Sunday, September 18, 2016

Farm Bulletin: The Glory of Seeded Grapes

It could be said that contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm is somewhat of an outlier. He has championed the causes of flint corn and parched green wheat, choosing to grow the ungainly (but delicious) Sibley squash over butternut. Seeded grapes are also on this list, deserving of a cri de coeur.

As we have noted previously, the fruits developed at the New York Experiment Station in Geneva were named after hamlets and county seats in the state. The towns of Canadice, Interlaken, Steuben and Sheridan lend their names to the grapes we sell. This week, we arrive downstate at the big one, the New York Muscat, and like the burg it is named after it is big in the mouth with an outsized character. A hybrid, a melting pot of the best of American grape character with the exotic qualities of the Black Hamburg Muscat. There is a bit of seediness at its center, but that is the essence of its urbane nature, not a blemish. Just as Times Square must be appreciated as part and parcel of the city's complex character, not a blemish.

New York muscat.

We fully understand that some people are truly unable to chew the seeds because of dental work or diverticulitis. But for others, we urge you to approach the seeded grapes fearlessly. The maturation of the seed in a grape triggers biochemical changes in the fruit that are reflected in its flavor and aroma. The seedless grapes we sell are delicious and we enjoy them, but they suffer from a Peter Pan complex in that they are forever lost in childhood, unable to develop their mature character and flavor. To shun grapes because they have seeds is to shut out a whole range flavors that grapes develop. The complex black muscat flavors in the New York Muscat or the delicate rosewater notes in the Swenson White can never develop in a seedless grape.

Price grapes.

The seeds themselves have a wonderful spicy flavor when chewed, a fine counterpoint to the sweet flesh of the fruit. It is also a powerful little nutritional package which has the everything needed to generate a whole new grape vine; ponder that before you spit out the tasty morsel as though it is trash. Sakes alive, people heap praise on the soapy quinoa seed, which only produces a weedy annual, but shrink from a spicy grape seed that will produce a perennial vine than can grow a century of more. Makes no sense at all when you actually think about it. The seeds of Price and New York Muscat are thin skinned, so it is easy to savor the full character of the grape. Someday, the maturation of Portland's palate will include the savory grape seed, appreciating the flavors and nutrition of whole grape as much as whole grains.

Oh, dream on, you naifs of Gaston. This defense of seeded grapes has long been pursued by idealistic grape growers to no avail. Then again, as a friend would remind us, hope springs eternal. That is why we still grow and harvest them where less resolute have torn out their vines in favor of the seedless grapes. We will be ready for the great grape seed awakening.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

Lamb Raised Right: Braised Lamb with Fava Beans

When I first started this writing gig I had no idea of the opportunities I'd get to meet amazing, caring, thoughtful people who've dedicated their lives to providing their families and communities with food that is, as Slow Food likes to put it, "good, clean and fair." In terms of meat animals like cattle, sheep, pigs and chickens, it means that they've been raised humanely, on pasture, where they can live with other animals, feeling the soil under their feet and the sun on their backs. These farmers feed their animals none of the genetically modified corn and soy that most conventionally raised animals are raised on.

Really, it's exactly the picture of the farm that we all carry around with us from the stories read to us as children.

Les and her dogs at Jo-Le Farms.

Why am I so convinced that pasture-raised meat is better? Well, everyone's heard the phrase "you are what you eat" when it comes to junk food versus healthy foods. But I heard a phrase a few years ago that goes "you are what you eat eats," and it kind of blew my mind. In other words, if the animals we eat have a diet of the food that they are intended to consume—found in healthy pastures—rather than commodity grains laced with antibiotics and chemicals, then it follows that they'll be healthier animals and the meat and milk they provide will be healthier for us to eat.

Ben Meyer butchering lamb.

Not to mention that raising animals on pasture is better for the environment and actually sequesters carbon in the soil rather than contributing to climate change or groundwater pollution from waste products. (Read Nicolette Hahn Niman's Defending Beef: The Case for Sustainable Meat Production for more on the subject.)

And when it comes time to die, the larger animals are either killed in their pastures instantly with a swift shot behind the ear, or trucked a short distance to a humane processing facility where they aren't waiting in fear, listening to the panicked sounds of other animals.

It had been awhile since I'd bought a lamb (really a nearly-year-old sheep) because I hadn't found a farmer nearby who had pasture-raised sheep available. But when I visited my friends Kendra and Ivan at Shimanek Bridge Farm, who raise cattle, pigs, chickens and turkeys on pasture, they introduced me to their neighbors, Les Carter and her husband Jon of Jo-Le Farms, who raise—get this—pastured sheep!

Meat from one lamb.

Les mentioned that they'd be slaughtering a few of their sheep in the near future, and I nearly jumped into her arms. She promised to call when it was time, and a couple of weeks later she contacted me to let me know when they'd be available. I then called my friend Ben Meyer of Old Salt Marketplace to see if he'd help me butcher it, a process I prefer because I get to decide whether I get chops versus racks and bone-in or boneless roasts.

Animals like goats and lambs are generally small enough to carry in the back of my Mini Clubman, Chili, so I pulled up in front of Ben's place and he graciously carried it inside for me. An hour or so later I walked out with a cooler-full of cut and wrapped chops, ribs, shanks and roasts, and I saved out a big bone-in shoulder roast for our first lamb dinner in some time.

Braised lamb with favas.

