The Final Chapter: From Farmer's Market to Farmer

As the sporadic nature of my recent posts over the past few months might indicate, I have been on to other things. For this reason and many others, this will be the final post of Farmer's Market Forays. As ironic and backwards as it may be, I find that every summer I go to the market much more infrequently than I do the rest of the year. The primary reason for this is that I am trying to keep up with the produce flowing from my own backyard! It was, in fact, my love for gardening and all things farm related that led me out to Rice, Washington last week where I spent four nights and five amazing days living and working on a farm.The Quillisascut Farm School for the Domestic Arts is the official name of the program I, and 13 other students, participated in. Owned by Lora Lea and Rick Misterly, the farm is an amazing example of truly sustainable living. This buzz word, "sustainable", doesn't have much meaning when you hear it tossed around in an urban setting like Seattle. How can we truly "sustain" all of these homes, chemicals, and cars? But on the farm, the full implications of the word were apparent. On one hand, sustainable means that the people can sustain themselves by eating products procured nearly exclusively off of the farm. But it also means that the farm could continue to produce indefinitely because the land and the animals are treated with the utmost respect. Seeing this practice in place, this unique way of living and eating, is what had the biggest impact on me. But first, a few highlights from farm school.

Goats
Life at the farm seems to revolve around the goats. They provide us with milk, cheese, and meat, and, like everything at the farm, they are treated with the greatest respect. Our first morning schedule read "5:45 am: Butcher goat". Welcome to the farm, indeed. Rick had already killed the five month old billy goat, and we stood around in an eerie silence observing as he methodically and meticulously proceeded to take off its suit of skin and then remove all of the organs, etc. It was fascinating work, and not the least bit gory. After the butchered goat hung in the walk-in for a few days, we learned how to break it down into all of the various cuts of meat that you might find on your plate. Again, fascinating.

Milking was a challenge, to be sure. It's one of those things that you have to do over and over again before you get the feel of it. I was pretty disheartened at first when Lora Lea had two full buckets of milk in the time that it took me to get 1/4 of an inch at the bottom of my bucket, but I finally started to get the feel on my last goat.

Lora Lea taught us how to make four different kinds of cheese with the goats' milk: a "farmhouse" style (similar in texture to a feta), a soft chevre, ricotta, and fresh mozzarella. I absolutely loved the patience and magical science that is involved in turning milk into decadent cheese. We used the fresh mozzarella on our pizzas one night, and they also sent us home with two packages of the cheeses we had made.

Food
Life on the farm is all about food. 24-7, all of our energies are in some way going towards either the harvesting of or the production of food. And with 15 people working towards a common goal, you can be sure that we ate well! Always in use was their gorgeous stone oven. With an oven on one side and an open grill on the other side, this was used to bake bread, cook pizzas, and grill meats. The bread we baked was a true artisan type, with a pre-ferment the first night and a long slow rise the next day. Oh, for an oven like that in my backyard!

Our typical protein of chicken, goat, or lamb was always supplemented by the freshest of fresh vegetables and herbs from their garden (which we worked in on occasion). We also harvested huckleberries and learned all about the honeybees who lived in hives on their property. Citrus fruits would never grow at that latitude, so the acid of lemons was replaced by fresh verjus from their grape vines. All food preparation was led by the amazing chef Karen, who taught us endless ways to be creative with what you have in the kitchen. We were divided into "teams" and put in charge of the various meals. This kind of meal planning started with first looking into what was available, and then discussing what to do with it. This approach makes such perfect sense but is unfortunately in sharp contrast to the-start with a recipe then hunt for out of season ingredients- approach that us city dwellers often rely on. As an example of the food we ate on the farm, the lunch team that I was on put together a bread salad (to use up left over bread ends) with tomatoes, arugula, and other herbs, a fresh fava bean-white bean soup, and an apricot tart with fresh ricotta. I also ate some new things, including beef heart and goats kidney and I learned that eating on the farm is all about using everything. Speaking of, in addition to preserving food by canning (we made apricot jam), we also learned about making sausage and how to use the mysterious caul fat.

I truly felt that my experience at the Quillisascut Farm was all about getting back to "the way it used to be" or perhaps "the way it should be", depending on who you're talking to. Life is simple and unhurried on the farm. It forces you to slow down and appreciate what you already have, rather than always racing to get what you don't have. The products that come off of a farm like this are unbelievably good. So good, in fact, that it almost doesn't seem right to lump a Quillisascut chicken and a McDonald's hamburger both into the food category.

