1. Baby carrots!

2. Baby beans!

3. Baby melons!

4. Baby heirloom tomatoes!

5. Baby butternut squash!

6. Baby broccoli!

7. Baby cucumber!

8. Ready-to-make-a-baby popcorn!

9. And finally, the height of my day, a sweet little frog chilling in a squash blossom.

Can we get a close-up?

Not that brown sugar is particularly ballsy. But it *is* particularly good. We had it with my caramel-topped birthday cake (from Fremont Diner!) last night and it was like they were meant to be.

Ingredients

• 1½ cup whole milk
• 1½ cup heavy cream
• ¾ cup brown sugar
• ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Combine all ingredients and stir until sugar is dissolved.
2. Pour into a 1½ quart ice cream maker and churn till it’s done.
3. Scoop into a container and freeze at least an hour before serving.

I had planned on (finally) making blackberry pie, but after I finished making the crust I realized that the berries had been sitting in the fridge far too long. After a fruitless search online for chocolate pie recipes that use cocoa powder, no evaporated milk, and no eggs, I remembered how much I used to love making quiche. Thank goodness.

We also had a couple fillets of rock cod that our friend Dave caught. (I’d include that recipe, but really you just dredge the fillets and then fry them.) And the daunting pile of sylvetta that I harvested earlier went into the food processor for a nice pesto.

Chard Quiche

(Adapted from Alton Brown’s Refrigerator Pie recipe.)

Ingredients

• 1 9-inch pie crust
• 1 smallish bunch chard (about ½ lb), tough stems removed and sliced horizontally into ½-inch strips
• ¼ cup onion, chopped
• 2 eggs
• ½ cup heavy cream
• ½ cup milk
• 2 pinches kosher salt
• just a wee bit of fresh grated nutmeg

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Toss together chard and onion, and spread out evenly in the pie crust.
3. In a bowl, combine the eggs, dairy, salt, and nutmeg. Beat well.
4. Pour the egg mixture evenly into the pie crust.
5. Bake for 45 minutes, or until set.
6. Cool at least 10 minutes before eating.

Arugula Pesto

Ingredients

• ¼ pound arugula (about one very big handful)
• 3 cloves garlic
• pinch kosher salt
• 2-4 T olive oil

1. Place arugula, garlic, and salt in food processor. Process until arugula and garlic are puréed.
2. Drizzle in olive oil until the consistency looks right. Taste and adjust seasoning.
3. Serve over fish, pasta, or use as a spread for bread or sandwiches.

When I got started with my big garden/small farm a few weeks ago, there were several anxious days in which I was sure that none of my seeds would grow. I was amazed when almost everything came up without problems.

It’s been 44 days since I put the first seeds in the ground, and I’m sure I’ve learned at least one new thing each of those days. I’m listing some of them here hoping that someone will find them useful, or at least that I’ll get a real kick out of reading this after I’ve got a season under my belt.

1. Double-digging clay soil that’s never been cultivated is probably not the most efficient use of one’s time and energy.
2. Learning to broadcast seeds evenly is an incredibly useful skill.
3. Shop around for irrigation equipment; prices vary widely.
4. Keep small greens under row cover, or the flea beetles will eat them alive.
5. Write down everything, especially what’s planted where.
6. Skip the meager bags at the nursery and buy compost by the truckload.
7. Set a schedule for irrigating, and stick to it.
8. Plant radishes in the beginning for an early reward. Just not too many.
9. Weed a little bit every day, and for a few hours a couple times a week. Like the guys that paint the Golden Gate Bridge, just keep working through the weeds constantly.
10. Read about growing and talk to other growers. Talk about your problems and ask for help when you’re stumped.
11. Only interplant crops that have roughly the same water requirements. Astonishing that this one isn’t self-evident, huh?
12. If wind’s a problem, plant corn along the side of the garden where the wind comes from.
13. Direct seed instead of sowing in flats unless you’re really set up to take care of the babies.
14. Start planning how you’ll sell produce long before it’s ready.

