first day on the job

Tomorrow is my first day on the job. My first real day you see. It should be quite the first day, H will be back at work, and I will be all alone in double-monkey-ville.

I'm a bit scared.

Last time the venture into the unknown involved one crying mouth. We managed. The elder monkey is healthy and seemingly well adjusted and I'm working on three and a half years experience on the resumé. But now the job description involves two mouths. Screeching and squeeling in stereo is the norm from here on out (it is uncanny how much the elder can imitate the new guy.) My workplace now contains a few more decibels as well as more demands. I have visions of young monkey taking a bottle easily, napping three times, and only having one nice clean load a day. Yeah, visions. Based in a reality, some reality, that contains what we are aiming for. Speaking of aim, hopefully I'll only be peed on every other week.

Luckily, (and due to some careful planning and negotiating) two weeks ago I ventured into the Sierras to fill my brain with visions from two miles up. Visions and memories to fill my mind as I wonder where my sanity went during my "training" period at the new job.

My mind will certainly drift toward this scene. Standing on a granite slope near the shore of Hungry Packer lake, staring at all the fish that wouldn't come anywhere near my lures. Well, they came near and even took a wee nibble, but nothing was landed. Oh well, it was the middle of the day, breezy, and I really wasn't that hungry anyway. We hiked on, traversing over to Moonlight lake to catch a few brookies near the outlet stream. They were all around eight or nine inches, but hit the lure with speed. Poor little brookies. They are tasty.

We caught a few rainbows and rainbow/golden hybrids. The latter tended to be a bit bigger and just a touch lighter in flesh. All them fishies fried up nice though. Tito liked their eyes, cheeks and brains. Skin too. He said the cheeks were incredibly sweet. When he eats fish, he eats pretty much the whole fish. In the mountains, Tito fuctions at a level of conservation and recycling that I like to think I am achieving while out backpacking, but really don't come near. Maybe next time, I'll try the cheeks, and I think I can handle some skin. But damn, I am no where near eyes or brains.

Visions.

The next day we wandered up to Babboon lakes. They looked a tad milky. With a slight amount of glacially derived "flour" in them, they appear more turquoise than other lakes in the vicinity. They contained tons of teeny little fish. Easy to catch, oh boy. You would find it hard to go hungry here. We roamed the four main lakes and fished the streams and ponds between. Tito bagged the two best rainbows of the day for dinner later. After a few hours and well near a dozen fish landed (at least 30 between three rods) we made our way back downhill to camp. It would be another fish fry night.

Lemons may be heavy to pack in, but the reward is devine. A pinch of salt and some butter (also heavy, but come on you NEED butter) plus some heat under the pan and trout bliss was ours. A taste of Maker's Mark or two afterward and we were set to lay back on the granite and enjoy a few shooting stars. We were treated to some spectacular ones, including one extra wide and seemingly near, streaking at least halfway across the sky. Nearing the end of its burn, it broke apart resulting in two separate pieces tumbling together for the briefest bit. Cool. The sky was filled with stars. Just filled. Satellites were easily picked out and the Milky Way was a big milky mess. The granite profiles stood out as angular voids against the speckled universe. The mountains are indeed as beautiful in full sun as they are in absolute dark. Visions.

So, I'll be trying to think of these things. My granite and fish mantras of the Sierras. They will come in handy as things to focus on and visualize. Something to remind me that while I'm mired in pee and the screeming and the general chaos of a three month old and nearing four year old while not being the parent with breasts, that I............wait, what was that? where was I?......Uh, oh crap did the day start already? Am I out of time?

Wait.......ok there's that train. Visions. I'll have Sierra filled visions in my mind to sustain me through the tough parts of the day. Visions of mountains. Big, bold, starry, teeny little fish filled mountains. I'll need all the help I can get, because the younger monkey is looking like trouble so far.......

I mean, check out who he hangs with: cool dog and g-raffe. And what about that seahorse on the knit cap. Talk about intimidating. If ever there is a creature that just exudes power and attitude it's a seahorse. Guess I'll have to take it easy with this fella till I'm through the first few weeks on the job and the house has an established routine. Or else I'll be gettin' NOSHT. Or in the local hood speak, fall prey to a North Oakland Sea Horse Thug.

Thank goodness our local union provides for a three day weekend after the first day on the job.......I'll need it to recover and gain strength for the rest of week one.

It's gonna be a long September.

Visions.

garden pests

Is is just me, or are the aphids going bonkers this year? Not only in sheer numbers but in individual size too. And what about other mites and worms and stuff like that? I say this because it seems to me like everything is getting good and munched this year. In fact, talking to one of my neighbors this morning, I heard of the biggest pest of the year. The kind responsible for eating the corn that is just becoming ripe. Get this, it was a gigantic corn worm that topped out about 5 foot 7 inches and came complete with opposable thumbs. In my yard!

Back in April, I built a large cold frame in our front yard and sowed some seeds. After the seedlings were well established I started to remove the cover of the frame for incrementally longer times until I felt they were ready for our foggy nights in the low fifties near the bay. At this point some of the corn and a few 'maters were pressing against the top so it was definately time. The tomatoes were looking promising but only about half of the corn came up. The cucumbers, cantaloupe and zucchini were still wispy and in doubt. Anchoring the front I needed something that could withstand the occasional shot of dog urine, so I transplanted some rhubarb from the backyard for experiments sake. I felt that in celebration of the cover being off, I should take my first picture. It was the summer solstice.

