Want Some Candy Little Girl?

I made chocolate caramels for holiday gifts yesterday. They turned out delicious; chewy and chocolaty, with hints of butter and rum, and the sea salt I sprinkled on top. This was my first batch of caramels. Well, to tell the truth, they were my second batch, the first batch was more like rock hard caramels that could pull fillings out without even trying, so I don’t count them.
I’m not sure what I did wrong the first time (although I knew things weren’t going well when I dropped my digital thermometer into the boiling hot sugar and had to guess at the temperature after that). I used a different recipe this time although the ingredients were basically the same. My new recipe had me bring the sugar mixture up to a certain temperature then add another ingredient, reheat, add more stuff and heat again. Maybe it was raising and lowering the temperature that made them turn out so delicious. Maybe it was more accurate temperature monitoring. Maybe it was just dumb luck.
Candy-making has always been a bit intimidating to me (and I’m someone who doesn’t get intimidated in the kitchen very often). It’s one of the few types of cooking that doesn’t have any wiggle room. If you cook a roast to 130F instead of 125F, you will still have a delicious piece of meat to serve; it will just be a bit more done. If you try making marshmallows and only heat the sugar to 235F instead of 240F, you will end up with a bowl of very sweet, very sticky soup (I know, I’ve done it). Candy making also seems like the kind of endeavor where you could seriously hurt yourself. Pouring boiling hot sugar that can reach 300F from one pan to another is a scary proposition.
But candy is fun and making it yourself is even more fun, so intimidation be damned. I just needed to get in there and get a few sugar burns. After one failed marshmallow experience (and a few successful ones) and a 50% failure rate on caramels, I figured it was time to learn what was actually happening on a molecular level with all that hot sugar. I turned to the one book where I knew I would find the answers, “On Food and Cooking” by Harold McGee.
It turns out that simple white table sugar isn’t so simple. Sucrose (what we know as table sugar) is a composite molecule of glucose (the most simple of sugars and the one from which all living cells extract energy) and fructose. Sucrose has properties that make it especially useful to candy making. Unlike glucose and fructose and other sugars, it has a pleasant taste in high concentrations. It is readily soluble in water, and it is the most viscous of any sugar and water solution.
Sugars are also very resilient molecules. They don’t easily break apart with heat or get damaged by oxidation like fats and they don’t coagulate or denature like proteins. Instead, they mix easily with water, tolerate high heat, and like to form into beautiful crystal structures.
When sugar molecules do begin to break apart at high heat, the odorless, colorless, simply sweet sugar begins to form hundreds of new and exciting compounds with aromas of butter and rum and fruit and colors of deep brown and caramel. In fact, the caramelization of sugar (heating it to the point when its molecules break apart) is where the flavor we know as caramel comes from.
I’d always thought that candy making had something to do with the molecular structure of sugar at different temperatures. I was wrong. Those resilient little sucrose molecules stay the same throughout most of the candy making temperature ranges and don’t begin to caramelize until 340F.
So what’s going on at those immutable temperatures in all those candy recipes? It turns out candy making is foremost about sugar concentration. Because raising the amount of sugar in water raises the boiling point of the water in a consistent way, those temperatures are the easiest way to measure the sugar concentration of a syrup. It is much easier than the way they used to do it before thermometers. Back in the 17th century, cooks would stick their finger in the boiling hot syrup, touch their thumb to the hot goop, pull their digits apart and see what structure resulted. Ouch!
Different consistencies of candy result from different sugar concentrations. Soft candies such as fudge and fondants are made at lower temperatures and lower concentrations. Chewier candies like caramel and marshmallows need somewhat higher concentrations and hard candies need to be almost 100% concentrations of sugar.
The other really important part of candy making is controlling how the sugar crystallizes as it cools (so I wasn’t completely wrong in thinking there was something happening at a molecular level; the molecules themselves don’t change, they just line up differently). Mr. McGee informs me that this is the trickiest part of candy making (and here I was all worried about temperature). If the sugar mixture forms a few large crystals, the texture will be coarse and grainy. If there are millions of tiny crystals and those are separated by just the right amount of uncrystallized syrup then the resulting candy will be smooth and creamy. If no crystals are allowed to form, you get sugar glass and hard candies.
Crystal formation is influenced by the rate of cooling (quick cooling results in fewer crystals), how much movement is introduced into the syrup (lots of stirring results in lots of tiny crystals and smooth creamy fudge and caramels), and whether any foreign particles or crystallized bits of sugar get into the mix (get one of those crystals from the side of your pan in the mix and you’re done for). Plus adding corn syrup helps slow crystallization down to a manageable level.
How does all this newfound chemistry knowledge help guarantee perfect caramels from here on out? I now know that the temperature isn’t as exact as I thought it was. I could raise the temperature anywhere from 240F to 250F and still have a chewy candy in the end. All that cream I added made the candy thick and rich and it was actually the lactose sugars that caramelized and created those buttery, caramel flavors. And all that stirring (even if it was a bit tedious and made my hand hurt) paid off in the tiny crystal structure and the resultant smooth creamy mouth feel. Plus I’m feeling so unintimidated, I might have to try my hand at fondants and hard candy next.

The One That Worked
(Chocolate Caramels from The All New Fannie Farmer Cookbook)

Weigh into a 6 qt heavy bottomed pan
10 oz. light corn syrup
4 oz. honey
1 lb sugar
4 oz. unsweetened chocolate

Add
¼ t. salt
1c. heavy cream

Cook over medium high heat, stirring constantly until a candy thermometer 244F (an instant read thermometer works but it’s not as convenient). Remove from heat. Add

1c. heavy cream

Cook again, stirring constantly, until the temperature reaches 236F. Add

1T. butter

Cook again, stirring constantly, until the temperature reaches 242F. Add
1t. vanilla

Pour into a buttered 8”x8” pan. Sprinkle with sea salt if you want. Allow to cool. Cut into bite-sized pieces and wrap individually in small squares of waxed paper.

The Stripper Model Nuptial Blanket

I am about 6 months late in writing this post. With no deadlines for fiber related posts it's easy for them to fall by the wayside, but I was recently reminded that this blog is about food AND fiber, so where the heck did all the fiber go?
Two important things happened in the last six months, I got married and I found out I have some really sneaky friends. The wedding was wonderful and went off without a hitch, but I'm not going to talk about that. Instead, I want to post for all to see what 16 dear friends can do behind one's back in a mere 6 months.
Here is a photo of what those sneaky girls did: They call it the Stripper Model Nuptial Blanket because each of them knit a strip from yarn spun just for this purpose (from a fleece from Sarah Swett's stash) and then they sewed them together into the most amazing blanket EVER. (The Stripper Model deliniates it from other blankets and afghans the group has made by sewing together knit squares instead of strips. The Stripper Model is far superior and I am honored to have this first one)
I guess there was lots of talk about strippers and stripper names and other fun discussions that took place while they put this together, but I don't really know because they did it BEHIND MY BACK and I was totally clueless.
When they presented it to me a couple of weeks before my wedding, there was a moment or two when I thought they had gone out and bought it. I couldn't imagine why my uber-talented knitting and spinning friends would buy me a store-bought knit blanket or why they thought I wanted one. During those brief moments, staring done into the beautifully wrapped gift, I never considered the idea they made it just for me. I realized I was wrong. And then I started to cry.
As I cried and said how unworthy I was, I unwrapped it, spread it out and was in awe. These pictures don't do it justice. When you see it in person you can understand why there was that brief moment when I thought it was store bought. It is perfect.The blanket came with a book. It records for posterity the e-mail conversations that went on for months behind my back, including a brief scare when an e-mail mistakenly went out with my address included and I almost found out. The back side of the blanket has beautiful handmade tags so I'll always know who made which strip. Now that the weather has turned toward winter, I find myself wrapped up in it in front of the fire. It's warm and snuggly and it's like being wrapped up in the arms of my dear friends.
Thank you again Amy, Andrea,Carolyn, Danielle, Ivy, Jane, Kelly, Laura, Lodie, Mary, Nancie, Robin Rochelle, Sandy, Sarah, and Sarah.

