Kitchen Garden Journal

Last Sunday night we hosted our first ever dinner at the farm. It was a great success, and as we bask in the glow of this experience, we have to ask ourselves, “What took us so long?”

Cooking the food we grow at the farm is something we do every day. Each day, one member of the crew cooks lunch for everyone using the vegetables that we’re harvesting in season. It’s a great way to take a break and enjoy the fruits of our collective labors together. In summer, we’re serving lunch for 8 most days of the week.

We were inspired to create the farm lunch by our experiences working in Italy, where sharing a midday meal with coworkers is an essential part of the culture. This way of experiencing the food that we grow is a big part of why we farm. And conversely, the farm exists to promote this way of eating and sharing food.  

We have talked for years about bringing this experience to the general public. This fall, inspired by an increasingly fruitful culinary collaboration with our friends Neftali and Rose, we decided to go for it. Caroline and I planned the menu and did the promotion. Neftali set up the space, got the linens and the tableware. Rose and I were in the kitchen putting out the food while Neftali and Caroline greeted and served the diners. Caroline made the incredible dessert. And we got some great last minute help from our friends Carmela, Alice and Jess.

We served 40 people a five-course family-style Italian meal in our new greenhouse. It was everything that eating in a restaurant isn’t. Seating was communal. The food was simple: few ingredients, mainly vegetables, just handmade home cooking. There was no ordering. Everyone ate his or her fill of everything that we served. Wines were simply there on the tables for taking. There was no waste. The diners served themselves out of communal dishes. What was left over was eaten by the workers and their friends.

Hopefully this simplicity of format allowed people to experience the flavors of the food and to enjoy more fully the company of friends, old and new alike. Everyone seemed to be having a blast. Maybe it was the wine.

We are excited about making this kind of event more a part of what we do as a farm. We really are food people at heart, so it seems like an obvious fit. We are still a little wary of taking on a whole new business (just what we need, right?), but we are encouraged by the reactions we have gotten from people who were there.

Our mission as a farm is about providing great ingredients and inspiring people to cook at home. Several people who were there told us how they were encouraged to go home and cook some of the things that they tasted at the dinner. How often does that happen in a restaurant?

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We are collaborating on this special event with our friends Neftali Duran of El Jardin Bakery in Deerfield and Rose Weiss, who trained at Chez Albert in Amherst and the French Culinary Institute (Caroline's alma mater) in NYC. 

This event is about celebrating good friends, good food and good wine--essential components of the good life.

We're still planning the menu but it promises to be amazing! The service will be family style with several dishes for each course for you to try.

If you can't make it to the dinner - don't worry - you can join us for the after party.

If this goes well stay tuned for more cooking adventures in the future...

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What better way to use that last primo tomato of the season than on a final summertime B.L.T.? All B.L.T.’s are not created equal, and this one had to be perfect. 

Care must be taken to select the best bacon, the proper bread, and the right condiments.

Tomato: Kitchen Garden Cuostralee (heavy red late season heirloom) 

Lettuce: Kitchen Garden green butterhead

Bacon: Niman Ranch Maple Smoked

Bread: Whole Foods baguette rolls, toasted whole for a warm and crusty exterior and a moist, soft interior

Mayo: Cains

Chips: Laurel Hill Sea Salt

Pickles: Clausen Kosher Dills, minis

Beverage: Coca Cola Classic, on ice, in a glass

Discuss.

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This is the time of year when a turn in the weather will trigger fits of hording. The fruits of summer are living out their final days, and the mind begins to fearfully anticipate a season when the supermarket will again become a source of fresh produce. 

Over the years we have honed in on some easy ways to preserve the bounty of the abundant seasons, mostly involving freezing. (We put a chest freezer on our wedding registry. It gets more use than the champagne flutes.) These preserving projects are quite simple to do and apart from ample freezer space, require only a minimal time commitment. Here are a few ideas:

Sweet peppers can be cut up into small pieces and frozen immediately in large ziplock bags. If you have never tried this, you will be amazed at how they defrost right in the oil as you sauté them, and how you would never know the difference once they’re cooked. They don’t retain the crunch they have when fresh, so you wouldn’t want to put them in a salad. But they’re great in stir fries, omelets or saucy concoctions like peperonata. 

Hot peppers are one of my favorite things to freeze. So overly abundant in August and September, I don’t really start craving (or having the time to cook) spicy Thai food until the middle of winter, when the only hot peppers in the stores are ancient, depressing things. I just put them whole into a quart sized bag and pull from it all year (and often into the next).  