Braised lamb is the easily one of my favorite ways to cook and eat a lamb roast, though I've had several grilled boneless leg roasts that run a close second. Braising is also one of the easiest methods for cooking lamb, since all you have to do is add some vegetables and liquid to the lamb in a pot and cover it for two or three hours in the oven. The lamb slowly melts into fall-off-the-bone tender chunks, the liquid and meat juices meld into gravy and the vegetables and any herbs give it a marvelous depth. I added a pound of fava beans from Ayers Creek Farm, a cup or so of tomatoes I'd just roasted, and that night we sat down to our first lamb dinner in quite some time.

And now there are so many more lamby meals to look forward to this winter, thanks to the hard work of Les and Jon. I can't wait!

Braised Lamb with Fava Beans

1 lb. fava beans, soaked overnight
4-5 lb. bone-in lamb shoulder
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 yellow onion, roughly chopped
3 large carrots, quartered and cut crosswise in 1/2" pieces
3 large cloves garlic, smashed
3 large bay leaves
5 sprigs of fresh thyme or oregano
6 c. chicken or lamb stock
1 Tbsp. salt plus more to taste

Preheat oven to 375°.

Heat olive oil in large Dutch oven over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Add onion and sauté, stirring occasionally, until it is tender. Add carrots and garlic and sauté until tender. Add lamb, bay leaves, herbs, salt, fava beans and stock. Cover and place in oven. Check every half hour or so to make sure there is still liquid; if it has all been absorbed, add water or stock. Braise for 2-3 hours until meat is ready to fall off the bone.

Remove meat, bay leaves and any stems from herb sprigs. Cut or pull the meat off the bones and chop into serving-sized pieces. Place in serving bowl and ladle beans, vegetables and gravy over it. Serve with hunks of artisan bread for sopping up the juices.

Check here for more recipes for lamb, then read farmer Les's recipes.

Dirty Hands Make Good Cooks

"I don't like salads," one young man announced at the beginning of class when he learned about the menu for lunch that day.

I'd signed up to take a class called "Kids Cooking at Side Yard Farm" with my nephew, a first-grader. I wanted to do something together that would be fun and interesting for both of us, and this class looked like just the ticket. Plus, though he's a good, if not adventurous, eater, I hoped that it might expand his culinary horizons a bit, too.

Talking, tasting, reacting—not always positively!

Joanna Sooper, an elementary school teacher and founder of Turnip the Heat Cooking School, said that helping kids discover new tastes and flavors and teaching them how to cook with fresh, healthy ingredients was an idea she'd been dreaming about for several years. During the fall and winter months  she offers classes for toddlers to teens at various locations around town, focusing on cooking delicious food from scratch with whole ingredients. But when the growing season rolls around she often partners with area urban farmers to offer classes on their farms, where kids can actually go out into the field and pick their ingredients themselves, then make a meal that they'll share together.

Making pesto.

This class was held at The Side Yard Farm, Stacey Givens's acre-sized plot in the Cully neighborhood of Northeast Portland. Long rows of raised beds bursting with herbs, vegetables and fruit that Givens and her crew sell to local restaurants proved irresistible to the five kids who'd signed up for the class. As Sooper led them on a tour through the rows, she talked to them about the five tastes—salty, sweet, sour, bitter and umami—and how each was represented in the plants growing on the farm. Then she had each child wander the rows and stand next to a plant they'd never seen before, helping them figure out what it was and what it might be used for.

Salad with flowers.

Then it was time to start harvesting ingredients for lunch, which was going to consist of a salad with a creamy fruit dressing, pesto for pasta and, for dessert, a peach hand pie. After discussing what might be good things to put in a salad, the kids were unleashed to gather ingredients and bring them back to the table under the outdoor arbor. With much tearing of leaves, chopping of vegetables—yes, there are knives that the kids are taught how to use safely—and assembling of the salad, Sooper then described the history and ingredients that make a pesto, and the kids were sent out to gather those among the beds, too.

Peach hand pies: hands-down favorite.

When the pesto was made, it was time to assemble the hand pies that would bake while the students were eating lunch, and there may have been some sampling of the peaches during the cutting and stirring to make the dough and filling. Sooper and her students then set the table—napkins folded, silverware in its proper positions—and sat down to lunch, talking about what they'd learned and discovered, what they liked and didn't.

The hand pies? Hands down the favorite among most. And the boy who hated salads? He said the salad they'd made together was the best he'd ever had and, yes, he'd definitely have it again.

At the time, my nephew, a rather quiet sort, said it was fun and he wouldn't be opposed to doing another class like it. But I heard from his parents that, in the next few days, he'd mentioned that there was such a thing as purple basil, and it tasted just like regular basil. Oh, and that you can make salad dressing from a squished peach and it was really good.

There are lots of cooking classes for kids being offered in town, so check the calendar on the left for dates and times.

Friday, September 09, 2016

Farm Bulletin: A Cur From The Pound

I have learned from contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm that farming is much more than just planting seeds in the ground, harvesting the crops and selling the results in the market (read any of his Farm Bulletins collected here over the years). Here he discusses a crop that appeared accidentally but has become a staple of the farm.

