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Anyway. Because she heard I really liked to cook/was a great cook we started talking about food. I said it was really interesting to cook here because I had never used with most of the ingredients ever in my life, much less seen half of them. I’ve never even known people who know how to cook with them. So it is almost like I am learning to cook all over again (which, by the way, means that that is all I ever want to do). At home, even when I experiment and try new things I still have that old grounding telling me how it is ‘traditionally’ made. It takes a lot of effort to do things differently even though I taught myself how to cook (with help, of course, from my mother, father, and grandmothers). But here I have NO IDEA what I am doing. I have to do a little research to make sure I’m not going to kill myself and everyone around me by eating something raw I shouldn’t but other than that I am free of any inhibitions.

And she said- I KNOW, like, here at my restaurant I can cook the octopus. The older people they pound it to tenderize it and me, I don’t pound it, instead, I use lime juice. And they all say- why didn’t you pound the octopus? …. Sounds like me at home.

I actually have heard of most of the things I use- coconuts, pineapple, avocado, chayote squash (except here they call it something different), citrus… Of course I’ve never had them so fresh or in such glorious excess but I have at least seen them. But there are all these starches that I have never seen. They are all called ‘provisions’ around here and usually boiled and put on the plate in vast bland quantities. Provisions are yams (the real ones, which are gigantic and hairy and NOT sweet potatoes), sweet potatoes (which are usually the white kind), plantains, breadfruit, and dasheen (I think if we ever see it we call it taro)

So far I’ve begun on breadfruit and dasheen. I’ve got some sweet potatoes from market sitting on the counter but I think I know what those are by now. The breadfruit was first. Supposedly you can eat them green or ripe but I have yet to see a ripe one- I think they are super perishable when they get that far so they are just harvested green most of the time. They are these gigantic green bumpy things that have a sticky white resin on the outside. They kind of look like a really big pomelo but a lot bumpier. The trees are big and tall and have these huge dramatic jaggedy edged leaves.

The first day, thanks to a recipe in this awesome binder that Bruce put together of photocopied recipes that all have to do with Caribbean food, I made a salad of cucumber, breadfruit, tomato, and basil. I cubed the breadfruit and boiled it and chilled it and mixed it with the other stuff (the cucumber and tomato were from the market and the basil was from right out front the house) and threw in some lime juice and salt. The breadfruit was supposed to be kind of interesting ‘almost like eggplant’ but it wasn’t almost-like-eggplant. It was a little chewy, a little gooey, and super starchy. (All the starches down here HAVE to double as wallpaper paste or they just won’t do. Unfortunately I don’t think wallpaper would do very well down here either because it is so humid it would just mildew in a second) It WAS interesting though, and despite my description actually not that bad. The gummy/gooey-ness isn’t like the kind you get when you beat a potato too hard- that is REAL wallpaper paste. It almost tastes and feels like there is a whole bunch of melted cheese in it (which is fine by me). Breadfruit has a nice rich creamy taste. So we choked that down and the next day I thought I’d try it mashed. I had just made some coconut milk so I used that instead of regular milk and proceeded as with mashed potatoes- plus some coconut pieces and fresh ginger. That was alright- there was still that texture of a whole lot of melted cheese but it was a little more appropriate here.

Ok. I have to stop and admit something. Much to my potato adoring mother, boyfriend, best friend’s dismay(s) I really don’t get that excited about starchy food. Of course potato chips and French fries I love but I bet you can guess what about it is that draws me to THEM. I like really good bread and pasta too but other than that I could just do without (o, I also love risotto). So. You are getting a very biased view about all of this.-

Anyway. The NEXT day I took that smashed up breadfruit and added an egg, some flour, some sugar, and nutmeg and cinnamon from the market and made doughnuts. Now THAT is how to cook breadfruit. Done. I figured that one out. (Actually the next day I took the remainder of the smash and mixed it into a pancake-y batter that was also passed the test).

So the second market I moved on to dasheen. There are about eighty varieties of it down here but the variety I bought was a short, squat, hairy tuber (some of them are bigger or longer). The skin on it will make your hands really itchy and burny if you aren’t very careful. I just hold the top with a couple fingers and pare off the outer part. I did get a little on my hands and they itched a lot but I survived. Having learned my lesson from the breadfruit I started off first thing with the frying approach. I made dasheen chips (or ‘crisps’ as they call them down here- like the British do) sliced on a mandolin- something I’ve also never used at home and I am very excited about. Those were (of course) absolutely wonderful, sweet, salty, and crunchy but I felt like I had cheated myself by using the easy way out. So the next day I tried to mash dasheen. I added garlic this time instead of ginger. It was alright but gummy like the breadfruit and not quite as complex and rich in flavor. So the next day I cubed it up, boiled it, and then sautéed it with some cubed pumpkin and garam masala (brought from home) and coconut milk. That was pretty good (although I favored the pumpkin) but the next day I reverted to my evil ways. I smashed everything up with a little more coconut milk and an egg (dasheen can absorb absolutely amazing amounts of liquid) and made them into little fritters fried in coconut oil (not the tablespoon I made myself- that is another story). And it was then that I realized that my evil ways are defiantly the best way. These were not deep fried like the doughnuts and chips- just kind of sallow fried/sautéed. So I bet I could make those every time. They are also pretty good cold which is nice….

And there is my story of starches, as far as it’s gone….

Hope everyone is doing great and wonderful and eating lots of sweet potatoes.

First I found a strong handsome man to knock the coconuts out of the tree while I lay on the beach and looked at teeny shells. Then I carried the coconuts home, one under each arm, first over volcanic rocks by the raging sea and then up a steep muddy path to the house. Then I proceeded to aimlessly hit them with a cutlass (that is a machete but they call it a cutlass down here so so do I) that I have finally gotten the hang of sharpening (I think). After about thirty minutes of that I began to work out a technique for getting the very fibrous tough husk off. I am pretty sure the easy way to do this is to have a pole in the ground with a nice sharp blade on top and cut and wiggle and work the husk from the coconut with that. But I didn’t have one of those fine-tuned gadgets. Eventually I figured out if I set the coconut up on its end on the ground I could whack off pieces of the husk til I got down to the hard shell. Now, it is all well and good to get down to the hard shell of the coconut but pulling the husk off is a whole new battle. I did figure it out eventually though and by the time I got to my third coconut I was averaging about forty minutes a husking.

Then I had to get the meat out. That took me a little while to figure out til someone around here got the bright idea of looking in a cookbook. It said to roast it for about five minutes in a hot oven or less on a gas flame until the meat starts to separate from the shell. Since my oven doesn’t seem to be working I lit all the gas eyes in the kitchen and set the coconut parts on them (they aren’t quite ‘halves’ if you can’t aim a cutlass very well). I brought the first batch outside with me and set the second on the eyes. While I was outside banging at the roasted pieces trying to make the meat fall clean out (I did this a few days before with coconuts I had bought at the market pre-husked and it worked really well.

