A very common complaint I've come across when I discuss my love of baking is that baking requires an exactness that does not belong to other forms of cooking. In order to attain the right texture, the right consistency, flavor, and form there are very precise combinations of ingredients depending on what you're trying to bake, be it cookies, croissants, muffins, or cupcakes. A slight miscalculation, failing to mix ingredients in the right order, leads to a baking failure. You must pay attention in baking, even in the easiest of recipes (though there are times when baking is very easy). This necessary order and precision is problem for many people. They want their cooking to be fun, free-form, and spontaneous. Toss in a dash of this, add a spoonful of that, cook for, eh, awhile, and viola! Delicious food. That kind of cooking is fun, and I do plenty of it, but there's something peaceful, something reassuring, about baking.
That's why I spent the evening in my kitchen, baking cupcakes (chili-chocolate and orange-chocolate). Technically I'm baking them for a friend's birthday party tomorrow, but I really would have found any excuse to make something. There are times when I find the exactness of baking a stabilizing influence and a calming one. Some weeks, like this past one, are just plain bad, filled with anxiety and a mental tiredness that makes me feel like my life stands on shaky ground. The stress causes me to doubt myself, my job, my choices and everyone around me, and I feel off-kilter and uncertain.
This is when baking is a zen mantra, a meditation that brings me back to center. I know that, whatever uncertainties pepper my life outside of that kitchen, baking will not fail me. As long as the ingredients are right and their quantities are well measured, I know what I'm going to get. Things are familiar and right and when the timer on the oven beeps, and the scent of freshly baked goods settles into every corner and crevice of my kitchen, I feel happy.
Yes, the act of baking goods is a small thing, and, in the grand scheme of my life, fairly unimportant, but the act of taking disparate ingredients and ordering them just so, is a satisfying one. I certainly hope that my friends enjoy these cupcakes, but sometimes, like today, the baking is for me. Not for me to eat, but for me to experience the pleasure of creating something, of knowing that there are things stable and certain. Cupcakes might be a strange place to find peace of mind, but for me it works. And I'm just happy I know where to find that quietude of mind, when I need it, and, like baking, it is certain and it always works.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Almond Butter Bailey's Banana
OK. I admit it. I have been slacking in the cooking department. I've allowed my busyness to keep me from getting in the kitchen and trying new things, but I'm hoping I can improve as my school load lightens in the summer. In the interim, I'm trying to find quick new experiments, including today's.
Warmer weather is slowly arriving here in the Northeast, popping up in fits and starts. As we get a respite from winter in the occasional sunny spring day, it is time to start thinking of summer treats. Ice cream most immediately comes to mind. It's the quintessential warm weather dessert: sundaes, cones, shakes, etc. But as delicious as ice cream it, it can get boring after a while. While it never ceases to be delicious (strawberries and caramel, hot fudge and whipped cream!), it's fun to think of new ways to get in a sweet summer day dessert.
Today's experiment was the Almond Butter Bailey's Banana. A magazine I read recently had several suggestions for bananas (mostly smoothies), but it reminded me how delicious bananas and peanut butter are together. Not wanting to go the smoothie route (tasty, but too easy, too much like milkshakes), I opted to try freezing the banana with some added flavor. I cut the banana in half length-wise and spread a light layer of almond butter (though any nut butter would work) on each half, then dipped each half in Bailey's, adding just enough to let the flavor soak into the banana. After wrapping it in saran wrap, I left it in the freezer for a few hours.
Result? Delicious. The richness of the almond butter was a great pairing with the sweetness of the banana. The Bailey's was the perfect touch, just enough to add flavor, without being overpowering. It wasn't quite as frozen as I hoped it would be, but I suspect a longer freezing time might help with that. I might try it again sometime, with Kahlua instead of Bailey's, but this is a definitely a dessert I will be making again, as warmer days stick around.
Warmer weather is slowly arriving here in the Northeast, popping up in fits and starts. As we get a respite from winter in the occasional sunny spring day, it is time to start thinking of summer treats. Ice cream most immediately comes to mind. It's the quintessential warm weather dessert: sundaes, cones, shakes, etc. But as delicious as ice cream it, it can get boring after a while. While it never ceases to be delicious (strawberries and caramel, hot fudge and whipped cream!), it's fun to think of new ways to get in a sweet summer day dessert.
