The Muddy Kitchen: It's About Thyme

It's weird when you have a blog. Life gets full, time becomes tight, and you notice you haven't been writing much on it. But then, you think, what should I write? At the switch-over from 2013 to 2014, I don't want to waste anyone's time with a top ten list of crunchy cute things they'll never get around to doing. I don't want to wax nostalgic about how grand the last twelve months was, even though it was pretty great at times.

I will probably want to stick a recipe in here somewhere.  Especially since New Year's Day typically presents an opportunity to eat a particular something, with the belief that it will influence your luck throughout the next year. For those of us who grew up in Midwestern/ Southern U.S., black-eyed peas would be that magic dish that will hopefully ensure some good times in the next twelve months. Whatever. You don't need to give me a reason to eat black-eyed peas, I love them. Tell me it'll bring me good luck, and I might end up eating seconds or thirds. You know. Just to hedge the ole' bets.

The time is upon us for such a dish, but instead of going to my favorite black eyed peas recipes, I decide I want to switch things up. Do something different this time. To the internet! All of my searching left my mouth watering and my brain noticing that one word kept popping up again and again: Thyme.

 Whoa. I think mama just got her blog back.

Did you get a chill? Because I did. I put on a hat and it went away. Anyway, thyme, it seems, goes with the timely little bean. Every recipe I found called for thyme. You get it right? Time, thyme? Homophones, yo. What a perfect dish for me to make today and eat tomorrow, because, on New Year's Eve, I can't help but be contemplative about this time marker, and how it seems to arrive sooner each time.

Here's a little tale from way back when. When I was about 7, I got my first invitation to a slumber party. I clearly remember the date printed on the little card and that it was three days away, which seemed like FOREVER.  Eons passed as I clutched that little card and compared it to the calendar, looking at what seemed to be a frozen clock. Time didn't just drag, it sagged and stretched tortuously.  I don't even recall anything about that slumber party, just the agonizing wait that preceded it.

Now, as I anticipate putting the household Christmas decorations away, when three days feels like the blink of an eye, I am somewhat comforted by the fact that time flies more and more, the older you get. Celebrations of next year will arrive faster than they did last year. And no, this is not because I am a Time Lord.

See, forget gray hair and wrinkles. You know you're getting older when it feels like time is speeding up. What used to feel like forever is nothing. A year? That's nothing. <-Not something I would have said ten years ago, when a year was a larger percentage of the time I've been walking this earth.

Time, for us peoples, is relative. That means a day is not a day and a year is not a year. As far as we're concerned, these things exist in a relationship with us, because we obey the laws of time ourselves. When we are first born, a day is equal to our whole life. At the end of your first year, 365 days = 100 % of your time here. All the living you've ever known.

A year later, 365 days drops down to only half of your life span, but that still feels like a significant chunk of time. Like half an eternity.

 As the years go by, each one diminishes in comparison to your time here, which really does alter how you perceive that span of days. It feels like something you're seeing from farther and farther away. It never changes size, even though to you, it appears to be shrinking.

This can make us good elders for generations behind us, as we age; because we become capable of thinking more realistically about five years from now, ten years from now, generations away. These notions are less abstract, and more approachable.  It's like seeing more and more of a mountain range with every day. I, personally, find this journey calming, even though I already don't feel like there are enough hours in the day.  I have so much living in the moment to do before the rapidly approaching Christmas 2014.

Like eat these delicious, lucky Stewed Black-eyed Peas.

Brainstorms: Advent Calendar II: The Preparening

In typical fashion, my preparedness for upcoming holidays is a big jagged line of highs and lows. Let's start at the bottom. Thanksgiving is, like, forty eight hours away, and not only have I not done any shopping. My cookbooks, spiral notebook, and pen, are sitting on the living room coffee table, making sad trumpet music of failure at me every time I look at them.

However, at the tippy top of my super mom accomplishments is this year's Advent Calendar. I capitalized it because it has earned a spot in the list of traditions I attempt to cram into December. Only, remember last year, when I realized you actually have to start thinking of them in November? I didn't forget that this year. I got right on it about a week ago, because, not only did I want to have it finished by December 1st, I wanted to be able to share it with all the world well before then.