Stuffing Makes the World Go 'Round

I picked up my locally-raised, organically-fed, free-range turkey from Mimi Fueling of Cascade Creek Farms last week. It looked as good as can be expected from a naked dead bird in a clear plastic sack. There is no doubt in my mind that once it has been roasted for a few hours, it will be gorgeous and golden on the outside and moist and tender on the inside. It will be delicious and we will all enjoy it, but in my mind, it will only be a side show to the stuffing.
Stuffing is what makes the Thanksgiving meal. Sure, candied yams are good, mashed potatoes with gravy are pretty tasty, and any kind of pie for dessert is a treat, but the meal isn’t worth fussing over if there isn’t stuffing.
I’m not sure what it is about stuffing that makes it the centerpiece of the meal for me. It doesn’t really matter what kind of stuffing it is (even those lame croutons in a bag they pass off as stuffing mix will do in a pinch) as long as there is lots of it. Two or more kinds of stuffing cooked both inside and outside of the bird (food safety be damned) and I am in heaven.
Stuffing, in the Thanksgiving sense of the word, has probably been around since we figured out how to raise birds for food production. I imagine eating chicken cooked the same way day after day got pretty boring until someone realized you could cook your side dish inside the bird at the same time. Documents about cooking from ancient Rome mention stuffing recipes to place inside all kinds of small animals, including dormice. Since then we’ve been thinking up millions of combinations of foods to stuff inside the hollow spaces we find on our cooking path.
Food cultures around the world stuff one kind of food inside another. A few examples that come to mind are ravioli, chili rellenos, and wontons. We also stuff meat from one part of an animal into another, such as sausages and haggis. Maybe it’s the combination of flavors and textures that promotes this culinary exploration. Maybe we don’t like to waste any of the bits and pieces. Or maybe, in the case of stuffing the empty cavities of animals we are going to eat with bits of dried bread and anything else we might have lying around the house, it’s that we just don’t want to waste all that space.
No ingredient can be dismissed as a possible addition to a stuffing mix. Most stuffing starts with a base of starch: white bread, corn bread, rice, or potatoes are the most common. Meats of all kinds turn up in recipes; I’ve seen liver, bacon, sausage, oysters, giblets from the turkey, and ground lamb in recipes. If you are vegetarian you can use eggs or tofu. Nuts, such as pecans or chestnuts can form the base of the stuffing or hazelnuts can add a little pizzazz. Fruits, both dried and fresh can be added, and, of course, vegetables of all kinds, but especially celery, carrots and onions. I’ve had amazing morel mushroom stuffing and stuffing with what seemed like a little bit of everything the chef could find thrown in. The liquids used to moisten the whole conglomeration go from tame chicken broth to hardcore straight bourbon whiskey, with wine and port somewhere in between.
With so many delicious possibilities for homemade stuffing, I was appalled to learn that something like 60 million families will suffer through Stove Top stuffing this year. There is too much room for improvisation, personal taste, and experimentation in stuffing to leave the making of it to some giant corporation who mass produces a flavorless impersonator. Besides, it’s really easy to make and probably costs less to make it from scratch.
Here’s the basic gist of stuffing: cut up some day old bread into cubes and let them sit out overnight or cook up some rice or diced potatoes. Dice up a selections of veggies; onions, carrots and celery are traditional but use what you have. Sauté these in some type of fat. Add anything else that sounds good like fruit, nuts or pre-cooked meat. Season with herbs of your choice (sage and thyme are traditional) and salt and pepper. Add the bread, rice or potatoes and mix well, adding enough liquid of your choice to just moisten the mixture. Stuff your bird or place the mixture in a baking dish and cook with the turkey for the last 45 minutes. If you are cooking it separately (and it is safer that way, just not as tasty), keep it covered for most of the cooking time but make sure to uncover and crisp up the top (by far the best part in my opinion) before serving.
Of course, an article about stuffing is not complete without a brief discussion about terminology. Growing up in New Jersey, I never heard of stuffing referred to as dressing. Dressing was something you put on salad or a wound. Since then, I occasionally run into someone who insists that the stuff you stuff inside a turkey is called dressing. This seems absurd. I could understand if you called gravy dressing, since it does cover or dress the turkey and mashed potatoes but there is nothing in the definition of the word dress that indicates it is something stuffed inside something else. Alas, it was the prissy Victorian who caused all these problems. The word stuffing offended their delicate sensibilities and so was replaced by the much more proper though much less accurate word dressing.
I say to hell with Victorian propriety, and please pass me the stuffing so I can have seconds.

Vicki Reich will be celebrating Thanksgiving in Sagle and will serve at least two kinds of stuffing and three kinds of pie. She’ll be the one sneaking bites of the crispy bits off all the dishes. She can be contacted at wordomouth@yahoo.com.

Vicki’s Go-To Stuffing recipe for the past 3 years
Makes enough for a 18-20 pound turkey
Adapted from The New Basics Cookbook by Julee Rosso and Sheila Luikens

2 T. butter
2 c. diced celery
2 c. diced onions
1 c. diced carrots
1 lb Italian sausage
2 c. apples, chopped
1 c toasted and skinned hazelnuts, chopped
1 c. dried cranberries
6 c. stale bread, cubed
1 t salt
1 T. fresh thyme, chopped
1 T. fresh sage, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
1 c Port
1 c. chicken broth

Heat butter in a large skillet. Saute the celery, onions and carrots over medium low heat until softened. Transfer the vegetables to a large bowl.
Add the sausage to the skillet and cook through, breaking up the sausage into small pieces as it cooks. Transfer to the bowl with the veggies. Add the apples, nuts, and cranberries to the bowl with the veggies and sausage. Mix well. Add the bread cubes and toss. Add the herbs, salt and peper. Toss lightly. Add the port and broth. Toss until well blended.
If you are daring or are as old as I am and have lived through many years of eating stuffing cooked inside a turkey, loosely stuff the stuffing inside the turkey. Roast the turkey according to your turkey recipe. If you like your stuffing safer and crispier, place in a large baking, cover with aluminum foil and place it in the oven with the turkey for the last 45 minutes. Uncover to crisp the top during the last 15 minutes.

A Hunting We Will Go

Growing up in suburban New Jersey, the concept of hunting did not enter my mind very often. If there was a hunting season in my hometown, it didn’t show up on my radar. The only recollection I have of game making it onto our dinner table was the venison a patient of my dad’s brought him once a year. I’m quite sure I didn’t give a second thought to how it got to our table; that my dad’s patient had actually gone out in the woods and shot it so we could enjoy it. I doubt I connected the slab of meat with those big, brown, doe-eyed creatures I saw eating my mother’s landscaping (I’m sure she knew about the hunting season and wished it was longer).
I never met the man who provided us with that bounty every year. All I remember is my dad injecting the big hunks of meat with beef fat to “make it tender”. I’m not even sure if my parents shared this delicacy with me and my brother. We probably weren’t worthy.
It’s hard to avoid hunting when you live in North Idaho. My first job when I moved to Moscow was at the University of Idaho. I was amazed that the whole physical plant basically shut down for the first week of hunting season (which I now understand was the first week of rifle season for deer, not the actual first week deer season which began weeks before with archery season).
It wasn’t until I moved to Sandpoint that I actually got to go hunting. I had hinted around to my hunter friends during the 15 years I lived in Moscow that I wanted someone to teach me what it meant to be a hunter, but no one ever took me seriously. It wasn’t until I told my then boyfriend, Jon, I wanted to see if I had what it takes to kill what I was going to eat for dinner, that I got to carry a gun through the woods.
So far, that’s what hunting has been for me: a really observant walk through the woods with a shotgun. And I kinda like it. Sure, it’s usually cold and, to date, I have seen maybe a couple of dozen grouse (the only animal I’ve hunted so far) and shot just one but there is something about making your way silently through the woods with your eye’s peeled for any movement that is very appealing.
Jon gave me his uncle’s 410 shotgun. It’s old and heavy and doesn’t shoot very far but I like carrying it and thinking about all the woods it’s traveled through and all the birds it’s shot. It doesn’t have a safety so I am extra aware of all my movements. The heightened awareness of myself and my surroundings makes taking my gun for a walk in the woods a special and enjoyable experience.
Of course, there’s the part where you start to think about the fact that you are out there actively looking to kill something. That was the part I wasn’t sure I could do. Modern society has created a disconnect between us and where our food comes from. Most people don’t think about the fact that their burger was once a cow and that someone had to kill it in order for them to enjoy their meal.
I’m sure many of the people I grew up with think that hunting is a cruel sport and people shouldn’t do it. They are, however, probably perfectly content to eat bacon from a CAFO (confined animal feeding operation) pig who spent its brief miserable life in a cage not quite big enough to turn around in.
If I’m going to eat meat (and I have no plans on becoming a vegetarian any time soon) I want to know that the meat I am eating had a good life before it got to my table.
What better way to know that for sure then to be a part of that animal’s world for a morning. The one grouse I shot in my brief experience as a hunter never knew what happened. He was just doing his thing, eating leaves and berries when Jon and I saw him. Then he was dead.
Having never killed a warm blooded animal before, I was amazed that I could do it. The grouse was beautiful; I’d never really had a close up look at one before. The feathers were gorgeous and he was still warm. I got all mushy and thanked him for giving his life to feed me. Then I picked him up by his feet and went looking for more.
I’ve gone grouse hunting a couple of times each season for the past three years. I’ve shot one grouse in that time. I’ve accompanied Jon deer hunting once (having no rifle of my own and having been completely flummoxed by the salesman about what type of rifle I should consider buying, I just tagged along with my shotgun in case we ran into some grouse). It’s not the same as grouse hunting. There’s a lot of sitting and waiting for deer. It’s a much colder proposition. I’m not sure I’m a fan. Most of the time I was sitting still, all I could think about was that I could have been knitting instead. This is not the Zen mindset you need to be a good deer hunter. I am sure that I could shoot a deer and gut it and butcher it. I just don’t think I could stand the cold and the lack of knitting needles.
For now I’ll stick to hunting birds. Besides, I’ve just begun to explore the culinary possibilities of grouse.


Grouse Breast in White Wine and Lime Sauce
Serves 4

6 grouse breast halves
1 lime
½ c. flour
Salt and pepper to taste
2 T. olive oil
2 cloves of garlic, minced
¼ c. slivered almonds
2 T. brown sugar
½ c. chicken broth
½ c. white wine

Preheat oven to 350 F. Wash the grouse and pat dry. Set aside. Zest the lime then squeeze out the juice. Pour the juice over the grouse breasts and reserve the zest. Place the flour on a plate and mix in salt and pepper to taste. Heat the oil in a frying pan over medium-high heat and sauté the garlic until soft. Meanwhile, dredge the grouse in flour on both sides until thoroughly coated. Add the grouse to the pan and brown on both sides. Remove the grouse to a baking dish. Combine the lime zest, slivered almonds and brown sugar and sprinkle over the grouse. Add the broth and wine and cover the dish with foil. Bake for 45 minutes. Remove foil and bake an additional 15 minutes. Serve hot with a side of jasmine rice.

