Another rainy stretch. One day of rain after a sunny spell is good. Three or four days, not so good. My only consolation is that I can get interesting pictures of my garden.
All posts by Clif Graves
GARLIC SPINACH WITH PASTA
I have a confession to make. Spinach is not one of my favorite foods. In fact, the same could be said for all kinds of greens, ranging from Swiss chard to beet greens. Perhaps it’s because my introduction to them came from parents whose idea of cooking greens was to boil them to a slimy, green pulp, which was then smothered with vinegar. Back in the old days, when I was a child, you had to eat what was on your plate, so mostly I ate those greens. Sometimes, if dinner consisted of too many things I didn’t like, I would ask to eat in the living room. I would insist that there was some special show or movie I just had to watch. I couldn’t do this very often because I knew my mother would become suspicious and would deny permission. So I saved it for a night, say, when a clump of spinach would be served with a casserole made with Veg-All, cream of mushroom soup, ground beef, and macaroni. (Not all of Mom’s cooking was like this. She was a great baker, and her cookies, cakes, and pies, all made from scratch, were delicious.)
Safely ensconced in the living room, too far from the kitchen to be seen, I could sneak food to our dog, Frisky, who was right by my side. I’d eat some of my meal, of course, but well over half would go to Frisky, who thought boiled spinach and Veg-All casserole were just dandy.
Over the years, my stance toward spinach has softened. (However, my take on Veg-All casserole remains unchanged.) I like spinach in quiche or lasagna or any number of dishes, and I have come to love spinach salads, especially if bacon and hard-boiled eggs are involved.
It’s a good thing my attitude toward spinach has changed because in the span of two weeks, Farmer Kev has delivered three big bags of spinach. As of today, we have gone through nearly two of them, mostly munching our way through salads.
Last night, I decided to sauté some of that spinach with garlic and have it with pasta. I looked on the Internet for suggestions and discovered that other than using lots of garlic, there wasn’t much to it. While a pound of penne was cooking—I always make too much—I chopped three cloves of garlic and removed the stems from half a pound of spinach. In a big frying pan, I sautéd the garlic for a minute or so, added the spinach, and stirred it around until the greens were wilted. Then, I added enough of the cooked penne—probably half—until I thought there was a good ratio of pasta to spinach. I tasted it. Not bad, but a little bland. I added a tablespoon of chopped, fresh oregano and a bit of pasta water I had reserved before draining the penne. Better.
My husband, Clif, is not exactly a spinach enthusiast, either, and while he made a comment about how the spicing “wasn’t exactly right,” he went back for a second helping. I thought the dish was good enough, but I certainly wouldn’t serve it to company. Because Clif had a point—the spinach and pasta was still a little bland, even with the addition of the oregano. What would make it better? Lemon juice? Feta cheese? Chickpeas? All of the above? Any suggestions, readers?
FATHER’S DAY AT WOLFE’S NECK WOODS STATE PARK
There are two places in Maine that my husband, Clif, especially loves—Acadia National Park, which is a bit too far for a comfortable day trip, and Wolfe’s Neck Woods State Park in Freeport, which is within easy driving distance of Winthrop. Given that the weather is nice, Wolfe’s Neck is where Clif always wants to go for a Father’s Day outing. This year, the weather was splendid, and to Freeport we went.
Unfortunately, our son-in-law, Mike, had to work that day, but our daughter Shannon was free, and she joined us for a picnic and a hike at Wolfe’s Neck. Also, the park allows dogs, which meant we were able to bring Liam. For his special meal, Clif requested potato salad and chicken, and Shannon brought cold, baked chicken that had a spicy rub. I made the “best-ever” potato salad, and the two went together perfectly. (I would have liked some fruit or a green salad to go with the picnic, but Clif was the one who chose the meal, and chicken and potato salad were all that he wanted.)
After we picnicked, we went for a hike on some of the trails. As the park’s brochure puts it, the trails go through “a wooded peninsula, the ‘neck’ of land between the Harraseeket River and Casco Bay.” So there is water and woods, and on the day we went, the last of the lady slippers were still in bloom. I especially love these delicate, elegant flowers, and I was sorry that they were nearly gone by. Still, it was good to see even a few of the late bloomers, and the woods must have been speckled with pink a week or so ago.
