From the Guardian: Rising sea level threatens millions of people who live in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam. The rivers are becoming ever more salty, making it very difficult to grow rice, a staple of the region.
From the New York Times: Mark Bittman introduces FoodCorps, coming to a state near you. In fact, they are coming to Maine to promote healthy food for school children. An interesting piece, and I plan to find out more about this organization.
More from the New York Times: An abundance of Maine lobster must be a good thing, right? Not necessarily, when they are pretty much the only catch in town. Once upon a time, cod, haddock, hake, halibut, and swordfish were part of the mix of what Maine fisherman caught. Now, because of overfishing, not so much, which means that we are over-reliant on one species. Woe to Maine lobstermen if some disease should wipe out the lobsters.
From the Portland Press Herald: A Monday farmers’ market in Portland featuring immigrant farmers.
From the Times-Picayune: Six years after Katrina, a New Orleans woman labors to recopy soggy recipes she retrieved from her flooded house. I wonder if any home cooks will be doing this after Irene.
Hurricane season is upon us, and, in particular, Hurricane Irene is heading our way. Usually, central Maine does not get the full force of hurricanes. They either go out to sea or are so weakened by the time they reach Maine that they are no more than a bad storm. Once in a while, however, one hits with full force and brings predictable results—flooding, downed power lines, trees crashing where you’d rather not have them crash. We had one such hurricane when we first moved to Winthrop about 26 years ago. We were without power for a week, and as we have a well, no power means no water. Let’s just say that until you have to haul your own water, you don’t have an appreciation of how much water you use in a day for drinking, for cooking, for washing, for going to the bathroom.
The great ice storm of 1998 gave us another lesson in hauling water. In the middle of January, we were without power for ten days. Luckily, our town has a public water spigot, and it became routine to wait in lines with our various buckets to get water. No, we did not while away the time pretending we were back in the pioneer days, having to haul our own water. We were thrilled when the power came back and we could flush toilets and take showers and get water from the faucet once more.
But the lessons of no water have stayed with us. In our basement, we have two huge covered buckets of water always at the ready to use for flushing the toilet. In our freezer we have plastic milk jugs full of frozen water, which we can use to keep things cold. Then, when the ice has melted, the water will be perfectly good to drink. To this I have added 8 two-litter bottles of water—more ice and more drinking water.
All in all, a hurricane is not as bad as an ice storm. Hurricanes usually come when the days are still relatively long and warm. If we lose our power because of Hurricane Irene, then my husband, Clif, and I will take to the patio even more than we usually do. We have a grill with a side burner, which will allow us to cook our dinners with a minimum of fuss and bother. If we wear jackets, then we can linger on the patio until quite late, with the citronella torches for light.
So when it comes to water, we are ready, and we are preparing in other ways, too. But today I read news that made me both hopeful and fearful. First, that Hurricane Irene “should peter out in Maine by Monday afternoon.” That sounds good. However, Irene’s predicted path takes it right over New York City, which is where our daughter Dee lives. (I sent her an email asking her if she wants to come home this weekend. She doesn’t.)
All I can say is I’m so grateful this didn’t happen last year, when our daughter Shannon got married, and I was diagnosed with breast cancer. That was plenty for one August. We didn’t need a hurricane to add to the excitement.
For some reason, even though I am Franco-American, I love all things English—the literature, the countryside, the dogs, the tea, the sense of humor, the stiff upper lips, and, yes, even the food. Plain food cooked well can be very good indeed, and from a trip to England I took long ago, I have fond memories of scones, steak pies, and crispy fish and chips.
In a recent post, I wrote about the Miss Read books, written by Dora Saint and set in small English villages. Food is a regular feature in these novels—steak pies, gingerbread, and even curries. But one dish that makes a regular appearance is fish with parsley sauce, and after reading about it so many times, I decided to have a go at making it.
I did some research on the Internet and found all sorts of variations on this sauce, which is basically a white sauce with—you guessed it—parsley. Some of the sauces had wine, some had shallots, some had garlic, and some had to be strained. I decided to make a simple white sauce flavored with garlic, and the sauce, in turn, would go over baked haddock.
