The Pesky Trees

Lately, I haven't been able to see the forest for the trees.  All the little things begin to pile up, and then the feeling of being overwhelmed entrenches itself firmly, and then, finally, I go to pour another cup of coffee, but find the carafe is empty, and the thought of having one more thing to do, of having to do nothing more than make another pot of coffee, is enough to make me want to curl up in a ball and watch bad television.

And the fact that making more coffee will probably take only a minute or two is So Not The Point.  Because truly, since I became a parent, nothing gets done in the amount of time specified in the sense of normal reality.  I will have to stop what I am doing because the 2-year-old needs to use the potty and we all must run pell-mell towards the bathroom together so that the proper pomp and circumstance are paid to the occasion.  Most likely, even after that has been dealt with, there is a better than average chance that a fight could break out between the 2-year-old and her brother on the way back to the kitchen.  And if I open the coffee canister, almost certainly I will find that I need to grind more beans, which will involve opening up the dishwasher (which I have not yet emptied) to get out the grinder (which will still be wet and will need to be dried).  But of course the kitchen towel won't be where I left it, or it will be crumpled in a heap on the floor, sticky with an indeterminate substance, so I will take the dirty towel to the laundry room where I will promptly notice that I need to hang out to dry the load that is festering in the washing machine.  Before I can hang out that load though, I must bring in and fold the load that is already hanging outside, which is still wet because I forgot to bring it in before it rained...

And if I don't get another cup of coffee REALLY STINKING SOON, I might just lose it for good.

Then, as these sorts of things go,  it all starts to come together finally.  We finish The Boy Wonder's lessons for the day, the most urgent household tasks somehow get accomplished in a good enough fashion, dinner gets prepped, and the kids play quietly in another room while I sit, alone, with that blessed cup of coffee and a little blog reading.

It is there that I gain sight of the forest again.  On Beauty Everday, I see this quietly glorious photograph, and I smile, and consider it for a few moments.  Then I turn to look at that bouquet of zinnias from Farmer Boo that has begun to look rather dismal and which I had just been thinking of composting, and I stand on a chair and reach up high on top of the cabinets and pull down some of our vintage glass bottles, and I take apart the bouquet, and trim the stems of the flowers, and recreate the lovely image from my computer screen.

And all is again, indeed, quite well.

Green Beans with Onion Vinaigrette

I fear there aren't that many green bean fanatics in the world, and that this post will serve as no more than a recipe archive for my own personal files, but this easy little recipe just has me so very excited.  Seriously excited.  I mean sure, they are just green beans, hardly the sexiest veggie in the world, but who can blame me?  They are one of those ingredients that can only be enjoyed in season, before they get smushed up and muddled by any sort of freezing or canning sub-par method of preservation.

They just don't store well.  I advocate freezing and canning where appropriate, and have gone a wee bit mad this past week with adventures and experiments in freezing pesto and salsa, roasting and freezing peppers, and canning Burn Sauce and pear preserves, but green beans just don't take to that sort of treatment.

It is with that knowledge that I go a little nuts about green beans every summer, when they can be found fresh-picked at the farmer's market and in the CSA box, crisp yet delicate, with pretty little curved tips and a sweet green scent.  My favorite beans are always a bit on the slender side - the ones that cook the fastest and cry out for the least adornment, though a few of our regular recipes can tend towards the assertive side when additional flavors are added to the dishes (as with Italian Dijon Green Beans or Green Beans with Garlic and Shallots).

I prefer to cook the first ones of the season as lightly as possible, and I love, love, love to serve them a little chilled, if you can believe it, so it was with no small amount of glee that I clipped a recipe for Green Beans with Sweet Onion Vinaigrette from one of those sadly final issues of Gourmet magazine last summer.

And boy, do I miss that lovely, thoughtful magazine with the sensual photographs and real reporting and poignant stories that could bring a tear to the eye.  A thousand and one curses on the heads of the decision-makers at Conde Nast.

Onions figure fairly heavily in our dishes, especially when Vidalias are in season, and this recipe just sounded so utterly perfect for the sweltering heat wave we have been mired in so thickly for the past few weeks.  The flavors are supremely evocative of summer, and the idea of a cold side dish (now that salad greens have no chance of surviving our brutal temperatures and have long since left the garden) - well, it is just spot on, if you know what I mean.

These beans are nearly addictive, with the bright flavor of red wine vinegar and the simple but lively herbal quality of fresh flat-leaf parsley.  I like these perfect, crisp little beans served alongside a cheesy, creamy omelette or frittata, but I imagine they would do just as well paired with spicy grilled fish (or meat, if you swing that way).  Sweet onions lend a delicate piquancy to the dish, but I have used regular old white onions in a pinch and been just as happy with the finished balance of flavor.

