Farm Bulletin: Who's Minding the Frogs?

One of the reasons that I reprint the marvelous essays that Anthony Boutard sends to his market mailing list is because of his ability to capture the ineffable quality of the land and the creatures that live on it, creatures that he and his wife Carol have worked diligently to bring back to Ayers Creek Farm. His keen eye, his wit and his passion for the farm, as well as his concern for its well-being, as expressed in this essay, give glimpses into a world so close by but that we rarely hear about.

Fourteen years ago this month, we made an offer on the 144 acres that has become Ayers Creek Farm. We followed the excellent advice of Cato the Censor regarding the most important considerations in purchasing a farm: water, roads and neighbors (aquam, viam, vicinum). Although Cato was thinking of the other farms as the neighbors, for us the Y-shaped draw that cuts through the farm is now an important part of our neighborhood. Flanked by ancient Garry oaks, Douglas firs, a couple of madrones, big-leaf maples, hawthorns and service berries, this is the marrow of the farm. In using "marrow," both senses of the word apply: the life-sustaining core of the farm's bones and, in old English vernacular, a partner or spouse.

When we arrived at the farm, the draw was choked with blackberries and used for decades as a dump. Water heaters by the dozens, engine blocks, stoves, refrigerators and other appliances, along with great coils of barbed wire, had been been pushed into the thorny mess. Over a two year period, we cleaned it up, hauling out the blackberries and appliances. It took longer for draw's function to return, but over time native plants reestablished themselves. Each year, we see improvements as we patrol, shovel in hand, for surviving blackberries.

This marrow of the farm now supports a pair of red-tailed hawks, three or four kestrel families and a pair of great horned owls. The owl laid the first of her eggs last Wednesday, and is brooding (right; click to enlarge). The second egg will be under her soon. The kestrels and red tails are amorous and will join the broody owl in their nesting tasks. Over the summer, flickers, wrens, brown creepers, orioles, acorn woodpeckers, nuthatches, tanagers, various warblers and juncos will all raise clutches in the draw and on its flanks. The engine that supports this diversity is the complex mixture of grasses and broadleaf plants that grow on the ground once choked off by blackberries and appliances. The grubs and caterpillars that eat the leaves in turn feed the growing chicks. And some of those growing chicks will fatten the young owls, hawks and falcons.

In the wet soil at the base of the draw, a healthy population of red legged and tree frogs developed. They migrated out into the oak savannah and the cropped fields during the summer and early autumn. Dozens made their home around the house, seeking shelter in the shiplap siding during the day. They were constantly underfoot. Many came inside with the house plants, and we enjoyed their calls during the winter. The large, phlegmatic salamanders (Pacific ambystomas) also started appearing in the fields. The increasing populations of these amphibians validated our management efforts. We have come to terms with the fact that farming is necessarily disruptive of natural communities, but having the reinvigorated marrow of the farm offsetting our activities is a balm.

Late last April, following the release of radiation from the damaged Fukushima Dai-ichi reactors and its detection over the Pacific Northwest, we corresponded with a customer regarding its effect on our food. Our response was that lighter radioactive isotopes carried by the wind have a short half-life and by the time our fruits and vegetables are growing the weather pattern would shift away from the Pacific storm pattern. As I responded I thought to myself that if there was a problem, the frogs would be the first affected. We heard the peepers through the spring.

In July, when we started harvesting greens for market, we noticed the frogs had almost disappeared. Where we would disturb a dozen or more frogs any other year, we were lucky to see just one, and it was invariably small. The fields were silent, none of their rasping calls. In the evening we noticed that even the bull frogs in the wetland had ceased calling. We searched the siding: the smudges where the frogs crawled in and out remained, but there were no green faces staring at us – an eerie Mary Celeste moment. We asked Zenón if he noticed anything different with the frogs. He shrugged his shoulders and said he thought there were plenty. Two days later, when he was working in the sweet potatoes, prime tree frog habitat, he called us over and said we were right, they had gone. When I had a moment, I went down the the ditch below the poplars, another reliable frog habitat, and the Leopard and Bull frogs were also missing. We decided to wait and see if things changed; it was a cool spring.

For months we have been watching and listening. Friday afternoon, we heard a single frog calling in the draw, a hopeful sign, but a far cry from previous years. Over the past decade, a chytrid fungus has decimated frog populations around the world, including high altitude populations in the Cascades—maybe it has encroached upon the valley floor. Perhaps frog populations are naturally cyclic and the cold spring was at fault. However, it was hard to shake off the knowledge that as our frogs were drawn by vernal rites to the water, the storms over the Pacific were delivering a radioactive welcome. Salamanders (right, above) are also missing from their usual haunts. Like the frogs, these are fragile amphibians who must leave their protected lairs and travel, sometimes miles, to the ponds and wetlands where they mate, and the larval stages mature.

Fifty years ago, Rachel Carson's Silent Springwarned us to pay attention to the damage we do to the world around us. The book was elegantly written, and carefully research and documented. Sadly, half a century later, Carol and I are waiting anxiously to see if the frog ponds remain silent this spring. We seem to be alone in this vigil, getting blank stares when we raise the matter, and I have hesitated to even broach the subject in a newsletter though it gnawed at me for months. Bees have their beekeepers and birds have their birdwatchers to sound the alarm when all is not right. Someone has to mind the frogs.

Photos (excepting the frog on the bean leaf) by Anthony Boutard. Track the progress of the owl family with the Great Horned Owl Follow-Up and Leaving the Nest.

Livin' in the Blurbs: Poetry of Spring

Grab your tatami mat and calligraphy brush, folks, it's time for the 3rd Annual Springwater Farm Truffle Haiku contest! If spring has you longing for these treasures from the forest floor and you find pleasure in the olfactory explosion in your head when you inhale their scent, this is your chance to express yourself. Even better, there are prizes involved! The deadline for entries is Sunday, Feb. 19, and you can post your composition on The Farmer's Feast website or drop it off at the Springwater Farm stand at the Portland Farmers Market on Sat., Feb. 18, or at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market on Feb. 19. If you need some more inspiration, last year's winner was a doozy:

It was our first time
You and I unearthed much more
Now we search as one

As with any contest, if you don't enter, you can't win, so get to scribblin'!

