Farm Bulletin: Growing a Better Popcorn

I had always assumed that farmers either bought seed from seed companies or saved seed from their own crops, simply replanting them every year. It never occurred to me that farmers could actually develop their own crops by selecting for various characteristics like flavor and the ability to thrive in the field in winter. This essay by contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm outlines his journey with one variety of corn to achieve a particular result—a perfect popcorn.

It came to us as "Pennsylvania Dutch Butter Flavored Popcorn," a dry mouthful by any measure, and one of numerous popcorn varieties we tried early in the corn project. We have found when seed house descriptions lovingly linger of the color of the kernel and its diminutive proportions, just around the corner disappointment also lingers. That is a certainty. A few years ago, Glass Gem corn was released with great fanfare. Rhapsodic descriptions of its immense and ancient beauty spilled forth. Our mailbox filled with forwarded links to the breathless description. Not a whisper about its flavor, though, and since then the hype has faded. The best we have heard is that it is not really bad. In contrast, the descriptions of the Pennsylvania Dutch Butter Flavored Popcorn made note of the buttery flavor, going so far as to assert that butter was wasted on it. That hooked us.

This year's harvest…that's alotta popcorn!

The first year we planted Pennsylvania Dutch Butter Flavored Popcorn we were immediately struck by what a mess it was, not just a plain, off-white kernel, but the ears were runty and malformed, a substantial proportion of kernels prone to silk cut, a defect which means they don't pop. The plants lodged—fell over—at the merest zephyr. Then there was the insanely long name. Linda Colwell helped us many a gloomy afternoon as we salvaged the early crops. The challenge posed by the litany of flaws could not distract us from the lovely flavor. Reminiscent of Osgood Fielding III* as he patiently hears out Daphne's long list flaws, no corn is perfect.

Amish Butter polenta, great with lamb (recipe).

With time, we have managed to eliminate most of the flaws in Pennsylvania Dutch Butter Flavored Popcorn. The geneticist Barbara McClintock describes the process as getting "a sense of the organism." Previously, we have described the process as developing a design brief. Once smitten, your focus shifts to teasing out certain qualities. The grower uncovers the genetic map walking down the row and observing each plant, cataloging the variation. One of the first flaws was easily eliminated by renaming it the not-quite-synonymous but much shorter "Amish Butter." From 38 letters down to an efficient eleven. Likewise, silk cut went rapidly from 38% to 11%, and now it is just a fraction of a percent. Slowly, other growers have followed suit on the name, some keeping the "flavored popcorn" as though it would clarify something.

Linda Colwell's Sibley squash tamales.

Early on, we also discovered is its fine quality as ground corn. Popcorn has the highest protein content of the corn types, and it makes perfect sense that this variety that happens to pop would make a good cornmeal for cooking up as polenta. The white polenta works well with fungi, cheese, lamb and seafood. It also makes a lovely hominy, superb in a seafood pozole. After the New Year, Linda came over with a selection of her expertly prepared Amish Butter tamales. Just as we have developed a sense of the organism, Linda has developed a keen sense of the ingredient. This is why we must leave out popcorn from its name, unless we are selling kernels for that purpose. No corn is perfect, but Amish Butter is damn close. Come to think of it, Jack Lemmon was pretty close to perfect as well.

* Osgood Fielding III (Character)
from Some Like It Hot (1959)

Osgood Fielding III (l, played by Joe E. Brown) and Daphne (played by Jack Lemmon)

Jerry: Oh no you don't! Osgood, I'm gonna level with you. We can't get married at all.
Osgood: Why not?
Jerry: Well, in the first place, I'm not a natural blonde.
Osgood: Doesn't matter.
Jerry: I smoke! I smoke all the time!
Osgood: I don't care.
Jerry: Well, I have a terrible past. For three years now, I've been living with a saxophone player.
Osgood: I forgive you.
Jerry: [tragically] I can never have children!
Osgood: We can adopt some.
Jerry: But you don't understand, Osgood! Ohh...
[Jerry finally gives up and pulls off his wig]
Jerry: [normal voice] I'm a man!
Osgood: [shrugs] Well, nobody's perfect!
[Jerry looks on with disbelief as Osgood continues smiling with indifference. Fade out]

