Jennifer Jeffrey, Writer & Editor

I Was a Teenage Yokel

In honor of the Eat Local challenge this week, I’d like to make an observation: isn’t it nice that eating local is so fashionable? I don't mean that in a facetious or offhand way. Here we are – bright, interesting 30- and 40- and 50-somethings, all eager to do something meaningful. Even though it might take some extra effort to seek out local ingredients, it’s very rewarding; not only do we get to do contribute to our own communities, but it also tastes so good and is so much fun. We’re not gnawing on bran flakes or choking back aloe vera shots; we’re marveling over tender spears of asparagus and unctuous cheeses. With our friends, no less. Life is good.

But I’m worried. Marian Burros’ New York Times article about the Eat Local Movement on Wednesday introduced a word that made me recoil in horror – at the end of the piece, she mentions people who eat really local; they grow their own food. All well and good, but here’s what they’re calling themselves: yokelvores.

Yokelvores? Please: say it ain’t so.

Check out the picture accompanying the article (I dare not re-post it here, so you’ll have to look for yourself) of the novelist Barbara Kingsolver and her family. Barbara Kingsolver is one of my favorite writers, and I would prostrate at her feet if I met her in person, but the photo of she and her husband with their teenage daughters made me cringe.

I’ve been that teenage daughter.

Progress Report!

Since my dismal showing on the first day of the Penny-Wise Eat Local Challenge, my local food quotient has greatly improved. My big error was skipping the farmer's market last weekend, which meant I was low on local staples, which can't be easily corrected, even with a remedial trip to Whole Foods. But we're getting there.

Last night's dinner was a sumptuous roast chicken from Petaluma stuffed with local herbs and served alongside locally-grown leeks baked until they were melty-tender and a salad made of Marin county lettuce and Point Reyes blue cheese. Total cost for 2 people? $13.00.

I should mention that I'm not counting the wine. $8 for the week? In what universe? Not mine.

This lunch, which I just finished scarfing down, was the best value yet: a lovely scramble made of 2 Santa Rosa eggs, raw milk cheddar from Petaluma, local dill, green onions and asparagus, and a salad made from the remaining lettuce from last night, plus Marin county snap peas and juicy strawberries from Watsonville. Total Cost: $4.80.

Ongoing issues: lunch on the fly, in between meetings - impossible (for me, at least) to eat totally local, but not hard to choose small, local cafes that use organic ingredients to increase the chances that some of the ingredients are local.

Nopales from 200 miles away

When I saw these bright green nopales this morning at the farmer's market, I had to buy them, even though they stabbed me repeatedly as I tried to put them into my bag. My thumb is still smarting.

The man at the booth told me they were from Fresno, and I have to admit: I wasn't sure whether Fresno was more or less than 100 miles away. I've never been there, and have never wanted to go, but seriously, how embarassing.

So now I have these pretty, prickly paddle-shaped things; five of them only set me back $1.45.

Whatever shall I do with them?

Poor Planning Prevents Pristine Performance

I had every intention of acing the Penny-Wise Eat Local Challenge this week.  I had read through the preparatory stories and posts, and thought: how hard could it be to prepare a week’s worth of meals using only local ingredients for no more than $144? Easy-peasy.

Then the end of the week got busy, and we spent the weekend painting a room – glorious red stripes, mmm – and waxing the ceiling. Yes, the ceiling. Don’t ask; it didn’t turn out anything like it did on the HGTV episode that had inspired our arm-wrenching, neck-twisting adventure. Alas.

I thought about the Challenge. I did. I just didn’t get out and shop and, you know, make a plan.

So Monday morning rolled around, as they do. On Mondays I’m up at 5:45, in my car at 6:30, in the city by 7:00, and the morning goes so fast that I don’t usually get to eat. Yesterday was no different. By 12:30, I was starving.

I could have driven to Whole Foods for a local apple and a Saint Benoit yogurt, but it was out of my way, and I was really hungry, and so I dropped by Greens on my way to the bridge and stood in their take-out line for black bean chili over rice and cup of Moroccan chickpea soup.

When I got home, and took the first bite of black bean chili, I nearly spit it out. The grated cheese they had sprinkled over the top was moldy. Yech. But I was too hungry to throw it all away, and so I scraped off the top layer and ate the bottom half of beans and brown rice. The soup was better. But none of it was local. Or cheap.

My afternoon was a similar tornado – deadlines, e-mails that needed immediate response, new projects starting, a sweet-faced dog to walk – so that by the end of the day I was too exhausted to assemble the complex recipe I had intended. Instead, I changed into pajamas and opened up a bottle of delicious merlot from Oakville, local but not remotely within the budget, and made a 2-minute stir-fry of prawns and asparagus from Fat Belly Farms. And retired to my bed with a book.

