From Yahoo! Health: Stay away from KFC’s Chunky Chicken Pot Pie. With over 80 ingredients, this pie is a nutritional nightmare.
From the New York Times: This piece by Mark Bittman is from a couple of weeks ago, but it is worth reading. Bittman writes about the cost of healthy eating vs. the cost of eating junk food. Even though I am a proponent of organic food, I especially like the following quotation: “In comparing prices of real food and junk food, I used supermarket ingredients, not the pricier organic or local food that many people would consider ideal. But food choices are not black and white; the alternative to fast food is not necessarily organic food, any more than the alternative to soda is Bordeaux.”
Again from the New York Times and again from Mark Bittman: In this piece, Bittman goes farther afield, so to speak, and writes about the Wall Street protests. Very much worth reading.
From the Portland Press Herald: Russ Parsons extols the virtues of hosting a party where there is a bruschetta bar. Count me in. Parsons also instructs readers in how to pronounce bruschetta: the ch is apparently always pronounced like a hard c in Italian, so the proper way to say it is “brew-SKET-a.” Now you know, and so do I.
From Epicurious: Growing rice in Vermont! I love potatoes as much if not more than the average person, but the thought of (relatively) local rice makes me almost dizzy with delight.
This summer, my husband, Clif, and I joined Farmer Kev’s CSA program. (Click here to read a piece from my archives about Farmer Kev.) Starting in June, each week Farmer Kev delivered—that’s right delivered—a crate of freshly picked, organic vegetables. How we loved it! I will admit that early in the season it was a challenge to keep up with the plethora of greens—spinach, lettuce, Swiss chard—but we rose to the challenge and found such good recipes that we’ll be making them again next year.
The deliveries stopped in September, and Clif and I both felt somewhat at a loss. After feasting on such wonderful organic abundance, we were both reluctant to go back to buying vegetables at the grocery store. Then I had an idea. Why not ask Farmer Kev if he would sell us some of his keeper crops—potatoes, squash, carrots, beets, and garlic—if he had a surplus? I asked, and he did.
So we ordered and bought 50 pounds of potatoes, 10 pounds of carrots, 10 heads of garlic, 10 pounds of beets, 4 pounds of green peppers, and a bushel of squash. Since we don’t have a root cellar, the potatoes and squash are stored in baskets in our bedrooms, which tend to be quite cool in the fall and winter. The carrots, peppers, and beets are squished in our refrigerator.
These vegetables will probably not see us through the winter, but they will at least take us part of the way through the season. Already, we are enjoying roasted squash with sage butter; baked potatoes sometimes served with just butter, sometimes stuffed with chili; carrot tarragon soup (Here’s the recipe!); and, of course, the garlic in many things. In Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian there is a beet gratin recipe that I’ll be trying, and I’ll be poking around for other dishes that feature beets. My friend Kate Johnson has enthused about the joys of roasted carrots, and we’ll soon be roasting some of Farmer Kev’s carrots.
Between the CSA and the extra vegetables, Clif and I paid Farmer Kev $290 this year, and we agree that this was money very well spent. Not only were those organic vegetables delivered to our doorstep, but they were also incredibly clean and fresh. (Apparently, Farmer Kev has quite the system for cleaning vegetables, and next year I hope to get pictures of it for the blog.)
While I plan to expand my own little gardens, I also know that there’s a limit to what I can grow on this shady lot. Someday, perhaps, we will open up the land so that we can get more sun. Nevertheless, I will certainly continue buying vegetables from Farmer Kev. Not only are we doing our part for local agriculture, but we are also eating pretty darn well.
This morning, I got on my bike—Blue Beauty—and pedaled to downtown Winthrop, about a mile away. I had arranged to meet my friend Judy Johnson at The Flaky Tart, a new, funky café that sells muffins, cookies, scones, whoopie pies, and light lunches. The Flaky Tart only has a few tables, but it’s such a warm place—both the atmosphere and the colors—that all kinds of people are meeting there for lunch or for tea and dessert.
Although Winthrop has more than its fair share of places to eat, The Flaky Tart, right in the middle of town, is just what this town needs as a comfortable meeting place for family and friends to gather. In fact, it seems to me that every town needs a café like The Flaky Tart to bring cohesiveness to its community, to make the town more than a mere collection of houses connected by roads. Or even worse, a place you only drive through to get someplace else.
I left home a little early so that I could check out the shops—we only have a few—and perhaps find some birthday and Christmas presents. My first stop was Apple Valley Bookstore, where I did indeed find a gift, which I won’t reveal as family members read this blog. I also found a book that might be a gift or might very well go on my own bookshelves. It’s called Patience & Fortitude: A Roving Chronicle of Book People, Book Places, and Book Culture by Nicholas A. Basbanes. In his prologue, Basbanes writes about Dr. Otto Bettmann, “the creator of a vast archive of photographic material that he had furnished” to publishers of all kinds. Bettmann was also an author and a musician.
