Sea Breeze Farm Chicken

What a rough week. Not only was I sick with no time to be sick, but even worse, we had bad chicken. I had picked up the bird from the lovely folks at Sea Breeze Farms (whose raw milk I have really enjoyed in the past). Since I last wrote about them, they have upgraded to an enormous refrigerator case with a glass front at their stand. It is brimming with all sorts of meats, milks, and eggs. Having never tried any of their poultry, I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of price. I anticipated it would be more than a grocery store chicken, but not that much more! My scrawny little bird, which couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, came to $23! Okay, I was thinking, you've got to try everything once, right? And, I was convinced that I was taking home a truly special bird. Sure it may be small, but a chicken raised in a completely organic, free-range, old-fashioned sort of way must taste phenomenal, like the "truly chickeny" chicken that Julia Child always raved about, right?

My mistake I guess. I chose a very French style treatment for my bird, with lots of herbs, butter, and lemon. I roasted it until it was just barely pink next to the bone, then let it sit under some foil to allow the juices to set. It smelled delicious, but on first bite I could tell it wasn't what I was hoping for. The flavor was just like your average chicken. The meat itself was a far cry from the tender and juicy bird I had been anticipating; it was tough and chewy, with some pieces being downright inedible. What went wrong? Did I just get a particularly ornery, hardy bird? Was it too old (although the farmer did tell me that it was only eight weeks old)? Is it that free-range style chickens are too lean? I don't have the answer, but at the same time I certainly don't want to discourage anyone from supporting our local farmers. I guess every now and then, you're bound to get burned. Too bad this experiment left us with so many dirty dishes.

Bluebird Grain Farms

There are many reasons to go to the farmer's market, chief among them the beautiful produce you find there grown by local farmers. Add to that the products that you can't normally buy at most stores, and I'm there. Bluebird Grain Farms falls into this latter category; while you can find their flour and grain products at local PCC stores, they are not readily available elsewhere. Apparently the rest of the world has yet to catch onto the incredible versatility, flavor, and nutrition benefits of these wheat alternatives. Although Bluebird Grain Farms does sell some common grain products such as wheat and rye, I know them more for their Emmer flour.

I used to refer to this grain as farro, but I learned recently from the helpful staff at the Bluebird Grain Farms stand that the word farro actually means "grain". Emmer is a type of grain or farro. That being said, many places use the terms Emmer and farro interchangeably, most notably in Italy where it is quite common, and with good reason. It is really good — more substantial than your standard white flour (and undoubtedly significantly better for you) without any of that dry or "healthy" taste sometimes associated with whole wheat baked goods. I have used it in cookies, quick breads, and this time, crepes.

I would highly recommend making these crepes. They are super simple and fast, and can be filled with anything you want, savory or sweet. Our apple-leek filling worked perfectly with the slight nuttiness of the Emmer in the crepes (and it paired extraordinarily well with a chilled Prosecco!). So find yourself some grains and get cooking!

Emmer Crepes — Combine 3 eggs, 2/3 cup Emmer flour, 1 cup whole milk, and 1/4 tsp. salt in a blender. Whirl until all ingredients are combined. If time allows, let sit for 30 minutes or an hour at room temperature, then whirl again in the blender before using.

To make crepes, heat an 8-inch skillet over medium high heat. Add about 1/2 Tablespoon of butter and swirl until melted. Use one hand to tip the pan while pouring about 1/4 cup of batter into the pan with the other hand, swirling constantly until the batter is evenly distributed. Cook for about 1-2 minutes, flip with a spatula, then put your choice of filling along the center of the crepe while it is still in the pan. Fold the sides in onto the middle, then slide the ready crepe out of the pan and onto a plate.

Cranberry Beans

I am a huge fan of beans of any variety, so when I see fresh ones, I am sold instantly. In this case I was drawn towards these fresh cranberry beans largely because of their beautiful coloring. The pod and beans both have this incredible marbled look that is quite striking. Unfortunately, the beans don't maintain their color when cooked; I'm still trying to work on that one.

Cranberry beans are a variety of shell beans, meaning that they must be shelled before being cooked. Even though this can be a bit tedious, I thoroughly enjoy the process of shelling beans. Find a sunny spot, put a cocktail beside you, and this otherwise monotonous task becomes a relaxing meditation. Once shelled, the beans must be boiled in water. Mine took about 20 minutes until they were tender when poked with a fork. The beans should be strained when done, then they are ready to use in anyway and in anything you wish. Since we still had a plethora of tomatoes and basil, I combined the above ingredients with the cooked cranberry beans, added some salt, pepper, garlic, and our best olive oil to make a delicious side dish.

