Giving Thanks: Tender Cranberries, Braised and Roasted Bird, and a Good Life.
Posted: 2012/11/23 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food | Tags: boubon red, braising, cranberries, thanksgiving, turkey Leave a comment »
The ritual of cooking is an act of giving thanks, whether on Thanksgiving day, or any other time for that matter. This year thanksgiving was simply for us as we had no company, leaving extra time to play and experiment. I started the day by making aebleskiver. I stuffed them with jam. Although it seems like a great idea at first, it makes flipping the buggers a bit of a high stakes proposition lest one leak. That, and the jam is absorbed into the cake, leaving more of a purple spot than a filling. Still, it was fun and tasty. Over all, I managed a better ball by having the batter at room temperature. I warmed the eggs and buttermilk in a hot water bath. Having room temperature batter reduced the differential in temperature in the ball during cooking, and made it easier to manage the browning. I have my temperature and my technique, but I still want to fill some. That will have to wait for another post. Just like the sriracha noodles, one can’t get it right the first time out.
As soon as the dishes from breakfast were away, I parted out our little hen, carefully dis-articulating the joints and cutting the limbs free, then separating the back from the breast. The breast of our farm raised turkeys is much narrower than those you buy in the store. Over all, the bulk of the meat is in the breast and thigh. The thighs have a lot more connective tissue, and there is scant meat in the wings. My plan was to braise the dark meat and wings, while roasting the breast. As the proud owner of a single oven, this meant that I had to do one, then the other. No big deal.
One of the things that I have from breaking down my parents house in Detroit is a beautiful terracotta goose dish that had never been used. I don’t know if it was a gift, or if my mother purchased it, but I have been eager to use it. Something about a shaped dish just says “holiday”. The braise started with an onion and some celery. I deglazed the pan with some champagne. I did the same after I browned the joints, and I placed everything in the clay pot, along with some cranberries, olives, and a cup of apple cider. I put the entire affair in a cool oven, set things at 250, then 325, and let it go for a couple hours. I set the temperature in two steps to reduce stress on the clay pot. I also left my baking stone on the rack just bellow the rack I used. All of this shielded the goose from too much differential heating as the oven warmed. I knocked the temperature back down to 225 for the last hour so I could go on a bike ride with Trigger, lest he be a noodge all afternoon.
One thing I did not bank on was how much fat was in the back. If I had to do it again, I would have put it in the pot with the rest of the trimmings destined to become gravy. The stock was remarkably clear of fat, and my poor goose was laden. So much so that I ended up removing everything from the goose, separating it all, and removing the fat. While I was at it, I stripped the meat from the bones and tendons, just to make it easier to eat. The meat was delightful–good flavor, and good mouth feel. Braising did the trick for sure.
Working with our own fowl has been enlightening. I feel like I understand the American preoccupation with breast meat now. I can imagine a time before modern breeding and farming techniques where the thighs and legs would have seemed inedible to many. Similarly, I realize how lean modern breeds of fowl are. That an animal can grow so large and so fast, with so little fat is truly amazing. If one were to judge turkeys simply on the quantity of meat and universal tenderness, there is no doubt that a bird raised by modern means would win. Similarly, if you took a heritage turkey from a farm like ours and placed it in the hands of someone who had never cooked a bird the results would probably not be good. It drives home for me the degree to which our tastes and cooking techniques are intertwined with the way we farm. Turning back the clock and farming as we did eighty years ago won’t meet the tastes of most Americans. If things are to change, cooking and farming will need to evolve together.
Returning to our Bourbon Red hen, the breast was a sheer delight. I roasted it with nothing more than some salt on the skin. Following family tradition, I tented the breast in a brown paper bag, and simply cooked it at 375 until it was golden brown, and the internal temperature was just shy of target. The interior of the bird continues to cook during the time you rest the bird after cooking, and stopping shy ensures that you don’t over cook. The meat was moist and flavorful. Taste is one place where modern birds have nothing on our little hen.