I decided to make the different units of the calendar hold the chocolate. Oh yeah, I also learned, just give them chocolate each time. Always learning here.

Our take on an amalgam of a million different kids craft idea sites all over the internet. Paper pyramid trees, a forest of them, full of candy, each waiting to be opened and harvested.

Here's how they started.

 It's like a triangle base, with three triangle sides, each of those sides having a little flap.

That helps sturdy the box corners.

We decorated them, numbered them, scored and folded them, punched holes at the top, stuffed them, and tied them shut. When you're doing 24 of anything, it's best to go as simple as possible. My mind could imagine all sorts of adorable embellishments, scraps of lace, buttons, magazine pictures, wrapping paper. They could look much more dolled up. We just used our stencils, stamps, fingertips and ink pads, with stickers and the occasional glued on dot from a hole puncher. Sometimes you have to let some things go and just plow through. Get her done, so to speak. I mean, there are springerle cookies to make, for goodness sake. Otherwise they won't be properly aged by the time we watch Sound of Music! (panting, wild-eyed)

Holiday Traditions: Sometimes they fill you with a love for the steady rhythm of time, like a song whose beat never fails; a song to which you are invited to add your own artful meaning, thus sharing a bit of what's inside you with those around you, and partaking in what they offer. This loving commune can be what makes life worth living. Other times, it can feel like, "OH NO! Christmas Eve is tomorrow and we never made those gingerbread Tardises I saw on Pinterest!! AND WHY HAVE WE NEVER GONE ICE SKATING AND THEN HAD COCOA?! This is when I take a deep breath and tell myself to move on. Enjoy finishing something, instead of spending forever making it just so. The little people in your life will benefit more from that light-heartedness than any clever craft activity.

Another variation on this idea is to fill the boxes with something other than candy. A small ornament or gift could fit in the box, which can be adapted to fit most anything. You could also stuff the trees with little slips of paper, saying that it's time to make a wreath with a parent, or read a seasonally-themed story, or play a favorite song from a CD, turned up loud, dancing around. As long as you mix it up and do something out of the ordinary, it should feel like a treat.

Only, don't intermingle candy and non-candy box contents. I learned that lesson the hard way. If it goes- Day. 1: Make a wreath, Day 2: CHOCOLATE, Day 3: Read  'Winter is the Warmeest Season" with Henry. Guess who hates reading books now? The kid who was really hoping for some candy. So pick one road and stay on it. We're stuck here, giving them chocolate every night, but it's not too late for you. Don't worry though, we're a merry bunch.  Rocking out to carols and making wreaths will happen, even if we are not commanded to do so by the little trees.

Tails and Tidings: Visitng Purrfessors

Halloween was over two weeks ago, but we still have a few sweets in the old trick-or-treat bucket.

 Meet  our latest house guests:  Tootsie, Snickers, Taffy and Twizzler, here to bring the mewing, the clawing, the purring and a big dose of vitamin Awww.

 Circumstances did what circumstances will do sometimes, and these local little felines suddenly found themselves without their mother. Of course, the stellar Tillamook Animal Shelter rescued them, and shared photos of them on Facebook, drinking from bottles and napping in fluffy piles. When I saw this, I waited exactly three nonchalant minutes before asking Geza if we could provide them with temporary foster care. He waited exactly one tenth of a second before saying, "Yes."

Why? When life is so hectic and there is already too much not getting done, why bring kittens into the mix?

Because, well, shoot. The reason is sort of deep inside my head, like a feeling that something is happening now and it is important. I've had this feeling before, and I liked what happened when I listened to it. Yes, it was when a pregnant dog spewed puppies all over my living room. Noticing a theme here?

I suppose this is what people romanticize about country life: all of the life. I've never heard a person speak disparagingly of a childhood filled with baby critters, even if things are messy and laborious at times. When we chose to homeschool, I decided against any particular program or curriculum, and cut out activities the kids weren't actively begging me for. This wasn't because I'm lazy, which I can be, but not in this case. It was because I believed something else would fill that space.

And that something just happens to be animals a lot of the time.

