Bulking Up

Who needs a gym membership when you regularly sling fifty pound bags of whole wheat flour over your shoulder, or toss twenty-five pounds of brown rice into your car to later drag into your kitchen?

Once I had a family of six to feed, I saw the value of bulking up.

“Super Size Me” took on personal meaning.

A five gallon, forty pound bucket of organic peanut butter used to last our family about six months. That’s a lot of cookies, sandwiches, frozen nut butter bananas on popsicle sticks, and chocolate covered peanut butter balls.

We’d take a family field trip to Nunda, NY to the cooperatively owned factory, oggle at the stacks of sacks of assorted nuts, cover our ears to the grinding machines, while sniffing and snarffling the roasting nuts. Along with the large container, we’d lug home nine pound tubs of almond and cashew spreads. Back then, we could even find mystery butter, the bargain bi-product of transitioning from one nutty type to the next. Yes, we too were oh-so nutty!

Still are.

When my family lived on a dirt road in Vermont, the nearest store was half hour away. We opted for the convenience of joining a local food buying club. I’d pour over the current catalog, imagining what we might need and enjoy, tracking sale items by the caseload, and send in my order.

A tractor trailer popped into town once a month, avoiding errant dairy cows, circumnavigating the green, to squeeze into the muddy church parking lot, where a group of committed and organized hippie foodies unloaded tons, literally, of bulk goods and essentials.

Once home, I would empty the sacks into jars, storing excess food in clean plastic pails (empty peanut butter buckets, no doubt), or on shelves in our mudroom.

The first thing one saw upon entering our house, were the floor to ceiling food shelves, laden with gallon jars of earth toned products. Every time we’d ventured into the city, I’d collected pickle jars from Gil’s sub shop. My timing was fortunate. Soon after my reusable foraging expeditions, the pickle company transitioned to plastic.

When I moved out of that house, my son, who is usually not interested in material items, emphatically insisted,

“No, Mom. You cannot have the jars. They belong to the house. I need them.”

This was the only argument we ever had.

I smiled appreciation for his practical values. “I surrender the jars, Rich.”

Now, when I visit, I am happy to see those jars filled with his family food supplies.

I used to buy huge quantities of Vermont maple syrup from my neighbor who had a sugar house up the road. Back when folks preferred grade A, the lightest version, he had barrels of the dark rich grade B leftover, that he would sell me discounted, always checking with me to make sure the quality was good.

Sure was. Without a doubt, finger-lickin good.

I would then divvy up the quantity into recycled jugs. There is something about knowing you will not run out of maple syrup that contributes to snowy day relaxation, at least in my belly’s mind.

Ten years ago, while I was living with my friends, Jan and Frank, I’d ordered a quantity of Xylitol, to be delivered. I was avoiding sugar and other sweeteners for health reasons, and had just learned about the low calorie, low glycemic substitute sweetener. I’d try anything to keep my sweet tooth satiated. This amount was so much cheaper than that sold in individual 8 oz bags at local stores. Incredulous, Frank’s jaw dropped when the UPS carrier lugged the fifty pound bag up their rock stairs, rang the bell, and plunked it by the door.

I still have five pounds left.

Although now I live alone, I continue to search out and to stock up on discounted staples, tending toward large containers. I avoid leisurely promenades down supermarket aisles in stores radiating fluorescent light, canned music, and unhealthy expensive temptations. I prefer going in with my list, and getting out as soon as possible.

Instead of microwaveable meals in a box, my pantry is a rainbow smattering of reused jars filled with whole dried foods, grains, nuts, seed, fruits. Most, I have bought at Abundance Food Co-op in Rochester, NY.

This week, in order to continue having variety and meal choice as long as possible during my larder emptying / food buying moratorium, I have paid more attention to consuming items which I have in the largest quantities. I enjoyed multiple servings of curried red lentil stew, a layered butternut, puffball, homemade salsa casserole with a creamy nut sauce, and pudding with frozen pears, blended with blueberries and almond butter—

almond butter from a very small, overpriced jar.

