All posts by Susie Middleton

Edible, The Recipes

Flowers for Boston

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The problem with working at home is that you can keep the television news on all day. This isn’t something I normally do, but considering there is a massive manhunt going on in Boston right now, I guess I can let myself off the hook a little bit.

It’s not like I don’t have a major deadline coming up, which should have me tied to my desk. Even with that, I managed to turn a few necessary hours of harvesting, washing, and watering into an entire morning of activity, partly because I kept going in and out to check the news and partly because I got distracted and took my camera outside.

Walking with Farmer in the early morning fog, the day felt as surreal as the world feels right now. Yet the fog felt strangely comforting, too, like a cocoon or a veil. A shield from evil. I wanted to capture that feeling in a photo, but the fog had mostly lifted by the time I got Farmer back in and my camera out.

Instead, I grabbed the white daffodils I had cut in the maple grove the other day and took them outside. They are remarkably beautiful in their varying shades of white. I’ve always had a thing for white, and white-on-white, and I collected white ironstone pottery for many years. The daffodils wound up in a pitcher which I still have hanging around, one that wasn’t quite the right shape for the flowers, but was there when I needed it.

My sister Eleanor has one just like it. We both like white. White tee shirts. White pottery. White flowers.

Eleanor was at mile 25.5 on Monday, running her second Boston Marathon, when a policeman appeared. She was literally in the first line of runners stopped—for a fleeting minute she watched the runners in front of her continue on, wishing that had been her. She had suffered a bad leg cramp in the last two miles, falling behind her expected finished time by several minutes. As it turns out, that delay was lucky for her. Even more fortunate, her friends who had traveled from Washington to cheer her on had moved a couple blocks down from the finish line to get a better picture of her coming around the corner.

When I finally got to talk to Eleanor, she was very calm and mostly so relieved that her friends were fine. She was never in danger, she said.

I know that, but I had to explain to her the feeling that came over me—only for a brief moment—that was a feeling I’ve never had.

I had been following her run on the BAA (Boston Athletic Association) website; the computerized tracking map shows a little red animated runner icon moving along the route. You can also click on a details chart to see the runner’s times at every 5K interval. Around 3 pm, I kept coming inside to see if she had finished, but the little runner icon was stuck running in place at a spot right before the finish, and the last updated time was at 40K. Ten minutes went by, then 20, then 25, and the icon was still stuck. I began to wonder why she hadn’t finished; I was worrying that she might have hurt herself when a Facebook message from a friend popped up on my screen: “Is your sister okay?” What?! What does my friend know about my sister that I don’t?

Not yet knowing about the explosions, I had visions of something so terrible having happened to Eleanor that her face was on the news! Right then Roy called from the ferry, on his way back from dropping Libby off in Falmouth. (At one point I had considered taking Libby up to watch Eleanor run.) He was watching the television on the boat and told me the news. Another wave of a different kind of anxiety came over me.

From that point I tried to find out when the bombs had gone off in relation to when Eleanor was supposed to finish. I didn’t know my father was doing the same thing and getting very uncomfortable at the closeness of the times. My poor Dad! Some very nice runners at the DC Runners Club Facebook page were the first to let me know that they didn’t think, looking at her “splits,” that she could have been at the finish when the bombs went off.

And one of Eleanor’s friends managed to get a text message to a friend in Baltimore to call my parents in Washington. By 4:30 we knew for sure that she was safe.

 

My big sister. My only sister. Selfishly, I didn’t want anything to happen to her, and that’s all I could think about until I knew she was safe. I’ve always just taken for granted that she’d be right up ahead of me, leading the way.

I’ve been just a little off kilter all week, even though I only got knocked around for an hour or so. I think it’s because my relief was immediately replaced by horror and disbelief at the senseless and brutal injuries and killings. I just have trouble understanding why some people value life so little, and how anyone can intentionally inflict this kind of violence on children. This tragedy comes so close on the heels of the Newtown shootings, too, and I don’t think I’ve completely processed that, either.