A Pound of Cornmeal, A Whole Lot of Work

I'd gone to Ayers Creek Farm to help with some chores, but the first thing I did was to head out behind the house where I knew Anthony had his telescope set up. This time of year it's focused on the top of an old snag about a hundred yard from the house in a grove of firs. Looking through the eyepiece, I could see three fluffy grey humps. One hump shook itself and turned into the sunlight that was just coming up over the hills to the east. Piercing golden eyes lit up, and when I whooped the other two humps turned and I was the one who was being watched.

I tore myself away from the three great horned owlets when I heard Carol starting up the gator to head over to the shed—actually a large new processing barn for the corn, beans and berries that are grown on the farm—to help grind 120 pounds of flint corn needed for the week's deliveries to some of Portland's best restaurants. Carol escorted me to the back room of the shed and introduced me to my companion for the day, a small corn mill (top video and left) that, shaking and rattling, has ground their signature Roy's Calais Flint cornmeal for the past several years.

If you've ever heard the words "artisan" or "slow food" or gone to the farmers' market and wondered how a farmer could charge several dollars for a one-pound bag of organic corn meal, I have your answer. Let's not go into the several years it takes to develop the perfect corn for your climate that grows well, is resistant to local pests and yes, tastes good, too. The year before planting, thousands of that season's harvest are sorted to find just the right kernels to use for seed for the next season's crop. When the next spring arrives, it's time to prepare the fields, plant the kernels and make sure the plants survive to maturity. In late summer the corn is harvested, the stalks are stripped, the cobs are dried for several months and then sorted to find the very best ones to grind into cornmeal.

Those selected cobs are bagged and stored until it's time to grind the corn, which is where I entered the picture. Carol had put the cobs through a hand-cranked cast iron corn sheller that removed the dried kernels, then run them through a cleaner that removed the silks and other debris from the shelling process. The crates of shelled kernels were stacked next to my grinder friend, and it would be my job to turn the machine on, fill the hopper with kernels and watch as they dribbled down through the grinder, each hopper-full filling the bucket at the bottom with around 10 pounds of cornmeal.

After the bucket was filled and I'd set it up for the next batch—it took about 20 minutes or so to run the full hopper through the grinder—I turned on the machine and then headed into the main room with the bucket of cornmeal. Each batch of the ground meal had to be hand-sieved through a mesh-bottomed frame with handles at each end, which meant dumping about three pounds at a time into the sieve and shaking it into a tub until all the meal had filtered out, leaving a pile of larger corn bits and husks from the kernels.

The sieved cornmeal was still slightly warm from the grinding, and the smell of the freshly ground corn was like fresh tortillas or a warm pot of polenta—distilled comfort. After each bucket had been sieved, I scooped the meal into a tub to weigh it out into five-pound portions that I bagged and labeled. Then it was time to run back to the grinder for the next bucket, take it out of the grinder, put in a fresh bucket and refill the hopper. Did I mention that this had to be done for 120 pounds? Right.

By mid-afternoon, having paused for a lunch on the patio of lamby-licious shawarma wraps from Izgara in nearby Forest Grove, the crates were filled with bulging bags of cornmeal ready for delivery. Baptized from head to toe in cornmeal dust, I drove back to town with a new appreciation for what it took to produce those little one-pound bags of cornmeal waiting for me on my next trip to the market.

A Little More Comfort

The other day I heard someone call the weather we've been having "June-uary," an apt descriptor for the chilly deluge that's drowned previous rainfall records and nearly pushed the Willamette over its banks for the first time since the Clinton administration.

And while the weathermen are saying it's going to start drying out soon…btw, that job has to have been fun lately, huh?…I can almost guarantee there are going to be a few more evenings where it'll be nice to turn on the oven and fill up on something warm and hearty.

