The Asparagus Bed

Why do I feel so good?

I don't believe I've ever come out of the garden feeling worse. In fact, I think I can safely say that 99% of the time, I walk out of the garden feeling much, much better. It's true that my back might ache, the bugs can be vexing, and the work can be totally exhausting. What I mean is this: if I'm feeling anxious or ungrounded, spending even just an hour in the garden can fix that pretty much immediately. (Check out this great article about Why Gardening Makes You Happy and Cures Depression.) And after a long, cold winter, being in the dirt is exactly what I need. I never realize it when it has me in it's clutches, but I get into a stone cold funk starting about February. This year it was longer and deeper because our winter was longer and colder. But now, although it's still chilly and tempestuous, warm one hour, cold the next (no one really described April better than T.S. Eliot), it's still spring, and I'm out there in the dirt. Feeling much better, thank you.

Two trenches with dirt in the middle to gradually add back as the plants grow.

Yesterday, I spent a good while starting asparagus beds. I made trenches five inches deep (digging deeper reduces yields, or so I've read) and topped with two inches of soil and compost, to be hilled up as the asparagus grow. I'm not a huge fan of asparagus, otherwise I would have planted them five years ago when  we moved in. I am, however, a huge fan of my husband, who loves asparagus. So, I finally broke down and planted 16 Purple Passion asparagus plants. Not that digging is awful, but because digging on my particular soil is awful. I have the rockiest soil imaginable. I do believe unearthed a small quarry from my garden beds. Halfway through digging the deep trenches I started chanting: I will never have to do this again, I will never have to do this again. Because I won't. The asparagus will be fruitful for upwards of 25 years. And if they die? I'm not doing it again!

The perennial garden.

Now I have a huge perennial bed: a row of vigorous rhubarb, a strawberry patch, and now, asparagus. Did you notice that this bed isn't fenced in? It helps that it's right next to the road, by a dangerous curve, so the deer stay away. But deer don't eat rhubarb or asparagus (generally, although they've been known to surprise me!), and so far the strawberries have been unmolested. There's nothing nicer than having a garden that produces for years and years, after only planting once!

Meeting the Canjammers

Here is a vanilla pot de créme that I made entirely with cream. The recipe calls for milk or half and half. It was a special occasion, and it deserved all cream. That and the fact that I had a half-gallon of cream in the fridge. Shae from Hitchhiking to Heaven was coming to visit, and I needed something special for dessert that was gluten-free. I needn't have worried, for we tasted five different jams, and had brandied apricots and special local chocolate as well. And I was worried about dessert??

You should read about Shae and I met and became friends, even though she lives in Northern California and I live in upstate New York. We bonded through a recipe for clementine marmalade. It's a wonderful story that Shae captures perfectly.

Here are two of her blackberry mojito jams. Did you know that she won nine awards in the Marin County Fair? I covet her beautiful fruit masterpieces.

We also tasted two jams from the same recipe. Isn't amazing how different they are? When Doris and Jilly came to visit, she brought with her a gift of this Fig Lemon Lavender jam, and as she did she said, "You didn't make this, did you? Because I know someone did." I said no, but remembered that someone indeed had made the same jam. The next day when I met Sarah Hood from Toronto Tasting Notes, she handed me the same jam! What's wonderful, aside from getting great goods from great peeps, is that no two jams are the same, even if you are making them yourself from the same fruit, in the same kitchen. They are always different. These two were both gorgeous beauties in their own right.

The next day was spent meeting more good canning folk over at Thompson-Finch farms where the strawberries are organic and lush. Or were. They are all gone now. This was a few weeks ago. Here's my haul, that I got thanks to Shae. I could never pick this much while chasing around the little toddler.

And afterwards, Kate (Hip Girls Guide to Homemaking), Tigress (Tigress in a Jam and Pickle) and Shae, busted out some serious picnic under the shade tree for post-berry picking talk.

It was a gorgeous spread and an inspiring day. Tigress talks about it here. And Kate describes her day here. And Shae does here. How can you go wrong with like-minded folks, good food, and strawberry picking? I'm so glad I got the chance to meet everybody. It makes this online world so much more special. And it happens a lot more than you think!

I went home and made some strawberry ice cream. Amazingly, I didn't make strawberry jam immediately! I had plenty of cream. And plenty of strawberries. And there was nothing better to do than to sit with a bowl of fresh ice cream, and savor the days.

Rhubarb Jam

If you have been reading the last few posts, you know that I have a little bit of a rhubarb problem. About twenty pounds of a rhubarb problem, actually. Lucky for me, this month's Tigress' Can Jam the chosen item is rhubarb, along with asparagus (which I ended up eating already!), picked by Sarah over at Toronto Tasting Notes. My biggest haul at once was just over 12 pounds from a local organic farm in Accord, NY. I admit, it was a little daunting once I starting working with it. Four pounds were chopped and immediately put in the freezer. Four more pounds were simmered, strained, with juice and the pulp frozen separately for later uses. Another four were used for this jam.