*****

GREEN BEANS WITH ONION VINAIGRETTE (adapted from Gourmet, serves 8)

• 1 cup finely chopped sweet onion, such as Vidalia, or white onion
• 1 Tbs red-wine vinegar
• 1 Tbs whole-grain Dijon mustard
• 2 1/2 lbs green beans, stem end trimmed
• 2 Tbs extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/3 cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
• coarse salt & freshly-ground pepper

1. In a large serving bowl, stir together the onion, vinegar, mustard, 3/4 tsp salt, and 1/2 tsp pepper.  Marinate for at least 10 minutes.
2. Cook beans in large pot of well-salted boiling water, uncovered, until crisp-tender, about 4 to 6 minutes, depending on size of beans.
3. Transfer beans to an ice bath to stop the cooking.  Drain, and pat dry.
4. Whisk oil & parsley into the onion mixture, then add the beans and toss to coat.
5. Taste & adjust for salt.

From the Garden: Fresh Salsa

Honestly, I feel as if I have been waiting an entire year for tomato season to arrive.  And though I see the ever-so-slight absurdity of that statement, after making the first batch of fresh tomato sauce this past week, and then whipping up our first giant bowl of salsa today, it seemed as if it had been years since we had last feasted on these seasonal delicacies.

I know most people salivate over their first tomato sandwich, or even just their first sliced tomato of the summer, but we are a little weird in our tomato-loving ways.  Neither I nor The Carnivore really get into fresh tomatoes on their own.  I mean, we'll go utterly nutso over tomatoes in many dishes, but solo and unadorned?  Not so much.

If I see quartered tomatoes in my salad at a restaurant, I generally push them to the side, though to be fair, those tomatoes tend to be out-of-season and therefore not really tomatoes at all, if you know what I mean.  The same fate befalls tomato slices in my sandwich at a deli - unceremoniously pulled out and left forgotten on the plate.

But fresh salsa?  Be still my beating heart.

We have tweaked our favorite recipe over the past few summers, finally settling on an entirely raw recipe that incorporates the tomato peel.  The peel is incredibly nutritious, you see, and I was raised on a fairly strict waste-not, want-not philosophy so it distressed me to discard it, as is done for aesthetic reasons in so many recipes.   

I also go pretty heavy on the onions and cilantro in our recipe, and add just enough jalapeno peppers (seeds and all) to give just enough heat to nearly bring a tear to your eye, but to stop short of actually making one cry.  The flavor is quite lovely really, with a bit of salt and lime juice to brighten it all up.  It tastes fresh, spicy, and best of all, very summery.

It is a fine line, I believe, to achieve that elusive balance of acidity, heat, and tang, but I have provided some loose generalizations in the following recipe because everyone's tolerance and balance is a little different.  Now that we have found ours, I have sworn off any further tinkering.  This is our favorite recipe, and it has been for a few summers now so I have taken an oath to Hereby Leave It Alone.

My dream is to fill a pantry shelf with jars of salsa come August some year, but since we have been known to dispose of an entire quart in just one day, I'm not getting my hopes up just yet.

*****

FRESH TOMATO SALSA (makes about 2 quarts)

• 2 lbs tomatoes, quartered (for chunkier texture, squeeze out and discard excess seeds and juice)
• 3 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp ground cayenne pepper
• 1 1/2 tsp coarse salt
• 3 jalapeno peppers, minced (for less heat, discard the seeds)
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 1 bunch cilantro, chopped, about 1 cup (or use less, to taste)
• juice of 2 limes (use more or less, to taste)

1. Combine the tomatoes, garlic cloves, cumin, cayenne, salt, and jalapenos in a food processor, pulsing until desired texture is achieved.  We prefer ours fairly thin, as you can see from the photo.  If end result is too watery, strain out and discard a little of the liquid.
2. Stir in the onion, cilantro and lime juice.  Taste and adjust for salt.

Homemade Hair Care Products

I am totally uncomfortable with this post, mostly because it feels dangerously akin to my dispensing beauty advice.

If you know me well at all, you recognize how comical that would be.  Especially since this post is about hair care, and for the most part, I walk around either with pigtails or looking like I styled my hair with a fork.

That said though, I have alluded more than once here recently to removing myself from the shampoo/conditioner/styling product machine, and I'm deriving such gratification from this tiny bit of consumer anarchy that I decided to suck it up, take a couple of photographs of my hair, and learn how to put this into my own words.

Disclaimer: this is not beauty advice.  This is just a little more discord sown into your shopping list by the self-styled shopping list whittler.

The upshot is that commercially-produced shampoo and conditioner are unnecessary, and there is more than ample evidence that sulfates and silicone-derivatives are harmful.  One Green Generation is, I believe, where I first read (in recent, less-hippie years, that is) about the baking soda and vinegar hair care revolution, and from there I followed links all over the internet, more than a little surprised at how mainstream the concept had become.

