cauliflower. tomatoes. meyer lemons. blood oranges and duh, tangelos.
There used to be a guy at the farmers’ market who would feed me. He would put bites of hummus on pita chips and sell me the world. Occasionally, at a discount. He’s not there anymore, but the stand still is. I haven’t bought anything from there since he last called me “Mademoiselle.”
There’s another guy trying to feed me. He’s trying to feed me pears. I don’t like pears. (♥: Hello, Petulant Child.) Okay, I don’t like most pears. And I, definitely, don’t buy them.
Since the first time he got me with, “try this,” I always look before I reach. I smile and say no, thank you. Today, he said that I’m always smiling. I think it’s because the farmers’ market is like the goodness canal to me. That, and I’m trying to figure out how long it’s going to take me to eat every last blood orange and tangelo that will be tossed into my tote.
a little late and lacking in market posts. sorry about that.
I have a confession. I think I’ve got a tangelo problem. I mean, really. I’m having a hard time going a day without one. You wouldn’t even know that I bought, umm, 3 from the photo, but I did. And I ate them. Not slowly.
They’ve kinda bumped the blood oranges out of the sweet spot in my citrus loving heart. They’ve been making me forget about the Meyer lemons I buy every week. I’ve even let a few go bad. (♥: Wasteful much?)
Thankfully, I decided to experiment with a new marm, instead of letting everything else rot. It was filled with aging limes, meyer lemons, blood oranges and a tangelo that I wouldn’t allow myself to eat. I spiked it with a bit of Korean Black Raspberry wine.
It was one of those ‘let’s just do it’ kind of things. No pen, paper or keyboard in sight. I think I was trying to trust my memory. It was spec-freakin-tacular. And I still can’t remember what I did. Great.
So, I’m trying again. This time I’ve written everything down. Okay, I just wrote everything down. Time for the overnight soak.
Small Measure‘s Ashley English announced the March produce selection for Tigress’ Can Jam. It’s the Allium family. There’s lots to choose from. I can play with garlic, scallions, shallots, onions, leeks and more. Low acid, again. That’s cool. Much less anxiety than last month’s carrots.
I love that the green onions from the Farmers’ Market were super dirty. I’ve already used some in a bit of soup. I was hungry and they were good. Mild. Liked them. The others are about to join some carrots in a good sweet peppery brine.
Not sure what I’m doing for TCJ, yet. So, I guess it’s off to the books, again.
Whether you decide to use the amazing Weck jars for canning or storage, finding them seems to be a question that keeps popping up. These are the few sites and shops I’ve found, heard of or used to purchase Weck.
Weck Canning – The online home with Weck specific canning info. In the point/click/buy online shopping sphere, the process seems a little complicated, but this is where you can get it all.
Heath Ceramics – I♥Heath Ceramics, hardcore. I bought my Weck from Heath. Selection is limited, but they tend to have good shipping deals.
Lehman’s – Carries “European Glass Canning Jars” made in Germany. They aren’t called Weck on the site, but it looks like them in the product images. Has anyone gotten them from Lehman’s recently? Are they Weck? Update: Kaela confirms Weck on her recent Lehman’s order. Comment below.
New*Canoe – The Portland, Oregon home of wonderfully curated objects carries .25L, .2L, .5L (tall) and the .75L jars individually.
Where did you buy your Weck? Is there a site or store that you go back to to covet the loveliness that is Weck? Let me know where to find more and I’ll update.
I’m cutting it close I know, but I’ve been feeling my special brand of melancholy that comes with following the rules. I want to not, but alas, I must. I’ve got to live to see another month of canning. Blasted low acid carrots! They are the Feb Produce star of the Tigress’ Can Jam.
I just had to bring home lots of carrots. What’s a girl to do without options? I couldn’t decide. For a minute there, it was so going to be a 3 way. Carrots, 3 ways. I was going to get fancy. I guess I’ll have to leave that to Tigress.
This month in particular, I wanted to use my inexperience as a tool to really learn. I went looking for recipes. The ones in books. They felt a little more vetted and I wanted to be safe. I’m may not be sure if I’m going to want to inject botulism in my face, but I am sure I don’t want to ingest it.