I know there is evil in the world, and that good will always overcome. And that now is the time to infuse the world with love and beauty—white daffodils for all, I say! And I guess what I have to do is accept that there are some things I won’t ever completely understand. I envy my sister her resolve to return to the Boston Marathon next year (she has already qualified). I guess I will follow her lead and not let the bad guys get the last word.

 

Post Script: Farm chores took me away from the computer long enough that I am just now posting this blog, just as the manhunt is ending and the second suspect is in custody. Whew.

 

Animals, Edible, Farm life, Sustain

Beauty and The Beast

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The day before we go to pick up Libby, we tell Farmer, “Guess who’s coming tomorrow?” First his ears perk up, and then, when we say, “We’re going to get LIBBY!” he runs around the living room and jumps up on the sofa to look out the window.  “Where is she? Where is she? I can’t wait! I can’t wait!”

By the time Libby leaves, Farmer is so exhausted that he climbs up on our bed and doesn’t move for two days.

He loves that girl like nobody’s business. And she loves him. A little girl and a dog, made for each other.

This is the kind of weekend when farm chores can be overwhelming, and Farm Dog and Farm Girl are both co-opted into helping. Roy is teaching Farmer to herd chickens. Plus, Farmer has to keep an eye out for customers coming down the driveway and duly alert us when he sees them. Libby, admittedly, is a good deal more helpful than Farmer. Together, we’ve been moving seedlings back and forth from the house to the greenhouse, planting more flower and vegetable seeds, picking lettuce, washing lettuce, packing eggs, putting the covers back on the garden beds that blew off in the wind the other night, and weeding  her garden plot.

Since these two hard workers deserve a break, Roy has taken them for a romp down at Quansoo beach.  Actually, they just got back, blowing in the back door, giggling and jingling. Libby is covered in sand and has a big grin on her face. She fell in the water apparently. Fortunately, Farmer didn’t have to rescue her. All is well. They had fun.

They will both sleep well tonight.

 

 

 

Edible, Farm life, Sustain, The Recipes

Gone Greenhousin’ — See You Later!

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You know those kitschy signs you see hanging on back doors that say “Gone Fishin’’” or “Gone to the Beach?” Well, you’ll have to excuse my silliness this morning, but I am heading down to the hoop house and hanging a virtual sign right here that says “Gone Greenhousin.'” Because I’ve been sitting at my desk all week, aching to get down there to plant and transplant and pot-up and putter. So off I go. If you are looking for me, this is where I will be. In a place that feels like summer–a place that is actually warm!

Though you could say I jumped the gun a little bit, it’s nice to have heat loving plants like cosmos (top photo), nasturtiums, and basil hanging around. I cover them with plastic at night when the temperature in the hoop house goes down to just below 40°F. On a sunny day, it quickly gets up to 80°F, though we bring it down to 70°F by popping in the screens in both doors.

Swiss Chard seedlings, Round Two, are coming, and lots more lettuce, like my favorite Flashy Green Buttercrunch. I’ve already transplanted 400  lettuce seedlings into the garden outside. They’re covered with row fabric.

Today I’m going to fill a flat with more baby bok choy seed, and maybe transplant some dill and parsley seedlings. I’ll dip the pots in a weak bleach solution first and rinse them off.

 

Cherry Belle and Easter Egg radishes (right), sandwiched between arugula sprouts, will be harvestable in only a couple weeks and I’m still picking from the first planting of this beautiful Red Pirat lettuce.

And if I really want to daydream, I can look out the newly installed rear (eastern) door onto the “back forty” (actually the “back four”) where visions of strawberries are dancing in our heads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edible, Farm life

These Are The Days

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Lest you think we are all farm and no play around here…Yesterday we took advantage of a 24-hour visit from Libby and the most beautiful day we’ve seen in months and headed up to the clay cliffs at Gay Head for a spectacular beach walk.  My Iphone ran out of juice, so I didn’t get to document Libby covered in clay from head to toe. (We always forget to bring appropriate clean-up materials on this kind of walk.)