Konrad Lorenz, the founder of ethology (the study of behavioral patterns), recommended bringing home a cur from the pound rather than seeking out a pedigreed dog. He noted that mixed breeds have more genetic rigor, and have more interesting characters, than so-called pure breeds. Several years ago, staff's tomatillos escaped their garden and wound up in our cornfields and pretty much everywhere else. Tomatillos are obligate out-crossers; they typically don't self-pollinate. Freed from genetic bondage, any well-defined varieties soon become a chaotic mix. Tomatillos never interested us until we tasted staff's sauces; they were simply more flavorful, with lots of character and a sweet touch.

Tomatillo flower.

Mirroring Lorenz's observation about dogs, Zenón and Abel noted that topsy-turvey genetics of the cornfield tomatillos made their sauces more flavorful than uniformly big green, unripe fruits found at the supermarket, which they treat with distain. As you look at the tomatillos we grow, it is not unlike looking at the mix of dogs in a pound. There are tiny fruit, big fruit, yellow fruit, green fruit, purple fruit, pale white fruit. Some fruit remain demurely enveloped in their husks, while the gibbous fruit have split their shirts open, some of the plants reach almost four feet high while others sprawl barely three inches above the soil. It is a feral mix, and we keep it that way with staff's help.

Desiccated tomatillo husk with seeds.

But flavor is more than simple diversity, they told us, the tomatillo must be harvested when it is ripe and sweet, not immature like a cucumber. The tomatillo must fall off the plant. The ripe fruits are stored on the kitchen counter within their dry husk and never, ever refrigerated. We use a mesh colander which allows for air movement around the fruits. Stored this way, ripe fruit lasts into March or longer. In early August, Zenón brought us a tomatillo harvested last September that had escaped his attention, and it was still good. We will add seeds from that fruit to next year's planting, another genetic bauble to consider and admire.

As we noted in describing our work with the Astiana tomato, every crop needs its own design brief, a list of specifications so the crop does what is desired and remains profitable to grow. For some crops we are veritable genetic martinets, making sure they remain on straight and narrow path with military precision. For dry beans and soy, as well as squash, seed pumpkins and popcorn, this sort of strict attention is essential, any lapse in discipline and we would be out of the business. On the tomatoes and flint corn, our brief is a bit more relaxed, tolerating or even selecting for a smattering more of diversity. We like to have orange ears in the corn because they are pretty and create no commercial liability. Likewise those peculiar horns and creases on the tomatoes are tolerated because they are funny and have no effect on flavor. Then there are the cornfield tomatillos and migration barley where a beautiful anarchy takes shape and we stand on the edges of the genetic scrum as referees. We are simply making sure no deleterious traits get out of hand and some of the best traits defining the population's character are not lost in the scrum, the drunken walk of evolution.

Travels with Chili: Mountains of Fun, Part 3

On a trip to Eastern Oregon for a food conference in May (read my report here), I decided to take a couple of days to explore this incredibly beautiful part of the state. You can read part one about the trip to La Grande and Union; part two traveled to Baker City and Halfway, where I uncovered murder and mayhem on a bison ranch. The portion below follows up with adventures in the Wallowas, with stops in Joseph, Enterprise and tiny Lostine.

It was tough to leave beautiful Halfway and the stories of bison rancher Dave Dur, but my husband Dave and I were due in Enterprise for our farm stay at Barking Mad Farm, where owners Emily and Rob Klavins had arranged a meet-and-greet with local food folk. The trip was going to take three hours if we took the standard route back to Baker City to catch I-84 to La Grande, basically making a long circle around the western side of the Wallowas.

Barking Mad Farm.

But we'd heard about a short cut through the mountains on a National Forest highway that would slash our travel time by a third. Trouble was, no one could tell us for sure if the road—which is closed in the winter due to snow—had been cleared of debris and fallen trees. We were pretty sure the snow was gone, but I wanted reassurance that it was passable all the way through to Joseph. The forest service office in Baker hadn't heard, so Dave Dur called his buddies at the Halfway ranger station, and, while they couldn't officially announce it was open, they assured him that it was clear to Imnaha, just a few miles from Joseph. (Read about a previous camping trip to the Imnaha.)

So we took off in Chili, crossing our fingers that its low clearance wouldn't be a problem, and found our way to NF 39, a winding—and paved—two-lane highway that snaked its way through the mountains. At times it followed beautiful creeks that cut their way between steep forested gorges, at others it climbed zigzagging switchbacks to dizzying alpine heights above the trees. Eventually it dropped down to the Imnaha River and into Joseph, where we decided that our daredevil exploits deserved to be celebrated with a pint of local brew.

Well-deserved beers at Embers Brewing.

Unfortunately when we got to Joseph we found that Mutiny Brewing, our favorite area brewpub—and at the time the only woman-owned brewery in the state (now there's Covalent Brewing in Portland, owned by Meagan Hatfield)—had closed. Luckily we discovered Embers Brew House just down the street featuring 17 beers on tap and settled at the bar for our celebratory pints.

We pulled up to Barking Mad Farm with a half hour to spare, which gave us time to unpack and chat with Emily and Rob and meet their cattle dog, Roo. Their comfortable craftsman farmhouse is situated just outside Enterprise on the rolling plain at the foot of the mountains, which affords a spectacular view of the range (top photo) and an occasional peek at the its highest point, snow-covered Sacagawea Peak. The lawn and garden are studded with Adirondack chairs, with additional seating on the expansive deck, but I was drawn to the double hammock slung to take advantage of the view.

Michael and Jody Berry of Dandelion Wines.

