puree
the melted chocolate
the flour mixture

Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 30 minutes. Cool and serve.

Let me know if you all try this recipe, and if your guinea pigs...I mean guests...can guess the secret ingredient!

"Oh come now, don't sound so surprised..."

2011-07-12T00:26:00.001-04:00

"...I told you massaged kale salad was delicious!"

I found myself saying this quite often these past few days -- first during a cooking class with some (rather surly) high schoolers at the Lederer Youth Garden on Friday morning, then again during my shift as the resident chef at the Columbia Heights Community Marketplace on Saturday morning. Yep, that was me in the chef's tent. After two hours of crunching bowl after giant bowl of curly kale at the farmers' market with my bare hands, I'm surprised I could even flex my fingers by lunchtime. That just goes to show you how strong my muscles are from biking (death-gripping the brakes as Ollie and I fly screaming down the 13th Street hill) and gardening (ripping up tenacious weeds). And perhaps most of all from the flurry of sourdough bread baking of late (and ripping off hunks to slather in butter). All that kneading, wooh! Boy could I have used a massage myself after all of that, but alas....

It was intense, but fun and totally worth it. Quite a number of folks -- skeptical high schoolers, adventurous market shoppers, curious parents, even a local farmer or two -- were brave enough to try my concoction of kale, apples, red onion, slivered almonds, and cave aged feta. And they loved it. In fact, so many folks loved it that Dragonfly Farms sold out of kale within an hour, and I quickly ran through the photocopies of the recipe I had on me. I've heard from a number of folks via email requesting the surprisingly simple-yet-tasty and infinitely adaptable recipe in the days since. (Yes, I've apparently gone from giving out fake phone numbers at salsa clubs a year ago to handing out my email to total strangers at farmers' markets. I'm not sure what to make of that.)

For those who missed Saturday's market but have been wondering what all the hullabaloo about massaged kale is about, here's the recipe.

Let me know what you think. But just to give you fair warning: it's so good that a friend of mine told me of an incident a few months back where his significant other held him practically at knifepoint in the kitchen insisting that he make another batch after accidentally eating the leftover massaged kale salad she was planning to take for lunch. (Don't worry, it all worked out and they're getting married next month.)

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Corny

2011-07-11T16:20:00.000-04:00

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of Ollie's and my return to DC. What better way to mark the anniversary of my immersion into all things DC food than by devouring the first two ears of corn I've ever grown with my friend and fearless gardening pal, Mike! (Okay, maybe he's not entirely "fearless" -- he does lose a fair bit of sleep over fears that neighborhood rodents will abscond with the majority of our hard-earned produce. I about fell over laughing when he nearly burst a blood vessel while watching in horror as a horde of squirrels ran along the fenceline toting whole pears bigger than their heads in their mouths the other day. Wooh, that was a funny gardening day.) It's hard to get more local than a friend's back yard less than 2 miles from my apartment. And boy was it delicious.

In spite of my parents' concerns about this rather challenging and unpredictable life pursuit -- food education, that is -- it's been a good year overall. There have been some pretty extreme ups and downs in both personal and professional life with equal measures of triumph and heartbreak, but luckily I've managed to surround myself with lots of good food in the garden and on the table, and caring friends and family. And I'm working on a number of cool projects these days. Yes, in addition to perfecting my recipe for chocolate zucchini cake (coming soon...).

Anyhow, I just wanted to take a moment to mark the momentous occasion... of eating my first home grown corn. Here's hoping that this next year will provide lots of opportunities for (gainful) food education work. And lots more fresh, homegrown corn... Yum.

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Substitute Cheesemonger

2011-07-07T23:11:00.000-04:00

A number of months ago, I interviewed for a full-time cheesemongering position at a local shop that will remain nameless (but which I have boycotted ever since they didn't bother to call and let me know whether or not I got the job -- jerks). But today I got to flex my dairy selling muscles as a pinch-hitter for Keswick Creamery at the White House farmers' market. The Pennsylvania-based dairy has some top-notch stuff, so with a little advice from Allison and I helping folks to select the right cheese for their needs, it practically sold itself.

Sure, it was hot as heck today, but we hid in the shade of the tent with the cheeses on ice, and as I did my best to mask the fact that I was standing in a pool of my own sweat I advised folks as best I could. Oh, you're making an omelet with spinach and tomato? Well, I'd advise the Herbed Feta. Taste. Taste. Sweat. Taste. Drink water. Smile. Hmm, now you say you're looking for something mild and spreadable? I'd recommend the plain Bovre. Yes, it's a pasteurized cow's milk cheese, but similar to chevre. Well, it's made with a yoghurt culture, so it's just a little bit tangy. Taste. Drink water. Taste. Sweat. Smile. Oh, you like spicy? Well, try the Dragon's Breath. Oh, just you wait, tough guy, the burn will sneak up on you. Mmm hmmm. See? Drink water. Sweat. Smile. Well, lucky you, you've bought the last Quark. Did you try it with the cherry almond jam? Yes, it's delicious. And the gentleman a few tents down is selling it, so you can recreate this taste in your very own home. I daresay we did rather well, Allison and I.