Tripe and Souffles and Snails Oh My!

1943 community cannery

Doesn’t everyone grow up stuffing canned snails into reusable escargot shells, to serve breaded as an appetizer with garlic butter?

Or have a mom who’s spent the afternoon preparing tripe for dinner, never mind that tripe is the “edible” lining from a bovine stomach?

Or have volumes of Gourmet magazines, plunked for the ready on cherry shelves supported by ornate  wrought iron brackets in the kitchen corner?

I did.

I grew up eating homemade food, except when my parents went out and left us with TV dinners and a babysitter. I loved those little compartments of unusual foods—instant smashed potatoes and smooshy greenish beans. What a treat.

When Mom started working and had less time for cooking, Dad took over. I sewed him a poofy chef hat, and tie-dyed a couple for my brothers who both create delicacies for their families. Dad’s specialties were Coca Cola cake, which became the birthday favorite for several generations, and lentil loaf, to accommodate the vegetarians amongst us.

I learned the fine art of canning and putting by from Mom. We’d retire to the basement—the basement where once she’d killed a rat with a shovel, the basement that, during heavy rains, had a veritable stream running from one end to the other. Mom had installed a double burner for canning down there so’s to keep the rest of the house cool during canning season. Dad had built a floating wooden floor so our feet would stay dry.

We sat on stools, using our fingers to pit the bucket loads of iced sour cherries that we’d picked earlier that day, sticky juice running up our arms to our elbows and into our laps. Mom and I blanched steamy vats of produce, then slid slippery skins off tomatoes and peaches harvested from our tree. Just like magic, they were naked and raw. I was forever intrigued by the colorful pears that Mom canned for Christmas, using cinnamon candies for red, and mint flavor with plenty of food coloring for green.

My current basement resembles that of my childhood— shelves of canned goods and crates of empty canning jars— vessels used, re-used, gifted from erstwhile canners who can no longer, gifts from former wanna be- canners— all ready and waiting to receive next season’s bounty.

Stuffed Grape Leaves Galore

Last summer, with some regret, I’d given up my long distance garden half an hour away at my daughter’s. This decision saved me time, energy and gas money; the downside, not as many vegetables, but a side benefit— more opportunity for searching out local, edible, wild plants. Foraging requires no effort on my part, aside from harvesting. I like this frugal, new approach on food “shopping.”

Coincidentally, while perusing food related websites, I’d discovered this inspiring and informative blog site, https://alongthegrapevine.wordpress.com. It is organized according to harvest timings, complete with enticing photos and interesting recipes. It was on this site that I saw a blog about preserving wild grape leaves, by fermentation.

Wild grapes grow prolifically along the bike trail near my neighborhood. The vines connect bush to tree in the adjoining woods, shrub to shrub, spilling over onto the path, unrestrained.

Last July, one early morning, I set out on my bicycle, armed with clippers, and plastic bags, making sure I also had my saddle bags in which to tote home my harvest. My Mom, my first foraging role model, used to pick grape leaves from our two vine “vineyard” in our backyard. I only remember them being very tough to chew, so, I was determined to find tender, young leaves this day. Timing is so important when foraging. Fresh and young is best.

I was at the park within half an hour. I felt confident that there, away from roads, my urban foraging would be as toxin free as possible. Mid-way into my gathering, a woman walker sporting a babushka approached, and spoke to me with an accent that I did not recognize. “Are you going to make dolmades?”

Fancy that! She explained how she stuffs them with ground meat, rice and spices, to make dolmas (alternate name).

“I’m vegetarian,” I interrupted. She then made some alternate suggestions, and indicated that my veggie variation would likely work out, and still be tasty, while she repeated how much better they’d be were I to add meat.

I scurried home, saddle bags laden with arm loads of the medium green, heavily veined foliage. Since I had so many fresh, home grown garden vegetables in my frig and no immediate need for more, I brine pickled my stash of leaves in salt and lemon juice, and tucked the gallon jar away in my basement. I knew that in the future, they’d be a treat, instead of just “one more project for which I did not have time today, or even soon.”

