bfm summer farm tour

Whoa, I knew I've been a slacker on posting, but damn, apparently, I've taken all of June off. Well, now I can comfortably tell you a bit about our 2010 BFM Summer Farm Tour:

So there we were, in the rain shadow of Mt. Diablo with Farmer Al out in his cherry orchard, talking about pheromone confusion tactics as a means of battling pests. Pointing out the cards in the trees, he explained how they emit female pheromones for several months time. (Sound expensive? Try $100 bucks an acre!) This means, that when the bad-boy bugs (literally) come in to mate, they home in on the female scent and before they know it whammo! find themselves spooning up next to this pretty white card. Maybe not exactly like described, but it must work here at Frog Hollow, because as their saying goes, it is home to legendary fruit.

I found myself oddly attracted to these white cards. I wanted to climb up into the tree and spoon up next to one, where I could hang out with the guys and gorge myself sick on cherries. Then I snapped out of my daydream and we had shifted gears, now talking how dwarf root stock was used. Prone to blowing over when mature, they thrive and produce a more reachable bumper crop. We moved on again, touring two "newer" varieties of early apricot (Apache and Kettleman) on our way back to command central.

Becky greeted us outside her magic kitchen. The fruit coming straight off the farm may be legendary, but it still takes an enormous amount of work to properly preserve the yummiliciousness of it all. Well, not all, as they sell the same varieties to the public. Still, certain varieties of favorites are immediately turned to jam. However, there is far too much fruit to make into jam at once, so a lot gets dipped into citric acid and frozen for a later date with this jamtastic cauldron. Have you tried their preserves? Wow! And the pastries? Oh my lord! Brilliant.

Lucero knows strawberries. Out here in the middle of the Central Valley, looking out at a second-year field of berries and listening to Ben, his quiet charm reminded me of yoda. He described past-pest problems and laughed. He mentioned that his favorite tractor, as old as he is, fires up right away. Then he turned the key for us and grinned. He pointed out how his berries still have their umbilicus. His partner Karen and son Curtis exhibited similar takes on the same light-heartedness and down-home kindness. Genuine. Hearing about their hopes of expanding, they pointed out the dire need for more available organic farmland. I wanted to somehow go get some and give it to these guys.

Walking through the oasis next to their home, they told of how depending on the time of year, you can meander through the bamboo and pick various fruit. Just at the bench here, you could reach up to a loquat, behind you to a pomegranate, take a few steps across the path to a fig. Our group wandered on, hearing something I surely missed, while I lingered another moment here, letting the serene scene pull me in. Calming indeed. Bound to help balance the work involved in nurturing, harvesting, and bringing such great produce to market.

At the first toes of the foothills, on the edge of the Central Valley, Jon and Cleizene Smit, much like their land, continue to evolve. After decades of being dairy farmers, they are now on their third decade of fruit farming. At a point in their lives where most folks are being taken care of by their own kids, these two are clearly still in charge of the family business. Having recently cleared a large plot with a ridiculously large bulldozer (a D-10 with 6 foot teeth for breaking up some of the hard-pan), we saw this little rig out digging holes. They grow a huge amount of apples here, yet they still have a need for more. And with their love and hard study, within 2 or 3 years, you'll see apples at the market from the trees that will fill these empty holes.

We made it over to the old milking parlor, and discovered it's modern usage. Converted to cold storage, and juice production, it now turns out a different liquid than milk. No animals involved, yet something is still getting squeezed inside. What you see here is a belt juicer. It "presses" apples by running them between two oppositely traveling belts. I'd love to see this baby run. Ever tried their cider? Mmmm. Fine stuff there. Treated correctly, it makes for some fine hard cider too.

We heard of trials with tree spacing, branch configuration and shape, trellising, and more of the miraculous dwarf root stock. And that was only apples. With cherries and grapes, pluots and who knows else up their sleeves, the Smits are a fine example of a couple who have divided the burden of work and knowledge evenly, and thrive. Sharp. I hope I'm half as spry and with it as these two when I reach their age. Wait, I'd be better off than now.

Leaving the farm, they offered up some paper bags and told us to go pick some cherries if we wanted. We loitered in the orchard awhile, gorging and picking. When someone mentioned they were beginning to feel greedy, we piled in the cars. The ride home went smoothly, and without delay we arrived a short pound and a half of cherries later.


Hope you enjoyed. For previous Berkeley Farmers' Market field trips, check out:
2009
2008
2007

preserve-a-holic

Ever gone and picked your own fruit at the farm? It can be an immensely rewarding experience. You see where the food comes from, get a discount per pound, and pick fruit riper than you will find anywhere.

Our first u-pick of the year was cherries. For me, cherries are one of those fruits that I just can't help myself with. Heaven with a pit. I can easily eat a pound a day without too much intestinal distress. Luckily the season is short or someday I'd go bankrupt because of this behavior, that I am sure of. However, this shortness of availability got us thinking about doing some preservation this year. So we started by hitting a farm in Brentwood where you go pick-'em yourself. There were 5 pickers and we hit 13 pounds in no time.