Just two short weeks later everything seemed like it was enjoying the full sun. The rhubarb filled nearly the entire front spot (and wasn't being watered by canines) and the corn was no longer looking like upright crab grass. The zuke were beginning to fill in and I was worried for a while that the majority of the corn would start being shaded out. Still. I started drooling at the prospect of fresh corn. Last years experiment resulted in stalks about a foot high with ears looking something like the earliest corn, only having some 8 to 12 kernals, so this year came loaded with hope.

Two more weeks later and I had confidence the corn would be just fine. The cold frame was almost completely obscured by greenery, except for a glimpse of the front panel afforded by me hacking out two large rhubarb leaves that were infested with enormous patches of aphids. After seeing the front panel in the picture, I started looking up how I could try managing the pests with a home remedy because I was sure cutting off leaves is only a temporary solution. In our back yard, we had begun harvesting some sungold cherry tomatoes and the early girls were looking a bit orange. Out front the tomato blooms were going mad and I started dreaming of tomato sauce.

{static} Uh, roger that Houston, we have tassels. Over.

The rhubarb is straight up nuts. The squash is blossoming rather profusely and the cucumber and cantaloupe (that I had nearly forgotten about by now) is working its way out into my neighbors yard to get out from under the corn and squash. The first zukes are being harvested and the corn is showing promise of having ears longer than the lilliputian kind, maybe even approximately the right size. We'd begun picking a few romas and loads of cherry tomatoes were being set. The first brandywine are looking good and few have been sampled.


Although some of the veggies are being used on nearly a daily basis, we are still eagerly awaiting an ear of corn. Well, truthfully, what I mean is an ear for boiling, as last week the older monkey and I ate one raw. And dare I say, holy crap it was good. Sweet, white, but a tad under ripe. After another week the first few should be just right.
But.
This morning while going out on an early morning walk, I noticed that the couple ears I have been eyeing as just about ready have been being eyed by another and are now gone. Some rat bastard, two legged, opposabled thumbed, mammalian corn worm, with a bag and child in tow came and swiped them. My neighbor, bless her heart, witnessed the event and assumed that I had given permission to the lady due to her level of preparedness, casualness and sense of family. Hell no. I mean, the folks who do have permission do so when I'm around. I'm trying to give this person the benefit of the doubt, and assume that they are horribly misled and think that this is a community garden of sorts. It is. But it's for my family. We live on one income, things are always tight and I really don't appreciate folks taking the harvest of my hard work. It's a small garden, unfenced and out in the open. My sister warned me. She said folks would steal whatever I planted out front. Especially corn.

Why can't they steal the zucchini? Or a few cherry tomatoes? I mean, these are prolific enough that with careful attention to time of day, I'd hardly notice they were gone. But the corn? Damn! And teaching your children that this act of theivery is ok. Shame on you. Shame, shame, shame. With any hope they got the ears home, boiled some water, shucked the corn and discovered that the choicest parts were infested with aphids and ants.

All of which makes me ponder the meaning of cornholio. I've wondered where the term came from but now I have a clear idea. It's the spot on a person you aim for with your slingshot or bb gun when yer home and witness them yankin' produce from your yard.

Not to brag, more like a warning: I'm a good shot with just about any high velocity pest deterrent. Stay out of my garden or your ass is mine.......

two great tastes (?)

The door opens without knock or notice of any kind and in pops my cousin "greetings D!"

"Oh, hello Rohan. How are you?"

"You mean, are you well? You americans say it all wrong."

"Right Ro. Sorry. Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you for asking. Dearest of cousins, please forgive my intrusion but what on god's green earth is this next to your fruit. A tastie of sorts?"

"Wha?.......uh, oh that? A few gifts from my SIL. Want some coffee and a nibble of chocolate?"

"Indeed!"

"Well, take a closer look."

"Bloody hell, what the %#&! is this?"

"A few gifts."

"GIFTS? Like from a, what do you call it, a white elephant party?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No white elephant component, but yes, gifts like the thank you very much, I will enjoy these items immensely KIND. Ones that I will enjoy without fail. Ones that on some strange level, I have been searching for going on 5 plus years!"

"Are we really going to have coffee that has passed through an animal while enjoying a square of bacon flavored chocolate?"

"Yeah, check it out. It says mit speck on the bar and weasel on the bag. Everyone knows what that means."



I really have been trying to find a chocolate dessert item that contains bacon. More specifically a bacon chocolate chip cookie. I've never been brave enough, no, make that drunk enough to have attempted a batch at home though, and then into my lap drops a candy bar containing bacon, that puts off the experiment for at least another year. Wheew!

And the passed through an animal coffee? Haven't you ever heard of the stuff? Well, this gifted version doesn't actually pass through the weasel, or any weasel for that matter. It has just been processed with enzymes to simulate the passing through a civet's intestinal tract and out it's butt, only then to be dried in the sun, then ground up and brewed. Ah, technology.

Mmmm, that's some tasty weasel.
And Zotter is my new culinary hero.
Just thought I'd share.

last post of the year

I can't believe it's been one complete trip around the sun for this blog. I mean, I've actually done it and managed to write something for an entire year. I know this is nothing compared to some of y'all out there who've been plugging away for the better part of this millenium. I applaud you. But, I'd like to take a moment to say "self, I'm proud of you" and "kid, keep it up and maybe someday more than 8 people will read your blog."