Since it was just Amy and I, I stuck to traditional sides. One thing I wanted to be sure of was that the cranberry sauce had some texture, and was not gloppy. I feel like cranberry sauce of late has become an exercise in flavorings, ginger, spices, all manner of zinger added to what is in itself a very flavorful berry. Much of the time, the poor little berry is simply obliterated. I should also note here, that if I hear Susan Stamberg’s cranberry relish recipe one more time I am going to toss my radio from the window. So, in light of my cranberry distress, I started by browning a small onion. I deglazed the pan with a champagne, and a cup of apple cider. Following that, I added a couple spoons of bakers sugar. The picked and rinsed cranberries went in last. I did not stir despite all temptation! I just backed the heat down, and let the buggers simmer until they were tender. The result, a crisp slightly sweet sauce with tart balls of cranberry goodness. On the bird, potatoes, and other things a real joy. I am going to play with this recipe in the coming months. . . today after all, is the day where I go to the market and buy the cranberries that will invariably be on clearance so that I can stock the freezer with a few.
The gravy was traditional, starting with a rue of butter and flower, heart and liver chopped, and stock, reduced in a broad pan. Mashed potatoes the same, butter and salt through the food mill. While it all was good the first time through, the wheels were turning, and I was looking ahead to making shepherds pie with mashed potatoes, gravy and dark meat. Shepherds pie is one of Amy’s favorites. Good thing she’s a shepherd. Lastly, I rounded out the meal with Brussels sprouts fried in a little butter, then steamed in turkey stock. I slit the sprouts so they would take up the flavors of the pan, and cooked the stock off entirely–leaving firm tasty sprouts. We skipped the pie, and opted instead for a baked apple apiece.
With the candle light, there was hardly a chance to get a picture of the spread, so we just ate, gave thanks and enjoyed the meal.
Life and Death on the Farm
Posted: 2012/11/19 Filed under: Farm, Uncategorized | Tags: aebleskiver, chicks, death, lamb 2 Comments »
Stormy in his baby picture. Hard to believe that this was less than a year ago. We loved him, and now we miss him.
The last few days on the farm have been a mix of highs and lows, animals dying, born, and slaughtered. It all started Thursday morning when young ram Stormy was not interested in eating. Amy was hesitant to call the vet, but as soon as she palpated his abdomen we knew he had to go. Dr. Barton got us into the back door of Washington Family vet immediately.
I kept my hand on Stormy as he lay on the floor through tests and an ultrasound as Dr. Barton began to puzzle things out. Amy contacted Lyle McNeal at Utah State University. He formed the Navajo Sheep Project to restore the Navajo Churro Breed and knows more about Churro than anyone out there. Although we momentarily doubted it, he delivered what would be the ultimate diagnosis, Urinary Calculi, stones preventing urination. Waiting for the diagnosis, I looked into Stormy’s eyes as he lay there. I knew at that moment that he was dying: he told me with nothing more than a look. He died a few hours later in the back of the van, on the way home. Amy simply turned around, and Dr. Barton performed a necropsy that confirmed Lyle’s suspicion. As it turned out, Stormy’s bladder had burst.
On larger farms it is common for animals to simply die in a field. It is sad to say, but it is true. We pride ourselves on not letting that happen, so it was a severe blow to loose Stormy. Only after he died did we discover that the loose mineral we had been feeding had an incorrect balance of calcium, even though it was sold as a sheep mineral. We had been extremely careful to determine that the mineral did not contain things that the sheep should not have, but did not realize that it was missing something that it should. So began our search for a proper mineral. We have found some temporary substitutes, the best mineral can’t be had for less than an eight hour drive–Grand Junction CO, Gallup NM, or Bakersfield CA. Even if we were willing to pay the shipping, the suppliers will not ship. It really drove home for us how few people are in fact doing what we are doing. The Navajo Churro Yahoo Group has been invaluable, both with support and information. Amy was consoled to some degree by the fact that this has happened to some of the most experienced people that she knows; she only wishes that it had not happened to us.