Our room on the second floor of the house, called the Treetops Suite, was a large, airy room with sliding doors opening onto a private deck looking out at the mountains. I was ready to settle in with a book, but people were starting to arrive for the meet-and-greet. Emily had laid out a generous spread of breads and cheeses, along with dips and wine, and introduced me to the crew, including my friend Lynne Curry, a local author, food activist and blogger. Lynne had given the keynote at the food systems conference I'd attended—which led us into a discussion of local farms, CSAs and issues of food access in rural communities. (See my report here.)

After that we adjourned to spend a little more time catching up with Lynne, and she suggested a new wine shop in Enterprise that was having a rosé tasting that evening. We walked into Dandelion Wines, owned by Michael and Jody Berry, and saw not the expected lineup of four or five wines, but a counterlength formation of more than a dozen rosés from all over the globe ranging from the palest of blushes to a bright lipstick red. The just-over-ten-feet-wide by a hundred-feet-long space was also packed with locals exchanging hugs and catching up on gossip while juggling wine glasses and plates of noshes from a sideboard of delicacies that would be impressive at any catered event in the big city.

"This is Eastern Oregon?" I found myself thinking. "My, how you've changed!"

Wallowa Lake Lodge.

The evening continued at Terminal Gravity Brewing's pub, where you'd swear you'd walked into that Boston bar called Cheers where everybody knew everybody's name and the beer and food flowed freely in a spirit of community and conviviality. After that, retiring to our quiet aerie at the farm, we fell asleep as fast as our heads hit the pillows.

The next morning the coffee was strong, the pastries piping hot from the oven and the eggs were fresh from Emily's chickens, their bright yolks making up for the lack of sun in the sky. We drove off in Chili right after that, knowing we wanted to make a couple of stops on the way back, first an obligatory pause to admire Wallowa Lake and its historic lodge.

Original log chair at Wallowa Lake Lodge.

The lake was originally home to the Wallowa tribe of the Nez Perce band before settlers arrived, and the lake and the area surrounded it were guaranteed to the tribe in the Treaty of 1855. It was, that is, until gold was discovered in the area, and the tribe was displaced and banished. The Wallowa Lake Lodge was built in 1925 and is a gem among small lodges that still retain their rustic roots. The lodge's 22 rooms sit above the main floor with its stone fireplace and wood panelled dining room, and historic photos document the building of the lodge and grounds. This is definitely a place we want to come back to.

Our second stop was in the tiny town of Lostine. I'd read in none other than the New York Times Sunday Magazine about a fellow named Tyler Hays, who'd recently opened a shop in SoHo called M. Crow and Company carrying "a marshmallow roasting stick made of oil-rubbed walnut, copper and leather ($60). A child’s leather tool belt with a toy hammer made of cherry and Osage wood ($250). A pickle jar handcrafted from local clay and glazed with wood-stove ashes ($260). A pot of hair product made with homemade beeswax and hand-expelled oils ($120)."

M. Crow in Lostine.

What does this have to do with Lostine? Well, it turns out that the tony New York store is Tyler's second. The first is in Lostine, just miles from his hometown of Joseph. According the store's website, Tyler's family "were among the first few dozen families to settle the valley in the late 1800's" and the store in Lostine was run by the Crow family for 107 years. In 2012 he purchased the store "to prevent its closure and the loss of an iconic memory of my childhood" and to provide an outlet for his fascination with making everything he needs.

Interior of M. Crow in Lostine.

Much more rustic than the photos of the ultra-spare, white-walled SoHo store, the original in Lostine still has the creaking floorboards and dusty, old-building smell that I remember vividly from my childhood when I'd explore abandoned buildings and old cabins. It's got some of those expensive over-$300 jackets and fancy cutting boards, but it also features house-brewed beer and local honey (more of Tyler's hobbies). The article in the Times said "he plans to build a workshop in Lostine that will take over much of M. Crow’s production while creating jobs for area residents," providing an economic boost to the communities around the store.

Tap list at Ordnance Brewing.

It certainly gave us something to talk about as we drove home, making our final stop in Boardman at Ordnance Brewing to check out just what was going on in the big metal storage building by the train tracks. (In the first installment of this series we'd arrived too early to sample its wares.) While it isn't a glossy brewery with repurposed timbers and copper-topped tables, they make an impressive array of 30 beers from the expected IPA to a fruit beer called Bloops to a sour beer, a CDA, a saison and a host (literally) of others, eleven of which were listed on the whiteboard graph tacked up behind the bar. It's easy to enjoy one or more sitting on folding chairs at the cable-spool tables.

Read the rest of the Mountains of Fun series: Part One about La Grande and Union and Part Two about Baker City and Halfway.

Top photo from Barking Mad Farm; photo of Dandelion Wines by Lynne Curry.

Monday, September 05, 2016

End of Summer Prune Crisp (Yes…Prune. Not Plum!)

Planted as street trees all over Portland in the late 1800s and early 1900s, Italian prunes were as synonymous with this city as the rose is today. By 1927, one source indicates, there were 55,000 acres of Italian prunes growing on farms in Oregon and Clark County, Washington. Despite the efforts of marketing types to rebrand them as plums—prunes being associated with the dried fruit used by elderly folk to aid…um…digestion—they are being grown by farmers all over the state to this day.