Other seasonings I have had good luck freezing are ginger—I buy a few pounds from Old Friends Farm and it lasts all year—and garlic. I find that our garlic really only lasts in top shape in our kitchen until the end of January. As it dries out, the flavor becomes too strong to eat raw. So last year I peeled a whole bunch of garlic the week it was picked, when it’s just so fresh and juicy, and froze it in a bag. It turned out to be a great convenience food; I would just grab a clove and grate it, still frozen, on the microplane, into a salad dressing or a marinade. If I didn’t use the whole clove, I just tossed it right back in the bag and stuck it back in the freezer. To sauté the frozen garlic just wait a few minutes for it to partially thaw, then mince it and sauté it like normal. It acts and tastes just like fresh! It really got me through March and April.

You can even freeze some of the more rugged herbs like parsley, thyme and rosemary. I freeze them in plastic containers. No one has ever used a whole bunch of rosemary before it goes bad. Just stick it in the freezer. 

Sweet corn is only available for another couple of weeks. Why buy frozen corn in the store when you can make your own for dirt cheap and it tastes so much better? Just cut the corn of the cobs, stick it in a bag and you’re done. Corn and seafood chowder all winter.

Broccoli and greens are also easy to freeze, but you have to blanch them first. Just dunk them in boiling water for a minute and then plunge into cold water to stop the cooking.

When freezing  green things you want to avoid ending up with gallon sized bricks that you need a chainsaw to portion out. With greens, form serving-sized balls and freeze them on a cookie sheet before putting them in bags. 

Blanched broccoli can be put on the sheet in a single layer and frozen so that when you transfer it to a bag, the florets are individually frozen and you can pull out just what you need. 

Though I’m kind of embarrassed to admit it, we survive on tofu and tempeh stir-fried with frozen peppers and broccoli all winter long. A home grown meal that only takes 20 minutes to prepare. No chopping, even. And the kids will usually eat it. 

Don’t even get me started on fruit. If you’re diligent, your freezer is already half full with strawberries and blueberries. But other fruits are easy to freeze, too. I’ve got a whole case of peaches at home that I’m going to blanch, peel and halve, freeze on a tray and transfer to bags. They make amazing smoothies and are great for baking. A bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with stewed frozen peaches spiked with local honey and ginger in January, anyone?  

Being a family of food-loving farmers, we have learned to delay our gratification. There simply isn’t enough time for us to savor the fruits of our labors and of the seasons in the way they should be: unrushed. We’re often too exhausted to cook this time of year, so when we have the energy, we devote it to preservation projects. Gratification may be delayed, but when it comes, it sure is sweet.

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Corn chowder is quite possibly the world’s perfect soup. It’s sublime in its simplicity and infinite in its variability. I’ll give you the basic principles and a few ideas for jazzing it up, but I leave the rest to you. 

2 Tbsp cooking oil

1 medium yellow onion, diced

3 large potatoes (russets, yellows, reds, doesn’t matter), cut in ½ inch cubes

½ cup white wine  

4 ears fresh sweet corn, scraped off the cob (about 2-3 cups), cobs reserved if using fresh

6-8 cups water or stock

Salt & Pepper

1 cup heavy cream, optional

Parsley or cilantro, minced, for garnish

Working over a shallow bowl, cut the corn kernels off the cob. Put the cobs in a small saucepan (break them in half if necessary), and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook for 5-10 minutes, then strain off the liquid and reserve. This gives you a nice, simple base for the soup and captures all the flavor from the corn that might have been wasted.

In a soup pot, heat the oil and gently sauté the onion over medium heat until just beginning to brown and stick. Add the potato cubes and continue to sauté for about a minute. Add the wine and allow it to cook off, scraping the residues from the bottom of the pot to dissolve them.  Add reserved corn liquid and half the kernels and simmer until the potatoes are cooked, about 15 minutes.

At this point you have a couple of options: you can either puree it (using an immersion or stick blender is best), not puree it, or partially puree it. For me, it depends on the type of potato I’m using. If I’m using russets, I like to peel them first and then just blend them into oblivion because they create just the silkiest textured soup imaginable. With reds and to some extent yellows, it can be nice not to peel them. Some people just like a chunky soup, but I think chowder should be creamy, so I give it a partial puree. Just stick the blender in a corner of the pan and go half way. Best of both worlds. Nice and creamy but with little chunks of tender potato to grab onto. 

Hint: please make sure the potatoes are actually cooked before pureeing. Chowder with crunchy potatoes is disgusting.

Okay, now it’s time to finish the soup. Add the remaining corn and simmer for 5 minutes until al dente. Reduce heat to low and add the cream, if using, and heat until just simmering. Season to taste and serve, garnished with a little cilantro or parsley or chives.

Variations:

Nothing goes quite so well with corn (or chowder) than fresh seafood, and my favorite way to make this soup is to add shrimp, specifically Maine shrimp. You’ll have to wait until January for them to come into season, so you’d better freeze your corn now. For this version, use the shrimp peels to make the stock, and add the peeled tiny shrimp about 2 minutes into the final five minutes of cooking. 

