Thinking about diversity

The main thing we've learned about gardening this year is that it's unpredictible (yeah yeah this is not new news to farmers). Last year the lack of rain made watering a tedious task and made harvests pitiful. This year too much rain (?) or too cool weather (?) or ineptitude of the gardeners (?) made harvests more pitiful. We arrived in Northern Michigan early this year (May 21) to get the garden in a couple of weeks early in hopes of an extra large English pea crop. We got zippo peas. The weeks of cool and rain made planting the premie baby heirloom tomatoes impossible so I nurtured them right into rotting and had to go buy hybrids. Next although the rain was great, the grass totally took over everything since BOTH my arms are too wimpy for much hoeing. Lost the green beans to weeds and grass. And to add insult to injury today when I went to check on the skimpy row of beets I had just painfully weeded and nurtured, I found them totally gone and a big-long-toed footprint providing evidence that some creature had enjoyed them recently.

HOWEVER, we're still getting more lettuce than we can eat or give away and the radishes were highly successful and somehow also extremely amusing. I forgot I had bought a variety of radish called "Easter Egg" and that's exactly what they look like. Mostly oval and 3-4 different colors. That's why I'm thinking about diversity of plant crops, species, life forms, whatever. Who knows what the next failure will be and the world needs alot of backup plans.

Celebrating burgers & clan

So this year the weather was gloriously perfect, everyone who had been hiding indoors because of the crummy June weather came out and most of them launched boats, cousin Donna and I had made two parades by noon and we had 25 of the clan for burgers in our front yard. Thank goodness the elders used to host lots of card parties so we have an inventory of rickety card tables and lovely applicade and embroidered linen clothes to go over them. Actually logistics is about all I did since I gave up control of the menu and asked for pot luck and Bob cooked the burgers. Predictably, narry a gourmet treat arrived, but not having to do much work was a good trade off and I could concentrate on my wine.

Staff of life

Noun 1. staff of life - food made from dough of flour or meal and usually raised with yeast or baking powder and then baked

Per my previous post about making bread, I am again amazed at the science and the miracle of elements changing form, especiallly with so little effort. And I found a breadmaker at the Salvation Army Store for $4.50...a shopping coup that somehow justifies alot of other questionable purchases. And it works! [It's the big box here, sitting next to the ice cream maker...another whole topic.]

Contrary to the elemental process described in a post below where everything composes itself slowly in an archaic iron pot, with the bread machine, you carefully layer in the ingredients (flour, salt, sugar, water, yeast) then push a button, the machine flashes some control panel lights and then things start thumping around and go on and off in mysterious sequences. But then voila, 3 hours later, you lift the lid and take out a loaf of perfect bread. In fact, it's really good bread and extremely hard not to cut into it immediately and/or stop at one piece. As a bonus, the kitchen smells really good for several hours. AND you can forget about it and it turns itself off and waits for you to come and get the loaf out when you're ready!

I think part of the attraction to making bread is knowing what exactly is inside something you are putting in your mouth. That rarely happens these days, and even something as elemental as fruit usually needs to have the pesticides washed off or the dirt scrubbed. God only knows where our mass produced meat has been. Our helper friend John who brought me a dozen eggs today from his own hens, just said that since it's been raining he has had to discard a bunch of eggs that got muddy from the hen's feet because you can't wash eggs since the shell if so porous it forces the dirt into the interior of the shell (who knew?).

So no wonder bread is the Staff of Life. Simple, pure, minimal ingredients. OK except for the fact that yeast is a living breathing thing that needs some TLC which is spooky. More later.

Not Cooking Still Eating

It's been 42 days since I broke my right arm in 3 places. 42 days of one-handedness and varying degrees of pain and discomfort. 42 days of not cooking and not caring all that much about food.

Although a couple of weeks ago - when the meals from friends and neighbors stopped coming - I did decide to try doing some assembly type meal preparation. I dragged a heavy skillet out with my left hand and turned on the flame with my left hand and threw some cherry tomatoes and already cut-up mushrooms into the same pan as some left over pasta all with my left hand. That felt dangerous enough to deter me for a few more days. Another time all by myself I boiled water for the rotini shells that came in the Annie's Mac and Cheese box but had to get help mixing in the powered sauce, which was humbling. That's the pitiful extent of the cooking I've done for the past 6 weeks.