Impromptu Kitten Unit or What My Kids Get Out of Caring for Critters

Science: Squirming cause and effect.

For the younger two, the conversations have gotten deep. Often, we compare our bodies to the kittens'. Look at her forepaw. It's like your hand, isn't it? But it's also different. How is it different?

The way an animal behaves when he's content, hungry, in pain, or looking for some fun, is communicated without the fog of verbal meaning. For a person who is still getting the hang of words and their definitions, it is useful to employ these concepts without being graded on syntax. By responding to another creature's cues, a young person can practice caring, before they know what it is. Which leads me to

Empathy: What's it like to be you?

Not only can we talk about their body parts, their habits, and their needs, we can try to put ourselves into their paws.  We learned that kittens have very limited vision and rely on their whiskers to figure out the world directly in front of their faces. As soon as Mae saw Tootsie shudder and stare blankly at a shadow, she melted with empathy, scooping her up to keep her safe. Imagining that someone else is having a totally different experience than the one you are having is a heavy-duty abstract notion for somebody who is not yet five.

Confrontation Therapy: Sensory Overload, but in a Good Way

A litter of kittens, like most critters, provides ample scratching, stubbornness, wriggling, and sudden noise-making. This barrage of sensorial tricks and treats can surprise, startle, delight, frustrate, and sometimes hurt a young person, trying to make the kitten stay in the Lego house.

I can see how someone like George benefits from this. He's a big fan of predictable routines, and doesn't appreciate sudden anythings, except when flappy chicks, pushy puppies, and scratchy kittens are involved. When, while handling resident or visiting animals, he gets a faceful of wings, or a tiny little nibble from a barely-weaned, furry mouth, his resilience is inspirational. There's no giving up on loving a kitten. They spark in him a desire to return and try again; to build relationships over time.

Math: Count the Combos

Last, but not least, when you have to care for four kittens, you have frolicky fun word problems in the making. While they are our furry little teachers here at the BU, they are also doing their fair share of learning. These babies need to be handled, startled, cuddled, and surprised by humans during their early days. That's because, when they find themselves in a shelter eventually, potential adopters will not consider a hissing frightened ball of feral fur for a pet. So, every evening, Henry and Thomas bring the kittens upstairs in pairs, to climb up pillows, jump off of beds, surf the storms of beds sheets and hide in book forts.

Night after night, as they took up various combinations of cats, we got to talking. How many different kitten pairs are possible?

What's the best way to figure that out? Sure, you can start with:  Snickers plus Tootsie (1), Snickers plus Taffy (2), Snickers plus Twizzler (3), and then keep counting all of the other cats that way, but you'd soon run into some repeats. Taffy plus Tootsie (4), Taffy plus Twizzler (5), Taffy plus Snickers? Nope, we said that already. So, moving on to another kitten, Twizzler or Tootsie, we're going to have even more repeats. I asked aloud, "Isn't there some kind of mathematical formula, to help us know how many possible kitten combos can be taken for playtime upstairs?"

Lucky for all of us, the dad of the house is mathmalicious. He dropped this little beauty on me before I was even done asking for it.

N  x (N-1) = X
            2

N=the number of kittens, or puppies, or platypi you happen to be grouping into pairs. In this case, that number is four.
I'll spare you the ciphering. Where N=4, the answer to how many unique pairs can be made, X= 6. The kids may romp with six different sets of cats in their adventures upstairs.

Question: answered
Math: learned

We can move on to play time. I give you the Tabletop Kitten Arena

Nowadays, people tend to talk about what they feel thankful for in their lives. 'Tis the season. I know if I asked this house, everyone would say they're grateful for kittens. If could ask the kittens, I'd like to think that they'd say they're grateful for us. And the heat lamp.

The Muddy Kitchen: Rolling with Fall

I shouldn't be sitting at my computer, writing, right now. I should be at my last day of work, selling my neighbors' produce to my other neighbors, and visitors, at  the Tillamook Farmers' Market. That was my summer job: FarmTable project coordinator for the indefatigable defender of Tillamook's local food system, Food Roots.