The other night I found myself staring at the Le Creuset and thinking a nice casserole would be just the thing for dinner. Then I remembered a polenta dish I'd experimented with a few years ago. Since we still have a few bags of Ayers Creek's Roy's Calais flint corn in the freezer from some propitious hoarding I did last fall, I pulled one out and grabbed some frozen tomato sauce from last summer. A little chopped kale, a little cheese and—voila!—instant comfort.

Polenta, Tomato and Cheese Casserole

4 c. chicken stock (or vegetable stock)1 Tbsp. butter, margarine or olive oil
1 1/2 c. polenta
Salt and pepper to taste
3 c. tomato or spaghetti sauce
2 c. chopped kale
2-3 c. cheese (mozzarella, parmesan, cheddar or any combination)

Preheat oven to 350°. While oven warms, heat stock in medium saucepan over high heat, adding butter at the beginning. When it starts to boil, reduce heat and whisk in polenta. Keep at bare simmer and stir for a few minutes until it is the consistency of porridge, adding salt and pepper to taste. Reduce heat to lowest setting and cover, stirring occasionally to make sure it doesn't burn.

Heat sauce until it is warm. Stir in kale and allow it to wilt. Grate cheese. Pour half of polenta into 2 1/2 qt. casserole, top with half of sauce and half of cheese. Pour rest of polenta over that and top with rest of sauce and cheese. Place in oven and bake for 30 min. until cheese melts and begins to brown.

In Season NW: Back in Balance

I try to walk the walk even as I talk the talk. But, darn it, I have to admit that, down deep, I really hate not being able to have my favorite things simply because they're not in season.

So this morning the dogs scattered like a flock of startled birds when I leapt out of bed with uncharacteristic speed, slammed down some coffee and dashed out the door to be at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market when it opened. You see, it's been weeks since Anthony and Carol of Ayers Creek have been at the market, and every store in town was out of Carol's incredible preserves.

Not only that, ever since I started making polenta from their heirloom Roy's Calais Flint corn, every other polenta seems pasty and flat in comparison. And I haven't had the heart to subject myself, not to mention our guests, to the disappointment I knew would be in the cards from making any other kind. Which explains my desperation to get there, right?

When I saw on Anthony's e-mail bulletin that they'd have a full complement of preserves along with the first of the season's polenta, there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity to snag some. Of course, when I got there and saw the Aci Sivri Hungarian peppers that swept me off my feet last year, I grabbed a couple of bags of those, as well.

Now that there are six pounds of polenta sitting in the freezer, and with preserves and peppers in the cupboard, I feel so much better about winter. But maybe I'll have to get just a couple more pounds of polenta next week. Just in case.

The Best He's Ever Had: Pot Roast

You can't ask for a better compliment when friends come over for dinner. Not once, not twice but three times during the evening our friend, who was here with his lovely wife, said that my pot roast was the best he's ever had.

Now, you could say that he was just being polite. Or that we had plied them with enough of Dave's most excellent cocktails and some mighty fine wine (a '99 Mas de Chimeres from the Languedoc region of France) that it was the alcohol doing the talking. But, since he wasn't weaving around the room and his diction was (as usual) flawless, I chose to believe that his compliment was sincere and that his request for the recipe was genuine.

So, without further ado, except to note that the polenta made from Roy's Calais Flint corn grits was freaking awesome, here's the recipe:

GoodStuffNW Pot Roast Bourguignon

This is extremely easy to make, but you'll need to get it in the oven four hours before dinner or make it the day before. Cutting back on the time in the oven makes for a less than stellar texture. 'Nuff said.
4 slices bacon, cut in 1/4" pieces
1 3-5 lb. piece of fine-grain roast like sirloin tip or similar cut, not chuck
Salt and pepper
1 large onion, chopped fine
4 cloves garlic, chopped fine
2 ribs celery, chopped fine
4 carrots, sliced in rounds
1 lb. mushrooms, sliced
1 Tbsp. basil
1 tsp. thyme
2 sprigs rosemary
1 6-oz. can tomato paste
2 c. beef stock
2 c. red wine

