Start From Where You Stand

(... apparently atop a soapbox. I wrote this initially for a magazine, the topic being Think global and Act local. It was considered rather confusing, so I decided to serve it up here instead. I figure you dear reader, would forgive me!)

When I first began to regularly floss my teeth, I was admittedly close to thirty. One would think that threats from a hygienist wielding a sharp rotating pick might convince me to start flossing, but it didn’t. Rather my leap into responsible dental health was in fact a new sense of self care and awareness. It slowly began to dawn on me that this boring and frankly unappealing task was actually a small labor of love and burgeoning gratitude for the teeth that I had the good fortune to care for.

The expression Thing Global and Act Local has been on everybody’s mind, coined and applied to divergent areas of life spanning the environment and even business. Many people are beginning to become mindful of how and when to spend their hard earned dollars, even educating themselves on lowering their carbon footprint. Whenever I hear the rally to switch perspectives in order to understand the impact of the individual, I get downright literal. Past the country, to the town, on the street, at the front door to my house and smack dab, to the mass which makes up the entirety of me. Five foot four and a hundred and something pounds- Local!

I think about the myriad of choices that I make for the actual care of this body, my earthly vehicle. Naturally next, I think about eating. Now as a person who has boundless enthusiasm for everything food, I have no problem scaling the highest peaks to achieve some illusory culinary ideal. But I understand that not everybody has the patience or interest for complicated fussy foods which yield little more than a sink full of dishes, a depleted wallet, and maybe even a stress induced headache. Most I know however, would like to feel more energized, maybe fit into a certain too small outfit and let’s admit it, eat more vegetables.

I have one suggestion that could improve people’s health and that is to begin consuming Green Smoothies. The green smoothie is the sleeker, fiber filled, grown up version to the primped up too sweet fruit smoothie. The ingredients are variable to an individual body's needs and to acclimating taste buds. Essentially it is a fruit smoothie which has bred with some good alkalinizing greens like kale, lettuce, parsley, and celery. Because the raw leaves and stalks are all blended up, the mouth and gut do not have to work so hard to digest the foods. Relief! It is much easier to consume an extra two or three servings of vegetables and fruit a day, and the body is actually assimilating the amino acids, phyto-nutrients, minerals, and vitamins. Don’t you feel better already?

The power of the drink is deceptive. Kids love it, in spite of the fact that dark leafy greens are hidden within. Yes it is true that small health issues might resolve themselves, weight might be lost, and one’s outer beauty begin to sparkle. But I think the power of the drink is that it is a signal to the self about deep nourishment. Somehow I feel we have lost connection with that which cherishes life fearing we don’t have time or thinking that care is self indulgent. One change begets another, and the power of reverence wedded to action, cataclysmic. As we come to this cross road and find so many aspects of life in need of healing, I say we raise our glasses to the health of all: our cells, our communities, and our world. Salut!

Basic Green Smoothie:
2 kale leaves, washed and torn
A handful of spinach
1 ripe banana, roughly chopped
1 handful of frozen berries
½ -1 C water/soymilk/juice
1 Tblsp. Of any: Hemp powder, flax seed oil, coconut oil, carob or cocoa powder (optional)

Directions: Most basic recipes call for about 40% greens to 60% fruit. Experiment and see what you like. Many variety of fruits and vegetables can be used, but be aware of vegetables that are too bitter. As well, consider the power of your blender. I put all my vegetables and fruit in first and then add a bit of liquid to start with, jiggling the container every once in awhile to allow the food to come in contact with the blade. Add more liquid if need be, as the mixture begins to break down and you get the desired consistency. Enjoy!

