Playing catch-up.

Lewisburg.

It's been quite some time since I've posted much of anything here, though it's not for lack of interesting doin's a-transpirin'. So, I'll just cram the last month's worthwhile mentions in here all at once.

The Mighty Mighty Garden
I haven't mentioned much about the garden all summer, though it's been an overall success. There were occasional failures - the kale and leeks didn't get enough water early on; raccoons got most of the sweet corn; the Romanesco stubbornly refuses to create a head - but much of it has exceeded expectations. We had dinner for eight last weekend in a desperate attempt to use up the vast amounts of Lao eggplant and other vegetables in a fiery green Thai curry, with lots of sliced multicolored tomatoes for a mouth-cooling side dish.

It's been, as I tell myself every so often, a learning year. I'm already ankle-deep in planning for next year, with garlic arriving for planting next week. The spinach and mache should be planted for overwintering soon, too, so we'll see how they take. There's been so much food already that we'll have a thoroughly stocked basement to last us through the winter. Nuclear or not.

I was amused to note an article from the LA Times on too many tomatoes. Not a problem I'd ever expected to have, though we're toeing the line this year.

Oh, and pears, both Asian and European. More than I can even know what to do with, or even give away. Next year, I'll have to put a plan in place.

Fermentacular!
Speaking of garden bounty, I've had pretty good success with my first-ever attempt at cabbage. There's been a bit of a cabbage looper infestation in the brassicas, though the plants seem to be getting along well enough. Next year I'm planning to keep some organic Bt handy to quell the caterpillar munchies, though it seems like healthy plants can soldier on despite the pests.

I like cabbage and all, but even half a dozen smallish heads is a lot to use. And a lot of fridge space to give up. So today I've started up a first batch of sauerkraut, which will (in theory) ferment away in the basement for two weeks or so until it's sour, salty, and delicious.

Come Sunday, the cabbage will be joined by several jars of fresh olives, curing in several different types of brine. Two boxes of green Manzanillas are sitting on the dining room table at this moment, awaiting their six-month briny bath. Then, if I get off my duff and hop to it, I'll add some miso to the mix. My Japanese koji starters are here, too, with the cultures I need to make my own shoyu - a gallon at a time - as well as white, yellow, and red misos. Mmm. Moldy rice.

Speaking of tasty, tasty fungus...
Last I'd mentioned wild mushrooms, I still hadn't found much interesting, at least in the culinary sense. Well, that's all changed. After a long, dry period, the long arms of tropical storm Hanna drenched us, followed by waves of thunderstorms that gave all of the local fungi the cue to burst forth.

After an unimpressive hike through Bald Eagle State Forest, which didn't appear to get the Hanna-related deluge we did, I was able to find several meals' worth of mushrooms in the neighborhood and around town.² Agaricus campestris, the field mushroom; Lepiota americana, the American lepiota; and Calvatia cyathiformis, the vase-shaped puffball. Plus the probably-edible Lepiota naucinoides that looks almost exactly like the freakishly deadly Amanita virosa. Edible? Probably. Coming into the house? Not a chance.

All three of the edible ones are quite tasty, and different from each other. The field mushrooms are like a more flavorful version of the white button mushrooms you see in the supermarket, though less fleshy and best cooked as a whole cap (or halves) than in slices. The American lepiota is a bit deeper and richer in flavor, though still similar. The puffball, however, has a very mild flavor, and a soft, squishy texture that's almost marshmallow-like. I'd sliced it up into quarter-inch thick pieces, and fried it until browned and crispy at the edges in some butter, and they were quite good.

And speaking of fermented deliciousness...
Sometimes it's just easier to go with things that someone else has conveniently fermented (and distilled) ahead of time. Thus I have a new bottle of homemade bitters, made from apricot kernels and orange peel. I followed the same basic recipe as before, but skipped the spices. At first, it smelled only of orange, and I was getting disappointed until the amaretto-like aroma of the apricot kernels took over. Sure, they're toxic - though that doesn't keep them from sale in health food stores³ as a "dietary supplement" or even a snack food. Extracted into alcohol, and consumed as just a few drops from time to time in a cocktail, it seems, shouldn't mess me up too much.

Apricot kernels are also - so I hear - an occasional ingredient in ratafia, though I've been making mine with fruits and vegetables. Steep a cup of fruits, vegetables, herbs, or a mix in a bottle of wine, with a quarter cup each of vodka and sugar, for three weeks. Strain out the solids, bottle it up, and drink it up. Utterly delicious, and a great after-dinner drink. The first batches - apricot, plum, and peach with Thai basil - are almost gone, just in time for the next set of Green Zebra tomatoes with black peppercorns and cucumber with mint. In a few days, I'm planning to pick the first of the season's habanero peppers for an incendiary third round.

And for the extra-boozy option, there's the walnut brandy that's been steeping since early July. There was one part of the recipe that reminded me of Kim Severson's New York Times article on recipe deal breakers, which was when a line began, "At the beginning of September..."

Hasn't been a deal breaker for me, but then again, I wouldn't have gotten that far if I didn't have a pair of walnut trees in the backyard. Trees that have been feeding the squirrels instead of me, that is.

Back to school?
It's cooking class time again. This semester, it's vegetarian cooking basics. The first class, which covered knife skills while the students made hand-rolled sushi and Vietnamese summer rolls, offered up a reminder: the second class must cover recipe reading.

Sound silly? Most people seem to think so at first, but after multiple exchanges that go something like this...

Student: What do I do next?

Me: What does the recipe tell you to do?

Student: Umm... [looks down at recipe for what must be the first time] I put the rice and water in the pot?

Me: If that's what it says.

...you learn not to take basic literacy skills for granted. Misreading in one thing. I can accept mistakes.⁴ But relying on me to read the recipe to them won't cut it.

They're adults. I think they can manage to think for themselves for once. It might even be a good thing to learn.

* * * * *

¹Yet another dehydrator full of tomatoes is whirring away behind me, to add to the four quarts of dried tomatoes already done. Plus the jars of canned tomatoes, pickled cucumbers, beets, peppers, jams, and more. And the onions, potatoes, carrots, etc.

²I should note that I've been checking these mushrooms' characteristics and spore prints carefully against the several mushroom guidebooks that I own to be certain they're safe for eating. And even when I'm sure they're edible, I make sure to eat only very small portions the first time to see if I have an allergic reaction. Hasn't happened yet, but I don't want to find out after a plateful of mushroom ragout.

³They're called bitter almonds, too, because of the bitterness caused by small amounts of amygdalin, which the body converts into toxic cyanide. Eat enough of 'em, and you can kill yourself. Though since I could almost see and hear the smell of almonds after eating just one, I can't imagine how one would do that. Ugh.

⁴It isn't as though I don't make enough on my own. Without mistakes, I wouldn't know how to cook.