Today's experiment was the Almond Butter Bailey's Banana. A magazine I read recently had several suggestions for bananas (mostly smoothies), but it reminded me how delicious bananas and peanut butter are together. Not wanting to go the smoothie route (tasty, but too easy, too much like milkshakes), I opted to try freezing the banana with some added flavor. I cut the banana in half length-wise and spread a light layer of almond butter (though any nut butter would work) on each half, then dipped each half in Bailey's, adding just enough to let the flavor soak into the banana. After wrapping it in saran wrap, I left it in the freezer for a few hours.
Result? Delicious. The richness of the almond butter was a great pairing with the sweetness of the banana. The Bailey's was the perfect touch, just enough to add flavor, without being overpowering. It wasn't quite as frozen as I hoped it would be, but I suspect a longer freezing time might help with that. I might try it again sometime, with Kahlua instead of Bailey's, but this is a definitely a dessert I will be making again, as warmer days stick around.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Of Eating Out or Not
I love cooking. Well, that's obvious by the fact that I write a cooking blog. But as much pleasure as I take out of getting in the kitchen, sometimes I am very tempted by the ease of fast food. At the end of a long day of work, or in between rushed errands, I feel like even sautéing vegetables or boiling rice is beyond me. The giant, neon beacon of the Subway sign, the crimson clarion call of Papa Gino's, they promise food that is serviceable and reasonably cheap. In economical terms, I'm comparing the opportunity cost vs. the financial cost. By paying $6 for a meal at these places, I save myself the time and effort to fix something up at home.
But there's also the quality cost, what's lost by taking that easy route. Subway's veggie d-lite sandwich is basic and healthy enough (it's hard to mess up bread and vegetables). Papa Gino's is less healthy, but their pizza is definitely the tastiest of fast food pizza offerings (though I'm not sure that's saying much). Still, it's lacking a certain something I would get by cooking at home.
Whenever I resist the urge to pull into one of these restaurants, I never regret it. As much as I don't feel like digging through the cupboards to figure something out, then actually having to cook it, I'm never sad that I do. Regardless of my dish's simplicity, whether it is common place, or very subdued in flavor, it's always worth it. There is a pleasure I get out of seeing home cooked food that I have never found duplicated by eating out.
The flavors are mine, the visual of food sauteing in a pan, baking in an oven, or bubbling in a sauce pan fills me with an anticipation and delight I can only describe as being nearly childlike. As I've expressed before, the act of making in the kitchen is one that comes from the same place in my creative bone, the same part of me that loves to write or quilt. I love hearing the sound of oil sizzling on a hot skillet or the same of onions as they saute in butter. The way vegetables change their hue as the heat cooks them through. It's magical to me, in the simplest way. Layman's alchemy. The magic of everyday, common things.
Oh, and when it's done! When I spoon those baked vegetables, drizzled with olive oil and lemon-pepper seasoning onto my plate, with a side of warmed crusty bread, I'm happy to eat it. I feel more nourished than Subway can ever make me. Those vegetables, the ones I peeled and flavored and baked, are superior in every way to the cold Subway toppings that linger in their plastic boxes under the flourescent lights. The heat and freshness of my veggies, the mild bite of the pepper, the satisfying crunch of the bread, all of these culminate in a meal that is, yes, simple in every way, but nourishing and pleasing. They stimulate the taste buds, appeal to my visual senses, and the olfactory ones as well.
This is why I cook at home, why I'm pleased when I resist the call of convenience. The gift of home-made food that delights the senses, that fills the belly, and satisfies the creative urge. What restaurant came compare to this?
But there's also the quality cost, what's lost by taking that easy route. Subway's veggie d-lite sandwich is basic and healthy enough (it's hard to mess up bread and vegetables). Papa Gino's is less healthy, but their pizza is definitely the tastiest of fast food pizza offerings (though I'm not sure that's saying much). Still, it's lacking a certain something I would get by cooking at home.