Still Life with Potatoes

It seems that discoveries can occur even in the lost hours of the night when the mind is a smooth slippery sea creature unencumbered by the weight of reason and rule. Tucked in and relieved of the tumble of my dark hour vigil, I succumb to the charm of infomercials; easy companionship which in the buoyancy of tide becomes pertinent, even fascinating, and for those inclined towards the affable, have simplistically happy endings. Not only does the girl get the boy, but she rocks herself to flatter abs, makes a million bucks, and brown roasts a frozen turkey in an hour or two. With little next to none to hold me down, my subliminal desires for the effortless and aerated foamed dairy products take over and I’m duly impressed by ease connected to speed. Surely the gist of life could be solved, hints the announcer in my head handling the once compact Magic Bullet now replete with multi functioning attachment blades. On screen a husband holds a pie plate in front of the shoot catcher style; the wife pummels a whole cored apple through the opening after which apple rings are violently spit onto the plate, my nocturnal oasis abruptly disrupted. Within 3 seconds, the sugar and spice content s of a ramekin are ceremoniously dumped upon the disheveled heap and applause erupts forth for the doppelganger pie complete in 5 minutes minus. Fully lashed to my senses, I find myself awake and offended by the brutish mess passed off as masterpiece. Are we so stretched for time that simple tasks must be whittled down to unrecognizable form and each minute accounted for? Only strictest opprobrium now- gob smacked I am no longer. On the flip side of nighttime tutorials I get back to the serious business of herbs and forgotten hypocrisy. Last summer before I could think sensibly, I acquired a sizeable amount of scented greenery in generous installments. Initially I was enthralled with the possibilities, as life tender and fresh rising out of the earth tends to elicit. Tarragon, Sage, Mint, and Rosemary: redolent, intoxicating finery born to embellish life and romance victuals. Admittedly before too long, it is true; the regal bounty became an unspoken burden. While bright clusters of basil demand to be transformed into a royal emulsion, other aromatics may certainly be used with satisfactory results. Under self imposed demand to keep up with supply, I donned a rather unfortunate production house mentality and scrap heaped the herbs into an overzealous processing bowl: hoarding oil, skimping on the nuts and sacrilegious- sometimes even forgoing the cheese. Dark times indeed, my pesto more akin to mortar of the daub and wattle days than a sumptuous perfume built for pleasure. Could I be blamed further that in true poverty mindset, the miserable sludge went straight to the freezer for future humorless night, long and cold?

Memory of the frozen remains is square punishment and as I am of the pedantic sort, it is finger wagging reminder to sit quietly in the lap of abundance and allow the fullness of the moment to reveal itself rather than mine away at time until there is nothing left to hold. Wearing my full mantle of shame, I am now contrite and figure some lavish penance is needed to rectify the wrong.

The outline is clear: focused simplicity, meditative and slow, banning any impulse to cut corners. The herbs once again are plentiful but not deserving of any pre-emptive strikes this time around. After all they are ancient paean to both bounty and beauty revered by Gods and mortals alike. They are frisky agents of flavor and blooming bouquet to the senses needing ballast that can only be found in the humble potato of behind-the-scenes kitchen duty.

The potato, earthy fellow needs no introduction to any. Starchy and full figured it is the quintessential food to sate the most basic hunger. But I confess my own has existed on the opposite end of the spectrum where wants are located. They have the luxury of being both transient and susceptible to the winds of suggestion. Therefore subterranean tubers are rarely on my radar except when drunk on oil when the food transforms from the staunch practical to the magnificently fabulous.

This fittingly brings us to technique. While it is a no brainer, this is a method I’ve avoided for the quantity of oil used and for the unhurried nature of the process. In short it is perfect for my reparations. I’ve decided that the cure to continuous scuttling about and throwing down sloppy ingredients in perpetual fear of the dwindling sands of time is to good naturedly slow sear potatoes to crisp crust perfection. No fussy ingredients or fancy procedure needed. Everything else is certain distraction.

Smallish thin skinned potatoes are needed an inch and a quarter is nice. Into a pot of low boiling salted water they go. Keep an eye on them as they need to be just pierceable but not so well done as to become mushy. Rinse quickly under cold water and pat dry. Now the fun part- place a single brave spud upon a flat surface and gently lean upon it with the steady unsqueamish heel of your palm. The skins will heave before splitting and some interior flesh displayed but this is perfectly acceptable and part of the charm. We’re going for a smashed patty that is approximately half an inch thick, much thinner and one is in danger of losing circular integrity. A nicely weighted shallow fry pan is needed, ample the better. After being heated on medium high and olive oil is poured in, wait until the surface shimmers. Just how much oil is needed I suppose is open to interpretation. Bear in mind, this is a dish to properly fix one of miserly pinched up ways. For reference however, I used a lavish skim but not a submersion. Young sage leaves can now be tossed in until they shrink up into friable crisp. Quickly remove and set aside for future garnish. The potato pucks are now ready for their debut but not before lowering the temperature to below medium. The rounds cook for almost 30 minutes on each side, therefore handle the fire appropriately to ensure a beautifully browned patina and hearty crust. It is important to note that Trust is just as much an ingredient in this affair as Patience or Potato. Because it dawned on me that the Magic Bullet really preys upon our fear of not enough. And in life opposites seem to be truer; the easy is the harder way and the too-quick is ultimately wasted effort. With this, I beg you to allow the now flattened bottoms of the pommes de terre to sit undisturbed like the wise silent teachers they are. Sneak a peek somewhere around 20 minutes when unbearably good scents warm and rustic waft forth. If you sigh audibly and feel your heart quickening in your chest, these beauties are getting close. The only other advice to dispense is that a golden color is not enough, in fact that alone is too cosmetic. You are looking for a mouthful that will be sure to contain both crunch and chew, where the darkened caramelized exterior is distinct from the tender interior portion. At this point and only then, should they be flipped so that the other faces can become burnished bronze too. Extra movement in this symphony of simplicity is a bare minimum with a generous flourish of coarse salt and then a few minutes before completion, a festoon of chopped herbs.

