Maker's Table

States of Grace

It is October, and so my vegetable garden is not in a state of grace. The tomato plants are, of the assembed, the most notably derelict, their once lush foliage now withered by wilt and canker, soaking and ruined in the gray rain. But the fruits persist, and will a bit longer, at least while this autumn wetness holds back the front of frost, postponing the plants' late demise.

I cannot eat canned tomatoes, because I cannot eat citric acid, and so I preserve my own tomatoes by stewing them and freezing. It's better this way, anyway. I pick and glean and wash the fruit:

...selecting the ripest ones for blanching. This loosens their skins, which split and rip in the roiling water. After, they enjoy a brief repose, to keep my fingers from scalding:

And then I slide the flesh free of its slippery skin, adding each tomato to the pot:

Whereupon they reduce, for an hour or so...

...and become not many but one: one pot of sauce for my winter braise or ragù, my soup or gratin, passing once again through a state of grace.

 

 

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First of the Garden Meals, 2010

Suppertime. There's no veg in my fridge, nor fruit, for that matter. No meat, and only a little cheese.

But I do have veg in my garden, and it's starting to yield. So tonight I picked two small Japanese eggplants, some radishes, a handful of shell peas, garlic scapes. There's baby spinach and arugula, and a few leaves of adolescent kale. And herbs; there are always herbs.

I can do something with this. Something I call supper.

 

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Transitive Relations

Wine is food. Food is life. Wine is life.

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Harvest Meal

 

Tonight's ingredients, all now underway. Carrots, leeks, and herbs from my garden. Beans local. Cranberries regional (and organic). Chicken that led a happy life. Rejoice.

Refritos, Northern Style

The other day I scooped up a load of shell beans grown on a local farm. They may have been cranberry beans; they weren't labeled, and it's been a dozen years since I grew them myself, so I'm not sure. The glossy beans popped easily from their thin, leathery pods. Some were nearly burgundy, others pale green.

I simmered them for about forty-five minutes with bay and a little olive oil. Once they were tender, I drained them and sautéed with garlic and lots of cracked black pepper.

They were wonderful: lightly browned and crisp on the outside, creamy and sweet and earthy on the inside. Served with a drizzle of fruity olive oil, crusty bread, and salad, they made a perfect fall meal.

Pesto

Basil plus garlic equals pesto (four pounds).

Abundance

We'll have frost tonight, twenty-nine degrees. That will be the end of the tender crops: peppers, beans, eggplant, basil. So it was a day of harvest, of processing food for the winter. Resting now in my freezer are four pounds of pesto. There are herbs hanging all over the house, a fridge full of fruit, bowls of peppers that might get a little more ripe, a little more sweet, even though they will no longer enjoy benefit of sun and fresh air, even though they've been plucked from the mother vein.

There's something deeply engaging about experiencing abundance. Some atavistic pleasure center fires when I confront a stock of fruit or seed or root. And it's even more pleasurable when the abundance has sprung from my own labor, my own hand and soil.

We're wired to love harvest, it's in our blood. It's how we have always survived.

From Soil to Table

I dug these carrots and leeks about fifteen minutes ago. In another fifteen, I'll have them prepped and laid into a baking dish with chicken, lavender, and rosemary. In about an hour in a half, they'll become part of me, of us. Rejoice.

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Onion Harvest

The onions were ready today. They lifted easily from their moorings, a sure sign of ripeness. I pulled them all and laid them out to dry in the bed where they'd grown. We're in for a rare and precious stretch of clear, dry weather, perfect for their two-day cure. After, I'll pull them inside. I haven't decided whether to braid them or lay them on screens, as the old farmers counsel.

It takes a lot of room, harvest. It takes a lot of time. It yields great reward.