* * *

You don't need to watch Portlandia or read the New York Times to get the message that Portland is one of the coolest places on the planet to live. All you have to do is go to the city's Bureau of Planning and Sustainability (yes, it's cool enough to have that, too) and take a gander at their list of Urban Growth Bounty classes (also listed on the calendar, left). From beekeeping to chickens to organic gardening to food preservation, for a reasonable price ($15-$50) you can learn from the experts about how to be a more productive citizen. Literally!

* * *

If you love good music but hate crowded arenas or concert halls, not to mention sky-high ticket prices, consider one of the small venue concerts put on by Matt Miner Music. Matt began by putting on concerts in his home featuring local and national singers and songwriters looking to supplement their concert schedules. Now he's moved to intimate venues where you can sit mere feet from some brilliant musicians, with ticket prices that are ridiculously cheap considering the talents on display:

• Gary Ogan. Mar. 8, 7 pm; $10 adv., $12 door. O'Connor's Vault, 7850 SW Capitol Hwy.
• Jazz Guitar Summit with Dan Balmer, John Stowell and Mike Pardue. Mar. 18, 3 pm; $20 adv. Nel Centro Restaurant in the Modera Hotel, 1408 SW 6th Ave.
• The Barn Birds, Chris Kokesh and Jonathan Byrd. April 27, 9 pm; $15 adv. Secret Society Ballroom, 116 NE Russell St.

Details: Concerts by Matt Miner Music. Tickets available through Brown Paper Tickets. Info, contact 503-484-8196 or e-mail.

Fungi and Farro? Far Out!

It's been deadline city on a couple of stories for FoodDay, so I apologize for the dearth of posts this last week. But fortunately contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood is still recounting his travels in Italy, so we can all be the beneficiaries of the delicious knowledge he gained there. And if you can, get some of the Pantellerian oregano he brought back…it is some of the most amazing oregano I've ever had!

It’s been almost three months since we were on Pantelleria, but I always have a little bit of the island in my kitchen. And since we went mushroom hunting while we were there, using Pantellerian flavors with mushrooms seemed right.

Farro con Funghi Pantesco

Soak and cook a couple of cups of the Bluebird Grain Farms farro. [Other farro is fine, too, but Bluebird is a small NW farm with fantastic products. - KAB] While the grain is simmering, slice a pound of mushrooms, several cloves of garlic, and a couple of anchovies (preferably salt-packed). Cook the mushrooms in a dry skillet over medium heat; they’ll give up their liquid, and when it’s almost completely cooked off, add enough extra virgin olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan.

Add the garlic, anchovies, a few big pinches of Pantellerian oregano, and a couple of tablespoons or so of capers. (You can buy salt-packed capers at New Seasons or order the Pantellerian capers from Gustiamo…if you do, get the salt-packed anchovies from them, too.) Add the cooked farro, simmer together for awhile, and eat.

Photo of Pantellerian Boletus and Agaricus Delicius from FlourishNourish.

Mascarpone for the Masses

Part of the myth of the classic superhero is that they walk among us, unrecognized, until the moment when their skills are required, whether to save a damsel in distress or to prevent a runaway train from plunging into a ravine. Whether they slip around a corner to strip down to their tights or simply take off as is from the street, they're inevitably paragons of beauty and rectitude.

My superheroes play just as important a role, even though they rarely get comic books written about them or movie deals based on their life stories. Today's story in the Oregonian's FoodDay, titled "Lessons from a Mascarpone Maestro," is about just such a person.

Marco Frattaroli was born in Rome to his mother, a university professor, and his father, an American earning his medical degree in Italy. He inherited his love of food from his family, since his father's parents had a restaurant in Philadelphia, and his mother's family were from Brescia, in Lombardy, known for its cheeses, salamis and prosciutto.

As a child his family lived and traveled extensively in Europe, then as a young man he came to Portland to go to college at PSU. He stuck around, selling Roman antiquities and, oddly enough, hunting accessories, before deciding he wanted to learn to bake the kind of bread he remembered from his childhood. A stint as an intern in Italy taught him the skills he needed, and he and a friend opened the Tuscan Bakery, one of a small handful of artisan bakeries operating in Portland at the time (others were Pierre’s, Portland French Bakery, Le Panier and Bread & Ink).

He eventually opened Basta's Trattoria in 1992 in a renovated fast food joint, using reclaimed and recycled materials for the interior, with murals by Sandy Sampson, his first wife. Dedicated to local, organic and house-made ingredients, it was quite unusual for its time. And that kind of effort, especially spanning more than two decades, qualifies as heroic, at least in my book.

Video and photos by Randy Rasmussen for The Oregonian.

Truffle-licious Eugene Weekend

When the folks at Travel Lane County asked if I'd be interested in coming down to the Oregon Truffle Festival to forage for the elusive Oregon white truffle, I answered as fast as I could hit the "reply" button on my mail program and type "Yes, please!" Not only did it afford the chance to learn the secrets of the trade from experts, which I'd get to write about for an upcoming article in FoodDay, I'd have a chance to explore the city of Eugene, a place I hadn't been in far too long.

The festival was taking place at the Eugene Hilton, a large convention-type hotel near the Fifth Street Public Market, an indoor shopping center that opened in the seventies in a redeveloped industrial building. Originally a funky blend of hippie dress shops, coffee houses and import shops, the market's become a still-local but a bit more upscale home to restaurants, gift shops and artisan wares and is the anchor of the newly designated 5th Avenue Historic Market District.