We had Stormy cremated. It’s a bit unusual to do this with a farm animal, but neither of us wanted to dig a coyote proof hole. More importantly, I wanted to bring his ashes to the sweat lodge, where I thanked him for his life and prayed for his spirit. Stormy had the “Mark of Palm”, a white spot on his head where the creator touched him. A sheep with Mark of Palm is not supposed to be sold or slaughtered, he was to remain on our farm for his life, whether long or short. I apologized to him, for not feeling his belly sooner, but somehow knew that it was alright. I saw him as I prayed, bigger than he had ever been, a midnight black sheep with full curled horns against a sky of stars. I will spread his ashes on the rocky hill that overlooks the pasture and paddock, a place where I have left prayers in the past, so that he can watch over us and his animal friends.
New members of the family
Saturday morning was not easy for me, as I tend to be emotional the morning after a sweat lodge. Our day was brightened by the arrival of two chicks in one of the Silkie houses. Winnie, our prize winning Silkie hen, had gone broody a few weeks back, so Amy left her some eggs. Just as Amy was thinking that the eggs were duds, Winnie and grandma chicken Lady Gaga had managed to see them through. One of the chicks is a splash (a mix of blue and black), and both have the correct number of toes. These just may be next years show chickens. After breakfast we checked the remaining sheep for stones. This meant giving each of them a bikini trim. After sharpening the tools, we did a hoof trim as well. From there we simply got off the farm and searched for more appropriate minerals, and took a break from it all. A late lunch of Sushi certainly helped.
I started Sunday by making aebleskiver. I had long eyed the pans in the farm stores, and finally picked one up on Saturday. It made for a festive Sunday breakfast, and got my culinary idea wheels rolling. Even with the distraction of breakfast, my mind was elsewhere because I knew that Sunday was the day that I would have to slaughter the thanksgiving turkey. I spent the morning preparing. I sharpened the knife, and gathered my supplies, and got my head in order. By noon I was ready, and I went and gathered one of our year old hens. I have held them all so many times as we have shuffled them about that she was hardly bothered by me holding her. That is, after I caught her.
The sheep watched as I walked her up the hill to the stone where I slaughter poultry. They were absolutely still, watching the turkey. The sheep knew. I draped a cloth over her head and set her on the stone. I ran the knife through her neck swiftly and her life was over. Her head sat on the stone as her body drained into the bucket. Things went so fast that there was hardly any blood on the knife or the stone. The plucking and cleaning was similarly smooth. Preparing the meat takes on a new meaning when you know the bird. I feel in many ways that I am honoring the bird when I do it well. I was not sad to have killed the turkey hen and Amy was not said either. I might describe the feeling I had as a quiet joy or contentment. Our hen completed her life. We gave her the best life we could while she was alive and we honored her death. She will nourish us as we nourished her. It is why we have a farm, and it feels right. Life and death, whether by accident, sickness or slaughter, is a fact of life on the farm. The chickens ate the giblets we did not save, and by three o’clock, life seemed normal.
Baking and Breaking: Time in the Kitchen
Posted: 2012/11/11 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food | Tags: dough, lamb, lamb chops, pizza, pumkin, turkey Leave a comment »Life outside has been hectic, which means life inside has to be on autopilot. The male turkeys have started fighting for dominance. As we can’t be watching every moment of every day, we miss a fight now and again, and one of them was bad enough that we had to set up a Turkey ICU, lest one be pecked to death. Turkeys don’t tolerate the weak for very long, and if a turkey is loosing a fight others will pile on. We will be eating some of the boys in the near future, but, we don’t want them to go like this.
In the ICU, taking a much needed recovery rest after Amy tended to his wounds.
With my job as nurse done (Amy does all the doctoring, I am just the Turkey holder), I retreat to the kitchen. One of the joys of living “farm to table” in our own backyard is that I am always engaged in preparing something. Often, preparations from one meal flow naturally to the next–weaving meals together. Cooking is a constant.