While Roy looked for arrowheads and Libby painted herself with warrior clay, I lay down in the warm sand with my face to the sun and almost fell asleep. In my head, Keith Urban’s song, These Are The Days, was playing. Partly because I was thinking, “These are the days we’ve been waiting for all through the cold mucky winter.” But also I was thinking how great it is to be present and to know that it absolutely does not get any better than it is right in that moment.

Maybe all that sunshine was going to my head—it is incredibly uplifting after all. And no doubt we are very fortunate to live in such a beautiful place, though we tend to forget it sometimes. But no matter where you are or what the weather is this Easter weekend, I hope you find yourself walking into the light, enjoying moments with your family or friends, and remembering to take a mental snapshot of what you love most so you can conjure it up on a rainy day.

Edible, Ingredient IQ, The Recipes, Vegetables

New at the Grocery Store: Baby Kale + 10 Ways to Use It

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We are just going to ignore the fact that 7 inches of snow fell here last night and pretend that it truly is spring.

So let’s talk about spring greens, specifically baby kale. I am very excited that baby kale is finally making it into mainstream supermarkets. I’ve seen more of it just in the last couple months, since I first mentioned it in a blog post back in February. Now I’ve seen boxes (right) or bags of it in three different grocery store chains. (One to look for is Earthbound Farm’s Mixed Baby Kales.)

Mostly I am excited because baby kale is a much more versatile veggie than mature kale. (See ideas below.) It is also tastier, more tender, and a whole lot more palatable. Roy and Farmer both eat the stuff without blinking.

I’ve never been a big fan of the tough leaves of huge, curly-type kales, and in fact, when I wrote Fast, Fresh & Green four years ago, I insisted that everyone par-boil kale before using it in most other dishes, or confine it to soups and braises. I still think it’s a good idea to soften kale first before adding it to pastas or gratins, but now I don’t necessarily freak out when I see chefs and cooks “sautéing” raw kale. With a young or tender variety, a simple sauté is just fine. (But try “sautéing” the older, tougher leaves and you will still have something pretty chewy on your plate.) I’m even embracing kale salads!

I’m also kind of excited about this baby kale trend, because I’m quite sure it came straight from the farmers’ markets. Market growers have been selling baby kale for a while, first in baby salad green mixes and then on its own. I have to laugh, as I stumbled into selling mostly baby and small leaves of kale at our farm stand (see mix at top), because I have trouble controlling damage from cabbage worms, which for some odd reason like the older, bigger leaves better than the little tender ones. Also, I can harvest the first baby kale leaves very early in the spring time, so it gives me something to sell while I’m waiting for other things. In fact, I’ve got the first little leaves of Red Russian Kale forming in the hoop house now (left).

It’s also fun to see that the baby kale mixes in the grocery store are featuring a few different varieties of kale so folks can begin to notice the differences. The mix I bought yesterday has some baby Lacinato in it. This is the variety of kale (also called Tuscan Kale or Dinosaur Kale–shown growing at right) that really won my affection, and now I grow both a green and a purple variety of it.

Best of all, baby kale, whether you get it at the grocery store or the farm stand, is pretty much an instant side dish—even easier to prepare than spinach, since it is cleaner. (Small stems can be removed or not). Because kale grows upright, several inches off the ground, it doesn’t harbor dirt the way spinach does.

Okay, so here are some ideas for using baby kale. Why, you could practically eat the stuff every day. So now you have no excuses for avoiding this nutritional powerhouse:

1. Cook a simple sauté: Mince a clove of garlic and a half inch of fresh ginger, heat in olive oil with a few red pepper flakes until sizzling. Add kale leaves and a sprinkle of salt and toss until wilted.

2. Trick up the sauté: Do the above and add a combination of a couple teaspoons of balsamic vinegar, orange juice, and maple syrup in at the end. Stir and let thicken for a minute. Remove and eat right away. (Or sub soy sauce for the balsamic.)

3. Make a kale salad: Make a quick vinaigrette of fresh lemon juice, olive oil, a wee bit of anchovy (and/or a touch of honey) if you like, salt and fresh pepper. Toss the leaves well, rubbing the dressing in a bit with your hands. Let sit, then toss with crumbled fresh goat cheese or feta and toasted pine nuts or toasted almonds.