But farming and the farm life isn't for everyone. So lucky for us that those farmers are willing to travel great distances to share it with us at Farmer's Markets! And so I will continue to shop there frequently, and I will continue to harvest vegetables from my small urban plot, as I encourage you to do as well. And once I get an extra freezer, I will also be buying larger hunks of meat from farms like Quillisascut so that I don't have to rely on those silly shrink-wrapped things they sell at the grocery store. So for now, eat well, shop wisely, and enjoy what you already have. Thanks for your support!

Spring Garlic

Spring garlic, sometimes referred to as fresh garlic, is nothing more than the immature, baby garlic plant. Its stalk is extremely tall and lanky, its bulb small and tender. This bulb, if left in the ground, would eventually develop into individual, pungent cloves of garlic with a thick skin surrounding it all. But for a fleeting few weeks in the spring, the garlic plant is entirely edible, bulb, stalk, and all. For some reason, I've never noticed spring garlic before. In years past, we've thoroughly enjoyed garlic spears during this time of the year, but they are nowhere to be found this year. Magically replaced with spring garlic, instead!

We've had spring garlic a few times now, but the only way we've cooked it is on the grill. For those of you who have grilled any type of sweet salad onion before, the result is very similar. All they require is a sprinkle of salt and pepper and a quick rub of olive oil before grilling slow and low until thoroughly tender throughout. To eat, I just put the entire bulb end into my mouth, bite down and pull out all of the delicious garlic. They taste absolutely amazing! Even up into the green stalk, the soft, tender inside tastes like sweet, roasted garlic. It's the perfect partner to anything else you might be grilling, as it is not overwhelmingly garlicy at all. But spring is almost over, so go grab some while you can!

Knotweed

It is a beautiful time of year at the market right now. Brimming with tulips, voluptuous lettuces, and new growth of all kinds, it is a welcome change from our previous dark months. The excitement is palpable; summer is coming! On a recent trip there, I loaded up on some of the usuals like eggs, kale, and goat cheese before stumbling into this oddity, Knotweed at Foraged and Found Edibles. I was told that it was similar to celery, but hollow. At $4 a pound, how could I pass it up?Knotweed, more commonly known as Japanese knotweed, is literally a weed. It is in fact an invasive species in areas where it grows, and most of the literature about it has to do with how to get rid of it. It was the Japanese who decided to eat it to control its aggressive tendencies, but it is only worth eating for a few short weeks in the spring when it is short (6 inches tall or so) and tender. After that, it apparently more closely resembles bamboo, both in appearance and texture. Knotweed is hollow and has small nodes and leaves along the length of its shaft. The leaves are not edible and should be removed before eating. Knotweed is a member of the same family as sorrel, buckwheat and rhubarb.

It turns out that a pound was, well, too much knotweed. Yes, it is somewhat similar to celery but it is also incredibly tart, the kind of tart that makes your face get all knotted up. Maybe that's why it's called knotweed??! Imagine eating a stick of raw rhubarb as you would a piece of celery. That is knotweed. Well, with a bit more "weedy", dirty flavor. Knowing that rhubarb is great with a ton of sugar, I decided to treat it as I would rhubarb after our first use as a Bloody Mary stir stick proved to be too offensive for a Sunday morning. So I threw some into a pie with some strawberries and a bunch of sugar. The pie was delicious when eating the strawberries but the bites with knotweed just tasted like dirt. I'm sure the knotweed added to the overall texture and depth of flavor of the pie, but I guess there's a reason you don't find any knotweed pies at your local bakery; they would have to call it dirt-weed pie. Fortunately, it didn't ruin the rest of the fruit. I want to say that it would make a good chutney due to all of the acidity but I'm not willing to spend half of my Sunday making jars of something that may end up tasting like dirt.

Sunflower Greens

I have a new favorite food—sunflower greens. They are exactly what they sound like, the green, first-growth of the sunflower plant. To be even more specific, these greens are grown by first soaking the unhulled sunflower seeds in water before planting them in soil. After about eight days, and before the second set of leaves emerge, they are tall enough to harvest. That's it. It sounds simple, but the results are remarkable.

At first glance, the sunflower greens reminded me a little of Miner's lettuce or purslane, as both bear a slight resemblance to succulent plants. Both have thick (edible) stems which are light green in color, and darker green leaves on the top. But the differences ended there. The sunflower greens actually tasted thick; in fact, I could have measured the thickness of the leaves had a ruler been handy. They were remarkably toothsome and substantial for just some measly greens. They almost reminded me of crisp peanuts when I was chewing them, oddly enough. And their flavor? Sunflower oil and spinach. I definitely felt like I was eating something green and good for me, but without the heavy roughage texture that some "health food" contains.