Let me tell you, it is crucial to taste all of the cheese to be a well-informed cheesemonger. In any case, I learned quite a bit about Dutch and German cheeses during the 4-hour shift, and met all kinds of characters. One of the bonuses of working at farmers' markets, I'm finding, is the camaraderie among vendors who cheerfully share their wares, and we feasted on not only cheese samples but also sweet plums from the Toigo Orchards' stand on our right, crusty french bread from the Panorama Bakery stand on our left, and a delectable cilantro and sweet corn pizza from the Red Zebra stand across the way. Yum. (If only I'd thought to put cilantro on pizza! Brilliant!) I'm just bummed that I forgot to buy a pint of Keswick's luscious chocolate pudding, especially with the 25% vendor discount. Doh. Ah, well, I'm still pretty well fed for the evening.

Oh my, it looks like it's time to get ready for bed. I have to get up at a reasonable hour to teach a cooking class to a group of teenagers out at the Lederer Youth Garden tomorrow and something tells me I'm going to need my rest....

Oh, and that picture? That's my fearless co-saleswoman, Allison. See, now don't you suddently have an irresistible desire to buy a jar of savory, marinated feta (with garlic, peppercorns, and bay leaf) for the low, low price of $6?

Garlic on the brain (and in the blood)

2011-07-04T23:51:00.001-04:00

With the last of the fireworks exploding and the final dishes washed for the night, I'm snuggled up in the guest room at cousin Caroline's on this 4th of July. It's a beautiful cool, clear evening, and tired as I am -- and early as I need to wake up tomorrow to catch a series of rides to get myself home again (5am? Really? I'd gone *to* bed later than that back at the height of my salsa dancing days) -- I find I have a lot on my mind. As usual, my visit to the 3rd-generation farm tucked up in the Poconos has reminded me of how rewarding (oh, the food!) as well as how challenging (grow, dammit!) sustainable farming can be. Take this year's garlic crop....

Unlike the drought much of the country has been facing, poor Gary and Caroline have been battling constant rain here in rural PA. At one point yesterday morning, just after another crack of thunder followed by pouring rain, we started joking about growing rice here instead. Lord knows the ground has been wet enough these past few months. I believe this is when we were tying up the previous day's harvest of braiding (softneck) garlic in the barn. A bit later, fearing that another bout of rain would surely result in root rot overtaking the bulk of the main crop if we left it in the ground much longer, we all trudged around in rubber boots and silly hats and jackets and pulled up some of the porcelain hardneck variety. Too small. Shoot.

Plants need rain to grow, sure, but they also need lots of sunshine. Allium crops all over the region are stunted and behind schedule because of the freak weather patterns, we learned from Gary's series of conversations with other farmers in the area. With one's main cash crop prone to rotting amid excessive moisture, what is an heirloom garlic farmer to do with 12,000 heads in the ground? Harvest too-small bulbs? Risk disease while waiting for the sun to show its face and encourage the plants to grow to normal size? Frankly, it's kind of a crapshoot, and I wonder how farmers aren't nervous wrecks.

(Another sign that I'm not cut out to be a farmer: I almost lost my cool after accidentally ripping three or four softneck garlic plants in a row while trying to pull them the other day. I had to go pick some raspberries -- conveniently located at the edge of the garlic field -- and scarf a few handfuls before I managed to calm down. Bah. Who wants braiding garlic anyway?) At least we pulled in a decent load during Saturday afternoon's harvest, when we had a bit of sunshine, but really, this weather has got to stop.

It's not all doom and gloom. I mean, they eat well. (Consider tonight's grilled venison, cilantro soup, roasted potatoes, and strawberry rhubarb bars.) And the small CSA seems to be going well, with diversified crops and maple syrup picked up weekly by their 7 shareholders. And there should be some sunshine this week (when, alas, the extra hands to help harvest will be back at their day jobs in New York and DC). If there's one thing I can say about Gary and Caroline, it's that they don't give up. Sure, there are losses and frustrations and (somewhat frequent) changes of plan, but they're still growing some beautiful, delicious stuff up here at Mountaindale Farms. And if the final crop is anywhere near as tasty as what I sampled tonight -- in the form of roasted, dark-chocolate-covered garlic and a post-dinner shot of youth-preserving "garple elixir" -- I think everything will turn out alright.

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Too hot to garden? There are other ways to be active...

2011-06-27T20:31:00.002-04:00

DC is a political town. There are at least three protests or marches every weekend (and I know this because tourists clog both streets and metro trains every weekend and talk about their causes rather more loudly than necessary). It seems to happen every time I leave my apartment. Yes, it's nearly impossible to avoid political engagement in these parts, but it is the nation's capital and so it -- like the plethora of free museums -- comes with the territory.