4. Make a frittata/savory bread pudding (like we did last night) with cubes of toasted English muffin, cheddar cheese, sausage, thyme, Dijon, and wilted baby kale. (Cook the sausage first and wilt the kale leaves with it.)

5. Make a topper: Put the salad (see No. 3 above) on top of grilled bread, pizza, toasted pita, naan or other flatbread.

6. Make a filler: Take the simple sauté (No. 1) and combine it with caramelized onions and a good aged cheese to make a yummy quesadilla filling or taco stuffing.

7. Make a quick soup: Infuse store-bought chicken broth with flavor by sautéing sausage, garlic, and shallots until brown. Simmer, add store-bought tortellini; add lots of kale leaves–and a dash of lemon or vinegar–at the end. Serve in shallow bowls, garnished with grated Parmigiano.

8. Pair with seafood: We eat a lot of our local bay scallops while they’re in season (now–soon to be over). I often do a quick scallop sauté (very high heat to cook them quickly, and again I use ginger and garlic, and usually a bit of lemon zest and/or orange juice) and fold kale leaves in at the end for a main-and-veggie-in-one supper, served over mashed potatoes or rice. You could do the same thing with shrimp. Or wilt the kale separately and use it as a bed for roast cod or salmon or halibut.

9. Try chips & drinks: Yes, you can make kale chips and green smoothies out of this stuff, too, but you’ll have to talk to someone else about that!

10. Don’t forget slaw: Add baby kale to coleslaw (right) or any other marinated veggie dish.

 

P.S. If you’re inspired and want to grow kale in your garden this year, here are three nice varieties: Red Russian, Lacinato, and Rainbow Lacinato. The latter—a cross between Lacinato and Redbor kale—is my favorite—a beautiful crinkly purple leaf with a tender texture. (You can get a hint of it in the couple of baby leaves shown in the top photo–the color is stunning.) Don’t spend money on kale starts (six-packs); it’s not necessary since kale germinates well and grows quickly. Sow seeds directly as soon as the soil warms up to about 50°. You can sow the seeds thickly if you are going to harvest baby greens, but later you’ll want to thin the plants to about 8 to 10 inches apart. You can let those plants grow and harvest new and bigger leaves all summer (and fall—and even into winter).

 

Photo below—greens from my friend Jessica Bard’s garden.

 

Animals, Edible, Farm life, The Recipes

Jumbo Eggs & Chicken Collectibles; Plus A Cabbage Recipe & A Candle for Sixburnersue

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Merrily skipping outside with my camera this morning, I had visions of writing about hope and rebirth (jumping right past St. Patrick’s Day to Easter), so I started snapping photos of chives and daffodils poking through the ground.

Then down to the hoop house I went (again) figuring I hadn’t yet inundated you with enough baby seedling pix.

 

Oh, and the first true leaves on the tomato seedlings under the lights—you’d have to see those.

But very quickly I got distracted. I went to check the nest boxes and found a lovely egg in a sunny bed of straw.

And then I remembered that every night while we’re washing and packing the eggs, I marvel at how striking they look in their almond and apricot and melony hues, so tidily arranged in their cartons. I wanted to show you our cool product.

 

And then I remembered that I keep meaning to photograph the jumbo and miniature eggs we get. The jumbo eggs, mostly double-yolkers, are so huge (sometimes more than 3 1/2 ounces) that it makes you wince thinking about those 4-pound hens laying them. We get three or four jumbos every day. The minis are more of an aberration. (The egg in the middle, below, is normal sized.)

Off I went to photograph eggs, and in the process, I added a chicken to one of the photos (see top of blog). We have a lot of chickens. Not just live chickens…

…But wooden chickens, china chickens, iron chickens, chickens on dishtowels and pot holders, chickens on plates and mugs. We are guilty of collecting them, and friends and family give us more. (Roy already had the one below when I met him. He and Libby bought the one above for me a couple years back.)

 

My friend Eliza gave us these great hen and rooster salt and pepper shakers.

 

My friend  Heidi dropped by yesterday with a cool hen tote bag and some produce bags from her sister’s company, Ecobags.