It turns out that in addition to tasting wonderful, sunflower greens are extremely good for you. That green "spinach" flavor I tasted? Chlorophyll, which apparently does good things for humans as well as plants. They are also loaded with vitamins such as A, B-complex, D, E, and a slew of minerals. But the biggest surprise for me was the amount of protein that these greens contain. Sunflower greens have just slightly less protein than an equivalent amount of chicken meat. Vegans take note—eat your sunflower greens!

Gingered Carrot Leek Soup

An oversized bag of carrots from Nash's Organic Produce and these beautiful mini leeks were the inspiration for last night's dinner, Gingered Carrot Leek Soup. I'd had the carrots for a few weeks now and well, they needed to go. The leeks looked just like green onions, but their taste and smell revealed that they truly were leeks. I made sure to gently saute them in a little bit of butter and olive oil to soften and sweeten them without cooking away their springy, fresh flavor.

I must admit that since the days at my grandma's table long ago, I have never been a fan of cooked carrots. Is it their mushy texture or the completely different "cooked" taste they take on that resembles nothing whatsoever the flavor of a fresh, raw carrot? Afraid of revisiting these food memories, I tried to spice the soup up with some ginger. I added "ginger juice" by squeezing the pulp of grated ginger to extract its very essence. Spicy? no. But it sure added a wonderful element of flavor to what turned out to be an absolutely delicious soup. No "cooked carrot-ness" at all.

Gingered Carrot Leek Soup
2 bunches mini leeks, sliced thinly
1 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 cup white wine
4 cups vegetable (or chicken) stock
About 1 1/2 pounds carrots
1 large piece (about 4 ounces) fresh ginger
1 cup low-fat milk
1/4 cup cream

2 Tbsp. plain yogurt
1 Tbsp. grated ginger
salt and pepper to taste

Heat large stock pan over medium-low heat. Add olive oil and butter. Add sliced leeks and cover pan cover with a lid. Gently saute for about 10-15 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes or so, until the leeks soften and the edges begin to brown. Increase the heat to medium high and de-glaze the pan with about 1/4 cup of the wine, scraping until all brown bits come up. Add remaining wine, stock, carrots, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until carrots are tender when poked with a fork, about 30-40 minutes.

For the ginger juice, peel the large piece of ginger and grate into a (double-thickness) piece of cheesecloth set over a small bowl. Gather all of the grated ginger together in the cheesecloth and squeeze until no liquid remains.

Remove pan from heat. Using a hand-blender, puree the carrots until smooth (alternatively, blend in batches in a blender). Return the pan to low heat and add the milk, cream, and ginger juice. Add more milk or water if too thick. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

For garnish, combine the yogurt, grated ginger, salt and pepper. Drape over the soup and serve!

River Valley Ranch Feta

This feta from River Valley Ranch Cheese was SO good, and so unlike the regular feta you get at the store. It actually tasted like it came from milk, with loads of flavor and lots of wonderful acidity and tang. I've bought their aged cheeses in the past, with their perfectly semi-soft interiors. But perhaps it was my desire for something young and fresh that drew me to the little tubs of fresh feta cheese. Well, that and I was looking for something to sprinkle on top of the freshly foraged Miner's lettuce from Foraged and Found Edibles! I was so excited to see this harbinger of spring and its tender green shoots. We've enjoyed its later season cousin purslane in summers past, but Miner's lettuce seems especially precious in this cold and nasty spring we are having so far. How anything can grow in this rain and snow, I don't know. But grow it does, with all of the vitamins and antioxidants that we are craving at this time of the year. And yes, the feta sprinkled on top was the icing on the cake.

So there are some signs of spring, from the sunny daffodils to the fresh feta and the green, green Miner's lettuce growing on forest floors. Cheers to that!