Now, we have hiked in Wolfe’s Neck for many years. Usually we start with the trail that goes along Casco Bay, where we can see the island with the Osprey nest. From there we follow a loop that takes us by the Harraseeket River and then inland back to the parking lot. The terrain is a little rough and steep, and although it is slow going for me because of my arthritic knees, the hike is one I can handle.
For some reason, we didn’t start at the osprey nest, the way we usually do, and later, we couldn’t figure out if we got turned around or if the trails had been changed because of winter blow downs. Whatever the case, the forest seemed to hold us in its grip, and we marched in what felt like an endless circle. For nearly three hours, up and down we went, over rocks and roots. My knees, my feet, and one of my hips really hurt, but we couldn’t find our way out. A young woman, blonde, pretty, and fit, passed us many times. A golden retriever accompanied her, and each time the woman whizzed by us, she made a perky acknowledgment.
“Humph,” I said to myself, as bright and cheery, she passed us yet again. “I bet she’s doing this for fun and exercise while we trudge on, unable to find our way out.” I’m ashamed to admit this, but I found myself resenting her buoyant energy.
Finally we found our way back to the parking lot, where cold water waited for us in the car. As luck would have it, we passed by the perky blonde’s car, just as she and her dog were getting into it. “Phew!” She called out. “I didn’t think I was ever going to get out of those woods.”
So she was lost, too. My resentment instantly vanished, and although my knees and feet were sore, I laughed right along with Shannon and Clif.
Then off we went, to Shaw’s Supermarket for strawberry Popsicles. With the windows rolled down, we ate them in the car in the parking lot, and those Popsicles certainly tasted good. Liam got the last bits on our sticks, and it seemed as though he thought they tasted good, too.
All in all, a fine day, even though we got a little lost in the woods.
STILLMEADOW DAYBOOK BY GLADYS TABER
Thanks, yet again, to Nan and her blog, Letters from a Hill Farm, for introducing me to the books of Gladys Taber, who lived and wrote at Stillmeadow, an old farmhouse in Connecticut. The book I am reading, Stillmeadow Daybook, was published in 1955 by J. B. Lippincott Company, and in it Taber chronicles each month of the year on her farm. She starts with April, which is a good place to begin when gardening is central to your life. In her forward Taber writes, “There is something about the task of preparing vegetables that gives a woman a reflective mood. I wondered how many tons of potatoes I had pared since we put our roots down here in these forty acres of stony Connecticut soil.”
Taber loved the white farm house, built in 1690, from the moment she saw it: “[W]ith its steeply pitched roof, little windows with bubbly glass, and worn lintel, I knew I belonged to it.” But how Taber came to own this house and live there is a little unconventional. Taber, her husband, and her daughter were living in New York City as were Taber’s good friend Jill, her husband, and two children. Both families wanted a house in the country, “a week-end place where we could have outdoor living in peace…where vacations and holidays could be, we felt, very economical.”
So the two families pitched their fortunes together, bought the house, and, amazingly enough, they all got exactly what they wanted. As the children in both families grew and went to “various schools and colleges,” Stillmeadow was the home they could come back to. Even more amazing, over the years, the friendship between the two families didn’t fray with the tensions that must inevitably come with joint ownership. According to the book’s forward, when both Gladys and Jill became widows, they decided to live together at Stillmeadow, which became their “refuge and a haven.” Jill and Gladys had gardens where they raised all their vegetables, and they raised dogs as well. At one point they had thirty-six cocker spaniels, although in Stillmeadow Daybook, they are down to eight cocker spaniels and one Irish setter.
If Stillmeadow Daybook were only about country living—cooking, family, and food—then that would certainly be enough. To me, these are subjects that never grow old. But Taber, a writer and a creative writing teacher, had other things on her mind, too. Her thoughts about poetry—Keats was a favorite—world peace, literature, and other larger subjects are folded into the homely details of life at Stillmeadow, and they bring depth to this charming book. Here is Taber’s take on fiction: “I think novels and short stories will probably be around as long as men can read at all. And there is a great satisfaction to a writer in creating characters which no amount of good reporting could duplicate. I venture to say also that great fiction illuminates life in a way no other form can do.”