One would think I would be down to skin and bones by now but not true. Athough I can confirm that pain does reduce the appetite, the best I can report is that maybe a few pounds have evaporated and my slothfulness has at least not led to a gain. When oh when will I get my food loving, cooking, cutting, slicing and dicing, party planning self back? [insert audio file here of long whining sound]

Dia de los Muertos

This holiday needs more food traditions for us Norto Americanos who have borrowed the holiday. My altar is up but I feel the need to serve a relevant meal, maybe invite friends over, like for all our other holidays. But I'm ignorant of what a good menu might be. Traditionally, you place food items on the home altar that were significant to the departed and I get that part. Hence, my miniature box of chocolate cherries for my Mother. But as far as I know about Mexican traditions, the food is whatever any family makes for themselves and relatives and/or carry with them to the cemetary for picnicing on the graves. I may need to start a personal tradition mixing cultures. Possibly pumpkin soup, unleavened flat bread, dessert with dark bitter chocolate cream pie. Oops, check this out and click on the really cool video about Traditions for alot more info about what Mexicans take to the altars and eat for DOTD:

http://www.azcentral.com/ent/dead/altar/

Sugar skulls, actually a non-food item that is commonly found on DOTD alters, while made from nothing but sugar and frosting, aren't really meant to be edible. It's an interesting contrast though: the sweetest thing we know (sugar) molded to evoke the most bitter (death). I recently read that a person is never fully satisfied with a meal until all of the essential tastes have been registered by the taste buds: sweet, bitter, sour, salty, astringent. One might say the same about life, and many have, especially the Buddhists. But I think the indigenous traditions understand this also. Hence the many pagan observances that recognize that life is sweetest when juxtaposed with death. That's what draws me to this holiday. It forces us to look at the facts straight on and eat, drink and make merry over them.

Same site as above has a nice history of the celebration and does give a recipe for Pan de Muerto http://www.azcentral.com/ent/dead/food/ although I think I'm inspired to make a trip to a Mexican bakery before I try it out at home.

Seeking anniversary food Up North

Right up until 7 pm we didn't have a plan for an anniversary dinner. The food horizon here at the Tip of the Mitt is pretty flat. We adore the pizza at Vivio's (best ever) but as we do that about every other week, it's not a special occasion trip. I'm kinda over the fried fish thing, plus I've perfected doing it at home now and we've been getting some really good fresh trout, so not much incentive. Everyplace else is pretty much the same. We were stumped until Bob suddenly suggested going to The Pier in Harbor Springs, someplace we hadn't been since the first year we spent together up here, 11 years ago when he was still trying to impress me.

It scored A+ overall. Even the 30 mile trip over there didn't seem too bad, except for my stomach growling. Harbor Springs is gorgeous in small doses - very heavy on the upscale cute thing - and especially in the late evening light with all the big expensive boats snuggled up to the street side harbor. Big crowd at The Pier, but we put out name on the list and settled in for a 45 minute wait at the bar where we found bench seating and snagged a slightly pouty waitress (OK, she was a C-) for drinks. I had my recent summer regular which has become gin and tonic but because of the ambiance, naturally asked for Bombay. Bob drank Killians Red so as not to have to prolong the discussion of dark beer options with she-who-must-not-be-aggravated-if-you-want-a-drink-sometime-tonight.

The older GQ guy with the pink pants and the Ralph Lauren blue sweater and his Botoxed wife who sat next to us had this yummy gooey looking shrimp thing so I asked the she-who if we could pleeeeeeease have one too (8:30 and no food yet). It was "Shrimpcargot" served in an escargot dish (bought on sale from a more uppity restaurant?), served with a little escargot fork, and totally yummy. Then we had patience for looking around the room and reveled in how well we fit in with the white collar "locals" here and at the same time have no problem hanging out at the local blue collar bar back in Topinabee.

Finally gave up on a table and had dinner at the bar. My morel crusted whitefish with spaghetti squash and mashed potatoes was perfect (and I say that rarely) due to crunchy topping (morels, really??) and steaming hot and sweet white fish interior. And Bob's veal scallopine was done exactly right as well, lightly crusty and with red cabbage on the side. It was all so not Northern Michigan cuisine. In fact, the whole adventure almost met Dallas culinery levels......maybe exceded even if we are giving points for scenery.

Slow Food movement hits Topinabee

One of the most comforting things I've stumbled upon in the past few years of war and environmental hysteria is the Slow Food Movement. If only we can all remember to appreciate where our food comes from, why we need to protect farmers and grow some of our own, and for heaven's sake, care about what we put in our mouths, the world might just last another millineum.

I'm contributing by having the largest vegetable garden in Topinabee. Also I'm carrying on family tradition by gardening in the same spot Bob's Father used to famously garden in, across the road from our summer house, which used to be Bob's parent's house. The big news is that the garden got planted earlier than every this year and I'm filled with that premature optimism that everything will come up perfect. In fact, I see myself standing at the public dock, handing ears of organic sweet corn to passers by.

We're growing Burgundy green beans, yellow Swiss Chard (I quietly enjoy these anomalies), plus Italian mix of lettuce, sweet peas for Bob, Detroit red beets (standard variety, but appropriate...get it?...Detroit...), a couple hills of Patti Pan squash (really cute), a couple of zuchinni (am hostile towards, but trying to appreciate), and my pride and joy, four 20' rows of corn. Oh yea, also the tomotoes. Cousin Donna Gene is supposed to be bringing some heirloom plants her husband raised, but she's late so I've started with 9 various hybrids (feel guilty about that too). Rain all day today, so I'm looking for some good action next week. Already after 8 days, most are peeking through the sandy soil we have here. Stay tuned.