It was an honor and a whole lot of fun. I spent every Saturday getting to know the people of my town better, working hard to make my little corner of the market a solid source of local food and support for the littlest of little guys. It was a spectacular success, thanks to the contributions of FarmTable vendors, Food Roots folks, and the immense help of my family. We made a ton of money and were all set for a fabulous closing day, when fall happened.

Hey, we can hang with rain, but the liklihood that anyone would venture outside in those winds was pretty small, so the market conceded to Mother Nature and cancelled. I feel a little better when I think about a week ago, which was supposed to be very stormy, but wasn't, and turned out to be pretty terrific. There was live marimba music, the sun even showed itself a time or two, and we made a decent chunk of money. It was a good last day, even if we didn't know it.

BUT WE WERE GOING TO HAVE PUMPKINS TODAY! Okay, no more complaining. I just really love pumpkins. That's all. And might have really loved selling pumpkins today, but never mind. Can't be helped.

Having fall weather bring an end to my summer job seems to be an occasion for blogging about pumpkin curry. The time for spicy warm ladling is all up on us, apparently. If you want to take this dish off the charts into the Stratosphere of Deliciousness, toss the pumpkin chunks in oil and a little curry seasoning and roast them in the oven before adding them to the curry stew. If you go this route, put them in at the end, with the leaves and tomatoes, since they'll already be cooked to the point of mushiness.

*I am a total poser when it comes to making curry. I don't do it properly, with toasted seeds and spices blended from a local Asian market. This dish could probably be amazing if I knew what I was doing.

I'm sorry to say, I made this recipe yesterday, and didn't think about posting it here. Oddly, there are times when I simply prepare meals, without photographing every step. So, sadly, there are no sun-dappled pictures of freshly chopped, local, organic, heirloom, fair-trade, zen vegetables. You'll just have to imagine them.

1 medium pie pumpkin, peeled, gutted, scraped, and cut into 1" chunks
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
5 large leaves Swiss chard (stalks removed and and chopped separately, as described here.)
3 medium-sized tomatoes
3 tablespoons of minced garlic.

The other ingredients needed are a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, half a bottle of curry seasoning, salt, and a two cans of coconut milk. 

Here's what's left of the curry. Guess I used more than half of the bottle. We're spicy like that.

Sautée the vegetables in oil in following order:
pumpkin, onions, chopped swiss chard stalks, and celery all at once, along with curry seasoning and salt to taste.
That gets cooked on medium high heat until it starts sticking and turning brownish on the bottom of the pan. Garlic goes in next, along with a little water until there's no more sticking or browning.
Continue to cook and stir, adding small amounts of water when necessary, for another seven minutes or so.
Reduce the heat to medium low and add just enough water to cover the vegetables, leaving the lid off, cooking for about twenty minutes. You don't want it too watery and uncovering the pot allows some of the water to evaporate.

Here's where I want you to imagine a turmeric-stained wooden spoon, stirring the aforementioned kind and friendly rainbow array of vegetables in a thick bubbly stew. You can practically smell it!

When the pumpkin is soft, stir in the chopped tomatoes and Swiss chard leafy bits. Turn off the heat a  minute later and add the coconut milk.

Now, envision a close-up of a freshly opened can of coconut milk pouring forth silky goodness, jagged poofs of thick cream spiking from the gleaming metal rim. Smooth.

Let it sit for ten minutes, if you can stand to wait that long, and serve over rice, barley, quinoa, whatever your favorite bed of grainy goodness is. I like to add a cool dill-garlic-grated cucumber-yogurt sauce when serving.  This recipe will serve a small army of six, two solid meals.

Hey look, I actually have a picture for this one. Hooray for leftovers!

The wind is gusting outside, abruptly shutting down all of summer's endeavors. I can either wallow in not having my way today, or I can celebrate what the new season has to offer. Let's do this, Autumn!

The Garden Dirt: The Selfish Side of Sharing

Sharing doesn't just help others, it can help you, which you're not supposed to care about if you're a good sharer, but I can't help myself.

Let me tell you about some garlic.

My beloved Spanish Roja arrived, years ago,  in the form of one bulb from Territorial Seed Co. I planted it in October, was delighted by its early vigorous green spears in January, and moved by its spicy dirt smell when I harvested it in August.