 

My mom recently passed along this lovely Nicolas Mosse plate and the great Barred Rock look-a-like (at top).

 

Our friend Mary gave us this wonderful Bridgewater chicken mug.

 

Roy’s mom found us an old egg carton stamp in an antique store…

 

…and Roy picked up this old egg scale at a tag scale.

 

One chicken-y shelf in our mudroom includes Roy’s egg cup from childhood and a little wooden toy rooster from Portugal I had as a child.

In the end I decided to share our chicken collectibles with you in the blog today. But then I figured I shouldn’t ignore St. Patrick’s Day altogether, so I found the link to this fabulous cabbage and potato gratin I created and posted two years ago. Reading that post, I realized (yikes) that St. Patrick’s Day is Sixburnersue.com’s official anniversary. Apparently you folks have been putting up with me and my rambling blogs for three years now—wow!

I have to thank you for that. And for helping me get through a nasty winter. Whether it’s shamrocks or garlic chives, fresh eggs or baby lambs, there’s plenty about spring to jump start our spirits.

 

Animals, Edible, Farm life, Sustain

Ruffled Feathers

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Believe me, I did not want to write about the weather again. I know, if you’re like me, you could really care less about what the weather is in, say, Charleston or San Francisco or Denver, if you’re not there. And don’t plan to be there any time soon. And I’m pretty sure you’re not coming to Martha’s Vineyard, what with the ferries docked and the planes grounded. Yes, we’re pretty much marooned. This time, a storm off the New England coast has been spinning around in a circle for three days. THREE DAYS of nonstop wind, and over the last day or so, spitting sideways icy icky precipitation. Every time we walk out the door, which we do, uh, a lot, what with 250 chickens to feed, water, let out, let in, etc., we get pummeled. What a winter.

There’s a lot to be grateful for, I know. We do not have 34 inches of snow on the ground. Our house is not falling into the sea (unlike some on the New England coast this week). We have heat. And food (of course). And power. So I have no business being so cranky. (The hens, on the other hand, have every right to complain, which they don’t, even when they venture out of their coops to try and scratch around in the mud, which is pretty futile. Their feathers flip up and around and backwards, making it impossible for them to puff up and keep warm. Ruffled feathers indeed. They march back inside pretty quickly.)

Instead of the weather, I’d wanted to tell you about all the lovely seedlings we’ve got going in the hoop house. But I’ve sat frozen at the computer, thinking if I do that, the one big mega-gust is going to come along and finally blow the hoop house down. (As it is right now, when you’re inside the hoop house it’s as loud as a helicopter landing pad. We open and close the door as quickly as possible so that the wind doesn’t rip it off.)

I must have faith that nothing is going to happen to the kale and chard and spinach and mizuna and tat soi and mustard and 12 kinds of lettuce seedlings we’ve got started—or the beautiful lettuce we’re already harvesting in the raised bed. And that the soil in the garden will dry out enough to get our peas in the ground in a few weeks. And that the sun will come out.

In the mean time, I sometimes just go down to the hoop house and stare at the incredibly beautiful colors of that lettuce—it’s the perfect antidote to the gray skies—and pinch myself that we have all this opportunity, all these possibilities, before us. And daffodils already poking up in the maple grove. Spring will come—on its own schedule.

And for now, at least someone in the household is enjoying the snow.

 

 

Edible, side dishes, The Recipes

A Recipe for Roasted Cauliflower—In a Gratin

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The savage weather has reached Biblical proportions. Yes, I am exaggerating, but today it is blowing so hard that I am fully expecting Auntie Em to ride by my window on her bicycle at any time. Frankly, I’d rather look out and see her than some random farm item that was once tethered to the ground.*

Well, there is no antidote to all this other than good warming winter food. (And chocolate—I have my new favorite, a 77% percent cocoa bar from Chocolove, by my side.) In the kitchen today I am making a cauliflower gratin, because I am still having cruciferous cravings. Don’t worry, I am not eating the chocolate and the cauliflower at the same time.