Speaking of that last one, I’m collaborating with a few friends to open up a produce stand starting next month. Chris, Ernie, Julie, Megan, Ingrid, and I will have all our goodies up for sale outside of Ernie’s Tin Bar on Saturdays and Sundays. I’ll post more details here once we figure it all out.

The trick to making barley tasty and not mushy is rocking the pilaf. Instead of a sticky, health-foody mess o glop, you get lovely little individual grains that pop oh so slightly when you chew them. Delicious!

Ingredients

• 2 T butter (or 1 if you’re wimpy/dieting/short on butter)
• 5 cloves garlic, minced
• 12 crimini mushrooms, sliced nice and thin
• hefty pinch of salt
• about 12 fresh sage leaves, cut into ribbons
• 1 C pearl barley
• 2 C water

1. Melt butter in a medium saucepan. Add garlic and cook until soft, then add mushrooms, salt, and sage, and cook until mushrooms are all nice and cooked.
2. Add the barley and stir to get each grain coated with butter. Keep stirring and cooking until you smell toasty goodness.
3. Add water, cover, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and cook for 30 minutes.
4. Check the barley — it might still need a few more minutes. If there’s still liquid in the pan, give it a little more time. If it’s ready, fluff with a fork and serve. Sprinkle with nooch if you like.

Ingredients

• 1 C cornmeal (I use medium-ground, but anything finer that polenta/grits should be fine)
• 1 C all-purpose flour
• 1 T baking powder
• 1 t kosher salt
• about 20 fresh sage leaves, cut into fine ribbons
• 4 T butter
• ¾ C milk

1. Mix the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, and sage together in a bowl.
2. Cut the butter into the dry mixture. Rub together with your fingers until there aren’t any big chunks left.
3. Pour in the milk, and stir with a fork until the dough comes together.
4. Knead the dough for a minute or two.
5. Divide the dough into eight equal pieces. (Alternately, you can roll the dough out and use a biscuit cutter to cut out perfect little biscuits. I think this’ll make for a more biscuit-like texture — maybe? Of course, if you are like me and own neither a rolling pin nor a biscuit cutter, you’re best off just dividing the dough.)
6. Arrange dough pieces in a 9-9½ inch glass pie dish. No need to grease it beforehand.
7. Ultimate gluttony option: dab a wee sliver of butter onto the top of each biscuit.
8. Bake at 450°F for 15-20 minutes, or until they brown just a bit.

Today I:

• finished double-digging my first 5′ x 20′ bed. Heck yeah John Jeavons! (233 minutes)
• set up my garden hose for watering the raised beds, and rolled out the header for watering the rows (12 minutes)
• planted chioggia beets. So many beets. (62 minutes! Gotta get faster!)
• enjoyed a horchata milkshake and got to see Riley’s new farm spot (’bout an hour)
• showed Riley my little patch o dirt, did an irrigation store run, decided on general bed/row layout, and took a break to walk the goats with Ernie (173 minutes)

(Don't worry, we drove nice and slow.)

I also sunburned my lower back, forearms, and face. I have cuts and blisters on my hands, and my palms are so sore that it hurts to high-five. Of course, everything else is sore too. And I’m tired, so tired. Two days of farming has totally kicked my pansy, used-to-parking-itself-on-a-padded-chair-all-day ASS.

But today when I walked into my favorite diner, my favorite cashier said, “You look happy!” I am SO happy, I can’t even tell you. I’ve never had a job where I was so elated at the end of the second day. In my last job, I read dozens of intern applications that waxed poetic on the soulful joys of farming. Now I’m finally feeling it.

On tomorrow’s to-do list: another irrigation errand run (I fear that this is going to become a theme), rolling out drip lines, planting (popcorn, dry beans, green beans, zucchini, summer squash, cucumbers, muskmelons, lettuce, more beets, and spinach) double-digging half of the next bed. And most importantly, visiting Mark and Velma, who I’ve barely seen in the last year and a half — largely because I’d been working so hard for a pretty crappy company. Hooray for my new independence!