Luckily for Dave and I, our designated lodgings were just a couple of blocks away in the far smaller but much cozier Campbell House bed and breakfast (left), a historic inn built in 1892 that is tucked in a quiet neighborhood of Victorian homes at the base of Skinner's Butte. Comfortable rooms, most with ensuite bathrooms, are nicely appointed but not crowded with Victorian gewgaws. It has a restaurant on the premises, as well, though we didn't have a chance to try it out, but breakfast came with great coffee, warm house-made scones and an entrée (scrambled eggs one morning, breakfast burritos the next).

Since we weren't due at the festival reception for a couple of hours, our first stop after checking in was just down the street at Steelhead Brewing. A mainstay of the market neighborhood for more than 20 years, it's roomy, comfortable place with a good selection of Northwest beers and a more wide-ranging menu than is found in most brewpubs. And it's a great place to work out the kinks from the road over a pint or two.

On our one free evening we met friends for a drink and apps at Sfizio (top and right), a fairly new place just north of the river across the Ferry Street Bridge. Though its situated in a strip mall, the glow from its warm and woody interior and the scent of Italian goodness wafting from within put to rest my initial skepticism about the location. Plus it had the imprimatur of Jason French (one of the friends we met) who said its chef, Alex Bourgidu, had been his very talented sous at Ned Ludd.

The cocktail list was well-edited, and many of the drinks featured house-made infusions and bitters. The apps were terrific and reflected a seasonal bent as well, like the grilled sardines with roasted white beans, fresh ricotta-topped crostini and house pickles. The rabbit sugo, which the table split, was an intensely flavored combination of braised rabbit and root vegetables with papardelle and shaved ricotta salata. This place is definitely at the top of our go-to list for dinner on the next trip down.

Crazily, after an evening opener like that, we'd made reservations for a late dinner at Marché, one of Eugene's top-rated restaurants. On the ground floor of the 5th St. Market, this very French bistro is casual and intimate with spot-on service that doesn't blink an eye (or turn up a nose) when you request splitting an entrée. Though of course by that time we'd had (another) appetizer—a dozen fresh oysters—and a cocktail, as well as ordering a bottle of wine with that entrée. (We were within walking distance of our B&B, after all.)

The plate we split was a gorgeous hunk of perfectly tender pork shoulder on a bed of toasted farro, with candied kumquats and an olive tapenade alongside, an inventive combination that was earthy and the perfect foil to the frigid temperatures outside. Again, I'd recommend this place without hesitation if you're planning a trip down, or even if you're just traveling through…they also serve breakfast and lunch, which I can only imagine would be just as wonderful.

Details:
Campbell House, a Country Inn, 252 Pearl St., Eugene. 541-343-1119.
Steelhead Brewing Co., 199 E 5th Ave. 541-686-2739.
Sfizio, 105 Oakway Center, Eugene. 541-302-3000.
Marché, 296 E 5th Ave., #226, Eugene. 541-683-2260.

Farm Bulletin: Filling the Compost Bucket is an Agricultural Act

One of the many things I love about contributor Anthony Boutard and his wife, Carol, of Ayers Creek Farm, is that they approach their work as farmers deliberately yet with a sense of whimsy, and work hard at not only pleasing their legions of fans, but themselves, as well.

The midden heap, the proto-compost pile of prehistoric settlements, is the first stop for archeologists. The bone fragments, chewed plant remains called "quids," shells, obsolete tools, and seeds tossed upon the heap provide insights on a culture's food habits, trade and other aspects of life before we started chronicling it all on tablet and paper. The midden was also the likely first stop for agriculture – a fertile incubator for the domestication and cultivation of plants. The concentration of organic matter and minerals yielded tender and flavorful vegetables close at hand, initially by chance and later by design. Those of you who have been tossing this winter's squash seeds into your backyard compost may have a knot of vines emerging among the potatoes and other kitchen scrap survivors. Composting is, in some respects, a reenactment of early agriculture. 

In archeological excavations, the squashes and pumpkins that emerge from your compost show up as the oldest domesticated plants in the Americas. In the neolithic age, before the development of pottery, they were collected at large for use as vessels for water, seeds and fruits. Around 6,000 to 9,000 years ago, cultivated forms of these cucurbits start to enter the archeological record. They were still the hard shelled cultivars used as containers, but the selection, planting and cultivation of the now larger fruits also yielded much larger seeds, one hallmark of domestication. Even with the advent of pottery production, light and durable squash hulls remained important vessels.

With domestication of the plant, squash and pumpkin seeds found their way into the American diet. They are flavorful and very nutritious. In Mexican and Central American cookery, the seeds are still used extensively in stews, soups and sauces, most famously in moles and pozoles. In Mexico and Central America there are dozens of local varieties with a range of flavors and seed sizes.

Members of the Cucurbitaceae contain extremely bitter toxins called cucurbitacins in their foliage, flowers and fruits which delayed the use of the other parts of the plant as a food. In addition, the early pumpkins had very fibrous flesh, essentially the unadorned vessels leading from the plant to the seed.  Eventually, in the protective custody of the plants' cultivators, the toxins no longer conferred an advantage and non-bitter cultivars emerged. These developed into the modern zucchini, crooknecks and winter squash we bring to market, where the vessels are surrounded with soft pulp. The squash and pumpkins bearing edible fruit were favored by the indigenous people of North America. Further south, the seeds, tendrils and flowers are still preferred over the fruit.

Like potatoes, peppers, corn and tomatoes, American squash found a place in European and Asian cooking. For the most part, the fruits and flowers are used. In the Austrian state of Styria, special pumpkins are grown for their seeds, which are roasted and pressed for oil. Towards the end of the 19th century, a Styrian pumpkin without a tough seed coat appeared, making the task of pressing oil more efficient. Although they are typically called naked seeded or hull-less, a papery vestigial seed coat remains. Kakai and Lady Godiva are the naked seeded Styrian pumpkin varieties commercially available in the United States. 