I love eating them out of hand and spitting out the pits (yes, I'm still five years old), but I also love them in desserts. The Italian prune crisp pictured above is one of my favorites, plucked, if you will, from my mother's 1950s-era Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook. So simple, it just involves pitting and slicing the fruit, sprinkling it with cinnamon and a mixture of flour, butter and sugar, then popping it the oven. The perfect no-muss, no-fuss, one-pan "modern housewife's" recipe.

Click here for more information on the history of these prunes in Oregon.

Italian Prune Crisp

For the filling:
4-6 c. Italian prunes, pitted and quartered
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 c. water or fruit liqueur like cassis, triple sec, etc.

For the topping:
3/4 c. flour
1 c. sugar
1/3 c. butter or margarine

Preheat oven to 350°.

Place fruit in 9" by 12" pyrex baking dish. Sprinkle with cinnamon and salt. Drizzle with water or liqueur.

Put flour, sugar and margarine in bowl of food processor. Pulse until the consistency of cornmeal. (If doing by hand, blend by hand with a metal pastry blender.) Sprinkle evenly over fruit. Bake for 40 min. or until bubbling.

Click here for more on the history of these prunes in Oregon.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Farm Bulletin: Of Tomatoes and Green Shoulders

Followers of Good Stuff NW know that I am a dedicated fan of the Astiana tomatoes grown by Anthony and Carol Boutard at Ayers Creek Farm. They are my family's sauce tomato, and this year I'm planning on roasting upward of 200 pounds of them to last us through the winter. Below, Anthony outlines just a few of the reasons I love them so.

Astiana is our cooking tomato derived from a Po River Valley tomato landrace of northern Italy. The fruits are large, usually green-shouldered, pear-shaped and pleated to varying degrees. A landrace is a population of fruits, vegetables or livestock that is shaped by the environment and culture of the region to which it belongs. More broadly construed than a simple catalogue variety, representatives of the landrace will vary from village to village, garden to garden, plant to plant, but they have similar qualities. In their natal valley, these tomatoes were selected for the quality of their flavor and texture after their encounter with the stove, and not for the salad plate.

We never use the word heirloom in reference to the crops we grow. We avoid the term as it coveys the idea of something not for daily use, delicate teacups for special occasions and their ilk. Our goal is to grow everyday food. Also, the honorific "heirloom" is merely defined as named varieties that have been around for at least 25 years without regard to quality or link to the land. A callow, boring and not very useful definition, up there with the silly term ancient grains. We work hard and take great care to produce fresh grains and legumes every year, and bridle at the thought that people describe them as ancient, not fresh and flavorful. If you want ancient, the bulk bin of the grocery is a good source for ancient beans and grains that don't cook up quite right.

Seeds are living plants, reshaped by their cultivators and the environment year after year, and landrace is the better term. It recognizes that living organisms are constantly adapting to changes in environments, cultures, and cultivators. The idea of a precious variety frozen in time may have a romantic pull, but the competent cultivator works to observe and guide the genetics of the crop.

Astiana, as we have named it, is our own tomato. It is the result of a decade of reselection of traits that two of us have mapped out in what we call a "design brief." We are, in effect, sheepdogs herding a milling bunch of traits. The most distinct and important trait of our tomato is its persistent green shoulders. This is an ancestral trait in tomatoes that modern breeders have long selected against because in the market they are seen as not yet ripe. It is a visual imperfection because people have long associated pure red fruit as ripe. Nonetheless, the green shoulders are closely linked to elevated flavor and recently some breeders have been looking to reincorporate this gene complex into their breeding populations. A good cooking or culinary tomato has high acidity as well as a high level of sugars and pectins. For a salad tomato, pectins are undesirable because in the raw fruit they mask certain flavors, and when dressed with vinegar or lemon juice, high acidity is not so important.

The large, blocky shape of the Astiana holds the field heat much longer than the smaller pear types favored further south in Italy and in the U.S. The ample body below the lovely green shoulders stays warm after sundown, allowing it to ripen and develop its intense flavor even during the short days followed by long, cool, late summer nights typical of the Po and Willamette Valleys, both sharing a perch on the 45th parallel. The plump, pear shape is a functional trait.

As a sauce tomato, we want a fruit with a high solid content, a relatively dry fruit. For seed production, we favor fruits with a dry locular or seed cavities. When you slice into the fruit, there is often air around the seeds. Acceptance of this trait carries some risk because if there is an opening to the outside environment, one of the cavities may mold.

In addition to the traits described above, there are a few other qualities we have selected as part of our breeding population. We include plants that are very late ripening, well into October if the rains hold off. A long counter life is another desirable quality. We have held them on the counter for more than five weeks without the slightest loss of quality, in fact they improve over that time. Disease resistance in an important consideration. Flavor is paramount, though. Every tomato is cooked and tasted before its seeds go from the cutting board to the seed jar. We want a good culinary tomato, not a slicer. It is superb as a dried fruit, as well.

So as you prepare your tomatoes, whether it is this weekend or sometime in October, you will have this mental map of how we approach the fruit. And if you hit a mold locular cavity, know that it is the nature of the beast, a trade-off we accept in our quest for a good sauce tomato.

As a bit of trivia, the tomato Gretl drops in the market of Salzburg is almost identical to the Astiana in size, shape and pleating, though it lacks the lovely green shoulder. The Sound of Music was filmed on location in the summer of 1964, providing a historical reference for this style of tomato that ranges up into Austria. If we had made the connection earlier, we might have been tempted to call our tomato 'Gretl'. (Not really, the green shoulders are missing in the Salzburg rendition.)

