Favorite Lunch

(yum)
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Pickles n' sandwiches- what could be better?

These are some of the pickles I made last summer, from four different jars--
--Baby eggplants, fermented first, pickled later
--Mixed hot and sweet peppers, fermented first and pickled later
--Spicy dilly beans, pickled only
--Giardiniera (cauliflower, Romanesco broccoli, peppers, garlic) , pickled only

And a turkey sandwich-- home-roasted, buttermilk-brined turkey (a really big turkey breast from Heritage Foods- best turkey ever) on my favorite farmer's spelt bread.

The eggplant was a funny thing. I decided to leave the skins on, since they were all about golf ball-sized; I just washed and quartered them and tossed them into the brine. But after two weeks in the crock, something was amiss. They weren't spoiled, but the mouth-feel was wrong. The flesh was too soft, the skin was too toothy. The flavor was shallow and mainly metallic. But the eggplant whispered to me: give us a chance. So I jarred them up with basil, garlic, and red wine vinegar. And then, they sat. I cracked the first jar in about January- that means they pickled for 5 months. Something truly magical happened in vitro. The flavor became wonderfully complex, the skins softened, the flesh firmed up. I'm so glad I listened to the eggplant. I will always pickle eggplant now.

Notes on Crocks

(Doncha love the art on this one?)

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P~ over at A Posse Ad Esse asked about the trick to finding good antique pickling crocks. I have a few thoughts on this.
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Not to cause any despair in my blogfriend P~, but I think the ease of finding old crocks depends on where you live in the country, and on the pre-industrial food storage traditions of your region. Crocks were typically used in root cellars, and root cellars weren't as common in the west; in the more arid western climates, foods were often dried rather than fermented. As well, since the west experienced it's major population boom post-electricity, fewer old crocks made it that far west. Since I know P~ is in the great state of Utah, I suspect he'll have a tougher time of it than I do here in Michigan, which is full of old barns stuffed with old crocks. (If it makes you feel any better, P~, I'm jealous that you can collect your own salt.)
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As a tip, though: It never hurts to endear yourself to a few antiques dealers. I "found" a couple of mine by asking a few dealers I know to keep an eye out for me; ask and ye shall receive. If you make sure they know you're definitely going to buy a few from them (provided they don't leak and are not pitted inside), it's a nice day's work for a local dealer. I wish I had time to knock around in antiques stores every weekend, would that I did, but dealers also have primary sources that end-buyers don't.
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As lovely as the old crocks are, you can buy them new, too. Lehman's, located in Kidron, Ohio, has a nice selection of all the typical family-sized crocks. They cost less than many of the old crocks, and they also have sauerkraut boards and nice wooden lids to fit them, too, although a non-reactive plate and a piece of fabric held snugly with a rubber band work just as well.
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If I ever go into the fermenting biz, I'd probably commission a local potter or pottery student to make some crocks for me. I'd personally request stoneware and salt-glaze, just like the old ones, but letting the student have at it could be cool, too. As long as the interior sides are straight and the glaze is safe, there are a lot of possibilities.
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Update: Of course, there are many other pots you can use for fermenting- food-grade plastic pickle buckets are free from any fast food restaurant that uses pickles (though plastic personally gives me pause); stainless steel stockpots or any non-reactive cooking pot- i.e., not aluminum and not granite ware (the surface might be cracked). Even the patron saint of modern fermenting, Sandor Ellix Katz, uses plastic pickle buckets. I just have a soft spot for the old ones.

Pickling and writing- I got nothin'

(roots, glorious roots)