Three years ago, we purchased a package of "Brand X" pumpkin seeds for pozole and we were disappointed by their quality. They were expensive, stale, and most of the seeds were broken. Our disappointment led us to conclude that, as we were growing all of the other pozole ingredients, why not the pumpkin seeds? The following spring, we planted both hull-less varieties. Mice managed to find every seed in the Kakai row, but a few Godiva were missed and we harvested a small crop. The harvested seeds were orders of magnitude better than the Brand X sorts, but still expensive as the seeds were time-consuming to extract and clean. This year, we planted Kakai again and we refined the extraction process. We will have some of this year's pumpkin seeds this Sunday, close to Brand-X pricing.

The commercially available seed for Kakai is not well maintained, posing a challenge to the farmer. There is a huge amount of unproductive variability in the grex (breeding population). Some fruits have a high percentage of split seeds and their size varied tremendously (top photo; bad pumpkin, right; good pumpkin, left). Some of the plants were bush types, and others vining. As we worked through them, we noticed the giant fruits had no more seeds than those a quarter of their size, just more useless pulp. There was variation in seed flavor from fruit to fruit, but for the most part it was consistently good. The serious problem was the number of fruits with split seeds, roughly 50%. The split seeds had started to germinate in the fruit and had an unpleasant bitterness.

We now have a rough idea of the beast at hand, and next year we will be working on selecting the best pumpkins for seed. We will plant the Kakai in an isolated section of the farm so there is no cross-pollination with other squash types. At harvest, we will mark the fruits with a plant number and, after they have cured, start the process of selecting seed from those with good characteristics. Initially, we will focus on small fruits without split seeds. We expect it will take several years to rework the variety. If we are successful, we will sell a very good pumpkin seed that makes financial sense to grow and harvest.

The process of drawing out favorable qualities from seed as described above is just the same as when a person selected the better seed among the plants sprouting on the midden heap, or the sharp-eyed Styrian farmer who happened upon a fruit with naked seeds and worked on its improvement. Patience and careful observation is what it takes. We have a big advantage because we will be building on dedicated work and expertise of the midden heap and Styrian farmers.

A Little Face Time

The Oregonian is printing a Q&A with each of the blog partners in the new Oregon News Network, and today, well, it was my turn. Read the interview here!

Crustacean Celebration: DIY Crab & Corn Chowder

Like many city folk, I've left lots of my life's tasks to the more able hands of others. Vehicle maintenance, sewing my own clothing and remodeling the house among them. I delved into butchering meat with Roger the pig. But I'd always delegated cleaning crabs to the person behind the fish counter at the store because it was easier and, frankly, because I didn't want to deal with the "yuck" factor of the gooey bits.

Pulling off the back (called the "plate").

Then more adventurous friends started buying live crabs, boiling them in a big pot and cleaning them, all the while insisting that it wasn't that bad and was simple to boot. So one day I decided to bite the bullet, and when the clerk asked if I'd like it cleaned, I said, "No, thanks. I'll do it myself." Her look of surprise and respect was totally worth it even if it turned into a fiasco once I got the buggers home.

Plate off, about to get cleaned.

Luckily, our West Coast Dungeness crabs are relatively big and easy to handle. So since it was already cooked, all it took was holding the crab over the sink with the rear of it toward me. I put my thumbs on either side of the body and popped the back plate off. Then I pulled off the feathery white lungs and discarded them and, since I don't use the greenish-yellow stuff called the "tomalley" (it's actually the crab's liver and some people love it), I just ran it briefly under cold water to wash it out. There are usually some bony bits at the front that I tear off, too.

See? That wasn't so bad!

With the crab essentially cleaned at that point, I broke off the legs and cracked the central body in half to make it easier to get the meat out. My friend Hank Shaw wrote and illustrated step-by-step instructions on how to pick the crab meat, so if you need help on that front check out his guide.

Parted out and ready to pick.

With the macho work done, I decided to kick off the Crustacean Celebration this year with a warm and comforting chowder. The weather had been pretty rainy and cold, and I'd seen several recipes that paired corn and crab. So a creamy soup using those two ingredients seemed like a natural fit.

If you do decide to impress your local fishmonger, not to mention your friends and family, with your courage and perspicacity by cleaning your own, you'll have something delicious to show for it when you tell your tale of derring-do.

Corn and Crab Chowder

2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
1 onion, chopped fine
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 potatoes, chopped into 1/2" dice
2 c. fresh or frozen corn kernels
4 c. fish stock or corn stock
2 c. milk
Meat from 1 large crab, about 1/2-1 lb.
Salt and pepper to taste

Melt butter or margarine in soup pot over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and sauté till translucent, then add potatoes and sauté till potatoes are nearly tender. Add corn and stir to bring up to temperature, then pour in stock and milk. Add salt and pepper to taste. Bring to simmer and cook until potatoes are completely tender and flavors have melded together. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. At this point you can add the crab to the pot until it's just warmed (a minute or less), or divide the crab meat between serving bowls and pour the hot chowder over the top. (The point is to keep the crab as succulent as possible…by the time you get it to the table the crab in the bowls will be warm.)

This year's Crustacean Celebration also features a fabulous Beach Cioppino and Crab Niçoise. Read last season's series starting with And They're Off!, and the previous year's series kicking off with a Hot Artichoke and Crab Dip (with links to other posts in the series).

Moose & Squirrel: Get It While the Gettin's Good!

Every year I wait with bated breath to hear when Laurelwood Brewery releases its Russian Imperial Stout known as Moose & Squirrel. And not just because I can do a pretty good imitation of Boris Badenov from the old Rocky & Bullwinkle show.

"It's good to be bad!"

No, it's because this rich, creamy stout is like Guinness on steroids. Though it tastes stronger, it's only 8% ABV and all 55 IBUs are working hard to keep it dry and tasty. But don't wait to get yours…it's only going to be around for a few more days. Good to be bad, indeed!

The Mary Chronicles: Bloody Canadian

According to the Cookin' Canuck, aka Dara Michalski, there are 350 million Caesar cocktails consumed in Canada each year. That's out of a total population of 34 million. Dara speculates the reason for this lopsided statistic is that "either we’re filling up the mountain water holes with Caesars (which might explain some of those drunken moose stories) or we think these cocktails are pretty darn tasty."