Because of my sweet tooth, I prefer cauliflower roasted, rather than prepared any other way. So today I was thinking about taking the extra step of putting roasted cauliflower into a gratin with Gruyère and rosemary—and then I realized I’d already developed a recipe like this for The Fresh & Green Table. (Yikes, sometimes I forget these things, which is a little scary.) That recipe spans the seasons a bit, since it includes green beans and potatoes as well as cauliflower and mushrooms. I decided to simplify a bit and stick to the colors of winter, partly because I had a monochromatic photo in my head. (I love shades of white. In the end the photos turned out yummy, but not so monochromatic.)

Anyway, the version I made today is just cauliflower and mushrooms. I call it a gratin but really it is more like gratinéed veggies. No major deep-dish casserole-y kind of thing here—just roasted veggies sprinkled with cheese, a little cream, and plenty of breadcrumbs and baked until bubbly. Rustic and delicious. The rosemary winds up being pretty fragrant, so sub in thyme if you’re not in a piney mood.

Tip: And here’s something to keep in mind when roasting cauliflower or broccoli. Cut through the florets (at least in half, or in thick slabs if they’re large) so that they have a flat side that can have full contact with the sheet pan. Glorious caramelization will occur where floret meets heat. (Witness photo above; floret has been flipped up after roasting.)

 

*P.S. I wrote this yesterday but was unable to get it posted until today. I am happy to report that Auntie Em and Toto did not fly by the window. However, one of the doors off the gas grill, some tree limbs, and a plastic tarp are all tangled up outside my window.

Roasted Cauliflower, Cremini , Gruyère and Rosemary “Gratin”

Take this idea and run with it—use whatever roasted veggies you like, sprinkle with a bit of cheese, cream, and breadcrumbs, and bake until bubbly.

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3 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil (plus more for rubbing pan)
3/4 cup coarse fresh breadcrumbs (I use an English muffin for this)
1 1/4 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary
kosher salt
Florets from 1 small head cauliflower (about 14 ounces), each about 1 1/2 inches long and cut to have one flat side
8 ounces cremini mushrooms, quartered if large, halved if small
1/2 cup grated Gruyère cheese
1/2 cup heavy cream

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Heat the oven to 450°F. Line a large heavy-duty rimmed sheet pan with parchment paper. Rub a little olive oil all over the inside of a small shallow gratin or baking dish. (I used a 9-inch round, but something about 1 1/2 quarts in volume works well.)

In a small bowl, combine the breadcrumbs, 2 teaspoons olive oil, 1/2 teaspoon chopped rosemary and a pinch of salt. Mix well and set aside.

In a mixing bowl, toss the cauliflower and mushrooms with the 3 tablespoons olive oil and 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt. Spread the vegetables out in one layer on the sheet pan (flip the florets so that they are cut-side down). Roast until the veggies are nicely browned and tender, about 28 to 30 minutes. Let the veggies cool for a few minutes and transfer them to the baking dish, arranging them in one snug layer.

Reduce the oven temperature to 425°F.

Sprinkle the remaining rosemary and the cheese over the vegetables in the pan. Drizzle the cream over the vegetables. Scatter the breadcrumb mixture over the top, leaving some vegetables peeking out.

Bake until the crumbs are well-browned and the cream has bubbled and reduced, leaving a thin brown ring around the edge, about 18 to 20 minutes. Serve hot or warm.

Serves 3

Edible, The Recipes

Chicken Farming Runs in the Family

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Roy and I spent about 20 hours in the car this weekend, driving down to Delaware and back for a very quick visit with my family. We made the trip to attend the funeral service for my Uncle Rodney, my Dad’s older brother (far right, above). I was glad that Roy had gotten a chance to meet Uncle Rodney a couple years back. Despite the fact that Rodney wasn’t well then, he still had that sparkle in his mischievous eyes and Roy immediately related to his fun-loving spirit—something that both my sister, Eleanor, and my father, Bob, spoke about at the service at St. Peter’s church in Lewes.

And I was glad Roy got a chance to meet more of my cousins and aunts and uncles (although I know he was having trouble keeping them all straight—there are a lot of them!). The summers we spent together at the beach, the family gatherings with lots of good food—always crabs and corn and tomatoes—are just memories now, as we don’t come together much outside of funerals these days.