I was skeptical about trying it myself.  Vanity is a construct of letters fairly well ingrained in my vocabulary, and besides, I have long hair.  Years ago, when my hair was short and platinum blonde, I went a year without using shampoo, and no one even noticed.  With long hair though, and a lifestyle that is a little more socially-acceptable than it once was, along with family members who wrinkled their nose at me when I first suggested my interest in going no-poo, I went back and forth on this subject for months before trying it.

And I continued to buy crazy-cheap, relatively safe shampoos and conditioners from big box stores.  If, after all, I had so little money invested in this anyway, and it wasn't that difficult to find sulfate-free shampoo even in mainstream stores, well, there just wasn't much impetus to change my ways.

But here's the rub for me: after way too many years in journalism- and business-school, where I concentrated heavily in classes in economics, marketing, advertising, public relations, management case studies, and the like, I recognize all too well that much of what we do in this current climate is a direct result of what we are told to do by Those In Charge.  Essentially, advertising dictates what we buy, and our shopping lists are abysmally cumbersome.

To wit: we buy educations for three-, four-, and five-year-olds, because it has been ingrained that others will do a better job than we will at raising and teaching our own children.  We buy clothes dryers because subdivision covenants disallow clotheslines, we buy cake/brownie/pancake mixes because we think it's too much trouble to measure and mix ingredients, we buy paper napkins/towels/tissues in order to avoid having to wash something, and the list goes on.  And on.  And on.  From the simplest item, see baking powder, to much more culturally complex decisions, like how many vehicles a small family really needs to own, we have ceded personal decision-making to large businesses whose sole purpose is to make money.

Let me be clear that I have nothing against profit-generation, and I do not subscribe to the belief that Big Corporations are inherently evil.  In the same vein though, I also do not subscribe to the theory that these Companies In Charge have my best interests at heart.

Johnson & Johnson is not selling shampoo and conditioner as a matter of public health.  Bisquick was not invented to provide superior nutrition.  Ford does not manufacture vehicles the size of small living rooms because safety is their first priority.

I am unplugging myself from the matrix.

I am Keanu Reeves.

(snort)

What I am really doing is continuing to shorten my shopping list.  And, well, let's be honest, it just so happened that I have never been happier with my hair since I gave up shampoo and conditioner, and that's really what this is all about.  If I had hated the baking soda and vinegar routine, I would have kept on keeping on (read: buying shampoo and conditioner from the store).

A short time back, Jessi wrote about going no-poo, and that was what it finally took for me to take the leap.  Jessi is someone I like a lot, someone I actually know, and someone who is (oh, she's gonna LOVE this) fairly normal.  "See," I said to my mother who had looked at me rather askance the first time I mentioned wanting to give up commercial shampoo, "Even Jessi has given up shampoo."

So I did, too, and though it took a week or so to adapt to the new routine, I found almost immediately that my hair texture improved, my ends ceased looking so frazzly, my hair was shinier overall, and my hair was just as clean and went just as long between cleanings as when I used commercial products.  And in a completely unexpected twist, styling products became unnecessary.

Crazy, right?

Here's the routine: Every couple of weeks, I mix up a solution (see below) of baking soda and water, and another solution (again, see below) of vinegar and water and a few drops of essential oil, and keep them in the shower in plastic bottles.  Some people make only as much as they need for a single use, but I find that insensible.  These solutions keep just fine, so I like to keep enough in the shower to last a few weeks at a time.  Easy peasy.

Following the advice I got 10 years or so ago from a hairstylist friend, I cleanse only my scalp (not the ends), and condition only from the nape of the neck down through the ends (not the scalp).  I wash no more often than every other day, and when I get out of the shower, I use the tiniest amount of coconut oil, smaller than a pea-sized amount, as a styling product.

Have you looked at the ingredient list on bottles of commercial shampoo and conditioner?  Mind-boggling, it is.  The shampoo strips your hair of natural oils, the conditioner adds synthetic products back in, which then build up and make the hair dirty, which requires the use of shampoo to remove.  'Tis a silly cycle.

Two months in, and I have now eliminated the following products from our household shopping list: shampoo, conditioner, shine spray, and styling cream.  And though I have added coconut oil to the list, I have found that it, in turn, also replaces eye cream, lip balm, The Carnivore's pomade, and first aid ointment, thus removing those four items from the shopping list as well.

'Consumer anarchy' sounds so much more palatable than 'Going the way of the hippie,' yes?

*****

HAIR CLEANSER

• 1 part baking soda
• 3 parts water

1. Shake well before each use.
2. Massage mixture onto dry scalp, concentrating on hairline and part.
3. Leave in for one minute.
4. Rinse.