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Something my blogfriend Diana Moll said over at The Qi Papers (about how, after attending the Weston A. Price Foundation Conference, she "could write short and concise pieces about Heart Rate Variance, Energetic Coherence, Iodine and Health, Healing the Bio- field and Subtle Energies in the Soil, but I choose to write about a rabbit"- Which, Ms. Moll, I personally would love to hear all about, in addition to the bottomless subject of buns) got me thinking.
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Pickling or fermenting and writing just don't mesh for me like gardening and writing does. And I'd call it a bit of a conundrum, since my whole raison d'etre for gardening is eating the best food money can't buy. But when it comes to any sort of post-growing process, I'm mainly mute. I wish I knew why that is. Of course, the edible outcome of a two-week-old crock of freshly fermented turnips or mixed vegetables is food positively taken to the next level; fermented vegetables become elevated, sublime- it very well could be beyond words for me. There are only so many ways to say "amazing" and "extraordinary" without sounding like a vapid cheeseball in need of a good Thesaurus.
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Take today, for instance. I'm putting up a fermenting crock of sliced turnips and beets, and also making a pot of apple butter. But I've no desire to put fingers to keyboard about the wonders of either, and both are positively chock-full of wonders. Yet, if I was planting said beets or turnips, I'd wax on and on.... About how well or fast or slowly the seeds germinated, about how cute the cotyledons are, about the first true leaves, and the miraculous growth response from the first fertilization with worm tea. And of course, the weather. I never tire of thinking about or participating in weather, especially spring weather.
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But the waxing about chopping for pickling... nope. Nada. Chopping for pickling is painfully boring. No matter how much I do it, I never achieve that desired Zen-like state. The best thing I can say about chopping up a big pile of vegetables for pickles is that, by comparison, it makes ordinary prep for a single meal seem quick and tidy. I love to cook, but I know that my processes or outcomes are mostly nothing to write home about. My husband loves my cooking, and I find it edible and satisfying and nutritious, and that's quite enough for me.
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Anyone have any opinions about this?

My pickle cart

(O glorious pickle cart)

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Here's my pickle cart... or is it one word?- picklecart? I ferment vegetables with salt and water in these crocks. After two weeks or so when the fermenting is finished, I preserve most of the finished product with vinegar for long-term storage- a jar or two of the live stuff sometimes goes in the fridge so we can get the live-culture benefits. If I had a really big fridge (which I don't want) or a root cellar (which I do want), I wouldn't need to vinegar-can any of the finished product- they could live out their glorious, delicious lives in the brine. But alas. Condos and root cellars, never the twain shall meet.

These lovely old crocks range in size from about 3 to 5 gallons. Aren't they beautiful? Old crocks are everywhere, but they are usually cracked or pitted inside. These, freakishly, have beautiful interior finishes. It's amazing to me when something old and well-used makes it through a century or more, basically unscathed. On some of the handles, you can even see the potter's fingerprints. So pretty.

Not to go all Martha here, but I'd so much rather use these salt-glazed wonders instead of "food-grade" plastic buckets. Who knows what freaky chemical weirdness might be released in a plastic bucket during the magical brine bath? They weren't free like all the pickle buckets out there, but I love them very much. And what else do I buy, really? Yarn; the occasional knitting tool; fiber for spinning; books; garden stuff; and canning jars. I'm a pretty cheap date. If a somewhat Luddite date.

The metal cart is from a junk shop in downtown Detroit. Why this cart would have a stamped "patent pending" metal label on it, I have no idea, but that clever patent-worthy bit is long disappeared. The wheels are stiff, and I've found out the crappy finish can't withstand brine (it's rusting in a most interesting way), but it was 20 bucks and it's built like a tank. And these four very heavy crocks, which I can barely lift when full of water and veg, fit perfectly on it. I scoot it in and out of our very tiny closet to keep it in the shade and out of the way.

My husband is gently urging me to try and make a small business out of my fermenting and pickling. While I do seem to have a latent pickling gene, I have zero idea where to start on a mountain of an endeavor like that. Don't you need a commercial kitchen? And, um, licenses? And good knees for all the standing?- (one really big day of pickling, and honestly, it hurts to walk the next day). And any inspector would take a look at the giant freaking worm bin at the other end of my dining room and gape and gasp in germy horror. But folks who've tried my kraut and pickles think I may be onto something here. I get a lot of wordless "yummmmm"s and "oooohh"s and "ahhhhh"s. Their eyes really light up. It makes me gloriously happy.

Anyone know how to go about it?

Pickles are a lot of work

(MMMMmmmmmm)
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Yes it's true, making pickles is hard work. But if you've never done it, I urge you to try- it's completely worth it. I (mostly) blame my pickle obsession for my utter lack of posting- that, and I've been spinning and knitting quite a bit, too. I've put up one or two batches of pickles every weekend since the beginning of August. I have put up about 100 quarts so far. Because if (fill in the blank) is not worth doing obsessively, it's not worth doing.

