Fermenting Fool

 

Look out, Sandor Katz. I read your book.

Actually, I use his work as reference, as well as many good (and a few dubiously gushing) Web sites to guide me as I learn the arts of lacto-fermentation. What, pray, is that?

You've eaten fermented foods your whole life, if you enjoy kimchi you've had it. Likewise sauerkraut, if it came from someone's kitchen and not a factory jar.

Wikipedia's definition, however, seems to come straight from a high-school chem lab, so I'll try some of the fermentation-fanatic sites for a warmer vibe. Here's a nice definition by Danielle at Fermented Food Lab:

 Lacto-fermentation is the oldest form of food preservation in the world. It involves only salt, water and vegetables. The salt water brine creates an anaerobic environment (free of oxygen) where only lactobacillus bacteria can survive. The lactobacillus bacteria act as a preservative, keeping harmful bacteria from living in the ferment. 

Yes, I too was dubious about this entire business, imagining a lingering death. I've drunk kombucha, mostly out of courtesy to those insisting it is the drink of immortality. Save for one or two times,  I found it dreadful.

My purpose in fermenting things has been to make great ice-box pickles, kraut I can, and the holy grail: golden pepperoncini, my food of the gods. This season I fermented other peppers, notably jalapeño slices and Thai Dragons (whole). For really hot peppers of that sort, fermenting takes the edge off the heat.

I don't offer recipes here. To get started, however, you can consult my gold standard: The National Center for Home Food Preservation. No New-Age mysticism or miracle cures there, just trustworthy advice that will not make you sick. Start there for pickles and kraut and basic how-tos. After that, venture into the briny wilds of the Interwebs. Experiment, carefully.

 Suffice to say I've learned a few things:

• Adding a grape leaf to the fermenting crock helps keep veggies crisp.
• Fermented foods store in the fridge a long time. I do add a bit of vinegar to the top of the jar, heresy to some who ferment but one of my favorite ingredients. My kitchen, my rules.
• Hot, humid weather really shortens the time needed. My ferments in Fall take take several more days. Keep the crocks away from sunny windows, in any case.
  
• Brine matters. I found an excellent online calculator you might wish to try, to get the right percentage of brine for your crock.
• Cheap Morton Kosher or Pickling salts are excellent. Perhaps pricey sea-salt would change things, but my uncultured palate barely can sense a difference. Just do not use iodized salt. 

If you find a good recipe for crisp, flavorful okra, let me know. That was my only fermenting failure this year. And how I love okra.

A Recipe for Middle Eastern Tomato Sauce

 

You have a garden or farmer's market. Use them, and learn to put up food. It's a great benefit of the extra time we have now during this pandemic.

 I was asked for this, and every year I have enough tomatoes to put up about 8 pints, if not more. This will make four quart jars for canning...maybe.

• Gallon pot of tomatoes, any kind, cut up (Romas and similar will make a thicker sauce). You can peel them if you wish. I don't
  
• One onion, chopped
• Six cloves garlic, or more, minced
• Green pepper chopped small
  
• Tablespoon of dry oregano (use less if chopped, fresh)
  
• Other dry herbs such a basil (tablespoon, crushed) or thyme (up to a tablespoon, crushed). Use less if chopped, fresh
• Teaspoon cinnamon
• Teaspoon allspice
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper or more to taste
• Teaspoon salt or more to taste
• (Optional) 1/2 teaspoon hot pepper flakes.
  

 

That's really it. I often cook the tomatoes down a bit first, bringing them to a boil in a heavy dutch oven, then pressing them down with a potato masher to release the juice. The trick is very slow cooking, and I let the sauce simmer on a simmer-setting burner, with the top tight or just loose enough for steam to escape.
 

Watch the pot and stir occasionally to avoid thing burning. Cook until thick, at least 8 hours!

This makes a great base for lots of Lebanese dishes and it can also become chili con carne, pasta sauces, and more. 

I brown ground lamb and add it, then serve it over basmati rice. Or chop and fry up some okra and add it. You can't go wrong.

It cans well, with the water-bath method.  One thing: be SURE to follow recipes well, including adding citric acid or lemon juice in particular! Granny had more acidic tomatoes than we do today.