So where to now? Do I continue the exploration of sight and sound and continue crankin' out posts, documenting things like how I nearly asphyxiated myself with peach smoke whilst creating my first jerkey? I think so. It should be written down. Only now with two monkeys, the task is going to be a much taller order. Wish me luck.
Please?

So back to that jerkey. I went and begged my local butcher to slice me up some Marin Sun rump. I took this and marinated it overnight in my own special concoction. The following afternoon I fired up the smoker with some peach wood, creating an enormous amount of smoke, causing anyone downwind for a few blocks to wonder why they don't hear sirens blaring. Anyway, after the grill was filled and the fire turned down low (which is really difficult) I let the pieces get about two hours of smoke. At this point the flavor was developed plenty, so I got out the dehydrator racks and began tranferring some to be finished off inside.

It only took seventy three more hours to dry, or so it seemed. I did three batches on the grill, finishing all of them on the dehydrator. With two pounds of finished product from a six-plus pound roast, the half-day smoke fest came to rest. With veggies and fruit dried already, the grub for my upcoming backpacking trip is complete.

I'll be back in a week. Much stronger, well rested and with a belly full of fish and sourdough. I'll give you a full report when I return.

Well, within a few weeks of returning that is. Written between changing a diaper, reading a story, stirring some sauce, kneading some dough.......trying to get some sleep......



PEACH SMOKED BUTT JERKEY (a recipe of sorts)

6 pounds of beef rump roast
2 cups soy sauce
1/2 of a large torpedo onion
6 cloves garlic
2 inches fresh ginger
6 blistering hot tiny peppers
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup water
1/4 cup salt
4 extra ripe peaches

Talk someone into slicing the beef into very thin sheets across the grain. Dice the onions, mince the ginger and garlic and chop the chilis. Combine with the soy sauce, sugar and salt. Skin the peaches, remove pits, and thoroughly mash, then add to the sauce. Place the sliced beef into a large bowl and pour the marinade over, using some water and another splash of soy sauce to insure that the beef is all submerged. Cover and place in the fridge overnight. The next day fire up the smoker with some peach wood. After a nice coal bed is established and the smoke chamber is running at or below 200 degrees (F) place the marinated beef sheets on the grill and commence smoking. Try not to inhale too much yourself. Especially since you'll be doing this for nearly eight hours if you are doing such a large recipe. After the beef is somewhat dry (on the surface for sure) place the beef on a dehydrator rack and dry until done. (Another 2-4 hours depending on thickness.) Eat some immediately, give a taste to the butcher, and bring the rest up to the high mountian lakes to snarf on while tossing small metal objects out into bodies of water in hopes of pissing some fish off enough to bite. Store in a bear-proof canister. Which by the way, is not monkey proof.

zucchini: fried and baked, hold the steam

We've entered that time of year when the garden is a jungle. Even here in foggy ol' oakland, in a yard with southern exposure and nicely amended soil, you too can enjoy the sensation of summer squash coming out your ears. And if you have corn currently doing the tassel and silk dance, it can be coming out both of your ears. This is great and all, but about now is the time when you've had it steamed so many times that you need a new preparation or you just might hurl. Childhood memories, formed by a full stomach at my italian grandma's house are recalled and I find myself reaching for the fry and bake method. One that is very near my heart in the kitchen.

We browsed in the yard, wondering what the take would be today. A bowl full of squash and tomato. Hmmmm. What to do now? I brought the loot in the house, then decided we needed some fresh mozzarella. This meal would become a one-two garden variety punch. One I was craving. One simple, with bright flavors.

With my ingredients assembled, I gave the squash a cursory wash and began cutting it into 1/4 inch slices. I halved our cherry tomatoes. With a dip in a simple egg and milk wash, then finished with a lightly seasoned whole wheat and corn meal dusting, the disks were placed into a large pan with a nice layer of hot olive oil. A quick fry, turning once, followed by a quick rest on a rack to drip, and our bases were nearing completion.

Arranged on a cookie sheet, with the oven warming, I placed a cherry tomato atop each disk and then sprinkled it with a healthy pile of finely grated dry jack cheese. It was a little hard to not eat them at this point. (Well, a few disappeared, but really, they wouldn't fit on the pan without ruining the symmetry so I had to do something.) With our assembly complete, I put it in the oven and turned my attention to part two.

This next one was really easy. You probabaly all know the drill: Drain the mozzarella ball and slice. Slice the rest of the tomatoes, Go pick some basil, maybe give it a chop or tear and get out a bit of olive oil, and you're done.

Plated, I was in heaven. We we're having squash. Again. But this time the steaming basket was nowhere near. It was a celebration of summer, with all ingredients from the yard or the farmers' market. Well, wait, I used black pepper, and that came from a distant land. Whatever. I've been over that one before. Besides, grandma would probably not approve of me flouring squash without it. With a picture of her on my kitchen wall, it's a nice reminder of where dishes like this that fall out of my head really come from. They emanate in my heart, travel up through the memory bank up top, where through my hands it gets expressed as dinner. Which with some thoughtful chewing resides again in my stomach, next to my heart.