Whenever I resist the urge to pull into one of these restaurants, I never regret it. As much as I don't feel like digging through the cupboards to figure something out, then actually having to cook it, I'm never sad that I do. Regardless of my dish's simplicity, whether it is common place, or very subdued in flavor, it's always worth it. There is a pleasure I get out of seeing home cooked food that I have never found duplicated by eating out.
The flavors are mine, the visual of food sauteing in a pan, baking in an oven, or bubbling in a sauce pan fills me with an anticipation and delight I can only describe as being nearly childlike. As I've expressed before, the act of making in the kitchen is one that comes from the same place in my creative bone, the same part of me that loves to write or quilt. I love hearing the sound of oil sizzling on a hot skillet or the same of onions as they saute in butter. The way vegetables change their hue as the heat cooks them through. It's magical to me, in the simplest way. Layman's alchemy. The magic of everyday, common things.
Oh, and when it's done! When I spoon those baked vegetables, drizzled with olive oil and lemon-pepper seasoning onto my plate, with a side of warmed crusty bread, I'm happy to eat it. I feel more nourished than Subway can ever make me. Those vegetables, the ones I peeled and flavored and baked, are superior in every way to the cold Subway toppings that linger in their plastic boxes under the flourescent lights. The heat and freshness of my veggies, the mild bite of the pepper, the satisfying crunch of the bread, all of these culminate in a meal that is, yes, simple in every way, but nourishing and pleasing. They stimulate the taste buds, appeal to my visual senses, and the olfactory ones as well.
This is why I cook at home, why I'm pleased when I resist the call of convenience. The gift of home-made food that delights the senses, that fills the belly, and satisfies the creative urge. What restaurant came compare to this?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Failure is (sometimes) an Option
It happens.
Failure, that is. I know. It shocks me, too, being reminded that I am, in fact, not perfect. But that's one of the harsh realities of kitchen experimentation. Sometimes things blow up in your face (though usually not literally, unless one is being very careless with heating sources). Fortunately, with food, one merely needs to secret away one's failures into a garbage bag and no one ever need know.
Unless you write a cooking blog. In that case the three people who have any interest in your food will know. But surely they won't tell anyone, right?
I was in a mood for peanut butter, which is rather like saying I was in a mood for breathing. But having just had PB&J for lunch, I didn't feel it necessary to repeat that for dinner. Well, why not a peanut sauce then, and bake tofu with said peanut sauce. It's peanut butter, but with a veneer of healthiness, unlike my aforementioned lunch. Never having made a peanut sauce, I did what any self-respecting cook would do: I Googled it.
That led me, as most recipe searches do, to Allrecipes.com, a mostly useful site that has produced some excellent results in the past. Now, I know about as much about making a peanut sauce as I do about the price of peas in Prague (it has peanut butter in it!), so I browsed a few and picked one that a) I already had all the ingredients to and b) didn't use fish sauce in the making of it.
And there you have it. I was led astray! I followed a recipe and it turned out terribly. . .
Except for those changes I made to the recipe. That might have ruined it. I don't remember the changes exactly-no doubt repressing the memory of my own bad decisions- but they definitely did not lead to a kitchen win. But, while the food was a loss and ended up in the trash, I did learn a lesson that sometimes it might be useful to follow a recipe exactly. Especially if it's a recipe I'm unfamiliar with.
Who knew?
Failure, that is. I know. It shocks me, too, being reminded that I am, in fact, not perfect. But that's one of the harsh realities of kitchen experimentation. Sometimes things blow up in your face (though usually not literally, unless one is being very careless with heating sources). Fortunately, with food, one merely needs to secret away one's failures into a garbage bag and no one ever need know.
Unless you write a cooking blog. In that case the three people who have any interest in your food will know. But surely they won't tell anyone, right?
I was in a mood for peanut butter, which is rather like saying I was in a mood for breathing. But having just had PB&J for lunch, I didn't feel it necessary to repeat that for dinner. Well, why not a peanut sauce then, and bake tofu with said peanut sauce. It's peanut butter, but with a veneer of healthiness, unlike my aforementioned lunch. Never having made a peanut sauce, I did what any self-respecting cook would do: I Googled it.