This week, I decided to use up what remained of my preserved, cigar-shaped, rolled bundles of wild grape leaves. I whipped up some delectable, if I do say so myself, Mediterranean cuisine.

I read on Wikipedia that dolma originates from the Turkish word, dolmak, which means, to fill.

Boy, did I fill… and roll. I made two versions, one with rice, the other with quinoa and buckwheat, both cooked in oily lemon infused broth. To both recipes I added dried fruits, nuts and vegetables. I varied the spices for the two batches, one leaning toward sweet, the other, toward savory. 

This was a great meditative project—spreading, folding, rolling, spreading, folding, rolling…

I ended up with two huge troughs of these little bundles of tangy, tasty tales of summer. After devouring as many as I could, and then giving some away, I froze what remained to enjoy in the future when I want a quick and fulfilling meal.

I since learned that the Department of Agriculture qualifies grape leaves as dark green veggies. Very low in calories (3 per leaf), they are packed with vitamins C, E, A, K and B6, plus niacin, iron, riboflavin, folate, calcium, magnesium, copper and manganese. A great source of roughage, the leaves also provide fiber. 

Come summertime, I will definitely harvest even more than last year. Maybe I will run into my Lady of the Dolmas, and let her know how much I enjoyed my adventures in fruitful foraging and food frolic, as well as having met her.

As for my commitment to not buying any food ingredients for several months, I notice that I no longer peruse fliers for sale items, don’t update my shopping list when I run out of an item, and don’t spend time shopping. I no longer even have a shopping list. Now, I have replaced time saved with writing about how I am using my reclaimed hours.

As I am emptying my pantry, one day at a time, I am more appreciative of having had ready and easy access to food items. I definitely relished those chips and salsa that I downed, that I happened to have bought before I started my project. Had I known that I would be doing this moratorium, I likely would have planned ahead, and stocked up on certain items. As is, I am enjoying the spontaneity of the decision I made two weeks ago, and the challenge it is adding to my experiment.

The other day, I drove past Trader Joe’s. I had the thought that, while in that neighborhood, I should stop and pick up some items, then remembered my personal quest, chuckled to myself, and kept on going...

home for some dolmades.

Project Progress Report or Not much Progress at all…

Since declaring my food buying moratorium two weeks ago, I have been fed, and have dined away from home, more in the last week than all of last year.

I find this parody so fascinating, that I am tempted to try this with my withering romantic life. You may see a sign on my house:

Eligible and desirable bachelors— Stay away.

I can hear my doorbell and phone ringing non-stop already.

Or maybe it is my smoke alarm, triggered by an overheating dinner.

I rarely go out to eat, partly to save money. As well, I prefer my own food to that which is available elsewhere, as I know it is healthier. Unexpectedly, I found myself eating out almost every day of the week. I guess this is the Universe’s way of reassuring me that there is an abundance of nourishment available. Such irony…. If this continues, it may be September, rather than June, when I have finally foraged my way through my food stash, down to the crumbs.

I enjoy breaking bread with others, (muffins too), but usually on my own turf. I am pleasantly surprised that I was able to stay on course with my food preferences, meet new folks, mingle, and enjoy myself in unfamiliar contexts. I hardly had time to blog, but my tummy sang arias of satisfaction, and my heart could hardly keep up with all the socializing.

My folks took me out to a local restaurant, and it was a treat to eat vegan food without having had to prepare it. I enjoyed the leftover cauliflower wings for lunch the next day. Sunday, I dropped into a church where a friend was playing the music, and was pleasantly surprised that part of their fellowship includes sharing a pot luck meal after the service. Fortunately for me, there were a couple vegan dishes which a woman, whom I’d just met, pointed out.

For three days I helped a friend facilitate a workshop for staff at SUNY Geneseo. Lo and behold, they provided a smorgasbord buffet of food choices each day. They definitely know about Food Justice. After all, this is a college campus. I learned that term over a huge vat of tofu scramble and spiced black beans, and appreciate the intent of the phrase. Everyone should be able to find food they can eat, with ease.