For some reason this time I had a little trouble) I realized I had forgotten the ones inside. Of course my trusty help who was supposed to be supervising them was too busy reading Anna Karenina and failed to notice that my coconuts were on fire. That was ok though. I kind of like smoky flavored coconut milk for savory things.So then, after all this was over we had to peel off the inner skin with a paring knife. Of course that takes forever (what fun would it be if it didn’t?) and is also very dangerous (also a great asset to the fun of it all). Somehow that step was also survived and I got down to the easy part- chopping the white oily chunks into little pieces and throwing them in the blender with a touch of water (the recipe says to use the coconut water that was inside but I would rather drink it myself and risk the milk being a little watered down tasting (which doesn’t happen)). After it was all blended I put the shredded coconut in a sieve and pushed out all of the juice I could possibly squeeze. Some of the leftover dry coconut meat got fed to Evie the guard dog and the other I kept to put in rice along with some fresh ginger from the market.

The next day I made a sauce with tomato and coconut milk and braised a couple hunks of tuna in it for about fifteen minutes and then it was all gone in about the same.Of course I could go on for miles and miles about my adventures with breadfruit or the dasheen chips I fried last night or the many different kinds of avocadoes or the super fresh super cheap fish or the boys who scale it for you at the market or the tangerine I ate at lunch or the redfish with starfruit or the lizards in the compost or the black hummingbirds with little green hats out back… but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll make this the shortest letter I’ve ever written and just leave it at that. I have too much to say and it will never do to try and get it all out at once. (And I hear a thunderstorm coming)

So- until next time. I hope everyone is cooking away and enjoying the cool weather as much as I am NOT missing it.
Please don’t ask me how long I’ve been here. If I looked at the calendar it would probably say two weeks. But you never can tell. It is a little like being out in Sequatchie Cove- time has a different meaning.

Since there is so much to say and nowhere to begin so I guess I will start small.

I made my very first batch of coconut milk from beginning to end a few days ago. Making-coconut-milk-from-beginning-to-end has already retired off to the Land of Things Other People Are For- along with changing tires and picking okra.

First I found a strong handsome man to knock the coconuts out of the tree while I lay on the beach and looked at teeny shells. Then I carried the coconuts home, one under each arm, first over volcanic rocks by the raging sea and then up a steep muddy path to the house. Then I proceeded to aimlessly hit them with a cutlass (that is a machete but they call it a cutlass down here so so do I) that I have finally gotten the hang of sharpening (I think). After about thirty minutes of that I began to work out a technique for getting the very fibrous tough husk off. I am pretty sure the easy way to do this is to have a pole in the ground with a nice sharp blade on top and cut and wiggle and work the husk from the coconut with that. But I didn’t have one of those fine-tuned gadgets. Eventually I figured out if I set the coconut up on its end on the ground I could whack off pieces of the husk til I got down to the hard shell. Now, it is all well and good to get down to the hard shell of the coconut but pulling the husk off is a whole new battle. I did figure it out eventually though and by the time I got to my third coconut I was averaging about forty minutes a husking.

Then I had to get the meat out. That took me a little while to figure out til someone around here got the bright idea of looking in a cookbook. It said to roast it for about five minutes in a hot oven or less on a gas flame until the meat starts to separate from the shell. Since my oven doesn’t seem to be working I lit all the gas eyes in the kitchen and set the coconut parts on them (they aren’t quite ‘halves’ if you can’t aim a cutlass very well). I brought the first batch outside with me and set the second on the eyes. While I was outside banging at the roasted pieces trying to make the meat fall clean out (I did this a few days before with coconuts I had bought at the market pre-husked and it worked really well. For some reason this time I had a little trouble) I realized I had forgotten the ones inside. Of course my trusty help who was supposed to be supervising them was too busy reading Anna Karenina and failed to notice that my coconuts were on fire. That was ok though. I kind of like smoky flavored coconut milk for savory things.

So then, after all this was over we had to peel off the inner skin with a paring knife. Of course that takes forever (what fun would it be if it didn’t?) and is also very dangerous (also a great asset to the fun of it all). Somehow that step was also survived and I got down to the easy part- chopping the white oily chunks into little pieces and throwing them in the blender with a touch of water (the recipe says to use the coconut water that was inside but I would rather drink it myself and risk the milk being a little watered down tasting (which doesn’t happen). After it was all blended I put the shredded coconut in a sieve and pushed out all of the juice I could possibly squeeze. Some of the leftover dry coconut meat got fed to Evie the guard dog and the other I kept to put in rice along with some fresh ginger from the market.

The next day I made a sauce with tomato and coconut milk and braised a couple hunks of tuna in it for about fifteen minutes and then it was all gone in about the same.

Of course I could go on for miles and miles about my adventures with breadfruit or the dasheen chips I fried last night or the many different kinds of avocadoes or the super fresh super cheap fish or the boys who scale it for you at the market or the tangerine I ate at lunch or the redfish with starfruit or the lizards in the compost or the black hummingbirds with little green hats out back… but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll make this the shortest letter I’ve ever written and just leave it at that. I have too much to say and it will never do to try and get it all out at once. (And I hear a thunderstorm coming)

So- until next time. I hope everyone is cooking away and enjoying the cool weather as much as I am NOT missing it.

The first letter started with- “I’ve been thinking (I do a lot of that
in my spare time- along with cooking, arranging flowers, making glass
beads, and writing). I was thinking about what I wrote last week about
eating in season. This is obviously very important if you are a local
food eater. I realized that it is easy for me to say it’s easy to eat
only in season- I’m a farmer’s daughter. I’ve been doing it most of my
life and it comes naturally to me. I would have to try NOT to eat in
season and if I did that I would end up spending a lot more money and
feeling a lot less satisfied. But for some it is not so natural. Some
were raised eating what grows on the grocery store shelves- the ones in
the produce department where there is a tiny electrical thunder before
the mist comes out to spray the lettuce from California and the peppers
from Peru. I guess I’ve never thought about how HARD it would be to
re-train yourself to eat only what is coming out of the ground miles
from your own home. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like much and sometimes it
seems like TOO much. Too much of one thing and nothing of another. If
you want to eat pasta in April you can’t make a tomato sauce- you have
to get creative and make a cream sauce with wilted arugula.

Eating in season involves a total commitment. If you didn’t grow up on a
farm it is a conscious act. It’s like turning lights off when you leave
the room- if you grew up in a house where it was ok to leave lights on
all day and night but now want to save the mountain tops you have to
THINK about turning the light off every time you leave the room. It
takes a lot of effort. It also takes effort to simply learn when peppers
grow as well as squash and lettuce and beans and beets. It takes an
effort to even learn what part of the plant they are from. I remember
once a highly esteemed chef visited our farm for the first time and had
no idea whether blueberries grew on vines, bushes, or trees.

