Recipes

Whether it be the vibrant yolk of "this morning's eggs," produce fresh from the field, or the treat of that summer's raspberry jam on a cold winter day, local food is something that enhances life in Minnesota all year round. But more than simply bringing enjoyment to our lives, our food choices can also have meaning beyond the plate, as evidenced by the ever-growing Meatless Monday campaign.

It’s November in Minnesota, so the growing season -- for most of us -- is over. All of the garden crops have been gathered, and we're now focused on finding local protein. In our small town, hunting season is a time of celebration and camouflage is back in fashion, especially when it's accessorized with blaze orange vests and hats. Conversations in diners, grocery stores, barber shops, and street corners turn to the number of pheasants in the fields, grouse in the forests, and -- importantly -- where the big bucks are lurking.

For someone with a bacon mustache in her bio picture, I realize I have written precious little about meat here in these Simple, Good, and Tasty pages. My swooning and waxing poetic about squash, asparagus, garlic scapes, rhubarb, blueberries, apples and tomatoes (oh, sweet tomatoes) may lead you to believe that I am a feeble carnivore indeed. It just goes to show how eating with the seasons, along with myriad benefits lauded every day here at Simple, Good, and Tasty, has the added perk of increasing one's consumption of fruits and vegetables. To pay attention to what is most ripe and fresh at the farmers market inevitably gets my wheels turning and inspires me to figure out ways to cook and eat those beautiful foods.

My last CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) box of the year from Foxtail Farm was both a festival of fall and a chock full of vitamins: garlic, bok choi, broccoli, turnips, potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, winter squash, peppers, Brussels sprouts, and onions.

When I opened my most recent CSA (community supported agriculture) box, an adapted version of the old Sesame Street song went through my head:

Each of these things is not like the others
Each of these things just doesn't belong...

Here's what I got: turnips, radishes (both with their greens), spinach, broccoli, garlic, squash, lettuce mix, a few raggedy tomatoes, jalapeno peppers, potatoes (just a few this week, not like last time), and onions.

As I stared at my vegetables, and they stared back at me, I felt dread creeping in. Would I have to make separate dishes for all these ingredients? Calm down, I told myself. Take a few deep breaths. Walk away.

Isn’t it funny how some days you can be humming along, getting all sorts of things accomplished with nary a thought of fruit crumble, and then someone drops off a bag of Dudley apples from Hauser’s Superior View Farm in Bayfield, Wisconsin, and casually mentions they’re supposed to be good baking apples, and suddenly, you can’t get crumble off the brain? Not even for one minute? Not even for one second?

Before I begin, I ask a moment of your indulgence. Picture me, if you will, walking around my office, proud puff pigeon-chested, handing out cigars to my colleagues, grinning from ear to ear and flashing the picture you see above to anyone who will stand still long enough to look.

Okay, I didn't really do that, but only because I don't have an office to go to. So you'll have to stand in for my hapless co-workers. Ain’t she a beauty? That pretty girl is my first tomato of the season and not only is she gorgeous to look at (do you see those striations of yellow? that smooth orange skin? that shape, my goodness, that shape?), she was gorgeous to eat. Cut cross-wise to reveal flower shaped rounds, I ate her all by myself with nothing but a dusting of sea salt. Divine.

It’s corn time, people! Sweet, sweet corn time. A couple weeks ago when I spotted the Peter’s Pumpkins and Carmen’s Corn stand at the Kingfield Farmers Market, I gasped and shimmied over as quickly as my flip flops would carry me. I snatched up six ears and to my surprise, received a gentle admonition from the owner, Peter Marshall, as he handed it to me: “Now this is good and sweet, but it’s not as good and sweet as it will be in a few weeks.” I’m not sure why I was surprised. I ought to know by now that Mother Nature takes her own sweet time and does things her own sweet way, with little regard for urban corn fiends like me.

You know that feeling, when you’ve been with someone a long time and you feel like you know every thing about them. You know every story, every place they lived, every band they loved, but then out of the blue, maybe at a party, maybe while you’re weeding the garden or drinking coffee, you hear a story you’ve never heard before. And in that split second, your eyes open wide and you feel ever so slight a sensation of frisson at the novelty, the mystery, the possibility.

Well, I’ve been with vegetables a long time – ever since I can remember, really. At this point, I thought I had tried every one, every which way. I thought I knew all of their seasons, all of their stories. But I was wrong. Oh, was I ever wrong. Last week at the Kingfield Farmers Market, I came upon a basket of bright green tangles that stopped me in my tracks.

McDonalds, Burger King, Hardee’s, Subway, Arby’s, TCBY, Taco Bell, Sbarro. Anything sound good? Didn’t think so. When a family hits the open road in the U.S. of A. and the excitement of the first few hours of tunes, wind, and unfurling pavement has worn off to be replaced by boredom and hunger, it will have little choice but to pull into an oasis to eat. Unfortunately, our oases give oases a bad name. Far from a place to relax and replenish, our U.S. highways seem to be lined with not much more than loud flushing toilets and purveyors of junk food. I always fantasize about the small, family-run diners tucked into the towns we roll by; but realistically, when you have three kids and seven hours of driving ahead of you, there is no extra time to dilly dally in search of homemade chicken soup and apple pie.