Last night’s dinner was no exception, small fried chops with Caesar salad and roast pumpkin. The croutons were prepared in the very oven that the next weeks bread was already baking in. Out with the stale. . . If anything, dinner was simply a side project to what was otherwise happening in the kitchen. When there is too much to put in the oven, I just do it all at 500 degrees, and manage it by using foil where needed, and juggling items in and out of the oven–except that there was no room for the chops!
Bread, Croutons, Pumpkin, all work at 500 degrees–a very fast photo. . .
The dressing was made from the Aioli I made for last weeks sandwiches. While I was forming the second loaf of bread, enough dough was set aside for a small pizza. Roast a pumpkin for dinner in the still hot oven while the bread cooks, and, roast another to put up for another day. We’ll probably have some pumpkin for breakfast. The irony is that as cooking becomes a more continuous series of activities I spend less time in the kitchen than I would if I were preparing a series of discrete meals. Want chilled somen noodles for lunch?, boil them in the morning while you are making coffee, dress and chill them, so all you need to do is chop a couple cucumbers and vegetables.
“Hi, I’m ‘Starter’, what are you in for?”. . . .”err, I’m ‘Pizza Dough’, I’m just hangin’ here overnight. . . . “
Being in the kitchen is less about any one meal, than doing the things one does while cooking–preparing one meal, the next, and a couple down the road. Something is always in process, which means picking up another day is not overly time consuming. Just like cleaning as you go, having more than one iron in the fire makes cooking that much more efficient. It also means that a good dinner is just a hop skip and a jump away at any time.
Back to last night’s dinner. . . .
With the oven full, I ended up frying the chops. . . . the key here being to start with a dry, room temperature chop. The surface was salted with some smokey salt gifted by a good friend, and the oil was kept at a moderate heat, so the center would be pink but not raw, and the outside sufficiently crisp. Mind you, these chops came from a small lamb, and are the size a dietician would pick–I don’t think I would do this with anything much bigger, just for the size of the pan. A fried chop does not have to be greasy, and frankly, if you crisp the outside, and blot the whole thing, there really is not that much oil on the surface–just a bit of crispy goodness. Crispy goodness, of course, being the essential benefit of frying! When you eat as much lamb as we do, you start to appreciate all the different ways it can be prepared–and a broiled chop is different than a fried chop, and both are very different from a sous vide chop. All can be done well, and all deliver their own flavors.
Now to relax and think about what I might put on that pizza. Don’t think Amy is expecting it.
Hmmmm, tomato, zucchini, spinach, asiago sounds good. . . .this was election night pizza–firmly hand holdable for folks sitting on the sofa, watching things unfold.
Treasure, Found and Given
Posted: 2012/11/10 Filed under: Farm, Food | Tags: chicken, cng, compost, scraps, spray paint, stencil, weeknight cooking 1 Comment »
Chicken scraps here!
We’re lucky to have good friends who bring us food scraps for feed and compost. Not only does it provide a nice treat for the chickens, it also saves us a little feed. We are always happy to reward our donors with eggs as well. Today I formalized our drop off system with a little spray paint and some home made stencils, and a couple of tightly lidded cans. With dogs, racoons, coyotes, and all manner of animal out and about, we needed to get our drop off point more secure.
In addition to neighbors, we are lucky that a friend who works at a local market rescues items from the dumpster for us. Friends and relatives are also on the lookout. Just today, Amy’s brother provided us with a small heap of surplus pumpkins from the garden center where he works. These are the second load of pumpkins we have lucked into, and, what is not moldy on the inside is being put up as part of our winter stores. Between our own stomachs and all the animals there is a place for just about anything.
Of course, with the success of the chicken and worm stencils, it was not long before our beloved natural gas powered van (animal transporter) was tagged with chickens too.
That “C” on the license plate is for Clean Fuel–Natural Gas burns much more cleanly than gasoline. . . not to mention it’s only 1.49 a gallon on Utah’s I-15 Natural Gas Vehicle Corridor.
Not the prettiest vehicle. . . . but I think the chicken is a vast improvement.
So, if you are in the neighborhood to drop off scraps there are two cans–one for chickens (with the chicken on it) and one for compost (with a worm on it). Don’t worry about using the wrong can–we sort it anyways–just use your best guess as to what goes where. And thanks for making our little farm that much happier.