My husband, Clif, and I loved this dish. Chalk up another one for England. (I know. They’ve had their problems lately, but let’s face it, we live in troubled times.) The smooth garlicky white sauce flecked with parsley was a perfect accompaniment with baked haddock, brushed with oil and lemon juice and sprinkled with salt and pepper.
“Good enough for company,” Clif said, as he went back for seconds.
This started me thinking about having a very English dinner party. For starters, we would have sherry and salted nuts (two more things frequently featured in the Miss Read books). Then, the main meal—red potatoes, green beans, and fish with parsley sauce. Technically, potatoes are not English. They come from this country, of course. But the English have folded them into their cuisine so thoroughly that it seems as though potatoes have always been there. For dessert, I would serve gingerbread.
I like this idea so much that come October or the beginning of November, I just might host such a dinner party. In the meantime, Clif and I will be eating fish with parsley sauce at least a couple of times a month.
Fish with Parsley Sauce
Makes enough for four servings
The Sauce
1 clove garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon of butter
1 tablespoon of flour
1 cup of milk
Salt and pepper to taste
2 tablespoons of parsley, chopped
The Fish
1 1/2 pounds of haddock or some other filleted fish
2 slices of lemon
olive oil
Salt and pepper
Heat oven to 400°. Grease a large pan or cookie sheet and lay fish in pan. Brush with olive oil, squeeze lemon slices over fish—by all means use more lemon if you like a real lemony taste. Season with salt and pepper. Bake for 15 or 20 minutes, depending on thickness of fish. The fish should be flaky but moist. Do not overcook or fish will be dry.
While the fish is cooking, make the white sauce. Melt the 1 tablespoon of butter in a saucepan. Add the garlic and let it sizzle for just a bit—a half minute or so. You don’t want to burn the garlic. Add the flour and stir well until you have a paste. Whisk in the milk. Once it is well mixed, stir sauce with a wooden spoon until the mixture has thickened. Start with the heat on medium. You will have to turn the heat to low once the mixture thickens so that it won’t boil. A good way to tell when the sauce is done: It will leave a line on the back of the wooden spoon. When the sauce is done, stir in the parsley and salt and pepper to taste.
The best way to serve the fish and parsley sauce is to plate the fish and to drizzle sauce on the fish. Add some red potatoes, some green beans or carrots, and you have yourself an attractive plate.
Note: When I made the sauce for Clif and me, there were leftovers. I plan to thin the sauce a bit with some milk, add canned salmon, and serve it over potatoes.
If last Saturday wasn’t the biggest day of the year in Winthrop, then it must come close. It was the day of the lobster roll luncheon at the Congregational Church, the annual art fair, and the library book sale. Our little town—population circa 6,000—actually had throngs, yes, throngs, of people on the street as they looked at art, bought food from various civic organizations, and meandered to the lovely green at the Congregational Church for more goodies, and most important, lobster rolls.
Since we live only a mile from town, the first big decision my husband, Clif, and I had to make was whether to walk or to ride our bikes. At first we decided to ride our bikes, but books were to be involved in this outing. Let me confess that our house is bulging with books. The bookshelves are filled, and books are tucked into every conceivable space. This year, I vowed I would only buy one special book from the library sale, and thus we could ride our bikes.
When I stated this lofty goal to Clif, I immediately realized how ridiculous it was. “Let’s bring backpacks and walk,” I quickly suggested.
“Good idea,” Clif replied.
So with our backpacks, off we went, bright and early, jaunty even though it was already a very hot and humid day. The book sale was held at the town office, and we were there well before the doors opened at 9:00. There was a line, and we were close enough to the front so that I noticed the usual group of booksellers who always come early enough to be first. They swoop in to buy cheap books, which they in turn will resell at higher prices in their own shops. The competition among booksellers is keen, and I once witnessed a nasty exchange—at a library sale in Brunswick—between two booksellers jockeying for position in line.
I have never had a run-in with booksellers for the simple reason that we are not attracted to the same books. As soon as the doors opened, I rushed over to the cookbook section, grabbed everything that looked interesting, and retired to a corner where I could decide if I really wanted all those books. The answer was no, but I came away with plenty, as this picture shows.