That led me, as most recipe searches do, to Allrecipes.com, a mostly useful site that has produced some excellent results in the past. Now, I know about as much about making a peanut sauce as I do about the price of peas in Prague (it has peanut butter in it!), so I browsed a few and picked one that a) I already had all the ingredients to and b) didn't use fish sauce in the making of it.
And there you have it. I was led astray! I followed a recipe and it turned out terribly. . .
Except for those changes I made to the recipe. That might have ruined it. I don't remember the changes exactly-no doubt repressing the memory of my own bad decisions- but they definitely did not lead to a kitchen win. But, while the food was a loss and ended up in the trash, I did learn a lesson that sometimes it might be useful to follow a recipe exactly. Especially if it's a recipe I'm unfamiliar with.
Who knew?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Apples to Apples
Autumn is officially with us, even if the weather hasn't exactly gotten the memo. And autumn is the perfect season for apples. They fall in abundance, with a flavor for every taste preference. Sweet reds to the tart greens and plenty mixed in between. They can be applied to a wide range of cooking ventures, though baking is my favorite: baked in pies, baked in muffins, baked with. . .jasmine rice? Yes, that's right, jasmine rice. Not the usual complement to apples, but the idea struck me while reading another recipe that called for serving quinoa and wild rice with apples. Preferring generally sweet tastes, I decided to alter the recipe a bit (somebody I'll learn to follow a recipe, but, well, I don't think it's going to be an easy lesson for me to learn).
I took two apples and sliced off the top just below the stem. I cleared out the core, leaving a little apple-bowl, the inside of which I coated with a light dusting of brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. I filled the "bowl" with jasmine rice I'd already cooked (boiled for 2-3 minutes and then turned to low and left to sit for 20-30 min till all nice, light, and fluffy) and topped that with more cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. These I cooked for 40 minutes at 350.
I worried a bit that perhaps I might have gone a little overboard with the sweetness, but what came out of the oven after 40 minutes was a delicate, subtle pleasure. It was sweet, to be sure, but not in a blunt, candied sense. The slightly acidic nature of the apples, with their heat softened skin and flesh, balanced out the pure sugary sweetness of the honey, which matched the spicier sweet of the spices exactly as I'd hoped. It was exactly what I was aiming for when I'd put the recipe together, though I have a few thoughts on improving the recipe yet further. I might add in a citrus-y hint, with orange or lemon, or perhaps a ginger-y bite with some freshly grated ginger and onions. I felt that, as delicious as it was, it would have been better with a more blatant juxtaposition to the sweetness. And I might experiment with other apple varieties (I used macintosh this time), since autumn will certainly provide me with ample specimens.
A second apple-related cooking venture from this afternoon was apple-cinnamon muffins (really, I need to let the cinnamon rest once in a while. I think I might have a cinnamon problem. . .). Seeing that a few of my apples were in danger of going bad, I decided to put them in some form of baked good (and isn't it wonderful that the universe has provided us this option for using excess fruit?). I settled on muffins, having already made a quick bread this week. And cinnamon is the perfect apple complement (apple pie, anyone?). I used a basic muffin recipe (2 eggs, 1 1/4 cup sugar, 3 tbsp butter, 1/4 cup vegetable oil flour, 3 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp baking soda, cinnamon [some. . .and then some more], nutmeg [a bit]), tossed into the oven for 20 minutes at 350. After they were properly baked, I coated the tops with a bit of melted butter and a light dusting of brown sugar. Result? Delicious. The perfect autumn snack, especially when paired with green tea or coffee.
All in all, it was a good day for cooking and I'm satisfied with my kitchen creations.
I took two apples and sliced off the top just below the stem. I cleared out the core, leaving a little apple-bowl, the inside of which I coated with a light dusting of brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. I filled the "bowl" with jasmine rice I'd already cooked (boiled for 2-3 minutes and then turned to low and left to sit for 20-30 min till all nice, light, and fluffy) and topped that with more cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. These I cooked for 40 minutes at 350.