Grand Day Out
Posted: 2012/11/04 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food, Uncategorized | Tags: basil, lamb, lamb rack, pesto, pumkin Leave a comment »
Capping a grand day, aside from fresh pasta from a friend, the plate is filled with things grown here or near by.
Infrequent posts are a simple consequence of the fact that life is sweet at the moment, and the idea of sitting down to write a post seems less important than drinking in what is good. Much of the last two years has been spent caring for others needs. The last few days I have felt a slight lifting of those responsibilities–that things are shifting into a new phase of life. That my father is no longer with us is a fact we can never escape, and the hole left by his absence will never be filled: that said, today I can conceive of feeling whole despite his absence, and that is new. I’ll get to the cooking, but follow me as I digress a moment longer.
We started the day at good friend Wilma’s garden. Wilma is only days away from being 94, yet she was out irrigating, running her pumps and diverting water just as she always has the 11 years I have known her. We left with a bounty of tomatoes, basil, garlic and squash that would make any farmer blush for its plenty. Even if the basil had gone to seed, the taste was still great. On returning home I started separating the leaves from the stems. As little of the basil as we took, it was an hour and a half before I could even begin making pesto, or start my tomato triage, or even think of baking the bread for the week.
The entire kitchen was fragrant with the smell of basil and tomato leaves. The braided garlic that Wilma gave us before we left took a place of honor in the kitchen, waiting for many a winter meal.
Of the tomatoes we picked, a good many of them were just perfect, set aside here with two dollars worth of pairs bought from the side of the road.
While I sifted leaves and tomatoes, I also had the good sense to roast some pumpkin. After October 31, they are practically given away. Those tomatoes that would not keep were immediately diverted to become sauce.
While I was “putting up” some winter stores, Amy took some welcome time with the Turkeys. Beaker, a favorite, immediately found her lap for a cuddle while the young Tom’s strut their stuff. Some of last years young are near to slaughter, but Beaker had the good sense to be extra friendly, so she will be spared as a pet. She’s a Bronze: the rest of our flock consists of Narragansetts and Bourbon Reds.
While it might seem all day would be spent in the kitchen, a good amount of time was spent mending fences, and erecting fences to protect our grapes from the aforementioned Turkeys. American Heritage breeds they might be, but you’d think they were Greek after seeing what they will do for a grape leaf. In the end though, I returned to the kitchen to finish the bread, and concoct a fitting end for the day (see, we made it to cooking after all). Tonight’s meal? Rack of lamb with a pesto rub, puree of pumpkin, and fresh pasta cooked in tomato sauce.
Resting the lamb, everything else warm in the pots.
Pumpkin Puree is one of those things so often ruined that it can be an utter surprise when done well. Doing it well in my book means roasting it first, to develop the natural sweetness of the pumpkin before cooking it on the stove top. I cook at 425 for an hour before switching to the stove top–a little salt, butter, brown sugar, and honey–but, only very little, as the pumpkin has what it takes naturally.
I roasted the tomatoes at the same time as I did the pumkin, and tonight’s pasta was dressed with noting more than roasted tomato passed through a food mill. The only caveat is that I cooked the pasta to a near done state, and then finished it in the sauce so that the starch from the pasta would lend a velvety texture to the entire affair. Having only one oven meant that the lamb and the bread were done simultaneously at 500 degrees–the lamb for twenty minutes before being scorched by a high broiler, 25 minutes total. The dressing nothing more than some of the fresh pesto.
In the end, a delightful and romantic dinner, made from what was at hand. That the lamb came from this very land meant a lot to us both–as we ate, we realized that the lamb it had come from was born on this land, and it had lived out its entire life and been slaughtered here. As difficult as the last years have been in some respects, there is no doubt in my mind or Amy’s that we are truly blessed, and truly happy.
Colors
Posted: 2012/09/07 Filed under: Farm | Tags: eggs 4 Comments »
Amy is obsessed with eggs, colored eggs. Opening a carton of eggs is always a joy, and this morning was so much so that I just had to take a photo.