Books from the library sale
Clif found a few science fiction books, and now laden with books on a day that was getting hotter by the hour, we buzzed through the farmers’ market, saying hi to Farmer Kev, Marinna of Snafu Acres, and Karen of Wholesome Holsmstead. Today, there was no room in the packs for food from the farmers’ market.
“That’s all right,” Karen said. “You certainly support us.”
We sure do, and next week we will be at the market to buy some things.
We strolled through the art fair, and there were several artists who caught our attention, especially a young man from Waterville—unfortunately we did not get his name—who specializes in paintings of warehouses and industrial buildings. It seems to me he is good enough to go beyond sidewalk art fairs and eventually be shown in galleries and museums. He has the talent; all he needs is some luck.
In the middle of the fair, we fortified ourselves with some hand-cut fries from one of the local civic organizations—I can’t remember if it was the Lions or the Kiwanis. My, those fries were good and at $2.50, a real bargain.
After that, it was on to the Congregational Church for a much-anticipated lobster roll. But first, we stopped at the goodies table to choose dessert, two handmade lemon cookies, moist and chewy. (I could have one right now with a cup of tea.)
Gerry Edgar and Marlene Douglas at the goodies table
We picked up our lobster rolls, and found a place to sit in the shade. The temperature was well over 90 degrees by this point, and the shade was very welcome.
Lobster roll!
As we were eating, a young man and his grandmother asked if they could sit next to us in the shade. Of course, we answered. I noticed the that the young man’s T-shirt had the logo “Rambler Productions.” Being a nosy person who is interested in movies, I asked him about it. From Spencer Roberts—the young man’s name—I found out that Winthrop High actually offers a film class and that the new high school has some decent equipment. I also learned that Spencer is a film student at New England School of Communications in Bangor, Maine.
Spencer Roberts, film student
Spencer told us that two summers ago, he had helped worked on a film called The Putt Putt Syndrome, parts of which were filmed in beautiful downtown Winthrop.
“Winthrop?” I asked in astonishment.
“Winthrop,” Spencer answered. “At Norcross Point and at Dave’s Appliance. I shot some behind the scenes stuff for the DVD, and I was a gofer, too. The movie is going to be showing next Saturday [August 27] at Railroad Square in Waterville.”
I had known nothing of a film being shot in Winthrop. How had that escaped me?
“We’ll have to go the movie,” I said, reflecting on the things you can learn at a lobster roll luncheon in a small town.
Spencer and his grandmother left. Clif and I finished our lobster rolls and headed home. Between the books and the heat, the walk was a real trudge, and I was happy to reach our shady yard, ditch the knapsack, and sit on the patio.
Slowly, slowly, I recovered from the heat. I had iced tea, a snack, and plenty of books to peruse. A perfect way to spend a hot afternoon.
In my recent post about breast cancer, I mentioned how nervous I was to learn the results of this year’s mammogram. The results, to my great relief, were normal, but I had some anxious days until I got the notice in the mail. In times of stress, some people turn to religion, some turn to food, and others turn to drugs or alcohol. I turn to books, and there are certain authors who calm me down and help me find my balance when I’m feeling frantic for one reason or another. Miss Read, the nom de plume of Dora Saint, is one of those authors. (Ellis Peters, of Brother Cadfael fame, is another.)
Born in 1913—as far as I know she is still alive—Dora Saint is an English writer whose novels revolve around two fictional country villages—Fair Acre and Thrush Green. There is no strong central plot, and there are no murders. Instead, the books chronicle the concerns of various, everyday people, young and old, who live in the villages featured in the books. The countryside is described in loving, glorious detail, and there’s quite a bit about food, too. In fact, fish with parsley sauce is mentioned so frequently that I’m determined to make it sometime soon. But all is not sweetness and light in the Miss Read books. There are deaths, squabbles over how things should be done in the villages, feuds, and resentments. Sometimes, children are neglected. A wife leaves her husband and runs away with the oil man. A husband deserts his wife and child for a lover in France.
Miss Read takes everything in, the bad with the good, and she accepts it all. She is a shrewd but sympathetic writer with a keen appreciation and understanding of human nature.