Here is what Bettmann had to say about books: “The Chinese have a saying that one picture is worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I believe that one word can be worth a thousand pictures….only reading allows you to penetrate the world. That is the power of the book.”
Yes, it is, and a reminder that the life of the mind is just as important as the life of the physical world. This is not to say that one is superior to the other; merely that both are necessary for human creativity and understanding.
Now, with a quotation like that, how could I resist Patience & Fortitude, which, by the way, are the unofficial names of the lions outside the New York Public Library? Clearly, I couldn’t.
After the bookstore, I went to the Flaky Tart, where Judy was waiting for me, and I had tea and the sweetest little scone—gone in two bites—that I have ever had. The scone was a perfect late-morning snack, small enough so that it wouldn’t interfere either with lunch or with trying to lose weight.
I hadn’t even settled down with my tea when another friend—Debbie Maddi—came in. She had gone for a walk and wanted to see what the Flaky Tart was like. We all chatted a bit, and Debbie left.
Some more people I knew came in, and I must admit I just love being in a place where people drop in for a while before heading on their way.
Judy couldn’t stay long. She and her husband, Paul, are moving into a brand new home at the end of this week, and Judy had many things to do.
Off I went, to a shop called Potato, which sells Maine-made crafts, and I found several gift possibilities. Then, it was time for my daily bike ride, me and Blue Beauty zipping down Memorial Drive and by Marancook Lake, today a gray reflection of the sky. But along the edges of the lake, there were blazes of yellow and orange to brighten the overcast day.
In my last post, I was griping about the cold weather and the short days of October. Then came the weekend and with it weather so wonderful and warm that with only a bit of effort, I could pretend it was still summer. (There were, of course, those shorter days to remind me that it was still fall.) How lucky that my husband, Clif, and I had planned this weekend to visit our friends and biking gurus Bob and Kate in New Hampshire and go biking with them along the coastline. At the beginning of the week, we were sure we’d need to wear fleece and leggings to bike. As it turned out, we could wear T-shirts and shorts. And plenty of sunscreen.
Early Saturday morning, with the bikes strapped to the car and our dog, Liam, in the backseat, we headed south. Our first stop was South Portland, where we dropped off the dog with our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. Liam, too, would have a beach day, but in Cape Elizabeth rather than in New Hampshire. With Liam in the loving care of Mike and Shannon, we didn’t have to worry about hurrying back home.
Then it was off to New Hampshire, across the Piscataqua River Bridge to Portsmouth. Clif and I had never been to the New Hampshire coast before. Being Mainers, when we want to go to the ocean, we head for somewhere in Maine. Therefore, we weren’t sure what to expect. Rocky? Sandy? Flat? Hilly? We would find out. From my point of view, any day—especially one so sunny and warm—spent biking with friends by the ocean was bound to be a great day.
We met Bob and Kate in the parking lot of Wallis Sands State Beach in Rye and away we went. From the very start, with the intoxicating smell of the salt air to spur us on, I knew this would be one of those rides that I would always remember. Above, the blue sky and the sun. Alongside the road, purple asters, late roses, and cattails. We passed a marsh with two white swans, elegant and serene. Here we came upon a rocky beach, next a sandy beach. The road curved up and around, giving a broad prospect that looked almost Mediterranean. In the distance, the Isles of Shoals shimmered.
A rocky cove
What especially impressed Clif and me was how much of the this coastline is part of the New Hampshire state park system. This means that even “simple folks” can enjoy a day at the seaside, and many, many people were doing just that.
Boat launch
“We never knew how spectacular the New Hampshire coastline is,” I said to Kate at one of our ocean rest stops. “Let’s make this a yearly tradition.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Kate said.
Lunch by the ocean
We rode about 20 miles, and after that we drove to Kate and Bob’s house for showers—how good they felt!—drinks, appetizers, vegetable soup, and apple gingerbread. A feast. It was still so warm that we could sit on the deck and eat and drink and chat.
As the sun set and the dampness settled in, we reluctantly said goodbye and headed back to Maine to pick up our dog and have tea with Mike and Shannon.
All the way back, Clif and I talked about various parts of our bike ride, and the taste of the gingerbread still lingered. (Kate gave me the recipe—it’s from Smitten Kitchen—and I plan on making some this weekend.)
In the distance, we saw a bright light streak across the sky.