But eating right is a lifestyle and as with any lifestyle you have to
TRY. As a city girl I am learning many new things- I am learning if you
work inside all day you have to TRY to get some time outside. You have
to go out of your way to get the exercise your body needs- you have to
put on your shoes and go for a walk. It is way too easy to not do that.
It would be easy to be inside all day and go home and sit down and make
supper and go to bed and never have even had to come in contact with a
mosquito or smell the kudzu blooming (which smells like grape bubble gum).”

And then things got in my way and that is as far as I got. After the
previously mentioned undesirable trip into society I had a running
Market Letter in my head (this ran mostly when I was cooking pork neck
bones into stock, washing dishes, or roasting pounds of sweet peppers to
be skinned and covered in oil and put in the fridge) that started with this:

“Sometimes I just want to write a Market Letter in the style of a fifth
grade essay. I want the title to be ‘What I Love About Farmers’. Since
I’ve now gone this far I feel like I HAVE to share with you
‘what-I-love-about-farmers’.

Farmers work entirely for what they believe in- something that may seem
like a blessing and/or a curse-depending on how you look at it. I
sometimes find myself surrounded by people who work because they “have
to have a job”. That means they can clock in, work hard as heck for
eight hours a day, clock out, and go home and be done with it. Sometimes
they don’t even have to work hard as heck- and even then it stresses
them/us out. And farmers aren’t making the big bucks. We are lucky here
in Chattanooga to have so many farmers who are working all day and all
night (what good farmer doesn’t dream about their crops or animals
constantly?) simply because they believe THAT strongly in what they do
and only want to grow food to feed themselves and their community.

Farmers not only don’t have TIME to worry and talk about who has fake
eyelashes or who’s talking about who or who got spotted going into
Krystal’s on Brainerd Rd (it was ME, I have to admit- I had to use the
free WiFi to see if Food Inc was playing at the Rave (it wasn’t- this
was before the Great Showing at the Bijou)And guess what- I didn‘t even
get a chance to SEE it) but they just plain aren‘t interested. They are
dealing with life and death every day-whether it be that of plants or
animals. They are looking at the clouds and praying it doesn’t rain more
than it already has (or-depending on the time of the year- that it WILL
rain more. They are checking the chard plants and carrying buckets of
feed to the chickens. They are worrying about whether there is going to
be enough food for the CSA share or enough eggs for market. They are
making sure the pigs are healthy or the cows are connecting with their
calves. They are battling pigweed with hoes or washing mounds of
radishes. And they are loving every second of it (most of the time)
because this is the life the have chosen to live.

And all of that aside- they don’t even have to worry about being fit and
trim and healthy because they work outside everyday, breathe in the best
air, and eat the best food available in Tennessee. What could be better?

Of course I could think of a lot of things that could be better and that
is why I am not a farmer. But I would never give up eating the food that
is grown in such a way. I want to personally know every person that
raised the food I put into my body because I know how very important it is”.

So anyway. There is that. I would love to share what I’ve been eating
but as usual I have no more room. I am really excited about the season
change. Last night we ate one of the last tomatoes on a BAT
(bacon-arugula-tomato sandwich. It went like this- Sequatchie Cove bacon
(the real precious kind), Williams Island arugula, one of the few
Brandywine tomatoes hanging on the vine in my yard with Ashley from
Williams Island’s mustard, all on Neidlove’s Farmer’s Rye. After a nice
walk at Reflection Riding it was the perfect supper.

And the other day I had to make something in a super duper hurry and
whomped up some somen noodles tossed in fermented black bean paste with
sautéed delicata, ginger, peppers, and eggplant. I sliced the veggies
while I was waiting for the water to boil and cooked them while the
noodles cooked. It literally took that long.

But I will stop now. It’s not that I don’t have more to say- I just have
to go make some glass beads.

I hope you are all soaking up this wonderful weather. See yall at market!

But now I am holed up inside a cloud on Lookout Mountain with nothing to do today except maybe sweep the floor and make some banana pudding (that is a foodstuff that has nothing to do with the market but is almost a necessary part of the diet if it has rained more than five days in a row). I somehow found a bunch of fair-trade organic bananas among the regular organic bananas at Greenlife so I just had to buy them. But before I make that totally unlocal (excepting the Sequatchie Cove eggs — those precious and much sought after gems) comfort food, I thought I would share some long overdue thoughts.

I’m pretty sure almost everything I think or talk about at some point boils down to food. Of course. You can’t live without food — no matter who you are — so it tends to be up there on the list. I am sure there are people out there who don’t spend most of their days thinking about the next meal, but I certainly am not acquainted with them. But I was noticing the other day as I looked over my boyfriend’s shoulder while he was reading some food article or review or something-or-other from the New York or LA Times or somewhere-or-other that although the photos were pretty and the words contained a few organics, some fresh, a little bit of artisan this and batch-made that, there was no mention of what FARM the food came from. How in the WORLD (I was thinking) can you cook a chicken breast with red peppers and toss it with some basil and cream and put it on some bread to make a sandwich and not mention where the chicken, or the peppers, or basil, cream, and bread were FROM?

This is why we shop at the market. We are proud, relieved, happy, and more than willing to say — I got my chicken from River Ridge, my peppers from Williams Island, my basil from Crabtree, and my bread from Neidlov’s. We’ve met every farmer/baker involved in our sandwich and that simple reason makes it taste SO good.

I was also thinking. shopping at the market FORCES us to be aware of the seasons. There are certain things that just don’t work- like unfortunately tomatoes and cilantro rarely cross paths. As do(n’t) lettuce and cucumbers. You can just forget about a lettuce salad with cucumbers because it might be too hot for lettuce or too cold for cucumbers. Of course there are a few hardy lettuces that can beat the heat. A few weeks ago Candice from Crabtree brought lettuce to the market. I thought it was hilarious that the people who’s mouths started watering were the other FARMERS. They were swimming through seas of tomatoes, peppers, melons, cucumbers, squash, eggplant and basil, and a simple green watery refreshing bunch of lettuce was enough to make them clap with joy. Because they knew more than anyone how precious it is. Of course, they had forgotten that a very few months ago they were so tired of lettuce they swore they’d never eat it again.

It is funny how excited we get at the beginning of a season and how torturous it is by the end. I love eggplant with all my heart but about now I “think” I would be happy if I never saw one of those purple globes again. All I want is a nice big pot of collard greens or maybe a fresh cabbage slaw.

That’s why I was full of joy to see radishes and arugula on Williams Island’s table and River Ridge overflowing with winter squashes. The season switch is always fun because you can, for a few weeks, combine the first and the last. Last night we had a tomato salad (I have a few plants in my yard) with thinly sliced sweet peppers, radishes, and cucumbers. Or the night before was a butternut squash soup with roasted sweet peppers and the zing of a jalapeno. I also made a salad of roasted beets (I leave the skin on and just slice them into wedges and cook them til they are shriveled in a 350 degree or so oven), roasted peppers (I throw them under the broiler in the oven til they are black, put them in a covered bowl and let them ‘sweat’ for about ten minutes, and pull of the black skins), and broiled (also under the oven broiler) eggplant slices tossed in chopped garlic and oil. I cooled all of those vegetables and tossed them in basil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Just when you think you are getting sick of everything, some autumn vegetable makes its way in and redefines everything.

