Eat Boutique

I had quite an interesting exchange this evening. We had run out of vegetables from our farm share so I popped into the local fruit stand to pick up some salad greens and fruit. Calareso’s Fruit Stand is located in Reading, Massachusetts, and sells fresh vegetables, fruit, plants, flowers and baked goods. (During the winter, they sell Christmas trees and  evergreen wreaths.) The stand is a fairly hot spot during the early evening hours, especially with folks picking up last minute additions to their dinner table.

I picked up some cherry tomatoes, noticed they were from Mexico and returned them to their spot. Just not worth the increasing my carbon footprint, let alone the unknown pesticides. I pondered a package of strawberries from California, and decided to let my hunger for strawberries overtake my desire to buy local or organic, and shoved them into my cart (of course, quietly looking around for the “local” and “organic” police, who were no where to be found).

I added several greens to my cart, including bags of arugula, basil and mixed salad greens marked solely with the Calareso’s label. I began to wonder where all these greens were born. Calareso’s didn’t have a farm per se, so they likely purchased all these items at some wholesale market. But beyond that, where the heck did these greens come from? If I wasn’t going to eat organic, I could at the very least focus on supporting farmers in New England, or at least the east coast, and do my little part to reduce my carbon footprint. I really, really wanted to know where these greens came from, so decided to broach the subject at the checkout. And, despite a young 20-something gal at the register, I decided to give my “local” speech a shot.

I told the young woman that I had a notion for her to float up the corporate chain. It went something like: “Wouldn’t it be awesome if you labeled the origin of all your produce so I could choose to support local farmers?”

She said something like: “Well, we buy from the produce market daily and the growers change daily, so that’d be impossible to maintain.”

So I was like: “Well, you could have laminated signs that you wipe clean and re-write on each morning.”

And she was all: “Well, that’s a lot of work.”

So I was like: “Well, I guess, but it’s worth it for your customers. I want to know and I’m sure lots of others would appreciate knowing they were supporting local farmers.”

As her eyes glazed over, she said: “Well, that’s an interesting an idea.”

I realized I was speeching to deaf ears and decided to move on with my non-local groceries. Once home, my husband giggled at my attempt to wise up some 20-something. I insisted that kids these days were allegedly far more eco-aware than us old folks, and that my fruit stand clerk was an anomaly. Or, at least, I hoped.

As I assembled the above salad, I worried for all those 20-somethings who didn’t care where their food was born. Sure, the salad is pretty and was quite tasty, but I grieved for my hard-earned dollars potentially going to corporate farmers. I grieved for the carbon release I had supported. I grieved for all those 20-somethings who simply don’t know better yet… but knew, one day, they would.

Easter can truly be summed up in that one word. Lamb.

I apologize to all my vegan/vegetarian friends but I love fresh, local, all-natural lamb. On Saturday, we visited our farm to pick up our Easter meats - a smoked ham from Vermont and this gorgeous boneless leg of lamb also from New England.

The lamb was beautiful. Perfect and exquisite. Still, I decided to do all I could to wrestle the moist flavor from the meat. The night before, I slathered the inside and outside with an herb paste made from fresh herbs (parsley, basil, oregano, sage), lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper. I layered lots of lemon slices inside before tying it up with kitchen string, forming a perfect log.

At 6am on Easter morning, the husband and I rose to quickly get the smoker stoked with wood chips. We placed a tub of marinated water in the bottom of the smoker and gently tucked the lamb onto the top shelf. The water was filled with all sorts of flavoring agents: shallots, garlic, lemon skins and insides, fresh parsley and sage.

After seven hours at a low 200 degrees, the smoke permeated the meat to form a beautiful pink smoke ring. I applauded my husband, along with our seven other guests, and dug in.

Sure, I made loads of other delicious side dishes like white wine braised bok choy, caramelized brussels sprouts and asparagus, onion gratin, spring mache salad and roasted potatoes. And a cute apricot-ginger glazed ham. But those were all just little character actors on the Easter stage. It was all about the moist, flavorful lamb.