I haven't opened Mes Confitures since my winter obsession with it, and it was fun to dive back in, especially since there are so many rhubarb combinations. This recipe hooked me because of its execution. Over the summer a friend gave me a jar of incredible rhubarb ginger jam from Ethel's Kitchen in Martha's Vineyard. It was incredible; big chunks of rhubarb held their shape in a soft sea of stewed rhubarb. Whenever I have made rhubarb jam, it breaks down completely, and I've found that this technique is the way around that.

Now, if you are familiar with Christine Ferber's Mes Confitures you will know that it's often cryptic. And a lot of the recipes are incredibly sweet. This recipe is no different. What's cryptic is that there is no pectin in it: zero. Rhubarb doesn't have any natural pectin, there's no added pectin, and no apples or other high pectin fruit. I knew going in that I wouldn't get a jell at all, but in the future I think I will add pectin (for those who are interested, I would add Pomona's: 2 t of each calcium water and pectin). I'm not sure if this is a morning on your toast kind of confiture. It's really more of a confection than a spread. I would drizzle this on top of ice cream or a dessert. It's really a syrup with fruit suspended in it.

I used this incredibly thin, delicate, red rhubarb that I received from the generous Meghan Murphy, a journalist, who also runs the Hudson Valley Food Network (If you are local, this is a great site to join if you want to keep abreast of the farm to table scene. It's also a great resource if you are visiting the area!) I had posted on the site that I was looking for rhubarb, and she kindly found me some. The small diced chunks are a perfect texture; the maceration shrivels them and I find them, may I say it? Toothsome.

Rhubarb Jam adapted from Mes Confitures by Christine Ferber

2 3/4 pounds rhubarb (the recipe asks for 2 1/4 pounds net, but this is the amount I used)

3 cups sugar (recipe calls for 3 3/4 cups)

2 T lemon juice (recipe calls for 2 T)

Make a small dice with the rhubarb. Macerate with sugar and lemon over night in a ceramic bowl covered with parchment paper.

Strain the syrupy juice and bring it to a boil in a heavy pan. Bring it to 221 degrees on a candy thermometer. Add diced rhubarb. Return to a boil, mixing gently. Skim. (I didn't skim, and it did leave me with some foamy bubbles in the jam.) Continue cooking on high for five minutes, stirring. Put jam in hot jars and seal. Process for ten minutes, turn off the heat and let sit for five more minutes.

Note: Ferber does not water process so this processing time was my guess. I think it's fine, due to the high acid content in rhubarb, plus the lemon, but do be advised this is not a tested recipe for water bath canning.

So, now I have a few more pounds of rhubarb left, and the strawberries just started ripening. I'm blown away by how many I am getting. I picked a quart this morning, and that's with my son eating quite a bit. I'm sure there's going to be a good strawberry rhubarb jam recipe I can use from the Can Jam this month!

Buttermilk Cake

Since I've made buttermilk I haven't gone without it. It ends up going in a lot more things than I thought and makes all my baked goods more tender. The other day it was summertime hot, and we had dinner outside at a friend's house. I brought over this strawberry buttermilk cake and we served it with fresh whipped cream.

I had been meaning to make this for awhile; there was a version of it in Bon Appetit over the winter. Then I saw it, this time a version from Gourmet, on The Kitchenette, made with blackberries. It was time. I adapted both versions and came up with my own, made with olive oil, which I like to bake with. Nothing against butter, it's just that it's always that much easier! And I like to think it's healthier, which may or may not be the case.

1 cup of flour

1/2 teaspoon soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup olive oil

1/2 cup buttermilk

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 egg

A cup of fruit, more or less depending on your tastes or you can leave it out, add spices, be creative and use what you have!

Mix wet and add to dry. Drop fruit (sliced strawberries, whole berries--you get the idea) on top of the batter. It will sink a little; no worries. Bake in 350 degree oven for 25 to 30 minutes. I used a 10 inch spring form pan, and it seemed to be better on the 25 minute side.

This cake was so easy and delicious that when my in-laws came to visit this weekend, I decided to make it again, this time with the brandied apricots that I've had in the fridge sitting in a shot of their brandy. I pulled the apricots and arranged them on the batter, which I had added vanilla sugar and extract to. Then I downed the last bit of brandy. Waste not, want not! We finished it for breakfast the next day.