HAIR DETANGLER AND MAKE-SHINIER

• 1 part white or apple cider vinegar
• 4 parts water
• 5 to 10 drops essential oil (vanilla, peppermint, lavender, whatever) per cup of solution

1. Shake well before each use.
2. Massage into hair from nape of neck down to ends.
3. Leave in for a minute or so.
4. Rinse.

In Our Kitchen

Our kitchen is always a busy place.  It is where the whole family gathers together at least once a day for a meal around the table, where the kids and I linger every morning over breakfast, where the children color and paint, and where I get a chance to play.  Days begin and end in this room, with children sitting on counters to help roll out pasta dough or press buttons on the food processor, with mama perched at the menu desk, poring over cookbooks and sipping coffee, and with all of us just sitting at the table and watching the birds outside the bay window.  More time than usual was spent at home last week, and most of those hours were passed in this cheerful red room of ours.

:: Granola was made early one morning, using dried dates and local pecans, and resulting in our favorite batch yet.
:: There were three blueberry-picking excursions resulting in some 14 pounds of berries being consumed.
:: Basil was picked and made into pesto.
:: New cookie recipes were baked.
:: We made our first batch of cold-brewed coffee for Iced Coffee Concentrate.
:: More and more Dark Chocolate Cashew Clusters were made and devoured.
:: Vegetables from the individual gardens of three generations of women in my family were assembled into a dinner of Summer Vegetable Fried Rice.
:: Homemade play dough was formed by little hands into pretend cookies and cakes.
:: Kisses were exchanged, flowers were arranged, music was played, and time was shared.

This is my favorite room in our house.

From The Garden: Fresh Basil Pesto

The first wave of harvests from the garden ended with a bit of a whimper.  My onion plants were all ripped right out of the ground by thieving wild animals, and the snow peas collapsed in a miserable, shriveled up heap before they really gave us anything.

The radishes did well, and the lettuces did splendidly for about six weeks, but the very last salad, the harvest that I had let build up for a few days so that our final salad would be a spectacular one, was nothing short of heartbreaking.  On that fateful afternoon about a month ago, when I traipsed outside with a colander and an appetite and my heart on my sleeve, I stood in horror as I surveyed the completely barren garden bed where the lettuce had been.  There was nothing there.  Not even the base of the stems.  Rabbits had come in and mown the whole bed clean.

I have never felt quite so murderous towards another living being.  Those rabbits will be sorry.  Maybe not those exact rabbits per se, but at least their offspring.  The sins of the fathers will be visited upon their sons.  I will exact my revenge.

My first set of tomato plants disappeared mysteriously one night, ripped out by their roots (not sure whether to blame the rabbits again, or deer), but now that there are tomato cages over the second planting, they seem to be doing well so far.  I am cautiously optimistic about those tomatoes, along with the pepper plants, the watermelon, and the butternut squash, but only time will tell.

As far as I am concerned though, the second harvest has commenced.  While I have been pinching small sprigs of basil and flat-leaf parsley for the past two months, and bringing them in to use in small amounts at dinner, in dishes such as grilled potato salad, lemon-herb bruschetta, and other sundry recipes, it was only this week that I went outside and found the basil plants had literally exploded.

Exploded in a good way, that is.  I brought a little more than a pound inside one evening, and rather excitedly whipped up three batches of fresh pesto.

We love pesto.  Every year, whether from plants in my own garden or that of my mother, or even from our former beloved CSA, we enjoy at least a few dinners of pasta with fresh basil pesto (there has even been arugula pesto on our menu in seasons past), and there have been years in which I have managed to freeze enough batches to see us through the winter.

There is nothing, it would seem, that can evoke summer in January so well as the bright, sharp peppery flavor of pesto made from fresh basil.  And to our utter delight, pesto that is frozen keeps its fresh flavor in a way unlike any other herb preservation technique.

I find pesto is best served over a substantial pasta.  The light, slippery sauce is a bit lost on angel hair, and it can be a bit clumpy when used as an accompaniment to orecchiette or penne, where it can lodge itself into the crevices and make a nuisance out of itself, so we tend towards homemade whole-wheat fettucine.  The heft of the whole-wheat makes for a more filling meal, and the width of the fettucine noodles provides a nice foil to the delicate sauce.

And I love making fresh pasta.  Rolled out thinly enough, the ribbons of pasta get an almost silky texture that will spoil you in a hurry.

We have tried countless variations on basil pesto, sometimes using nuts, other times omitting them, occasionally varying the ratio of olive oil to basil, and employing different cheeses as we see fit.  This time I went with a recipe from How to Cook Everything, and we were crazy about it.  A small amount of toasted nuts were included, which added a little richness to the texture and provided a welcome ever-so-slightly smoky flavor.  The flavor of the basil was still bright and clear though, allowing the fresh herb to shine in the best of ways.