Adult Pumpkin Carving

Jon and I carved our Jack-o-Lanterns last night. We carved them out of beautiful local pumpkins and had more fun than adults should be allowed while carving silly faces in large orange members of the Cucurbit family.
Until I met Jon, it had been years since I’d carved a pumpkin (maybe even since I was a teenager still living at home). Jon had much more experience than me. He raised two sons and carved pumpkins with them every year until they moved away. He couldn’t imagine a Halloween season without a Jack-O-Lantern or two to greet us at the door in the evening. He got me back on the carving wagon. This is our third year carving together.
Jon is a pro pumpkin carver. He lays out his special knives and scoop next to his victim before he begins. Then he sketches his design in removable ink on the side of his squash which will enhance his creation the most. He scoops out the guts with a few deft flicks of his wrist. His lid is never too small and his faces are always animated and perfectly frightful when lit from within.
I won’t even begin to tell you about my inadequacies as a carver. I’ll just tell you that the burn on the palm of my hand, which I got while trying to get the candle into my, once again, too small lid, still smarts.
Pumpkin carving is a blend of old world traditions and new world food. Pumpkins and other squash have been grown in the Americas since at least 5500 BCE. Native Americans not only ate the flesh and the seeds of these prolific fruit but they also dried strips of pumpkin and wove mats out of it (the fiber artist in me would love to see a sample of such a thing).
When Europeans came to the continent, they began incorporating pumpkin in their diet. The idea for pumpkin pie seems to have occurred around this time. Whether it was white settlers or the native people who thought that scooping out the seeds and filling the cavity with milk, honey and spices then settling the whole delicious mixture in the hot ashes of a fire to cook to perfection, is lost to history. I’m just glad someone thought of it.
Meanwhile back in Europe, a couple of traditions intertwined. The Celtic celebration of Samhain at the end of fall, had revelers carve turnips, beet and gourds then light them from within to attract the spirits of their deceased relatives so they could say goodbye or ask for favors.
In Ireland, there was a myth about a guy named Stingy Jack who fooled the Devil one too many times and ended up having to carry a burning lump of coal inside a carved turnip for evermore. His name changed to Jack of the Lantern and the carved vegetable became known as a Jack-o-Lantern.
When the old world met the new, it became obvious to the new immigrants that pumpkins are way easier to carve than turnips and pumpkins gained the fame we know them for today.
I have only one issue with carving pumpkins (and, no it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not that good at it). It seems to be a waste of a perfectly good squash.
Pumpkin is delicious. It’s great in soup and stews or roasted with chicken or made into pie or ice cream or muffins or… It seems just a bit sad when your carved pumpkin starts to collapse in on itself and there’s no saving it for that pumpkin risotto you had planned.
I am somewhat mollified with the knowledge that pumpkins bred for perfect Jack-o-Lanterns don’t make the best pies. Yes, they are edible and you can chop up the bits that you carve away and put them in a stew, but if you are cooking something where the taste of the pumpkin is the center of attention you’ll want to get a pie pumpkin. These are bred for sweetness and flavor and consistency.
There are over 50 varieties of pumpkins, from those cute little minis (that seem to only serve the purpose of being cute) to the jumbo varieties that can grow to over 1000 pounds (that seem to only serve the purpose of getting the grower into the Guinness Book of World Records). There are white, blue, green, red and tan colored pumpkins. There are even some varieties with “naked” seeds without the while seed coating.
It’s really the seeds that save me from despairing over the loss of all that fine pumpkin flesh. Carving pumpkins lets you focus on the seeds. You don’t need to fuss with peeling and chopping so you have plenty of time to think up imaginative flavors for this year’s batch of toasted pumpkin seeds. And much to Jon’s dismay, eating the seeds is my favorite part of carving pumpkins.


Toasted Pumpkin Seeds

Seeds from as many pumpkins as you carved
Salt or seasoning of your choice
Olive oil (optional)

Preheat oven to 350F. Rinse the seeds well in warm water, removing any bits of flesh. Drain well and place in a single layer on a baking sheet (it might take two sheets if you’ve carved lots of pumpkins). Sprinkle with salt to taste and enough olive oil to very lightly coat the seeds. Bake for 20-30 minutes, shaking and stirring every five minutes. The seeds are done when the inside and outside are dry and the seed coating is slightly tanned.

Flavoring ideas:
Chili Powder
Garlic Salt
Cheese topping for popcorn
Cinnamon and salt
Cumin and cayenne
Italian seasoning

Minding my Manners

I like to put my elbows on the table when I eat. It’s a bad habit that I’m trying to break but it’s not easy. My mom taught me not to do this from a young age. She also taught me which fork to use and to not talk with my mouth full. She passed on all the table manners I would need so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself at a formal dinner or lunch with the Queen.
I’m not sure why I can’t follow her teachings and society’s conventions. Somehow my elbows creep up onto the edge of the table. I don’t sit all hunched over, guarding my food; I’m just a bit lazy and like to rest my arms while enjoying a meal. And why shouldn’t I? Why is it considered rude to have elbows on the table and, for that matter, how did we come up with all the other crazy rules of table etiquette?
Sure, chewing with your mouth closed is an obvious one. Who really wants to see what’s going on inside someone else’s mouth while they’re eating? And I also get not talking about disgusting subject matter or making negative comments about the food others are eating, but where did all those forks come from and what about all the rules about napkin use?
Etiquette and manners are our culture’s unwritten rules which help us all get along as a civil society. Table manners are especially important. They developed since sharing food could be a touchy subject and making sure everyone got some and didn’t try to kill each other over it was pretty important.
Table manners evolved with us as we became more civilized and as technologies developed. There was no need in the Middle Ages, when communal dining became more prevalent, for decisions about which fork to use when, because there were no forks. Actually, there was no cutlery whatsoever. You had to bring your own knife if you wanted any of the roast mutton that was shared on one plate between three or four people.
Being in close quarters with sharp weapons necessitated some rules. Don’t point your knife at other guests while your eating, wipe off your hands and mouth before drinking (since you were sharing the glass with those same four people), and don’t put your elbows on the table were a few of the courtesies that developed during that time.
The elbows were important for two reasons. First it was pretty crowded with four people all eating off the same plate so if your elbows were on the table it meant your plate-mates couldn’t get to their food. And second, the tables were pretty rickety back then, just a board on top of sawhorses, and if you leaned on one side you ran the risk of upsetting the whole works. The only other table manners that seemed to exist at that time were a ban on spitting and picking your teeth with your knife at the table.
Silverware technology advanced, forks were invented and spoons became more commonplace but people were still expected to bring their own. Knifes became less lethal but were still symbols of war and were treated as such. The edges were always pointed toward the plate and were never left resting with the handle on the table and the point up.
Since you got to bring your own silverware to dinner, it became quite ornate and people used it to show off their wealth (as in “my spoon is bigger and prettier than your spoon”). I’m guessing that as the technology to make silverware and plates improved, households were able to supply place setting for every guest. Having a different utensil and plate for every course became the height of wealth. As people strove to gain status in society, the number of forks, knifes and spoons increased as well.
Today’s formal place setting is a vestige of that sense of propriety and wealth. It is due to our sense of tradition and the civility it implies that we still encounter all those forks in fancy restaurants and formal dinners.
Napkins and the rules for their use also developed with technology as well. In the Middle Ages the tablecloth was the napkin. Everyone used it to wipe their hands and face. All cloth back then first had to be raised (either grown from flax or on sheep (in Europe at least)) then spun into yarn and woven into cloth. There were probably only one or two tablecloths per household. To wash them, you first had to make your own soap and then take the cloth and the rest of your laundry out to the stream and beat it against the rocks. I’m guessing the tablecloths got kind of gross. This is probably the time period when we decided it was impolite to put any used utensils back down on the table. Not only did this rule keep the cloth cleaner longer, but it kept your utensil from picking up any of last night’s (or the night before’s) dinner. As spinning and weaving technologies improved, the napkin came to be but we were still eating mostly with our fingers so they were quite large. As we adopted the use of utensils, our hands got cleaner and our napkins got smaller.
At a formal dinner today, napkins see very little use. We dab at our mouth before drinking (a nod to the days when we shared our glass) or wipe at the corners of our mouth when we finish. Our hands stay clean since there is almost nothing served at a formal dinner which we eat with our fingers (crisp asparagus spears being the only exception I found) and they remain in our laps the entire meal, from the time we sit down until everyone is finished with their meal. This is a holdover from days gone by when we wanted to hide any messiness from our companions and I can imagine how messy they got if everything was eaten with your fingers.
Although it seems like some table manners should have gone by the wayside long ago, tradition is hard to break. I know it annoys me to no end when a waiter takes my fork off my salad plate and sets it back down for me to reuse. How hard is it to get a new fork? Sure, the tablecloth is clean and will be replaced before the next person sits down so the traditional reason for not placing used utensils on the table is gone but it still seems like a considerate thing to do. I like that tradition. I’m sure there are a lot of other people out there who like it too and that’s why it continues.
Come to think of it, there are probably plenty of people out there who would prefer not to see me eating with my elbows on the table. I’ll try harder to mind my manners.

Vicki Reich lives in Sagle where she had way too much fun researching table manners and their history. She has a new found commitment to proper etiquette and can’t wait to host a formal dinner party with all those forks. She can be reached at wordomouth@yahoo.com

Is it really that cheap?

