I kind of know how they feel. Not that I’m attempting anything like a 100-mile diet—just the CSA. But I swear, if I see another cabbage, or cucumber, or even an ear of corn I might very well start screaming. I wouldn’t mind so much if I had a chest freezer (or anywhere to put one), or even just a basement (see previous), but at this point, I’ve got more than half a freezer full of quart baggies of miscellaneous veggies, plus three quart jars of fridge pickles and a largish container of oven-dried tomatoes. And of course we’ve been eating veggies all the time as well. I felt a little like an ingrate last week when I had to turn down the offer of a second head of iceberg lettuce (ick, iceberg—I didn’t even really want the first one), explaining that I just didn’t have enough room in my fridge. The response sounded tired and exasperated: “Well, it’s feast or famine.” I get it, I really do, and I appreciate these folks’ generosity, but I did only sign up for half a bushel every week, and with good reason—there’s only the two of us to eat all this stuff. Lately, though, I’ve been getting more like a full bushel, and the veggies are kind of taking over my life, like something out of a cheap-ass sci-fi/horror movie. Obviously, I would have made a lousy farm-wife—I can just hear my maternal grandmother tsk-ing at me from the great beyond. I never met her, but I hear tell she never failed to stock her cellar to bursting with all manner of pickled and canned fruits and veggies.

I am trying, though—taking baby steps. Who knows, maybe I’ll get up the nerve (and somehow find the time) to try the real deal—real pickling. Lord knows I’ve got enough cukes.

Cole slaw, of course, would be the obvious thing to make with this bounty, but I’d already made that a few weeks ago (albeit a non-standard version), and much as I like cole slaw, I just couldn’t feature eating several gallons of the stuff. Stuffed cabbage was out, too—I remember my Grandma’s sisters and nieces making it for family reunions, and I remember my Mom trying to replicate the recipe, not quite so successfully. It’s sort of like making tamales—which I love, but have never summoned up the ambition to make. So there was no way I was going to make stuffed cabbage, which I feel rather meh about.

What to do? Other than cole slaw, and other, similar salad-like recipes, I could find very little in the way of summer-y cabbage recipes on Epicurious, foodandwine.com or anywhere else on the web (I did find this recipe for a very interesting-sounding Indian take on cabbage, but decided to try it another time). So I finally gave in, and decided to do St. Patty’s Day in July. (Why should Christmas be the only holiday to double-dip?)

The main event: baked cabbage with bacon…

and since we needed something to round out the meal: Irish soda bread with raisins and caraway…

Both were unqualified successes. The hubby described the baked cabbage as being like “a bowlful of bacon”, in a good way—the bacon and cabbage melded together nicely, both in taste and texture, with a healthy dose of toasted bread crumbs providing a little contrast. And the bread—the best soda bread I’ve ever had, hands down. I was initially a little worried about the combo of raisins and caraway (which usually puts me in mind of rye bread), but it was a good, if unusual, pairing.

Now if I could just figure out what to do with all the summer squash and cukes…

The kernels got sliced off of the two ears of corn (yeah, I know–corn, in Michigan, in June? Something seems fishy with this CSA, but I’ll get back to you on that one) and baked into corn muffins (my favorite recipe is this one).

The cabbage, several radishes (last week’s bunch–there were more this week!), and this week’s bunch of green onions, plus half of a Granny Smith apple, chopped up fine, together with a bottle of blue cheese dressing, several splashes of apple cider vinegar, some celery seed, salt and pepper, went into this unconventional cole slaw–

Put those together with a slow-cooked pork shoulder, and we’ve got dinner, plus lots of leftovers for lunches (no last-minute peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches this week–sorry, hubby).

As if that weren’t enough, I also blanched and froze the couple of handfuls of okra we got in the box, because there was no way I was using that this week (I didn’t bother taking a photo of those slimy little buggers–which I’m sure will be perfectly yummy in a gumbo sometime soon, so no offense, okra-lovers). Most of what’s left now is greens (collard, kale and spinach), which are just going to have to wait til later this week (maybe a greens gratin?), because my dogs are definitely barking.

Well, seal is organic…

Still, I have been cooking, and some of the things I’ve made have actually been pretty darn good. One of my Christmas presents was “My Bread”, by Jim Lahey, the “originator” of the no-knead bread recipe (okay–I don’t buy that for a minute, because I know there have been similar recipes floating around for quite awhile, but I suppose he deserves some props for popularizing it, I guess), and I’ve made a couple of less-than-beautiful-but-still-terrific-tasting loaves–I’m a convert. I can’t wait to try a whole grain version.