I hoped it would turn out well, but I had no idea it would be as great as it is! It’s mind-bogglingly easy too, so I imagine this will become regular freezer fodder around here.

• 2 C heavy cream (go for the good stuff — I use Straus. You can really tell the difference)
• 1 C whole milk
• ¾ C sugar
• 8 whole cardamom pods (buy small amounts in bulk and you won’t believe how cheap it is.)

1. Mix the cream, milk, and sugar until all sugar has dissolved.
2. Open up the cardamom and discard the pods. Grind up the seeds as best as you can with a mortar and pestle. It might take a while, but the smaller the pieces are, the more flavor you’ll get.
3. Mix that shit up! All together now.
4. Pour into a 1.5-quart ice cream maker and let it churn 20-30 minutes, or according to your manufacturer’s instructions.
5. Scoop into another container and freeze for at least an hour or two to harden.
6. Enjoy, and thank the gods that you were bright enough to buy an ice cream machine.

I’ll eat vegetables tomorrow. Tonight, I want to drown in creamy pesto sauce.

• 1 T butter
• 2 shoots green garlic, sliced
• 1 T pesto
• 1 T flour
• 1 C milk
• salt and pepper
• ½ C uncooked couscous

1. Melt butter. Add garlic, cook until soft.
2. Stir in pesto, then flour. Cook for a few minutes. Add milk, salt and pepper to taste, and cook until thickened and boiling.
3. Stir in couscous, cover, and remove from heat.
4. In 7 minutes, remove lid and “fluff” with fork. Rejoice in creamy goodness.

In the best case, the second dish is not only better than the first, it’s also unrecognizably different. Like making a soufflé out of last week’s soup.

I should mention that this soufflé is flatter and less airy than most. If you prefer a traditionally lofty dish, use an additional two egg whites (but not yolks!) and only one cup of soup.

Ho-hum leftover cuisine meets French fanciness. I love it.

Ingredients

• 2½ T butter
• 3 T flour
• 1½ C leftover cream of chard soup (anything nice and creamy will do)
• 4 eggs, seperated
• butter and a wee bit of grated hard cheese, for the dish

1. Preheat the oven to 400°F.
2. Melt the butter, stir in the flour, and cook for a couple minutes, stirring.
3. Stir in the soup, add salt if needed, and bring to a simmer.
4. Remove from heat. Add the egg yolks one by one, stirring each in completely before adding the next.
5. In a large bowl, beat the egg whites to stiff peaks. Do it by hand to Check out how buff you are!
6. Using a rubber spatula, fold about a quarter of the whites into the sauce. Then add the rest of the whites and fold only as much as you have to; leaving it a little streaky now, instead of mixing it into utter submission, will make for a better soufflé in the end.
7. Grease the soufflé dish liberally with butter. Grate a tablespoon or so of cheese into the bottom and tap-tap-tap it around to coat the bottom and sides. Makes for quite a tasty crust.
8. (Carefully) pour the eggy goodness into the dish, and put it in the oven. Lower the heat to 375°F and set the timer for 25 minutes.
9. Resolve not to open the oven until the timer goes off, not even for the tiniest peek. If you have a curious boyfriend or roommate roaming around, stake out the oven door and guard it with your life! (The expansion of air and steam in the tiny bubbles is what makes a soufflé rise; let in too much cold air, and it will fall flat.)
10. When the timer’s done, check out the soufflé. If it’s still quite jiggly, put it back in for another 5 or 10 minutes.
11. Slice, serve, and eat right away! But save some for the next morning — cold soufflé ain’t a bad way to start your day.

• 1 T butter
• 4 small beets, cut into smallish bite-size pieces
• ½ C broth or water
• 2 T butter
• ¾ C couscous
• 1¼ C boiling broth or water
• salt
• greens from 4 beets, cut into strips (substitute 1 or 2 red Swiss chard leaves if your beets are green-less)

1. In a small to medium saucepan, melt the first tablespoon of butter over medium heat. Add the beets, and enough broth or water to almost cover the beets.
2. Cook, stirring occassionally, until liquid has evaporated. Beets should be just tender.
3. Pushing the beets to the sides, add the second installment of butter (yeah!) to the center of the pan. Once it’s melted, add the couscous and stir everything together. Continue to stir for a couple minutes, until you smell the nuttiness of the toasted couscous.
4. Add the boiling broth or water, salt, and stir. Dump the beet greens on top, cover with a tight-fitting lid, and remove from heat. In 10 minutes, fluff with a fork and serve! (Grate some cheese on top if it’s too healthy for you.)