I think this can be frustrating to people if they are used to having a very wide variety of vegetables all that time. I personally love the special-ness and excitement of the huge floods of this and that — playing around and cooking old things new ways. I just “know” this is how food is in Tennessee because it’s all I’ve ever had. We have growing seasons for certain things and all the farmers grow it because that is what works best. I think eating in season involves rearranging what ‘staples’ means. To make a soup does not mean you start with the basic three basic carrot, onion, and celery trio. I NEVER have celery in my kitchen (unless the occasional celeriac in the spring or fall counts). As a result I don’t miss it a bit. I don’t even CARE about celery. If I can’t get it fresh then why should I? And carrots only grow sometimes and onions do too. So that means that a soup starts with something totally different. And much better. I don’t even know what it’s like to eat broccoli all year long or have an apple every day. Why would I want to eat some mealy old apple in the middle of hot summer if I can just eat tomatoes and wait til the REAL apples come in with their thick spotted skins and crisp juicy insides. The sweet burst of a muscadine would know longer register in my brain as ‘autumn is almost here’ if I ate them in the spring. Not only do things taste (much much) better when they are in season, but they MEAN something to your body and brain. I think certain things grow in certain weather because that is what our bodies need at that particular time. I always feel a difference in my mood and thoughts when the season changes and I think it is very nice to be able to change my diet along with everything else. It just makes sense.

And that, my friends, is all I have to say (although that is a flat-out lie — I could go on for pages about how great I think the market and eating in season and just eating and cooking in general and farmers and muscadines is but I won’t this time) sooooo . See y’all at market!

I have enough of that to scrape by with believing almost every day that I am probably the luckiest girl in the whole world. One of these days I am going to have to go back into society and relearn how to cook on a four burner stove or even, horrors of horror, an ELECTRIC four burner stove. If you think a double bake-convection oven larger than standard size is too much, then develop a huge passion for cooking, move in to my house for a week and you will wonder why you ever thought such a thing. And granite counters? Kneading bread and a climate controlled space to lay tomatoes and small batches of ferment are a few reasons. And I haven’t even mentioned the miles of counter space, acres of cabinets, huge sink with a window to look out of and watch the chipmunks play, and about five really sharp knives. I don’t want to make anyone jealous. I do have ants in my kitchen, to lessen your pain. But they are sweet little teeny brown ants and actually becoming great friends of mine. They mind their own business (most of the time) and don’t do much except crawl around and eat whatever offerings I accidentally leave out. They are nothing like the gigantic carnivorous black ants you see lurking around in people’s kitchens waiting for you to fall asleep so they can take a bite of your toe. My ants are refined and intelligent and I mourn every time I unknowingly bring one out in the world with me and it is lost from its tribe. (I’ve even done some personal high-tech computer diagnosing and figured out that the reason I don’t get emails sometimes is because an ant rode a cd into my computer once and never came out and now lives in there and eats emails when he gets really hungry)

But that’s enough of that. I was going to sit down and write about what I’d been cooking today but the gorgeousness of the kitchen distracted me.

Last market I left with a case each of cucumbers and tomatoes from Signal Mountain Farm, and green tomatoes and sweet peppers from Crabtree. I also brought home some jalapenos, green beans, chicken livers, and beets from River Ridge, garlic from Crabtree, eggplant and more jalapenos from Williams Island, summer squash and those highly addictive sweet peppers from Sequatchie Cove. But those are just for myself and the rest is for this new canning fever I’ve developed.

And then I came down with a REAL fever Thursday night (I could not get to anything that day because I was out working) and was bedridden til Sunday. Which brought on feverish nightmares of all the tomatoes rotting, the fruit flies descending on the cucumbers and black ants moving in and devouring the sweet peppers. Fortunately, thanks to those granite counter tops and the Lookout Mountain Breeze, everything was basically intact. I started by making a gallon of brined cucumber from the recipe in Sandor’s book — Wild Fermentation (if you don’t have every book ever sold at market you should. Hopefully Clover Wreath is still selling Wild Fermentation because you HAVE to have it. And River Ridge is selling Grassfed Gourmet, because that is also essential to grassfed beef cooking (the only beef there should be anyway).

As my strength gathered I sliced cucumbers and let them sit in a bath of ice water for bread and butter pickles. I diced more cucumbers and sweet peppers for a cucumber pepper relish. Then I diced MORE sweet peppers for a pepper and onion relish ( I have been stocking up at market on onions every time I see them at someone’s booth — you always need onions and lots of them) and then proceeded to do my new favorite thing — peel tomatoes for simple canned whole tomatoes. Those are processing right now and the cucumber relish is waiting to go next.

In the meantime I have been roasting eggplant and sweet peppers for a babaganoush sort of dip for a potluck I am going to tonight. I have never had a recipe so I just roast the eggplant til soft, throw some garlic in the food processor with the eggplant, some tahini, salt, a squeeze of lemon juice, a touch of cumin and paprika, and a drizzle of olive oil. I also like to add roasted red peppers if I have sweet peppers to roast.

This is what you DO this time of year – so that you can have food to eat in the winter and plenty of gifts to give so that your friends and family will have food to eat in the winter. There is something deep inside of me that becomes very happy when it sees counters and cabinets full of jars of pickles, relishes, and jams. You should definately experience it.

The great thing about the market is that this time of year most of the farmers have loads of food they want to sell- what they bring to market might not be all they have. It is fun to get creative — there is a recipe somewhere in this world for almost any idea you can think of and all you have to do is follow it. Of course you need to stock up on supper-time food but for the rest of this month is a good time to stock up on the stock-up food. I’m sure that any red-blooded market goer can not imagine sitting down to a meal that is not full of vegetables from farmers they know. But my friends, those day will come. And it good to build a nice fort of full jars to hide behind, a refrigerator full of kimchee, and a freezer full of tomato sauce and everything else you can freeze (I can’t freeze ANYTHING because my freezer is already packed full with broths, strawberries, lamb, pesto, and who knows what else. I open the door, locate what I need and shut it quick enough so as not to be buried in a real Chattanooga avalanche.

I love hearing from yall — let me know how your stocking-up is going, what you ate for supper, or why YOU think your kitchen is the idea of heaven.

I bought a case of tomatoes from Signal Mountain Farm last week for an awesomely low price — I think it was around twenty five or thirty dollars. The addiction addition is twofold. One, I really love the way tomato skins slip off after an instant of blanching (I am new to the tomato skinning world and have heard about this trick but never had any reason to try it). And two, I love the way my house smells after hours of cooking down tomato sauces. I love the way the tomatoes are pink and watery at first and then three hours later are a deep rich red. I’m afraid one case isn’t going to cut it for me — my cupboards are just going to have to find space next to the tomato chile sauce and tomato-cayenne relish that already resides there.