Now, I'll be honest, summer weather can be a little brutal -- whose idea was it to build this city in a swamp, anyway? -- and schlepping around with clipboards collecting signatures or waiting to see your representative can wear a politically active citizen out. But fear not: you can be an activist without leaving the comfort of your living room. Um. Er. I mean home office. Here are a few things that lovers of food access, bicycling, and empowerment might like to support by virtual means:

Act Locally

Make the DC Dept of Transportation accountable to their pledge to increase and improve bicycle lanes in the city. (Seriously, between aggressive traffic and potholes, I almost died about five times on my ride out to ECO City Farm last Thursday; once I hit the Anacostia River Trail System I was golden, but how about some more east-west bike lanes, DC?) I've definitely noticed a marked uptick in bike lane use (by cyclists as well as by cars, grrr) even just in the past year since my return.

With one online form you can send an email to the Mayor, the director and bicycle coordinator of the DDOT, and Tommy Wells (the Ward 6 councilman) and urge them to push for bike lanes along L and M streets downtown. Thanks, WABA, for helping us advocate for a more bike-friendly city!

Act Nationally

Save SNAP (aka food stamp) benefits in danger of being cut as part of the Deficit Reduction Plan. Thanks to the DC Hunger Solutions/Food Research and Action Center (FRAC) website, it's as easy as sending an email or calling your senator (if you have one, ahem). The letter that you can sign -- or edit, if you're a former English teacher like me (what, I can't help myself) -- urges the president to reduce the deficit in ways that won't increase poverty. You know, a little responsible policy making. (Those of you who followed the passing of the Child Nutrition Reauthorization Act may recall the bittersweet victory that funded improved school food while slashing SNAP benefits. And speaking of bittersweet....)

Act Globally

Perhaps you are more of a "pocketbook activist" -- yes, I just coined a term -- an online shopper who likes to put her money where her values are. Well, then you'll want to check out some of the items offered via Bittersweet -- a local group I've become somewhat enamored with recently. They are putting out a quarterly magazine focused on DC's most pressing social issues, but they also serve as an online outlet for responsibly produced goods from socially conscious groups around the world. (Not cheap, but very cool.) One thing that captured my attention in Bittersweet Zine's winter 2010/2011 issue on economic empowerment was the micro-loan gift cards. (Darn it, I can't find a link to this issue online, but you can go to the Opportunity International website.) If you're on the lookout for a cool birthday gift for a friend or family member, consider giving them a gift card to support a small-scale entrepreneur of their choice.

Speaking of Bittersweet Zine, keep your eyes peeled for their upcoming issue, featuring an article by yours truly on food communities in DC.... (Don't worry, mom and dad, I'll be sure to send you a copy.)

The stinking rose (or lily, rather)

2011-06-24T14:51:00.002-04:00

It seems that I have successfully grown my first batch of garlic, and boy is it beautiful. I've got about 6 or 7 heads curing (aka drying) as they hang from the edge of my pot rack right now, and there are at least a dozen more that will be pulled over the next couple of weeks.

While scouring the back yard for signs of future vegetables these past few weeks, I've been checking on my inaugural planting of garlic (started this past autumn). Every few days as I wander out past the garden I see another plant leaning over, calling out to be harvested. And just in time: I'm just at the end of my stash of stinky lilies from cousin Caroline! I'll be making a trip out to her farm next weekend, and can hopefully stock up a bit as I help Caroline and Gary with their annual garlic harvest; I've only grown about 20 heads of my own, mostly Polish heirloom white softneck variety.

Did you know that garlic and onions are in the same family as lilies? A number of years ago, while living in Brooklyn, I recall making a luscious "four lily soup" with garlic, vidalia onions, red onions, and shallots. I believe it was in Gourmet Magazine (R.I.P.) and Nick and I made a quadruple batch. Boy was it good....

For those of you who have never planted it before, garlic is easy. Foolproof, almost. (Famous last words, right?) Dad, back me up here: isn't garlic the easiest thing you've ever planted? In the fall, you simply take a head of (preferably organic) garlic, break it into cloves, and stick the cloves into the ground, about 6 or 8 inches apart, about 2 inches deep, and cover it with soil. No need to peel the cloves or anything. Each clove grows into a head of garlic. It's almost like magic. They grow through the winter and spring with very little maintenance, and by early summer you get a delicious garlic scape to feast on, then in mid-summer the plants dry out and fall over to let you know they're ready for harvest. Pull 'em out of the ground, hang 'em up for a few weeks to dry, and then get cooking. It's that easy. Thanks to Becky for introducing me to this most rewarding and simple of growing instructions at her home in Montreal during my little bikeable feast side-trip from Burlington two summers ago.

(Holy cow, has it really been almost two years since I was biking through Vermont? Yikes.)

BTW, the title of this post was inspired by a restaurant I ate at in San Francisco a number of years ago: The Stinking Rose (which should have been named The Stinking Lily, but the all-garlic-themed dishes were tasty, so who am I to point out technicalities?).