With Rodney gone, my Dad and his brother Val are the last of their generation. In the photo above, taken at my parents’ wedding in 1954, that’s my grandmother Honey (the one who was such a great cook) flanked by her sons—Val and Bob on the left, and Doug, Bill and Rodney on the right. (Val and Doug were still teenagers then.) There had been six boys, but Honey’s firstborn, my Dad’s oldest brother Jack, died in the war, commended for his bravery on a Merchant Marine vessel bombed near the Sea of Murmansk. Their father, an officer in the Navy, had also died before this picture was taken.

It’s a big family and an interesting family. Uncle Rodney was named for his father, Donald Rodney Evans, Sr., who carried his mother’s family name. The Rodneys arrived in Delaware from England in the 1600s and spawned generations of politicians, including U.S. senators, congressmen, attorney generals, Governors of Delaware, and, most notably, Caesar Rodney, who signed the Declaration of Independence. Many of these family members are buried in the graveyard of St. Peter’s church, where we celebrated Uncle Rodney’s life.

It turns out our Rodney ancestors weren’t just politicians and seafarers, but farmers, too (wheat and barley, mostly). And many years later, my Uncle Rodney did some farming as well—chicken farming! Though Rodney would eventually work for the Delaware Pilots Association and was, in our eyes, most famous for his sailing prowess, he and a friend, as young men, had a broiler bird business. My Dad, who spent a few summer vacations working for his older brother “processing” chickens, couldn’t help bringing up a few chicken stories at the funeral. I noticed he didn’t tell the one about the hundreds of baby chicks they had one year in his grandmother’s attic though. That was during the Depression, shortly after the whole family (10 people under one roof) had moved back to Lewes. Everybody had gardens and chickens in those days.

So maybe Roy understands my farming urges a little better now. Certainly I know where his come from, and he can blame his family, too. I thought it all started with the summer he spent on his uncle’s sheep farm in Scotland when he was 16. But when I asked Roy today what his farmer uncle’s surname was and he said “Fowler,” I got curious. I checked and it turns out the origin of the name Fowler is the Old English word fugelere, which literally means bird-catcher (fowl-er!). Ahh, now, this explains why Roy is so enchanted with all birds, not just chickens.

And here Roy and I thought we had hatched this whole farming scheme all by ourselves. Who knows? Families are with us, inside and out, no matter how far or close.

 

Edible, soups, The Recipes

Favorite Soups and A Recipe for Zesty Tomato-Ginger Bisque

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Apparently I jumped the gun a bit on posting about the weather last week, but it’s just as well. You really don’t want to hear about (or see) the nasty slush, mud, snow drifts, ice floes, and dangerous flying detritus (icicles, tree branches, etc.) we are dealing with here as we lug food and water to the chickens and cart their eggs back.

Fortunately, on a much more pleasant note, an artist friend of ours who has smartly vacated the Island for Santa Fe, New Mexico, is painting by day and cooking from Fast, Fresh & Green and The Fresh and Green Table by night. Don McKillop has been posting on my Facebook timeline about his favorite dishes, and the other day he mentioned the Zesty Tomato-Ginger Bisque. It seemed to provoke a lot of yums and mmmms from other Facebook friends, which just reminded me how much everybody (including me) loves soup. And that of course, tomato soup is a quintessential chill-chaser. (I’ve shared the bisque recipe below.)

Over the years I’ve developed a lot of soup recipes, and it’s kind of fun to look back and see the variety. At Finecooking.com (where several of my soup recipes reside!) you can take advantage of a cool “Create your own recipe” format and make one of my creamy soups with your favorite vegetable and favorite pantry ingredients. (Or you can go straight to Carrot-Ginger Soup, Butternut Squash Soup with Garam Masala, Yogurt & Lime, or Broccoli Soup with Bacon.)