The fresh cranberry beans had a wonderful flavor, almost nutty. They were a bit on the dry side however. I'm not sure if this is typical of cranberry beans or if it was caused by another factor (older beans? over or under cooked?). Regardless, they were a fun new way to get our daily dose of fiber.

Artichokes

You know that there was someone who was the first person ever to eat an artichoke. In the history of humankind, in the stats of the universe, who is first on the list? Who would have thought that that prickly and hostile plant was actually edible, not to mention tender and delicious when prepared properly? Whoever it was, they lived a long time ago because people have been eating this relative of the thistle forever now. There is some work required to get to the part that is actually worth eating, however. The first time I tried to prepare small, whole artichokes in their entirety (as opposed to pulling off individual leaves like you might with the larger globe artichokes), I ignorantly thought I could just cook the whole thing and end up with something good. Instead, I ended up with a mouthful of fibrous prickles.

So, if you want to avoid the whole fibrous prickle thing in your mouth, the following steps might be of help to you if you are in the market for eating, and enjoying, artichokes.

1. Select several small (about 3-4 inches tall, including stem) artichokes. Prepare a large bowl of cold acidulated water by adding the juice of one lemon or 2 Tablespoons of white vinegar into the bowl.
2. With a sharp knife, cut off the top 1/2 inch or so of the artichoke "flower". Next, use your fingers to snap off the outer leaves. Continue turning the artichoke and snapping off leaves until you get down to the very light green-yellow leaves. You will also notice that they are much more tender.
3. Use a peeler to peel off the rough ends where the leaves used to be attached to the stem, peeling off the skin of the upper 1/2 inch of the stem as well. Cut off the stem below this peeled area.
4. You should be left with a significantly smaller product than your original artichoke. Place it immediately into the acidulated water to prevent it from browning. Keep it submerged in the water until you are ready to cook it.

At this point, the artichoke should be ready to use in any number of ways. I decided to boil them first (for about 10 minutes, or until tender), then I drained them and sliced them in half. At this point you will also need to use a spoon or a small knife to scrape out the somewhat hairy fibers from the middle. Next, I heated some olive oil and butter (about 1 Tablespoon of each) in a skillet and let it heat until most of the milk solids from the butter (that foamy white stuff) had disappeared. When that was hot enough I gently placed the artichoke halves in flat side down and let them cook undisturbed for about 5 minutes. When they were beginning to brown nicely on that side, I added a bunch of thinly sliced garlic, then flipped the artichokes and cooked it a few minutes more, adding white wine at the end to deglaze.

We had also carmelized a big onion on the grill, so I chopped that up and served it with the artichoke over the wonderful cedar plank cooked Loki salmon. There were just a few bites of the artichoke that were still a little tough, but mostly it was tender and full of sweet, acidic flavor. Yes, it was work getting to the good part but it's the kind of work I happen to like.

Chilies

Needless to say, these beauties came from the east side of the mountains, Royal City, Washington, to be exact, where it has not been soggy and sunless for the past few weeks. The Tonnemakers Farm booth was brimming with hot weather crops recently, including peaches, nectarines, and impressive mounds of chilies. Not only did they have most of them categorized into mild, sweet, or hot, but many of the signs even included their often creative monikers.

From top to bottom, you are looking at two "mild" Mariatchi chilies, two"sweet" Godfathers chilies, and the small ones on the end came from the "Very Hot" bin. Should I be worried?

My favorite way of enjoying most chilies requires roasting them first. If the grill is going, we will char them over the coals. But in light of our recent sorry-excuse-for-August weather, these chilies went into the oven, under the broiler. I put them directly on the oven rack, fairly close to the broiler element. I also left the oven door ajar just a tad so that the heat would stay on continually. When charring chilies this way, the smell of burning chili flesh will usually remind you that they are in the oven. Don't panic; they're supposed to burn. I prefer to use tongs to turn them until they are nicely blackened on all sides, then slide them into a plastic bag where they will "sweat". The longer they can cool down in this bag, the better. But it probably takes at least 15 minutes of sweating before the skins will just slide right off.

After they were out of their skins we set up a taste test. Here are the results.

Left: "Sweet" Godfathers--fruity, good medium spice
These would be great stuffed or even used for chile rellenos.

Middle: "Mild" Mariatchi--no spice, grassy, and a bit fibrous
Good for salads, soups, or in a quesadilla.

Right: "Very Hot"--fruity (citrus flavors?), smokey, definitely hot
Good for anything you want to add spice to.