I spent all day making gumbo today. That is what you have to do when you make gumbo — spend all day. The day before I took some ‘stock parts’ of chicken out of my freezer that I’d picked up on a farm visit to Dave Waters’ farm — River Ridge. This contained the backs, necks, and feet of chicken and although not quite fit for those unaccustomed to the joys of chicken parts, they make a luscious broth. The feet have a lot of gelatin and other good things and you really can’t make a perfect broth without them. It IS a little scary to see chicken toenails poking out of the stock pot but once it is all said and done I never regret it. After I’d cooked that for about four hours I let it cool, drained off the bones, and put the broth in the fridge. Then I picked off whatever meat was stuck to the backs (it turned out to be about two cups) and tossed the rest.

Today I took all the fat off the stock and after making a brown brown roux of equal parts butter and flour (you have to let it cook-stirring every now and then- until it is passed the point of smelling like popcorn and looks like really dark peanut butter) tossed in a chopped onion, a couple peppers, some shiitake, a quarter pound of sliced okra, a few chili peppers, and five cloves of garlic. I cooked that til the onions were soft and then threw in my chicken stock, about five chopped tomatoes, some salt, paprika, nutmeg, thyme, and cumin and let that cook for four hours. Then I sliced up some of those special Sequatchie Cove sausages, fried them, and threw them in along with the salvaged chicken meat. Then I let it cool and put it in the fridge for tomorrow night. It would have been good today but I think it’s even better to let it sit and think about things.

To go back to the ‘fast food’ side of life — Two night ago I pulled a beef eye of round roast from my freezer, thawed it, and sliced half of it into very thin slices. I marinated the slices in ginger, garlic, beer, and a cayenne for a few hours. In the meantime I sliced some of Sequatchie Cove’s famous sweet peppers (I don’t know what it is but this year I have fallen deeply in love with the amazingly sweet crunchiness of these peppers), a cucumber or two from Williams Island, and a yellow squash from Clover Wreath. I made dressing of a couple lime’s juices, an a touch of fish sauce. I heated up my cast iron griddle til it was super hot and then threw the beef slices on for a few seconds — until just done. Eye of round can be tricky — you have to either cook it forever or barely at all. After they had cooled I added them to the vegetables.

To go with this ‘beef salad’ I cut some River Ridge Farm potatoes into chunks and cooked them in some turmeric, a touch of fenugreek seed, sliced onion, a few jalapenos, salt, and enough water to cover them. When they were done I threw in about a half a cup of coconut milk. They were wonderful — especially if you smash them with your fork and mixed in some coconut milk gravy. I checked out this book call Mangoes and Curry Leaves from the library — a few weeks ago I had checked out Hot Sour Salty Sweet written by the same people- they are both big, beautiful books full of pictures and cover most of the Asian continent.

I also made my first chile relleno this week with some poblanos from Sequatchie Cove. For some reason I have always been a little scared of them — I think it must be the frying part. I am terrified of frying, although every time I brave it it seems to turn out just fine. Or maybe because I like the IDEA of chile relleno but since I’ve never really had a very good one, they seem scary — something a little soggy, spongy, gooey, salty, bland and served with a side of goopy beans and slightly hard dry rice tends to be a little frightening.

So, I took the chilies and roasted them over the gas flame on the stove. When they were black all over I threw them in a bowl and put a plate on top — that lets them sweat a little in their own charred skins and helps the skin come off better. While I waited for that to happen I heated up a wok of oil, and grated a little sharp cheddar and crumbled up some goat cheese. Then I took the chilies out, scraped off the skins, made a slit in one side and cut out the seeds. You have to leave the top intact — which is a little hard because the seeds are attached to it. I just cut them off with a knife and shook out all the rest. Then I stuffed the peppers with the cheese and patched the seam in each one with a big basil leaf. You are supposed to use epazote — a Mexican herb that I hardly ever find fresh — but I didn’t have any so I substituted something I have quite a lot of. If you put it on the inside and pull the edges shut it does a great job at keeping the filling in — very important when frying. Then I beat the whites of two eggs til stiff and then quickly whipped in the yolks. I dipped each chile into the eggs and then right into the wok where they turned a gorgeous golden brown and puffed up nicely. I let those drain for a second (if the oil is as hot as it should be they barely absorb any), put them on a platter, and covered them in a tomato sauce of a couple Williams Island tomatoes, five Crabtree cloves of garlic, and a River Ridge onion that I’d made before I started the chilies.

Even looking at that is hard but really and truly it was easier than it sounds. AND I was totally unprepared for how amazingly heavenly they were. Really, I have never had anything like it. The cheese was soft and melty, the outside of the chilies were warm and crisp, and the sauce was fresh a perfect balance for the slight heat of the chile. (although the heat of the chile to ME was just slightly warm, the other person I served them to would not agree. If you have any kind of sensitivity to heat, try making them with some other pepper ( I actually wouldn’t recommend it because sweet peppers usually have much thicker walls and it would not be near as balanced and delicate as a poblanos).

If you want to make chile relleno or any other wonderful Mexican food — check out Seasons of my Heart by Susana Trilling. It is mainly Oaxacan — style cooking. It one of about three cookbooks that I look at on a regular basis- the rest I just glance at every now and then if I’m desperate for ideas.

Now I’m just going to have to sit on my hands until next week when I can score another case of tomatoes.

See yall at market. If you have any questions like — how do I use a whole bunch of squash or what is a good way to cook eggplant let me know. I might be able to answer you if I can get basil and tomatoes off my mind.

It seems a lot of my sentences start with either — ‘I had this really great meal last night’ or ‘I’m reading this really great book right now’.

I’m reading this really great book right now. There a few things I like to do besides eat food, cook food, ferment food, talk about food, or write about food. I like reading about it. I like reading in general — probably because in my house growing up the two most asked questions were either ‘what are we going to cook for dinner?’ or ‘what are you reading right now?’ I’m reading Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl. I found another one of her books awhile ago — Tender at the Bone — and instantly fell deep in love. She was the restaurant critic for the LA and New York Times at one point — a job that it seems both she and I have mixed feelings about. I won’t go into any detail about it because you just have to take my word for it and read everything she’s written. (she is very honest, down-to-earth, passionate, AND a really good writer) In the last few chapters I’ve read her husband tells her that she has lost grip on who she is and she responds by ducking back into her own kitchen and cooking up a storm. For some people this is the best therapy there is and I am pretty sure I fall smack dab into the middle of that category.

Nobody has told me that I am losing my grip on reality (although they probably should every now and then) but I have found myself wanting more than anything to lose myself in my kitchen. I have been canning pickled beets by the gallon, pickling little baby onions from Williams Island, putting away corn relish, and peeling garlic and pulverizing it into batches of pesto that go into the freezer. I was torn this morning between pickling banana peppers from Signal Mountain, making another batch of corn relish (this time adding tomatoes from my own yard), cutting down the cabbage in my yard and making a big batch of sauerkraut, or writing this letter.