While we have a large number of purebred chickens of various types, we also have a good number of hybrids of Amy’s making. The incubator is out so frequently that I barely notice its gentle hum at night. The gals lay eggs blue and brown, the color of leather, and deep earthy green. There are speckles and spots. When Amy puts a dozen eggs together for a friend, special care is taken to arrange the eggs in a way that highlights the subtle variations of color.
Of all the animals in the barnyard, the chickens have been the simplest pleasure. They require so little of us, and they provide endless entertainment inside and out. Not to mention, there are a couple of lap chickens that jump into your arms when you go into one of the coops. That, and they are full time garbage disposals. . . .to the point where we collect kitchen scraps from friends in addition to feeding them our own.
Curried Peach and Spinach
Posted: 2012/08/21 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food | Tags: goat cheese, peaches, tomatoes 4 Comments »
Thank you Peanut and Amy–Peanut for her good milk, Amy for the milking. . . the cheese making is pretty darn easy after that.
While you would think having homegrown meat and cheese might lead one to binge, the acute awareness of what goes into the stuff is enough to give anyone pause. Compared to getting up at 6:00 AM to milk, buying a $5.00 container of Chevre seems easy. So, the goat cheese becomes more of a seasoning–and the batch is trickled out over a week or more. Raising food, more than anything, has made me conserve ingredients and use what I must, even in the face of a few overripe tomatoes. Tonight’s dinner is in that vein. . . a simple mess of nothing much that tastes pretty darn good.
This is a good time to be in the kitchen, as we are in the midst of plenty. Plenty of peaches, plenty of tomatoes. Truth be told, there is only so much fresh peach and tomato anyone can eat: really. It is August 21st after all, and that point you did not think could ever come has–the point where you ‘almost ‘can’t have another fresh tomato. At least for one night. Still, most nights the table is filled with vegetables fresh and on hand, so, eat tomatoes we must.
Curried Peach and Spinach:
3 fresh ripe tomatoes
4 cloves garlic
2 medium peaches
1/2 bunch spinach
1/4 cup broth (on hand)
1 teaspoon sriracha
1 teaspoon curry powder
steamed pea pods and mild cheese to top
Crush and saute the garlic, lightly, then add the tomatoes, in a fine dice. Add the broth and simmer, toss in the curry and sriracha. In a separate pan, cook the spinach over medium heat until it wilts. Pour off the spinach water into your main pan, and turn up the heat to thicken the peach sauce. Arrange over brown rice, garnish with steamed peas and some goat cheese.
Half a dozen pea pods for crunch. . . and some contrasting flavors to dip your fork in. Yum.
A little thank you:
Amy and I have been watching a few documentaries on food–there is such a plethora. Sadly, a lot of these things are “me too” affairs that talk a lot about what we should be doing. As important as that is, I am really more interested in seeing what people are doing, how individuals and families are choosing to live their lives. In this world of journals and blogs I have found a raft of people, from self proclaimed health nuts to farmers to foodies, who each in their own way is navigating the complexities of eating well today. It is inspiring to see into other people’s kitchens, and to know that we all believe that life is simply too short to eat bad food, or food that is bad for you. So thank you, all of you.
Lamb curry braise. . . should be braised llama
Posted: 2012/08/19 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food 1 Comment »
The morning table. . . .the last of latest tomatoes and peaches, and the lovely tea cozy made by my sister. Cheese doing its thing in front.
The start of the day was pastoral enough. Managed to get batch of popovers done, and the goat cheese started before the days mayhem began. Peach salsa was the next order of business, but that was put on hold.