I'll be experimenting with dark chocolate covered roasted garlic again soon. Watch out, Dracula.

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Operation: pollination

2011-06-15T13:58:00.001-04:00

I've been diligently checking on garden developments a few times a day for the past few weeks: when I water in the morning, as I head out for a meeting or errand and again when I return from said meeting or errand, sometimes even on my way back from dinner or a beer with a friend in the evening. For the past month, in spite of an abundance of lush, leafy foliage and a proliferation of bright yellow, inviting blossoms and the presence of a variety of winged, pollen-spreading insects, I've seen nary a sign of fertilization. Come on, plants, it's mid-June already! (If one more person reminds me that patience is a virtue....)

But I've exciting news, faithful readers: I came home two days ago to discover a few of my multitude of hopeful blossoms had been successfully pollinated! Exactly one tomato and two squash buds had the early telltale bulges forming beneath wilted flowers. The fruits of these labors should be ready for harvest in a couple of months. (I'm guessing sometime in mid-August, right around the time my friend Meghan is due with her first child. We'll both be proud moms! Of course my progeny will probably end up in a salad.) Incidentally, all three of these successful plant sexual encounters occurred in the unplanned section of the garden -- volunteer seeds sprouted from my compost.

Seems my garden has become a hotbed for illicit plant activity. Now if only my timid cucumbers could learn a few things from their lascivious cucurbit relatives....

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Stay in your lane

2011-06-12T23:43:00.001-04:00

Seriously?

(And are those parking meters along the 15th Street bike lane?? What the...?)

This is hardly the first time I've seen cars parked in bike lanes in the District. The bike lane on 14th Street is a regular double-parking extravaganza up near U Street and Columbia Heights. It's like someone's constantly throwing a party where people sit in their cars, parked NEXT TO empty parking spaces. Yes, there are legitimate parking spaces right next to them that they are not using. (I can't decide if this trend is driven by malice or idiocy.)

At least twice I've seen people actually DRIVING in the cordoned off 15th Street bike lanes, usually yapping on their cell phones and maneuvering some kind of SUV. The second time that happened, Ollie and I pulled up next to a guy who turned out to be a city DOT worker (!!) who actually told me there was nowhere else he could park to check the meter installation process. (Guess the two driveways within 50 yards of where we were having the conversation would not have worked, eh?)

I am not an angry cyclist. Ask anyone. I'm usually smiling at fellow bikers and pedestrians, and my general practice is to move out of the way at stop lights so cars can turn right on red. I've only twice (audibly) shouted at drivers in DC -- both of those times were when I was nearly run over in a crosswalk when they weren't paying attention. But some 4-wheel operators these days... I have half a mind to get some stickers printed up to slap on bike-lane-ignoring cars as I pass them: "Stay in your lane."

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Out of the kitchen, into the market

2011-06-05T17:45:00.004-04:00

Since my return from Nebraska, it seems like most of my waking hours have been spent gardening and perusing farmers' markets. Now that we're coming into the height of the growing season, it seems that there is a farmers' market (or two) nearly every day of the week. My favorite market stop of the week was on Thursday: my first ever visit to the Penn Quarter market, where I had been asked to photograph the first Brainfood student market demo -- something of a sneak preview of Brainfood's exciting second-year program starting next fall, which focuses on peer-led food education and outreach. (How cool is that??)

Ollie and I rolled up just as the students were arriving, so I had a chance to chitchat a bit with everyone before the enticing aroma of sauteing onions and garlic scapes drew the masses over to the information tent where the cooking demonstration was taking place. On offer: free samples of fried rice featuring fresh, seasonal ingredients chopped on site. I watched in awe as the high school students minced, stirred, tasted, and dished up one batch after another of the savory concoction. (And of course I tried a plate of it myself. I mean, Brainfood sessions always end with the sharing of food. I don't want to break protocol.)

There was not a trace of nervousness that I could detect among the group of friendly, confident youth. Not that I'm surprised: Amy and Carina are amazing teachers and offered the usual encouragement and measured guidance as students took the lead. They looked on proudly as their proteges spoke with folks of all ages about the ease of the recipe and its infinite adaptability, explaining the technique and pointing out different ingredients. These students, some of whom were pretty new to cooking less than a year ago, were cooking and talking with passers-by like old pros. I must say I was impressed. So were the market shoppers who tarried for a few minutes to sample and ask questions. One woman, coming home from her shift at the Department of Transportation, commented on how quick and easy and tasty the recipe was. "I mean, I can make this in about 10 minutes and my son will get a ton of healthy vegetables! I think he'll like this," she smiled as she finished up her sample. (Yep, and the eggs lend a bit of protein, too, I couldn't help but volunteer.) "I'm going to go pick up some eggs and carrots right now."

Yes, the fried rice was easy and tasty. It's pretty inexpensive and you can make a whole bunch of it at once (which, if you're on the kind of budget that I am on these days, is a huge bonus). Inspired, I made an enormous pot of it for a potluck barbecue with my ultimate frisbee teammates two days later. There were some rave reviews. Here's a slightly adapted version of the Brainfood recipe, which serves 12....