I just finished reading “Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture” by Ellen Ruppel Shell. It was an eye opener. Ruppel Shell spends the first part of her book giving us a history of how we came to prize cheap over value and how the big discount stores came to be (hint: Sam Walton didn’t start it, he just “improved” on an existing idea). Then she shows us how much it really costs to be surrounded by cheap goods in terms of environmental degradation, the loss of craftsmanship and skilled labor, the loss of human rights, and the loss of the middle class in our country. She makes you think about whether you really are getting a deal on that $5 t-shirt.
Of course, my favorite chapter by far was the one on cheap food. I already knew quite a bit about the consequences of cheap food but she really drove the point home.
She starts by showing how our relentless drive for ever cheaper food is actually causing starvation in third world countries as they convert farmland they used to use to feed themselves into plantations of coffee, palm oil, and grain to feed livestock they themselves could never afford.
These countries are forced to import food to eat since the imports are cheaper than the cost of growing food themselves. Plus there is the lure of money to be made from exporting cheap coffee. Of course, this puts them in the precarious position of being totally reliant on agribusiness for all their food needs. If Monsanto or Archer Daniels Midland decide to raise the price of inputs or sell corn to the ethanol market and prices rise (even a little bit), third world countries find themselves unable to afford food or to feed themselves.
Maybe you don’t really care if people far, far away are starving so you can eat a Big Mac for less than it costs to actually grow the grain to feed the cows and make the bun, but you should. We all pay the cost of cheap food.
If you’ve ever tried to grow any of your own food, I’m sure you’ve wondered just how the food we buy can be so cheap. One of the answers to that question is subsides. In the past 10 years, the government has given almost $200 billion in farm subsidies. Don’t think that money goes to help your local farmer. Instead three quarters of that money goes to the biggest of the big in the agribusiness world. Our tax dollars are spent on miles and miles of cheap corn and rice and wheat which in turn is fed to livestock raised in feedlots in the most inhumane and unnatural surroundings so that everyone can eat lots of cheap meat. That multi billion dollar number doesn’t even include the tax breaks on oil and petroleum products that make herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers and the fuel to run the huge farm equipment necessary to manage miles of monocrops cheap.
Another part of the cheap food equation (and really the cheap everything equation) is cheap labor. By paying farm workers almost nothing to grow and harvest our food, large farms keep their costs low. But we pay the price for that as well. Keeping things cheap means keeping constant downward pressure on labor costs. We are seeing the results of that pressure in the growing divide between rich and poor in this country. It’s not just the migrant workers who pick your flavorless tomatoes in the middle of winter who are seeing their wages drop. It’s you and me as well.
And if you don’t pay people very much to grow and process your food and you make them work in unsafe and unhealthy work environments, how careful do you think they are in handling your food? Guessing from the increase in food borne illnesses in the past decade, they’re not very careful.
Of course these increases are also due to the fact that just four companies control 80% of meat production in this country. They’re producing hamburger meat that contains bits of thousands of different cows and are sending those same burgers all across the country. If just one tainted piece of meat gets in a batch, food borne illness spreads across the country with it. Also, the waste from so many animals in such tight quarters can’t be reabsorbed into the land and so gets into the groundwater or is used on crops, greatly increasing the incidence of disease.
Americans spend less on food than any other industrialized country, just 6% of our disposable income. The amount we spend has been dropping for over a generation. Some of this is due to increased efficiencies and new technologies and growing techniques but most of it is due to subsides and cheap labor.
It is sad to think that you can get 3000 calories per dollar spent on M&Ms and only 30 calories per dollar for spinach. It’s no wonder that so many of us are overweight or obese. We are biologically programmed to get the most calories for the least amount of effort and effort in this case could be translated as money. We are paying the price for this as well, with soaring health care costs and debilitating disease.
Lower wages, higher health care costs, greater food related illnesses, food insecurity, and less healthy food are all results of our striving for the cheapest food we can find.
So what can we do to change these trends? Some of the answers have to come from the government. We need to stop paying subsides to a few grain crops and start making healthy food more affordable for everyone.
On a personal level, I first recommend reading the book. The author does a much better and more comprehensive job of showing how our search for Cheap is making us poor in so many ways. Then start really thinking about your food and where it comes from. Try eating in season when local food is fresh and abundant. Buy local whenever you can (even if it costs a little more, that money stays in our community and may wind up back in your pocket when the farmer comes into your business to shop). Educate yourself about what you are eating (ask whether the shrimp you’re buying is causing huge environmental damage in Thailand or supporting small independent fishermen or whether your milk is from cows treated with hormones in huge, crowded dairies or raised on small farms by caring farmers). Cook for yourself using the healthiest ingredients you can afford. Eat lower on the food chain. Spend more time with your food and enjoy the better and fresher flavor of local fare instead of sitting in front of some screen being fed advertisements for cheap food. Demand food that reflects your values and beliefs not just your pocketbook. By voting with our dollars, we can change the system.

Bliss in a Bowl

Corn, or at least industrially produced corn, has been getting lots of bad press lately and rightly so. Michael Pollan dissed it in “Omnivores Dilemma”. The documentaries “King Corn” and “Food, Inc.” pointed out that we humans are starting to be composed of corn; it’s so predominant in our diet.
It’s fed to feedlot cattle, much to the detriment of the cows and the nutritional value of the beef. It’s made into high fructose corn syrup (which has recently been linked to the obesity epidemic) and about 50 other ingredients that are found in packaged food.
It’s been genetically modified to withstand massive amounts of pesticides without much research into the ramification of those changes. The pesticides and herbicides needed to grow mass amounts of the stuff are poisoning ground water in Iowa and causing dead zones in the Gulf of Mexico. The huge swaths of monoculture corn farms cause erosion of farmland. Best of all, we taxpayers help fund all of this with subsidies to the giant corporate corn growers. It deserves to be vilified.
But not all corn is industrially produced and not all corn should be avoided. After all, it was responsible for sustaining Mesoamerica for millennium; it can’t be all bad. In its natural state (i.e. not high fructose corn syrup) it is a whole grain, high in fiber and low in fat, sodium and sugar. Fresh corn on the cob is one of the greatest pleasures the summer has to offer.
But the kind of corn that gives me the most pleasure all year long is popcorn. In fact, these articles might never get written without popcorn (I’ve got a bowl full of the hot tender nuggets on my lap right now, and yes it does tend to make the keyboard messy). There’s something about popcorn that helps me think and write clearly.
Of course, all that thinking got me wondering about the popcorn itself. I knew that popcorn is a special variety of corn but that’s about all. How long has it been around? What’s the physics behind the transformation from hard, tooth-breaking seed to fluffy goodness? And what other fascinating things about popcorn could I find in my research? I had to find out.
It turns out that popcorn might have been the first variety of corn developed in Mexico, or at least the first method of cooking it. Corn, or maize as it’s known in most of the world, was domesticated about 10,000 years ago from a grass. There may be no other crop that humans have changed more in their domestication. It’s hard to reconcile a fat ear of corn with a grass, but a grass it is.
Ears of popped corn have been found in archeological sites and I can only imagine the surprise on the first person’s face when the “garbage” she threw into the fire started exploding. Maybe at first she thought the gods were angry but I’m sure she changed her mind after she tasted it.
Of the five general kinds of corn, three of them will explode when heated. Dent and flint corn will form a crisp puff but come nowhere close to the expansiveness of popcorn. What makes popcorn do its thing is the composition of the hull (yes, the bits that get caught in your teeth and gums). The popcorn hull conducts heat much faster than other types of corn while at the same time being quite a bit stronger. When you cook popcorn, the heat is quickly transferred to the inside of the kernel (the endosperm). The starch and proteins in the endosperm rapidly reach the boiling point. They soften and give off moisture that turns to steam. All that steam builds up pressure against the hull until it reaches seven times the external pressure and then, POP, the kernel explodes and all that soften endosperm expands with the loss of pressure. The endosperm quickly cools and solidifies into white crunchy goodness.
If you suddenly have an urge for some, please feel free to stop reading for a moment and go make yourself a bowl. Pretend like its intermission at the theater.
Popcorn is a bit picky about the conditions under which it will pop to perfection (and there is some controversy about what constitutes a perfectly popped kernel but I’ll get to that in a moment). The kernels should be heated to right around 380 F. Anything cooler and the moisture inside the kernel that forms the steam that causes it to pop will evaporate before it gets hot enough. The kernel won’t pop and you’ll end up with “old maids” (a technical but slightly offensive term for completely unpopped kernels). Anything hotter and the starch and protein closest to the hull will get too hot and rupture the hull too soon, causing incomplete popping. The result is those barely opened kernels at the bottom of the bowl that my dentist would call teeth breakers and I consider a delicacy (maybe we should call them old geezers just to even the score).
Moisture content is just as important as temperature. Too dry and you’ll end up with all old maids. Too moist and the corn will pop but not very much and will be really chewy. To insure your popcorn stays at the right moisture content (14%), keep it in an airtight container in a cool dark place but not the refrigerator. If you do happen to come across a batch of kernels that have dried out and won’t pop, you can actually reconstitute them by adding a few drops of water to the jar and waiting a few days to see if they pop. If not, add a few more drops and repeat until they do.
Do you have any of that popcorn left that you made at intermission? If you don’t go make another batch, I’ll wait. If you do, take a look at the popped kernels, called flakes in the popcorn industry. There are two general shapes the flakes take. One is more rounded with most of the hull intact on the bottom. The other has lots of wings and the hull is spread out over all the wings in little pieces. There are probably combinations of the two shapes as well. Now bite into one of the round pieces, called mushroom flakes and then into one with wings, called butterfly flakes. The butterflies are noticeably more tender while the mushrooms are chewier.
Here’s where the controversy over what is a perfectly popped kernel of corn comes in. The mushrooms are much sturdier kernels and can hold up to packaging and forming into other confections like caramel corn but they are a bit tougher. The butterflies are fragile but take up more volume and have a better mouth feel. While the popcorn industry is trying hard to decide which is best and breeding popcorn to yield one or the other, I’ve decided I like them both (actually, until I wrote this article, I never noticed a difference).
Now I need some floss.