I think maybe the summer abundance of food has made me delirious and I can’t think of anything but ‘what should I cook for supper tonight?’ (I am plotting on chile relleno with some poblanos from Sequatchie Cove or maybe some gazpacho with Signal Mountain tomatoes, Williams Island cucumbers and more tomatoes, and Sequatchie Cove peppers — or maybe both).

I bought a half a lamb from Williams Island because there was no way in the world I was going to resist that. I haven’t really bought any amount of meat in my whole life but you can’t turn down lamb. For one thing Katahdin lamb is the best in the whole world and the only I will ever eat. It is tender and mild and has a touch of that familiar lamby taste but is not overpowering. For another, it is perfect for someone like me who either cooks for two or three people at a time or in the other extreme-ten or fifteen. A packet of lamb chops is perfect for two people. Everything about lamb is smaller and more delicate. You can throw all of a half in a home freezer and still have plenty of room for the gallons of basil pesto (that story will come later) and pasta sauce slow cooked with tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant. If you have a crowd you can pull out a few packs of stew meat and make a wonderful curry, or maybe the big leg and roast it up with some potatoes, onions, and lemon slices.

Last night we had lamb chops cooked in beer and surrounded by two head-fuls of garlic. With that there were udon (the favorite noodle, beside homemade of course, of my house) tossed in garlicky pesto and chunks of rich purple tomatoes. And a salad of cucumber, sweet pepper (when I say sweet pepper I mean it — I got some orangish long peppers from Sequatchie Cove and they were the crispest, sweetest things), and a splash of vinegar and salt. The best thing about all that was I had already made the pesto so the whole meal took about twenty minutes. Which left me plenty of time to plot what I was going to do with all my OTHER pesto.

I don’t know if you saw the huge bags of basil Crabtree was selling for ten dollars last week but I did. The first thing I did when I saw them was run away really fast as Candice called after me — you KNOW you want it Ann! Of course I did NOT want it. Who wants a garbage bag full of sweet, pungent, the-romantic-essence-of- summer basil? Not I. But I did want a few cayenne and when I ventured back, hoping Candice would be distracted, I ended up with a handful of cayenne and a huge bagful of basil. The ride home was delightful. When we got back we cracked open a couple beers, cranked up some short stories on cd, sliced and salted a few tomatoes, and started plucking basil leaves from their stems. It was like a sewing circle or corn husking party except it turned my thumb nail black and smelled a whole lot better. I turned most of it into pesto and fell asleep dreaming of focaccia slathered in pesto, pesto and ground lamb stuffed tortellini, bagels covered in cream cheese and pesto..

To follow up my Indian dinner the other week I had a Thai dinner. I made a spicy curry of cayenne, a few cilantro plants pulled out of my yard (the recipe called for the root but since my plants we kind of teeny I added what was left of the bolted leaves, some of the green seed, and a few dried seeds as well (that would be coriander — cilantro and coriander are the same thing and most English speaking countries call it all coriander- when it’s cilantro they just call it ‘fresh’), some ginger, garlic, galangal (a cousin of ginger — I buy it dried from the Asian Food store on Hixson Pike but I recently discovered they also have it frozen — along with wild lime leaves and a lot of other roots I needed and didn’t have for this dinner — I guess that only means there will have to be a re-make), lime, and some fish sauce. I had slow-cooked a Sequatchie Cove pork shoulder the day before and put some of it into spring rolls along with sliced Williams Island carrots, kale from my yard, sliced yellow squash from Clover Wreath, and loads of basil. The rest of the pork was chopped and put in the curry along with eggplant from Signal Mountain, and green beans from my own yard. I gave myself a blister cutting carrots into thin matchsticks. I let them sit in rice vinegar, salt, and a touch of honey while I sliced cucumbers and sprinkled them with minced ginger and rice vinegar. I cooked up some sticky brown rice, sliced up some cabbage and sweet peppers, finished off the curry in a hot wok and served it all up (well, we ate the spring rolls first in the living room while we listed to This American Life and THEN migrated out to the big rock in my front yard where we ate. I have discovered that it is very nice to sit on big Indian cushions on the ground in the garden to eat dinner)

And that is all I have to say. I have heard I have a tendency to rant and rave and need to make my letters short and sweet. I can make them sweet but I’m not sure about short.

I just want to say before I end this sweetly but at the same time shortly — I am SO excited about the variety at the market. If you hit up every booth you come home with everything you could possibly need — seriously. There are potatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, eggplant, edamame, okra, squash, cucumbers, tomatoes and more tomatoes (I’m a little hysterical about that part), insane yard-long purple beans (check them out at River Ridge — they are awesome), berries, honey, bread, and herbs. You don’t even have to turn on a LIGHT when you eat your supper past dark because you can buy as many candles as you need (what kind of barbarian would eat by the glow of an electric light anyway?) from Lou at Sale Creek Honey.

I have discovered one more thing — this is the first year I have actually legally PAID for my vegetables (somehow I always ended up trading cakes or bagels or time hoeing the green beans for spotty tomatoes or the overflow of squash) and I think the market is only place I should be allowed to shop in town. For thirty-five dollars I can go home with enough to food to get me through at least a large dinner party, my own meals throughout the week, and even a few months this winter via anything I happen to can, freeze, or ferment. And impulse-buying at the market is no more harmful than a ten pound bag of basil that takes up a whole car seat by itself. That just leaves my coffee habit to support and the bags of flour I go through to support my bagel-making habit.

Let me know what you’ve been cooking — I love to hear about it. See you at the market (I’ll be the one that smells like basil — I have this new plan to make perfume with the oil.)

The farm is in a blessedly very rural part of Tennessee. To get there you have to drive on a few small roads where most of the houses are hardly bigger than the cars parked out front (it is funny in America how small cars usually live at big houses and big SUVS live at the smaller ones). One of our neighbors raised goats- mainly to eat up the undergrowth in the woods, but sometimes to sell for slaughter. One day he gave us a miniature Billy goat. I think now it was just to get rid of the thing.

Back then we were just beginning farming and since Bill was a city slicker from Atlanta he didn’t know that goats don’t like to be alone. That poor goat lived a lonely life. He was constantly looking for lady goats- or any goat at all- and as a result smelled EVER so strongly of goat musk. You could smell his plea for companionship from across an entire field. After awhile he turned mean and desperate and would chase you and the cows and our dogs around in circles. One day Jimmy (our very first calf born at the farm to Jersey, an ornery Jersey milking cow who produced half a gallon of cream to every gallon of milk) had her first calf. It must have been during a thunderstorm and she and her calf got separated as soon as the birth happened (as calm as cows are they are also prone to panic). Jimmy would not accept her calf as her own because they did not get that initial mother-calf greeting. So Bill and I went down in the field to bring the couple to the shed where they could reconnect.

But our Billy goat was angry at the world by then and chased Jimmy through the fence and me through another fence and the calf through another until it was complete chaos. I don’t remember how we finally made it to safety but somehow Bill, me, Jimmy, and her calf all ended up in the shed with the goat on the other side of a very battered gate.