I’ve been hearing folks recently refute the reasonability of “multi-tasking”. I used to actually pride myself on this skill before noticing its inherent deficiencies. Reformed I’m throwing away all Magic Bullets, beans, and pills for something true like zaftig frenchified peasant food eaten alongside sautéed baby radish greens. A simple still life with a few ingredients steeped in old fashioned values has me slowed down to a more opulent way of being. Live well, banish the fear of oil, and eat more potatoes!

I am the Jagermeister!

These are the words thus pronounced after imbibing one teaspoon, rapidly followed by another. Even though it has taken some forty years to discover this herbal digestive, I feel confident consumed by this unnamed power. After all- I am the master of the hunt.

Jȁgermeister tastes exactly like I hoped it would. I am excited to report; it is the unmistakable eye widening, growl inducing taste of melted down tar and black jellybeans. The secretly guarded recipe of 56 herbs, fruits, woods, barks, and roots has helped this potion, along with eye witness accounts of shocking behavior exhibited by those who partake, and laughable rumors of elk’s blood being part of the enigmatic mix; gain cult status. Truly of the love it or leave it ilk, there are those clamoring voices crying out that it tastes exactly like treacle-y cough syrup which is really no surprise given that this 70 proof brownish red halbbitter was created as an herbal remedy for respiratory and digestive issues . Indignities such as being affectionately called Leberkleister/ liver glue and the ancillary use of being an ad hoc insect trap only serve to endear me more. Fruitless distraction, this is one of those moments when I hold absolutely no impartiality. Nyquil, licorice, Jȁgermeister- I love you all the same.

One hit of the nectarous dark stuff from the eerie green bottle has been my undoing these past few weeks. I cannot focus clearly, my mind returning to an ancient obsession formerly and inadequately subdued. Medicinally revered yellow murky extract from the root of the Glycyrrhiza glabra shrub is combined with sugar, starch, molasses, salt, and other spices like anise to achieve the complex flavor that pulls the unsuspecting in with a sweet almost fruity hello before tumbling down the taste escalator and finishing with a bittersweet thud. Though I detect a skosh of aspartame and am reminded of the hoppy aftermath to warm ale, I am nonetheless besotted. Dreamily I find myself thinking about spice gumdrops again, the way I’d stealthily ferret out the white and black ones happily munching on the warm musky clove- allspice mixture. I imagine a bank of handsome 24” glass confectioners jars full of ebony sugar encrusted chews lined against the short side of my kitchen. I have even returned to perusing international licorice sites, cruising candies from England, Germany, and Finland. Toothsome Pontefract cakes toiled over by industrious monks, banana flavored confections shaped like a mini ape’s head, stout licorice toffee logs, and strawberry crepuscular bats; dare I go for the formidable face scrunching Dubbel Zout? Inevitably I throw about seven must-try bags into my virtual cart and a half dozen curiosities, spend at least an hour or two twiddling my life away before I realize that I am uncomfortably close to spending too many dollars on candy. The shame of this and killjoy- the hellish thought of licorice plaque forever wedged between my molars, reel me quickly back to safety.