Wikipedia authoritatively states that "it was invented in Calgary, Alberta, in 1969 by restaurateur Walter Chell to celebrate the opening of a new Italian restaurant in the city. It quickly became a popular mixed drink, but remains virtually unknown outside Canada."

My new favorite "Hott" sauce.

Its primary ingredient is Clamato (Wikipedia charmingly refers to the name as a "portmanteau"…classy!), a combination of clam juice, spices and tomato juice made by the Mott's company. Dara reports that in 2009 there was a push to make the Caesar the national drink of Canada. Ultimately unsuccessful, before the dust had settled the drive spawned a boycott of Mott's, an American company rumored to be behind the attempt. Quel scandale!

Thinner than tomato juice, it makes a much lighter, less tomatoe-y drink than a traditional Bloody Mary—and the clam flavor is almost undetectable, so don't let that part put you off. Dave, who's been intrigued by Bloody Marys and is bent on perfecting his own recipe eventually, made our Caesars without the celery salt rim and used a locally produced hot red sauce from NW Elixirs called Hott Sauce. A deeply chile-flavored sauce, lighter on the vinegar than Tabasco, it's starting to find its way into several sauces and dishes where I'd normally use Tabasco or Sriracha. (More on that later.)

Our neighbors to the north have also maintained the tradition of condiments in their version, for which I thank them, since I find it, like olives in a martini, one of the delights of the drink. Definitely worth raising a glass to!

The Caesar Cocktail

Adapted from Dara Michalski's recipe at Cookin' Canuck

Makes 2 cocktails

2 Tbsp. celery salt

1 lime, cut into 8 wedges

Ice cubes
2 oz. vodka

6 oz. Clamato juice
Several dashes of Worcestershire sauce for each
Several dashes of Tabasco sauce for each

2 long ribs of celery

2 pimento-stuffed olives (optional)

Spread the celery salt onto a small plate. Rub the rim of one 12-ounce glass with a lime wedge. Turn the glass upside down and dip the rim of the glass into the celery salt. Repeat with remaining glass. Fill each glass with ice cubes. Divide the vodka equally between the 2 glasses. Pour Clamato juice into each glass. Season each Caesar with several dashes of Worcestershire and Tabasco sauces, to desired spiciness. Stir each cocktail with a stir stick. Garnish with celery sticks, olives and remaining lime wedges. Serve.

A Good Woman Makes A Good Soup

Just before the holidays I was out at Ayers Creek Farm helping Carol and Anthony get ready for the big holiday market at Hillsdale. Well, I say "helping" but it's more like "trying to not seriously f*** things up" while packing boxes of preserves, weighing and measuring beans, polenta and wheat into little bags with a big scoop.

One of the great things about these days at the farm, aside from getting to wear my boots if outside work is required, is sitting down at the table for a big lunch of soup or stew, a hefty loaf of bread and a nice chunk of cheese. On this day, a bit before lunchtime, Carol asked me to pull a big pot out of the fridge that contained braised leeks and potatoes in a white-ish liquid.

While that warmed on the stove, Carol and I went just outside to the kitchen garden to gather a few leaves of sorrel that hadn't yet gone dormant. (Note to self: plant this next year!) It was chopped and thrown into the pot, a cup or so of sour cream was stirred in with some salt and we had a classic "Potage Bonne Femme," a potato leek soup rather like vichysoisse only with more leeks than potatoes.

Carol prefers to use water to cook her vegetables rather than chicken stock, feeling that the flavor of the leeks is more pronounced. In my attempts to recreate this at home, I used half chicken stock and half water and it didn't seem to overwhelm the leeks, and also added a little richness. I've made it with both real sour cream and (purists don't choke) Tofutti sour cream—Dave's lactose intolerant, remember—and both were amazing, even according to my very choosy son who's not crazy about substituting tofu products for the real thing.

It's a comforting, rich and company-worthy meal that is super simple to make in an hour or so. Add a crusty loaf of bread and some cheese with an ice-cold glass of French chardonnay alongside and you're going to get raves from your crew.

Potage Bonne Femme (Potato Leek Soup)

3 Tbsp. butter
4 leeks, halved and cut into 1/2" slices, about 4 c.
3 Tbsp. flour
2 c. water
2 c. chicken stock
4 med. Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1/2" or so cubes
2 tsp. salt
1 c. sour cream
1 c. coarsely chopped sorrel (optional)
3 Tbsp. chives, minced (optional)

Melt butter in soup pot or large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add chopped leeks and cook slowly for 5 min. Remove from heat, add flour and stir. Put back on heat and cook, stirring constantly and without browning for a minute. Add remaining water and stock, stirring well. Add potatoes and salt. Bring to boil and lower heat to simmer for 50 minutes. Add sour cream and chives and stir to heat. Adjust salt to taste. Serve, garnished with chopped chives.

Option: Purée with immersion blender before adding the sour cream or cool and purée in a food processor (or blender) in batches. For a vegetarian or vegan version, substitute margarine for the butter and use water or a vegetable stock and Tofutti sour cream. Really, it'll be fantastic.

Livin' in the Blurbs: A Piece of Pie & So Much More

Hillsdale's Palace of Pastry, aka Baker & Spice, will be celebrating National Pie Day with a weekend of pie-related fun on Jan. 21 and 22 to benefit our neighbors who may not have enough to eat. The weekend also happens to fall on the seventh birthday of this most delicious of Portland institutions, so to make it into a real Pie-A-Palooza they're donating 25% of all pie sales to Neighborhood House's Emergency Food Box Program. An unprecedented array of pies will be available whole or by the slice, including Lemon Meringue, Boston Cream, Banana Cream, Butterscotch Cream, Peanut Butter, Lattice Topped Apple Blackberry, Double Crusted Pear Raspberry, Chocolate Cream and Coconut Cream. (Drooling yet?) So make plans to drop in, have some pie and help a neighbor!