After that we decided it was time for the goat to go. We tried every way to get him in the trailer until we finally ended up having him chase my fifteen-year-old cousin in the trailer in a fit of goat rage and cheering for my cousin as he quickly turned, ran out, and slammed the gate. I hope the goat found a better home- complete with ladies a-plenty…

To conclude, we have learned a whole whole lot since then. Fortunately most of the mistakes have been learning experiences and will not be repeated in the same way- at least not anytime soon. But sometimes in life I can still feel that goat chasing me. And as I run I learn from it. I think that story popped into my head as I sat down to write this because I feel a new wind blowing into Chattanooga. I felt like I was fourteen again walking behind Jimmy to meet her calf in the shed with a goat hot on our heels.

Although- I’m not really sure at the same time what that story has to do with anything. It was all I could think about when I sat down to write this though so I thought I’d share it.

So without further ado I want to say- YEA to the Movies on Main. I have to admit that I didn’t thoroughly follow the New Food Economy Week rules and proceed the movies with a visit to the Terminal Brew house. I instead spent the afternoon at Williams Island Farm hoeing morning glories out of pepper plants and then helped cook a meal of homade pasta and meatballs. But I don’t think that is too bad…

It was so nice to sit down on the ground and watch a couple movies projected against Neidlove’s wall in the middle of Main Street hubbub- complete with fire trucks roaring out. And the movies were such a great selection. I get so tired of seeing really intense movies about slaughter houses and huge conventional farms. I think by now most of us have read Fast Food Nation or seen Our Daily Bread. We KNOW what is going on and that is why we shop directly from local farm. The horrors are so passé. I liked the movies because they were simply nice documentaries on the SOUTH. The first was about a moonshiner who sang songs and ballads I know almost by heart throughout the movie and the second was about a small town who cooks barbeque ’whole hog’. I think that these movies were more educational for me than a lot of other ones could be. They were simple and straight forward and both had a lot of darkness. The moonshiner was a terrible alcoholic and the barbequers lived solely to cook pigs and developed all kinds of lung problems from breathing in smoke all the time…

But this is US. I liked both of the movies because they were kinda based on food but really focused on CULTURE. They did what they did because they loved it, had fun, and truly believed in it. A man wants to spend his whole life cooking whole hogs to just give people a good barbeque sandwich? He will give up family and health just to make his neighbors happy to eat SANDWICH?

Ah. Ok. So I will stop with that. I just want to say that the movies were MOVING to me (isn’t that what they are supposed to do?). They made me think more clearly about the very region I live in and be very proud and at the same time ready to move on…. There is a lot from the past that we can take- mainly this passion for the BEST (whether it be barbeque (which CANNOT be made from simply a shoulder or ham I’ve learned) or moonshine- and there is a lot that we have to keep from losing))

And now I am ready to move on to the next day where we had our Community Discussion with Bill Keener, Sandor Katz, and Trea Moore at GreenSpaces on Main Street. What a wonderful collection of people right there. Sandor was really nice to have around to somehow keep Bill’s comments on the ground. I know from twenty three years of experience (and having inherited a bit of it myself) that Bill can get a little carried away and leave the rest of us thinking- truckloads of cantaloupe WHAT? But really it was a nice discussion- Bill and Sandor opened by talking a little about food, local food, and what the heck it all means in the first place and why we should even care…

And Sandor said something that reminded me of my whole spiel on buying peppers in the middle of winter at Greenlife and about awareness- this is our job. Peppers sell the heck out of themselves at Greenlife in the middle of winter. I personally would never buy one- that actually has never crossed my mind. That is not to say that you should STOP buying from Greenlife because they sell peppers in the middle of winter (they ARE a grocery store afterall). But it would be really nice if we all could stop and look around us and think, are peppers even in SEASON? And some people don’t even KNOW how to do that. Some people don’t even know seasons exist. Sandor said- just because he is conscious of what he eats and where it comes from he is not going to stop some treating himself to some luxuries like a nice juicy pineapple, which we cannot grow here (although my mother did a few summers ago- it was about the size of my fist but delicious and juicy all the same), or chocolate, or avocados. But we have to think of these things as just that- treats and luxuries.

But the best part about eating in season is that EVERYTHING becomes a treat. The first strawberry, the first snap pea, the first stalk of asparagus, the first head of lettuce, bunch of kale, beet, pepper, cucumber, and glory be- the first tomato! Have you EVER tasted anything so sweet, or crunchy, or juicy, or wonderfully bitter, or just plain ALIVE? I know I haven’t. I remember when I was little my favorite foods were raspberries, cheese, olives, and tomatoes. The cheese and olives I’m sure were around a lot but I KNOW what that first raspberry tastes like. I think I even wrote a poem about it. And tomatoes- expect me to faint on the spot at the sight of the first tomato (I try to stay conscious though- just to make sure no one else eats it). As Frank Stitt said- eating like this creates a hunger and desire that we don’t otherwise get. It brings huge amounts of joy into the simple act of eating (which, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t think is simple at all- it’s about as simple as a spider web covered in the morning dew).

But I think I’ll stop now before I get carried away (or maybe I’ll say one more thing). Right before the talk was over my mother and I had to rush off to see the last performance of Sothern Connections at the Chattanooga Theater Center. I didn’t feel too bad about leaving because this was a play written by a local playwright and performed by mostly people I knew. And it was a whole lot of fun. It was a perfect way to end a day of local-community consciousness.

NOW I’ll stop. I want to write about the fun cheese tasting at Sequatchie Cove and the fabulous lunch but that is going to wait til part THREE. Because I also want to find some space to talk about what I’ve been cooking and I know there’s none of that.

But- it has been really nice to see new faces at all of these events. That is so refreshing and encouraging. Thank everyone for coming and I’ll see you all at the market- if not before.

The market this week was wonderful as usual and there were more people shopping than ever. It started out looking (and even pretending) like it was going to rain. That did not stop anyone from either coming to set up their stand or to shop. I love that first rush of people- the ones who seem like they have been sitting in their cars like vultures waiting for the strawberries and chard to hit the table so they can swoop down and buy them all up. Everyone has a list in hand and are sure they will be able to get everything they need because they are the FIRST ones there. And the next hour was nice with people socializing and sharing and milling about sampling pesto and swapping lettuce stories. There are so many people who are enthusiastic about the food they eat and want to share it with all their friends. I love seeing new faces at the market- especially those new faces who look like they’ve just heard the most exciting news ever- ‘this is here EVERY Wednesday?! And it’s JUST food and farmers?! .’

My body has been almost literally starved from the past winter months and now my kitchen, fridge, freezer, and cabinets are chock-full with a little (and sometimes a LOT) of everything that is in season. And since my roommates and I have totally different schedules I don’t even have that many people to feed. I end up actually cooking supper about three times a week and eating leftovers.

(I developed this problem when I lived (and grew up) at Sequatchie Cove and cooked for ten or so (very hardworking and hungry) people a day where now it is literally impossible to cook a meal for two, let alone one, people. What? You can’t eat a whole head of lettuce, three bunches of kale, two bunches of beets, and a cup of rice and lentils cooked with fennel bulb and garlic scapes by yourself? What have you been DOING all day? Don’t you know it’s haying season?)

