Plus that squash is great food if you want to trim down some. I know when I stay true to winter squash et al–meaning there’s no silver bullet here and the idea is to eat a variety of  fresh seasonal vegetables–the scales tip in a favorable direction.

Long time friend in Northern Arizona says it’s true for him too. Here’s a shot of the harvest Bob sent along with a note:

Jean,

We have been eating a lot of this stuff this winter and have found that a piece of any kind of squash with a couple of poached eggs on it is an awesome breakfast. With something like half an acorn it is easy to turn it into a real show piece.

Now that Beth is retired I have been eating much more of her cooking and have lost twenty-five pounds. I went over to Mac’s and retrieved all his old Levis that now fit me.

Bob

[Note: Mac is my former husband, a tall bean pole of a Grand Canyon hiker guy while he walked the planet.]

****************

Squash goes great in a lunch box too. Here is fare I toted out one fall when there were still fresh tomatoes around. Nice meal it was:

sweet dumpling squash wedges
steamed beets
tomatoes
blue cheese
soynuts
on a bed of brown rice and garden greens
dressed with oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper.

A fraction of the cost of paying the man for unhealthy questionably sourced food as well.

Spaghetti squash is one of my favorites. Here’s a half ready for the oven on my griddle.

And here’s a warm salad I conjured up with it during pomegranate season over the holidays.

The flash cooked kale dressed with the usual suspects: oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper is a great foil to the sweet squash.

The walnuts and ruby jewel goodies help pull the whole thing off.

Speaking of squash, here’s what my oven looked like this morning.

Baking up some squash ahead for dinner.
Roasting some garlic to spread on polenta.
And warming some spice bread I made with squash for breakfast.

Not only did I get some nice food ready for later, the kitchen got warm enough to make folks want to linger a bit over coffee.

Not a bad deal all in all.

Oh. Did I say I’m down too?

Closing in on ten pounds and feeling skppety-do-dah.

“The beet is the most intense of vegetables.

The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion.

Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity.

Beets are deadly serious.”

Great lines…

If you’re inspired, Cooking Beyond Measure has a recipe for roasted beets, blue cheese, winter greens, garbanzos, and toasted hazelnuts. It’s on page 116 if you want the particulars, or just rock and roll with olive oil, cider vinegar, salt, and plenty of black pepper–and if you’re vegan, just leave the cheese off….

Whatever direction you take, you’ll be eating seasonally. Letting nature take it’s course. Going with the flow.

It’s like what time of year other than winter do we need deadly serious food.

As usual, mother takes care if we let her…

All that and this is the stuff of a thrifty cook. No tossing these lovely peels to the compost. Making use of them to add oodles of flavor to your holiday cakes. Who knows, it could even lead to drying our peels to add them to tea come winter. Constant Comment did it to very good advantage way back when…and now they’re rich kids–chuckle.

This year I candied one of each critter: lemon, orange, grapefruit, citron, and lime. Lemon and orange were quite good as was the grapefruit. Citron was hard to find but it rewarded with an extra thick pith. Lime with its thin peel was not as plump and enticing, although still brought an intrigue all its own.

You can see how large the citron is and how little fruit it has, making it a shoe-in for candying with its thick rind. This is the etrog variety as opposed to the more readily available fingered citron, also known as Buddha’s hand. The advantage of the fingered citron is that its all rind and thus gives up a goodly amount of candied peel.

Just ask friend, Michael Mock, who experimented with that this year. He ended up with a couple of cups of diced peel, plenty for not only fruitcakes but also Christmas Stollen and my latest use of candied peel: in a beet salad with fresh oranges, olive oil, red wine vinegar, and a healthy spike of country mustard.

Back to the matter at hand, though. The gist on candied peel is really just the same as on everything else that’s commercially prepared today. Making it is easy, but it is yet another chore. That said, as people who do their own chores know, there’s nothing like home made for both satisfaction and end product.

How easy? How about 1, 2, 3.

1. Take the peel off the fruit (or in the case of etrog citron, cut the fruit out of the peel) and dice it–or at least get a bite-size cut. No need to fret over removing the pith as you want that for meaty dices and the bitterness goes mostly gonzo during the blanching. (Besides, like Old Fashion drinkers know, a little bitter makes the sweet rock & roll.)

2. Blanch in boiling water a couple times. Draining and rinsing each time to remove the bitterness. (Some recipes call for three and four times of blanching. I did it twice, letting the peels bubble about for a minute or two each time before rinsing.)

3. Simmer with sugar and water (one part sugar to two parts water) until things get syrupy. Use enough water to barely cover your fruits nets about the right amount of syrup.