If anyone tells you that Llamas can’t jump, send them to me to be set straight. When Amy introduced young ram Stormy to the pen our boy Milton went aerial–5′. No hope stopping him in the driveway either, he was heading North, towards Beaver and his former home. So began a four hour ordeal: an hour of low speed chase, followed by two hours of tracking through open country, followed by capture and an hour march home. To get the full picture of me walking the Llama, Amy following in the truck with flashers on, you have to imagine something akin to bestiality. Half the time I had to walk immediately, and I mean immediately behind him, to, errrr, push him forward, while I used the lead and crook to steer him. Tourists flashed photos as they drove by, so I am sure I will be immortalized on somebodies Facebook wall, “what’s that 6′-7″ man doing to that llama!”. While sheep will run a predictable pattern, Llamas are smart, and putting them into a trap or confined area requires some fast tactical thinking. The reward for this accomplishment was the aforementioned llama walk of shame. Needless to say, I am exhausted, Amy is exhausted, and she is re-thinking the Llama as flock guardian plan. It might be a great idea, however Milton is a bit afraid of sheep and misses his brothers and sisters in Beaver. Our capture was good, however after this back country experience, I realized that Amy and I need to be better prepared for these rare occasions. Walkie Talkies need to be charged, and a rope needs to be handy, right next to the trusty crook (used once again to capture our boy Milt). Thinking he should probably go home. Wondering if the sheep let him know about the disappearance of some of their friends. “pssst, hey bud, those people that seem so nice, I think they are eating us, one by one. . . “
Braising dissolves all the collagen and connective tissue in the shoulder chop without making it tough. The result is lovely and luscious, fall apart on the fork tender. When it is just Amy and I, we use a few vintage plates my mom gave us–small size helps with rational portions.
Under the circumstances, and smarting from the various romps in the thicket, I reached for the braising pan. You set it up and forget it while good smells waft through the house. Good thing I opted for goat cheese instead of Mozzarella. . . that is also a set up and forget affair.
6 cloves of garlic, peeled
4 lamb shoulder chops
4 medium new potatoes (the last of the neighbors)
4 carrots
1 cup red wine
1-1/2 cups fresh tomato sauce (making a lot of this lately)
curry powder (one of my students left me a bag of great powder he brought from Colorado) I probably used a bit more than a teaspoon, but a lot will depend on your particular curry powder and its strength. . . common sense is in order. Lucky me, I was gifted good stuff.
salt
This is what it looks like fresh from the oven. Toss it under the broiler for 4 minutes to add some ‘crispies’ to the potatoes.
Lightly brown the garlic in a heavy braising pan, salt then brown the chops. De-glaze the pan with the wine, and toss everything else in. Curry powder goes last. Smell it and don’t over do it–you want to taste the veggies garlic and meat. Distribute around. Put in a 200 degree oven for 2-1/2 to 3 hours. No joke. Go lick your Llama capture wounds. Oh, and while you are licking your wounds, and repairing the milking stand the Llama crushed. . . did I mention he crushed peanuts milking stand?. . oh yes, while you are doing that don’t forget to through some brown rice in the rice cooker. I added some saffron and butter (seemed appropriate for the curry). If you use a light brown rice, the saffron will color it beautifully.
Desert? Desert was jalapeno bread made last night. I filled the center with caramelized onions, and layered the top with pepper rounds and a little Romano cheese. Its savory, but the onions make it feel like a sweet treat.
Before the cut, setting on top of another loaf
And after
I’ll have to post the bread one day. . . but, another day. Should you see a large man looking silly with a llama on the side of the road, cut him some slack.
What you got
Posted: 2012/08/18 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food Leave a comment »
More vegetables than meat. . . .the good news is those potatoes are little flavor sponges. . .
Not buying meat in the store has posed some challenges to my cooking habits. The ubiquitous chicken stock that I would make from every chicken bone that passed through the house is far more precious now than it once was. We are eating less chicken and poultry than ever. One understands why chicken was not an everyday go-to eighty years ago when you start to clean and pluck birds for your own consumption. The Christmas Turkey or Goose seems a lot more special now. Given that we are raising lamb, one would expect that more red meat stocks are in order, and they are coming about, it is just hard to say goodbye to that lovely neutral gelatinous flavor enhancer that I came to rely on.