Many types of seafood can be used in this soup to great effect. Let your imagination run wild. Maybe add some diced red bell pepper, Old Bay seasoning and a container of crab meat for a Marylandish version. Or some chunks of cod or haddock, a personal favorite of mine (don’t fully puree the base for this one, and don’t forget the bacon). Squeeze some lemon on there. Or simmer it in some Narragansett, I really don’t care.

Corn also begs to be dressed up in Mexican flavors. Instead of cream, make a puree of lime juice, garlic, cilantro and sour cream and drizzle that in at the end and garnish with hot sauce. Or use some roasted poblano peppers or green chilies and throw some cheddar cheese in there.  

I mean, this would also be great with red curry paste and coconut milk. Simmer it with a stalk of lemongrass and garnish with Thai basil. The shrimp would be awesome in there as well.

So yes, my friends, this is a soup that really wants to please you, whatever mood you happen to be in. All you need is corn, onions and potatoes and a little bit of imagination.

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We are just back from a week on the remote Maine island of Isle au Haut, a place of rocky coasts, craggy woods, and lobster boats. It was exhilarating to get away to a place of such untainted beauty and spend a week in the company of food-loving friends.

A week’s vacation is a luxury, especially for a farmer, but a great opportunity to enjoy the fruits of our labors.

Isle au Haut has a small general store but no restaurants, so we loaded the car up with veggies and staples for a week-long cooking marathon.  When we got to the ferry launch seven hours later we unloaded it all, plus our luggage and children, and schlepped everything onto the passenger “mail boat” - the island’s only connection to the mainland.

What the island lacks in sumptuous farmers markets and high-end restaurants it more than makes up for in its berry-laden brambles, muddy clam flats, mushroom-filled forests and fertile lobster fishing grounds. We treated ourselves to an unforgettable week of wild Maine foods.

I mean, the first thing I want to do when I break free of the farm is to head for the shore, put on my work boots and dig for clams. This activity bears an uncanny resemblance to hand-digging potatoes, but that didn’t stop us. Digging steamers may kill your back and wreck your nails (just like farming) but the proceeds are pure profit. And so delicious!

To make the moment even more perfect, we shared this experience with our dear friend and former housemate Dinah, who, being from Maine, introduced us many years ago to the pleasure of steamer clams. Dinah has since moved to Chicago and started a pie-baking business, but she was back in her element on the sulfurous sands.

When it comes to deliciousness, never judge a book by its cover. There may not be anything as tasty in the entire world of food that is as externally unappealing as the steamer clam. But steamed, rinsed in hot clam broth and then dunked in melted butter, there are few delights as visceral, gritty and real. Especially if you just dug them yourself. Since there were several of us digging, there were plenty of clams left over for a pot of chowder.

The woods in Maine are stunningly beautiful. Rocky, mossy, covered with ferns and shaded by thick groves of spruce and fir trees, hiking in the coastal forests in Maine really makes you feel transported, mentally as well as physically. This time, though, I must admit I was distracted by the enormous variety of mushrooms that were sprouting everywhere following recent rains (not to mention carrying a three-year-old, who in any case is trained to spot mushrooms). On every excursion into the forest we brought home gorgeous yellow chanterelle mushrooms for frittatas and the like, made with the first eggs from our spring chickens.

Blueberry season was petering out while we were there, but each walk we took yielded a handful or two of huckleberries, their later, taller cousins, and blackberries, which were in full swing. Not enough for a pie, but fortunately Dinah brought blueberries and apples from her Mom’s garden with her. We had the pleasure of sharing the house with two other pie professionals (what are the chances?) from Brooklyn, so we were treated to an endless stream of the best pies I’ve ever had, from classic lattice blueberry pie to apple galette and pear tart tatin.

Our host, Sara, has been summering in Isle au Haut ever since she was a girl. Growing up there, the summer people integrated with the native islanders in ways unthinkable in actual resort communities. So one evening, we got a bucket of fresh lobsters from Jason’s boat. Jason is a local lobsterman, but as a boy played softball with Sara (and everyone else in town) on summer evenings. We got to have a short visit with Jason for a window into the lobstering life. There are a lot of similarities with farming: repetitive work, subject to the weather and seasonal fluctuations, but on a boat on the water instead of on land.

Watching the lobster boats come and go on the thoroughfare is what passes for idle entertainment on Isle au Haut. Everybody knows everybody. First you hear their old pickups rumbling up to the town landing. (Many islanders can tell who’s coming just by the sound of their trucks.) A while later they row out to their boats, moor the rowboat, fire up the diesel and away they go to haul traps. About three quarters of the year-round population relies on lobster fishing for income.

