Down on the Farm

Last weekend, I set aside years of aversion to what I thought was buttermilk. That is, I thought buttermilk was what you bought at the grocery store. In more recent months, I have learned that buttermilk sold at the store is actually a cultured sour milk.  My dad and a friend who grew up on Pennsylvania Dutch cooking had praised buttermilk as a beverage, and so, when I made butter last weekend, I took a sip. And another, and another, and another.  I could easily have consumed the two cups of buttermilk that were the result of making a pound of butter, only I shared the experience with friends.  

Since I discovered the joys of fresh butter, I have been finding all sorts of uses for buttermilk.  Pancakes, for example.  When our last box of Bisquick ran out, I vowed to not purchase anymore, instead putting together a homemade pancake mix that I have dubbed "Disquick." Using that with fresh buttermilk resulted in just about the best pancakes I have ever had.  

Today, I am about ready to make butter again, this time thinking I'm going to use some of the buttermilk to make cornbread with our home-grown jalapeno peppers.  They are the first produce to ripen in our yard, and much bigger than last year's peppers.  Soon to follow will be our sole bell pepper so far.  

Tonight's menu looks like the following:

Frittata with home-grown basil

Salad-home-grown lettuce and cherry tomatos with homemade dressing

Cornbread-locally grown and ground cornmeal, homemade butter and buttermilk, and home-grown jalapenos. 

I can't wait until the day we have chickens and can have fresh eggs!

Spinning and Butter

So I recently purchased a handmade pottery butter churn from the potter herself.  The old-fashioned kind, with a dasher. It's a 1/2 gallon churn, and works quite well for a quart of cream, which comes out to about a pound of butter and 2 cups of buttermilk.  I had made butter recently with a friend who has a similar churn, and found myself confident of being able to repeat the experience. The first time took place outside on a hot day with room temperature cream. With several people taking turns, it only took about ten minutes for cream to finish its magical transformation into smooth, creamy butter.  When I attempted it on my own, in the AC in front of an episode of the Tudors, it took nearly the whole episode.  But it was absolutely worth it, despite tired arms from the up-down motions.  The butter was extremely creamy, and of course, free of anything except cream.  It went delicious on homemade corn bread (the cornmeal came from a local historic mill that grinds with an 18th century water wheel, and the corn was local too!)  

My other new skill is spinning!  Yesterday, with a friend's drop spindle, I got a brief lesson in spinning.  A drop spindle is as if you took one piece off the spinning wheel (the part that Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on, if you recall.) Instead of the wheel moving the spindle, you drop it and give it a flick, and the spinning of the spindle twists the wool into thread.  I started sewing about five years ago, and found this to be much easier to pick up, although of course I am no expert. It's extremely relaxing, and I will be making my own drop spindle, using a dowel and clay for weight.  

I am going to demonstrate both of these skills for my sixth-grade class this week as part of a lesson about how much daily life has changed from the time period that they studied in Social Studies this year (American History to 1877).  Ah the text messaging generation.

Foraging

As I've mentioned, I did a bit of foraging as a child. Berry-picking and chewing of sassafras roots, and so forth. My dad occasionally nibbled a blade of grass, more to make me giggle than for taste. My step-mother brought home puffball mushrooms from the woods once or twice. Seeing dandelions everywhere has made me think about possible uses for that supposed weed. Of course, one has to make sure they are not sprayed with pesticides (if only grocery store produce was guaranteed the same, without the organic pricetag).

The Fat of the Land is a blog after my own heart, all about urban foraging. He has recipes and hunting suggestions for fiddlehead ferns, dandelions, and mushrooms, as well as green weedy things I never knew the names of. I'm having visions of wild green salads, although the author recommends mixing wild greens with more familiar greens such as spinach for beginning foragers.

I'm also interested in making dandelion wine along with the fruit wines that I plan on making with the wild blackberries that grow on the side of the road near our little homestead. Dear Husband (DH) is somewhat dubious about this idea, preferring instead to brew his more familiar beers.