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Put bacon in a large braising pot that can go in the oven and fry till fat is rendered. Remove bacon, then add meat to pot and brown on all sides, sprinkling generously with salt and pepper. Remove to platter. Add onions and garlic and saute 2-3 min., then add carrots and celery and saute 2-3 min. Add sliced mushrooms and saute till soft. Stir in tomato paste and herbs, then add stock and wine. Bring to a boil, then take off heat and place meat and bacon in pot. Cover and place pot in oven, baking for 2 hrs. Remove meat from pot and slice in 1/4" slices, then return the sliced meat to the pot, covering with sauce and vegetables. Cover and bake for another 1 1/2 hrs.

Farm Bulletin: What Makes Polenta

Anthony and Carol Boutard are back at the market after a hectic corn harvest. Lucky for us they were able to dry and grind their own polenta again this year. It's been said that their fresh-ground polenta is as close as you can get to that found in Italy. You can find them at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market on Sunday from 10 am till 2 pm. Anthony writes:

Our 2004 seed order to High Mowing [seed company] ended with a hastily added item: #2390 - Roy's Calais Flint. We were without any miller's knowledge or the foggiest idea of what we were doing, but the description hooked us. There was a dry description how a jar of corn seeds was found in recently deceased Roy Fair's basement. Roy Fair had maintained this old New England landrace [def: particular kinds of old varieties that are farmer-selected in areas where local subsistence agriculture has long prevailed] for decades in his Calais, Vermont garden. The description ended with the hook for us: "Makes good cornbread." That understated declaration had the voice of authority, no hyperbole employed. We added the good cornbread corn to the order and recalculated the total. By October, we were amateur millers savoring the fragrance of freshly ground corn. Like all millers, we are now dreaming of owning a really big millstone.

This flint is a very short season corn that ripens in 70 days or so. The plants are short as well, four to five feet tall, with red or green stalks. The foot-long ears have eight rows of kernels, and the color ranges from dark mahogany through pumpkin orange to a buttery yellow. Unlike the ornamental"painted" corns, all of the kernels on a plant are the same color. The color of the plant stalk is unrelated to the color of the grain. This is the corn the colonists of New England encountered as they moved inland, away from the white flints of the coastal areas.

The revered "mais otto file" of northern Italy is identical to Roy's Calais. Perhaps the Italian stonemasons who cut marble in the quarries of western Massachusetts and southern Vermont sent some ears back home. In growing the corn, we have come to appreciate the influence of the pigment on the grain. As a group, the red pigmented ears are the first to ripen in the field, a week or so earlier than the lighter colors. The yellow kernels tend to split in wetter weather, sometime germinating within the unshucked the ear. The orange ears are damaged by earworms, but are resistant to the aphids which attack both the red and yellow ears. In the Piedmont [of Italy], the highest altitude farms have selected out the red ears. At lower altitudes the orange and yellow types prevail. They are all referred to as otto file irrespective of color.

On our terrace of the Wapato Valley, we are going to keep the full range of colors, though we have shifted the proportion of red ears from 10% found in the original to 30%. Our target is 1/3 red, 1/3 orange and 1/3 yellow. The lightest yellows will likely drop out of the mix over time as they set their tassels and ripen quite a bit later, and often have poorly filled ears as a result.

[At the market] We will have grits and meal, as well as a polenta meal which includes both the grits and meal. We use the polenta meal for most everything that calls for either grits or meal. Best of both worlds. When cooking with fresh cornmeal, bear in mind that it absorbs much more liquid than stale meal, just the same as beans. We start at one part meal to three parts water, and work from there. The meal is unbolted (whole grain) and is best stored in the freezer. If you have a bit of raw squash kicking around, Cory Shreiber [former chef and owner of Wildwood] suggests adding some with the meal.

Details: Ayers Creek Farm at the Hillsdale Farmers Market. 10 am-2 pm on the first and third Sundays of the month. Intersecton of SW Sunset Blvd. and Capitol Hwy., just behind the Hillsdale Shopping Center.