This will be our new go-to version for sure.  One pound of basil, weighed while still on the stem, was enough to make three batches of the sauce, two of which were frozen for future use, and now, only three or four days later, the plants have already leafed out again.  I decree this a perfect year for herbs.  And for pesto.

Especially if I take up rabbit hunting...

*****

BASIL PESTO (adapted from How to Cook Everything), makes enough to serve with one pound of pasta

Note: if freezing, omit the Parmesan for now and stir in after thawing.

• 2 cups packed fresh basil leaves, stems discarded
• pinch of kosher salt
• 1 to 2 cloves garlic, crushed
• 2 Tbs walnuts or pecans, lightly toasted in a dry skillet
• 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, more if needed
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan, plus more to grate on top of the finished dish
• Freshly ground black pepper

1. In a food processor or blender, combine the basil, salt, garlic, nuts and oil, and process until basil is finely chopped.  More oil can be added if you prefer the sauce to be thinner (or an extra drizzle of olive oil can be added to the finished dish).
2. Stir the Parmesan in by hand.
3. Toss with cooked and drained pasta, finishing the dish with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of Parmesan, and adding a couple grinds of black pepper if desired.

Dark Chocolate Cashew Clusters

The simplest solution is not always the best one, and complexity ought not to be feared as a general rule, but there are times in which life just seems so messy, so convoluted, so arduous, that I lean full-on into searching for ways to strip away the excesses and find the center.

Summertime tends to be conducive to that sort of thing, of course.  Afternoons at the pool have supplanted homeschool lessons and chores and the like, and dinners constructed from fresh-picked vegetables are the norm.  It just seems right to lighten the load a little.  Less time spent taming the hair with a blow dryer, smaller mountains of laundry to conquer, fewer errands and activities on the schedule.

Less can be more, after all, and as much as I tend to shy away from corny truisms such as that one, it has been Just.  So.  Hot.  lately that I can't help but appreciate the thought of sitting by a fan, putting my feet up, and sipping an iced coffee while pretending to be genteel and unencumbered by the demands of life and parenthood and all that.

You can picture it, right?  Me perched on the porch in a white dress, the Spanish moss dripping from the massive old oak trees, a ceiling fan spinning languidly overhead, and perfect peace and quiet whilst my immaculately-dressed, well-mannered children play a game of croquet together on the manicured lawn?

It could happen.

Until then, though, I will search for simplicity in more realistic places.  Like dessert.

And we have discovered the mother of all completely simple, utterly perfect desserts.  Even better, and easier and faster, than those beloved Peanut Butter Cookies.  Two ingredients.  Less than five minutes.  No oven heating up the house.  Total Perfection.  

Honest.

When I asked The Carnivore what he might want us to make for him for Father's Day, I was prepared for a complicated answer.  Something along the lines of Pralines or Blue Cheese Meatballs.  Instead, he suggested I make use of the copious amounts of cashews stashed away in our pantry and the dark chocolate chips that he knows I keep no-longer-hidden in the back of the fridge.  "Like turtles," he said, "Except without the caramel."  

"Like nut clusters?" I asked suspiciously.

I thought the idea was a little loopy at first.  It just didn't seem quite right that I could melt a bit of chocolate and stir in some nuts and end up with nice little nut clusters.  Corn syrup seemed like a necessary ingredient, or possibly a candy thermometer would be required.  It just had to be more complicated than he was thinking.  So I did a little recipe research (partly to prove him wrong) and found countless recipes that included excessive quantities of ingredients and overly-cumbersome techniques, but then I came across an utterly simple one and with a little bit of tweaking, we have found our new go-to candy.

By the second batch, I had the nuts-to-chocolate ratio spot-on, and we were head over heels in love, these clusters and The Carnivore and I.  We are partial to cashews around here, and I love and adore any combination that marries salt with dark chocolate, so this kind of thing is right up my alley really.

The simplicity is nearly overwhelming (contradiction in terms notwithstanding).  The recipe goes like this: melt dark chocolate chips in the microwave or on the stove, stir in nuts, drop by spoonful onto wax paper, refrigerate until hardened.

Crazy, right?  These little drops of heaven are mainstays for us now, and we haven't gone a day without a batch in the fridge for going on two weeks.  When we start running low, The Carnivore looks a bit worried for a moment, and then I throw another batch together while doing the dinner dishes. They're THAT easy.

We like them very heavy on the nuts, with just enough chocolate to hold them together, and I'm not above using even the salty nut dust in the bottom of the cashew canister to make them even more dense. I prefer them a bit on the thin and flat side, so that they are easier to bite into, and so that the edges are a bit more delicate to the tooth, but they are just as delicious when piled high and messy-looking. 