Update 2022: I now use a pressure cooker method recommended by The National Center for Home Food Preservation. Their spaghetti sauce recipe is closet to this one in terms of processing safety to avoid botulism.

Early Season "Pesto"

Why wait for the basil? Though we have a lot frozen from last year, I wanted something fresh on my pasta this week. I need the treat: 30 pounds lighter than I was at the turn of the year, I remain on a low-carb, doctor-ordered diet to combat high blood sugar. I found a chickpea-based pasta, however, that lets me enjoy pesto, one of my garden favorites, once per week.

Back to the basil. We usually harvest the first batch in early June, so I've a few weeks to wait. Meanwhile, my chard, lettuce, kale, collards, and mustard greens are so tempting. Here's the recipe, based on my old-school Waring blender, but a food processor will get the job done. The color of the resulting sauce is stunning, an emerald green that keeps its color better than basil-based pesto, especially when refrigerated. The extra garlic punches up the flavor profile, too, since the greens have a milder bite (save for the Mustard!) than basil.

The recipe:

• Fill a blender's bowl with 2 cups olive oil. Add more as needed to achieve the right consistency as you blend.
• Peel and process 7 (yes, SEVEN) cloves of garlic in the oil. Use more if you dare.
• Wash and chop a LOT of greens. I filled  gallon bowl tonight, removing big stems. A surprise delight was mustard greens, as they add a real punch to the "pesto"
• Add 1/2 cup nuts and process. My recent pick was unsalted pecans, but I've used walnuts, pine nuts, even peanuts! I'd prefer the unsalted.
• Add 1/2 cup or more grated Romano or Parmesan and process. The better the grade of the cheese, the better the pesto. 

Serve over pasta. This recipe freezes very well. I sprinkle my plate with flaked hot pepper, adding salt and pepper to taste.

You'll almost forget that basil. ¡Buen provecho!

Dehydrating Food: First Efforts

As much as I love canning, I have been eager to try my hand at dyhydrating food. It offers some advantages for processing, and unlike my canned goods, dry ingredients do not need refrigeration after opening.

Originally we'd set our hearts upon a solar dehydrator, to the point where I'd purchased a book on how to build one. That ran into a snag right away, though "damp and horribly moldy blanket" might be the preferred metaphor. Central VA summers are too humid for solar dehydration to work, though getting an oven to 125 degrees would be as simple as sitting a box outside on any sunny day from late May to early September.

The Cabelas sporting goods chain sells units that range in size from a large toaster oven to a full-sized range. All of them circulate air over the food as it dries out. For small items like garlic flakes, I put parchment paper on top of each wire tray. Do not use waxed paper unless you enjoy making a melted mess. I was happy to discover that online before my first attempts.

We chose a mid-sized unit the size of  dishwasher that holds many trays of fruit or vegetables.  at 80 pounds boxed, I could easily lift it onto a small table in our shop, where mice won't crawl as easily into the works to make nests.  Plus we have at least one black snake there, on the prowl, helping me with mouse-management strategies.

Our first efforts involved a bunch of organic bananas, and the results impressed me. I set the unit to dry the overnight, and by breakfast we had bananas dry but not crunchy; they maintain good flavor and we stored a quart jar of them out of the sunlight in our cabinet. No sign of mold, yet.

We do not grow bananas, but we do grow several pounds of garlic that I cure in an unheated utility room off the side of our house. It stays warm without freezing; the year before, I hung the garlic up from the ceiling in our root shelter to keep mice at bay. This season, however, I used a lot of the garlic and just stepping down into the utility room made the process really easy.

Two sites advised me on drying garlic. I found the advice at Self Reliant School excellent overall, but I did not wish to vacuum seal the jars. That step adds an expensive piece of equipment. Then I asked Dave, the author of the Our Happy Acres blog about this processing. He assured me that sealed jars left out of daylight would keep a year. That's enough for my purposes. Here are my results.

We used the hand-cranked food processor advised by Jennifer at Self Reliant School; Amazon seems short on them, but I found one on eBay for under $20, new, with free shipping. It made short work of the process, though there was no short cut for peeling 5 pounds of garlic cloves! The processor was sturdy enough to endure the work and cranking it required no great effort. I did freeze all but the center jar; dried garlic thaws well and can be put right into the pantry.