I wish you were still here to share this with me grandma. You'd be proud.

sometimes, a baguette is just a baguette

I was in need of feeding the beast. It had been well over a week. I pulled it out of the fridge, mixed up some bread flour and water, and combined it all in a new bowl. I covered this for the night and left it out on the counter. I was jonesin' to make a loaf. All the summer fruit and veggies we've been consuming has me craving fluffy bread products. In the morning I asked the family if they had any special requests, because the beast was ready to do some work. "How about a nice plain baguette. Maybe even seeded?" was the response.
"Sounds good!" I pulled out the ingredients and got to work.

With everything in order on the kneading board, a strange calm came over me. It was somewhat like slipping into a dream, or maybe that moment in the dream where you realize that you are dreaming. Then it hit me. It has been far too long (like what, 2 months?) since I have made a baguette. As the dough came together and I turned it out onto the board, I found myself looking forward to being with nothing but the dough for the next five minutes. A return to nothing but kneading was what I needed. It turns out. Weird how life is really like dough.

After the dough rested for a bit, I added the salt and finished the kneading. A smooth satiny ball was awaiting fermentation. I oiled the big green casserole, plopped the dough in, and put it in the oven to rise. After punching it down about four times over the course of the day, it was ready for some shaping.

I wanted to make two baguettes so I left the baking stone in the cupboard and cut my dough in half. I took one piece and gently tugged it into a rectangle, then placed this on the floured board and rolled them lengthwise. After repeating this with the other piece I put them on my nifty little non-stick perforated pan dealie. Three slashes with a razor before putting in a 450 oven and my mouth started salivating. I was a mere 25 minutes from hot steamy bread. (By the way, that's approximately 16-17 minutes to bake, 1-2 to remove from oven and set on the rack, and 6 more to wait to cool under the "loss of skin when handled" threshold.)

Mmmmm, homemade sourdough. This and a stick of butter, and my life is complete.
Okay, my family, homemade sourdough and a stick of butter.
And water.
And.......oh crap! I was so excited about putting the bread in the oven, I forgot the seeds.

So they really ended up being just plain 'ol baguettes. I reached for the butter and then figured wheat bread, so why not wheat beer. Luckily, the latest batch was a hefeweizen, so I cracked one open.

Yeah......summertime and the livin' is. Well, here in the northern latitudes it's summer. For y'all up in this hemisphere I say stick to the simple things and enjoy some bread and beer. With veggies all around it's a nice change. Besides, you can make a toast to the first of August. That crazy month when the tomato plants are quietly taking over your garden. Now's the time to show them that you eat other things too, to keep them jealous and producing fruit like mad. Then in a few weeks, raid them and get to saucing. You're gonna need something to dip these baguettes in.

Or, if no tomatoes are running rampant in the yard, go get some salami, cheese, and mustard and go make yourself one of these. They're really yummy. Even when served on a plate contaminated with fruit.

draw the line

I've always considered myself a geographic bad ass.
I know, it's not much of a title. Oxymoronic to some, and just plain dumb to others.

Whatever.

I don't care. Those who say this can stay in their tiny little world with their spatially challenged minds, never really understanding the enormity of the mistake in native americans being called indians when first encountered by europeans. These are the type of folks who think that the north pole is terra firma, rather than an imagined bit of space contained within a lead in the ice, occasionally seen in the summer these days thanks to global warming. Or what about explaining why Greenland and Antarctica look so frickin' huge when projected onto a map to these people? Oh, wait. Am I talking about you?

My point is, that we americans in general, suck at geography. We have things fixed in our minds, that don't correspond to the reality of our planet. To me, this is the greatest challenge for people to overcome when trying to eat local. First, people have to know what local is. Then, they have to wake up and realize that local is a relative term. Defined by whatever it is you're talking about. The avocados pictured here are local. About three hundred miles away local (Ventura area) but that is waaaaay better than Chilean avocados.

Let's get tougher though and tackle chocolate for example. For all but one of the states of the union, this is not a commercial crop. Any guesses which one that might be? It's not Milwaukee! (Besides, remember, that's not a state.) It's Hawaii! Our Island state out in the middle of the biggest puddle on our planet. If you live in the islands, you can get local chocolate products in a very limited supply. But if you're here on the mainland, nope. Unless you want to call 2000+ miles local. Which I don't. The geographer in me........just can't go there.

I bring this up, because this morning I decided to make fun of my geekiness to help me solve a dilemna. I've been struggling internally with how to deal with non-local products in my diet. You know, the ones that just ain't from around here. Like chocolate, or coffee say. Or dry spices like cinnamon and pepper. Do I just ditch these things when I'm attempting to eat more local? Do I say: "I'm gonna try and eat things, whenever possible, from within 200 miles of my home" and just give up my garam masala, late night chocolate, and morning joe? Hell no.

I use my head, decide what's best to do on a case by case basis, starting with coffee. I draw an imaginary line from myself in space, extending some 2500 miles from here in the east bay. I imagine this as my "acceptable" radius of coffee. I figure this will cover Hawaii, all of Mexico, and maybe get me somewhere past Guatemala and into El Salvador. Then I bust out the technology and check my imaginings with the realities of satellite accurracy enabled mapping. Turns out Hawaii and Mexico are fine, but I'm only going to get into western Guatemala. Not too bad I tell myself. There are certainly some kick-ass coffees being produced in central america. But I really should spend more time with the map of the area. I mean, what the hell was I thinking, that maybe I'd be drinking some fine Costa Rican stuff too?