Fortunately being the newly appointed meister, I am not completely deterred as I ruffle through the bag of tricks in my mind. And I peruse to almost 8 years back at preparations for a party which included a licorice ice cream fiasco. Beside this and over to the side, a fussy recipe for candied fennel garnish almost forgotten. Like lightening to a rod, brilliant inspiration. I channel the best European bakers and emboldened by my favorite pear and licorice jelly belly combination- decide that a fruit fennel Jȁgermeister concoction is in order. The thought leaves me gleaming.

Since apple and fennel is a classic duo in savory dishes, it seems only natural that they can lean the other direction which would serve to brighten the complexion of the spicy brew. Whereupon the salt mineral earthiness of licorice brings to mind all those tongue warming spices that perfume gingerbreads and fruitcakes and pfeffernüsse too. Consider the cascading flavors which peer out of the shadows like fig, chocolate, tobacco, kerosene, aluminum, and root beer and suddenly it seems possible to marry the unfathomable flavor with a whole flock of previously ignored suitors. It is at about this point that I have an insight into the trouble with this hodgepodge of hues. Perhaps it is just too broad to wrap our palates around, a frightening mirror into the expanse of possibilities. Then inconsiderately swaddled up in: black cat, black sheep, black plague…black; an insult on top of a misunderstanding. I consider what the California Dried Plum organization has done for the humble prune and I’m heartened. Turning back to the strudel with focused resolve, the work of St. Eustace is far from over.

Apple Fennel Jȁger-strudel serves 6: This pastry was made to convert even the most devout black licorice hater. While a spoonful of the herbal spirits is quite potent, within the compote it's character broadens to something almost more floral. The anise was a quick sub-in because it didn't really have the intensity I desired. I believe Pernod, Ouzo, Sambuca would be fine as well and truthfully I might prefer them.

Ingredients:
1 C fennel thinly sliced
1 C water
1/3 C sugar
3 ½ tsp. Jȁgermeister
Pinch of cloves
2 tsp. butter
2 granny smith apples cored and sliced into ¼” slices
¼ tsp. anise extract
Pinch of aniseed (optional)
Coarse raw sugar
10 Fillo sheets thawed
Melted butter/olive oil

Directions: Place the fennel, water, sugar, Jȁgermeister, cloves, and butter into a shallow medium sized pan and bring up the heat to the point that the water gently bubbles. Keep cooking, gently stirring the fennel around from time to time until the vegetable softens and the liquid is almost reduced. Stir in the apples and continue to stir and cook until the apples are about 2/3 of the way cooked. Add the anise and taste the mixture for more liquor/extract if desired. Allow the fruit to cool completely. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. On a cookie sheet place a layer of Fillo and brush the dough with melted butter. Place another sheet on top and keep repeating with butter and another layer of dough until the sheets are all used up. Spread the cooled mixture in log formation on top center of the dough. Sprinkle with aniseeds and raw sugar and fold the dough long edge over the fruit. Brush a little butter on top of that upward facing edge. Fold the dough on the opposite side over the buttered top. Press lightly down to seal the package a bit. Now fold the short ends up using a little melted butter as glue and press down to seal. Again brush a little butter on top of the streusel and sprinkle a little sugar on top of the entire log. Place in the oven for about 45 minutes or until the streusel is golden brown. Cool a bit and serve with vanilla bean ice cream or some softly whipped cream scented with anise extract.

The Magic of Woodland Ways with Sweet Aunt Vi

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting;

The perfume and suppliance of a minute;

No more.

Hamlet- Act I, Scene III

******

There are tiny alcoves scattered throughout the garden out front. I don’t think they were intentionally placed, that is directed by mere human hands. Rather these cozy nooks seem to have evolved, a natural trajectory of events coauthored by man and nature. There is a medium sized rock- stoic and dependable with a slender bleeding heart leaned over it, a creeping brocade of moss, lady’s mantle, and a few leggy ferns shielding a secret or two. Each character is an enchanted creature in a world held apart and I for the few moments that I gaze am welcomed denizen.

***

What I love most about these woodland hideaways is the sense of stumbling upon a moment held in abeyance, both young and fragile. The air and ground damp with dew. Everything absorbed by the silence. The plants too seem to have just emerged, green like juicy apples. Neither garden gnome nor faerie, I am nonetheless quite at home in this glad pocket where life springs forth.