I worried a bit that perhaps I might have gone a little overboard with the sweetness, but what came out of the oven after 40 minutes was a delicate, subtle pleasure. It was sweet, to be sure, but not in a blunt, candied sense. The slightly acidic nature of the apples, with their heat softened skin and flesh, balanced out the pure sugary sweetness of the honey, which matched the spicier sweet of the spices exactly as I'd hoped. It was exactly what I was aiming for when I'd put the recipe together, though I have a few thoughts on improving the recipe yet further. I might add in a citrus-y hint, with orange or lemon, or perhaps a ginger-y bite with some freshly grated ginger and onions. I felt that, as delicious as it was, it would have been better with a more blatant juxtaposition to the sweetness. And I might experiment with other apple varieties (I used macintosh this time), since autumn will certainly provide me with ample specimens.
A second apple-related cooking venture from this afternoon was apple-cinnamon muffins (really, I need to let the cinnamon rest once in a while. I think I might have a cinnamon problem. . .). Seeing that a few of my apples were in danger of going bad, I decided to put them in some form of baked good (and isn't it wonderful that the universe has provided us this option for using excess fruit?). I settled on muffins, having already made a quick bread this week. And cinnamon is the perfect apple complement (apple pie, anyone?). I used a basic muffin recipe (2 eggs, 1 1/4 cup sugar, 3 tbsp butter, 1/4 cup vegetable oil flour, 3 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp baking soda, cinnamon [some. . .and then some more], nutmeg [a bit]), tossed into the oven for 20 minutes at 350. After they were properly baked, I coated the tops with a bit of melted butter and a light dusting of brown sugar. Result? Delicious. The perfect autumn snack, especially when paired with green tea or coffee.
All in all, it was a good day for cooking and I'm satisfied with my kitchen creations.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
A Little Experiment
Yesterday evening my wonderful boyfriend cooked me an amazing dinner. Pasta with artichokes, mushrooms, and onions sauteed in garlic and olive oil, with a parmesan-romano-white wine reduction sauce. And, of course, Ceasar salad for appetizer and mini cannoli for dessert. Simply put, it was delicious.
As we ate, I asked about where he had learned to cook (self-taught) and whether or not he ever used recipes. He replied that he occasionally used recipes, but never with Italian food. He had been cooking Italian for so long (being of Italian descent) and was familiar enough with that particular style of cooking that he didn't need a recipe to create a so-called "authentic" flavor.
Whether not his food was "authentic", I couldn't say, but I recognized its incredible flavor and how comfortable he was with the making of this recipe and it made me think. It occurred to me that, while I am a reasonably competent cook, there is no "genre" of food that I could make that claim about. I don't know the finer details or techniques of any ethnic palate to cook like a native. Though I've dabbled in a variety of regional tastes, from Europe to Asia and back again, I've never really delved into the minutae of any one kind. As a food-obsessed amateur cook, this is unacceptable.
I don't need to master all available food genres (and to do so would rather be against the spirit of specializing), but I would like to find one style that I find particularly pleasant to cook and equally pleasing to eat. But which one? Italian, maybe. I do love pasta and sauces, breads and cheeses. Atkins be damned, carbs are a beautiful thing! However, the world has so much to offer, in terms of cooking. I can't simply decide to be an Italian connesiuer without giving a few other food ethnicities a try.
To that end, I've come up with my next food experiment. For the final four months of 2010, I'm going to devote each month to a regional style of cooking. I'll begin with what I love: Italian. Oh, yes, September will be the month of those pastas and sauces and cheeses. But what of the last three?
October will be the month of Japanese cooking. Miso soup and udon, seaweed wraps and rice. Very vegetarian friendly (except for that pesky love of fish) and one of the healthiest diets on the world, Japanese cooking is one I've long enjoyed when eating out, but not one I've ever really tried to create myself, unless you count topping soba noodles with soy sauce.
November brings us back to Europe and Greek cooking. I love Mediterranean cooking, but that's far too broad, including everything from Greek to Moroccan to Spanish and Egyptian. Though I would love to visit the culinary traditions of each of these countries, I'm going to stick with Greek and see what I can come up with, despite its meat-heavy dishes.
December will be devoted to Mexican. It seems only fair that the Western Hemisphere should get at least a little representation in my kitchen. And I've enjoyed what little of genuine Mexican cuisine I've tasted. Plenty of legumes and vegetables here, though no beef or chicken recipes for me.