Then again, maybe I could stick to Hawaiian coffee for the month of September. My sis just got back from the islands and brought me back a taste of the volcano. Turns out this stuff is a special brand made for geographers like me.........jackasses!

Okay. So I'm sorry if I rubbed anyone the wrong way by poking fun at our collective geography skills or by mocking how ridiculous our definitions of local can be. Remember people, taken all in moderation and with a grain of local salt, the world can be a better place. Or at least a better place to make fun of it all. Can we at least agree on that?

fresh picked produce

This past weekend, we went on down to Reedley, to my wife's folk's house. Being that it is the month of July, and her father is a gardening fiend, a trip to their house is like a trip to the market. As usual, we picked stuff for a few hours before packing the car and heading back home, this time resulting in a whopping 111 pounds of produce. Which come to think of it, is about half of our all time biggest load.

While visiting, I was speaking with my father in-law about our recent jam adventures and intentions of preserving stuff from this trip. He mentioned some of the things his mom used to "put up," including elderberry and blueberry when the berries had a good year. His reference to putting up food struck a chord with me. It reminded me of being very small and wandering into my grandma's pantry to stare at the multi-colored glass jars filled with food. He meant preserving and putting on the shelf for storage too, and coming from a child of the depression, this was something nearly everyone did. It wasn't considered liberal, or hippy or new age. You weren't considered weird or even strange in the least bit. You had an excess of a particular kind of food, so you feasted on it and then preserved it for later. No contemplating whether you needed to, or should. No pledging to folks that you would. You just did it.

So are we. I guess that makes me a child of the depression. Only this one is defined as the time when we forgot for the most part, how to grow, prepare and preserve our own food. We rely on others for our processed food needs, keeping the source obscured, cheap and distant, resulting in a massive depression of another kind marked by excess filled with emptiness.

As I write this, we have golden ketchup, seasoned tomato sauce and dried figs. There are peaches to jam, dry, or cut up for freezing. Plums to eat. Not pictured was corn and carrots. There were a number of white onions. That paper bag was half filled with green bell peppers and these light yellow, medium-hot kindamagigs. After picking up a pork roast, tomatillos and jalapeños yesterday, I've been having fun with chile verde in grandma's test kitchen today, and the aroma is making me weep with happiness.

Keeping this one short today, so I gotta go. Gotta stir, peel, chop. Salt and boil. Try not to burn the hell out of myself in the process. A lot of work, that will be yummy later. September and beyond is going to be delicious.

Time to put up.

the tao of food

When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly
When people see some things are good,
other things become bad



Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. For me, that means doing what the monkey loves best and taking a ferry ride every few weeks to the aquarium. And doing this on a Tuesday morning means hitting the market, because you always need a snack. Or maybe two. One spicy dry chorizo, tub of mozzarella balls and loaf of bread later, plus a bag of produce, we were on our way.

With our friends and goodies all collected, we crossed the embarcadero to catch the streetcar. Over on the platform, sitting on the ground near the bench was some cowgirl's bag with a pretty little wedge of cheese in it. This sounded intriguing. I'd never had Tome au Dauphine, and a receipt showing its purchase some 45 minutes earlier made us think twice about leaving it by its lonesome self out in the cold. We picked it up, reasoning that some poor soul would be having a cheese-free lunch, and boarded the next car contemplating our next move. Hmmm. Street cheese. Might want to down-play this one, so as to not encourage the monkeys from harvesting food from the street. K and I discussed whether we would really consume it later.

The car slowly pulled up to the next intersection. While we were waiting, I realized I had left our bag of groceries and snacks behind, near the cheese finding location. We asked to get off and walked back the few hundred feet, reserved that the train would pull away any second. I saw my bag, grasping it with relief and looking down the tracks for the next car. Nothing. We looked back at the car we just departed a moment before and saw it reamining still despite a green light. We made a run for it. The driver opened the door, then stood in the doorway looking around the next turn in the track at a broken down car ahead of us. A bizarre sense of fate came to mind, but we were happy to have re-boarded, with our freebie cheese and groceries now safely tucked in our backpack.

With the broken car quickly removed, our ancient Italian thing with slick seats rambled on. The varnished wooden benches have nearly nothing to hold on to. Very easy to fly from if you're little and not used to these things. A parent can only warn of this happening so many times before it actually does. On one of the next green lights the car jerked forward and I felt the monkey's hand leave my knee suddenly. I looked to my left and found her four feet away and on the floor, facing backwards. She landed like a little cat, with back arched and upright. If she had a tail, it would have been quivering no doubt. I'm pretty sure I saw some back fur standing up though.

Blemish free and no worse for the wear, she had an expression of bewilderment when I picked her up and dusted her off. Back on the seat, with her back in big city observation mode, I tried to slip in a reminder.
"Honey, you gotta hold on when the car starts and stops."
"Yeah, or you might drop your bread!"
"Well, yes honey, but you could hurt yourself real bad."
"Yeah, you could fall down and go BOOM!"
"Luckily you're just fine. Please pay more attention to holding on sweetie, these seats are slick!"

Nice priorities on that little one. Definitely my kid.
Go with the flow, I told myself, and rejoice when these lessons occur. Without injury that is. What had appeared to be a near disaster was now a bright spot in life's lessons. You gotta hold on, or your bread will be swept away in the current. Well, that and you just might smack your noggin.