Vicki Reich lives and pops popcorn in Sagle. She eats at least one bowl of stove popped corn for each article she writes for the Reader. She had to have two for this one. She can be contacted at wordomouth@yahoo.com

Sarah’s Popcorn

My friend Sarah makes the best popcorn. I’ve never been able to reproduce it but here’s what she told me she does.

Olive Oil
Popcorn
Tamari
Brewer’s Yeast

In an old, heavy bottomed 4 quart pot used exclusively for making popcorn with a loose fitting lid (or if you don’t have one of those at least a heavy bottomed pot with a loose fitting lid) pour in some olive oil. Use approximately 1/3 cup oil for 1 cup popcorn. Turn heat to medium high. Place 4-5 kernels in the oil and close the lid. When those kernels pop, add the rest of the corn, put the top back on and gently shake the pot. When those kernels begin to pop, start shaking the pot again and keep shaking until the popping slows to one or two every 10 seconds. Remove from heat and pour into a bowl. Sprinkle with tamari and brewers yeast to taste. Dive in.

Kitchen Experimental

I knit. A lot. Sometimes until it hurts. Most of the things I knit are my own creation in some way, not just because I knit them with my own two hands but because I make some change to an existing pattern or make up the pattern out of my head. I almost never follow the directions exactly. Even if the change is subtle, like using a different yarn or a different gauge, I somehow manage to make it my own.
Lately, I’ve been taking the easy way out; I’ve been following the pattern exactly and I’ve been rather disappointed. Maybe in order to make something that you want to wear and feel good in, you have to do those little things to make it your own. Or maybe the satisfaction you get when you know you’ve figured out how to tweak things just so, or that the idea in you head really does work, is what the process is all about. Maybe having the courage to try something different gives you the impetus to push your skills further the next time. I am constantly amazed by knitters who have been knitting for years but have not yet tried to break away from the “recipe” in front of them. To me, that’s when the fun starts.
It’s the same thing with cooking. Being experimental in the kitchen is just as rewarding. There’s nothing like looking in the fridge at a strange variety of ingredients and sitting down a short while later with a delicious dinner.
There’s been a lot of media lately on getting back to cooking, spurred on by the new movie “Julie and Julia” and Michael Pollan’s New York Times Magazine article about why we should stop watching cooking on TV and actually start cooking in our kitchens. This is an encouraging tread.
Pollan contends that Julia Child gave women in the 50s and 60s the courage to try new things in the kitchen and to not be afraid to fail. I believe that courage is needed again today. It’s too easy to buy pre-made foods plus the fear of not getting it right keeps people out of the kitchen and away from all the rewards of making food from scratch. Like knitting, the final outcome, when you use your own creativity to cook, is always more satisfying.
But how do you overcome the inertia of relying on packaged food, or take out, or just your regular set of recipes? It’s not easy, but then the easy way out is not always the most rewarding. It’s one of the things I keep in mind when I want to just blindly follow a knitting pattern. Pushing myself to think a little harder for just a little longer almost always yields better results (almost always, there are the occasional failures from which I always learn something important).
To succeed with kitchen experimentation, it helps to know some basics like what flavors typically combine well and how to sauté, roast, and bake. These are easily found in many basic cookbooks. I’m not advocating not using cookbooks, I’m just saying don’t actually follow the recipes in them. Use cookbooks for inspiration or for the stuff you don’t want to keep in your head, like cooking times or temperatures. Find three or four recipes for the ingredients you have on hand, read through them then put the books away and just have fun.
Summer seems like the best time of year to work up the courage to experiment in the kitchen. There is such an abundance of fresh, local produce; it calls out for a little experimentation. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you played with a few zucchini or tomatoes? Right now there’s more than enough to go around. Why not make some fresh tomato sauce or a zucchini tomato salad?
Let’s take the tomato sauce as an example. Opening up one of my cookbooks, there are recipes for fresh tomato sauce with mint, or basil, or zucchini flowers and red peppers, or mozzarella, or eggplant and walnuts. There’s even a sauce recipe using just zucchini. Reading through them, I notice some require a quick cooking of all the ingredients at once while others require a few more steps.
Since I have lots of zucchini, zucchini blossoms, and basil on hand, I settle on something that uses all of those ingredients. Most of the recipes call for starting the sauce by sautéing garlic and/or onions in some olive oil and/or butter then adding the chopped veggies then the chopped blossoms and basil at the end along with some salt and pepper while at the same time getting the pasta cooked. If I’m going to use the zucchini I know I’m going to have to cook that a bit longer than the tomatoes so there’s no way I can just quickly sauté everything at once. Instead, I might decide to save time by not peeling and seeding the tomatoes because I don’t mind having peels and seeds in my sauce (if I was making it for company, I would probably take the extra step).
While I’m cooking, I might decide that the fresh oregano in my garden would go well with what I have so far and even add a few flakes of red pepper, just for fun. The whole meal might take 20 minutes to make and with a bit of parmesan cheese on top will far exceed any jarred tomato sauce for flavor, freshness, nutrition, and eye appeal.
After a few tries at experimenting, the rewards will so far outweigh the fear of failure, you’ll wonder why you ever followed a recipe in the first place. And then you may even want to learn to knit.


Fresh Tomato Sauce with _______
A “recipe”

Fresh locally grown tomatoes, any many as you need to feed who you’re feeding, peeled, seeded and chopped or just chopped
Onions and/or garlic and/or shallots, minced or chopped, to taste
Olive oil and or butter, enough to sauté all the other ingredients
Zucchini or eggplant or mushrooms or peppers or none of these things
Fresh basil and/or oregano and/or thyme, chopped or sliced or whole
Walnuts (toasted) or squash blossoms or pine nuts(toasted)
Salt and pepper, to taste
Pasta, enough to hold all the sauce, cooked while making the sauce
Parmesan or ricotta or goat cheese, optional

Sauté the onions/garlic/shallots in the olive oil/butter. Add the zucchini/eggplant/mushrooms/peppers. Saute 3-5 min until whatever you use is slightly softened. Add the tomato. Sauté for a few more minutes until the sauce starts to thicken. Add herbs and nuts or blossoms and salt and pepper. Serve sauce on pasta and top with cheese.

Who knew Drinking Good Beer could Save the World

I know I’ve said this before but it bears repeating: I love the Sandpoint library. I have yet to walk in its doors and not come away with some gem of a book having nothing to do with what I came in for.
Case in point: Several weeks ago I was cruising the cookbook section, looking for inspiration for my column, when I stumbled upon a book entitled “Fermenting Revolution: How to Drink Beer and Save the World” by Christopher Mark O’Brien. I flipped through the pages and thought my husband, Jon, would love to read it (He is a lover of craft beers and is always looking for ways to save the world). I continued on my search for writing inspiration and, finding none in that aisle, went home and wrote about salad.
When Jon got home that night, I presented him with my find and read him a bit of the introduction. He was intrigued and promised to read it. Unfortunately for him, I was intrigued as well and whisked the book away before he had a chance to start it. I’ve been enjoying it ever since.
The book, like its title suggests, is all about how drinking craft beer can save our planet. O’Brien likens the degradation of our environment and the globalization of our society to what happened to the once diverse and thriving beer culture. He insists that the takeover of beer by large multinational corporations after prohibition caused some of these problems and by drinking craft beer we can fix them.
Beer was once a local product, made with the ingredients of the region and brewed in ways past down by generations of brewsters (the first beer brewers were women and they continued to have control of this vital household product until the Middle Ages). It required very few resources to produce, it didn’t need to be transported across the world (and before refrigeration, it really couldn’t be transported very far), and it created a sense of community and place.
Beer was deeply entrenched in the culture and religion of almost every region of the world until men with money and power realized they could make more money and garner more power if they regulated beer-making. In the 1500s, purity laws made the homebrews of women illegal while promoting standardized mass-production. After 10,000 years of homebrewing, it only took a few hundred years of regulation and the advent of prohibition for the world to go from thousands of different types of beer to one predominant style, light lager. That’s what the watered down, insipid product made by all the multi-national beer corporations now-a-days is called (I like to call it yellow beer when I’m being kind, and piss water when I’m not).
O’Brien laments the passing of what he calls “beerodiversity” when the “beerocracy” of AnheuserBuschCoorsMiller etc. “globeerized” beer production and redefined beer as light lager. He argues that not only was taste compromised but the social and community aspects of beer drinking were undermined by these big corporations. He effectively makes the point that if we want to improve our communities and our environment, we need to stop drinking bad beer shipped halfway around the country and start drinking local brew.
This is where his point hit home with me. I’ve written lots of column inches about how great it is to eat local but I’d never thought to apply the same logic to my beer drinking. And lucky for us, unlike Mississippi, which O’Brien likens to a “beerological dead zone” (since they have only two craft breweries in the entire state), Sandpoint has great beerodiversity. We have two craft breweries right here plus Eichart’s which features beers of nearby regional breweries. There’s also a small but active homebrewing club.
Drinking local brew can help save the world in many ways. Local brews help create a sense of community and place. They promote creativity and diversity. They conserve resources and often promote sustainability and environmental responsibility.
I started to wonder how many of these ideas were a part of the thinking behind MickDuff’s and Laughing Dog Breweries so I called them up and asked.
Fred from Laughing Dog and Duffy from MickDuff’s were both happy to talk about the philosophies behind their breweries but neither of them had heard of O’Brien’s book. Nevertheless, both had incorporated many of the ideas O’Brien feels are going to save the world.
Both MickDuff’s and Laughing Dog source their malt from a regional malt house (Gabrinus Malting Corporation is itself a small scale, locally oriented business, getting most of their raw ingredients from BC and Alberta) and try to procure their hops from this region (mostly from Yakima, but sometimes even from neighbors’ gardens). Laughing Dog gets their huckleberries from local pickers and both breweries give their spent grain to local pig farmers.
MickDuff’s focuses on the fact that they are both a brewery and a pub, thereby creating a local gathering place for people to meet and talk over a refreshing glass of great beer. Their 140 member mug club is a testament to their following.
They strive to serve food that is natural or organic and they send their used fryer oil off to make biodiesel. They began making at least one organic beer in 2007 as an experiment. It was so successful, they’ve been making it ever since and would probably make all their beers organic if it wasn’t so hard to get their hands on organic malt.
Laughing Dog has made local part of their motto “Think Local, Drink Local” and they’re walking their talk. They use a local craftsman to make their tap handles. They use local businesses for their printing and artwork and promote them in their tap room. They’ve even specified in their contract for their new (recycled) building that local contractors should be used as much as possible.
Laughing Dog is doing its part to save the environment as well. They use about half the amount of water to make their beer as the average brewery and they use only biodegradable cleaners and sanitizers to clean their equipment.
Fred has also been very generous in sharing his knowledge about brewing with the local homebrewers association and often hosts homebrewing events at the brewery.
Both breweries help customers do their part to save valuable resources by allowing us to avoid wasteful packaging and refill our growlers (basically a big glass jug for transporting beer) right from the taps, thereby avoiding the need for six pack holders, bottles and bottle caps. Of course, sipping a cold glass right at the bar avoids all that packaging as well.
While you’re bellied up to the bar, don’t be surprised if you find yourself talking to your neighbor on the next stool about the weather or maybe even how we can all do our part to help save the world one beer at a time. Cheers!