One of the books I turned to while waiting for my mammogram results was Battles at Thrush Green. It turned out to be the perfect choice. Two elderly women—Winnie Bailey and Dotty Harmer—are discussing their fears. Winnie says, “And you know, Dotty, we all have fears, and I’m beginning to realize that we must accept them and not feel ashamed of them….it does no good to torture oneself with guilt and shame simply because one has fears. We’re right to have fears about some things: evil for instance, and violence and lying, and I’m not going to add to my misery by feeling ashamed of my loneliness.”
Winnie Bailey comforted Dotty Harmer, and she comforted me as well. Come next August, when it’s time for another mammogram, I expect I’ll be turning to Miss Read again.
From the New York Times: Another piece by Mark Bittman, and this time he visits Maine to write about sustainable agriculture. My only quibble with the piece is that Bittman describes Maine soil as acidic. While this is true in parts of Maine—namely the coast—central and northern Maine have rich soil that is ideal for farming. In fact, in the 188os, central Maine was the “bread basket” of New England.
From Shine on Yahoo: How much protein do you need? Not as much as you think, and it can all come from plants, if you plan it right. And according to the Environmental Working Group, if you eat one less hamburger a week, it’s the equivalent of “taking your car off the road for 320 miles.” Let’s hear it for bean burgers!
From Mother Jones: Berkeley and Oakland come to the table. An interview with Alice Waters, of Berkeley’s Chez Panisse, and Nikki Henderson of Oakland’s People’s Grocery. Two very different parts of California meet to talk about good food for all citizens, not just the the affluent ones.
A year has gone by since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. A whole year! Time is funny. In some ways the year passed quickly, but in other ways, especially this past winter as I dealt with the fatigue that comes with radiation treatment, time moved very slowly. Even now, my stamina is not what it was before breast cancer and radiation. When I have people over for a meal, I am really tired when they leave, and I just don’t have the energy for long-distance bike riding, the way I did last year. I can only go ten or eleven miles, but the good news is that I do this daily. And I’m glad to be on the road, biking through town and by the shimmering lake.
At the beginning of August, I had my first after-cancer mammogram, and I will admit that I was nervous out of my mind. What a relief to find out that the mammogram was “normal.” Right around that time, I spoke with a woman in town who has had breast cancer.
“Does it get any easier?” I asked, referring to the mammogram jitters I had.
“No,” she answered. “It really doesn’t.”
How could it?
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I vowed to buy as much organic food as possible, and to be truthful, it has taken a great deal of effort to do so on our modest budget. Organic food is always more expensive than food grown with harsh pesticides, and sometimes it is much more expensive. It helps that we are mostly vegetarian because organic meat is especially pricey. But, still! I have always been a frugal shopper, and during the 1990s, I was able to feed five people on less than $100 a week, usually $80 or so. Now, it is a rare trip to the grocery store when I don’t spend at least $50—I usually go more than once a week—and we don’t eat extravagantly—I cook from scratch and buy very little meat.
Nevertheless, my commitment to organic food remains strong. When I was a young teenager, hardly anyone I knew had breast cancer. It was very uncommon and not a cause for concern. (What teenager could say this now?) Then, in the mid-1970s, things began to change, and my own family experienced this firsthand when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was on the vanguard, the first wave of women that would really be hit by this disease, a wave that would only get bigger and bigger over time.
What changed? Certainly mammograms play a role in detecting cancer earlier, but I will again make the case that when I was young, few women I knew, regardless of whether they were 50, 60, or 70, had breast cancer. And I lived in a multigenerational home. I would have heard about it if my grandmother’s friends had had breast cancer. (Only one did.)
While there might be a variety of causes for the increase in breast cancer, one big change—starting in the 1950s—is how we grow our food. According to Sandra Steingraber in her book Living Downstream, after World War II, all “the technologies developed for wartime purposes…changed chemistry and physics forever….The multitude of new synthetic products made available after the war altered how food was grown and packaged…” Welcome to the world of pesticides, herbicides, and synthetic fertilizers. Steingraber calls herself “a member of the most poisoned generation to come of adult age…” and I am also of that generation.