My next week involves peeling and chopping about 5 pounds of carrots that overwintered in the soil. I cooked a few and they taste great. Now we'll extend the harvest with them, as well. Look online and  you'll find many recipes. Unlike canning, this food is simpler to process. It will be safe as long as you dry it thoroughly and store it well.

Putting the Farmer Back in The Market

I cannot grow everything I eat, and since I do a lot of canning, I have to buy extra tomatoes, green peppers, and, some years, cucumbers. We usually get our own produce at a farmer's market. It can be  great bargain; I've snagged 25 lb. boxes of locally grown canning tomatoes for as little as $10, as the markets wind down.

Though you'd not think it from the crowded Saturdays around here, there's been some discussion at major newspapers that these are in decline nationally, and that bothers me for many reasons.

First, eating well should be more than a "lifestyle choice," as the author of the piece to which I've linked noted, when talking about the younger customers visiting the DuPont Circle market in DC. I don't want the less affluent to have to settle for less than the pouty fusspots who insist on nary a single worm-hole in their arugula.

Second, the "lifestyle" may not have a lot to do with cooking food.

The DuPont Market is a bustling place, but according to some of the vendors, the younger visitors seem more interested in the scene than in supporting local agriculture. They tend to buy prepared foods more than farmer-grown produce. That would be fine if the farmers could make a living; many are saying it's getting tougher. Treehugger.com gives many reasons for the decline.

Granted, I do see Millennials eating out, a lot, and I don't know too many of my students who cook, though I'm sure they are out there. I only really began to learn to cook in my last year of college, and my Middle-Eastern sauces in the 1980s were nowhere near as good as what I cooked all day long today, using my own tomatoes plus some farmers' market peppers.

It's more critical than ever for all of us to support local food, and I'm not sure the best venue is that artisanal and hip restaurant that buys up all the locality's micro-greens.  If you want to really know about your food, find the growers and then prepare the results yourself.

At the farmer's market you should chat with producers. Make sure, too, that they grew what they sell; resellers are getting more and more common, and it's something I don't like one bit. It dilutes the entire premise of a grower's market.  I'd argue that if a farmer cannot fill the table with fresh produce, then add prepared foods, dried herbs, jams and jellies. But make it all yourself.

It's now a question I ask at the market.  If I want to patronize a reseller, there's a nice old guy who runs a fruit stand near my university. The food is well selected and quite fresh. I've been buying melons from him for years.

Finally, the best way to appreciate a farmers' market is to learn how to cook.

Cooking is one of those essential skills we all need at some point. I'm no professional chef, but I'm a good cook. I can look into the refrigerator and canning shelves and produce dinner from leftovers. I can follow a recipe as I learn, too. If you claim you cannot cook, go out to the piles of used books at the thrift stores and pull down a copy of something basic, like The Joy of Cooking. Start with something basic, like meatloaf. I'm not kidding; when well prepared and paired with potatoes and a green salad, it's a time-machine to a simpler era.

Learn to can and preserve, too. Our grocery stores stock only three days worth of food. It would not take an Apocalypse to  make a lot of folks very, very hungry fast.  Wouldn't it be nice to have a few weeks' worth of produce in the cupboard, socked away against that next big hurricane or snowstorm?

After reading these articles about farmers' markets, I'm more determined than ever to buy more this year at market. Please join me.

30 Months of Lessons

It has been two and a half years since we began living here; three since we began taking care of this piece of rural land. I had no idea then what lessons I'd have learned, this far along. I was already somewhat handy and very Type-A about learning things that interest me. If something or someone does not interest me, I won't recall it or them. I'm bad at names that way.

What follows is not a bragging list but a taking stock. I've failed at most of these things too. Still, how much of this would I have learned had I sat before this screen and played video games? Obsessively checked others' Facebook profiles?

What really counts in life? Socrates said that only the examined life was worth living. I am not very social, so you can guess that I'd pick items on this list over more time with online "friends." Sometimes over seeing people I cherish face-to-face, when I'm on-task, a habit familiar to every successful academic.

Anyhow, see how much of this arcana of DIY life would be new to you:

Financial:

• Setting up an LLC and learning the basics of State and IRS rules
• Learning to scour Craig's List like a pro
• Honing my haggling skills with equipment suppliers, sellers of used gear, and repair shops. I will blame my Middle-Eastern heritage here for being tough when haggling.