Because I need to stick as close to the letter as possible, I went back to what is becoming my favorite little book, The New Preserves. I decided the Sweet Pickled Baby Carrots below were the easiest for me to do without having to take too many risks.
1 – 1 1/4 pound baby carrots
3/4 c water
3/4 c cider vinegar
1/2 c sugar
1 tablespoon kosher/pickling salt
3/4 teaspoon mustard seeds
3/4 teaspoon celery seeds
6 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
3 dried red peppers
1 sm knob of ginger
The Nikki Bits: I had to do something. I brought the heat. I added a little spicy with the red pepper and a little depth with the ginger.
The Making: Super simple. Wash and sterilize 3 half pint/3 quarter liter Weck jars in the water bath. Divide the carrots and spices between the jars, breaking the cinnamon lengthwise. Bring vinegar, salt, sugar and water to a boil. Cover the carrots with the liquid, leaving 1/2 in head space. Wipe rim. Place seal and top. Screw closed or add clamps. Using jar lifter, place jars into water bath. Return the water to a boil. Process for 30minutes.
What’s Next: While I happily will wait the two weeks needed for time to bring the sweet pickled heat, I’m going to get to those other carrots. Sans water bath processing, this could get interesting.
Savoring India did just come in from the library. I could make a pickle to go with the Aloo Gobhi that’s been on my mind since the cauliflower called my name at the Farmers’ Market today. And I’ve got to do something fresh tarragon in the fridge. Options, gotta love ’em.
my sunday mornings are begging to be for sleep, not for shopping.
those lemons really are that orange
I thought that it would be too much to go to both my local Farmers’ Market on Fridays and the Hollywood one on Sundays. I thought there wouldn’t be enough space to put everything. I thought that there would be too much and I would start wasting food by going to two Farmers’ Markets so close together.
Now, I’m kinda thinking I thought wrong. I haven’t been bringing home as much on Fridays as I did before the holidays. I guess it really is about what’s in season, what’s available and what looks good, even in LA. Thankfully, I’m still getting my citrus fix.
You know the blood oranges are gone, right?
So, you would think since I’m not pulling in as much, that I would be excited to head to Hollywood to see all the amazingness there is on offer. Well, there’s a bit of a problem with getting out and getting more. I went to sleep at 4 this morning. I might have gotten up around 11ish, I don’t know. Hollywood, let’s try this again next week.
So, in this week’s Market.Watch, I’ve got Blood Oranges, Onions, Meyer Lemons, Swiss Chard and Flowers.
The flowers help keep me happy. Pretty, pretty flowers.
I just remembered that it’s about time to taste/attack my preserved lemons. For dinner, I’m seeing tilapia with onions, tomatoes and those lemons. Maybe a bit of steamed chard and some couscous. Hmmmm, it’s still hazy. Not sure yet, but can’t wait to figure it out.
It all started with massive performance anxiety. I was feeling a bit intimidated. Before I’d even begun, I was feeling like whatever I was going to do wouldn’t to be good enough or interesting enough. Uggghhhhh!!!!! Where did the giddy go? These self-inflicted wounds are BOOOORRiNnnnggg.
Wallflowers at the Organic Blood Orange DanceSomeone else's trash is my What? Really? Thx!
I took the Just Go approach. Every single cookbook owned and borrowed was perused for tips, tricks and ideas. Why not just go trad with my ’53 edition of The Joy of Cooking? From there it was pretty easy to decide to do plain ol’ Blood Orange Marmalade. Simple. Simple. Wait. Irma and I are going to make this crazy complicated, aren’t we?
I adapted the recipe, scroll all the way down...
Follow directions? I pretty much followed Irma S. Rombaur’s recipe for Orange, Lemon And Grapefruit Marmalade up until the point it said cook the fruit mix in batches. Really, I did the whole soaking fruit thing. Overnight. For Real.
Remember up there I said up til the point… Well, I cooked it. And kept cooking it because there was so much of it and it wouldn’t spoon or saucer test well. At some point, I know it was hours later, I said to heck with it and thought it might set up if I went ahead and processed it.