So anyway, I end up eating slaw, an egg, leftover pilaf, and a HUGE salad all by my lonesome more often than I’d like. But my Greenlife shopping has slowed down to coffee (I certainly won’t live without that- I don’t care how many tomatoes are on the vine), toilet paper, sugar for my various jams and ginger ales I’ve been cooking up, and some yogurt to eat with my strawberries for breakfast (and other luxuries such as potato chips (something else I’m not quite willing to live without), avocados, flour, and fresh squeezed orange juice). Glory be! Of course there are staples like beans and rice that I buy but the further I get into summer the more I just rely simply what is in season. Which means I have to have a LOT of it. Because I don’t just cook supper I also freeze, ferment, and can for those dark cold months in the not so distant future.

I (and I know the rest of yall are too) jumping for joy with having a cucumber from Crabtree (or even jalapenos if you are lucky enough to be in the Island’s CSA) to toss in my bag along with kale from Williams Island, a nice fresh copy of Wild Fermentation that Breann from Clover Wreath had for sale this week (I really like that addition to the market- it is becoming so WHOLE- you can get plants, vegetables, bread, honey, meat, and even BOOKS that will tell you how to use every bit of your new loot) and TADA!- chicken from River Ridge Farm. Now maybe David will be able to sleep at night without hearing me beg incessantly for chicken. at least for a few weeks. (I am SO excited about this- maybe because I’M exhausted from hearing my boyfriend beg incessantly (of COURSE he is not allowed to eat any chicken he doesn’t know- at least not to my knowledge. He can do whatever he wants when he’s not around me but Fire and Brimstones if I hear about it)). It is so sweet and small and I plan on roasting it whole with a little wreath of garlic scapes (after I rub it down with some rosemary from the yard and salt). I also got a stewing hen which gets me just as excited because I can make delicate and delicious chicken broth and then use the meat for those things I love but would NEVER make with a young tender chicken like salad or pot pie.

And now. down to the business I like the most- talking about my kimchee. I am sure that yall have been waiting so anxiously to hear whether snap peas ferment well. And I am here to tell you in person that WELL is not a good enough word. FABULOUS might work in a pinch. Especially when it is combined with fabulous kohlrabi, fennel, and nappa cabbage from Signal Mountain Farm and the last of the amazing garlic scapes from Williams Island, and crisp crunchy radishes from Sequatchie Cove and sweet wee beets from Clover Wreath. I am now plotting a turnip/black radish extravaganza ferment from William’s Island.

The other night we had HOT DOGS. I would never have believed it but Justin in the meat department at Greenlife whomped up the best ones EVER with some Sequatchie Cove beef (if they don’t have any in the case then just keep asking for them over and over until they do- that seems to be the best way to get anything done). We had them on a Neidlove’s baguette bun with mustard, cucumber relish from last year, and some of Ashley from Williams Island’s famous pepper jelly from last summer. And I made another potato salad- with the same mustard (also from Ashley), dill, and garlic scapes, and green onions. But this time I mixed things up and added some basil as well. And I made a slaw of broccoli and beets from Sequatchie Cove, fennel bulb from Signal Mountain, kale and zucchini from Williams Island and a dressing of vinegar, salt, and honey from Sale Creek.

Excuse me for the distractions but I just remembered a candle I got from Lou at Sale Creek honey. She started this week making little boxes from calendar pages she’s saved up and you can get one and pick out candles to make your own personalized gift box. I just got a teeny one with a single tea candle made from pure sweet beeswax to give to my roommate because she is my best friend and I appreciate her. That is the best thing about little gifts like that- you can give them all the time to whoever you want and you don’t even have to wait til their birthday or bachlorette party. I also got a jar of honey for my boyfriend but for more ominous reasons. to make strawberry t’ej with. That is an Egyptian honey wine (not traditionally made with strawberries) and it doesn’t sound as good to me as mead does. But I am wary in general of first-time home brewers (I have some very vivid memories of dark-beer stains on the ceiling when I was a young girl and Bill (my father) was experimenting with the art of home-brewery). But sometimes gifts must float other peoples boats and not just your own..

And then on an another note- I got a WONDERFUL email from a certain Cortney Mild who is a work share for Crabtree. She send me two meals she had the past week and both sound spectacular (this word is not an overstatement and I think every meal we eat should be just that). The first was pizza she made with her roommate- it was all intermingled with homemade crust, herbs from her garden, sausage from Sequatchie Cove (to go back off on something else- I think it is really fun to watch the competition as everyone tries to get in on their share of Trea’s link sausage made with Cove pigs- a man today had not gotten his the week before because Bill was talking to another Bill and he felt like he had to wait his turn. I am here to tell you that there is no such turn. You have to pull out your money and act like a true Italian and DEMAND you have your sausage (granted THEY have it in the cooler). That is all the fun in the market- this whole new culture that most markets and countries already have..) Anyway. Cortney was lucky enough to have some of that sausage and put it on her pizza along with pesto from Crabtree basil, shiitake from Sequatchie Cove (shiitake are fickle creatures- hopefully the Island’s logs will start producing soon as well as Sequatchie Cove’s because they certainly come and go as they please- it’s all based on how many squirrels are hungry, the heat, and how often it rains), and zucchini from Crabtree. The next day she had grilled potatoes from Greenlife with Alchemy veggie spice, grilled red cabbage with pats of butter from her milk group (good (grass-fed, un-pasteurized, un-homogenized) milk is hard to find around here and the Tennessee rules are rather strict- it is defiantly legal but you have to TRY to find it if you want to buy it), and dipped them in Tzatziki sauce (a simple yogurt sauce (Greek?) usually served with grilled meat) made of Greek style yogurt (thick yogurt that has most of the liquid drained from it) from Greenlife, Crabtree garlic and cucumbers, and chocolate mint and ‘renegade’ (I assume they made it through the winter) chives from her garden.

I read that and I had two thoughts- the first was YES!- this is how everyone should eat (with a little bit of this local farm, that local grocery, and you very own garden) and the second was- thank you for writing me! I love hearing about everyone’s kitchen times.

She is defiantly not the only person who has written though. It is so fun and interesting to hear from everyone who come from different backgrounds and totally different age groups. I love to see that everyone around me is just as excited about learning and experimenting as I am. Thank yall for writing and I really hope to talk to you at the market.

So. I’m sorry if I sounded scattered, it’s simply the mosquitoes buzzing in my ear. Hopefully I will be more prompt next week telling you what I’ve been up to. (I would LOVE to tell you about the pizza we had the other night (an idea all thanks to Courtney) but that will have to wait- I just want to say that pizza is one of the easiest and funnest ways to use up almost any vegetable you have lying around- the more unusual it sounds the better it tastes. at least with pizza)

See yall soon, and try to stay cool (but remember a good sweat really gets you ready for the glorious things to come)..