NOTE: Here's my technique for roasting these luscious beauties. Or check out the Boutard's recipe for tomato sauce.

* * *

For those interested in obtaining some of these seasonal beauties, Anthony has sent this additional note on Monday, Sept. 5:

"For those who find it hard to travel west to Ayers Creek on the weekends, Rubinette Produce will order 20-pound lugs of Astianas from us upon request. Rubinette will charge $42 per lug if paid by credit card, or $40 by cash/check. Place your order by e-mailing Josh Alsberg, the owner of Rubinette. He will need your order by Wednesday afternoon. He will get his order in to us Wednesday evening so we can harvest and pack the tomatoes for delivery Friday. The tomatoes will be available for a few weeks, weather permitting."

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Can Online Sales Help Food Co-ops Thrive?

When I heard that Food Front Co-op in Portland was offering online ordering and delivery to most of the Portland area, I knew it was a big story. Food co-ops have traditionally depended on their immediate neighbors for most of their sales and, particularly, for their membership subscriptions. With the grocery scene in Portland exploding, co-ops were struggling to compete. So I pitched the story to the prestigious online food-issues website, Civil Eats, and it published today.

Can Online Sales Bring Food Co-ops into the Modern Age?

New technology is allowing once-fringe natural food co-ops to reach a new audience.

If the mention of a cooperative grocery store conjures images of barefoot hippies pawing through bins of nuts and grains like squirrels, then we have news for you. Many of today’s co-ops have modernized their business plans to reach a wider audience. This fact is especially evident in the way many co-op groceries, like national supermarket chains, are on their way to offering online ordering, with delivery in one to two hours.

The reason that many brick-and mortar grocery stores are jumping on the online grocery bandwagon is simple—for many people, shopping online is more convenient.

Due to the emergence of delivery services like Instacart and Amazon Fresh, the technology which has made it possible for the chains to get online has also made it easy for co-ops, many of which have only one or two stores. Customers simply go to the store’s website, log into the online ordering section and start shopping.

Instacart currently has 100 retailers nationwide, including several co-ops such as Rainbow Grocery in the Bay Area, Good Grocer in Minneapolis, Central Co-op and Puget Consumers Co-op (PCC) in Seattle, and Harvest Coop in Boston. Andrew Nodes, head of retail accounts at Instacart, says that co-ops particularly benefit from online ordering and delivery services because it allows them to expand beyond their neighborhood membership base by giving them access to new customers.

“[Co-ops] also sell hyper-local and perishable items that don’t have the exposure that national brands backed by multibillion dollar corporations do,” he says. “Instacart is a way for them to increase customer exposure to those items.”

According to Brie Hilliard, marketing director of Food Front Cooperative Grocery in Portland, Oregon, the co-op decided to go forward with an online system two years ago, but put it on the back burner until it had a point-of-sale (POS) system in place. This year, they’ve begun offering sales through Instacart and so far around 130 customers have taken advantage of the service.

The timing was fortuitous, as it coincided with the opening of a popular 17-store grocery chain, New Seasons Market, just a few blocks from the co-op’s flagship location. With online ordering, Hilliard said, Food Front is now able to fill orders from its two locations for most of Portland’s neighborhoods in one to two hours.

Read the rest of the article.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Hot House? Chill Out With Cool Shrimp Tacos

I know it's been too hot for too long when I open a cupboard door and a blast of hot air rolls out and hits me in the face. At our house it seems to take about three days of temperatures in the high 90s to achieve this effect, so the last thing I want to do it exacerbate the problem by turning on the stove. Normally that means grilling outside, but Dave's been out of commission this week with cataract surgery, leaving dinners a last-minute "what are we gonna do" problem.

Fortunately there are good friends who have our back, who know that the last thing a person wants to do on a hot evening after a day of shuttling back and forth from doctor appointments is figure out what to have for dinner. My friend Ann offered to bring over her family's favorite hot weather, no-cook dinner on one of those nights, arriving in the late afternoon with a chilled container of shrimp salad she'd adapted from a recipe clipped out of a newspaper years before.

Made with local pink shrimp—which have passed a rigorous certification process and been declared a sustainable fishery by the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC)—and in-season avocados, this is a godsend in hot weather, but it's also a terrific quick solution to a weeknight dinner. Plus I can see it topping a salad of chopped greens or piled into a pita or tossed with hot or cold pasta or topping some crostini for a refreshing appetizer. Seriously, it's that flexible.

So while it's kinda hard to clip a recipe out of the computer screen, it'd be worth your while to bookmark it, save it or pin it someplace for future reference. Which is exactly the reason I'm writing this post—so I can find it the next time I need it!

Shrimp and Avocado Tacos

1 lb. pink shrimp
2 medium slightly firm avocadoes, diced
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded and diced
2 green onions, thinly sliced crosswise
1/2 c. chopped cilantro (leaves only)
Juice of 1 lime
Salt to taste
Corn or flour tortillas, at room temperature or warmed in the microwave

Combine all ingredients in large mixing bowl. Serve with tortillas.

While this is great all by itself, I chopped some cabbage to serve alongside, and you could also included sour cream, salsa or hot sauces as desired.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

My "Heart Dog"

Among dog folk there's the idea of your "heart dog," that one dog that captures your heart and ensorcells your spirit.

Walker at eight months.