I’m a bit of a Weck person. I’m a Weck person and this was my first time with the water bath. Oh, bubbles, how you scared me. I did lose a jar midway through. I was kinda wild to see pulp just appear in the water.
Instead of getting weepy, I took out the offending jar and stuck in a spoon and almost cried. It was good. Loose and syrupy, but good.
I finished processing the other jars. Let them cool. I just waited to see what the next day would bring. The next day brought just as much movement in the jar.
I looked around for ways to save my marmalade. There it was on p.85 of Anne V. Nelson’s The New Preserves. For every 2 cups of fruit goo add 1 tablespoon of commercial lemon juice.
I pulled the seal on all the jars. Measured and dumped back in the pot. Added the lemon juice. Cooked until the spoon test looked right. Processed and waited.
Oh, what a good morning can bring. Blood Orange Marmalade and plain yogurt. Bliss. That simple.
It was sweet and tart. Smooth, with hints of texture. The bits of rind really were a candied surprise. I enjoyed the Blood Orange Marmalade with yogurt a bit more than the pita. The fresh, cool tang of the yogurt lifted the marmalade and tempered the sweetness. Twas quite good.
ahhh, exclamation point eating!
So where’s the adapted recipe? I could just say since I didn’t do it right, why would you want it? Well, the truth is… I forgot to write it down. Next month, I promise?
i’m liking this. i’m hoping to like it enough to get me to hollywood early on a sunday. we’ll see.
Going to my local Farmers’ Market was kinda fun this week, even though, I didn’t really get very much. I think Tigress’ Can Jam has me in a citrus haze. And, I’m, apparently, buying things I grow in my window. Hey, Cilantro. I forgot to buy tomatoes and forgot to shoot the onions. I didn’t realize they were still in the tote until post-orange attack.
Alas, gone already from this week’s haul are ALL of the Blood Oranges and the Cilantro.
I’m into using an entire bunch of Cilantro like greens. I had a lovely fish/cilantro/coconut curry this afternoon. No recipe. Just tilapia, a huge onion, garlic, cilantro, a bit of tomato paste, coconut milk, water, curry powder, salt and crushed red pepper. It’s really whatever I have on hand. And I’m brand specific when it comes to the curry powder. I was raised eating mostly West Indian curries, so I get antsy if I don’t have any Blue Mountain in the house.
I’m staring at the huge container of my beloved Jamaican curry powder and thinking about the broccoli. Ahhh, dinner just popped into my head.
i know, i know. this is not how it’s supposed to happen.
If you knew the things I do to chickens, well, all poultry, you’d understand my hesitation and limitations.
I got shamed early. My mother caught me and chided me. I stopped and vowed to never bring home a whole bird again. Since I only eat the breast anyway, I thought I would be safe.
Then, early last summer, I kept reading about this chicken with milk in a pot. Jamie. Yeah. Fine. I bought a whole chicken. Brought it home. And it happened. Again.
I tried to get past it. The chicken cooked up alright and fell off the bone. But, with my actions weighing heavy on my heart, I couldn’t really enjoy myself. I left it out overnight. Threw the whole thing away the next day.
I gave it up for the summer.* I couldn’t forget what I’d done. But, I got interrogated. Why? Why? Why? No chicken, really? I had to try to find plausible reasons to defend the indefensible. Because, hello, I eat bacon.
I was strong. All fall, I think I may have had one piece of fried chicken breast from Von’s. Cause it makes me feel Goooouuuhhhhhddddd. (♥: Will you ever let that Halle/Billy Bob moment go?) Nope.
Then, Thanksgiving came to town. Excited and feeling festive, I had one problem. Poultry. If and how became concerns. Because I was rolling solo dolo, turkey, too much. Turkey breast, still too much. Chicken, I didn’t think I could trust myself.
Options, I needed more. I thought getting fried chicken was kinda wrong. It was so un-Harvest Celebration-y. I’d never bought rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. Then it called to me from under the heat lamps. Two days before the big day, I couldn’t leave it to chance. I had to have a pre-dinner tasting. Hello, exclamation point eating!