Crème Fraîche

Uh oh. I made creme fraiche the other day. It may become a problem. It was super easy. All you have to do is heat a half-pint of cream to 80 degrees, add two tablespoons of buttermilk, mix well and let sit overnight. I used a mason jar. The first time I made it, the yield was a thicker cream, and it didn't really look like creme fraiche to me. I was a little disappointed. However, cream had been on sale, so I had a few back up pints. You have to be prepared! When you already have creme fraiche, you can use the last bit as a starter for the next batch. Which I did. This time it came out perfect--thick and firm, with some bubbles on top. Like this:

So, I've been going a little bananas on it, even using it in my morning bowl of brown rice, which sort of defeats the purpose of eating brown rice for breakfast, now doesn't it? But here it is, working wonders for a simple pasta, binding up all the things I needed to use up in the fridge in a nutty, creamy dressing.

And here it is on some strawberry shortcake. I could have whipped it up, but I didn't feel like bothering. Stiff peaks or no, it's still heaven. I'm a sucker for strawberries and cream. It's the only way, the only way to be.

Oops, sorry about the Cure lyrics. That's a shout out for my girl, Dane. She and I were horrible goths when we were kids, and we were freaks for Head on the Door. I still think it's a great album. One year for her birthday, I made her a picnic on the beach, which we had as the sun went down, as per goth regulations, and it featured one of our favorite lyrics: strawberries and cream. It might have been ten years later and she got me back on my birthday, but this time it was on the Oregon coast. I always think of that when I eat strawberries and cream. Even if it's really creme fraiche.

Strawberry and Orange Pectin Jelly

Awhile back, during the citrus craze of winter, I became obsessed with the pectin found naturally in citrus. I then recalled the fall and its concurrent obsession with the pectin content in apples, and how one can utilize that pectin to make jams and jellies set instead of purchased pectin. I wondered if a person can do the same with citrus. Of course, I realized that apples are the perfect vehicle for pectin, in that they won't overpower the other fruit or fruits you want to work with. It's a very friendly fruit and goes with a bunch of other equally friendly fruits. Citrus is a little bolder, to say the least, and wants the spotlight. Or at least to get a stand out supporting role. And there's the bitterness. But still, I was curious.

I soon found this gem of a recipe that uses the white pith to make a pectin stock. I dutifully began to save all the white bits of any citrus I used. This I dub "stem to blossom end" jelly-making, in a nod to the snout to tail ethos of cooking. I saved pits, some peels and ends, and every time I juiced a citrus I would scrape off the innards and save the peels for candying, depositing the white parts to the freezer bag of pith. Pithy? Indeed. Pity? Non! Quite the contrary. I felt very resourceful, and, in using the whole fruit, I felt I was appreciating it's whole being.

Finally, the other day, I forced myself to take stock of the freezer and use up the stuff I'd been hoarding. Number one on the list was the bag of citrus bits. A whopping 2 1/2 pounds had been culled! The recipes I was looking at asked for a bit less, so I upped the numbers and hoped for the best. Here's the online version that I found on a page of GardenWeb's harvest forum, a great place for interesting info if you can stand your eyes bleeding from scanning through all the comments.

Recipe adapted slightly. This yielded four cups of liquid. I froze two cups and used the other two in the following jelly recipe, also found on the above link.

2 1/2 pounds of white pith of citrus fruits

1 cup lemon juice

9 cups of water

Chop up all the pith in a processor, so they are uniformly pea-sized. Add liquids to pith in a pot (I'll let that joke pass by) and let sit overnight. In the morning bring it all to a boil. Let boil ten minutes. Cool and strain. The directions say you may process it for ten minutes, or freeze. I chose to freeze half and use the rest in this jelly. (Note the recipe is from 1931. I don't think processing is a problem, but that's me, and I'm no pro. Just so we're clear on that.)

Strawberry and Orange Pectin Jelly

2 cups orange pectin

2 cups strawberry puree

2 cups sugar

Boil until jelling stage of 220 degrees. Ladle into hot jars and seal. Process in boiling water bath for ten minutes. (Again, on processing, I opted to do so, but this is a recipe from 1931.)

I will admit that I used some inferior, store-bought strawberry puree to use in this recipe. I didn't want wait for strawberry season, and didn't want to spend much in case this was a bust. The puree had "natural flavorings" in it, so the strawberry scent was pretty intense, and therefore stood strong against the orange pectin. There's a definite orange taste to the jelly, and a slight but noticeable bitter bite. But it's not overpowering at all. The set is firm and jammy, and it's not crystal clear even though I strained the pectin twice. The puree was dark and opaque, admittedly. I wonder if I stuck to pith only, or left out the pits, or peels, what the outcome would be. I also wonder how it would work with other fruits. There's a bunch of experiments here, ripe for the taking, if you'll pardon me, and I think it would be worth your while if 1.) you had access to great local citrus or 2.) you do a lot of supreming of citrus fruit. I qualify for neither, at least until next winter, but if you try this, or have done so already, let me know how it comes out (or came out). And make it pithy, would you?