The Same Old Kale and Potatoes

I am so ready for spring and all of the color that has been lacking from the market for months now. Berries, lettuce, tomatoes, herbs — I could go on and on about the things that I am looking forward to. But instead it's March and there I was at the market last week with nothing but meat, cheese, and the same old kale and potatoes. The most exciting things I found were these Russian Banana fingerlings; exciting because of their name, but it turns out that they're not all that special after all. They are apparently easy to grow and quite prolific, making them a friend of the farmer. Their yellow skin and banana shape are undoubtedly where the "banana" part of their name comes from while the "Russian" connection is due to the fact that they originated in the Baltic area. They are said to be a waxy, moist potato, but we found them to be more on the starchy side. To prepare the Russian Banana fingerlings, I halved them lengthwise then browned them in duck fat on the stove top before roasting them in the oven. They were not as crispy as I had hoped, but still an excellent potato overall.

Winter sucks, but at least there's always kale and potatoes.

Geoduck

Without a doubt, the geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck) is the oddest looking creature I have ever eaten. It is essentially a giant clam, but its extremely long (and phallic) siphon makes it look more like something you would expect to see on B-rated horror movie than on your dinner plate. And the 2-pound specimen I bought from Taylor Shellfish Farms was not cheap either. At $12 a pound, you pay for its rarity. Taylor's Shellfish farms the geoduck, but according to him, most of his inventory is sold in Japan where it undoubtedly fetches an even higher price tag. I've seen the geoduck at his stand at the market a few times before, but I finally got up the nerve this weekend to tackle the task.

The most daunting part of eating a geoduck is preparing it. Following the directions of the expert I bought the geoduck from, here is what I did:


After blanching the entire clam in boiling water for about one minute, I ran it under cold water, then pulled off the outer membrane of the siphon.

The siphon was then ready to be cut off and sliced for sashimi.

To get to the meat inside of the clam, I first ran a small knife around the outside of the shell,

then pulled out the meat until the (quite obvious) innards came apart from the flesh.

To prepare the clam meat, I cut it into small hunks (after first making sure to rinse off any sand) and sauteed it quickly with green onions and oyster mushrooms. I was told not to overcook it, to be careful as you would with a scallop, so I put the geoduck in after the mushrooms were mostly done cooking and let it saute for only about 3 minutes or so. Not wanting to overwhelm its flavor in any way, I finished it off with a tablespoon of butter and a light sprinkling of salt and pepper. We served the geoduck, both cooked and sashimi, with some rice and baby bok choy from the market.

The concensus? Surprisingly good. Something about the exoticness of the geoduck made it seem like it was going to be difficult to stomach. I was just coming off of the flu when I prepared this, so granted, it probably wasn't the best timing to be trying something out of the ordinary. But, not only was it not scary to eat, it was actually quite delicious. My biggest complaint was with the sashimi-ed siphon, which I didn't cut nearly thin enough. In hindsight, I should have sliced it into paper-thin pieces instead of chunky rounds. Because of this, the sashimi was my least favorite part. It was very briny, like an overly briny oyster, and a bit too crunchy. A dip in soy sauce helped to mellow out the flavor, but unfortunately we were out of wasabi, which was sorely lacking. The cooked clam, on the other hand, was a delight. The meat was interesting, as some pieces were more like a chewy clam in texture and others were almost buttery-tender. Granted, my sickness-dulled taste buds couldn't detect much in the way of unique flavor, but it did almost seem to be a cross between chicken and clam. It was certainly more of a texture thing, with most of the flavor coming from the mushrooms and butter.

While I had success with the clam meat, I feel like I need to give the siphon another chance. That, and I'd like to have the benefit of all of my taste buds! So for those reasons, the geoduck is certainly something I will try again in the future.

Mangalitsa Fat

Remember last year when I paid a bunch of money to try the new and improved pork, mangalitsa? Well, knowing that the fat from the mangalitsa was the most prized part of this pig, I saved the copious amounts that cooked off of my roast by putting tablespoon-sized lumps of the chilled, solidified fat in the freezer. I've used the fat throughout the year, whenever I remember it mostly. But the other night my final tablespoon of mangalitsa fat transformed an ordinary chicken thigh into an extraordinary meal. I made sure that the chicken was very dry, then doused it liberally with salt and pepper. The fat was heated until it was almost smoking, then I browned the chicken on each side for about 5 minutes before tenting the pan with foil and putting it in the oven. I cooked it at 375° for about 15 minutes, flipping it once. I can't explain how the fat made the chicken taste so delicious, but it was just, well, extremely tasty. The fat had created a crispy and succulent crust on the outside (even despite the fact that it was skinless), while the meat inside was juicy, tender, and dripping with flavor. The chicken was just your average grocery store bird, so maybe all of their claims about this miraculous fat are right? Who would have thought that something we take for granted every day, simple fat, could be so significant and transformative. So save your fat!