Beer Bread
Makes 1 loaf

1 ½ c. Beer , at room temperature (this is a great way to use up the last of your growler that you didn’t finish before it went flat)
2 T. molassas
1 t. salt
1 T. active yeast
2 c. unbleached white flour
1 c. rye flour
½ c. oatmeal
1 ½ T. caraway seeds

Using an electric mixer, place first 6 ingredients in the bowl and mix for 4-5 minutes on medium speed. Add oatmeal and caraway and mix until well blended. Cover the bowl and set in a warm place until doubled in bulk, about 30 min.
Grease and flour and 9x5” loaf pan. Stir down the mixture and pour it into the prepared pan. Place the pan in a cool oven and allow the mixture to double in bulk.
Turn the oven to 325 F and bake for 45 to 50 minutes. Remove from pan and bake on the oven rack for 5 more minutes.

The Truffle Biting Ceremony

Jon and I got married last weekend. The weather was fabulous, the setting was beautiful, the guests and beverages were plentiful. It was a perfect day.
To the outside observer, it may have seemed effortless, but I’m here to tell you that planning a wedding requires lots of lists and months of planning (and, hopefully, only a couple of arguments with your fiancé).
Each of us had been married previously and neither of us had had much of a hand in planning those first weddings. This time we both wanted to make the day our own ( I must admit that deep into the planning I wouldn’t have minded a little help from Mom). We wanted to do things our way even if those ways garnered blank stares or outright astonishment from friends and family.
I wore a mostly black dress and we kayaked in instead of walking down the aisle but this is a food column not a wedding advice column so I’ll get to the most important part of the day both from this column’s point of view and our own: the food (and the beer, says Jon).
And the food really was our biggest concern. We are both serious foodies so it had to be just so. My first thought was to cater it myself. I’ve catered more than my share of parties and even catered a wedding and a wedding rehearsal dinner once. I knew I could do it but once rational thought returned I realized my own wedding was not the best place to show off my culinary skills.
Plan 2 required a caterer. We wanted to use as much local food as possible. We needed a caterer who wouldn’t shy away from the extra work it sometimes takes to source local products. We also wanted a great grill master on hand to make sure those local grass fed burgers from Cascade Creek and lovingly raised lamb kabobs from Good Shepard Lamb Company were cooked to perfection.
It didn’t take long to decide that Di Luna’s would be our choice. Karen Forsythe was happy to use not only the local meat I ordered from Six Rivers Market producers but also incorporate Wheyward Goat Cheese at the very last moment (the chevre just got licenced that week and we were Susanne Wimberly’s first ever customers!). We knew Justin Otis would grill everything to perfection.
The drinks were easy. We are lucky to have a local winery and two local breweries in town and all three offer great products. We ordered kegs from both Laughing Dog and MickDuffs and got an assortment of red, white and rose wine from Pend d’Oreille Winery. There was plenty to quench everyone’s thirst.
Once the main part of the food and the drinks were under control, we needed to come up with dessert. Neither Jon nor I are big fans of wedding cake. Sure, it’s traditional to have a big white tiered cake at a wedding but we were trying to escape tradition in much of our planning. What we do share is a love of chocolate. Even since we started dating, Jon has bought boxes of truffles to celebrate almost any occasion. We always share them. I choose one, take a bite and share the other half with him. Then it’s his turn to choose a flavor and get the first bite.
It seemed like the perfect solution and once again my first impulse was to make all the truffles myself. But then a friend asked if there was anything she could do to help with the wedding, and then another friend asked. It dawned on me that I could kill two birds with one stone if everyone who asked to help was given the task of making a couple of dozen truffles. We were on our way to eschewing the cake cutting ceremony and substitute our own truffle biting tradition.
The truffles came in every flavor you could want including coconut rum and Grande Marnier with candied orange peel. Danielle, my new daughter-in-law, collected the offerings as they came in and she swears she could tell a great deal about the maker just from the shape of their truffles (I didn’t ask for details).
I’m not really sure how many truffles arrived on the day of the wedding. It was well over 400. There were plenty to go around and even a few left over (although not for long). What I do know is they were delicious and a big hit. There were chocolate stains on the mouths of both kids and adults and on a few shirts, too.
Incorporating local food and flowers (from Beehaven Farm in Bonners Ferry) and enlisting the help of friends really made our special day even more special. As we begin the task of writing thank you notes, I’d like to use my bully pulpit to say thanks to all the local business and producers who made our day special and an extra big thank you to all my friends who undertook the hazardous job of making truffles.

Nanny Rose Salad

When I was growing up, my grandparents on my dad’s side had a house on the Jersey Shore. The family would gather there every summer, sometimes for a week but mostly just on the weekends. My grandfather, Joe, would bring out the grill and cook up heaping plates of burgers and steaks. For appetizers we’d have kosher hot dogs on a slice of Jewish rye fresh from the bakery down the street (the only way to eat a hot dog, in my opinion). He made his own barbeque sauce and it went on everything. It was all so good and we still refer to any outrageous barbeque as a Poppy Joe meal.
We did eat some veggies at those carnivorous feasts. There would be fresh corn on the cob (Jersey corn and tomatoes are by far the best, I know it’s hard to believe, but there is a reason it’s called the Garden State) and my grandmother, Rose, who wasn’t much of a cook, would always make a salad. This was no ordinary salad. Sure there’d be some lettuce in there, but mostly it was other stuff like cucumbers and carrots and tomatoes and celery. Lots of crunchy stuff. Then she’d dress it with, I’m guessing, bottled Italian dressing. The small amount of lettuce would get kind of soggy and you wouldn’t even really notice it was there. This came to be known affectionately as a Nanny Rose Salad. It wasn’t very good, but it was very memorable, and to this day, when I make a salad with not very much lettuce but lots of other stuff, it’s a Nanny Rose salad.
I’ve had salad on the brain lately now that fresh local greens are here and we’ve been eating salad at least once a day. Of course, the word salad can be used to describe all sorts of dishes including those made with pasta, or potato, or fruit, or (scarily) Jell-O.
My American Heritage dictionary defines salad as “a dish consisting of green, leafy, raw vegetables, often with radish, cucumber, or tomato, served with a dressing”. Using that definition, I guess you could consider anything cold that is served with a dressing (even if the dressing consists solely of Cool-Whip) a salad.
But right now, all I care about are green salads. They define spring for me and I live on them for as long as the fresh lettuce is available. This has probably been the case since ancient times when people realized they could eat dandelions, watercress, and chicory and were pretty excited to do so after a winter of eating stored grains and little else.
Those greens were much bitterer than they are today. We’ve been working on breeding the bitter out ever since and probably had our greatest success with iceberg lettuce (that flavorless, but easily transportable lettuce which may be responsible for Americans thinking we can eat salad all year long). Interestingly, the tide is turning back to bitter and salad mixes often include bitter greens like radicchio, endive, mizuna, and escarole.
Not every culture embraced these first delicious signs of spring. Some cultures took their time in deciding that green salad was a good thing to eat. The English wouldn’t touch the stuff until the early 1700s. And even then, it took an entire book (Acetaria: A Discourse of Sallets by John Evelyn) to convince them that lettuce wasn’t just for their farm animals and wouldn’t kill them if they ate it.
The Greeks and Romans were big salad eaters. The word itself comes from ancient Latin and is derived from the word for salt. I’m not sure why salt, which was a key ingredient in the dressing of ancient salads, should come to be the definitive ingredient from which the word stems. Maybe it’s because those ancient bitter salads were made more palatable by the addition of salt, since salt balances and even suppresses our taste of bitterness.
Today, we have what seems like unlimited possibilities of greens to put in our salad. The salad mix I bought from Solstice Farms last week has red and green leaf lettuce, spinach, kale, tatsoi, mizuna, and edible flowers in it. It is has so many flavors and textures all by itself that you don’t need to add anything else except a light dressing (since without the dressing it wouldn’t truly be a salad).
Whatever type of greens you build your salad with, always wait until you are going to serve it to add any oil-based dressings (instructions my Nanny Rose never followed). Oil can easily penetrate the leaves of your salad and turn them dark and soggy. If you must dress your salad early, use a water-based cream dressing, like Jon’s Favorite Blue Cheese dressing.
As the season progresses, those leafy greens will be overtaken by fresh cucumbers, peas, carrots, tomatoes and who knows what else until the creation in my bowl is a true Nanny Rose salad. Right now, I’m happy with just eating leaves.

