Uncle

There. I said it. I don't mean to jump on the weather whiner's bandwagon and to be perfectly honest, I love me some snow. But this has been a long, hard winter in so many ways and I'm done. I need the rush that I get when I see my first tulip and the feeling of rejuvenation that comes with the sense that everything is coming to life. I'm tired of potatoes and greens at the farmers' market. I've started a new chapter and am trying to not look back, how come Mother Nature has to dwell?

When I was playing ostrich and ignoring the forecast, I had visions of yard clean up, compost turning and finally planting some seeds. Of course, I can still plant seeds even while it's snowing, but something just feels WRONG about it. Ah well, maybe it's one last hearty batch of chili instead.

So long, CSA

This week I got the "last call" notice for the CSA we'd participated in for the last three years. It made me so sad that I'm not signed up this year. But, it's just not practical. It was hard enough keeping up with the share with two people, cooking for one with a box of veggies that big is just asking for major waste. This is especially true because I still haven't overcome my fear that I will kill myself if I try canning. I know it's possible to do half shares, but while a big part of me will miss it, I'm actually a little bit excited to be share-free for a season. Having the share got me to explore different veggies and be creative about cooking, but now that I've expanded my range and sense of adventure, I can explore all on my own. I rarely hit up farmers' markets because I was already swimming in veggies and I was often away on weekends. Now I'll have to get a bit more savvy about mid-week markets and will have the freedom to pick up what inspires me at the moment. And, with any luck, I'll have some of my own bounty to work with...that is if I ever get my butt in gear and focus on getting seedlings started.

A New Start

When I started writing Green Peccadilloes nearly a year ago, my image of the project was that it was a way to chronicle the stops and starts of a regular person – busy, distracted, overwhelmed – trying to make better choices about food, and by extension, better choices generally. I wanted to be more committed to understanding food sources and the broader implications of choosing to direct my buying power in a way that made me feel better. Knowing myself, the title reflected what were sure to be little slip ups along the way. I liked that “green peccadilloes” sounded vaguely culinary but really referenced minor indiscretions. Am I a bad person because I don’t eat exclusively grass-fed beef? Depends on who you ask, I suppose, but I’d argue no. Would I like to change my habits so that I am not, even occasionally, supporting commercial enterprises that do not reflect my beliefs? You betcha.

But I lost my way a bit. I’m so appreciative of those of you out there that enjoyed reading about my adventures, but I started to feel that I was telling the world what I had for dinner instead of telling a story. And, lo and behold, life has a way of changing the story on you. As I move forward and reconnect with what is really important to me, I look forward to revisiting my earlier goals, albeit through a slightly different lens. I starting writing from a place where I wasn’t sure I was happy with some of the choices I’d made and I was determined to explore the what ifs from the safety of my good job. Now I’m writing from a place where I’m not sure I’m happy about things that were not my choice, but are in fact my reality. Instead of exploring the what ifs, I now think it’s best to look forward and accept new challenges. Maybe there’ll be a better story to tell than just what’s for dinner.

Winter's quiet

Gosh it's been a long time since I've written. I think my inspiration was buried under the piles of snow that have graced our fair city, then work and life get in the way and before you know it, weeks or months have passed. I'm trying to get back into a routine, to find comfort in ritual, and cooking has always provided that. And - it's almost time to start thinking about the garden again! I'm so looking forward to planning and nurturing my little space of land. While I can't say I was off-the-charts successful last year, I took some good steps in the right direction and learned a lot. This past weekend I bought one of those timers you stick in the electric socket so I can have the grow light manage itself. I think my future seedlings will benefit from automation instead of relying on me to stay on top of them. After a fairly unsuccessful go at seedlings last year, I toyed with the idea of just skipping it altogether and hitting up the Menands Farmers' Market for plants this year. But there's something about the anticipation, seeing that first little sprout emerge, and the sense that with some time, effort and patience you can create something greater than what you started with. That's a sentiment that would do me some good right about now, so seedlings it is. Here's hoping...