Another thing that impressed me was how much of a foodie Taber was, especially as we tend to think of the 1950s as a grim culinary era in the United States. Taber’s concern with fresh, local food seems amazingly contemporary. “Economics is too complex for me. But I have instincts about supply and demand which I believe in. And I shall always feel a carrot next door is better than a carrot from Ames, Iowa, all things being equal.”
We baby boomers tend to feel sorry for women who came of age before the 1960s, those poor, unliberated things who spent day after frustrating day cooped up in their little houses with their little children, eating Spam sandwiches. While it is true that before the 1960s, the opportunities for women were far more limited than they are now, it is not true that all those pre-1960s women were bubble brains on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And it is arrogant of my generation to think this way. When I read As Always, Julia, the letters between Julia Child and Avis DeVoto, I was struck by what a rich life of the mind these women had. The same was true for Gladys and her friend Jill, and that life of the mind brought a spark to even the most mundane chores, from peeling potatoes to making current jelly. The best thing about the life of the mind is that it can be lived anywhere that there are books and magazines, even on a farm in Connecticut, even in a little house in Winthrop, Maine.
The copy of Stillmeadow Daybook I am reading came from Lithgow Public Library as an interlibrary loan book. However, a quick look on Amazon.com showed me that while Stillmeadow Daybook is no longer in print, it can be purchased used at a reasonable price. I also expect that library sales and second-hand shops might be a good place to find Stillmeadow Daybook as well as any of the other numerous books that Taber wrote.
I am looking forward to reading more of Gladys Taber, and I will certainly be looking for her books at various summer book sales.
Again, many thanks, Nan, for introducing me to Gladys Taber.
ANDREA’S BRIDAL SHOWER
Last Saturday, I helped my daughter Shannon with a bridal shower for her very dear friend Andrea. The shower was held in Hallowell, at Joyce’s Restaurant, upstairs in a long room overlooking the Kennebec River. At one end of the room, there was a grand piano, which nobody played, and at the other end, buffet tables and a bar. In between, tables and chairs for dining. Beyond the buffet tables and bar, there was a small deck, a perfect spot to sip wine and watch the river and admire a lower deck filled with potted herbs.
Joyce’s is a great place for a shower. By the grand piano, there are six or seven funky but comfortable chairs. This is where Andrea sat as she unwrapped presents, and there was plenty of room to make a big circle for other chairs. Andrea got many lovely gifts, and she was appreciative of them all, whether they were large or small. My gift was a Moosewood cookbook and a blue stoneware bowl full of lemon-frosted shortbread. I am, after all, a good eater, and I thought it was appropriate for my gift to literally include food.
Joyce’s prepared a tasty luncheon, which included a creamy tomato soup with basil. (It was the hit of the shower. My, it was good!) In addition, there were two kinds of sandwiches—chicken curry as well as tomato, pesto, and mozzarella; a salad with mixed greens; a pasta salad; fruit; and cookies for dessert. The service was excellent, too. The woman who waited on us was just the right combination of friendly and efficient. She even cheerfully packaged the leftovers for us, and we felt as though we were in good hands.
I have known Andrea since she was five or six years old. I took care of Andrea when she was in grade school, and Andrea and Shannon have been friends all through the years. Andrea has become an elegant young woman who wouldn’t look out of place in a Fred Astaire movie, and it was both moving and joyful for me to be part of this celebration that will bring her to the next phase of her life. Truly, a wedding shower is a rite of passage, where the next generation takes its place in the continuation of the cycle. I was even more moved when Andrea referred to me as her “third mother,” with her own mom and her future mother-in-law being the other two.
I did manage to slip in a little bread talk with Andrea’s future mother-in-law, who loves to cook. She told me about her own experience with making whole wheat bread, and she confirmed my own hunch about how much whole wheat flour to use—1/3 whole wheat flour and the rest unbleached white flour. It was nice to hear I had it right.