Arriving without any more momentum lessons we stashed a stroller in the parking area and got down to some exploration. We saw the baby penguins and admired the fish, making sure to play in the bubble windows that allow you to feel like you are in the tanks. After burning out on watching critters, we went and horked down on cheese and bread. Upon opening the chorizo however, I was greeted with what looked like a fuzzy blanket over part of the casing. Drag. When some things are beautiful, other things become ugly, came to mind. I could eat some, maybe, but I wanted confirmation that this was normal before going any further. With the freebie cheese nearly off-setting the price of the fuzzy meat, I tried to go with the flow of food, reasoning that in the end it was a fair trade.

After lunch, we stood for a while at the models showing how the new academy is being built. As wondrous as the enormous under-construction tanks will be, I couldn't keep the possibly bad chorizo off my mind. Tired, amazed, and stuffed, we waddled out to the street and made our way back to the ferry.

Back at the ferry plaza, I returned to the site of the purchase to show them the quantity of mold involved and to ask if this was normal as I suspected. I really wanted confirmation of such. The counter help took one look and said "Oh, that's a good one. I mean, that's nothing compared to some. Some are really hairy looking, even black sometimes." I looked down and felt better about my sausage. We went and boarded the ferry, riding the waves back to the East Bay. It would take a few days to get to do anything else with the chorizo besides sample it, but that's just part of the flow of food when you have kids. I went with it, eagerly awaiting my opportunity.


The soft overcomes the hard.
The slow overcomes the fast.
Let your working remain a mystery.
Just show people the results.


On the next baking day, I ran the experiment. I set aside some of the herbed dough that went into these focaccia and rolls with the intent of making pizza. (The english muffins were also good, but not herbed.) I took out the ingredients on hand and started to whack, chop and mince. Into a pan they went, to sauté. Then: wait a second, if I'm cooking this now, the hard will become the soft and it would make a better filling wouldn't it? The flow, the flow! Calzone it is!

I fired up the oven with a pizza stone to about 500 degrees. This would be the slow overcoming the fast, as this takes upwards of an hour. With the calzones ready to go, I popped them in, as we needed some munchies to get us through the vigorous task of brewing before dinner. Eating requires something flow through the lips to aid digestion, so we had to open a few beers. Which is a good thing, for in order to make more beer, you have to drink some too. It's part of the flow.

During the initial stages of brewing, when we got around to eating the calzone, I just had to laugh. The chorizo was fantastic, the mushroom, onion and pepper combo divine. With garlic jack and an herbed crust the flavor topped out somwhere near hugemongous. I forgot completely about the fuzzy meat. Then remembering that I had forgotten, I began to wonder why I ever questioned eating it in the first place. I mean, why is a guy who eats moldy cheese he finds on the ground so concerned about moldy meat he buys from a reputable source of salumi? Yeah.......go figure. It all comes down to being in accordance with the tao. (Or in this case, not.) When you're flowing with it, and "free" food is coming your way, you're thankful and less discerning, allowing yourself to enjoy the experience more fully. When you're paying for it, you expect the absolute best and are quick to judge. I jumped into the tao of food and had another.



So maybe I showed too much of the workings there. And not enough of the results. Oh well, that's part of the flow too.



*excerpts taken from the Tao te Ching

blenheim bliss (or, when child labor is a good thing)

Mmmmmmm. Apricots.
A lot of apricots.

More specifically, a lot of Blenheim apricots.

Like, 11 pounds worth.
Time to get to work.

H was just dying to use the borrowed canning supplies her mom brought to us on her last visit. She announced her desire for jam. I suggested that we start with some apricot, since I knew of a few sources of these heavenly jewels at the Berkeley Farmers' Market, and know that they won't be around much longer. And if it's gonna be apricot jam, then why not go with what some (like myself) consider the definition of apricot-dom: the Blenheim.

These rose tinged marvels can be overwhelmingly good.

So good, you just might have a dozen for lunch. Along with a corndog, and maybe half a peach if you're three, working on four. Luckily for us, our monkey has a gut made of steel and ingesting a huge quantity of fruit doesn't seem to be a problem. (Kinda makes you wish you could sit down and polish off a dozen of ANY of your favorite fruit huh?) They say "youth is wasted on the young," and being the proud father of two monkeys, I'm beginning to really see where this saying comes from. But in this case, the only waste is bound for the compost.

While I cruised around the house, with the little one on my arm, we directed the elder toward helping get the fruit jammed. You see, little hands are great at ripping open apricots and tossing the seeds. Now if only we can work on the focus and get that child labor to last for more than five minutes, we'd maybe go into business making the stuff. Then again, maybe not, as it would be illegal. Besides, those little hands tend to stuff the nearest mouth (their own) with the fruit of our labor, bringing the daily consumption count to somewhere near twenty apricots. That's right: two-zero. And still no intestinal distress.

Luckily, when the jam jars are fruit filled, there is always a smidge left that should be consumed, and right away. Especially if your partner has recently had a craving for poundcake. Put some on top of the buttery block of goodness and you are at least two steps closer to heaven. Eat it and you just might feel that if a bolt of lightening were to stike you dead in the next moment.......then life had certainly been worth living. Well, that and the kids I mean. You see, I really love apricots.