While I expect to enjoy the first month the best, since Italian has always been a favored cooking style of mine, there's no telling. I might be surprised by what I find in the cooking ouvre of the other countries. I might discover a love and a talent for Asian or Mexican cooking that I didn't know I possessed. But I'm going to find something I'm good at and specialize that I might have my own variation of Tom's Italian cooking: a style of cooking that I can create and call up without a recipe, simply out of familiarity and practice.
As we ate, I asked about where he had learned to cook (self-taught) and whether or not he ever used recipes. He replied that he occasionally used recipes, but never with Italian food. He had been cooking Italian for so long (being of Italian descent) and was familiar enough with that particular style of cooking that he didn't need a recipe to create a so-called "authentic" flavor.
Whether not his food was "authentic", I couldn't say, but I recognized its incredible flavor and how comfortable he was with the making of this recipe and it made me think. It occurred to me that, while I am a reasonably competent cook, there is no "genre" of food that I could make that claim about. I don't know the finer details or techniques of any ethnic palate to cook like a native. Though I've dabbled in a variety of regional tastes, from Europe to Asia and back again, I've never really delved into the minutae of any one kind. As a food-obsessed amateur cook, this is unacceptable.
I don't need to master all available food genres (and to do so would rather be against the spirit of specializing), but I would like to find one style that I find particularly pleasant to cook and equally pleasing to eat. But which one? Italian, maybe. I do love pasta and sauces, breads and cheeses. Atkins be damned, carbs are a beautiful thing! However, the world has so much to offer, in terms of cooking. I can't simply decide to be an Italian connesiuer without giving a few other food ethnicities a try.
To that end, I've come up with my next food experiment. For the final four months of 2010, I'm going to devote each month to a regional style of cooking. I'll begin with what I love: Italian. Oh, yes, September will be the month of those pastas and sauces and cheeses. But what of the last three?
October will be the month of Japanese cooking. Miso soup and udon, seaweed wraps and rice. Very vegetarian friendly (except for that pesky love of fish) and one of the healthiest diets on the world, Japanese cooking is one I've long enjoyed when eating out, but not one I've ever really tried to create myself, unless you count topping soba noodles with soy sauce.
November brings us back to Europe and Greek cooking. I love Mediterranean cooking, but that's far too broad, including everything from Greek to Moroccan to Spanish and Egyptian. Though I would love to visit the culinary traditions of each of these countries, I'm going to stick with Greek and see what I can come up with, despite its meat-heavy dishes.
December will be devoted to Mexican. It seems only fair that the Western Hemisphere should get at least a little representation in my kitchen. And I've enjoyed what little of genuine Mexican cuisine I've tasted. Plenty of legumes and vegetables here, though no beef or chicken recipes for me.
While I expect to enjoy the first month the best, since Italian has always been a favored cooking style of mine, there's no telling. I might be surprised by what I find in the cooking ouvre of the other countries. I might discover a love and a talent for Asian or Mexican cooking that I didn't know I possessed. But I'm going to find something I'm good at and specialize that I might have my own variation of Tom's Italian cooking: a style of cooking that I can create and call up without a recipe, simply out of familiarity and practice.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Fantastic Farmer's Markets!
One of my favorite things about summer is the reemergence of the farmer's market. While there are some places with a stable enough climate to allow a fairly abundant growing season year-round, here in Connecticut we have a limited amount of time for locally grown, fresh vegetables and fruits. Farmer's markets start popping up with first, small harvests in June and really pick up come July as the earth starts giving up her bounty.
Today I attended my first farmer's market of the season. Indeed, it was the first farmer's market I'd attended in over a year and I had forgotten entirely how much I love them. There's something wonderfully pleasant going from stall to stall, greeted by both the welcoming smiles of the stall tenders and the scents and colors of the produce.
And let us not forget the samples. No farmer's market is ever bereft of plenty of opportunities to taste the wares. Ranging from jams to vegetables to cheese and even breads and cookies, this is how they tempt you into purchasing their products. And, mostly, it's a good tactic. Freshly made sweets, produce that was picked that morning, jams that were mixed and made a mile away, honey from beehives that you can see, there's a reason farmer's markets are so popular. Sure, there might a slight price increase compared the local chain supermarket, but there's a good explanation for that: the food is better, the variety is better, and you can feel good knowing that you support local farmers, especially those who grow organic produce or raise grass-fed beef.