This year to my delight, pincushions of violets from amethyst to palest pink have sprung. I can’t help thinking they would make pretty corsages for some wee folks and perhaps a few frogs too. With its heart shaped leaves and elusive scent, the wild violet is joyful ambassador communicating how powerful life is. After many arduous months of a New England winter, it is hard not to feel tender towards any tiny plant capable of sending up a shoot or two, let alone one which does so with such mirth. This miniature scene which is hard to pry myself away from is both marvelous and complete. It is a study in sufficiency.

Perhaps that is what has been at the root of my desire to eat more wild foods. It is about connecting to the untamed and vital of course, but more convincingly about seeing the whole. Rather than being perpetually on the cycle of filling empty hunger and desire on the treadmill of plenty. We could be moving into relationship with enough. As much as I was in love with the abundance of California, it was easy to take it for granted a little. And overindulge, all the time. Living with the dramatic change in seasons, one is made powerfully aware of the transient and the perishable. Looking at these prolific yet delicate flowers is another reminder. Close in, show cased, naturally one moves towards the slender edge of the moment which is potently alive and holds everything.

With the help of Euell Gibbons and Steve Brill on the sidelines to stoke my broadening curiosity, the garden has now become my outdoor pantry. Everything is fair game as I cast a wandering eye upon its borders. Thankfully the inhabitants are far too preoccupied bursting forth in springtime finery to even suspect what is on my mind. At this moment my attention is back to sweet Aunt Vi with her beguiling face and plentiful greenery. It is true that this plant packs a punch of ascorbic acid and Vit. A in its leaves and herbalists of yesteryear have lauded the virtues of this fine lady. Pluck a leaf and chew it up a bit, you’ll see that it tastes like young fresh spring. Wait a bit longer and soon you’ll see that the masticated bits get surprisingly slippery. It is this salicylic acid which helps to dissolve tumors and hardened tissue and resolve inflammatory issues within and without. Apparently even the easing of skin and reproductive cancers is on this gal’s resume. But as compelling as all of that hard working achievement is, I am more enamored with V. papilionacea’s purple winged petals and fluttering grace. The glee and magic of childhood discovery comes rushing back as I spend time in this diorama for one. While cuteness is something normally to be avoided, springtime fervor has hit and the imaginary tea set brought out. Youth and beauty should not be wasted only on the young!

Magic Violet Elixir feeds two medium sized gnomes: This is the kind of green spring soup that is so simple, delicious, and cheery- it will be an instant favorite. Once again approximate amounts for the ingredients, but it is infinitely tinkerable. The best thing of course is the color, bright and saturated. Should be served in tea cups, imaginary of course, are welcomed.

Ingredients:
1 cup of frozen baby peas
1 garlic clove hastily chopped
3 sprigs of thyme, leaves stripped
Small bundle of chives, rough chopped
2 fistfuls of violet leaves
2 cups of water/vegetable/chicken stock
1 cup of rice milk
Salt and white pepper
Skinny tablespoon of butter
Violet blossoms

Directions: Heat up your water in a medium sized pot and when the water begins to stir, just before the boil, dump in the peas, garlic and thyme. Lower the temperature so that the ingredients don’t go into shock. After two or three minutes, dump in the chives and violet leaves and cook until well wilted. Add the salt, pepper and butter. At this point retrieve your trusty slotted spoon and transfer the cooked bits into a blender with about half a cup of the cooking liquid. Blitz up and slowly add the rice milk/dairy to the level of creaminess desired. Taste and add more stock/rice milk as desired and carefully pour into your small serving vessels. Garnish with violet petals. I actually preferred my elixir on the warm/room temperature side rather than too hot. The petals are a visual must. Be forewarned, imbibing the elixir makes one a little giddy.

Dent de Lion, a Toothsome Tease

The disturbing sight of radiant yellow blossoms scattered about an otherwise impeccable emerald lawn has caused many a homeowner to clench their fists and reach for their ever ready weed whacker. Children- at home with things that move about in jagged lines and attuned to that which pokes out of the earth, puzzle over this magnificent creature otherwise cursed at. This weed, this mis-placed plant, Taraxacum officinale is a glorious beast better appreciated in earlier times when this harbinger of spring brought vital nutrition and medicinal relief to a body succumbed to torpor.