So, back to that child labor thing. A few weeks ago, when I first saw Blenheims at the market, I brought only 3 pounds home. When the monkey saw them on the counter she started snarfing them down. I did too. But I also managed a bit of restraint and got about a third of them safely tucked away for making ice cream. I expalined this to the monkey and she was enthusiatic, especially when I said that she could help. Tomorrow at grandma's we would follow through.



Luckily, when we arrived, papa was outside washing the car, and since water and sponges are so much fun, our vehicle got some tender rubbing from little hands and big, while I went in the kitchen and got things ready for the cold and creamy apricot bliss.



I put some cream in a pot and added a bit of sugar. I cooked the apricots (with more sugar) into a slightly chunky syrup. With the salt ready, a waiting ball (thanks Shuna!), and a freezer filled with ice, the time was now.


Now, where did the labor go? This ice cream needs some little ones to roll it around. Make them work for their treats I say.

Grandma was blessed with both of her grand-daughters for the day. I was blessed with two little people to work for their sweets, so I packed the ball with yummy ingredients in one end and salty ice in the other. Then I set it between the girls and encouraged a game of rolling the ball between them. It took some patience, and the ball was really a bit too heavy for them to roll back and forth quickly, but it got the ice cream started all the same. After the little ones burnt out on the fun (still working on delayed gratification I guess) I sat down on the couch and practised my ballhandling skills with my feet while taking in a good book.

With the ice cream done and us now back at home, we gave it a try. It was good. But it still needed a little something.



Like maybe a little more sliced something, as I just can't get enough of these things.
Can you?

Go.
Go now.
Treat yourself to some apricot bliss. But unless you have an iron gut or are under the age of five, keep it to under twenty per day......

pasta di yardo

........ssshhhh!!!!

e v e r y t h i n g i s n i c e a n d q u i e t a r o u n d h e r e .

Both of the monkeys are asleep. I should be too.

An hour ago my wife gave me the T symbol (like for time out) indicating she was heading to Tar-zhay. If I wanted to get in an extra hour or two of sleep, now would be the time. But I'm torn you see. Between a blog and a hard space if you will. The purpose of this blog is really for me to document the grub we eat and all that entails, so at times like this I should sit down and bust out something. Don't take forever editing and rechecking. Just write it and let it be.

Today was our first real tomato harvest of the season. I had been eyeing the big one for a few days, so this meal was not a big suprise. What was is the fresh pasta we cranked out to go with it. Monkey 1 helped me assemble the gadgetry. Then after seeing the process was ready to crank and dust with flour all by her big-girl self. We worked on some whole wheat dough this time, and for me, the combination of this and using the pasta roller was taking it into uncharted territory. We brought it back to the familiar by going out back and picking our pasta garnish, with the monkey throwing in a few "extras" for her amusement and sense of further contibution to the meal.
"Oh yeah, we should put some parsley in our salad daddy!"
"Parsley is great honey, but it's really for our pasta."
"And some tomatoes too!"
"That's right sweetie. Wait, what are you picking there hon?"
"Oh.....some cilantro. That goes really well with salad."
"Yes honey, but this is for our pasta remember?"
"Yeah! And some mint too!"

You learn to edit from the ingredients so lovingly harvested by enthusiatic little paws. We don't really need 2 tablespoons of rosemary in this one. But the others........I'll give it a try and add the itsy-bitsy bit of cilantro and the two mint leaves she included.

To really impress the monkey, and try and have her first real experience with the hand crank pasta machine be guaranteed fun, I got out our pasta drying rack. I had a hunch her hands would just love the tedium of repetetive pasta placement. It's times like this that I really begin to think, hey, maybe I've learned a little something at this parenting thing, because she just ate it up. Well, almost, she wanted too, but I told her we'd have it soon enough. With the pasta on the rack, I minced our herbs and gave it a toss with olive oil and a few pinches of salt. It smelled fantastic, and the tomato fumes were just killing me. I snuck a few bites in and the prognosis for the garden this year is good. So far, the bigun 'maters are sweet and heady with tang, and the littles are just plain sweet. Yep, shaping up just fine. Well, in the flavor category at least.

With the pasta cooked and drained, tossed and served, we were in for another night of tasting our backyard, and this made me very happy. It seems that even if the stuff you can grow at home isn't all that big of pretty for that matter, diced and minced, served within an hour of being picked and it's hard to go wrong. It's gonna taste good. Then again, I'm also beginning to think that even bad produce served super fresh is better than really fantastic stuff served weeks later. My brain thinks these things late at night. Like especially when we've just had nine different species of plants plucked and tossed with homemade pasta and I'm feeling proud of our little garden that could.

This went well with a dark porter from homebrew batch 2. Oh, and you just gotta have cheese, so some fresh grated dry jack was heaped on before eating. This meal is a knockout on a warm summer evening. The pasta is a bit of work, but it cooks in about a minute and there is plenty to put in the fridge for another day. And fresh pasta is always nice. But the star of this is the fresh herbs. Because none of them are cooked, they still have all their zing and volatile compounds that release directly into your mouth and not into the air for the hour before.

If you have little ones around, and a few herbs in the yard that they can pick, bring them out back and try something like this. Involving them in the preparation of a meal is a huge bonus. Monkey always seems more interested in eating something she helped make (don't you?). If you don't have time to make the pasta, go buy some. Toss it all together with some olive oil and the minced herbs with tomato and onion and it will taste like summer in your mouth.