Somehow, September, busy as it was, seems like a distant memory—warm and lovely with lots of time spent biking and on the patio and celebrating birthdays. Then came October, and when we flipped the calendar, it felt like we actually flipped the season, going from summer to fall. Suddenly, the days became cool, and the nights grew downright cold. Suddenly, it became too dark to go on bike rides when my husband, Clif, came home from work. Could it really only be a week or so ago, in warm September, when we optimistically believed that we might be able to go on evening bike rides until the middle of October? Whatever were we thinking? We’re Mainers, for heaven’s sake. We know what October is like. We should have known better.
Despite the busy hubbub of September, I gave away 4 loaves of bread, bringing my total of the year to 46 1/2 loaves. My year-long goal of giving away at least one loaf of bread a week for a total of 52 loaves is getting ever closer. The way things are going, I should reach my goal in November. However, I still plan on giving away one loaf a week through December, whatever the actual total might be. That was my plan, and I’m sticking to it.
I would like to be able to say that giving away all this bread has made me more generous in all aspects of my life. But, alas, I still struggle with selfish tendencies. Last week when I visited the Bowdoin College Museum of Art, I brought enough money for gelato afterward but not enough to put into the donation box at the museum. I have been brooding about this, off and on, ever since. Why didn’t I bring a little extra money so that I would have enough for both? The truth is, I didn’t think of it, even though I knew about the donation box. My mind was on gelato, and it was on art. It was not on the donation box.
Well, the box will be there the next time Clif and I visit, and we’ll put a couple of dollars into it.
In the meantime, I’ll be making bread and giving it away.
Last week at our town’s Green Committee meeting, Gary Dawbin came in with a bag of apples picked from a tree in his yard, and my husband, Clif, and I were the lucky recipients. The apples, as you can see from the photo, would not win any prizes for beauty, but Gary assured me they were good cooking apples, perfect for pies and crisps and, of course, apple sauce. When I got home, I tasted one, and it was indeed very good, a little tart and a little sweet.
On Saturday, a cool, rainy day, I commenced making a pie. I love the whole process of baking an apple pie—cutting the apples, making the dough, and then smelling the apples as they cook.
As Clif just received an ice cream maker for his birthday from our friends Bob and Kate, we decided to make some vanilla ice cream to go with the pie. (I also made bread. A busy cooking day!)
When the pie was done, we were eager to sample a piece. What would these little yellow apples with their bruises and blemishes be like in a pie? After only one bite, Clif and I were in total agreement—this was one of the best apple pies we have ever eaten. Clif got it exactly right when he noted, “The apples have just the right balance of tart and sweet.” (Need I add I was thrilled to make such a good pie with backyard apples?) And the homemade vanilla ice cream just gilded the lily.
Quick as can be, I was on the phone, calling Gary Dawbin to find out more about those apples. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell me what variety they were, but he knew they were an old heirloom apple planted by Mose B. Sears, one of the owners of the old Winthrop house in which Gary and his wife, Rose, live. Moses B. Sears owned the house in the 1800s, and when I Googled his name, I also learned that Moses was part of the Maine Anti-Slavery Society. Apparently, along with being socially conscious, Moses had such a green thumb that with its apples, plums, grapes, pears, and blackberries, the yard around his house was referred to as “the Garden of Eden.” (This last bit of information about Moses’ Garden of Eden came from Gary.)
“I have more apples,” Gary said, “If you would like some. There is a limit to how many apples Rose and I can eat.”
“Yes, please!” I said, and on Sunday, Gary gave me enough apples for at least two more pies.
Now, there is also a limit to how much pie Clif and I should be eating, so we shared some of the pie with Gary and his wife, Rose, as well as our friends Dawna and Jim Leavitt. Next weekend, I’ll be making more pie and will be sharing that one as well.
Once upon a time, Winthrop was full of apple orchards, and all over town there are vestiges of these old trees, one here, one there, the varieties long forgotten. The trees were planted during a time when people grew a significant amount of their own food, and they are reminders of how much food this town could produce if it wanted to do so. (We are not the only happy recipients of Gary’s apples from this one tree.)
I’ll let Clif have the last word here: “Gary’s tree needs to be grafted so that those apples can carry on.”
Recently, my husband, Clif, celebrated his 60th birthday, and as we are both very keen on biking, we thought that over the course of the week, we would ride 60 miles in honor of his 60 years. Unfortunately, our schedules and the weather did not allow us to reach our goal. No matter! We went 48 miles and had a great low-carbon time.
Last night, Clif came home from work a bit early so that we could go on a bike ride. Even though we left our home by 6:00 P.M., it was dark on the last leg of our ten-mile trip along Memorial Drive, which goes by Maranacook Lake. We weren’t really that concerned. There are street lights as you get closer to town, and we have reflectors, lights, and flashers on our bikes. This means we can see and be seen, and there is something a little thrilling about riding in the night.
On the way back, we stopped at the public beach to look across the dark water at the lights and the night sky.