Farmers Market Brown Fried Rice

Heat 1 TBSP peanut oil (or olive oil) in a large pan, then add 8 eggs (beaten) and cook until eggs are set. Remove from pan and cut into strips.

Heat 5 TBSP peanut oil (or olive oil) in the pan, add 2 onions (peeled, small dice) and saute on medium heat until translucent (5 mins or so), then stir in:

- 3 garlic cloves, peeled and minced (or 1 thinly sliced garlic scape)
- 1-2 tsp fresh ginger, peeled and minced
- 1 cup mushrooms, sliced
- 1 cup asparagus, thinly sliced
- 3/4 cup green onions, thinly sliced
- 1 red bell pepper, seeded, small dice
- 1/2 cup carrots, small dice

Cook for 5 mins longer, then stir in:

- 3 tsp sea salt
- 6 cups brown rice, cooked (ideally cooked the day before and stored in fridge overnight)
- the cooked eggs
- 6 TBSP sesame oil or olive oil
- 14 TBSP shoyu (soy sauce) or Dr. Bragg's liquid aminos
- 6 TBSP mirin (rice vinegar)
- 1 tsp ground pepper (to taste)

Heat until warm, then serve and devour with friends.

Support DC's urban growers!

2011-06-03T13:46:00.001-04:00

Hello, dear readers. I'm writing to you today with a call for help on behalf of my urban farming and community gardening friends here in the District. The Field to Fork Network is trying to raise some funds to get a collaborative market stand up and running this growing season. The goal: promoting healthy eating and community engagement at a number of markets around the city. (It's a project after my own heart, to be sure.) A number of groups we visited along the DC urban farms bike tour are involved, and a few that were not able to be included this time around. (As it was we had five stops!) Some of my favorites from around the city, many of whom have been working on food access and education for years, are coming together to make this project happen: the Neighborhood Farm Initiative, Beet Street, Washington Youth Garden, City Blossoms, Bread for the City.

Yes, it's a Kickstarter campaign... something with which I am intimately familiar. In this case, the funds will kickstart the project with funds to purchase needed supplies and materials, which will in turn allow the Field to Fork urban food educators and growers to operate small market booths. It also includes a modest stipend to fund a market coordinator to keep all of the necessary ducks in a row and get the systems in place for future -- hopefully expanded -- market seasons. They're looking to raise funds for the following, but if you (or someone you know) can donate any of these items, it'll help the group out immensely: tables, tents, scales, banners, chairs, calculators, camping stoves (probably my weathered beercan stove will not suffice, alas), cooking supplies. There's a bit set aside for educational materials and transportation as well, but $4,000 is a drop in the bucket when you consider all of the public good coming out of this. Actually, here's the video so you can see for yourself what they have in mind:

Now, people, they only have 30 hours left to raise the remaining $820 of their $4,000 goal to get things off the ground. Help an urban farmer out, eh?

Perspire under the elms

2011-06-01T23:43:00.006-04:00

Due to some recent changes to my employment status, I have significantly more time on my hands of late. As such, I have spent the past couple of weeks catching up with those people and activities I was forced to neglect during my 4-month tenure with Arcadia: friends, family, writing, gardening, dancing, and going on bicycle adventures. Most of this has taken place around The District, but I had the good fortune to spend the past week visiting my friend Nathan on his family's farm -- the only organic plot for hundreds of miles -- tucked away below stands of cottonwood and elm in the windy southwestern corner of Nebraska.

While farm laboring wasn't my primary reason for visiting -- among his many fine qualities, my gentleman friend is a fantastic cook and salsa dancer and it was high time we spent some time together tackling the NY Times crossword puzzles (and it *was* the tail end of morel season) -- I couldn't help myself when the inevitable outdoor activities got underway each day. Planting, weeding, laying irrigation line, mulching, watering, and, my favorite, harvesting. ("One asparagus spear for me, one for the soup....") Needless to say, we spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen, and the culinary highlight of the trip was a fairly authentic Coq au Vin made from scratch. While the dish did not feature the usual french wine, we made up for the omission with the inclusion of multiple bottles of a tasty red zinfandel, a hefty handful of morels, and two rather bothersome roosters that Nathan and his brother Brian butchered themselves on Wednesday night. True, the two-year-old birds were a bit tough, but, oh, that sauce! Such flavor! And you'd better believe I made a giant pot of stock with the leftover carcasses. You know, for the creamy asparagus soup. And some chicken soup. And a big pot of risotto. (Well, I couldn't let it go to waste.) I had a chance to sleep in the following morning without that 5am cockadoodledoing, which was another side perk....

