Food of the Future: Part II: Lettuce Be Inspired

This is how it went each day: Juan, Marcela, and I would clean and prepare our space for class.

To fill the air and up the energy, Juan would play a CD he selected from our combined collection.

I'd make my way to the living room, where I would wait to hear that friendly little beep of the Fundación Niños de los Andes van, full of kids, some of whom got out and waited on the sidewalk for whatever was next.

Little eyes were uncertain.

Where am I?

Who are these people?

What is happening here?

We offered the warmest greetings, and welcomed all inside, to have a little chat at this table.

 Here is where we said,

Welcome! Thank you for coming and participating in The Food of the Future!

Why is it called that? Because you are the future, and whatever you eat will be the food of the future. In a way, the future starts now, because what you do tomorrow will be a result of what you learn today.

Today, we will learn about the life cycle of a lettuce plant, as well as how to sow and transplant lettuce.

We will also make bread!


And create delicious works of art, which we will then photograph!

If there is time (and there is always time) we will paint display art for our table presentation later this month.

We did those things until the van returned, and beeped, at which point we would hug good-bye and they would be on their way.

For us, providing this workshop was an experience full of discovery. Through conversation and finished sentences, we found out which children had experience with plants and making their own food.

Little impulsive hands showed great control when trusted with sharp tools.

Big strong boys were as gentle as little lettuce seedlings needed them to be. All were spoken to with respect, and all took full advantage of the chance to learn and do for themselves. At the end of each day we heard, “When am I coming back?”

We longed to spend more time together, but had to bid farewell each afternoon, and clean our space for the next day.

Five days, twenty five kids, fifty hands and eyes, a million shy smiles and proud greetings over the next few weeks. “Teacher! He doesn’t believe me! Tell him I made bread at your house!”

“Mami! Did you bring more lettuce seeds yet? I have permission to plant them!”

“Look, how much my plant grew in just two weeks!”

It is not some space age nonsense to say that those moments felt like all points in time were happening at once. That, in a way, it feels like people live forever in the people around them.

Choices to harm or help create an impact that far outlasts one human lifespan.

These moments we call past, present, and future flow into each other as a series of causes and effects, from one of us to another.

A familiar peace and elation, seeing the accomplished smile of a child who has surprised himself, is presently as close as I can get to hanging out with a friend who taught me how to grow little food eaters. The light in those young eyes makes me think of Shelly Bowe.

ALS ended her life, but couldn’t touch the beauty of the way she chose to live it.

She grew a community around the basic human need to feed ourselves and each other, co-founded Food Roots and made everyone feel like that kid, discovering new capabilities.

The passion she cultivated will only grow, as she made sure to sow it in the hearts of people around her.

To teach the children from the Fundación Niños de los Andes with my friends, who have also been inspired by Shelly’s work, felt like sneaking out a sly message in a bottle, that we never wrote. We just found it, memorized it, and threw it back into the water, hoping it will float through time to some day when all that’s left of us is information, hopefully well-conveyed. Lessons taught, lived, and maybe even learned.

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!