Now, I know that food is only one piece of what might be called the “poison puzzle.” Our water and air are also contaminated, and pollutants don’t stay in one place, traveling even to the arctic circle, which is far away from factories and crops grown with pesticides. In short, I realize I can’t control everything that comes into my life. But when it comes to food, I can, and so I am.
I am developing strategies to keep the cost of organic food as low as possible. I’ve already described how I cook from scratch and don’t buy much meat. That’s a good start. I’ve also begun compiling a price book listing the cost of the food I buy at various stores. Just as it is with nonorganic food, the prices range from store to store. Once a month, my husband and I go to Trader Joe’s to stock up on food we can’t buy locally. (We also visit with our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike, thereby efficiently combining shopping and visiting with family on our trip.) But even at Trader Joe’s a price book is essential. While there are real bargains for organic food at Trader Joe’s, occasionally I can get a better deal at our local Hannaford.
On the home front, joining a CSA has been a relatively thrifty way to get organic vegetables. Plus, I like supporting Farmer Kev. I also make a great effort to waste as little food as possible. Food thrown away is like money thrown away.
So eating mostly organic can be done on a modest budget, but it takes a fair amount of work. However, to me it is time well spent, a gift not only to myself but also to the planet and to future generations.
On Saturday, we celebrated the one-year wedding anniversary of our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. My, what a frenzy it was last year at this time, with getting wedding favors ready, picking up flowers, hosting a bridesmaids’ luncheon, and the myriad of things that seem to go along with having a wedding. But a lovely wedding it was on a perfect August day, sunny and hot but dry.
In our family, we like to celebrate almost any occasion by cooking a special meal. Since it is August, and we were hoping the weather would cooperate so that we could grill food and eat on the patio, we planned our menu accordingly. We decided to go light on the appetizers, having learned that too many appetizers spoil the appetite for the main meal. We had tortilla chips and salsa, always a favorite with Mike, and our favorite retro clam dip along with regular chips.
Retro clam dip with chips
Luckily, the weather did cooperate, and this Saturday was as fine as the wedding day itself. This meant we could have grilled bread, a course unto itself. Over the years, my husband, Clif, has developed quite the knack with grilled bread, and he stretches and pulls the uncooked dough like a pro. In fact, he has become so good at it that grilled bread is now the expected summer treat when family and friends come over, and if for some reason we don’t have it, then they are disappointed. All you need is good olive oil for dipping.
For the main meal, we all agreed that steak, corn on the cob, and garlic, basil mashed potatoes would be just the thing. Not only was it the main meal, but it was also a Maine meal. The steak came from Wholesome Holmstead in Winthrop, the corn from Jillson’s Farm in Sabattus, and the potatoes were Farmer Kev’s, also in Winthrop. Even the butter—Kate’s Butter—came from Maine.
The "Maine" meal
Although my gardens are little frowsy this time of year, there is no sweeter place to be in the summer on a fine day than on our patio. The crickets sang their end-of-summer song as we toasted Shannon and Mike and worked our way through appetizers, grilled bread, and steak, potatoes, and corn. By the time we had finished, dusk had settled over the backyard, and with it the evening dew.
Inside we went, for cake, ice cream, and tea. The cake, as is the tradition, was the very top of the wedding cake, bagged and frozen for the past year. I did wonder what that cake would taste like, but truly it was pretty good. Not as fresh and as nice as it was on the wedding day but nonetheless still enjoyable a year later.
Naturally, a gift was in order, and we decided to get a food processor for two of our favorite foodies. I use mine a lot, and I know Shannon and Mike will use theirs a lot, too.
Happy anniversary, Shannon and Mike. May you have many, many more!
Addendum: Ali, of the blog Henbogle, asked for the clam dip recipe. Here it is, copied from one of my previous posts about clam dip and nostalgia.
Clam Dip
Adapted from the recipe on the can of Snow’s minced clams
1 (6.5 oz) minced clams, drained. Reserve the liquid.