Andrea’s wedding will be in September, and she is marrying a man who has such a talent for woodworking that it goes beyond craft and is firmly in the artisan category. He is also a talented photographer. For her own part, Andrea is an accomplished cook. May they have a long, creative life together.
THE FIRST DELIVERY FROM FARMER KEV
This year, we decided to join Farmer Kev’s CSA program. (Farmer Kev—aka Kevin Leavitt—is an extraordinary young farmer who lives in our town.) On Saturday, we received our first delivery. That’s right, Farmer Kev delivers. (We also have an “egg lady” who delivers our eggs. All we need is to find someone who delivers milk, and we’ll be convinced that we’ve zipped back to the 1950s.)
For this first delivery, Farmer Kev gave us two huge bags of lettuce and spinach and some snappy radishes, all packed in a funky wooden crate. We’ll certainly be eating very healthy this week!
Farmer Kev has done something interesting with his invoice. We bought a half share for $200, and along with listing that, he also itemized the spinach, lettuce, and radishes, giving them a market value of $10.75. In my opinion, he went a little low. Two big bags of organic lettuce would certainly go for more than $4. However, it will be interesting to see how the two sides—what we’ve paid vs. what we receive—balance out as the season progresses. If the first week is any indication, then I expect we’ll more than get our money’s worth.
Tonight, we’ll be having a huge Mexican salad for dinner, using the spinach and the lettuce from Farmer Kev’s garden and adding black beans, leftover ground turkey, olives, cheese, and salsa.
I’m hungry for it already.
THE TEMPEST
Yesterday, the storm clouds came in, making the afternoon dark as night. Then the rain came down so hard that it fell in torrents off the roof of the house, and I felt as though I were under a waterfall. In the ditches, the water rushed fast and high, flattening the grass along both sides. In all my years of living on Narrows Pond Road—27 years—never have I seen it rain with such ferocity.
Naturally, we lost our power, and for our supper, my husband, Clif, and I had to go into town for roast beef sandwiches at Pete’s, where the power was on. At home, the power was still out when we went to bed, by torch light, as the British would say, and about 1:30 A.M. I woke up as everything switched to life—the beeping computers, the rumbling refrigerator, the lights that were left on. Oh, happy night! This meant that Clif could have his coffee, toast, and shower before going to work and that I wouldn’t have to scrounge around for a shower at a friend’s house.
This morning, I went to Longfellow’s Greenhouse to buy some perennials and annuals and to replace a cucumber that had decided to wilt. While I was there, I talked to a worker about the storm.
“What a downpour,” she said and then motioned to a man and a woman who were loading flats of tomatoes onto a huge cart. “The have a farm stand, and they lost everything to hail.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said.
“The world is changing,” she agreed.
“Even though some people don’t want to admit it.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
Today is cooler and calm. My gardens pulled through without any significant damage. However, I heard from my friend Esther that she had “much plant damage” but that she will wait for a few days before “yanking.”
Summer isn’t even officially here, but the season is sure getting off to a bang. I hope we’ve seen the worst, but I can’t help wondering what’s going to come next.
JOIE DE VIVRE BY ROBERT ARBOR AND KATHERINE WHITESIDE
On an older post on the blog Letters from a Hill Farm, Nan has reviewed a book called Joie de Vivre: Simple French Style for Everyday Living by Robert Arbor and Katherine Whiteside. Nan read this book as part of a Foodie’s Reading Challenge, which sounds like a lot of fun, and she had many good things to say about Joie de Vivre. So many, in fact, that I will be checking Inter Library Loan to see if any libraries in Maine have a copy of Joie de Vivre.
Here is what appealed to me about Nan’s description of Joie de Vivre—the notion that the good life revolves around family, food, and friends and that to cook you don’t need a big kitchen with granite counter tops and fancy equipment. This is from the book: “It’s not just about cooking, decorating, or entertaining – it’s about enjoying all the small details of domestic life. It’s about making time for family, growing some vegetables in your garden, chatting with the butcher, and cooking for your family and friends.”