Apparently it's time to go back to Columbus.... In my never-ending raving about Jeni's, I share with you the BombeBastic

Gruel

I had some odd eating habits at a kid. Who am I kidding? I have some odd eating habits now. I've kicked some of the stranger, unexplainable remnants of my childhood through my efforts to stop eating junk (hello bacon bits on cottage cheese ... don't ask, but it was a staple) but some remain or have experienced a limited evolution.

I never really liked oatmeal, except in one very specific preparation. I would eat Quaker Instant apple and cinnamon from the little packets. Only apple and cinnamon, nothing else was acceptable. Still, the texture and consistency of properly prepared instant oatmeal completely grossed me out, so I would make what I called oatmeal balls. I would use the tiniest amount of water possible to create minimal binding (I'm talking teaspoons) and stir the oatmeal so the little bit of mositure created a solid lump of oatmeal that really ended up rolled in dried oats. Any excess water so that the concotion was even remotely stirrable and the whole thing went right into the garbage.

I still don't like stirrable oatmeal and it's a dish I could never order at a breakfast joint for that reason. I do, however, recognize that a nice cup of oatmeal is a good, hearty breakfast and, even better, it's something I can prepare at the office. I'm not the type to be hungry when I first wake up, and I don't spend too much time in the house in the morning before jetting off to work, so breakfast has always been a challenge for me.

After lots of experiementing, I ended up with this basic solution: In one of the little disposable cups by the office coffee machine, I sprinkle in a bit of instant oatmeal. The 5 grain cereal I keep in my filing cabinet was an accidental purchase and it is not instant. The microwave instructions are bullshit too - it explodes on me every time. So now, lest I waste it, I add just a little bit of the 5 greain to the instant oatmeal - maybe a 1:5 or 6 ratio. That way I'm getting some of the whole grains, flax seeds, etc along with the lower quality instant oatmeal. Then a scant handful of trail mix, nuts, raisins or whatever of that ilk I happen to have is tossed in. Sometimes I add a touch of salt if the nuts/fruit won't supply it.

I very carefully stir the mixture (yup, there are dried oats on my office floor as we speak....) and walk back to the coffee maker for just a shot of hot water. I suppose you could actually add the appropriate amount of water, but then it's just really oatmeal with toppings stirred in, right? I much prefer my dense, grown-up oatmeal balls. Hey, it's keeping me away from pastry and bagels.

Potlucks and Mexican - California-style

Happy New Year everyone! We jetted off to Northern California to ring in 2011 with friends who were getting married on New Year's eve. As most people were traveling long distances, the couple arranged for a block of beach homes on Bodgea Bay where we could all stay and spend time together pre-nuptials. Meals consisted of great pot lucks where strangers cooked and ate together, leaving as friends. Instead of a rehersal dinner, the night before the wedding saw the most robust of these meals, highlighted by plates and plates of fresh oysters and Dungeness crab. I wish I'd taken photos, but just close your eyes and imagine scores of oysters shimmering on a loaded dining room table, simply begging youto eat more than your share and you can come close to my joy. I may have missed the oyster pic, but here's a shot of the coast that made me smile as much as the slimy little buggers did.

One of the contributions our house made was a cheese place comprised of delicacies from Cowgirl Creamery, just down the road from where we were staying. While out and about earlier that day, I'd also picked up some of their wares - a hunk of Mt. Tam triple cream that is (almost literally) worth its weight in gold, but worth every penny. Facing duplicates, we left one package of Mt. Tam at the house. Then, come breakfast, we realized there was no butter for our locally-made sourdough toast and the cheese served as a spectacular substitute. My heart may disagree, but can you really do better than fresh homemade toast piled high with rich, creamy artisan cheese? I haven't had a chance to check out our local cheese sources yet but you can bet my eye will be out for this stuff here at home.

The wedding itself was at a winery in Santa Rosa. We had some time to bum around during the day and Western One was set on finding "real Mexican food." Thank you Yelp - we tracked down a fantastic little strip mall taqueria away from the touristy part of town. I think this might have been my first authentic taqueria experience.

I'm slowly learning why Western One is so discriminating - the food was outstanding. I had one carne asada and one chile verde taco, Western One went for carnitas, which he said was great. One taco was really two, so we were both stuffed and happy for less than $20.

I did, however, commit a cardinal sin. Sonoma county and no wine tour. I suppose my penance will need to be a return visit.