Walker is that dog. I knew it when I met him, a gorgeous little tricolored hunk of Corgi puppy about five months old, the grandson of a Westminster Best in Show-winner named Carbon Blue. He came to us permanently at six months old, joining our brindle princess Rosey (née Pawcific Postit of Penrose) and adding a spark of spunk to our sedate household.

He's certainly not perfect, by any means—hyper vigilant, barky, dog reactive—but sometimes you just can't help who you love. As I said to a friend recently, "He may be a butthead, but he's our butthead."

Walker with Rosey.

At nine years old now, he was recently diagnosed with a malignant tumor called an adenocarcinoma, an aggressive cancer around his anal gland. It was only discovered by accident when I noticed that he'd been drinking lots of water, more than was normal even in the summer heat. Thinking it might be a urinary tract infection (UTI) or problems with his kidneys, I took him in to a vet new to us, Heartfelt Veterinary Hospital, to be tested.

Walker and Kitty.

In drawing the urine sample—non-dog owners can stop reading right here—they found a swelling around his anal gland and did a biopsy. It was, as noted above, a malignant tumor. X-rays were done that indicated no metastisis of the tumor to his lungs or lymph nodes and blood work showed the same, so surgery was done.

On the beach.

A large (2" by 2") tumor—in situ, with no rupture—was removed, and he's resting next to me on the couch as I write this. It'll take a couple of weeks for the healing process, with lots of pain relievers and ice on the wound, but with luck he'll live a full life and have many more squirrel chases, ball retrieving and walks on the beach to look forward to. None of that is guaranteed, of course, only fervently hoped for.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Buck, Buck, Moose: Cooking Antlered Things

When you think of hunters, no doubt visions of the bearded, raving, wild-haired Duck Dynasty clan come quickly to mind. Or maybe some of the swaggering, macho types crashing through the underbrush on reality TV or YouTube videos. Almost all guys, almost all promoting an over-testosteroned, libido-driven, "conquering nature" mien.

But that's not all hunters.

Take my friend Hank Shaw. A former newspaper reporter who covered California politics from the state's capital in Sacramento, he'd grown up with a mom who showed him how to find and eat the beach peas, sea rocket and clams that grew in or near the waters around the small town of his youth, and a dad and step-dad who loved to fish. He also began to hunt, and to write about the wild things and the wilderness for various publications and for his own blog, which was around the time our paths crossed.

Here's how he sums up his mission:
"Honest food is what I seek. Nothing packaged, nothing in a box, nothing wrapped in plastic. I eat meat, and I’m not keen on factory farms, so I either hunt it myself or, rarely, buy it from real people who raise animals humanely. Other than pork fat for charcuterie and the occasional octopus, I have not bought meat or fish for our home more than a handful of times since 2005. I am a constant forager, angler, hunter, gardener and fan of farmer’s markets. Eating locally and making good food from scratch is what I do."
Hank's first book, Hunt Gather Cook, was about his own evolution from forager and eater to the person he describes above, with sections on each of the three activities in the title. Duck Duck Goose, his second book, was about hunting the waterfowl that live in our waterways and populate the skies above us, as well as how to cook them from beak to tail feathers, to paraphrase the au courant nose-to-tail style of eating. As a non-hunter myself, but someone who cares very much about food and cooking, I find his writing and storytelling, not to mention his recipes, engaging, compelling and approachable.

His latest, Buck Buck Moose, is just what it says in the subtitle: recipes and techniques for cooking deer, elk, moose, antelope and "other antlered things." It's no surprise that I appreciate the sense of humor in that title, as well as Hank's meditations on what it means to take a life in order to sustain your own.
"I feel a deep kinship with the animals I hunt; most hunters do. We get to know them in a far deeper way than all but a few other sorts of human: We know their personalities, their foibles, their habits. Where they like to live, what they like to eat, and what they might do in any given situation. Yet most of us take delight in being fooled when a deer or rabbit shows us some new quirk of their behavior. Hunt any animal long enough and it ceases to be the Disneyfied caricature of itself most people know and blossoms into a clever, free-thinking entity—an entity not so different from us." – From "The Hunter's Paradox"
His book tour for Buck Buck Moose will bring him to Portland in early September, and I'd encourage you to attend an event if you can, as well as to buy the book. Here's the schedule.
  • Sept. 10: Book signing and Demo in Portland at the Filson Store.
  • Sept. 11: Butchery demonstration and class in Portland at the Portland Meat Collective. (Sold Out)
  • Sept. 12: Book Dinner in Portland at Elder Hall
Top photo by Holly Heyser.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Brotherhood of the Travelin' Scones

It's no secret that the muse of Good Stuff NW and, frankly, much of the rest of my life, is my life's partner-in-crime, my husband of 35 years—almost 40 if you're counting from the time we began dating—the meat smoker, baker and cocktail-shaker who makes so many things so delicious around here. Early on we were avid backpackers, but our camping gear has ballooned to include glassware and a cast iron Dutch oven, to which was recently added a cast iron griddle so Dave can make even more incredible breakfasts over the campfire.

Heating the Dutch oven.

Baking has become a consuming passion for him, which means that every two weeks he's making six loaves of the most delicious sourdough bread from a starter he made himself—friends, feel free to chime in here with kudos—inspired by the amazing book by Chad Robertson, Tartine Bread. That means four loaves of white-with-a-pinch-of-wheat, and two loaves of whole wheat or whatever flour he's experimenting with (bags of barley and buckwheat have been seen lurking in the pantry lately).