It's really late......goodnight.

summer rice torte; grandma's test kitchen round 2

The monkey and I were on our way to Grandma's. I wanted to work on a summer version of rice torte. I wanted to make one sourcing nearly everything from the Berkeley Farmers' Market. I'd pull the store bought butter from the freezer for my one market exception, but the trick would be using brown rice instead of white and still getting that creamy rice pudding quality the dish is known for. A challenge was at hand, but I felt confident that a day in the test kitchen would yield some tasty results.

I used some familiar ingredients and proportions to hang my summer flavors on. For the rice component, I measured out 1 cup of medium grain brown rice, pouring 1/4 cup at a time into a spice grinder and giving it a pulse for a second or two. Mildly ground and cracked, I heated 2 cups of water with 1/2 stick of butter to a boil, adding the rice and simmering for about 30 minutes. The pot on the top right is this now, rice porridge. The cheese is tangy and hard, nice for grating. The squash is a sort of zucchini and some sunburst. That would be fistfulls of garden herbs. One large yellow onion and half dozen crimini later, generously splashed with olive oil and we're ready for a sauté. Put it all together with the eggs, bake it in a pan, and a bit of magic occurs. But more on that after the frying.


This dish makes the kitchen glow with aroma. Toss the onion, mushroom and squash together, cooking over a medium low heat. Add a few piches of salt early on. After ten to fifteen minutes, while the onions are translucent but not yet brown and the squash is getting tender, add the fresh herbs and some more salt. Cook it for another 5 or 10 and adjust the herbs to your liking. While seasoning, you will probably want to eat most of this before using it in the torte. Please refrain, as it will ruin the proportions later on. Trust me.

With the rice cooked, veggies soft, eggs mildly beat and cheese grated, combine everything in a large bowl, being careful to not scramble the eggs while mixing the hot ingredients together. Pour the entire thing into a 9x9 square plus some other fun round-thingy, or put the entire thing into a 9x13. Top it with even more cheese before putting into a very hot oven.




While the torte is in the oven, I like to treat myself to a little something. A little bresaola on sourdough, with a few green leaves and slices of cheese perhaps. It goes down real easy. Maybe even with a dry red wine. With a red beer, I'm sure.




I start the oven out hot, like 425 or even 450. Then after it starts getting poofy and a touch golden, I turn it down to about 375 and finish it. It usually takes about 45 to 55 minutes, with the amount of brown determined by personal preference. With this being a summer torte, I wanted to enhance the golden hues so I kept it on the lighter side. It tasted pretty golden too.



Did I mention this makes a great breakfast? With all the veggies and rice it's downright healthy too. Just don't eat it all in one sitting and have a little patience. It keeps and travels well (don't freeze it though) and will have your friends saying "what was that one dish you made that time, the tasty one with the.......what was that?"
To which you respond "Rice torte."
And they say: "Yeah! That one! MAN I love that torte stuff. Wait, did you say rice? I thought it had cheese or something?"
"Yes, and vegetables."
"Yeah, something green, I liked that, whatever it is."
"Squash. And it has eggs too."
"Yeah.....really?"

Start making this with any consistency, varying the ingredients as the seasons pass, and you will have a conversation along these lines. It's one of those dishes that certain ingredients do well to hide in. Perfect for getting in different foods you don't always like, but couldn't necessarily identify if pressed. So let me take a little inventory. Summer torte: it's yummy, local, ovo-lacto vegetarian, stores well, and allows parents to hide the greens.

I love summer.


SUMMER RICE TORTE
(I've included where I purchased the ingredients with a link if available, if not, then the BFM Vendor Directory link has been provided)

1 cup brown rice (Massa)
2 cups water (EBMUD)
1/2 stick butter (Straus)

2 pounds summer squash (Riverdog)
1 onion (Full Belly)
6-8 medium brown mushrooms (Solano Mushrooms)
1/4 cup olive oil (Stonehouse)
1 T salt (Aged Bay Salt - my own)
1 bunch parsley (from my backyard)
1 t rosemary (frontyard)
1 t thyme (backyard)
2 t oregano (sideyard)

6 eggs (Kaki)
1/3 pound hard cheese (Spring Hill)

Measure out 1/4 cup of brown rice into a spice grinder and give it a whirl. Do this with with the rest of the rice. Heat 2 cups of water and 1/2 a stick of butter to a boil. Add the rice and bring to a simmer. Simmer for 30 minutes or more, stirring every so often to check for consistency and lack of burning. While this is cooking, chop the vegetables and mince the herbs. Start sauteeing the onions, mushrooms and squash. When squash is softening and the onions are translucent but not brown (maybe a bit golden) add the fresh herbs and cook for another ten minutes. All of the vegetables should be soft. Crack the eggs and lightly beat with about 2/3rds of the cheese (finely grated). Combine the cooked veggie mix, cooked rice mix and raw eggs and cheese. Pour into a large caserole dish, cover liberally with more cheese and bake at 425 for 15-20 minutes, then 375 until finished. No more than an hour later and you have a golden summer torte!

Notes:
I have made something like this dish, and other versions of it several times. I have even had it using leftover brown rice and veggies from another dish, married them with cheese and eggs and voila! Yet another torte! There are endless combinations and you'd be surprised how forgiving all that eggs and cheese can be.