If you’re in the mood for a hearty chowder but are cooking for a vegetarian crowd, visit Vegetariantimes.com for a story I did last year. Recipes include Roasted Butternut, Squash, Apple, and Farro Chowder; Many Mushroom Chowder with Yukon Gold Potatoes and Rosemary; Caramelized Onion and Savoy Cabbage Chowder with Thyme; and Root Veggie Chowder with Collard Ribbons. And right here on Sixburnersue.com, I’ve posted a few of my favorites from The Fresh & Green Table, including Asparagus & Leek Bisque, Spicy Noodle Hot Pot with Bok Choy, and a variation on my Farmers’ Market Minestrone. I’ve been working on more soups over the winter, too, and I have to say, they’re as satisfying to make as they are to eat.

A tasty soup builds layers of flavors by starting with lots of aromatic vegetables (onions, carrots, leeks, garlic, ginger, celery, fennel—sautéed until golden, of course) and finishing with a few bright herbs and a splash of acid (vinegar or citrus). In between, broths get savory flavor from bits of meat, earthy green veggies and roots, bright tomatoes, hearty beans and noodles, and even the occasional rogue ingredient like a Parmigiano rind or a whole star anise. Understand where the flavor comes from, and you’re more than halfway to making a brilliant soup. And to forgetting about the damp and cold outside!

Zesty Tomato-Ginger Bisque

Recipe copyright Susie Middleton from The Fresh & Green Table (Chronicle Books, 2012)

I have made tomato soups every-which-way, and honestly, they’re all pretty comforting. But this one has a special zing and warmth to it that I love. I start with leeks and fennel, add lots of ginger and a bit of garlic, and then season with a combination of orange, coriander, honey, and balsamic (just a small amount) to give those bright tomatoes a sturdy backbone. The magic of the blender produces a smooth, comforting puree, and just a little half-n-half gives the soup a silky finish. Garnish with crunchy rustic croutons or a dollop of crème frâiche.

Serves 4, Yields 8 cups 

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2 tablespoons orange juice

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoon tomato or sundried tomato paste

1/2 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

2 28-ounce cans whole, peeled tomatoes (I like Muir Glen)

1 cup water

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 1/2 cups (5 1/2 ounces) thinly sliced leeks (about 3 medium or 4 small leeks), well-washed

1 1/2 cups (5 1/2 ounces) thinly sliced quartered and cored fennel bulb (about 1 small fennel bulb)

Kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon ground coriander

2 teaspoons minced fresh garlic

2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger

Freshly ground pepper

1/2 cup half ‘n half

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In a small bowl, combine the orange juice, honey, tomato paste, and balsamic vinegar. Set aside.

Empty the contents of both tomato cans into a mixing bowl. Gently break up the tomatoes into smaller pieces with your hands (effective but messy!) or a pair of scissors. Add 1 cup water to the tomato mixture and set aside.

In a 4- to 5-quart Dutch oven or other wide saucepan, heat the olive oil and butter over medium-low heat. Add the leeks, fennel, and 1 tsp. salt. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 8 to 10 minutes. Uncover, raise the heat to medium, and continue cooking, stirring frequently and scraping browned bits off bottom of pan, until the vegetables are all browned in spots and the bottom of the pan is browning a lot, another 8 to 10 minutes.

Add the ground coriander and stir well. Add the garlic and the ginger, and cook, stirring, until softened and fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the orange juice/tomato paste mixture and the tomatoes and stir well to incorporate. Bring the soup to a boil and immediately reduce to a gentle simmer. Cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 17 to 18 minutes. (You will notice on the inside of the pot that the soup has reduced a bit.)

Take the pan off the heat and let the soup cool for 15 to 20 minutes.

Puree the soup in three batches (fill the jar only about half way or just a little more) and cover the blender lid partially with a folded dishtowel (leave a vent opening uncovered to let steam out) to prevent hot soup from splashing on you. Combine the three batches in a mixing bowl, then return to the (rinsed) soup pot. Whisk in the half ‘n half. Taste the soup for seasoning and add more salt or pepper if needed.

Reheat the soup very gently. Serve hot garnished with the Rustic Croutons.

 

All photos by Susie Middleton except asparagus soup, Annabelle Breakey; tomato soup, Jessica Bard