I've never been to Nebraska before. I was equally alarmed by the lack of food options in local grocery stores as by the bounty and variety of food grown on the windblown farm where I was staying. [No, seriously, that wind is like nothing I've ever seen. The gales were so intense I half expected a tornado to form during the latter part of Monday's barbecue. I don't know how the little bitty baby bok choy that we'd planted the day before were still in the ground.] Nathan's mom has quite the green thumb and was definitely in the lead during much of my time at the homestead -- planting and weeding and directing various menfolk on where to rototill -- but it was her son who decided last year to start a small CSA on the property. The brother who started the project left town, disgruntled, near the end of the first growing season, but there was enough demand among their neighbors that Rylan and a few other members of the family decided to continue, even expanding a bit. In its second year, Green Elms Community Farm is offering 10 shares of tasty, organic produce plus pastured eggs from their hens, if folks want, and potentially mushrooms as well, if Brian's winecap growing scheme proves fruitful. (Personally, I think Nathan should offer beer shares -- his homebrews are darn tasty, and they are growing hops -- but for now production is limited to family-only consumption levels. But imagine: a beer CSA! I'd sign up.) Yep, community supported agriculture is growing in some of the most unexpected places. I mean, rural Nebraska??

Okay, well, I'm just now back in DC. Guess it's time to get unpacked and do some laundry (after a *very* thorough check of all clothing and body parts following my week in Tickland). Stay tuned for posts on other small organic produce operations starting up, including a collaborative market stand with offerings from DC's urban growing spaces....

Farmerettes

2011-05-25T23:20:00.000-04:00

It was over a couple of beers with my friend Maureen (aka Farmer Mo) that I first heard of The Farmerettes a few months ago. These were young American wives and daughters and mothers who, as their men went off to fight in World War I, stepped up to grow food to support their families and the country. Theirs was a different kind of farming -- often on a smaller scale, generally using less machinery, and incorporating a greater variety of crops -- than that which their husbands and sons and fathers had undertaken. Part of this was due to their smaller physical stature and an unfamiliarity with operating large combines, but it's more complex than that. Women go about things differently.

From what I've been able to tell, these patriotic foremothers were very much like the young women farmers I've worked with around the country along my bikeable feast, those who have chosen to pick up shovels and trowels and orchard crates to offer their communities smaller-scale, sustainable alternatives to massive-scale, chemical-laden food products. Because it was needed.

Talk about a catchy slogan: "Joan of Arc Left the Soil to Save France. We're Going Back to the Soil to Save America." Love it. But when the war ended and the menfolk returned home, the Women's Land Army, as they were officially known, relinquished their overalls for aprons and the farmerettes faded into history.

And yet.... Why is it that so many small, sustainable farmers these days seem to be women? I've done lots of thinking and a little bit of reading up on this. (Still need to get my hands on a copy of Farmer Jane, though.) At the risk of making a gross generalization, and idealizing an entire gender, I offer this: women are natural caretakers and nurturers (consider their predominance in the fields of nursing and early childhood education), on the whole they value different things than men (community over personal success; diversity and resilience over profit), and they are naturally collaborative problem solvers and knowledge sharers (rather than stiff competitors). There is also the fact that organic and biodynamic farming -- even more so than large-scale, conventional growing -- takes patience, vigilance, and an acceptance that invariably some things will be lost. I think of it like motherhood. Not that I am a mother, but I am close enough to a lot of them to sense the truth in this: encourage, love, heal, forgive, and accept losses with grace. Like the loss of lettuce to deer, or groundhogs, or beetles, or drought. The acceptance of this loss before subsequently turning to celebrate the flourishing of the potatoes, or carrots, or kale, and making sure friends, family, and neighbors share in the bounty.

(This is not to say that many of the organic, women farmers I have worked with have not considered shooting a deer or a groundhog at one time or another, but it's rarely the first, or even the second, option. Neither do I mean to imply that male and/or conventional farmers are not hard working or generous.)

I got to thinking about the farmerettes (and their modern sisters) again last Wednesday as I helped Farmer Mo with weeding and transplanting and harvesting at her farm in Alexandria, VA, and again as we worked together with her mentor farmer, Kristin, at her own farm in Upper Marlboro, MD two days later. I was heartened by the way Kristin offered ideas and answers to Mo's many questions as we worked, and the way, I learned, that Mo in turn mentored another, newer urban grower, Sarah. It is this spirit of helping each other, the sharing of experience and equipment and fears and encouragement, that is the key to the reformation of our collective food system.

I am not saying that men are not -- that they cannot be -- a part of the Good Food movement. But if a truly healthy, sustainable network of small-scale growers is going to feed us, and not destroy the planet in the process, I have a hunch that it's going to be led by women.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

In search of a 12-step program

2011-05-23T14:49:00.001-04:00

Seriously, I think I may have a problem.

Prior to this Saturday's urban farm bike tour, I stopped by the Columbia Heights farmers market for the sole purpose of picking up a dozen eggs. Just eggs, nothing else. It was a task that should have taken no more than $4 and about 5 minutes. I left 45 minutes later with the dozen pastured eggs (mission accomplished)... along with a pint of strawberries, a small tub of vanilla yoghurt from a new local dairy, and three seedlings (doh!).