Also, this recipe from The Splendid Table’s Weeknight Kitchen e-newsletter (and their book, “How To Eat Supper”) is pretty amazing–not to mention forgiving: last time I made it I forgot to toss the veggies with several of the ingredients, and added them late in the roasting process, and it still turned out well. I’ve left out the basil and sage, added pinenuts, subbed parmesan for asiago, used whole-wheat spaghetti instead of bowties, or used kale instead of escarole or frisee; I’m sure other, similar types of squash would work, and other winter veggies might be really interesting as well. There’s also no reason why you couldn’t leave out the dairy, although you might want to add an extra glug or two of olive oil at the end to keep it from being too dry. Nutty, caramelized, cheesy goodness, and it’s fairly cheap AND good for you–what’s not to love?

Late Breaking News:

For anyone who, like me, lives in the Belleville/Canton/western Wayne County area, there’s a new CSA on the block: Pallet Gardens Farms (the farm’s not new, but the CSA is). In addition to a broad variety of veggies, the owners, the Mackalls, are offering breads, jams, eggs and meat (I’m guessing smoked turkey and/or ribs, based on their info packet) from their sister business, the Alabama Rib House. The prices seem pretty typical–$550 for a full bushel which feeds 4-6 for the 20 week season, and $325 for a half bushel. They also state that they follow “natural” farming practices–no chemicals or pesticides. David and I are going to give them a shot this year, and I’ll keep you posted on how it goes. If you’re interested in more info, their number is 734-461-4834.

Real Onion Dip

(slightly adapted from “The Improvisational Cook” by Sally Schneider)

2 pounds yellow onions, peeled and sliced thinly (1/8”)

2 Tbsp unsalted butter, olive oil or, like I used,  bacon fat

1/2 tsp kosher salt, or to taste

1/2 tsp sugar

Freshly ground black pepper

1 cup Greek yogurt (or, if you and dairy are on speaking terms, sour cream)

Melt butter or bacon fat in a large nonstick, cast-iron or otherwise heavy skillet over moderately low heat. Add onions, sprinkle with salt and toss to coat. Cover and cook until the onions have released their liquid (13-15 minutes). Uncover, increase the heat to moderate, and, stirring occasionally,  cook until the liquid has evaporated (about another 10 minutes or so). Sprinkle with the sugar and continue cooking, stirring frequently, until the onions are caramelized. (Schneider says this should take about another 10 minutes, but it took me a good 20-25 minutes–maybe I was just being too conservative with the heat. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, I would’ve taken some photos of the stages of the process, but, suffice it to say, you want these puppies to be a really rich, mahogany brown.) Remove from the heat, salt and pepper to taste, and let cool.

At this point, you should have approximately 1 cup of caramelized onions (if, for some reason, you have more than that, you can always keep them in the fridge to use elsewhere–they should keep at least 4 days). Chop the onions finely, and mix with the yogurt/sour cream. Add more salt and/or pepper if you feel it needs it, or maybe a squeeze or two of lemon juice.

Personally, I thought this dip wasn’t bad, but it was a little on the sweet side. I’m thinking next time, I might experiment with adding a bit of beef stock somewhere in the process (to give it more of a French Onion-y flavor), or maybe just some finely chopped bacon.

A couple of weeks ago, said hubby and I were sitting at a picnic table outside of the Historic Parshallville Grist/Cider Mill, taking in the lovely and quaint surroundings, the babbling of the brook beside us, the slight nip in the air of early Fall … and inhaling some pretty fabulous donuts along with our fresh-off-the-press cider. Still, there was no way we were going to eat the entire dozen donuts we had purchased, so we got to talking about what to do with the remainders. Of course, there’s always that old standby use for any stale bread-y baked good: bread pudding. But, as I said before, we were inhaling those donuts, and had gotten through about half of them already, so there wasn’t really enough left for a decent pudding. Then it occurred to us, well, what would you do if you just wanted to revive them? I was of the opinion that if you just microwaved them for 15-20 seconds, to heat them through and steam them a bit to de-stale them, then fried them briefly in a pan with a bit of oil to restore that bit of greasy crunch all really good cider-mill donuts have, you might be able to come out with something relatively close to a fresh donut.

Guess what? It actually worked!

Okay, so I’m not Christopher Kimball–it was still a fun experiment.

My junior year in high school, I went to Munich with part of my German language class. It was a great trip–my first time on a trip without my parents, my first plane trip, my first time out of the country (for Michiganians, Canada doesn’t count)–but not exactly a life-changing culinary experience. Other than lots of trips to McD’s for “ein Big Mäc und eine grosse Sprite, bitte” (probably the only words of “German” I spoke all trip), all I can really remember is:

- lots of (not particularly good) wiener schnitzel, until our tour guides finally convinced the hostel kitchen to make us something, anything else (and then we got plain baked chicken);

- a dude, from the rowdy bunch of kids from another school in our tour group, who suddenly exclaimed, outraged, about the leaf that had fallen into his tomato soup–to be fair, we were lunching alfresco, but it wasn’t from the tree branches hanging overhead–it was a bay leaf garnish (his friends probably still aren’t letting him live that one down);

- pancake soup.