Aptly named, this plant is something of a dandy with its frilly foppish collar and a dazzling flower or two rising from the waist. Each winking golden yellow flower head, preconception pushed aside; embodies a joie de vive that encourages the young to pluck, sniff, and chomp upon them whilst merrily fashioning looped necklaces, rings, and fanciful head dresses of yore. They are not alone. Honey bees and other winged creatures too are dazzled and dine daily upon a bounty of nectar where upon this zesty spiral of life finds momentary pause when graceful seed heads waft forth far and wide. Though appearing frivolous and easy going to the outer eye, this plant has impressive survival skills evident in a presence seen throughout the world. Between seeds capable of traveling over five miles, the ability to self pollinate, adaptability to many environments, and a brittle taproot that easily splinters off in the hands of inpatient gardeners- this plant has looks, humor, and street smarts too. It is hard to imagine why this dandy lion has been cast out of the earthly garden, so woefully maligned.

Early in spring serrated leaves emerge in tight rosette formation. Not only do these spiky mandalas incite folks to get moving but the leaves bitter flavor also helps shake off winter’s coat. The bite of bitter is often associated with wild foods yet to be tamed and our modern proclivities have required cultivators to breed out disagreeable hues in our food to something more subdued. Nonetheless this acquired taste has been prized by the practical for its effect upon the body, evident in the number of tonics and nostrums created throughout history to stimulate appetite, aid in digestion, and innervate the feeble. Remove congestion in the liver, constipation, dreaded piles? Not a problem. In fact the genus name Taraxacum roughly translates to “remedy of disorders”. Not too bad for a mere backyard weed.

While domesticated taste buds may have gone flabby and soft, there is a new tide turning in the world of taste too long dominated by sweet and salty. Bitter no longer needs to be thought of as bondage and slavery, or the acrid repulsion of medicine forced upon- but now, it is being rediscovered and even celebrated a little. There is a food culture growing that is exploring the outer limit of flavor, consider the rising popularity of dark chocolate, micro brewed IPA beers, dark roast coffees, and of course digestifs. Bitter flavors are a sensory jolt which needs to be mollified and coaxed by a skilled culinary magician, to be truly enjoyed.

Perhaps this is partly why the dandelion has fallen out of favor. They are irrepressibly wild. They run rampant, refusing to stay in perfect straight lines. They’ll polka dot a lawn given half the chance and their astringent taste is unabashedly assertive, especially in summer months once festooned with flowers streaming like the sun. For those with little patience, who want life “as is”, straight-out-of-the-shoot; move on. Because a tangle with the Dent de Lion requires understanding, just like any dance with a formidable opponent. Patience, study, and appreciation are needed to realize that bitterness can actually bring out the best in other flavors, just like shadow does to light. Beyond, a tussle with the wild brings out the complexity and verve of the inner workings of things and that- plus an arsenal of nutrition is a bonafide bonus.

Note: A very grateful thank you with a dandelion bouquet to my sister for the redesign...and to Lobstersquad for help with the banner. Hope the look is easier on the eyes & the squids and jellies? Just because I love them so!

Spring Tonic Greens: I have been nonstop eating these greens for the last 3 weeks. It is quite fine with an egg on top and some of that fermented ketchup. Chock full of iron, calcium, Vit A, B complex, and potassium. Mother says, “Eat yer Greens!”

Ingredients:
Bunch of dandelion greens, cleaned thoroughly and rough chopped
Bunch of spinach, chopped
Bunch of ramps, bulbs cut lengthwise and greens chopped (these are spectacular if you can locate some, they deserve their own post…)
Chopped onion
Chopped garlic
Olive oil/bacon fat
Salt and Pepper
White wine/splash of lemon

Directions: After cleaning and chopping all ingredients a decision needs to be made about how much bitter one can take. Nibble a dandelion leaf. Is it pleasant enough as is? If so fry up your onions and garlic in a good amount of fat, and then slowly add in your dandelion leaf and begin to cook it down. Hopefully you’ve begun with a big enough fry pan! After they’ve begun to cook down a bit, you can add your spinach, salt and pepper to taste, and some acid if you like. If the dandelion is too bitter, blanch it until bright green in boiling water- drain the water off and then add it to the already fried onions/garlic. Have fun with the process, dandelions are showy things and respond to rowdy behavior. A little chili pepper, a few raisins. Eat them hot, eat them cold, on some toast, with an egg. You get the picture.