Details: Baker & Spice 7th Birthday and National Pie Day Celebration. Sat.-Sun., Jan. 21-22. Hours: 7 am-6 pm Sat., 7 am-3 pm Sun. Baker & Spice, 6330 SW Capitol Hwy. 503-244-7573.

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The Oregonian has done a soft launch of its Oregon News Network, a partnership between the paper and community blog partners to build what they're calling "an online town square." I was honored that GoodStuffNW was chosen as one of the partners to kick off the project, along with local luminaries in categories like Lifestyle & Food, Arts & Entertainment,  Outdoors/Recreation and Public Affairs. The network will evolve as it gears up, adding new partners and cross-pollinating with various sections of the paper, so check in and see what happens.

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My friend and renowned comic book author, illustrator, inker and crazy Mad Genius Karl Kesel, he of the heartwarming zombie Christmas tale Johnny Zombie, has launched a second online web comic called SECTION ZERO. Begun a dozen years ago by Karl and his friend (and another renowned guy) Tom Grummett, it experienced a sudden comicus interruptus in the middle of its six-episode arc. In an interview with Wired columnist GeekDad, Kesel describes the comic this way: "Section Zero is a combination of all my personal, quirky favorite things. Start with equal parts Challengers of the Unknown and Fantastic Four, add in copious amounts of strange phenomena and atomic monsters, stir with high-octane Jack Kirby energy, pour into Tom Grummett’s magic drawing pencil. Enjoy!" I think I will! (Full interview here.)

Italian for Cabbage

I love contributor Jim Dixon's recipes because they're so simple, with no complicated acrobatics required to accomplish delicious results. And his last word says it all: Eat.

I had this my friend Marco’s restaurant, Basta's Trattoria, a few days ago; I’d forgotten how good it tastes. Maybe my love of green cabbage has been getting in the way. Marco uses bacon and caraway, so I did, too.

Braised Red Cabbage

Finely chop a slice of bacon or two, and cook in a couple of tablespoons of water until the water’s gone. Cook it a bit longer until it starts to brown, then add a chopped shallot. Cook a few more minutes, then add a head of red cabbage, chopped fairly small. Add a tablespoon or more of caraway seeds.

Pour in a generous splash (maybe half a cup) or Katz late harvest zinfandel vinegar. Cover, reduce heat to a simmer, and cook for at least 45 minutes. Check a couple of times to make sure there’s a bit of liquid in the pan (add a splash of water if needed). Eat.

O Broder, Where Art Thou?

In retrospect, even without snow piled up to the rafters, it was the perfect day to go to a Swedish restaurant. It was (for Portland) a bitterly cold Saturday morning, with temperatures hovering around thirty degrees and the wind trying to work its fingers through every crack and crevice in the layers of clothing between it and my skin.

I was meeting a friend for my first ever breakfast at the much-raved-about Broder, which beat Grüner owner Chris Israel to the "alpine cuisine" table by at least a couple of years. And I've never seen a line wrapping around the block at Israel's place waiting for his food, good as it is. Maybe he should try making the little popovers known as aebleskivers with house-made lemon curd and lingonberry jam that have been drawing raves from rabid fans since Broder opened its doors.

In any case, when I arrived my friend had already taken shelter in the Savoy Tavern next door, which wasn't even open. Did she break in to get out of the whipping wind? No! In a stroke of brilliance, the owner of both spots, Peter Bro, has otherwise-frostbitten patrons to wait in the warm comfort of the bar with complimentary serve-yourself coffee available.

After a not-too-long wait, we were ushered into Broder. Long and narrow, it has small two-tops crowded along a wooden banquette on one wall and an open galley kitchen fronted by a long counter against the other wall. Two more tables are jammed against the front windows (though they're the best seats in the house), so don't go expecting to stretch out or have an intimate conversation…you'll end up getting advice from those you're elbowing.

They were out of their "Pytt i Panna" or Swedish hash, so I opted for the lefse (above left), a Swedish potato crepe which on this day came folded around smoked ham and set on a drizzle of herbed sour cream. Someone here really likes precise geometrical shapes, because both the crepe and the two eggs on top were perfectly square…cute, of course, but really, squares? The pancake played nicely with the ham and softly-fried eggs, and there was just enough sauce to moisten the crepe.

My friend ordered the Swedish meatballs (top photo), and all I could think of were the tiny, dried-out little nuggets that Ikea sells by the car-load to spaced-out shoppers. Knowing her, I should have known better. What arrived was a little pyramid of perfectly-seasoned meatballs (and yes, I begged one off of her) delicately blanketed with a lovely sherry cream sauce. She'd ordered it with the walnut toast, lingonberry jam and a salad, but I've heard you can sub the walnut toast for a slice of toasted brioche bread, which many recommend.

Not being an avid breakfast person, even I'd go back for another shot at those aebleskivers, just not on a weekend when there's a wait for the cheek-by-jowl seating…though maybe it's the Swedes' way of staying warm in the winter.

Details: Broder, 2508 SE Clinton St. 503-453-0166.

Top photo by Kim Ferris.

Farm Bulletin: The Vegetables of Vinegar & Salt, Pt. 2

Just when I start thinking we 21st Century types are soooooo smart, someone digs up some old dude who had it so much more together than we do. One such old dude is John Evelyn, who was all over a diet of vegetables about, oh, 300-plus years ago. Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm has been getting to know Mr. Evelyn of late, and shares his discoveries with us. Read Part One here.

Before Karen and Frank Morton veered into the seed business, their Wild Garden Seed salad greens were cherished by Portland restaurants. We love hearing Cathy Whims [when she was the chef at Genoa in the late 90s] describe the careful attention the Mortons paid to preparing the ever-changing mixture of greens, every leaf perfect, delivered in a damp muslin bag. Evelyn (above, by Robert Walker) demanded the same attention for his mixture; "let your herby ingredients be exquisitely cull'd and cleans'd of all worm-eaten, slimy, canker'd, dry, spotted or in any ways vitiated leaves." He specifies spring water for washing and, after draining, swinging them gently in a coarse napkin to draw off excess moisture.