On the bright side, new habits will emerge, and I find myself cooking dishes that were once relegated to special occasion. Even when I lived in Rhody, I had to go to a small butcher and ask for shanks in advance–now I have small shanks galore, shoulders, necks, and racks. I feel like I have a freezer full of treasure. I find myself cooking what would have been “special occasion items” on a more regular basis. That makes it easier to say goodbye to some go-to items.
Tonight it was shanks from our sheep named Weiner in the clay pot. A simple concoction:
4 small shanks (these were fore leg)
2 handfuls of local new potatoes
3 carrots from the ground
1/2 cup red wine
1 cup or so, stock of your choice. . speaking of the above. Let there be some bits of this and that in it.
Pat the shanks with a little salt and brown in a skillet. Toss in the wine and broth, deglaze, and throw the whole mess into a soaked clay pot and put the cover on. Place in the oven (mine happened to be 200, but you would normally go from a cold start), and set to 425. Let it roll for 1-1/2 hours. I topped it with some caramelized onion, and some sauteed greens, but you can use your imagination there. Just make sure to point the marrow bones in a way that you keep the goodness, and, don’t be bashful about sucking on those things. The great thing about shanks like these is that you are talking a couple ounces of meat at most, and the rest is veg: so you can enjoy the decadence and not feel like a lush.
For the moment, I can’t imagine getting tired of this, but just in case I have a friend returning from Alaska, and we will be trading lamb for salmon to get some variety into our freezer. Amy is wanting to raise a few more meat birds as well. All of this makes me realize how much those of us who like to cook take for granted the abundance, variety, and availability of various kinds of meat. It also throws into stark contrast the degree of industrialization that is required to deliver those ubiquitous and convenient packages of chicken. Raising your own meat highlights how much work it is to do something different. As much as we might bat around the virtues of local agriculture, it’s hard to see how we’re going to get there from here for more than a handful of people–though with luck, a lot of us will keep trying.
Fun at the Fair. . . Potatoes, Pasta (scroll down). . . . and lots of shovelling
Posted: 2012/08/12 Filed under: Eating, Farm, Food Leave a comment »It’s nice to know that despite her winning ways, the champion of her division, and the reserve grand champion of the Washington County Fair can still cut loose, and hang out with everyone else in the barn.
Amy has aptly named this girl Winnie. . . .
Amy was pretty pleased with her haul. . . .
Don’t let the mock pouting face fool you, a good time was had by all, and just about everyone went home a winner. . . .
Generally speaking, Amy was in her element–talking turkey. . . .err chicken. . . with a new local vet.
The fair was the highlight of the week book ended between two weekends of manure spreading. . . . getting the pasture ready for reseeding in the fall. It has been days of back breaking work in 100+ degree heat. We need enough time for it to be watered into the ground before we seed in the fall. . . .so, it had to be done. Not to mention, everyone loves a clean paddock.
The work outside has meant less time for posting, but the cooking frenzy has not abated. . . though the focus has been on making simple things perfectly. . . . like local potatoes par cooked in broth, then roasted with a slick of olive oil . . . . yum!
I cut them, and par boiled them in broth for about fifteen minutes. . I drained them and let them cool. . .in the air so that they would dry. Then I tossed them in olive oil, right in the colander, along with salt and some herbs. . . the corners got a little rounded, but it made them better I think.
Amy is addicted to fresh pasta, and with all the tomato sauce I have been making, it was hard to resist whipping up some linguine tonight. I mix the basic dough from yolks and semolina, and then use conventional flour for dusting, and a drop of water if the dough is getting too short. I force myself to do a long knead, and always rest the dough for an hour. Seems to do the job with taste and texture. I always dust the pasta when it comes out of the cutter, and make little nests. The flour only adds some silky starch when you drop it in the water anyway.
Given that it was eight billion degrees by 3PM, I had to retreat inside to prevent catastrophic sunburn. So, why not caramelize onions over low heat for an hour or so? That plus some fresh tomato sauce made for a perfect topping.
Don’t forget the required dose of summer squash and egg plant. We eat the little ones–the big ones get frozen and given to the chickens as a cool squash-popsicle.
The long and the short of it is work hard, have fun, and eat well.