If you’ll notice in the last image here, some of my jars have less syrup than others–point being there’s no hard and fast rule, just you experimenting.

Just you, the measure free hippie cook, in charge. (How was it that we ever turned into technicians anyhow? Following orders from headquarters in the privacy of our own kitchens? Aren’t our lives ruled and regulated enough already? More chuckle…)

Our cover girl, Celeste, is never far from the kitchen action of course. She is even in the holiday spirit enough to let the latest member of the family–Blue Bird–to share the frame with her.

In fact, when I steamed up a few handfuls of wild rice this morning, I only vaguely thought dressing. But it smelled so nutty I got in the mood and toasted up some quinoa, pilaf-style, for steaming. Then after yoga I got serious. Minced garden sage, stirred in a few eggs, diced some celery & shrooms & apples, all sauteed in the requisite stick or two of butter Thanksgiving seems to demand.

It was an enchanting experience, this business of letting what was on hand and fresh run the show. Not that it’s a new idea, but somehow at Thanksgiving all that easy does it goes out the window and there’s more time spent pre-planning than actually eating.

Of course, I incorporated techniques from years of cooking: stirring in enough eggs like you do in meat loaf or bean loaf to hold things together, not skimping on the butter, tasting to make sure the salt was right, mincing enough sage to say Thanksgiving, staying mindful of appearance. So beautiful it was with the chunks of apple. So beautiful I made three skillets full: big ones for each of the meals I’ll attend and a small one for the house here so that even though I’m going out, those cherished leftovers will still be around.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone–As Pink Floyd sang so many years ago: Wish you were here…

A few big spoons of small white Navy beans that were waiting in the fridge all cooked up, oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, and we were there. Grab the Parmigiano Reggiano–that we can afford since we grown our own and eat beans–some homemade Tangled Up Focaccia and we were there. On the deck with a glass of wine eating first class peasant food and loving it. Indeed, we don’t have to be gourmet to eat well, no?

Breakfast. This morning. Out came a clean pot and in went organic polenta from the bulk bins for a new batch of porridge. Stir, stir, stir. Then to the garden to round up what have you. A couple scallions. A handful of young fava beans. Back in the hippie kitchen. Choppity- chop for the veggies and into the pot they went. Just a quick stir and then covering to let hot golden polenta turn the greens al dente.

Fry an egg. Grab a couple roasted chiles. Ultrafast. Healthy. Thrifty. Local/Seasonal. Me and Swish were ready to feast.

Oh–and that last fava that turned up in my pocket unchopped and uncooked. I just chomped that down au naturelle, tender and young freshly picked as it was…

In case you haven’t appreciate what a radical tune Jimmy Crack Corn is before, here are the lyrics:

When I was young I used to wait
On master and hand him his plate
Pass him the bottle when he got dry
And brush away the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care
My master’s gone away

When he would ride in the afternoon
I’d follow him with my hickory broom
The pony being rather shy
When bitten by the blue-tail fly

Chorus

One day he rode around the farm
Flies so numerous that they did swarm
One chanced to bite him on the thigh
The devil take the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Well the pony jumped, he start, he pitch
He threw my master in the ditch
He died and the jury wondered why
The verdict was the blue-tail fly

Chorus

Now he lies beneath the ‘simmon tree
His epitaph is there to see
Beneath this stone I’m forced to lie
The victim of the blue-tail fly

In this case, there were leftover French lentils and quinoa in the fridge–so into the bowl they went with some jarred roasted red peppers, a pear from the season’s end, and a handful of raisins.

Next a quick troll through the garden for a clutch of kale and cabbage leaves and a stalk of immature green garlic that I treated like a scallion. Flip the high heat on under a puddle of water in the cast iron wok. Choppity chop and into the wok. In half a minute the works has wilted nicely, so off goes the heat and into the bowl go the veggies.

Then some olive oil in the work and a bunch of local hazelnuts. Stir-stir while they toast a little, and over the salad they go, oil in tow.

Red wine vinegar, coarse salt, a crack of fresh pepper, and a scatter of red chile flakes.

This baby was done, and boy was it a lip smacker. “Beans and rice” never tasted so fine–just like my new hero Dave Ramsey knows.