And thus my first day of the challenge turned out much like the waxed ceiling: not even vaguely like the hoped-for vision.

Oh, but there are more days in the week. I’m not giving up yet.

The Invisible Recipe in Heidi Swanson's Cookbook

Like everyone else who has paged through its beautiful photos and recipes, I quickly fell in love with Heidi Swanson’s new cookbook. So many bloggers have written about her recipes that I wasn’t planning on blogging about it myself – until last week, when I discovered a Secret Recipe written in Invisible Ink.

Here’s how I made the discovery: I was paging through the cookbook to find inspiration for dinner, and was entranced by Heidi’s description of Bellwether Farms Crescenza Cheese in the recipe head notes for Quinoa and Crescenza on page 55, which she describes as “little pillows…of tangy, triple-cream cow’s milk cheese.”

In case you don’t know already: me love cheese. Me love cheese like Tarzan love Jane. When I read Heidi’s comments about the Crescenza, I knew I had to make the recipe.

Problem is, while I was dreamily browsing through the cookbook, I also read the recipe for Risotto-Style Barley. Yum, I thought. That sounds amazing.

A couple of days later, I was wandering through Whole Foods, trying to remember what I needed for The Recipe. I put a “little pillow” of Bellwether Farms Crescenza in my cart, along with a bag of pearled barley. I had bundle of gorgeous hot-pink-ribbed chard and a knot of purple-red spring onions from Star Route Farms at home; I had decided to use those in place of the arugula and yellow onion that Heidi called for in the risotto recipe. Over and over throughout the book, she suggests that readers swap one in-season ingredient for the other, and so I felt perfectly comfortable with this.

Then I got home and realized my mistake: the Crescenza was for the quinoa recipe on page 55. The barley was for the barley risotto on page 68. The chard was neither here nor there. Oops. Ah, well. I had barley; I had cheese. I was going to make the Heidi-inspired dish that WASN’T in the cookbook.

This is What Sunshine Tastes Like

It rained yesterday morning, and they say it's going to rain again on Saturday, but today dawned sunny and bright, and that was excuse enough for me to brew 2007's inaugural batch of iced tea. We drink a lot of iced tea around here between April and September. Pitchers and pitchers of it.

Black tea with wildflower honey. Rooibos tea with malty-sweet demerara sugar. Green tea with a touch of rice syrup. Always sweetened while the tea is hot, so as not to create grainy, separated sweet notes.

Sometimes accompanied by fat lemon wedges, sometimes not. Frequently spiked with fresh green herbs like pineapple sage or lemon thyme or mint to add an extra dimension of flavor.

Occasionally enjoyed with dinner, but more frequently sipped slowly in the mid-afternoon or early evening, while sitting outside on the deck, finishing "Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight" by Alexandra Fuller, and listening to the squabbling of the birds and the rasp of crickets.

Always hits the spot.

The Smallest Art Gallery in the World

I took this picture in Rabat, Morocco back in January. This herb and produce purveyor is sitting beside a busy street; apartment buildings are clustered on either side of her, in front of her, and in back of her. She has arranged her goods in a slightly recessed area; it looks as if a building might have stood there some years ago. The pallets in front of her hold (from left) coriander, flat-leafed parsley, mint and cardoons.

She sits placidly throughout the day, chatting with the housewives who walk by and buy bunches of fresh herbs to take home with them. When I took out my camera, she turned her head and hunkered down a bit, but my sweetie said a few words in Arabic to her, and she sat up and smiled.

She might be surprised to know that she is currently on display in what I affectionately call the Smallest Art Gallery in the World – the room that opens off of my kitchen. Some people might call it the “family room,” but we call it the “gallery room.” Every 2-3 months, I take everything off of the walls and hang a new “exhibit.” Last weekend, I hung the Morocco exhibit, with 8 of my favorite photos taken from our trip in January, plus a few small paintings and a pair of embroidered Moroccan slippers.

Upcoming “exhibits” this year include a collection of words - type-driven posters, metal letters and signs – and my “girl power” collection of drawings and prints of powerful women.

I really enjoy the process of thinking through what to do next, and the changing space ensures that I always have something interesting to look at while I’m cooking.

In the area? Stop by for a look! (Psst: Cookie? Aren't you hunting for a certain something nearby?)

Hours: Whenever I’m dressed and presentable, and not gone to the farmer’s market or the bookstore or on a walk with Petra. Oh, and when there isn't any laundry waiting to be folded or dirty dishes in the sink.

Admission fee: Chocolate.

P.S. - I wanted to add that I've been using Mpix to print my photos, and I've become a huge fan. The paper is thick and gorgeous, the colors are true, and turnaround time is quick and efficient. Their Kodak Professional Metallic paper - yummy! The colors in the photo above just pop out - the coppery streaks on the wall behind the woman in the picture above really shine.