Cooking lobster for eight with enough for leftovers was kind of a project. Luckily, the house was well-equipped and no doubt it was not the first time such feats were performed there. The Brooklyn pie shop girls were from South Dakota and lobster supper virgins. I explained that it’s a meal not unlike Thanksgiving in its seasonality and ritual. It’s convivial, better with more people, a ton of cleanup and you don’t need to eat it more than once a year.

And the leftovers are often the best eating. The next day Caroline baked a batch of light and puffy homemade rolls. Sara whipped up a delicious lobster salad with just a hint of mayo, shallot, celery and fresh tarragon from the farm. It was better than any lobster roll I’ve ever had.

In all my years of eating there has rarely been a week of food so rooted in nature, community and friends. It was a true gift of an experience, and a big thanks is in order to everyone (and every thing) who made it possible.

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Here's the recipe.

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3 Asian Eggplants (the long, skinny kind)

¼ cup canola or other frying oil

3 large cloves of garlic, chopped fine  

Two to five Thai chilies, cut in fairly large pieces

2 Tbsp natural sugar (Palm sugar or turbinado)

¼ cup soy sauce, or a 4:1 mixture of fish sauce and dark soy sauce

1 bunch thai basil, leaves stripped and left whole

Cut the eggplants diagonally into 1 inch segments. In a wide skillet or wok, heat the oil and fry the eggplant slices, turning occasionally, over medium-high heat until golden brown on the outside and creamy-molten on the inside. Add more oil if the eggplant soaks it all up. 

When done, remove pan from heat and transfer the eggplant to a paper-towel lined plate. Discard all but 2 Tbsp of the oil. Return pan to heat and fry garlic until sticky and not quite brown. Add sugar, soy sauce and chilies and stir quickly to dissolve sugar. (You may want to add a few drops of water to prevent sugar from burning.) Add eggplants pieces back to the pan along with the basil leaves. Stir to coat and wilt the basil, about 30 seconds. Serve hot with jasmine rice.

Note: this technique works well with chichen, pork, tofu, etc. either alone or in combination with the eggplant. A variation I find particularly tasty is to brown ½ lb of ground pork in the pan first, then use the rendered fat to fry the eggplant. Continue the recipe as above, adding back the pork and eggplant together in the final step. 

I will always remember this recipe because I cooked it the day we brought our daughter, Lily home from the hospital. It was the first of many meals I ate one handed, that little 5 pound lump clutched in my left forearm. 

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Why is it that the moment for canning and preserving always falls on really really hot days? Everyone with childhood memories of canning remembers two things: the smell and the heat. For many, sadly, the trauma of the heat curtails nostalgic longing for the intoxicating aromas of jam and tomatoes.

Lately, the humidity has been awful and, of course, I seized my opportunity for canning on a particularly disgusting evening. I set out to repeat the most delicious product of last year’s repeated bouts of sweaty, tomato-vapored kitchen delirium: sugo.

Sugo means “sauce” in Italian. Jars of pre-made tomato sauce like Prego are called sugo pronto, ready sauce. My sugo isn’t really a heat-and-serve thing that you just dump on boiled spaghetti, but it does save a lot of time later when making richly flavored sauces.

Sugo is basically tomato puree that also includes onions, carrots, red peppers, celery and herbs.  It’s like tomato puree and vegetable stock all rolled into one. I usually add it to meat sauces for pasta, but it’s great for other things like vegetable soups, dried beans, beef stew, and Spanish rice. It has a distinct sweetness from the onions and peppers and aromatic depth from the carrots and celery. You can feel all the warmth of summer on those cold winter nights.

And, most importantly perhaps, it’s a great way to use up some of the piles of partially rotting but perfectly usable tomatoes, onions and peppers that inevitably accumulate around the farm this time of year.

The method is very similar to my recipe for tomato puree. Basically, what you do is coarsely chunk up all the tomatoes and toss them in a big pot and bring it to a boil. Then, toss in coarsely chopped pieces of all the other vegetables and stew them in the tomato liquid until they’re soft. I also threw in a big bundle of basil and celery leaves that I took out before pureeing . (I also removed the celery so it wouldn’t make the sauce a yucky color: never puree red and green together, it looks like puke. If you have very light colored celery hearts, go ahead and puree them, too.)

So, for Christmas I asked for a mechanized solution to making this and here’s the verdict: the Kitchen Aid food mill attachment is really messy. I have never made such a mess of my clothes while canning; it even shot hot tomato water in my eye. (WTF!) Will I go back to the hand crank method? Hard to say. It was quicker and less physically exhausting, but not by much.

Anyway, if you want to make this—and I encourage you to do so—you can follow the procedure for tomato puree. You’ll find all the little tips and tricks I’ve learned in that post from last year. 

So happy canning, and please, take a shower.

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