Our allotment was gorged on during the ride home and what was left we washed, pitted and began drying. Beginning with at least 1/400th of a ton, the resulting bag was puny and a bit depressing to behold. Hmmm, maybe next time we'll buy the dried cherries. Don't get me wrong, these are the tastiest dried cherries I think I've ever had, but the time involved in producing them is maddening. How much you ask? Go ahead and give it a try!

But there is a bright side. One of those hair-brained ideas hit me and it worked out for the better. You see, last year I ran a few brewing experiments with fruit in a porter. Blackberry and peach it was. Both turned out nice, but the blackberry was the winner. This year I thought hey, I can do a porter with cherries! Only, because I wasn't sure whether to do it with dried or wet cherries, I just had to get scientific about it, and do both. Mmmmm, beer and science. No wait, cherries, beer and science. Now we're talking! Man, I love experimenting with brewing alcohol! So when a batch of high gravity porter that was already under experimentation finished fermenting, I pulled some out of the big carboy and put a few gallons on fresh pitted cherries, and another gallon on dried pitted cherries. After a few weeks with the fruit re-fermenting, the whole lot was bottled and ready for conditioning.

When we finally sampled the porter it was a hit. Nice and roasty, malty indeed, belgian yeasty, and really dark. Then we tried the cherry versions........
Wow!
Kazam!
Why the hell aren't more people doing Belgian style cherry porters?
Beats me. I guess I'll be pondering that one as I empty each bottle.

The cherries added a nice red hue to an already almost black beer. It made me think trappist. The flavor is subtle, but there. It helps knowing what it is though. I think the dried version has a touch more fruit in the nose. This picture sucks, so please trust me, this was one pretty beer. And I tell you (h)what: this beer is good!

Oh, and did I ever mention I used to want to be a monk?

With all the cherry success, we moved onto blueberries. We didn't pick any though. Wanted to but didn't research a place. We didn't dry any, but many fresh handfuls and loads of jam came from the bounty. Then a friend, intuiting our need to pick berries told us about a place to pick your own olallieberries. Or as I like to spell them Ol'-la-la-berries.

We ventured down the San Mateo County coast to a farm on top of a bluff next to the beach. Acres and acres of berries awaited us. Like the cherries, if you picked ten pounds or more, the bulk rate was 2 bucks a pound. Good thing, because we brought willing fingers and hungry mouths. We even managed to not get eaten alive by all the spiders that were protecting the vines. Perhaps the froggy boots scared the helpful vine dwellers away. (I need to get me a pair of those.) The sun broke, we filled our box nearly half way and then made our way back to the scales. We hit near 12 pounds and called it a day.

Back at the monkey ranch we enlisted the help of the big momma jam queen. She busted out two batches, a pie, and had some left over to give a few away. In the name of science I had to try an olallieberry next to a blackberry. We have some blackberries out back so I went and collected a few from the rampant growth on our shed. Side by side, the raspberry component of the ol' la-la berry was very noticeable. I smiled thinking of how the jamming and baking occurred within twelve hours of the berries being picked, so to say we preserved our fruit at the peak of ripeness would be rather accurate. It was, however, bedtime when the pie was coming out of the oven. Since ol' la-la berry flavored napalm inside an all butter crust, right before hitting the sheets ain't our idea of a night cap, the pie sat out on the counter for a long cooling rest.

The next morning the pie stared up at me, looking all delicious. I got out a few bowls and started to savor the moment, thinking that this will be a highlight to remember, one representing a moment that will likely never be forgotten. One that you truly love being a parent for.
"Hey kids, guess what?"
"Are we going to the zoo daddy?"
"Well, no, uh......even better. I hope." (I murmur)
"We're going to Disneyland?"
"No, we're not going anywhere sweetie. I'm talking about breakfast. You see, this morning we are going to have pie for breakfast!"
"Pie?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Because Mommy made one last night, and it's not gonna get any better. That, and it's filled with fresh fruit that is good for you. In fact, it has berries that you picked in it!"
I look down at the monkeys and see dual looks of bewilderment. The older, her face a bit contorted with trying to think exactly what she is doing this very moment to deserve this occasion and therefore how she can possibly duplicate it in the future, while the younger is more primal, thinking with his belly and pointing to his chair, saying "ha-da, ha-da!" in anticipation of a bite of the pie on the counter that he can surely smell a thousand times better than I can.
I serve up and we scarf down.
This pie was killer.
Thank you honey. (Big momma jam queen.)
Did I say I wanted to be a monk once? Because, I have the best wife ever, so like, no way.

Preservation aside, this was at least inspired by it in a round about way. The day after the picked and purchased berry rush, I just had to make something with the remaining quark I had. Thinking of the blackberries in the yard I got down to work. The recipe was identical to a previous effort, except for the fruit. These were no farm berries, but with regard to ripe fruit and freshness preserved, I didn't have to drive anywhere, which is always good. At most, within 10 minutes these berries were mixed in the pan and being slid into an oven. Ol' la-la berries may be simply divine and preserved in jam to enjoy later, but blackberries are growing wild nearly everywhere and are free.