Then, it was on to Mia Lina’s, a better than average pizza place, for a Friday-night treat of Lina bread and a salad.
After supper we rode home, across busy Route 202, where there was night construction, and the kind road workers stopped traffic for us; down pretty Highland Avenue, with its street lights and big leafy trees; and finally onto Narrows Pond Road, where there are no street lights at all. Last night, it was so dark—no moon, no stars—that it looked as though we were about to enter a great, black tunnel on Narrows Pond Road. Down we went on our trusty bikes, our little lights beaming a safe course between the road and the ditch until we turned into our own driveway.
Well, Clif’s birthday is over and with it our little “staycation,” where Clif took off several days so we could go on bike rides and spend time on the patio, one of our favorite places. We also drove (in the car) to Brunswick to visit our friend Sybil. The conversation, as always, was great, and we went to see the Edward Hopper exhibit at the Bowdoin College Museum of Art. Afterward, we had gelato at Gelato Fiasco. What a day!
Clif and I had such a good time on our staycation—the weather cooperated beautifully—that we plan on doing it again next year. We spent very little money, and with all the biking we did, our carbon footprint was pretty small. Best of all, even though we stayed home, we really did vary our routine by putting most of our chores and projects on hold so that we could bike, relax, and visit with a friend. As a result, even though Clif and I are sorry that our staycation is over, we feel refreshed and ready to return to our usual schedule with its many activities. As my Franco-American mother might have said about our staycation: It changes the mind.
During our staycation, we also had a supreme foodie experience: We made ice cream. For his birthday, Clif received an ice cream maker. (Thanks so much, Bob and Kate!) A little booklet, complete with recipes, came with the maker, and a quick look at the chocolate ice cream recipe confirmed that I had most of the ingredients in my kitchen—milk, sugar, vanilla, cocoa powder. I would also need heavy cream, which I didn’t have, but a trip to the grocery took care of that.
While there is quite a bit of preplanning involved in making ice cream—the machine’s barrel must be frozen, and the milk-cream mixture must be chilled for several hours—the hands-on time is minimal. Truly, the results are so exquisite that planning ahead is a small price to pay for what Clif called “The best ice cream I’ve ever had.” And once the mixture is chilled, it only takes about 20 minutes for the ice cream maker to whip it into a frozen delight.
It is my guess that from now on, we will seldom buy premade ice cream. I’m going to experiment with substituting milk for the cream, which will cut down on the calories and the fat. I will be using organic milk and other wholesome ingredients, and my cost will be a fraction of what it would be to buy a similar product at the store.
Below are pictures of the birth of ice cream. Oh, the joy.
Next week, my husband, Clif, will be turning 60, and tomorrow we are having a chili party to mark the big occasion. Our daughter Dee is coming from New York, and the South Portland contingent—our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike—will of course be there. We have also invited some good friends to help us celebrate.
The past two weeks have been a flurry of cleaning. If I were as good a housekeeper as my mother was, then there would have been no need for the flurry of cleaning because everything would have been clean all along. My mother was a legendary cleaner. Once, Mom won the services of a professional cleaner, and when that woman came to do her job, she took one look at my mom’s house and asked, “What am I supposed to clean?” Let’s just say that she would never ask that question in my house.
But I’m happy to say that the house looks pretty good. Still not as good as Mom’s, but not bad. Now, it’s on to the cooking. Yesterday I made a quadruple batch of crackers—the recipe is adapted from the one in Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian—and the crackers came out just the way I like—a dark, golden brown. Into a big tin they went to keep them fresh. I also roasted beets for the salad I’ll be making, which will also include lettuce, roasted almonds, and feta cheese. And I made a simple vinaigrette, using sage, oregano, mint, and rosemary from my garden.
So those things are done. Today is the day for my biggest challenge—the birthday cake. Cakes are not my strong suit, and it probably stems from the fact that I am somewhat indifferent to cake. It’s not that I dislike it, but when it comes to dessert, there are many choices I would make first, with pie being right at the top. (This might also explain why making pie crust is a snap for me.) Somehow, my cakes have a tendency to fall. However, there is one cake I have consistent success with, and, luckily it is one of Clif’s favorites—buttermilk spice cake. As soon as this post is written, I’ll be making that cake, and you can bet I’ll be praying to the cake gods to smile on me so that the cake doesn’t fall. (Quite sensibly, we have a Plan B: a cake from Whole Foods if my cake falls.)
After cake, there is a bit more cleaning, and then getting the ingredients ready for the chili. Then there is the cream cheese olive and rosemary spread to go with the crackers. A busy day!
I hope to get pictures of the food and the party tomorrow. When we have a party, I am usually distracted by my duties as hostess, and I might have my daughter Dee take pictures.
Now, onward to the cake!
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Notes From the Hinterland 