The carefully gathered greens need the finest couture de cuisine. For oil in the dressing, he commends omphacine pressed from olives native to the Republic of Lucca, now a province of Italy and still producing superb olives. Olive oil had a range of uses and grades, including lighting and lubrication, as well as food. Omphacine is the first pressing of green olives, what we call, implausibly, "extra virgin" today. For the contrasting acid, the best wine vinegar is specified, though lemon and the tart juice squeezed from verjus grapes also meet his approval. If that special grape type is not available, the freshly squeezed juice from other small, unripe grapes will do. For salt, he favors the "brightest bay grey-salt," what is sold today as fleur de sel and sel gris. The seasonings are English mustard, preferably from Tewksberry, and pepper (black or white). The yolk of a freshly laid egg, boiled moderately hard, is allowed as desired.

He finishes up with the tools needed. These include a willow or osier basket with partitions to separate the various salad greens as they are collected so the correct proportions are used, a silver knife to trim them, and a porcelain or Delft-ware bowl for serving. The iron knife, pewter and silver bowls in use at the time would leave the salad with an unpleasant metallic flavor. In his attention to detail and proportion in preparing and presenting his salad, Evelyn has no rival even among the most fussy modern chefs and gardeners.

The latter half of "Acetaria" deals with seasonality and health, and what we refer to as "industrial food" today. Evelyn inveighs against the flaccid vegetables raised in urban hotbeds prepared from over-rich stable muck and other filth collected from the city streets, favoring instead the healthy vegetables grown in the rich humus of the countryside and hedgerows. He also disparages "forwarding," pushing the vegetable and fruit growth outside of their natural seasons and into inferior quality. He promotes the merits of a diet of vegetables.

Evelyn was not a vegetarian per se; he was an ardent lover of vegetables and a southern diet, what we refer to as the Mediterranean diet. He advocated eating mostly plants, and was appalled by the slaughter methods in London's abattoirs, much in the same spirit as Michael Pollan pushes us to think about our food's origin and quality. However, he was not wantonly dogmatic, so he leaves the question of whether salad should come before or after the savory dishes convincingly explored and learnedly unresolved, as it still is more than three centuries later.   

In addition to the original 1699 edition, "Acetaria" has been reprinted at least four times. In 1934, the Women's Auxiliary of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden published the complete work in an edition of 1,000 copies, nicely bound with hand cut signatures. This version is available electronically on Gutenberg. Still Point Press of Dallas, Texas published a numbered edition of 1,000 on high quality French paper (1985) along with a few illustrations, bound with a leather spine. Unfortunately, this handsome edition leaves out the Greek and Latin passages and the margin notes, and the artsy illustrations have no botanical merit. A 1996 version of "Acetaria," published by Prospect Books, now in paperback (2005), retains the whole text and translates the Greek passages, a more satisfactory approach. Finally, The Grand Salad (Peacock Vane, Isle of Wight, 1984) is a book based on passages from "Acetaria." Sadly, it is hard to read as it is handwritten in a calligraphic style. The work also has egregious deletions and some additional dry text that adds nothing to Evelyn's original, despite its good intentions.

Read The Vegetables of Vinegar & Salt, Part One.

The Basics: Strata

It's become a Sunday morning tradition around here. After Will Shortz has his way with a listener on the puzzle segment of NPR's Weekend Edition Sunday, Dave starts puttering around the kitchen making breakfast. Sometimes it's as simple as his fabulous cheese omelets,  other times he's got some sourdough left over from bread baking to use for biscuits or even waffles. I know that whatever it is, it's going to be delicious and I try to be appropriately appreciative.

My recipe box, broken cover and all.

But on Christmas Day a few weeks ago, falling as it did on a Sunday, I wanted to let him off the hook regarding breakfast. I pondered the usual suspects…a frittata, pancakes, coffee cake…and then remembered strata, which I hadn't made for years. I pulled out my trusty old recipe box and found the stained index card right there in the Eggs and Cheese section.

Dead easy, this cheater's souffle consists of bread, eggs, milk and cheese and whatever other ingredients you want to add. Usually, in our case, this means mushrooms and bacon, but can include herbs, kale, tomatoes, asparagus, ham or other meat or seafood.

Fortunately this cogitating was happening a day ahead, since strata really needs to be assembled the night before, with the bread spending all night absorbing the custardy goodness of the eggs and milk in order to achieve its utmost loveliness. So I dashed to the store, splurged on some chanterelle mushrooms that would go nicely with the last of the bacon from Roger and got a few pieces of fruit for a salad.

After popping it in the oven the next morning, it bubbled away while we dug into our stockings. (And yes, we still do stockings around here…how else can you surprise someone with that DVD they've been ogling online?) And I think Dave was pleased that Santa had thought to make breakfast for him for a change.

Bacon, Cheese and Chanterelle Strata

3-4 c. bread, cut in 1/2" cubes (remove crusts only if you want)
1/2 lb. sharp cheddar or other cheese, grated
1/2 lb. bacon, cut in 1/4" strips
1/4 c. butter or margarine, melted
1/2 lb. mushrooms, chopped
3 eggs
2 c. milk
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp. salt

The day before baking, sauté bacon until fat begins to render. Add chopped mushrooms and sauté till mushrooms get limp. Remove from heat and cool. Beat eggs, milk, mustard and salt in a small mixing bowl. In a medium casserole dish (I used my small Le Creuset casserole), place half the bread cubes, topped with half the meat and mushroom mixture, half the cheese and half the melted butter. Repeat with another layer of the remaining bread cubes, meat mixture, cheese and butter. Pour the egg mixture over the top. You can add a little more milk if it seems too dry, but go easy—the bread shouldn't be swimming in liquid. Cover with plastic wrap and place in refrigerator overnight to soak.

The next morning, preheat the oven to 300°. Place the casserole in a larger pan with about 3/4" of hot water (I used my 9" by 12" Pyrex baking dish) and place those in the oven. Bake for 90 minutes.