Mechanical: 

• Cleaning points in a distributor
• Straining all gas and diesel through paint filters
• Knowing the difference between load needles and idle screws in a carburetor
• Learning how to set the gap on a spark plug
• Painting with an auto-paint gun
• Helping a friend tear down a tractor engine, replace a cam gear, and finally see how valves, tappets, and a cam dance together to make a big heavy machine move.

Garden:

• Watching the life-cycle of pests such as squash-bugs and beginning to interrupt it
• Keeping ground hogs and raccoons out of the garden.  Improving head-shots when these critters enter a trap. Live-trapping and safely releasing a skunk without being sprayed (skunk seemed to think it was a game and appeared to enjoy it)
•  Learning how to air-cure garlic and onions and store them in a root cellar
• Building that root cellar
• Living with black snakes (those great mousers) in every out building
• Installing 400' of dog-pen fence and an equal amount of wooden-post-and-wire garden fence, using a tractor-mounted post-hole digger
• Figuring out how to hand-bale hay and straw
• Continuing to avoid pesticides and herbicides (we still paint stumps of Tree of Paradise with Roundup and will spray our apple trees next year--once, when not in blossom--with Captan)
• Expanding out rainwater-collection system to 1200 gallons (and getting closer to a goal of 3000 gallons for the main garden).

Kitchen:

• Getting much more serious about canning. Mainstays now have grown from tomato sauce and pickles to include green beans,  apple sauce, and grape leaves
• Freezing peas, squash, butter beans, and blackberries with success
• Drying and saving seed from hot peppers and string beans.

Handyman:

• Cutting out areas of rotten wood and repairing with Bondo
• Planing a sticky door until it closes and looks good
• Building sag-free garden gates 6' tall by 8' wide
• Learning to use well a router and planer
• Figuring out what to reuse and what to toss with 10,000 square feet of barns and out buildings.
• Installing a hardwood floor of salvaged oak flooring tucked in a corner of the barn.

The next 30 months will bring more adventures, and I will return to this list to see what can be added.

First Light Lessons

Montpellier sunrise, photo courtesy of Dominic Carpin, the pater familias at Delli Carpini Farms

"Living six months inside a dog's mouth," is how Novelist and public intellectual James Howard Kunstler describes life in the South during the summer. I have a newly adopted 90 lb dog at my side, an Anatolian / Great Pyrennes mix. She is breathing on me, and there's no way in hell I want to live in that mouth.

Thank God for air conditioning. Yet I can't carry the AC outside on days like tomorrow, when I have to pour 600 pounds of concrete into trenches to make footings / blocks by the dog pen, so the enormous dog does not dig her way out. That means an early start. I will be up at 5am, and my Millennial helper, who has the surprising ability to start early--such a credit to his generation!--will join me at 7.

His peers in my classes cannot bestir themselves before 10 am. Even then they are bleary eyed and feckless. Now what on earth would I do with one of these pampered children on a farm? They'd quit inside of 10 minutes on a day like today, where I was loading 12 bags of quickset concrete into the bed of the pickup while the thermometer read 97and the humidity was at least 80%. But the hard work was already done.

At 6 am, I hung up a trolley-cable run for the dog, so she can stay outside with us tomorrow while we work on her pen. I also took care of some other chores of watering and staging gear for tomorrow, and I was done by 10. It was hot work, but not unbearable. I took a little time to squash some squash bugs and pick cukes for a batch of icebox pickles that I put up after lunch.

I wonder how many of my college kid have even seen a sunrise, unless it was after an all-nighter? It can be a magical event. Last summer, approaching Iceland, I saw the red line of sunrise as a Boston night receded before the Midnight Sun. The sunrise took many minutes, from that bloody line on the curve of the earth to a fully flowering garden of purples and reds. I was stunned enough to not want to nap. I asked the beautiful Icelandic woman serving coffee to bring me a refill. I wanted to see night become day. A nap could wait.

It can be as magical, if not as exotic, to see first light from the seat of a tractor or from the back of the garden. The chickens are already awake. They need no prompting to go on a bug-hunt before the scorching heat of midday drives them into the hard shade under the coop. That is the time to mow hay by hand, to work the chores in the garden, to put soap and oil sprays on young plants before the sun hits them.