According to Nan, the point of the book is that you don’t have to live in France to live this kind of life. You can have it New York City; you can have it in Winthrop, Maine. All you have to do is cook, open up your home, and maybe plant a few herbs and vegetables.
Let’s hear it for this kind of good life, which is available even to those of us who live on a modest budget.
BLACK BEAN BURGERS: A VARIATION ON A THEME
For some inexplicable reason, my husband, Clif, and I have been latecomers to bean burgers. Who knows why? Even good eaters get stuck in a rut, and I think that’s where we were when our evening meals revolved around meat. Now that we are mostly vegetarian, our evening meals are centered on vegetables and legumes, and it has forced us to branch out with our eating. This has been a very good thing, and one of the ways we have branched out is with the various bean burgers. While we might have been slow to add them to our food repertoire, we are now making up for lost time. Clif and I have become bean burger enthusiasts, and they have become a regular part of our diet.
A challenge for me, as it is with many recipes, has been to substitute garlic for onion and add other flavorings so that the burger is not boring. (In a recent post, I wrote about the problems my digestive system has with onions and my quest to find flavorful alternatives.) Last night, instead of using a can of spiced black beans, I decided to use some plain black beans that I had cooked, and using Mark Bittman’s bean burger recipe as a guideline, I added various things to pep up the burgers, including garlic, chili powder, and cheddar cheese. I would have loved to add cilantro, but unlike basil, in our supermarkets cilantro is not sold in big bags for a reasonable price. Unless we are having company, I just can’t bring myself to buy those expensive little containers of herbs. So no cilantro, but it would have been a happy addition.
The results? Clif had to talk himself out of having a second burger, and a good thing, too. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had enough for leftovers, and he certainly didn’t need a second burger. But the larger point is that Clif, who can eat onions, thought these burgers were so good that he wanted seconds. So, success!
As noted in the chickpea burger recipe, one recipe makes four burgers. I cook them all at once, and the beauty of these burgers, whether they are made with chickpeas or black beans, is that they reheat beautifully just the way they are cooked the first time—with a bit of oil in a frying pan.
Our next challenge will be to see how the bean burgers do on the grill. Will they fall apart? How much oil will they need? How long will it take to sizzle them? We are a having a Fourth of July gathering here, and as two of the guests don’t eat meat, I plan to make some of the chickpea patties.
“We’ll need to have a dry run, don’t you think?” I asked Clif.
“Definitely,” he answered.
Next week, then, it will be chickpea burgers on the grill.
In the interim, we have leftover black bean burgers to look forward to.
Black Bean Burgers
Makes 4 patties
2 cups of cooked black beans
2 small cloves or 1 large clove of garlic
1 tablespoon of chili powder
1/2 teaspoon of salt
pepper to taste
1/2 cup of cheddar cheese, grated
1/2 cup of rolled oats
1 egg
Oil for frying
In a food processor, combine all the ingredients except the oil. Pulse until the ingredients are mixed but there are still some chunks of bean left. You want a combination of smooth and chunky. If the mixture is too dry, add a little water. (I have not had to do this.) Form the mixture into 4 patties, put on a plate, and chill for an hour or so. This will make the burgers easier to handle.
Heat the oil in a frying pan. When the oil is hot, add the patties and cook for 5 minutes on one side. Flip, and cook for 5 minutes on the other side or until the burger is nicely browned.
Use whatever condiments you would use on a burger. I like dill pickle chips. My husband, Clif, favors jalapeños. Salsa would also be good on black bean burgers. Ketchup. Mayonnaise. There really are no wrong choices.
FOOD FOR THE SOUL: BLOOMING IRISES
June is here. That season of irises. How I love them, especially the purple ones. If I had a yard with more sun and less ledge, I would have massive beds of Irises so that our yard would be abloom with them in June. But, I have what I have, and I thank the flower gods that I have at least enough sun and ledge-free soil to have four big bunches of Irises.
Here is one Iris from tight bud to bloom, a span of four days or so.
Ah, Irises! Food for the soul, indeed.
Notes From the Hinterland 