Yep, you read that right–pancake soup. Literally. I’m pretty sure it was just ribbons of sliced-up pancakes floating in chicken broth. I’d love to say this was unexpectedly delicious, but, well, no. It was just plain weird. And, much as I love making soup, really not something I’ve ever had a yen to replicate.

The following, however, is a favorite in my house–it’s adapted slightly from a recipe in The Daily Soup Cookbook (Hyperion, 1999), of the New York restaurant of the same name. The book is a terrific little collection of soups, of all sorts–every fall, when I start to crave soup again, I dig it out, pore over it until I’m salivating, and make all kinds of grand plans. So far, I’ve only made maybe half a dozen of 200 or so recipes in the book, but maybe I’ll get with it this year. (That, and maybe one of these days I’ll remember to take a photo or two of the things I cook–what can I say, I’m new to this. Trust me–this makes a very pretty, not to mention delicious, bowl of soup.)

Corn Chowder with (or without) Cilantro (the way I make it)

I know corn chowder may not sound exciting, but this one is a pretty exemplary member of the genre–it’s not thick and gloppy, like so many others, and in every spoonful you get this terrific combo of sweet, spicy, tangy, creamy, and just corn, pure and simple. The original recipe is intended to be served cold, which would be fine, but I like to heat mine up just a touch.

4 cups corn kernels, fresh or frozen
6-8 cups veggie stock or water (if you’re really ambitious, you can make corn stock with the leftover corn cobs, if you’re using fresh corn–just simmer them for 30 minutes in the stock/water before combining it with the corn kernels)
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 chipotle chile in adobo, minced, with 1/2 tsp. sauce
2 Tbsp sugar
2 1/2 tsp kosher salt
2 red bell peppers, seeded and diced
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup half and half
1 Tbsp lime juice
1/2 cup chopped scallions
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro (optional)

Dump corn kernels into a large stockpot and add enough stock/water to cover. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. (At this point, if you like your soup with a bit of chew to it, pull out 1-2 cups of the cooked corn and reserve, to add back in after the pureeing step.) Add garlic, chipotle, sugar and salt, and puree until smooth, either in a jar blender (being very careful–this is hot liquid you’re handling, after all) or using a stick blender (my personal preference). Stir in red peppers, scallions, buttermilk, half and half, cilantro, if using, and lime juice. Pour into a large bowl and refrigerate, if you’d like to eat the soup cold–otherwise, just ladle into bowls and serve.

Makes approx. 10 cups

Scarlet Oaks, unplugged

Scarlet Oaks is MLFB’er Noelle’s band (that’s her in the middle of the photo above). Not that I’m an expert or anything, but I think they were easily the best band I heard that night.

MLFB'ers (l to r: me, Patti, Noelle, Olivia and Alison)

A small contingent, yes, but it was fun. Noelle’s band performed in the cabin, which was all rustic and cozy, and in the next room…

Cool looking stove, no?

Somehow it just seemed appropriate to get a photo of that, too.

We came across not one, but two brand new shops. The first was Suburban Harvest, a teeny little grocery at the corner of Forest and Wing (looks like the address is technically 606 Main St., though) specializing in locally-grown and locally-made produce and products.

Suburban Harvest--cute!

Jason Blazek, who owns the store with his wife, Katie Norris, cheerily welcomed us as we walked in, and was happy to chat about the (amazing!) strawberries and organic sprouted corn chips I bought. Again, like I said, they’re teeny, but they had a nice selection of produce, a wall full of organic flours and mixes, locally ground coffee, dairy, baked goods–you should really check them out if you’re in the area.

The second shop was CandyLicious (424 S. Main)–I swear, the residents of Plymouth are a people after my husband’s heart. We saw no fewer than four–four!–candy shops Friday night, and we didn’t even cover all of the downtown.

CandyLicious owners Jim and Robin Khoury

Still, I think CandyLicious may have carved themselves out a niche in this candy-loving town. In addition to the usual array of gummies and more gimmicky offerings designed to appeal to kids, they have an entire wall of bins of hard candies, including some classics like Squirrel Nut Zippers and black taffy, plus a number of classic candy bars, like Valomilk, Cherry Mash and SkyBar, which I’d only ever read about in Candyfreak by Steve Almond. They also have Zots, those hard-coated fizzy candies that were popular a decade or two ago, and which my husband has missed terribly. Definitely worth a visit if your sweet-tooth is feeling nostalgic.

*(These are a great deal, btw, especially if you have a Upromise account or are signed up for Borders Rewards, since they will from time to time offer $25 certificates for $3 through that site–not all of the restaurants featured on restaurant.com are great, but there are a few real gems, like Logan in Ann Arbor, and it’s a cheap way to try new places out.)