I learned about spring beauty on a field trip in elementary school. Not just a description, it is a little white flower with tubers similar to the potato, but smaller. I've been meaning to track some down for years, perhaps this is the year. The leaves are also edible, and were consumed by Native Americans.

Onion grass is one of those crazy weeds that takes over the yard. But is it edible? It certainly smells like the chives that it resembles.

Homemade Versus Store-Bought: Pasta Edition

Recession gardens.  Homemade food.  There is a lot of talk lately that going green is not only healthier and better for the environment, but also budget-friendly.  We're switching to a lot of homemade things in our diet around here, with the goal to eventually have a processed-food free pantry.  I've been making my own cookies for years, but it's time to take things a step further. I made marshmallows. Lately, I've been baking a lot of bread.  We've also started making our own pasta, and boy is it delicious!

We use American's Test Kitchen's recipe, which calls for 3 eggs and 2 cups of flour. You pulse the flour in a food processor and then add the eggs.  If the dough doesn't form a ball, you add a teaspoon of ice water at a time.  If it's too sticky, you add in a bit more flour. Then you let it sit for fifteen minutes before rolling it into sheets and then through the pasta cutter.  It doesn't get much easier than that.  Fresh pasta only needs to cook for about 3 minutes. We usually put the water on as soon as we start rolling the dough, and by the time the pasta is ready to go in the water, it's boiling. Pretty quick procedure. Takes maybe 3o minutes total. You can make a simple sauce while the pasta is resting. Take that, Rachel Ray!

So is it more budget friendly?

Let's compare to Safeway.

 1 lb. Safeway brand spaghetti: $1.25

We'll keep shopping at Safeway for our other ingredients, to keep things consistent.

Eggs: $1.99 per dozen

Flour:  $2.00 for 5 lbs. all-purpose flour

I think it's clear who is going to win this, but let's finish making our calculations, shall we?

Eggs come out to a total of about $0.50.  (1.99/12x3)

Flour comes out to about $0.40.  (2.00/1o cups x 2)

$0.90 for homemade spaghetti versus $1.25 for store brand spaghetti. Homemade wins!  

Welcome!

When I was a child, I would go for long walks with my grandfather or my dad.  My grandfather and I would pick blackberries or pull up sassafras, dipping the roots in sugar and chewing them until they were frayed and flavorless.  Sometimes, we would drive around to find wild berry bushes, once stumbling upon wild raspberries.  My grandfather, a friendly man, took me to Amish farms where we would sit and talk, and I would stare wide-eyed at massive rams.  When we returned from our berry-picking expeditions, my grandmom would help me turn the berries into pies and jams.  There is truly nothing like homemade jam.  

My dad, while we walked, would tell me stories of growing up on a farm, slaughtering chickens and adopting a rooster.  In the woods, he would point out plants to me and teach me rhymes.  

I come from a solidly agricultural background. My dad and his five siblings grew up on a farm in what is now Bethesda.  My mother grew up working on her grandparents' tobacco farm every summer. And even my thoroughly suburban step-mother spent a great deal of her adult life on farms.  She introduced my dad to the joys of things foraged in the woods: mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns.  Despite my family's ties to the earth, I had a pretty thoroughly suburban upbringing.  

All the same, I loved green things, as much as I struggled to keep them alive.  We grew a few plants on our deck: tomatoes every summer, eaten like apples while still warm from the sun.  Every now and then we might attempt some melons, and one summer, we had strawberries in the backyard. I loved all that fresh produce, which developed into a love for the local Farmer's Market.

As I've gotten older and more aware, I have become more determined that my food should be fresh and that I should know where it came from.  The more of it that can come from my own hands, the better.  Sometimes, it is simply a matter of saving money.  Sometimes, it is for the joy of getting out into my garden and getting my hands dirty.  For the joy of eating something that I have watched from a seed or a flower. 

My husband and I dream of the day when we can have a bit more land, enough for a much bigger garden, a few chickens, and maybe even a goat. Some place where our dog will never have to be on a leash, in a house that is built sustainably and energy efficient. To perhaps even live off the grid.  For now though, we're trying to turn our townhouse in a highly developed area into a miniature homestead.