On my way out the door from the seminar, I’d self consciously grabbed and stashed a handful of single serving packets of honey into my purse. I’d used up all my honey a couple weeks ago, and my guests like sweetening their tea. I do enjoy playing the accommodating hostess. I must have been channeling the ancestral blood of my Grandma Klee, who was not comfortable with scarcity. On her way home from dining in the restaurant, she’d snatch packages of unopened oyster crackers, mustard, ketchup, sugar, anything that might be useful, in spite of the fact that she lived in a snazzy home for seniors, where she ate regularly.

I’ve been invited to join members of the Rochester Vegetarian Meetup Group tomorrow for Ethiopian fare, which is hard to resist. I’d choose good food with good company any day. Sure beats eating leftovers at home solo.

As for the goal of emptying my larder, I absolutely have not made much progress. Actually, it seems that my freezer is even fuller than a week ago. My friend, Loekie, who recently has been experimenting with vegan recipes, has been making gobs of food which she shares and trades with me. How lucky am I! Tomorrow, I may thaw and crack open a container of her mushroom Bourguignon or leek, mushroom risotto. Then I can refill her containers with some culinary experiments of my own.

I did notice a moment of hesitation, self awareness, and mini-misery the other night. I’d gone to the basement to grab a can of coconut milk for the squash veggie curry I’d planned to serve a friend. I’d thought there were half a dozen, but this was the last container. As I considered an upcoming hiatus of tropical creamy smoothies, no more rich Thai curried soups, a reprieve of sumptuously decadent puddings, I felt a brief wave of sadness. I decided Jude is worth it, opened the can, and poured it over the skillet of cooked veggies. However, I did choose to use only half an onion, saving the remainder in the frig. I only have two left in my basket, and onions seem like an important staple. June is a long way off.

When I related my brief dilemma to Jude, she asked, “What will you do when you run out of oil?” I enthusiastically replied, “Be creative.”

I suspect she may appear in a month or two with a gift of grease, and if I am lucky, maybe even a can or two of coconut milk. Preferably, not the light version, as I like the full fat version, and preferably, without preservatives.

Should the delivery happen, I will be grateful.

Squashed

Oh no! My winter squashes are  starting to
wrinkle up and resemble the face of  Baba Yaga, 
a Slavic supernatural being who appears as a 
ferocious-looking woman. Rumor has it that she 
flies around the woods in a mortar, as she wields 
a pestle.

Richard, my son, had gifted me a dozen squashes, from his hundreds which he’d laid wall to wall on his garage floor to cure. Like Mamma, like son. We both love to garden, big time. As I don’t like wasting food, especially homegrown, I cooked up several of the humongous butternuts. Once I’d skinned it all, I ended up with a gallon of roasted mashed up veggie, and found many tempting recipes online.

In spite of some lazy resistance, I ended up cleaning and roasting the seeds, which are just as good as pumpkin seeds. It is hard to go wrong with oil and salt and crunch. I blended some squash with a box of silken tofu that I’d bought at the Asian market, and sprinkled in some pumpkin pie spices, for a creamy “instant” pudding. I enjoyed this quick and satisfying breakfast several times this week, and had it for dessert as well. Yes, I’d made a considerably large vat, and yes, for breakfast and dessert the same day. Why not?

A friend came for dinner and I served her whole wheat pesto pizza. I’d had great success with my basil patch this summer, and had blended up and frozen multiple containers of the garlicky pesto sauce. This version also included pumpkin seeds and Chinese cabbage. I topped the pizza with chunks of roasted squash and puffball. This fall I’d found four soccer ball-sized puffballs within a week, and after slicing and baking them, had tucked them into my freezer for a snowy day. Adding sliced, unpeeled apples, would have contributed to the rainbow color scheme, and would have added some tartness. Next time.

I tried a new recipe for curried wee patties made with garbanzo flour and squash, which I’ll serve tonight with a creamy lime, tahini, cashew sauce, with a sprinkle of sour “sumac lemon” juice tossed in.