I’ve been reading Gene Logsdon’s Small Scale Grain Raising, and the more I learn about home-grown grains, the more I long for the freshest flour in the world. Imagine: freshly ground cornmeal for polenta, wheat for bread, and all manner of whole grains for rich, nutty pancakes. Mmmmm.

And Chris keeps acquiring books on beer brewing and whiskey distilling. His face already lights up with pride when he hands someone a well-made Manhattan – but if we grew the grain, harvested and threshed it, and made the liquor? Wowee, that’d really be something.

Over the last year-and-a-bit I’ve learned to have a greater respect and love for vegetables and eggs by getting involved in the production of them. I’m hoping that home-grown grains will leave the same impression. I get the feeling that compared to veggies, growing grains takes much more work, and is much less profitable. But I’m planning on setting aside a quarter of our little acre for corn, wheat, oats, barley, and other grainy goodies.

(Oh, we’re also going to plant tons of veggies for a mini/starter-CSA. Pretty soon I’m going to start soliciting for subscriptions — consider yourself warned.)

The new place is a cute little duplex in Penngrove — much closer to work. It was love at first sight (there’s a shared veggie garden in the yard!) so we put down a deposit the day we saw it.

Things I’ll miss about our house

• No neighbors in sight, or within shouting distance. We can make as much noise as we want. (And MAN some of our ticklefights get roudy.)
• Living in the middle of a bunch of trees is just COOL. All that moss, the smell of the bay trees in the rain, tromping through the woods looking for mushrooms or figs or berries, and seeing deer and turkeys wander by…it’s just so neat.
• Free chanterelle mushrooms. ‘Nough said.
• I finally (on attempt four or five, I don’t recall) planted some seeds that survived past germinating! Two weeks ago! ::sob:: (I don’t care if I have to break in, I am coming back for those peas when they’re ready.)
• Taking a bath in our unattached bathroom with the door open to the whole world. And drying off in the sun.
• Going for jogs around our orchard, where no one but the animals can tell how pitifully out of shape I am.
• Our insanely comfortable couch. It stays with the house, as well as all of our plates and nearly all of the furniture.
• Not having to really take care of our compost pile. Out of sight, out of mind.
• Knowing that our water comes from a well right by the house, much of our electricity comes from the solar panels and wind turbine in the orchard, and we only consume as much propane as we buy at the hardware store down the road.
• The cob oven. Not that I ever used it, but Chris has made some damn fine flatbread in that thing.
• Living on a property that was once owned by Jack London never quite lost its appeal.
• Bob Shaffer: awesomest neighbor ever.
• Paying next to nothing on rent.

Things I will certainly not miss about this place

• An hour of commuting everyday. The new place is about ten minutes from work.
• The goddamn skunk who decided that the area directly beneath our bedroom would be a great place to call home. (Though it seems to have left in the last couple weeks.)
• That week and a half we went without water — it’s hard not to hold a grudge about that one.
• Living without a working shower for the last couple months.
• The oven door that you can’t close without a ratchet strap.
• Climbing over the gate to punch in the code on the other side every time we leave.
• That 72 hour clause.
• Only heating the house when we’re going to be awake long enough to justify getting a fire started.
• No way to get an internet connection.
• Hearing and seeing gigantic limbs and whole trees fall down in heavy wind or rain. It’s almost kinda cool, but it’s scary — especially when I see one near the house or somewhere we often go and realize if I’d been standing there when it happened, it would’ve been seriously bad scene.
• The midnight/morning dash to the outdoor bathroom. Sooo coooooooold.
• Goddamn turkeys digging up every goddamn seed I’ve planted up till a couple weeks ago. They don’t even eat them, they just see the fresh dirt and go, “Oh, I have GOT to get in on that!” and scratch around like chickens. Assholes.
• Hearing animals get attacked in the middle of the night. It’s one thing to watch it on a nature show, and another thing entirely to wake up to a furry little guy get dragged off as he screams bloody murder. I’ve had too many fox nightmares.