The dew is a constant feature of a Virginia early morning. With transpiration rates of about 1 inch weekly in Central VA, and the rainfall ever less certain in our time of rapid climate change, the dew can mean life or death to small plants. I work with wet boots often, dragging hoses to water or, more recently, trucking 35 gallons in the bed of the ATV up to tree-bags around our newly planted fruit trees.

By 10am, unless we are really working it, I'm inside for a shower and another cup of coffee. Some days the heat proves so intense that by 1pm I take a nap. That's an academic's luxury in summer, when we can stay away from the office more,  but then I'd be doing none of this if I were in some cubicle in the land of corporate slavery.

I cannot imagine those poor folks working my garden, either. They'd simply perish. Their experience of heat is that of moving from the car across the parking lot to an air-conditioned office, just in time for the petty humiliations of the work day to commence.

What would have happened if we had no air conditioning in the South? Jim Kunstler has predicted that we'd again become a rural and agricultural backwater. Jim has visited my class and worked with my students; he has a strange fascination with the craziness of The South, and though he and I disagree on some issues about the future, in this regard I find his arguments compelling.

I do know one thing: without air conditioning we would have taken strident action to mitigate climate change. On days like today, the sauna is simply not bearable.

It's the shape of things to come, but for the years I have left, I will have the solace of the cool of day at first light.

Here's the Icebox-Pickle Recipe I pinched from a very old Pillsbury cookbook. It has never failed me:

• 7 medium pickling cucumbers, thinly sliced. I used gherkins and Asian cukes today.
• 1 tablespoon pickling salt (DO NOT use table salt, Cheap-Ass. Buy the right salt)
• 2 medium (2 cups) onion, chopped
• 1 green pepper, chopped (I omit this)
• 2 cups sugar (I go light on this)
• 1 tablespoon celery seed
• 1 tablespoon mustard seed
• 1 cup vinegar

In a large bowl, mix the cukes and salt well. Let it stand for 30 minutes, then drain well. Meanwhile, combine the other ingredients in a bowl. After draining the cukes, pour the mixture in the bowl over the pickles. Pack into pint jars and be sure the veggies are covered with syrup. I add a bit of vinegar if it is low. This will keep 3 months in the refrigerator.

Yield is about 3 quarts. Enjoy!

"Fort Tomato" Nearly Complete, and Just in Time!

Readers may be familiar with an annual tomato-fight in Spain, La Tomatina, held in the Valencian town of Buñol. Spain has lots of tomatoes, as I found out when I lived there for a year, but I'd claim that no one has enough to simply wallow in them. I certainly don't. Each year, depending on our harvest and time, we put up in pint and quart jars between two and four gallons of my Mediterranean tomato sauce, a slow-cooked delight that serves as the the basis for everything from pasta dishes to Lubee (a baroque Lebanese concoction of string beans with lamb).

That means I need a lot of tomatoes. Some years, when the garden is lean or the weather poor, I hit the farmer's markets near closing time; last year I got a twenty-five-pound box of "crooks" for  $10. These are the mishappen tomatoes from the bottom of the vine. My dad was a produce wholesaler who taught me to savor these oddballs from the tomato patch. Their flavor is exqusite.

This  year, we have no shortage of plants or produce, but I'm watchful after two "corn raids" by racoons and earlier incursions by groundhogs. If they finish with the corn, the tomatoes may be next. And that means all-out war.

Note for the non-snarky: that's a plastic Johnny Seven rifle that belonged to my old buddy, the late and legendary Gary Braswell. Before his executor sells his antique toys, I had to pose, just once, with the toy gun every little boy craved in the mid-60s.

Firearms aside, the groundhogs cannot penetrate our new fence, over or under, but raccoons have a little advantage: thumbs.  I've trapped and shot one already, since it's illegal to relocate animals in Virginia. As I write this, I've two traps outside ready for the bandit who gobbled down half our corn last night. I picked the rest, as I wait for the next rows to come in.

Tomorrow "Fort Tomato" will have a finished garden gate. Next year, it will have electric and some dogs to run around 3/4 of it, after I do an outer fence that includes our little apple orchard.

More money, but worth every penny to grow one's own food. Even if the critters get some of it!