Farmer's markets are like mini-festivals, each with their own atmosphere. The variety, once the season really gets rolling, is fantastic, the quality spectacular. The vendors are cheerful and, since they grew or made the products, they can give you any information about it that you might be after.
Though summer weather can be remarkably unpredictable, this afternoon was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, capped with a blue sky and a light breeze ruffling through the grasses. Perfect for a slow browse around the stalls, trying what samples were available and lingering in front of the produce, thinking about what sorts of dishes they might make. I ended up with two new vegetables that I've never (to my knowledge) eaten previously: kohlrabi and pattypan. Kohlrabi is a member of the cabbage family, with a flavor I might describe as a cross between a radish and an onion. Just a bit of bite. Pattypan is a summer squash, a bright orange UFO of a vegetable. Not entirely certain what I'm going to make with them (perhaps grilled summer veggies, with a ginger-sesame glaze?), but I can't wait to see how they cook.
I was also fortunate enough to find some delicious local honey, and a stall with more varieties of jam and syrups and glazes than I had time to count. I left with four types of jam: strawberry-rhubarb, cardamom pear, pumpkin spice, and cherry almond. I can't wait to go back and try the others, among them black currant jam, pomegranate, rose jelly, and ginger-pear. My final purchase was two pints of fresh raspberries, which I couldn't resist, as berry season is my favorite part of the growing calender. Here and gone far too soon, I stock up on what I can find and freeze some for later, when they inevitably fade from the stalls' tables.
All in all, a successful trip to a great farmer's market and I can't wait to see what the season continues to bring to the stalls.
Today I attended my first farmer's market of the season. Indeed, it was the first farmer's market I'd attended in over a year and I had forgotten entirely how much I love them. There's something wonderfully pleasant going from stall to stall, greeted by both the welcoming smiles of the stall tenders and the scents and colors of the produce.
And let us not forget the samples. No farmer's market is ever bereft of plenty of opportunities to taste the wares. Ranging from jams to vegetables to cheese and even breads and cookies, this is how they tempt you into purchasing their products. And, mostly, it's a good tactic. Freshly made sweets, produce that was picked that morning, jams that were mixed and made a mile away, honey from beehives that you can see, there's a reason farmer's markets are so popular. Sure, there might a slight price increase compared the local chain supermarket, but there's a good explanation for that: the food is better, the variety is better, and you can feel good knowing that you support local farmers, especially those who grow organic produce or raise grass-fed beef.
Farmer's markets are like mini-festivals, each with their own atmosphere. The variety, once the season really gets rolling, is fantastic, the quality spectacular. The vendors are cheerful and, since they grew or made the products, they can give you any information about it that you might be after.
Though summer weather can be remarkably unpredictable, this afternoon was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, capped with a blue sky and a light breeze ruffling through the grasses. Perfect for a slow browse around the stalls, trying what samples were available and lingering in front of the produce, thinking about what sorts of dishes they might make. I ended up with two new vegetables that I've never (to my knowledge) eaten previously: kohlrabi and pattypan. Kohlrabi is a member of the cabbage family, with a flavor I might describe as a cross between a radish and an onion. Just a bit of bite. Pattypan is a summer squash, a bright orange UFO of a vegetable. Not entirely certain what I'm going to make with them (perhaps grilled summer veggies, with a ginger-sesame glaze?), but I can't wait to see how they cook.
I was also fortunate enough to find some delicious local honey, and a stall with more varieties of jam and syrups and glazes than I had time to count. I left with four types of jam: strawberry-rhubarb, cardamom pear, pumpkin spice, and cherry almond. I can't wait to go back and try the others, among them black currant jam, pomegranate, rose jelly, and ginger-pear. My final purchase was two pints of fresh raspberries, which I couldn't resist, as berry season is my favorite part of the growing calender. Here and gone far too soon, I stock up on what I can find and freeze some for later, when they inevitably fade from the stalls' tables.
All in all, a successful trip to a great farmer's market and I can't wait to see what the season continues to bring to the stalls.
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