I still want to spend as much of my life as I can living in the woods. Just not these woods.

Ingredients

• 4 small-medium turnips, with greens
• 2 T butter
• 1/2 t paprika
• salt
• 2 C leftover brown rice
• 1/3 C white wine
• 1/4 cup grated aged manchego or gran pecorino or some other yummy mildish cheese

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
2. Cut tops from turnips. Remove stems from greens.
3. Cut turnips into quarter-inch bite-sized slices.
4. Place greens in boiling water, cover, and set timer for 10 minutes.
5. Melt butter in a large skillet. Add turnips, paprika, and salt, and toss to coat. Continue to cook, tossing occasionally.
6. When timer goes off, drain the turnip greens well and add to the skillet. Also add brown rice and wine. Stir until excess liquid from wine has evaporated.
7. Remove from heat, and stir in cheese. Serve with a drizzle of olive oil, and be sure to tell your guests about how long you slaved away, constantly stirring this creamy risotto.

We’ve only ever used one recipe for pecan pie, and that’s Grandma’s recipe. I’m not sure if she actually wrote it herself, or if we call it that because she made it for so many years. The thing is, Grandma’s recipe uses corn syrup. In fact, it uses more corn syrup than anything else.

I did a wee bit of research online before last year’s holidays, trying to find a “real” pecan pie recipe that didn’t call for corn. I figured there would be an original recipe that people used before the advent of corn syrup.

As far as I can tell, I was wrong. Pecan pie was an invention of the processed food age, and the original recipe was printed on a bottle of Karo syrup! Yikes.

Luckily, I did find an alternative recipe by John Thorne. In place of corn syrup, he uses golden syrup, a British product that I can’t find around here. I’ve been using agave nectar instead, but I think any inverted sugar syrup — like honey or maple sugar — would work.

With dishes like this, the final product relies more on the quality of the ingredients than how you cook it. If you go out of your way to get truly full-flavored brown sugar, high quality butter (Straus!), and tasty little pecans, the pie will be exceptional.

I made this pie for Thanksgiving this year, and a couple family members dared to call it, “Better than Grandma’s.” Sorry Grandma, but it’s true. It’s unapologeticly untraditional, and it’s reaaaaaally yummy.

Pecan Pie

Ingredients

• 1 packed cup full-flavored brown sugar
• scant 2/3 cup agave nectar
• 3 tablespoons Meyer’s dark rum
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 3 eggs
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups broken pecan meats
• 9″ unbaked pie shell

1. Heat the brown sugar, butter, and agave nectar to boiling, stirring constantly and scraping foam from sides.
2. Boil for about 1 minute. Remove from heat and cool.
3. Beat eggs until creamy.
4. Temper eggs with sugar mixture, then combine along with salt, pecans, and rum.
5. Pour into shell and bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes. Cool before serving.

A wild turkey trap is made by first digging a ditch; then over one end is built a rude structure of logs, covered at the top. The structure should not be tight, but, of course, sufficiently close not to let the birds through. Indian corn is scattered about and in the ditch, and inside of the pen. The turkeys follow up corn in the ditch, and emerge from it on the inside. Once there, the silly birds never think of descending into the ditch, but walk round and round the pen, looking through the chinks of the logs for escape that way. To make all sure, the ditch should end about the center of the pen, and a bridge of sticks, grass and earth should be built over the ditch, just inside of the pen, and close to the logs; otherwise, in going around the bird might step inside the ditch, and once there it would follow the light and thereby reach the outside of the pen.

Recently I’ve been braising beets, and it always turns out so goddamn good. I’m guessing it’s the high sugar content of these precious roots that makes it so special — when you reduce the cooking liquid, it turns into a glaze. Yummers.