Vicki Reich eats, writes, and gardens in Sagle. She is also the Market Manager for Six Rivers Market. You can contact her at wordomouth@yahoo.com.

Vicki’s Vinaigrette
Makes 1 cup

½ c Balsamic vinegar
½ c good quality extra virgin olive oil
½ t dried oregano
¼ t. dried thyme
¼ t. dried basil
1 t. Dijon mustard
½ t. salt
Fresh ground pepper to taste

Place all ingredients in a jar with a tight fitting lid. Shake vigorously. Serve.

This is vinegary vinaigrette. If you want a milder dressing reduce vinegar to ¼ c and increase oil to ¾ c.

Jon’s Favorite Blue Cheese Dressing
Makes 2 ½ cups
1 c. sour cream
8 oz. Blue Cheese, crumbled (start with a block of cheese and crumble it yourself rather than buying crumbles, the flavor is much better)
3 cloves garlic, minced
½ c. mayonnaise
¼ c. plain yogurt
1 T. chives, finely chopped
½ t. salt
2 T. apple cider vinegar

Mix all ingredients together in a bowl. Add more vinegar if dressing is too thick. Spoon into a jar and refrigerate. If possible, wait one day before using, but it’s hard to resist.

What's in a Name

If you ask some people where their food comes from, they might tell you the grocery store. They might have no idea what a potato plant looks like and might be completely surprised by the large green leafy thing growing over their tubers. They would never believe you if you told them the four foot tall billowing fern-like plants they see in the fall were once the asparagus they prized in spring.
I like to think I know all about the food I eat. However, my confidence was recently shaken. I just learned that growing over those gnarly, misshapen, but deliciously versatile Jerusalem artichokes that I relish in the spring are 6 foot tall stalks with bright yellow flowers (that are rumored to smell like milk chocolate, I must find out if it’s true) and they’re relatives of the sunflower. I don’t like being in the dark about my food. I needed to know more.
To start with, I had to know about the name. Why in the world was a New World plant named for an ancient Old World city? And why was it named for another vegetable that it wasn’t related to?
It turns out at least the Jerusalem part of the name derives from a failed game of Telephone. When explorers first brought Jerusalem artichokes to Italy, the Italians called them girasole, which is Italian for sunflower. Over time girasole was misunderstood to be Jerusalem (I guess I can see how that could happen) leading to the first half of the confusing name we have today.
The artichoke part of the name comes from the fact that when cooked, Jerusalem artichokes do taste a bit like artichoke hearts (and it turns out they are very distantly related).
Jersusalem artichokes (or sunchokes, as they are sometimes called to avoid all the above mentioned confusion) were cultivated by Native Americans for so long before Europeans arrived that scientists haven’t been able to figure out where they originated. What we do know is they were brought to Europe around 1600 and became a staple food there. The French, in particular, love them.
And what’s not to love? These ugly little tubers are good and good for you. You can just slice them up and throw them on a salad for some extra crunch or you can get really creative. Sunchokes can be boiled, baked, fried, or roasted (I even found a recipe for Jerusalem artichoke chiffon pie in Stalking the Wild Aparagus by Euell Gibbons. I plan on trying it soon; it’s too intriguing to pass up.) They are low in calories and high in potassium, iron, fiber, and vitamin C.
Jerusalem artichokes remind me a lot of potatoes in terms of versatility in the kitchen. There is one key difference that you should be aware of when you are creating new dishes with them. Potatoes store energy as starch and that gives sticking power and body to foods made with them. Jerusalem artichokes store energy as inulin. Inulin is a polymer of fructose sugars that’s not digestible by our bodies. It’s actually digested by good bacteria in the gut and helps promote those good bacteria while keeping out the bad guys (it may also promote gas if you are not used to eating it; start off with small servings to avoid embarrassment). The lack of starch makes it difficult to substitute Jerusalem artichokes straight across for potatoes. Mash them and you’ll end up with a soupier mixture than you would expect. Fry them and they won’t be as crisp. But what they lack in starch, they make up for in flavor. I’ll take a gratin of Jerusalem artichokes over potatoes any day and since I developed a recipe for sunchoke pancakes (see accompanying recipe), I might never use potatoes again. They are way more tasty.
They are also easy to grow (maybe too easy). Like sunflowers they will self-seed but they will also grow new plants from the tubers. That means if you leave any tubers in the ground after harvest, you’ll have a fresh batch popping up soon. Amy Spencer (of Vern’s Veggies) warned me that they can take over if you’re not careful. They are planted in spring and harvested early the next year making them one of the first fresh veggies to look forward to. If you don’t want to grown them, you can pick some up at the farmer’s market. I know Vern has some.

Jerusalem Artichoke Pancakes
Serves 4 as a side dish

1 lb Jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed
½ large yellow onion
1 t. salt
2 T whole wheat flour
1 T corn starch
2 eggs, slightly beaten
Salt and pepper to taste
2 T canola oil
2 T butter

Coarsely grate the Jerusalem artichokes and onions. I use a food processor which make a quick and tear-free job of it. Place grated mixture in a colander and sprinkle with salt. Toss and let stand for about 20 minutes. Squeeze as much liquid from the vegetables as possible and place in a large bowl. Add the flour and corn starch. Toss well. Add the eggs and salt and pepper. Mix well and let stand for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile heat 1 T oil and 1 T butter in a large frying pan to medium high. Place 4-5 ¼ cup blobs of the artichoke mixture in the pan and flatten into pancakes with the back of a spoon. These will not hold together the way potatoes do so be gentle. Turn carefully when brown on one side. Cook until brown on both sides. Place in a warm oven and cook the second batch with the remaining oil and butter. Serve immediately.

Beer Can Hats or How I Waste My Time

I'm not sure there's much to say for myself about my latest project, except that I giggled a lot while I was making it. And it looks cute on in a cheesy retro kind of way.

It's for my physical therapist, who's face totally lit up when I said I'd make one for him (I made him drink the Pabst, however, I will only stoop so low).
Now that it's done, I might need one for myself (but out of cans from a decent beer). If anyone wants the pattern, I'm happy to share.

Potatoes are Your Late Winter Friend

It doesn’t take much to convince me that Spring has finally arrived. A couple of days in the 70’s with the sun shining and the flowers starting to bloom completely fooled me into thinking my favorite season was here to stay. I could practically taste the fresh local greens that would be gracing my plate in what seemed like mere moments. I could hear the fresh snap of asparagus, bought from the Farmer’s Market, as I prepped them for a few moments in the steamer. I could feel the warmth of the soil as I planted my tomato starts.
So imagine my dismay when I woke the other day to what basically amounted to a blizzard. It felt like someone had played a cruel joke on me and I had slept through Spring, Summer, and Fall to return, once again, to the snow and cold. I wanted to crawl back under the covers. It wasn’t fair. I was depressed for days.
This is the time of year when all I want is fresh local food. I’ve eaten enough veggies trucked in from god-knows-where that lack flavor, freshness, and life. I want salad greens that last more than two days in the fridge. I want strawberries and tomatoes that actually taste like something and aren’t just red. This snow and cold weather are thwarting my desires.
Instead of giving in to despair since I can’t be with the local food I love, I’m taking Stephen Stills advice and I’m loving the local potatoes I’m with.
Potatoes are an ancient New World food. Scientists believe they first appeared in Peru some 10,000 years ago and spread throughout South and Central America (some wild species have even been found as far north as Texas). They are the most consumed vegetable in the US (sadly, it’s mostly as fries or chips). We eat, on average, a third of a pound per day (mostly Russet Burbanks, the ubiquitous Idaho potato).
There is thought to be over 5000 varieties of potatoes grown world-wide (which mean you could have a very satisfying potato-filled life and never have to eat another Russet). They come with white, yellow, pink or purple flesh with thin or thick skins. Some grow into a perfectly smooth, rounded shape, some look like fingers, and others look like strange warty creatures. The textures range from dry and mealy (this is actually a technical potato texture term) to moist and waxy. The flavors vary from earthy to fruity to flowery. Baking or browning brings out sweet and malty notes.
Your typical grocery store doesn’t offer much variety when it comes to potatoes (certainly nothing like the variety of overly sweetened, strangely colored breakfast cereal). You’d be lucky to find Russets, Reds, and Yukon Golds all on the same day. Luckily, local farmer don’t have to grow their potatoes to be picture perfect or to conform to some preconceived notion of what a potato should look like, they can grow for flavor and variety and for their own pleasure.
Vern Spencer (the Vern in Vern’s Veggies) did just that last year. He grew at least 12 different varieties of spuds and has carefully stored them so we could have at least one local veggie on our plates all winter long.
Vern sells his potatoes through Six Rivers Market (full disclosure: I now work there) and currently has ten varieties for sale. I’ve been buying a couple of different kinds each week. The variation between them is quite surprising. Right away, you notice the physical difference. Some are round with smooth skin, some have a rough purplish outer layer and a day glow purple center, and some are so knobby and warty that it’s a good thing I don’t like to peel my potatoes, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
The distinctive tastes come out when they are boiled side-by-side and dressed with a little salt and butter. You notice the texture first. Those with higher levels of the starch amylose are dry and light due to the fact that amylose starch cells tend to swell and separate from one another as they cook. Their waxy cousins contain more amylopectin starch whose cells tend to stick together even when cooked, giving them a smoother, moister texture.
Each potato variety also has a distinctive flavor. Some are sweet, some have an almost nutty quality, while others have more earthy notes (although the distinctions are definitely subtle).
When it comes to how to cook which potato, the most important consideration is texture. If you want fluffy mashed potatoes or French fries with a crispy outside and a dry interior, start with a “mealy” (I wish they had a better word for this) potato like a Purple Peruvian or Russian Banana (or the Russet Burbank; it’s high amylase content is what makes it the perfect French fry and potato chip potato). If you want your potato to maintain its shape after it’s cooked for gratins or potato salad, use a waxy variety like Desiree or Rose Finn Apple (my personal favorite). Experiment with all the different kinds available here to find your own favorite.
If you are not a member of Six Rivers Market, you can also buy potatoes from Vern at the Farmer’s Market, which starts up again on Saturday. If you’re not much of a cook, the next time you have potatoes at Ivano’s or Spuds, ask them what variety of Vern’s potatoes their serving. But by all means, while you’re waiting for your spring greens to arrive, try something new in the potato world. After all, Russet Burbanks make up only one five-thousandths of the possibilities (even if we do live in Idaho).