Where the Wild Things Are

It is a pretty straight forward strategy, nothing particularly radical or unique to me. I am what some might call a cultivator of qualities. That is, my senses are dialed in for the internal grumblings of wants unmet. Once targeted, simply- the hunger becomes the hunted. Just like I remember the contents of what is in my refrigerator, what is not, and consequently the big or small hurdle needed to create the latest culinary creation; my internal tracking system knows how to keep myself in balance, in check, and on the map. If I’m cruising to the right too long, it is a good idea to bank to the left once in awhile to keep from spinning round in circles.

My most recent contiguous uni-directional aversion occurred in the latter part of winter, mind and heart numb from the cold. There was such yearning for something fresh and green, a want for vibrancy and growth. I knee-jerk dabbled with mung beans sprouts to fill the no-grow zone of January only to find the over and done-too-soon process was too overly overt for the season. I needed something slower, a little quieter, and perhaps even something a smidge turned under.

Lacto fermentation is an ingenious food preservation process that no doubt evolved from one of our forefather’s errors when misplaced foodstuff went funky not foul. An ancient protracted, potentially risky version of the Five Second Rule; observation, a hospitable environment, and a bit of luck mixed together to create something worth repeating and improving upon. For those with adventurous palates, there is an international smorgasbord of surströmming, skyr, injera, natto, and poi waiting, sans chafing dish, to name a few. Admittedly a bit more timid and hardly wanting to sully my hands or home with exploding cans or stinky meats, I set my sights instead on a humble head of cabbage gussied up with plain old beets, ginger, and garlic. Though many a times I’ve acknowledge being crazy about kraut, it still didn’t prepare me for how captivated I would be, thoroughly inoculated with fermenting fervor.

In the snowy depths of winter my internal logic only reasoned that I needed some leafy green to nibble upon. The thought of espresso colored soil and tidy rows of charming fruits and veggies filled me with a canned contented sigh. What I yearned for truly was something a bit more elusive and eternal, an elixir of life. Pickled home craft might be just that. This “invisible” transformative process is a bit mysterious with mutually beneficial exchanges occurring at the micro level. Lactobacilli ever present on leaves and roots digest sugars and other carbohydrates in jarred captivity before giving off lactic acid which staves off the growth of bacteria capable of spoilage. Fermented foods are therefore more easily digested as well as being safely preserved. The bonanza of healthy bacteria or probiotics produces enzymes, increases vitamins, and strengthens the flora of one’s intestines all the while infusing the pickle with saliva inducing lip smacking flavor which continues to refine and deepen as it ages. These zingy comestibles are an artisanal food, lovingly nurtured, and unique each time it is made. Intimately connected to variables in the home environment such as the temperature of the room, the types of bacteria present, and the salinity and moisture content of the brine and food; they are antidote to a world full of standardized sameness. Thinking about it further, fermented products promote biodiversity at the individual level. They are a window into the cooperation and strength of a thriving ecosystem. Participating in the process, one begins to appreciate the myriad interconnected relationships that sustain life, and that is simultaneously wild and a quiet kind of knowledge too. So while I’ve been having fun with fermentation and my kitchen counters are crowded with kefir, kvass, kraut, and ketchup; I have also been nourishing the body ecology and dreaming up a healthier world- one pickle at a time.

"I therefore advise you to lay in a Store of Spices, ... neither ought you to be without ... Kitchup, or Mushroom Juice." The Housekeeper's Pocket-Book and Compleat Family Cook

Lacto-fermented Ketchup: Adapted from Sally Fallon’s Nourishing Traditions. This is a great first project because it is so simple and there is no fear of anything going off. This makes quite a thick ketchup which can be thinned out later with water. Fish sauce and maple syrup? Move over high fructose corn syrup!

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups organic tomato paste
2 Tbsp. whey (strain good quality yogurt by placing it into a cheese cloth covered sieve set upon a bowl)
1/4 cup pure maple syrup
2 Tbsp. fermented fish sauce
2 cloves garlic crushed
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon cloves

Directions: Mix everything together in a non reactive bowl. Place the mixture into a wide mouth mason jar and cover tightly with the lid. Let it ferment for 2-3 days at room temperature. Refrigerate and enjoy.