The cloves from the largest couple of bulbs from that year went back into the soil a few months later, and the following year, I had a larger crop, of larger bulbs.

 How exciting! This has gone on for years now, with each subsequent generation bringing consistently large, robust, delicious, bulbs.
 

Just when I thought I had really gotten the hang of this garlic-growing thing, I suddenly lost this year's crop to some disease.

My internet-based diagnosis is white rot. This saddened me, not just because I would miss eating Spanish Roja, but because I found myself garlickless, with nothing to plant this October. I guess I could buy a new variety, maybe two. The shopper in me can totally roll with this tragedy, but the gritty survivalist cheapskate in me gets cranky at the thought of losing my line; my fine giant friend who could wondrously reincarnate, better than ever, year after year.

It felt like we had such a good thing going. But hang in there, because this story has a happy ending. It takes place here, in what I refer to as "Vecino* Garden."

 *Vecino is how you say "neighbor" in Spanish. Our neighbors know what we mean when we say it, and my kids are learning.

It's the spot of lawn closest to our neighbors. I do most of the work and they are allowed to eat what grows there. We have some of their favorites: Raspberries, strawberries, and sugar snap peas.

One thing I decided to plant here last fall is ajo. A who? Ah-ho. It's how you say "garlic" if you're our neighbors.

I put it in because I wanted the kids to see something growing there over the winter. A few weeks ago, I invited them to pull out the bulbs and shake away the soil. The crop was small, but healthy, thanks to being far from the fungal bed.When I described garlic to the kids, I got blank looks which quickly evaporated, leaving only disinterest. This was not sweet or ready to eat now. They were reluctant to pester their mom with it, so I got to have it back! I plan to plant every clove.

 What a nice lady I am, right? I planted a garden for the neighbor kids. So patient. So generous.

Hardly! I have a thick streak of grumpy old man to me. Years ago, the sight of these very neighbor children, wandering through our property, snapping the blooms off the tulips and hanging from my magnolia tree, made me shout "Get off my lawn!" in botched Spanish. Not to be territorial, but I was growing food and they were destructive to it.

So, I had a fair reason to enforce a border, but I still didn't feel good about waging a war on it. Eventually, I realized that these children were not going anywhere. They were very soon going to be teenagers, with childhood memories of the forbidden garden next door and the mean lady who wouldn't share.

As much as they had annoyed me, I couldn't forget that they are also healthy and smart. Thus, they crave a connection with the natural world around them. They are like my children. And my children are far easier to get along with when engaged rather than thwarted. Truly believing that nature benefits a person as they grow up, I couldn't deny that I wanted that for them too. So, I asked what they wanted grown in their garden and made sure their parents knew they had my permission to be there and eat whatever ripened.  When I work in rest of the yard, they hang out there, eating and asking questions. They have learned to respect the plants in their garden and no longer deflower everything in sight, since they know some flowers eventually become berries.

Our little neighbors have lived here for five years now, and my kids call them friends. We haven't had much more garden damage at their hands. That might be because they've grown up a little, but I prefer to believe it's because I cultivated a compromise in that little spot of grass we share, along with three bulbs of garlic that grew far far away from the fungus-ridden spot which claimed the rest of my crop.

Here's what I have learned in Vecino Garden: Sharing is necessary for survival.You have to share because you don't know what will happen next. When life deals you troublesome tots and white rot, operating with a little generosity can turn vecinos into amigos and save your bulbs.

The Muddy Kitchen: It's Easy Being Green

Whew, summer! Is it just me or do the longer days act as a vacuum, sucking into existence ten million new things to do everyday? More daylight should mean getting more done, and while we have been doing a lot, it doesn't feel like we're getting much done. Hence the blogless month of June.  But I am grabbing a very squirmy July by the tail. I have something to say and I am carving out time to say it, minute by minute, as I work on tonight's dinner.