I’d made quarts of the local tangy, citrus flavored sumac juice this fall, and had frozen it in recycled plastic salad dressing and water bottles. Fortunately, I’d remembered to go out foraging just before the berries were too old. Fall was almost over, and the sumac was not as red as a month ago, but was still usable. I’d found and clipped armloads of sumac branches which I’d found by the roadside, next to the Genesee River. Once home with my precious stash, I’d stripped off the berries and soaked them in a bowl of cold water. After sloshing and massaging the tiny hairy fruits, squeezing and swishing for several minutes, I scooped the berries out with my hands, then dumped in another bowl full. Repeating this step multiple times increases the potency of the liquid. The final step was to strain the dark pinkish liquid through tightly woven synthetic cloth to remove the remaining berries and seeds, which I added to my compost bucket.

My goal of using up squashes in a variety of recipes was successful, and the diverse dishes were staggered throughout the week such that I have not felt in the least bit squashed.

Mistress Tonic

What looks like a science experiment of alien pickled body parts, burns when it goes down the hatch, effuses an aroma which sends shivers up and down your spine, harkens from a traditional Gypsy recipe, and was used to fight the Bubonic Plague in the 1300's?

Others refer to this detoxifying elixir as Fire Tonic, Fire Cider, or Master Tonic. In celebration of Women Rising, I have renamed her Mistress Tonic. Monikers aside, she is one effective and fiery alternative to flu shots.

By strengthening the immune system, Mistress Tonic is effective against pathogens that have become insusceptible to western medicine.

For my recipe I try to use locally sourced organic ingredients, each with its own medicinal, health and healing properties. The traditional recipe calls for chopped or blended raw cayenne chilli, turmeric, garlic, horseradish, ginger, onion. Optional add-ins include habanero chilli, mustard seed, parsley, rosemary, oregano, thyme, juniper berries, peppercorns, bay leaves, Szechuan pepper & Himalayan pink mineral salt. Yum yum. Because these ingredients possess anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial properties, you can expect clear sinuses upon consumption, as well as general, overall health.

The above are steeped in unpasteurized apple cider vinegar. The slimy, gelatinous, blobs which float in raw ACV, known as the “Mother,” render the vinegar live and active, providing probiotics, which help fight infection.

I brew Mistress Tonic on my counter top in canning jars, which I shake daily over two to four weeks. It does not have to be refrigerated, though you can if you prefer. The jar should be dark, but you can use a clear glass jar and place it in a dark area, or cover it with a towel. Guests are always intrigued by my table-top experiments which are great conversation starters. Who needs small talk?!

After several weeks of infusion, I squeeze and strain the mixture through a tightly woven fabric, saving the liquid, composting the fiber. It’s kind of like milking a cow, albeit a peppery bovine. Adding raw local honey to the brew greatly improves the flavor. Honey also aids digestion while boosting Mistress’ antibacterial and antifungal properties, and as an antioxidant, honey provides phytonutrients to the concoction. Definitely add honey. For optimum results, make sure it is raw, direct from a bee keeper.

CAUTION: The very strong flavor and heat can burn your socks off, maybe even your pants. This is hot stuff. Since you are most likely to consume the tonic during flu season, you might want to have an extra pair of knickers nearby, unless your intent is to cool off.
Cheers, and Bottoms up!
Warm bottoms… Here’s to a healthy winter!





pureed version, yet to be strained

Meanwhile, since I’ve already downed the quart I made back in the fall, I’m off to start a new batch. I need to shred that monstrous horseradish root which I was gifted last week. I will also dice some of my homegrown garlic, which has already started to show signs of renewed life with its little green sprouting horns escaping from the once snug, white papery mummy skin. I shall add imported fresh ginger and turmeric root purchased from the local Indian spice shop. Fortunately, I still have frozen hot peppers from a 2017 bumper crop in my freezer. It is good to plan ahead.

You never know when you might need to fight off the vampires of winter.