What's pictured above? Dilly beans, various jardinieres, peppers, eggplants, mixed zucchini. And of course, cukes. The sauerkraut is in the fridge, not the closet; I didn't want to cook it because the crunch is amazing and I wanted to preserve the live culture in the kraut. I shredded 30 pounds of cabbage, and after 2 weeks in a crock, it packed perfectly into 10 one-quart jars. My father-in-law gave me just about the best compliment I could ever hear- he said it tasted like kraut from his childhood in North Carolina farm country. I make old-fashioned farm kraut!

And sadly, there are far too many green tomatoes here- it was a bad year for ripe tomatoes. I made a batch (7 quarts) of plain pickled tomatoes with peppers; a batch of sweet chutney with vinegar, spices and brown sugar; and a couple of jars of tomato butter- it's just like apple butter, but made with green tomatoes. If I didn't tell you it was tomato butter, you'd think it was apple butter. It's delicious.

I'm madly in love with home-made pickles. It is just amazing to open up my own jars of vegetables. We eat pickles with nearly every meal. We didn't know what we were missing. They are better than anything I've ever had from the store. And now that the temperature is dropping into the 30s, I swear I can taste summer in them.

Most of the latest veg have come from the farmer's market- the earlier pickles were from my own garden. I pickle whatever looks freshest on Saturday morning at the market, and I try to pickle what's been harvested in the last day or two. This weekend's farmer's market will no doubt showcase the very last of the peppers and possibly a few other late summer veg. Perhaps this weekend will allow for one more batch of jardiniere?

Pickles!

(Yum.)

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Whoo-hoo! I have pickles. Well, mostly. One of the recipes didn't work out.
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I used two different recipes from the wonderful book "Joy of Pickling" by Linda Ziedrich. In the large crock, I followed her "Spicy Crock Pickles" recipe. The recipe called for 12 pounds of cukes, but I only had 6 pounds, so I halved it.

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The second recipe I followed was "Robert's Tea Pickles". I had exactly the correct amount of pickles, two pounds, so I followed the recipe to the letter.

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I tried one of each today; the dill recipe is amazing. The tea pickles, not so much. Something went wrong with the recipe and the pickles are entirely too salty, and have an off flavor. I'm going to dump them and get more cukes this weekend. I'm not sure what I did wrong with the tea recipe, but thank goodness for the farmer's market. Every vendor last weekend had piles and piles of freshly-picked cukes. I'm sure that will be the continuing story for weeks to come.

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Next up for this weekend- some sort of mixed giardiniera recipe...

Up North/ Containers for Food!

(Crunch-crunch-crunch)

Saint-husband and I went to northern Michigan this weekend. Went snowshoeing, had two great meals at two different favorite restaurants, saw a movie. It was restful and inspirational. The north is still utterly blanketed by snow- there's at least a foot of the white stuff. Some years, mud season arrives slowly up there. This will surely be one of those years.

I was thrilled to find a few perfect, uncracked, salt-glazed pottery pieces in an antique store. One is about 20 quarts, the other two are about 8 quarts. I will probably make lids for them in cedar, unless research discourages that specific wood. They will be perfect for my trials in lactic fermentation.

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So, what is lactic fermentation? It is a method of food preservation that does not require heat or freezing. A classic food preserved this way is sauerkraut, but many other leafy and vining vegetables preserve equally well. Lactic fermentation only requires salt, a dark cool place, a sturdy container with a lid, and some very clean water. Ordinary city tap water will not work because chlorine retards fermentation.

I recently picked up an amazing little book called:

"Preserving Food Without Canning or Freezing", by the Gardeners and Farmers of Terre Vivante.

It was compiled by the editors of a French organic gardening magazine called Les Quatre Saisons du Jardinage (Four Season Gardening). they put out a call to their readers asking for traditional family recipes of food preservation. They were astonished to receive over 500 entries. This lovely book is the result.

It covers all manner of non-electric food preservation: Preservation with alcohol, vinegar, oil or sugar; storing food in the ground or in root cellars; it even describes different techniques for drying. I found it fascinating reading, and even more so because the personalities of the recipe writers are so clear on the page. I can just picture the submitters- women who learned kitchen gardening and winter preservation from their mothers and grandmothers; men who learned how to bury food in the ground from their grandfathers, who in turn had been doing it that way for as long as anyone could possibly remember.

In other words, for as long as people have been farming.