I can't help myself: food plant acquisition is becoming an addiction. In early spring, I started a bunch of seeds, many of which have since been transplanted as baby tomatoes and flowers out back. But then I found myself accepting little basil seedlings when I helped out at Walker Jones a few weeks ago. And I picked up little parsley and cilantro transplants at the Dupont market. Mike recently gave me a few sunflower sprouts to add some height to the little green space behind my apartment and we've started some marigolds that I'll be integrating soon to help protect my tomatoes.

It's not like I have an enormous garden patch to work with, and I recognize that I am quickly approaching something beyond acceptable levels of "intensive" growing. But how am I expected to resist when a farmer gets so excited that I'm asking about growing artichokes that he gives me -- I mean he actually refuses payment -- two artichoke seedlings? Well, I couldn't walk away and not buy anything, and my eye fell on a purple-and-white striped fairytale eggplant. See? I was socially obligated to purchase that one! And it fit right into a little spot that I'd cleared when I pulled a few volunteer squash seedlings out back. (Seriously, if anyone wants healthy, mystery squash seedlings, call me. I've got a number that I am growing out myself, but there are plenty to go around. They apparently flourish in my compost, but the only detail I know about them is that they are organic. The rest will be a surprise.) And the artichoke will add some nice, decorative height to my garden come autumn....

Acknowledgment is the first step toward recovery, I am told.

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If you plan it, they will come

2011-05-22T21:41:00.001-04:00

I have to admit I got misty eyed a few times yesterday while leading the (rescheduled) DC urban farms bike tour. I think it really hit me when we arrived at the Washington Youth Garden, part of the National Arboretum, which was the second stop along the route to five urban food growing spaces around town. The near-tears state was no doubt partly due to the near loss of 15 cyclists en route -- a few folks had stopped to help a fellow biker change a flat and had only my less-than-stellar, turn-by-(mis)turn cue sheet to lead them to the next site -- and relief when they showed up about 20 minutes later. God bless smartphones. (Note to self: do not type up cue sheets after wine-filled dinner party the night before the bike tour. It was a lovely meal, even so, Sheffy.) However, I suspect that part of the emotion as I rolled onto the Arboretum grounds with 50-some cyclists in tow surely came from the realization that it was here, just over 2 years ago, that my friend Tom helped me practice shifting gears on my first real bicycle. I know! Ollie and I are all grown up and leading tours now. Well, one so far.

It was perhaps one of the most gorgeous days I can recall experiencing in the District: 78 and sunny with a light breeze. What perfect weather to introduce a whole new group of bicycling food lovers to some of the more amazing farms and community gardens around town. Things kicked off with seed packet spoke card making and a tour of the Neighborhood Farm Initiative's main garden in Fort Totten. Then the group proceeded to get an introduction to youth gardening and environmental programming at the aforementioned Washington Youth Garden (sweetened by some trail mix goodies, courtesy of a store credit from GLUT), a primer on composting and bee keeping at the Farm at Walker Jones (with fresh fruit and granola bars donated by Whole Foods), a look into intergenerational gardening and youth enterprise at City Blossoms' Marion Street garden (featuring lovely fresh herbal teas and lemonade for thirsty riders), and, only slightly behind schedule in spite of everything, an overview of permaculture, rain collection, and community programming at Common Good City Farm. The excitement and enthusiasm of farmers and cyclists was positively infectious, and I found myself grinning uncontrollably. Yes, even before a couple of beers at the closing happy hour at Big Bear Cafe. (Love that place.)

As things wound down, one person after another came up to thank me for organizing things and ask me when the next ride would be. Well, avid cyclists, future urban farming volunteers, and potential supporters, I hope this is the beginning of a tradition of local food-focused bicycle adventures around my favorite city. We shall see. (I will be sure to get a second opinion -- and a little less wine in me -- before printing out the cue sheet for round two.)

Thank you to The Greenhorns for providing the impetus for this bike tour, to the nearly 60 cyclists who attended the event, to the organizations that donated snacks. But most of all, thank you to my urban farming friends who are teaching us how to grow food, build community, and live more sustainably in the nation's capital.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

A strict morel code

2011-05-18T22:43:00.002-04:00

As much as I seek a partner with good moral fiber, it may be just as important -- perhaps moreso -- to locate a lover with a good lead on morels.

What? Don't give me that stern look. Morel season is only, like, two weeks long here in the DC area. I just picked up a handful of the elusive little guys for $10 at the Columbia Heights farmers' market two weekends ago. I was literally skipping on my way home with them in my tote bag.

The next morning I tried a couple of them sauteed with butter and some wild leeks I'd picked up at the Glover Park farmers' market. Served on homemade sourdough: yum. (Yes, for those of you keeping track, that was two farmers' market visits in one day. I like to make the rounds.)