Yes. I liked it. Lots. I picked over pieces that I, normally, sneered at. What to do with the bones? What to do with…ahhh. Throw it in a pot. Make some stock.** EASY. I tossed in some celery bits left over from the dressing. Covered with water. Let it simmer. Ding, ding, ding!!!! We have a winner.
Look, I hope you’ll understand. I guess it should be made from a bird that I actually cooked, but at least I’m not wasting the bones. That’s good, right? I know some would say just don’t eat chicken. That’s just not going to happen. I won’t lie.
Oh, you want to know why I can’t… Keep reading.
I got a second chicken. The frozen bones take up less space than more stock.
Hi, my name is Nikki and I dance with chickens. The sink is the club and we get down. It starts with the Twist. I think I can stop at anytime, but I never do. Sometimes, it’s a little Harlem Shake or a bit of Salsa. Once we start dancing, it makes me sad to dig for the dirty bits. Before you know it, I’m a sloppy sobbing mess trying to wash the insides.
I know I can’t not dance with the bird. So, I will either buy it already juicy dripping good or get the skinless, boneless frozen breast planks.
N♥
*Well, with the exception of one family gathering. You try turning down food around those women.
** It really was good. I’ve used it in a bunch of things. Most notably some killer gravy.
i brought home the wallflowers from the blood orange dance and they just make my heart sing.
Look what I got from my first Farmers’ Market visit of 2010. Spinach, Swiss Chard, Tomatoes, Lemongrass, Onions and the reason for a weekend full of joy, Blood Oranges.
I got them from two different organic stalls. One had pretty, pretty citrus. The other, ummm, not so much. But, there was something about my sweet wallflowers. They were recently picked and dirty. There was still part of the stem attached. I was smitten. I don’t know if i would have brought them home from a store like that.
Isn’t it sad how we are taught to judge produce? It has to pass the shiny new car test. Have you smelled some of that beautiful fruit at the store? What do you mean you can’t smell anything? Really? Each and every piece has to be spectacular. How real or natural is that?
It’s got to look like what we think its supposed to look like, but what does it taste like? And really does everything have to taste exactly the way it tasted before? I’m okay with it not. As long as it’s full of personality. A good one.
well, she's the only "pretty" one
Man, I am still feeling up my ugly blood oranges. I can’t stop smelling them. I know I’m supposed to be using them for the Can Jam, but I had to have my first taste of the season. Okay, tastes, plural. Yes, I ate a few. Couldn’t stop myself. Two were the deepest burgandy. The other was flecked with different shades of orange and red. It’s like each bit of pulp was given the choice of what flag to fly.
So, what am I going to do with them? I think I’m going to go unbelievably lo-fi with it. The ones I ate had most amazing flavor. I think I just want to showcase that. We’ll see.
I’m so glad I started playing around this early in the season. I’m going to find as many ways as I can to preserve what really has become my favorite fruit. I want the rest of the year filled with its brilliance.
Can you tell I dig blood oranges? Don’t get me started talking about cheese. I can’t even keep it in the house.
I’m about to head out to the farmers’ market in my neighborhood for the first time in over a month. I’m so excited to see what they’ve got. I can’t wait to pile all that goodness on the table.
I’m a bit giggly because I’m participating in Tigress’ Can Jam. Each month this year, we’re going to focus on preserving. We’re turning our attention to good food and to traditions that are truly local and global.
In P & K's Yard
I feel lucky to not only making connections to long gone relatives and ancestors, but to the family members that are here and getting older. I get to make new memories, too. And share them with you.
So, here’s the jumpy part. I’m eight days in and I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m going to do. This month the spotlight is on citrus. This should be easy, right. I live in California. Well, I want blood oranges. I need blood oranges. Don’t you see I’m blinded by my blood orange lust.
I haven’t come across any yet. That could change today. Or I could just get on with it. Which is what I’m going to do. I’ve got today and Hollywood on Sunday. This weekend will be the start of the citrus days. Or the continuation of the citrus days. Tigress must have been reading my mind. I’ve been super citrused for the last couple of weeks.
Time to get the tote bag and camera. I’m coming back with something fun. I promise.