Sing it Dave!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BEANS AND RICE (RICE AND BEANS)
Copyright Scott Dawson Songs 2008

Fannie Mae, GMAC and MasterCard
Had control of me
I was sinking, sinking in a river of debt
When a friend
Shared with me
A radio personality
With a message
That I wouldn’t soon forget

Act your wage, budget the till
Name every dollar bill
Sell the Rolex, the speedboat and SUV’s
The only time you shall haunt
Your neighborhood restaurant
Will be working
As a server for Applebee’s

So I’m squeezing every dime
No fish, no beef, no pork
Now when dinnertime rolls around
I don’t even need a fork

Rice and beans
Beans and rice
Keeps me fed for a modest price
I’m adjusting
To living on beans and rice I got pintos, kidneys, limas too
With a can of spam I got
Poor man’s stew
Thanks Dave Ramsey
For teaching me beans and rice

Rice and beans
Beans and rice
Cayenne pepper and a onion slice
Mighty tasty
I’m cooking up beans and rice

I got long grain, short grain
Wild and brown
This recipe is spreading all over town
I’m making progress
By living on beans and rice Someday soon
You’ll hear me
On the air screaming “I’m debt free”
But until then
I’m living on beans and rice

First off, notice their milk carton–not just the usual about our health and tastes, but a nod to the mama cows getting out to pasture. What a concept. Just like it was 50 years ago before the corporations stomped the family farmers into smithereens. And also like it’s getting to be again now that people have seen what all that cheap food means in terms of farm animal welfare.

Secondly, unlike Horizon, the other major organic milk producer, Organic Valley has had no scandals. Not even a whiff of indication that they haven’t been walking the talk–as in keeping cows confined to barns, their 1500 pound frames standing day in day out on unforgiving cement floors. Indeed, even organic producers are only required by regulation to have the cows out 120 days each year–or every third day. Seems to me that’s already right up there pushing the limits of humane treatment.

The other advantage of Organic Valley is that mainstream groceries carry it. Often not with the other dairy. Usually over in some obscure health food section. But it’s there. Not only milk, but cream, cream cheese, cheese, eggs, and butter–each of which you can see are in my fridge at the moment.

Finally, the Organic Valley system is organized to that in my town of Portland, Oregon, for example, I’m drinking milk produced by dairies in our locale. So it’s not like it all comes from Wisconsin.

It’s true that when I’m at the local food co-op I’ll nab some milk in the glass bottles from a local dairy who uses no middle man like the Organic Valley farmers do. That said, when I’m out and about in conventional groceries, Organic Valley is my pal.

They know what the delicious revolution is all about, and because they walk the talk, I want to support them with my business. Does it get my attention to pay a hefty price for my dairy and eggs? Do I rest easier at night because I do? Yes.

Here’s how it went for me the other evening: I had wild shrimp, garlic, and organic butter from mama cows who get out to pasture–but I spaced out the wine. Wine in cooking really does make all the difference, given the umami that it brings to food. So I zipped into a shop down the street, Blackbird Wines, for some white.

Owner Andy Diaz suggested a blended bottle from France’s Gascony coast. “They do a lot of fish in Gascony,” Diaz observed. “Their wines are perfect with seafood.” He was right; the wine was a hit. I sizzled up the shrimp in olive oil, added some smashed garlic, a healthy splash of the vin de pays, and a lace of butter over the top for those first all important bites.

Beyond the succulent shrimp, it was biz as usual with seasonal vegs: flash cooked broccoli with spaghetti squash and roasted red peppers–plus slices off the room temperature yams I’d baked the day before.

So it was that in 10 minutes I sat down to a seasonal organic dinner complete with a glass of wine that was refreshing, not to mention priced right. Thanks Blackbird. Glad you’re in the hood. Glad I don’t have to go clear to Tuscany…

In short, I’ve learned that if I am open to the at bounty lies outside the kitchen door, I can connect with what eating truly fresh food in season is all about. I can free myself  from the trap of thinking it’s reasonable to eat tomatoes and lettuce during the dead of a Pacific Northwest winter or fresh strawberries outside of their luscious, local June season. I can revel in the joy of anticipating new potatoes, of discovering that fava beans that are ready by June when not much else is, and of putting up my own roasted red peppers for winter.

Growing your own comes at a cost of course. Some years things don’t produce well.There’s turning the compost piles, if you’re low tech like me and just use a pitch fork. And then there’s straightening up from yet another row and leaning wistfully on your hoe to watch your neighbors heading off to something spiff like a farm-to-table dinner in wine country or a luxurious yoga class.

My experience is, though, that the garden brings its own enduring joy. It’s own peace of mind. The beauty of the garden is simply and undeniably luxurious. Then there’s the exercise you get, all without having to pay for a class or head off to the pool. And we haven’t even gotten around to the savings on our food bills. Or how by being less dependent on the cash economy, we can trade in our 40-hour weeks for part-time work.

Quite the deal a kitchen garden is. Mental health therapy. Significant cash savings. (As in I’ve probably spent all of $20 on fresh produce over the past year.) Physical exercise. And fresh delicious food.