Read more recipes in The Basics series: 20 Minute Tomato Sauce, House Vinaigrette, Chile Sauce and Caesar Salad.

Things I Loved

The beginning of a new year is a time for "Best Of" lists. Whether it's movies, restaurants, colonoscopy doctors…you name it, there's a roundup of it. One of my annual favorites is the "Things We Love" list in The Oregonian's FoodDay section, because I get to go back through the previous year's posts on the blog and pick out my 15 or 20 favorite items to pitch to my editor.

The FoodDay list includes 100 top picks drawn from a broad list of the section's contributors, all terrific writers who will not steer you wrong. The eight suggestions of mine that made the list include:

• Farmers' Market Favorites: Frikeh from Ayers Creek Farm.
• Where We'll Be When We're Not Cooking: Portland's Culinary Workshop; Winter Farmers' Markets.
• What's In Our Glasses: Souracher cocktail by Dave Shenaut; Kopstootje!; Secession Cascadian Dark Ale from Hopworks.
• What We Like To Read, Watch and Click: Bloody Marys by Judy Bennett (top photo); Hunt, Gather, Cook by Hank Shaw.

There were obviously several I submitted that didn't get included, but feel free to compile your own list of "GoodStuffNW Faves" by going through the archives (at the bottom of the left-hand column) and seeing what we missed!

Oysters Beware

Life is so full of serendipitous happenings. Some feel so linked that they could be called examples of synchronicity, a philosophical concept, developed by none other than Carl Gustav Jung, that explains the experience of two or more events that "are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance and that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner." Jung believed that synchronistic events reveal an underlying pattern, a larger framework; i.e. that stuff doesn't happen only by chance.

Knives on the shelf at Dehillerin.

An example: the other day my friend Linda gave us a gorgeous oyster shucking knife (above) that she brought back from a trip to Paris. She'd been visiting her daughter, who was in school in that magical city, and had a few hours on her own to explore the city. A consummate chef, she went to the legendary kitchen supply store Dehillerin. Browsing the shelves of this store that hasn't changed its layout much since it opened in 1820, with high wooden walls and crowded layout, she ran across this knife that, as she explained it, only requires the shucker to point it at an oyster and the creature will pop open its shell in submission.

The high tech "retail display" at Dehillerin.

Then, and that's when my story gets interesting, the next day my brother texted me to get online immediately and make reservations to spend a few days in July at Paradise Creek campground. So, you're asking yourself, what does a camping trip have to do with a French shucking knife? Well, my friends, if you recall, our trip there last year involved no less decadent a treat than 14 dozen fresh oysters.

See what I mean? Synchronicity at its finest. We'll be there, shucker in hand.

Photos of Dehillerin by Linda Colwell.

Farm Bulletin: The Vegetables of Vinegar & Salt, Pt. 1

Just when I start thinking we 21st Century types are soooooo smart, someone digs up some old dude who had it so much more together than we do. One such old dude is John Evelyn, who was all over a diet of vegetables about, oh, 300-plus years ago. Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm has been getting to know Mr. Evelyn of late, and shares his discoveries with us.

The ancient Romans classified vegetables by the method of preparation. The olera are the pot herbs, customarily cooked, from which we get that word often floating at the tips of our tongues, olericulture, the growing of vegetables for the kitchen. Acetaria are the vegetables the Romans consumed raw with vinegar (acetic acid), oil and salt. Interestingly, in a linguistic departure from the Romans, the modern European languages, from English to Armenian, from Spanish to Swedish, focus on the historically more valuable ingredient, the salt, in describing the preparation and use of these vegetables. Giving us salad, sallad, salade, salata, salat, ensalada, insalata, etc.

John Evelyn (above), the 17th century English gardener and author of several books, planned a grand encyclopedic work on gardening. As the project foundered and age caught up with him, Evelyn reluctantly published parts of the work separately. "Acetaria: A Discourse of Sallets" (1699) is devoted to the salad; the work is a blend of scholarship, practicum and advocacy.

Unwilling to sign a loyalty pledge to Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector of England, the young Evelyn traveled through Europe, returning home with the restoration of the monarchy. Those years spent in Spain, Holland, France and the Italian states gave him a deep appreciation for the salad as the foundation of good health, and as an art form in its own right. Written in the Baroque period, the book exhibits the period's paradox of complex brevity, especially as Evelyn assumes the reader is his peer with a working knowledge of Greek and Roman authors. Much as today's young Latinos comfortably alternate between English and Spanish in conversation, Evelyn slips in Latin or Greek words and phrases on regular basis. Still, peeling aside the arcane spelling and grammar, along with the unfamiliar and oblique references, "Acetaria" is a book very much in line with our 21st century sensibilities and a pleasure to read.

The first section of the book details over seventy wild and domesticated plants suitable for use in a salad. Many are familiar to modern readers and are included at various times in the Ayers Creek salad mixes. The inventory is lightened by Evelyn's droll humor. For example, under sage, he notes: "In short, 'tis a plant endu'd with so many and wonderful properties, as that the assiduous use of it is said to render men immortal: we cannot therefore but allow the tender summities of the young leaves; but principally the flowers in our cold sallet; yet so as not to domineer." And his dismissive assessment of spinach as a salad ingredient still rings true: "of old, not used in sallets, and the oftener kept out the better." Even today, growers bulk up salad mixes with spinach, so cheap and easy to grow, yet a poor use of this fine green best cooked. The acrid flavor of the raw spinach must be softened by the use of cream or cheese-based concoctions akin to sauces rather than a true salad dressing.

Evelyn concludes the inventory by warning that the gathering of salad greens is no job for a fool. He disparages old rules of thumb for determining what greens are edible, and lists deadly plants that may mislead an ignorant collector. He also dismisses the prescriptive guidance of fellow Englishman, the herbalist Nicolas Culpepper, in determining when to harvest greens based on astrology, counseling instead to look at the quality of greens and "judge of their vertues by their own complexions." His punchy confidence is endearing.

Read The Vegetables of Vinegar & Salt, Part Two.