Okay, actually, I had that for breakfast a few mornings in a row. A few made their way into a vegetable chowder that my friend Ben was privy to midweek. Near the end of the week, my friend Joe stopped by and since we were both hungry we played my favorite game -- "what can I make with the random stuff in my fridge" -- with some fresh ginger, a pot of brown rice, some scallions, mustard greens, walnuts, the tiniest splash of soy sauce, and the last few morels. It was heavenly. Quite possibly the BEST fried rice I have ever tasted. Good lord, I love morels.

I need to eat as many of these little guys as I can get my hands on during the small window of time they are available. A friend in Nebraska recently sent me this photo:

Yep, their season is a little behind ours on the East Coast this year, due to a general lack of rainfall. Not that I am wishing drought on anyone, especially such an agriculturally focused state, but I do believe it has slightly delayed their morel season.... Conveniently. In less than a week, I will be heading to one of the very few states in this big, beautiful country of ours that I have yet to visit. True, I will not have Ollie with me -- I'm flying this time -- but, really, that just means more morels for me. Oh. Er. I mean, I will miss her dearly. And we'll go for a nice long ride when I return. But let there be no mistake: I do mean to eat as many non-poisonous shrooms as I can find while I am in Johnny Carson's birth state.

How does your garden grow?

2011-05-16T22:13:00.001-04:00

Spring is in the air. Along with an uptick in twittering birds, rampant pollen, and raging hormones, spring also brings on the gardening itch. You know what I'm talking about, readers: the irresistible desire to pick up entirely too many tomato seedlings at the farmers' market, the aimless wandering around hardware stores, the fantasizing about harvesting fresh herbs from your yard as you begin making dinner. "Ah, a little fresh thyme is just what this sauce needs." There is nothing quite like scampering out back to harvest something that you grew with your own two hands, that you'll be eating moments later. Ahhh.

My own backyard plot is quite small, and the soil is -- how shall I say it? -- not the greatest. Okay, fine, it's basically a pile of clay with hard rock about a foot down. At least there's no lead contamination. I had some success with green beans, an endless supply of green tomatoes, and a softball-sized watermelon last summer. Not bad for a little space started in mid-July.

Somehow -- maybe the lush foliage of my overwintered carrots, or the tall greenery of my heirloom garlic taking over out back -- I have managed to become something of an informal garden consultant these days. How did that happen? Well, it all started last summer when my friend Mike asked me to help him plan out his first garden out back. I insisted that I had worked with a lot of organic farmers, but I was far from one myself. Even so, we compiled our seed collection, mapped out the sunny and shaded areas and where we thought each crop would flourish, dug up the grass and weeds along the fenceline, tilled in sand and compost, and got planting. I should say that the first season didn't yield a ton of food, but the lettuce, kale, and chard that overwintered have been lovely. The garlic should be ready by late summer. (The beets and fennel were no-shows.) This spring we've expanded into a fenced-in area and planted a few varieties of tomatoes, more fennel and beets (eternal optimists, we are), spring onions, broccoli, beans, sunflowers, nasturtiums, melons, and corn. Mike's also recruited two garden assistants, so we've got help with the compost system and the endless watering and weeding that organic gardening demands. An impromptu community garden, why not?

One day, not too long ago, mom and dad started asking me about building a few raised beds at their place. As per his assignment, dad picked up the untreated planks and hardware and some bags of soil, and a few days later we got cracking. Bam! Within two hours -- an hour of which involved my brother and I digging up grass, leveling the ground, and hauling wheelbarrowfuls of compost up the steep backyard slope -- mom had two brand new 4'x4' beds. (Dad and I are determined to make a third, smaller planter out of the red wheelbarrow, which kid brother and I deemed "otherwise pretty useless." I just hope good ol' dad doesn't hurt anyone when he attempts to drill through the 1/4"-thick solid steel.) Not long afterwards, I showed dad how to plant garlic, which had already sprouted by the time, a few weeks later, we brought mom some tomato seedlings and marigolds for Mother's Day.

Next thing I know, my next-door neighbor Henry is asking me to help him build a raised bed. Yeah, I've built one of those. Henry and I decided on a sunny spot for it and got working on a frame:

An hour later, Henry had his work cut out for him. Yep, digging up the grass. (Hey, I'm a consultant, he's doing the digging.)

Now, I don't want you all thinking I'm some kind of one-trick pony here. I can do other things. Like, you know, potted vegetable gardens. When my friend Joe met me at the farmers' market last weekend, he left with a tray of tomatoes, herbs, peppers, and cucumbers after I told him I would help him start a container garden on his front steps. (I can't help myself these days when people ask for garden help. All this unused urban space just asking for things to be grown in it!) Well, we wound up using the back deck, which had much better sun and, conveniently located near the hammock, was a place significantly less likely for plants to be neglected.

I had planned to only stay for half an hour, but... Two hours later, Joe was set up with a full-fledged garden lining the perimeter of the deck.

Oooh, I can't wait to see those vines climbing up the trellis out back. I'll be sure to keep an eye out when I stop by for a snooze in the hammock.