The salty-and-bittersweet taste is utterly pure, which is easy to imagine given the short ingredient list, and can be a bit addictive, but since they are so easy and so quick to assemble, and the ingredients can be kept on hand at all times, addiction is nothing to fear in this case.  

*****

DARK CHOCOLATE CASHEW CLUSTERS, adapted from Cooks.com (makes about 20)

• 11.5 oz package dark chocolate chips (I love the Ghirardelli 60% cacao)
• 1 1/2 cups cashew halves (or the less expensive halves-and-pieces mix)

1. In a medium-size mixing bowl, melt the chocolate chips in the microwave (about 2 minutes).  Or, melt the chips in a small pan set over low heat on the stove, stirring almost constantly.
2. Stir nuts into the melted chocolate.
3. Drop by small spoonful onto waxed paper, and put in refrigerator until hardened.

Fire Hot Pepper Sauce

Methinks I may have become a little obsessed with removing myself from consumer culture.  Anybody could have seen this coming, I suppose, with my recent adventures in making hot sauce and homemade baking powder and blackberry jam and, um, homeschooling my kids, but lately I've gone a bit cuckoo with it all.

I quit using commercial shampoo, conditioner and styling products about a month ago, and have mostly loved the results.  This is not a new concept, mind you, and there is ample anecdotal evidence to be found on using baking soda, vinegar & coconut oil for hair care, but I suspected I would be falling down the rabbit hole if I got started on this myself.

And I did.  Fall down the rabbit hole, that is.  It turns out that the avoidance of commercial products can become a bit addictive.  In a good way, of course, because, as it turns out, my decidedly not-a-hippie hairstylist is so excited about the state of my hair now that she wants to help me spread the word about avoiding sulfates and silicone-derivates.  And, bless her pretty little heart, she even barters with me so that money rarely changes hands between us.  

I consider it a good week indeed when I can bathe using all homemade products, trade out some financial services for a haircut & highlights, buy milk & cheese from a nearby farm, help my mother preserve 300 ears of corn and get sent home with ample amounts to last my family through the next winter, pick blueberries for free on a neighbor's property, wear clothing passed down from friends or purchased at a consignment shop, educate my children using books purchased for next-to-nothing at yard sales, and construct dinner almost entirely out of ingredients from my garden and my mother's and grandmother's gardens as well.

It all sounds a bit cult-like, doesn't it?  I would be urging everyone else to drink the Kool-Aid, too, except that none of this is anything new.  American life existed much this way until the pseudo-modern age of the past 50 years, and I am certainly not a pioneer in the movement to recapture some of that way of life.  But it is fun nonetheless, and I do love that self-satisfying, sock-it-to-the-man feeling of finding ways to live outside of corporate culture.

That, and I'm reading Radical Homemakers right now, which is only encouraging my Laura Ingalls Wilder behaviors.  Now if only I could wean myself off central air conditioning and cable television...

I blame my mother for much of this.  She was a child of the sixties, and was rather young when she had me, so some of these hippie-ish tendencies just came pre-installed on my model, if you know what I mean.  And since I have spent the past thirty-something years following her around her gardens and giving her shopping lists for her yard-sale forays, I benefit from her self-sufficiency largesse.  

Yes, there is such a thing.

Last week, when her hot peppers started coming in, and she made her first batch of Fire Hot Pepper Sauce of the season, she sent me home with a quart-full just in time to placate The Carnivore's urgent request for hot sauce (it has, after all, been entirely too long since I whipped up a batch of my Burn Sauce).  Big Mama's Fire Hot Pepper Sauce is a true hot sauce, and is not vinegar-based like Tabasco or the other commercial bottled brands.  She makes hers almost entirely from jalapeno peppers, though a few Anaheims made their way into this last batch, and she and her kids go through gallons of the stuff every year.  

Note: it is called 'Fire Hot' for a reason.  This isn't the kind of thing a normal person might douse their eggs with, and caution is in order.  Depending on rainfall, heat, and other factors, hot peppers vary in intensity, and every batch of this sauce is ever-so-slightly different.  I don't think I have ever dumped a spoonful of pepper sauce on a taco without first dipping a finger in to test for palate-burning capacity.  A little can go a long way.

I finally slowed Mom down yesterday, and got her to focus on one task (and one task only) for a couple minutes so I could write down her formula for making this sauce.  Enough of her readers have requested it now that it would only be fair to share, after all.  You can thank me later, if you haven't burned a hole in your tongue, that is.

*****

FIRE HOT PEPPER SAUCE, from Big Mama (makes about 1 quart)

Disclaimer: a mixture of peppers could be used, and vinegar could be added (1 Tbs at a time) to add tanginess if so desired, but then it would not be Big Mama's recipe any longer, and she would disapprove, and she would not be afraid to express said disapproval, even in public.