¼ cup of sour cream
1 (8 oz) package of cream cheese, softened
1 clove garlic, dry roasted and finely chopped
¼ teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce
Note about the garlic: Raw garlic has a bite that often leads to indigestion. To mitigate this, heat a fry pan (do not add oil) and place the unpeeled garlic in the hot pan. Flip, stir, or toss the clove from time to time. What you want are a few brown spots on the skin, but not too many. In other words, don’t burn it. Let the garlic cool a bit. Peel and chop. You will have a lovely, mellow clove of garlic, still flavorful but without the overwhelming presence so often found in raw garlic.
Beat the cream cheese, sour cream, and enough of the clam liquid so that the mixture has a smoothness and texture that you like. I use 3 Tablespoons, but this is a matter of taste. If you like a thinner dip, just add more of the clam liquid. After you have a consistency that you like, blend the clams, garlic, and Worcestershire sauce into the cream cheese and sour cream mixture. Chill.Then, get a bag of ruffled chips. If you have orange or yellow bowls for the chips and dip, then use them. Put on Carole King or James Taylor or any other of the great singer/songwriters from the 1970s. Invite some old—I mean this literally—friends over.
Then, as you listen to King and Taylor, dip those ruffled chips. And wax nostalgic.
From the New York Times:A piece by Melissa Clark about ways to cook eggplant. Oh, how I love eggplant. I’ll be trying some of her recipes, that’s for sure.
From Specialty Food Magazine: Candy, candy, candy. No, it’s not good for you, but in these sour economic times, who couldn’t use a sweet treat? Apparently, a lot of people feel this way, and candy sales are up.
From the New York Times: Swapping Meats for Nuts to Lower Diabetes Risk. With such high levels of diabetes in American society, this piece is well worth reading. It reinforces Michael Pollan’s advice: Eat mostly plants. And perhaps a little low-fat dairy, too. (I noticed there was no mention of candy…)
From the Washington Post: More about eggplants. They can be pickled! This slide show takes you through the steps.
From the Portland Press Herald: If you have an abundance of home-grown tomatoes and don’t want to can them, then here is a nifty idea by Anne Mahle, who writes a column called The Maine Ingredient.
Last week, Helen McGowan Michaud died. She was the mother of my friend Debbie Maddi, and Helen had been sick for several years. Naturally, I wanted to cook something for Debbie and her husband, Dennis, and from personal experience, I know that during such times, one’s stomach can be very queasy. Unless someone in the family has diabetes, carb-heavy meals, soothing and a little bland, are just the thing, and accordingly I decided to make macaroni and cheese for Debbie and Dennis. I would also make them some bread and bring cucumbers from my little garden.
Helen was born in 1916 in Ashland, Maine. (In time and location, she was not far apart from my grandmother, who was born in 1911 in Caribou, Maine.) An outgoing, energetic woman, Helen raised five children, worked in the grocery store she and her husband co-owned, was a library trustee, a member of the Historical Society, and the Music Booster Club. And Helen played the piano. According to the obituary in the Bangor Daily News, when Helen was younger, “for many years, along with her brothers, she played in the McGowan Family band throughout ‘The County.'” Aroostook county, that is, for readers unfamiliar with Maine.
I had the good luck of not only meeting Helen but also of going on an outing with her, Debbie, Debbie’s daughter, Andrea, and my own children, Dee and Shannon. We went to a place called Coos Canyon, in Byron, Maine. Coos Canyon is a 1,500-foot long gorge where the water sometimes rushes and sometimes is very calm. It is a perfect place for picnics and swimming, if the water isn’t too rough.
I remember how ready Helen was to have fun with us and the children, and even though she was not a young woman then—this must have been twenty years ago—how spry she was, nimbly stepping over rocks and roots. Yet despite her zest and energy, Helen was easy to be around, and this is not always the case with energetic women (or men!).
In Battles at Thrush Green by Miss Read, I came across this line about a friend of one of the main characters, someone who “loved life” and had “a great capacity for enjoyment.” That to me, captures Helen. A wonderful thing!
When I delivered the macaroni and cheese, the bread, and the cucumbers, Debbie asked me, “Do you remember the trip we took with my mother to Coos Canyon?”
Yes, I certainly do.
A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.
Notes From the Hinterland 