Whether it's a bread weekend or not, he's always got some additional baking he wants to do. And that includes weekends we're not even at home. No matter where we go now, from the forest to a beach house with a passle of friends, he brings along his flour, a dab of sourdough starter or some ingredient he needs to make bread or rolls or scones or pancakes or…you name it…whatever is possessing his attention at the moment. And, guaranteed, if he makes it, it will be good.

This is roughing it?

One of his go-to recipes at the moment is one for breakfast scones with currants or dried cranberries or whatever dried fruit hasn't been gobbled up in our family's constant foraging for snackage. Warm and fragrant, with a touch of sweetness that begs for a smear of honey or jam, that sunrise shape when it comes steaming out of the oven defines a perfect morning served with butter (or, in his case, a pat of margarine) and a hot, strong cup of coffee.

Currant Scones

3 c. (13 1/2 oz) whole wheat flour (or 2 c. all-purpose, 1 c. whole wheat)
5/8 oz. (20 g) cane sugar
3/4 oz (22 g) brown sugar
2 Tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
8 Tbsp. unsalted butter or margarine
1 c. milk
2 eggs
1/2 c. currants
Extra flour for forming dough

In a gallon zip-lock bag or other container, mix flour, both kinds of sugar, baking powder and salt. Bring along butter, milk, eggs and currants separately, along with parchment paper. If baking in a lidded Dutch oven (footed or one with a trivet/lid lifter), bring briquets and, if available, a laser thermometer. Good heavy welding gloves also come in handy for manipulating the hot cast iron. As a friend said, "Every project requires a tool budget."

To make the scones, put the dry ingredients in a mixing bowl and add the butter or margarine in 1/4" slices. Cut in with a fork or pastry cutter until the mixture is the texture of cornmeal. Stir the currants into the mixture. In a separate bowl, whisk the milk and eggs together. Stir the liquid into the dry mixture and mix until all the flour is moistened. Turn out the mixture onto a floured surface. Knead until the dough is smooth, about 25 kneads—this is a bit more handling than with biscuits. Form the dough into a ball.

Place the ball on a piece of parchment paper,and flatten it with your hands to form a round disk about 10" in diameter. With a bench scraper or a knife slice into  into wedges (we usually make 12 from this recipe) but don’t separate the wedges.

For baking in an oven:
Preheat oven to 375°. Put parchment paper on a baking sheet or rimmed baking pan. Form disk and cut wedges. Place in oven and bake until golden brown, 22-24 minutes.

For baking in a Dutch oven using briquets:
In a chimney starter or in the campfire, place a pile of briquets using this guide to determine the number of briquets needed. On a cleared space on the ground near your campfire ring—make sure there are no flammables nearby and that no people or pets will stumble into the dutch oven—spread about one-third of the briquettes evenly below the Dutch oven and two-thirds on the lid. After 30 to 45 minutes of preheating, remove the lid and, using the laser thermometer, check the temperature of the bottom of the oven. It should be between 350-375°. If it isn't up to temperature, remove any briquets that have burned out and replace them with fresh ones. Once the oven is up to temperature, lift the parchment with the scones (see oven method, above) and place them in the oven and cover with the lid. Every 10 minutes or so, turn the top lid a quarter turn to the right and the oven itself a quarter turn to the left for more even baking. Baking time may vary from a home oven, but check it at about 20 minutes and gauge timing from there.

Monday, August 08, 2016

White Barbecue Sauce: What Alabama Knows

Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food knows his fire, and if he says white barbecue sauce is the real deal, then I'm all in. But he begins this essay with a caveat for all the barbecue essentialists out there.

[Note] Barbecue semantics: Anytime the word barbecue is used somebody will point out that the usage is wrong. Point taken.
Alabama White Barbecue Sauce

Big Bob Gibson created this mayo-based sauce for the chickens he cooked at his namesake Bar-B-Que restaurant in Decatur, Alabama, in 1925. You can buy it bottled right from the source, but it's easy to make. Since tomato-based sauces almost always have some sugar in them, they tend to burn if brushed on during cooking, but Alabama white bbq sauce doesn't. It adds a nicely caramelized coating to whatever you've got on the fire.

I don't actually measure anything when I mix up a batch, so these are approximate quantities. Start with about a cup or mayonnaise (I like Duke's), then add about a quarter cup of Katz Gravenstein apple cider vinegar, a tablespoon of good prepared horseradish (or grate some fresh), the same amount of mustard (Dijon or stoneground), a couple of chopped garlic cloves, several grinds of black pepper and a shot of Crystal hot sauce.

Brush the sauce on meat while it's cooking, use it as a table sauce for the finished product or try it as a dressing for a salad of raw sweet corn cut from the cob tossed with a chopped Walla Walla sweet onion. I like it on grilled pork shoulder steaks (top photo). Cut about a half-inch thick, these have better flavor than any pork chop. If you can't find them or get your butcher to cut some for you, buy some country style boneless "ribs" (not really ribs but chunks of shoulder). They're typically about an inch thick, so cut them in half, pound to flatten and thin a bit more, sprinkle with sea salt, and let sit for at least 15 minutes. Grill over a moderate fire, basting with the white sauce and turning frequently, for about 20 minutes; move to a cooler part of the grill for the last 10 minutes.