I then proceeded to cut off the ends, scrape out the seeds, and chop all of the chilies up to create a salsa for our grilled flank steak. The thing I loved the most about this salsa? The chilies retained so much flavor even though they had spice. The spice was certainly there, but it didn't overwhelm any of the food. I could taste the grassy, fruity nuances that we picked up on in the taste test and I enjoyed every bite!

Blackberry Jam

I'm not sure which epitomizes summer more for me, blackberries or peaches. Both fruits are treats I look forward to all year long, so I suppose it's fitting that in my recent dive into the world of canning foods, I first canned peaches, then blackberry jam.

My first-hand experience with blackberries came at an early age, when I annually harvested bowls and bowls full of the succulent fruit in Northern California where I lived. There, and in every other place I've ever lived, these aggressive Himalayan blackberries grow wild anywhere there is dirt. When freshly harvested and sun-warm, these berries are incredibly sweet and intensely flavorful. I do have a few meager bushes I like to pick from in August in Seattle, but they hardly produce enough to make anything substantial out of. Sure, I could do some more intensive and deliberate urban foraging, but why not just forage at my local farmer's market?

So it was that I bought a half-flat of blackberries (technically marionberries, a type of blackberry) from a farmer last week. They were on their way out as far as ripeness goes (some beginning to mold) and as a result they were on sale for $12.00. I knew I wanted to make jam, so on my way home I went to the store and bought this very old-fashioned looking thickening agent which is made exclusively from citrus extract. It contained two packets, one powder to create a calcium water which activates the other packet of pectin powder. I followed the simple directions that came with the pectin and ended up with an amazing product. The consistency was perfect, cloying without being too thick, and the flavor was intensely summer blackberry. Here's what I did:

Blackberry Jam
Yields just over 4, 1-pint jars of jam

Wash 5, 1-pint Mason jars and their lids and rings. Sterilize in boiling water and keep warm in the water. Wash well a half-flat of blackberries. Put berries into a large pan and add 1/4 cup lemon juice and 2 teaspoons calcium water. In a separate bowl, combine 1 cup sugar and 2 teaspoons pectin powder. Bring berries to a boil, then whisk in the sugar mixture, stirring constantly for about 1-2 minutes until the all sugar and powder is dissolved. Remove from heat.

Fill jars to 1/4 inch from the top. Carefully wipe the rims with a damp towel, then screw on the lids and put the jars in a large pan. Cover with water and bring to a boil; boil for 10 minutes. Remove the jars from water and allow to cool on a towel. Make sure the jars are sealed by checking the lids which should be sucked down and not give at all. The extra jam (my batch made about 4 and a half jars) we put in the fridge to eat now.

Goat Cheese

I have become addicted to this goat cheese. It is from Port Madison Farms on Bainbridge Island and their many varieties of fresh chevre seem to disappear within hours after arriving at home. We have tried their chevre coated in truffle-salt, crusted with peppercorns, and most recently, infused with herbes de Provence. All are delicious. At $6 a log, the Port Madison stand is one of the first I go to every week at the market now.

Most weeks, we enjoy this cheese in its simplest preparation, smeared on a piece of crusty bread. Every now and then I have enough left over to add to an omelette on Sunday morning which, I might add, is superb. But I decided to actually cook with it this week, to find some way to take advantage of its rich flavor and bright acidity. I immediately thought of a recipe for Goat Cheese Naan that I've had for years now. I can't remember where I first found it, but it is a baking powder dough that is quite simple to make. In addition to goat cheese, it also calls for plain yogurt. If I had really been thinking, I would also have bought the goat cheese yogurt from Port Madison, since I continually hear good things about that. So, I guess you'll have to learn from my mistakes and load up on both cheese and yogurt next time you go to the market. You won't regret it.

Goat Cheese Naan
Makes 4 naan

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbsp. plain yogurt
1/4 cup goat cheese

Sift first 3 ingredients into a bowl. Mix in yogurt and cheese. Knead until smooth and elastic, about 5-10 minutes. Form into a ball and return to the bowl; cover with a clean kitchen towel.
Let the dough rest for about 2 hours (the dough will not rise).

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and divide into four equal parts. Alow the dough to rest for a few minutes more, then roll or pat each ball into a 6-8 inch round.

Heat a skillet over medium-high heat. Add about 1 tablespoon of olive oil, then one round of bread. Cook about 3-5 minutes per side, or until browned. Remove to a packet of tin foil to keep warm and sprinkle with salt if desired. Repeat with remaining bread.