That's right, a recipe! But first, some details: I have a summer job. That might be contributing to my overflowing schedule, now that I think about it, but it's totally worth it. I have the best job I could possibly have. I work at my local farmer's market, running a booth that is like a co-op. My neighbors bring what they grow, and I sell it for them. Not only does this generate income for the smallest scale farmers in my area, it supplies our market with a more diverse selection. People grow interesting stuff when they know they'll be using it on a small scale. I mean, Magenta Spreen?

I'm pretty sure we were the only booth in town with iridescent pink leaves last weekend.

Of course, my booth showcases a lot of conventional fare as well. One thing that grows and sells like hotcakes is greens. Kale and chard, mostly. People want to eat them, they know they should eat them, they buy them, they try to cook them, but sometimes they hate them, but they know they should eat them, but they really don't want to anymore. So, regularly, someone dutifully lifts a bunch of great ribbed rubbery leaves from its water-filled bin; and holds it, dripping, aloft, asking, "But, what do you do with it?" That's when I get excited and start talking fast. Because I used to HATE eating greens, but now I LOVE them. I believe this transformation warrants capital letters, and is due to my having developed a method of preparing them which renders them delicious (especially with roasted potatoes.)

Mix It Up: Back where I grew up, this would be called a mess of greens.

It would also be cooked in bacon fat, but now I'm just getting ahead of myself. Look at this photo.

There are five different kinds of leaves here. One thing that always made eating a mess of greens less than appetizing, for me, was that I was usually eating a mess of one kind of green only. Collards and kale, in particular, I never liked. But I can eat them now, because I eat them with a bunch of other plants. When there is a variety of flavors (turnip tops, beet tops, chard, kale, mustard), my mess sings, rather than bash you over the head with one funky or spicy form of chlorophyll.

Separation of Leaf and Stalk: One sacred rule when cooking greens, and a lot of vegetables, is not to overcook them. Removing the thickest portion of the leaf allows it be cooked separately.

For tender stalks, I just trim them off of the end of the leaf. For thicker stalks, I cut the stalk out of leaf a bit.

 This means the delicate leafy part can be cooked later in the process, for less time than the stalks.

Add Allium:                

 This little guy is your secret weapon. 

Who says greens just have to contain greens? Add some chopped garlic, onion, scallion, chives, whatever to your mess before the delicate leafy parts go in.

I put onions with the stalks. The chopped garlic is in its own bowl because I add it a little after the stalks and onions have cooked, a few minutes before adding the leafy parts. Onion turns translucent and sweet when sautéed for a long time, but garlic turns brown and bitter,.

 Flavorful Fat:

 As I mentioned before, bacon fat is the preferred oil for those who prepare greens the old-fashioned way. I use butter, or vegetable oil I've saved from frying.

Meet my girl, Sherry: 

 Well, la-dee-da. Look who thinks she's all fancy. It's the lady who adds a little cooking sherry to her sautéeing leaf stalks, (seasoning with salt and pepper, and letting it cook on med-high for a minute, to remove the alcohol and reduce to a light broth.)

 You might be reading this thinking, "Okay, now you lost me. I'm not one of those fancy 'cooks with wine' people." Neither was I! But then, I obeyed a succotash recipe I read online. Later, another online huckleberry sauce recipe used up the rest of the bottle I bought for the succotash recipe. I bought another bottle as a replacement, without a recipe ordering me to do so, I missed it that much. It's probably in the salad dressing aisle of your grocery store. Get some and get over yourself. You're one of those people now.

When the stalks are tender, add the chopped leafy parts.

The more finely you chop them, the easier they are for little mouths to eat . Turn the heat to med-low and stir constantly, for about two minutes. Then cover and remove from heat.

Sweet and Sour:  Give your greens a stir and a taste. Do they need something? Think sweetener. Sometimes a sprinkled pinch of sugar helps. Or a little acid. Try a splash of balsamic vinegar or squirt of lemon juice.

Last Ditch Effort: This is for those of you who cannot be reached. You did everything like I said, and you still hate your greens. But now you have this mess on your hands, and it'd be nice if you could find some way to get your family to eat it, after which, you swear, you will never never try to eat them again. Parmesan cheese. A handful or two of that has made all the difference with those in our household who are less inclined to love their leafy meal. Beyond that, I don't know what to tell you. Feed it to your chickens.