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.