• 4 cups whole jalapeno peppers
• salt

1. In a medium saucepan, add the peppers and enough water to cover.
2. Bring to a boil, and continue boiling for about 5 minutes, until peppers can be easily pierced with a fork.
3. Drain peppers, reserving the cooking water.
4. Remove and discard the stems, leaving the seeds and ribs intact.
5. Place stemmed peppers in a food processor or blender, and add about 1 cup of the cooking water along with a generous pinch of salt.
6. Pulse mixture until peppers are minced or fully pulverized, depending on how you prefer, adding more water if needed to achieve desired consistency.  
7. Taste and adjust salt if needed.

Wild Blackberry Jam

One of the great joys of our property has been the blackberry vines that grow alongside our long driveway.  The Carnivore and The Boy Wonder pick a few giant bowlfuls each year, generally providing enough for a cobbler or two, along with a plentiful supply for snacking out of hand.  The nasty drought that we suffered through over the past few summers was tough on these old berries though, and it has been years since the vines have been full with the kind of plump, sweet blackberries that we most adore.

This Spring has brought on the best crop since we moved here in the summer of 2003, and the blackberry season has gloriously stretched out longer than I generally remember it lasting.  Best of all though, we discovered that those thorns we had been trying to eradicate from our front yard were actually more wild blackberry vines, and, after neglecting the yardwork for, oh let's just say a very long time,  we suddenly found ourselves overrun with the sweetest, fattest, most beautiful berries I have seen since the days of my childhood spent foraging in the woods with my mom.

Note: I should take this opportunity to assert my superiority in the field of deferred gratification.  My mother, no matter how many empty bowls she brought with her, has always been incapable of bringing berries home from a picking expedition.   I, on the other hand, have long enjoyed a particular neurosis that allows me to plan ahead, and countless times was able to buy myself out of restrictions by bartering portions of my saved berries to a desperate mother.  Children should take heed.  I know of what I speak.

Here in present times, however, where I am finally able to make the rules, saved berries have little value and are eaten with impunity.  My little family made it through the first week of blackberry season by gorging ourselves on the berries as fast as The Carnivore could pick them.  Little Miss Hazelnut, a clear descendent of that aforementioned mother of mine, would plant her diaper-clad bottom in the middle of the blackberry patch and eat until her entire body was stained with the juice.  It was cute.  At first.

More than one cobbler was made and devoured, and then, two or three weeks into this madness, I returned home from yard sales on a Saturday morning to find another 16 cups of berries sitting in containers on the kitchen counter.

Something had to be done.  And as much as we love and adore and pledge allegiance to our favorite cobbler recipe, I was just itching to try something new, and (wahoo!) there I was with a yard-sale canner and a giant box of small jars on hand .  It was high time to dig through the beloved Southern Living cookbook collection.

I had a mind to try my hand at a jelly or jam or preserves kind of recipe, but was an utter neophyte and really had no idea what to expect, other than a vague tickle that I was going to have to get some pectin or some other such thing.

Really, I was clueless, so you can imagine my utter delight and excitement when I saw a recipe in the 1982 Southern Living for blackberry jam that had only two ingredients: berries and sugar.  The instructions were simple, the time commitment was small, and God help us all, our personal berry supply was neverending.

I had no idea what to expect, and was more than a little nervous about how sweet the end product might be, but oh my stars, we ended up with manna from heaven.  The jam was so good we were licking it off the wooden spoon and burning our tongue in the process.  The texture was old-fashioned, with seeds and unevenly crushed berries, and the level of sweetness was spot on, more tart than sweet, really.  Literally.  Spot.  On.  And it tasted fresh and familiar, like the kind of thing you might have enjoyed at your grandmother's house in the middle of summer back when you were a kid, back before silly little things like seedless jam and citric acid became part of the vocabulary.

We were a little afraid that we had made too much at first, and since I wasn't really feeling up to driving to the store to pick up lids for the new-used jars, I chose to freeze some of the jam, keep some out to enjoy right away, and share the rest of the batch with my mother (as a proactive measure in case she threatens to ground me anytime soon), my grandparents, and my friend that had an upcoming birthday.

I shouldn't have worried, of course.  I made slightly-burned, brick-like whole wheat biscuits the next morning, and our little family went through the first jar of jam in one sitting, ending with Little Miss Hazelnut sticking her entire hand in the jar to scrape out the remainder.  Most surprisingly though, was that the portion that had been frozen and subsequently thawed still retained the fabulous texture of the original batch.

We are a little bit in love with this jam, and I went out today to purchase jar lids for the sole purpose of making a few more pints to put up before the season ends.  Because as quickly as it begins, the abrupt end of blackberry season is always a bit of a shock, though we can always take heart that blueberry season comes right on it's heels...