I am now dreaming of Summer weekends, smoking meat in the back yard, glasses of crisp white wines and cold beers, long conversations that go into the late evening or early morning, with great friends, under a tent to canvas us from the mosquitos and moonlight. Soon, very soon.

I love beans. I grew up on beans. When most other families had rice or potatoes on the side, my Mom always had a big pot of beans on the stove, or packed up in the fridge, ready to go. My Mom is from Honduras and she said that as a child never a meal would pass without a big pot of long-stewed beans. There were no canned beans back then. It was all about dried beans that had to be cleaned, soaked and boiled for hours to make them tender and tasty.

I grew up on dried beans, so moved away from them when I entered college and had to cook for myself. Canned beans were just easier. At least three nights a week, I’d pop open a can of black beans (preferably Goya brand) and saute them with garlic, onions, salt and pepper in olive oil. It wasn’t fancy or as good as my Mom’s beans, but it was quick nourishment and easy on my very shallow college pocketbook.

Nowadays, I still keep a few cans of beans on hand for those emergencies, but I always lean toward dried beans whenever possible. For the last year or so, I’ve usually flown in my ration of dried heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo, all the way across the country. I felt bad about the carbon emissions, but wanted dried heirloom beans and they find awesome varieties.

Thank goodness - about two months ago, I discovered Baer’s Best Beans, great beans that are hand-picked on the North shore of Boston, about 15 minutes from my home and very near to my organic farm, Green Meadows. Baer’s doesn’t have a website, but here’s a great article from last year.

I am very gentle with my dried beans. I saute them in a pan with a mirepoix of celery, carrots and onions. In the batch pictured above, I added some thinly sliced jalapeno, as well as bay leaves and thyme. After the vegetables have softened, I add some combination of white wine, broth and water. The combo is really up to you. Boil, then cover and simmer until the beans are tender. Make sure to stop the cooking process before the beans get too mushy, unless you plan on pureeing them in the blender for a Mexican meal.

Surprisingly so, my husband ate these. He’s Irish and Irish don’t eat beans unless their far sweeter. But he liked these enough to have seconds. I like them as is, but we piled them over some white rice and sprinkled some slivered limed onions on top. I don’t have any finished dish photos, but I think their far prettier during the cooking process, when they still have their vivid color, don’t you?

It was almost 50 degrees in Boston today. The skies are clear and blue. The snow from earlier in the week is melting, preparing for the new layer of snow we’ll receive on Thursday. I ran out of farm fresh eggs last night while making eggnog for Christmas. I only bake with fresh hen eggs now; the taste is fresh and genuine. So I trekked out to our organic farm to pick up some freshly laid eggs and felt inspired to take a few photos. Green Meadows Farm is lovely this time of year and I love trudging around the property in my snow boots, attempting to out-run the hens and roosters. (A friendly rooster actually followed me around the parking lot as I took photos, like a little assistant.) Here are some photos from today. You can check out all the photos here.

Organic Artichokes (below), Little Seedlings Peeking Through (above)

Organic Beets

Organic Yams

A Sea of Rosemary

My Photo Assistant

On Tuesday night, I decided to cook the vegetables I had picked up from my Winter CSA at Green Meadows Farm in Hamilton, Massachusetts. Each week, I pick up 10-12 organic, fair-trade items. They are always as local as they can be, except for the bananas. (There are no bananas in New England.)

As I finished cooking, I realized that everything I cooked was orange: young carrots, sweet yams and fresh salmon (from my local fish market) with my homemade spiced-up rub. Too much orange. So I grabbed my organic local leeks and spinach and whipped up a creamed spinach dish with cream, white wine, nutmeg and a sprinkling of parmasean cheese. I felt so lucky to have an abundance of fresh vegetables from just around the corner.

Salmon, with my own homemade rub

Carrots, with olive oil, salt and pepper

Yams, with olive oil, salt and pepper

Creamed Spinach & Leeks