Misunderstood

It was bound to be noticed at some point. A cursory glance at something rumpled and starved within a plastic container on the middle shelf wayward towards the back. Out at last, of this less than air tight time capsule, are two packages with labels expertly torn and saved for now-once future reference: Guajillo and Pasilla Chili Pods, the remnants from a party long and in fact approximately two years ago. It matters not that it is days after the Vernal equinox and the outdoors have taken on the chirpy tones of a Lilly Pulitzer print. I am taken by the smooth mahogany contours, the resiny aroma, and the deep brittle contours of a landscape southward facing. Something more yet less tangible calls out to me: reminiscent of the paper thin etching of a moth wing under night light or the hollow feeling of neglect and wither. It is precisely the un-nameable loss of something available never used. It is of sudden paramount importance to give this food the proper attention, to allow its purpose to unfold to fulfillment.

With diligent efficiency water is boiled and the desiccated chilies are stemmed, split, and shaken before being plunged into a long overdue quench of moisture. Onions and garlic are systematically sautéed and pureed with the newly supple magenta flesh. A bit of soaking water, some salt, oregano, sugar and allspice. Easy magic. At once the sauce is deep and rich, assertive- coming from yesterday, from a forgotten place like a rabbit jumping out of a hat.

In this moment I actually have good intentions to bring some uncustomary precision to my sauce. I gather the names on the labels, sure to be helpful clues to pinpoint my next direction. Then a kerfuffle of sorts, inconveniently the names of some peppers transform when dried from fresh. Frankly this nonsensical change in title leaves me perplexed. But before I can balk too much, the confusion reaches a climax as I realize that the images on my computer screen don’t match the faces once in their labeled baggies. Are my Guajillos in fact, Anchos? Mine are admittedly ungainly giant raisins, not smooth as leather coronets. Several differing images leave me even more in doubt. And now, it seems rather pointless to make distinctions between types at all.

The irony here is the care with which I structure the physical artifacts of my life, with the sole aim that others might easily locate and retrieve objects from chili peppers to books for me. I memorize where objects are in relationship to another and keep items bundled together in the hopes that this intuitive organization will facilitate this process. Then there is the steady stream of details I am happy to dispense about where, when, how, and why. Still- this one got away, twice. First, by being overlooked and existing beyond its prime; and second, when inadvertently becoming a question. How many others are out there?

To recognize that this tight armature of existence has many black holes is a bit unsettling to consider, and that I do in small turns. Our slow warming weather gets broadsided by flurries and freezing cold. Maybe the newly dubbed Earth Magic Heat Sauce would be good with tamales or even a little ice cream. A corn pudding frittata fusion might be delightful. I can’t help thinking again about the delicious meanderings of a creative process which spills out well beyond form. It is spring again, which for many is welcomed reassurance. But it is also a time of new beginnings, a stroll through unchartered territory, a no man’s land yet to flourish. For those with a smidge of courage, not-to know is freedom from ordinary constraint and perhaps permission to dive into questionable puddles.

Earth Magic Heat Sauce-
Ingredients:
5 Dried Pasilla Chili, seeded and stemmed
3 Dried Guajillo Chili, seeded and stemmed
1 small onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, sliced
1 Tbsp. of brown sugar
½ tsp of salt (to taste)
½ tsp of allspice
½ tsp of oregano
soaking water

Directions: Place chilis in bowl and soak in hot water until supple. Meanwhile fry up your onions and garlic until there is a little color. Place the softened chilies and the remaining ingredient in a blender and whirl with some of the reserved soaking water until sauce is thinned to your preference. Taste and tweak. Then fire up the pan once again, adding a little oil and then "fry" up the sauce for a few more minutes to allow the flavors to deepen.

Corn Pud-ttata Fantastico:
Ingredients:
1 onion sliced and fried
1 C of rice milk
1 C of corn kernels
4 eggs
½ tsp of salt
½ tsp of ground cumin
4 Tbsp of amaranth flour
2 roasted poblano peppers, stemmed and seeded
½ C chopped cilantro
¾ c pinto beans
1/3 C feta cheese crumbled

Directions: Place milk, corn, eggs, salt, cumin, and amaranth flour in a blender and whirl until the corn is properly pulverized. Grease a 9" pie plate and place fried onions, poblano pepper strips, cilantro, beans, and feta into the bottom. Pour the corn filling over and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven until golden and set. I believe this was about 40 minutes. Cool and slice. Nice on a bed of watercress and some Earth Magic Heat Sauce tempered with plain yogurt/sour cream.