*****

BLACKBERRY JAM (adapted from Southern Living, makes about 3 pints)

• 9 cups (about 4 lbs) crushed blackberries
• 6 cups sugar

1. Combine berries and sugar in a large, heavy pot, such as a Dutch oven.
2. Slowly bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally until sugar dissolves.
3. Boil at a medium heat for 30 minutes to an hour, stirring frequently, until jam reaches desired consistency, taking care to avoid splatters (man, they hurt).  
4. Freeze, can, or share as you see fit.

Fennel & Tart Apple Salad

Summer snuck up on me this year, and it took a little longer than usual to decompress from the rush of The Boy Wonder's daily lessons and busy activity schedule.  But this week, all of a moment really, I slowed down a bit and stopped pushing so hard at life.

It is June now, after all.  Time for afternoons at the pool, Saturday mornings at the farmer's market, stolen moments in the garden, less complicated meals, and most of all, time for a little breather from our homeschool curriculum.

Time to finish up some of the loose ends from kindergarten, to dig around on Ebay for our first grade materials, and time to evaluate my own expectations.  Truly, I think I learned as much from kindergarten as The Boy Wonder did.  I can see the fascination of science through the eyes of a six-year-old now, and I am able to join in the wonder and suspense as a little boy hears The Story of Doctor Dolittle read aloud for the very first time.

It hasn't all been fun and games, of course.  I also joined in the frustration of learning how to sound out words in which letters make different sounds than a young mind might expect, and we both had to dig down deep to come up with the necessary patience to learn how to coordinate pencil and paper to form letters and numbers when little hands would prefer to doodle.

But we did it.  Together we made it here, to the other side of kindergarten, where The Boy Wonder can read, can swim without a life jacket, and can manipulate a fork and a butter knife to cut a pancake into manageable, polite bites.

We feel like superheroes.  Superheroes on vacation, that is.

Like I said, it is summertime now, and we are splitting our time between the garden, the pool, and the craft table at home.  There is much less time for slowly-simmered soups and very little desire for elaborate dinners.  Our menus tend to follow the seasons and our little garden has cooperated nicely, providing beautiful, variegated lettuces for our salads and fresh herbs for our pasta; and as the variety of available produce has grown by leaps and bounds at Athens Locally Grown, we have started reintroducing a few sorely missed vegetables to our table.

God Bless the baby squash.

This year though, with the gaping void left by my ill-conceived decision to not rejoin our beloved CSA, I have been searching for new challenges in the kitchen and while there have been the predictable misses, there have also been a few pleasant surprises.  This fennel and apple salad sits squarely atop our list of recent winners.

Fennel is an odd thing, really, a little too hip for my taste in some ways, and a bit too assertive in the first few recipes that I attempted, but a lovely herb when used properly.  Fennel is often described as tasting of licorice, which can sound a bit off-putting really, but the crunchy texture and refreshing flavor of the bulb is perfect for summer.  Besides, the word 'licorice' doesn't properly capture the flavor.

Of course I cannot describe it any better myself.  The words 'clean' and 'crisp' comes to mind, but that falls a little short when trying to evoke a sense memory of a food.  Suffice to say though, that fennel marries perfectly with tart apples and a simple, well-emulsified vinaigrette.  This salad is really quite beautiful on the plate and pairs well with rich, velvety sauces and, my favorite, cheese plates.

Yesterday, when The Carnivore worked late, my desk was piled with time-sensitive work, it was hot and humid, and the kids and I were in town picking up our food order during the time we normally prepare dinner, this salad came to the rescue.

From the bags of food I brought home, I pulled out a fresh baguette to slice, toast and drizzle with olive oil.  We already had creamy Brie on hand, along with an imposing hunk of strong, stinky blue cheese, and I was lacking only for something light, green, and, yes, crisp to temper the richness of the cheeses.

Voila.  I had picked up a few bulbs of fennel with my order and it only took a couple minutes to slice some apples and the fennel, make the vinaigrette and toss it all together.  We had the perfect summer dinner.  Perfect even for a family of varying tastes, but the biggest surprise was how well The Boy Wonder took to this salad.  He ate two or three servings for dinner, and asked for it again for breakfast.

Maybe I should add that to our list of kindergarten accomplishments:  reading, swimming, and fennel appreciation.

*****

FENNEL AND TART APPLE SALAD, serves 8, adapted from Charlie Trotter Cooks at Home

• 1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 2 Tbs chopped fresh tarragon, or 1 tsp dried tarragon
• 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• salt & freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 2 tart green apples (such as Granny Smith), sliced thinly
• 2 bulbs fennel (not the leafy part), sliced thinly

1. In a large bowl, add the lemon juice and tarragon.  Slowly whisk in the olive oil in a steady stream, and add salt & pepper to taste.
2. Add the apple and fennel to the bowl, and toss well.  
3. Best served at room temperature.