Ingredients

Serves 4

• 4 T butter
• 1 onion, diced
• plenty of salt and pepper
• 1-2 T sherry vinegar
• 6 giganto leaves of Swiss chard, chopped
• 6 medium beets, cut into thin, bite-size pieces
• vegetable broth or water to cover

1. In a wide skillet, melt the butter. Add the onion and salt and cook until soft and translucent.
2. Add pepper, vinegar, and chard. Cook over medium heat for a couple minutes, until chard is wilted.
3. Add beets and pour in just enough water to almost cover the beets. Clamp on the lid and cook at a simmer, stirring ocassionally, until the beets are almost tender — you should be able to pierce it with a knife or fork, but feel a bit of resistance. (How long this takes depends largely on how thinly your beets are sliced.)
4. Remove the lid and continue to cook, stirring every couple minutes, until the cooking liquid has reduced to a thick glaze. Adjust seasoning and serve — it goes nicely with couscous.

I’m hoping to get a pressure canner in the next couple weeks so I can get low-acid goodies canned in addition to the pickles and jams. Just thinking about it has got me day-dreaming of a winter full of colorful jars.

A list to ease my excitement:

• pickled beets
• raspberry jelly
• pickled artichokes
• tomato jam
• preserved winter squash
• preserved green beans
• crushed tomatoes
• diced tomatoes
• tomato sauce
• tomato juice
• apple sauce
• apple butter
• pears in syrup
• dill pickles
• pickled watermelon rind
• plum jam
• grape jelly
• pickled lemon cucumbers
• preserved sweet corn
• pear juice
• hot sauce
• ketchup

Yum. What else?

Just about a year ago, Chris and I left San Francisco to begin our farming adventure. It amazes me to think of our mindset back then; we were sick and tired of working crappy jobs that barely paid the rent for our equally crappy basement apartment, so we took off. We had heard of WWOOF through several friends, and figured we’d travel around and do farm work just to get by.

At that point it seemed like something we could handle, and maybe even something we’d enjoy, but I don’t think either of us expected to be totally sucked in by it. But halfway through our first semester at Green String interns, before the winter was over, it became clear that farming was IT for us.

Since we finished our internships in May, we’ve been f’real farm employees, working long hours six or seven days a week, and fantasizing about having our own little farm someday. We’re living on one of our boss’s properties, and part of his offer to us was that we’d set up a little market garden here, and get a mini-incubator farm going. But between our long hours (and resulting exhaustion) and a couple broken rototillers, it just hasn’t happened.

Well, it *hadn’t* happened. Now…

Now it’s happening! I can’t tell you how excited I am. We picked out the garden spot (maybe about an acre out of the 110 of the property) almost as soon as we moved in, and Chris has been watering it ocassionally to soften up the hard soil.

We’re going to get the rototiller out here next week (finally!), but I’m also doing a little experiment. I’ve planted part of the space this week with turnips (Chinese red round, Japanese shogoin, and French navet des vertus marteau, ho ho) and Italian sugarloaf chicory, because I have it on good authority that turnips and chicory plants will not only thrive in hard soil, they’ll actually bust it up! I’m going to plant another section with cover-crop varieties of daikon radish and chicory, which will probably do a lot more work on the soil but also won’t be particularly edible. The remainder of the garden will be tilled and planted with non-experimental crops — lots of brassicas, greens, root veggies, and herbs — and we’ll go from there.

If all goes well, we’ll start showing up at the Sonoma farmers market on Friday mornings with some goodies to sell. If it goes really well, we may start up a CSA by spring. Whatever form our little garden takes, we’ll be calling it Lazy Fox Farm, in honor of the adorable little bastards who ate our roosters — and probably watch our every move from the shadows.

It’s difficult to find the time to work on our own project when we’re so immersed in our jobs, but heading out there at sunset to rake, seed, and water doesn’t feel like work. Right now, those 8 rows of seed sitting in our beautiful, sweet-smelling soil feel likes new world of possibilities.