Purple Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Serves 4

1 head garlic (see below)
Olive oil for drizzling
2 T butter
2 lbs Purple Peruvian potatoes, cut into small (2”dia or less) pieces, peeling is optional
1/2 c milk, warmed
Salt and pepper to taste

Cut the top off the head of garlic to just expose the cloves. Drizzle with olive oil and wrap in aluminum foil. Bake at 400F until the cloves are soft, about 20 minutes. Let cool and remove cloves from skin and set aside
.
Place potatoes in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook potatoes until a fork pierces them easily, about 15 minutes.
When the potatoes are done, drain them and return them to the pot. Add the garlic and mash the potatoes and garlic thoroughly. Turn the heat on very low and add the butter. Slowly stir in the milk. Mix well until creamy and the butter is melted. Admire the amazing color and serve immediately.

Auntie Har’s Oven Fries
(My aunt showed me how to make these super easy and delicious “fries”. They’re a staple in our house)
Serves 2

4 medium sized Desiree potatoes (these yield a creamier center, use a mealy potato if you want a more traditionally dry French fry center)
2 T olive oil
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the over to 400F. Cut the potatoes into wedges lengthwise. Place them in a bowl and drizzle with the olive oil. Coarsely chop the rosemary and add it to the bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Toss all the ingredients together, coating the potatoes thoroughly. Place on an ungreased baking sheet, peel side down if they will stand up. Bake 20 minutes or until brown and crispy. Try and not eat them all before serving.

The Doll Collection

I've been collecting dolls from all over the world for 40 years. It's a pretty impressive collection of over 150 dolls. I've been keeping them in a cabinet my parents bought for me years ago. The collection long outgrew the cabinet so when I moved from Moscow to Sagle two years ago, I carefully packed the collection in boxes and resolved to find a bigger better display case to house them.
Fast forward two years and the boxes of dolls were still stacked in a corner of my studio until just the other day when my brand new, hand-made case arrived. It's absolutely beautiful and just what I wanted (which is good because I helped design it).
Jon and I began filling it immediately. It was so much fun. There were so many cool dolls that I had forgotten about. Like this guy from Argentina
Or these dudes from Africa
It took us several enjoyable evenings of guessing where they came from and then placing them just so. I had to make sure that the coolest ones were up front and the ones with the older, wobbly legs were propped against the back wall.
After so many years of having them all smushed together in the old cabinet, it was amazing to be able to see each and every doll. They have definitely livened up the living room

Earth Day Resolutions

I’m starting to see that bright green color of new growth around town. Blades of grass are starting to poke up through last years’ thatch and even through the piles of sand along the road. Buds are appearing on trees and bulbs are popping up everywhere. I love the fresh colors of Spring, especially that special vibrant green that seems almost surreal after months of brown, grey and white.
April might be my favorite month (although I have a tendency to be in love with whatever month it is, and relish the fact that the Northwest has all four seasons). It is definitely the Month of Green. And it’s green for more reasons than just the multitudes of shades of the color cropping up wherever you look. April is also the month when we celebrate Earth Day and that’s a very green holiday (okay, so the word green is getting overused in the media, but please allow me the segue).
I like to think about Earth Day as a kind of New Years Eve celebration for the planet. I use April 22nd as an excuse to make resolutions to go easier on Mother Earth all year long. There are so many things you can resolve to do to lessen your impact on the planet, but this year my resolutions are all about making more sustainable choices when it comes to food.
Resolution #1: Buy more local food. Buying locally produced food is great for the planet and your taste buds (not to mention the local economy). Most of the food you buy in the supermarket travels an average of 1500 miles. Imagine the amount of pollution caused by trucking all that food across the country and the world. And then imagine how long it takes to get to your table and how much flavor and nutrition is lost along the way.
It just makes sense to buy what you can locally. I know it’s the end of winter and there doesn’t seem to be much local produce right now but there is local beef, lamb, pork, eggs and potatoes and soon the greens and asparagus will start coming in. The Farmer’s Market starts in less than a month. There’s still time to sign up for a share in a local CSA (which is like buying a share in a local farm). And now that Six Rivers Market (the new on-line local food market) is up and running, there’s a place to buy local food all year long. I’m going to give myself extra bonus points for buying local organic food, which goes one step further in eliminating hazardous chemicals from the environment.
Resolution #2: Grow some of my own food. Why stop with buying local? Why not grow your own? We’re starting a serious (at least as serious as you can get when you live in the woods) garden this year so I can have the freshest produce possible and I’m going to make an effort to preserve the food we grow so it will last all winter long. If you don’t have space for a garden where you live, a Community Garden is starting up at Dubs’ Field. Contact the Sandpoint Transition Initiative to find out more.
Resolution #3: Eat less meat and make sure the meat I am eating is grass fed and local. If you’ve read anything about Confined Animal Feeding Operations (CAFOs) you know they are a nightmare for both the environment and the animals. Industrialized meat production is one of the most disgusting inventions of modern agriculture. Animals are packed together, never seeing a blade of grass, forced to eat a diet of corn and agricultural by-products (including bone meal and chicken poop in the case of beef production), most of which is grown with lots of pesticides and herbicides. Their waste is concentrated in huge lagoons that leach into the water table and occasionally overflow to pollute local streams and lakes. And the gas expelled from all these animals is a leading source of greenhouse gases.
Another problem with consuming lots of animal protein is that it takes about 40 calories of fossil fuel to make 1 calorie of industrially produced meat so it’s very resource intensive. Eating less of it is an easy way to lower your environmental impact.
Eating grass-fed, pasture-raised meat and poultry eliminates most of these environmental hazards (except for the gas thing and that’s where eating less meat comes in). You’re still getting less calories out than you put in, but the calories used to produce grass fed meat come mostly from the sun, not fossil fuels.
Plus it’s much healthier for you with higher levels of omega-3 fatty acids (one of the good fats) and lower saturated fats (the bad guys).
Resolution #4: Eat fish only from sustainable fisheries. While we’re on the subject of protein, I might as well make sure the fish I’m eating isn’t causing fisheries to collapse. Too many of the world’s fisheries are on the brink of extinction and our unrelenting desire for more isn’t helping. The Monterey Bay Aquarium puts out a handy wallet-sized guide that shows what fish are being sustainably harvested and which you should avoid. I’ve printed one off and am going to actually look at it before I make my fish purchases.
Resolution #5: Buy in bulk. I’m not sure how much embedded energy is in all the packaging that surrounds our food these days but it’s got to be a significant amount. Buying food without all the bells and whistles and eye catching packaging not only decreases the amount of resources needed transport the food from one place to another, it also decreases the amount of stuff you have to throw away or recycle. An added benefit of food you can by in bulk is it’s most likely less processed than packaged food. Whole foods are healthier for you and take a lot less energy to produce, making them healthier for the planet, too! Both Yokes and Winter Ridge have a good selection of bulk food. I’m also giving myself extra points when I bring reused bags to the store to put all that good food in.
Last year’s resolutions to eat more organic food and to always bring my own shopping bags have been going pretty well, so I think I can handle these five new ones. I hope you’ll join me in adopting one or two of them as well.

Vicki Reich tries to live simply in Sagle and is glad she can start riding her bike to town again. She’s anxiously awaiting fresh local produce and would love to hear if you’re making any Earth Day resolutions. She can be contacted at wordomouth@yahoo.com

While you’re waiting for that fresh local produce to come in, try this delicious potato soup with some of the local potatoes still available from Vern’s Veggies.

Potato Soup with Chives
Serves 4

2 T butter
1 large onion, chopped
3 strips cooked bacon (optional)
2 t. paprika
4 lbs local potatoes, diced
5 c. chicken stock
1-3 pieces Parmesan rind (optional)
½ c sour cream
Salt and pepper to taste
3 T fresh chives, finely chopped

Heat butter in a heavy stockpot. Add the onions and sauté over medium heat until they soften. Add the bacon and paprika. Sauté 1 minute. Add the potatoes and stock. Bring to a boil then lower heat to simmer. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes. Add the Parmesan rind if you have any. Cook another 15 minutes or until the potatoes are soft. Using a slotted spoon, mash some of the potatoes to thicken the soup to the consistency you like. Place the sour cream in a bowl and add about 1 cup of the soup. Stir then gently add the mixture to the pot. Do not allow the soup to boil again. Add half the chives to the soup. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve and sprinkle with remaining chives.