It's summer and the fruit is popping! Get out there and preserve something!

the monkey's mutinous minions

Time to be honest. I am a user of the local "day labor" scene. Today it came in the form of some strict herbivores, so when I proposed frying up the chorizo in the fridge, they gave me a bad time and reminded me that recently I have been using alot of animal products. I felt a little guilty, as it is a topic that I continue to struggle with and therefore attempt to keep it local and humanely raised. They acknowledged my efforts and pointed out that the crritters in question usually die as the end result of their labors. Hear, hear my homey quadrapeds.



Then they suggested that they all would feel alot better after they sampled one of the diminutive muffins from last night's labors. I thought hey, this gang of camelopardalis sure have some nerve....


I acquiesced and they sat down with their labor organizer. I know that the manipulation performed by toddlers is normal and all, part of learning, but this was a whole new level of sophistication. The monkey requested toast and "butter" while Momma Giraffe and Fae Fae's Cousin had theirs plain (plain my a__, they had 'em on the gold-rimmed china!) Fae Fae took another route and requested toast, "butter," a drizzle of my homemade ginger and cherry infused simple syrup, and a crank or two of fresh nutmeg. I was not aware that she had such a distinguished palatte, but being an herbivore and this being vegan, and after thinking about it a while I decided that she certainly had the upper hand in expertise.

While they were chowing down, I pulled out the chorizo, some mushrooms, and an onion for the upcoming mac-n-cheese-off. When the crew got wind of the aroma they rushed the kitchen and staged a sit-in, blocking access to the remaining burners. Even though their labor organizer is the one who suggested using chorizo in mac-n-cheese, she finds no difficulties in switching gears and showing some solidarity for her work crew. Ah the fickle minds of three year olds.




I know I live on the border of Berkeley, but isn't this a drastic measure to take when you are made of synthetic materials? I had to act fast, or I'd be reduced to doing work on the back left burner until they either starved or went up in flames. I couldn't handle the prospect of those grim outcomes so I did them up right. I'm such a softie.

So round two for them was served in the livingroom where the monkey requested. I guess they wanted to put their hoofs up on the coffee table, with the meal so graciously provided on the new serving platter from the MCC we received as a x-mas gift from Grandma G. (Thanks!)

I hope the next round of laborers aren't so testy..........

savory bread puddings and a cherry-fig tart

These looked good and tasted even better. The white dish (full-fat and cholesterol) was based on the previously mentioned Strata recipe. It had sourdough slices topped with purple pesto dollops, fresh mozzarella pieces, crumbled cotija and fresh garden tomato slices. Topped by another layer of the same minus the cotija. The custard was 4 large eggs and 1 & 1/2 cups half-n-half, plus a pinch of salt, and was allowed to rest in the fridge for about an hour and a half after pouring over the rest.

The terra cotta piece (more heart-conscious, much lower cholesterol) contained half-whole-wheat sourdough slices that were laced with various seeds (caraway, anise, sesame, poppy, sunflower, and oatmeal) topped with carmelized yellow onion and grated parm, and then another layer of the same but incorporating fresh chives and a single sage leaf on the top. Oh yeah, and the custard was 4 egg whites (3/4 cup) and 1 & 1/4 cups non-fat milk and rested in the fridge for the same amount of time. Both were cooked at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, checked out clean with a knife put in them, and were put back in the oven for five more minutes because they could stand to get a touch darker.

The white was something like Italian bread-quiche (go figure) while the terra cotta was akin to a...well, uh........a savory bread pudding! (except that it was distinctly layered, something that I do not believe I have had yet.) The family liked them, and it even prompted the monkey to have us join hands and be thankfull with a little blessing/song.


Ah, dessert. I love dessert. And I love figs. And cherries. When it dawned on me that we now had both sitting side by side on our counter after the morning grocery run, I was called to take action. Last week I made a Reedley fig tart that was well received by the local stomachs; thinking this, I was struck with the notion that another fig tart, vegan perhaps, with cherries and a touch of balsamic doesn't sound too bad, like, tonight. I worked up a crust with 1/4 cup powdered sugar, 1 cup flour, and 1/2 cup soy garden spread, put it in that-there oblong dish, and baked it for 25 minutes at 350. I took it out and let cool some while I washed the fruit. Black mission figs and rainier cherries. Yum -mee. Arranged on the crust and splashed with some (mildly) ginger-infused simple syrup and a few drops of balsamic, it looked pretty good. I put it in the oven and while closing the door thought "oh Peggy Hill, just add nutmeg!" It came right back out, got some freshly grated on top of it, a coating of granulated sugar (out of powdered at this point) and back into the oven at 350 for 20 more minutes. It looked good. It, too, was well received by the local stomachs.

Man, I love figs. And cherries. And my brain, when it comes up with these types of things....