11/ FRIDAY AT FELICIA'S ATOMIC LOUNGE

After scaring up a little dinner after work, I cycled downtown to Felicia’s Atomic Lounge on West State Street, next to Gimme Coffee. Some Friday evenings an eclectic old-timey band plays there, and tonight I lucked out.

They call themselves Long John & The Tights—a latter-day Holy Modal Rounders with more instruments. John Hoffmann, one of my coworkers in Olin Library, plays a wicked fiddle. There’s a 5-string banjoist, a banjo ukelele player also from the library, a tenor guitarist, and percussive accompaniment from a small woman on the upright piano in the corner. A banjo uke is a four-string banjo about the size of a ukelele. The tenor guitar is about the size of a mandolin, also with four strings. Whatever it is, it’s fun. It the kind of the music people played outdoors at impromptu get togethers in the Arkansas Ozarks when we lived down there in the 1970s.

A few songs after I arrived, a young man ducked out the door and returned with a small wooden box open on the bottom side and covered with thin plywood on the top. It was about two and a half by three feet and three inches tall. Turns out it was a clogging box or pedestal. After shimming one corner with a couple of pieces of folded paper, he began dancing to the music. Not your high-stepping Irish-style clog, but a shuffling, syncopated, heel and toe routine. Turns out he is the son of the woman playing the tenor guitar. Turns out he also made the guitar. A dancing guitar maker.

Felicia’s is that type of place—low-key and eclectic. People wander in and out. There’s a bar on one side, and two couches and some black Naugahyde easy chairs by the music. [Background on the Nauga, source of Naughyde, at http://www.naugahyde.com/history.html]

As I left Felicia’s, two cyclists straddled their bicycles in the sidewalk out front. One was an older man with a ponytail and a beard dressed in full pirate regalia—black pirate boots with the turned-down tops, the black pirate hat, full pants, the full-sleeved shirt, a black leather vest, and flying the Jolly Roger from a tall whip on the back of his bike. The whole nine yards. Another Friday night in Ithaca.

Footnote: Today (Sunday, two days later) I figured out that Friday was International Talk Like a Pirate Day [http://www.talklikeapirate.com/piratehome.html]. That put the pirate costume in context. The revelation came via the Friday, September 19, New York Times crossword puzzle. The clue for 8 DOWN is "'Well I'll be!,' as it might be said on September 19." The answer is "Shiver me timbers." That's when the light went on.

--Michael

10/ OKRA IN ITHACA

Okra plants in our kitchen garden peeking out from behind the netting like eager doggies.

Growing okra is not something I expected to accomplish in Ithaca. Okra likes hot weather. We grew it in Arkansas in the mid-1970s where it's plenty hot in the summer.

We were late getting the kitchen garden planted this year because of our major renovation project on it. One weekend in June we saw some Little Lucy okra plants for sale at Blue Heron at the Ithaca Farmer's Market. Little Lucy is a dwarf red variety that is adapted to our more northern climate. The Blue Heron folk assured us they would grow well here, and grow they have! We bought four plants. I Being in the hibiscus family, they have a lovely flower. l only have a photo of a furled blossom:

The best way to cook them is to roll them in stone-ground corn meal and sautee them in a iron skillet with some nice oil. Maybe a little salt. That's it--a summer treat. They also work well as thickening in soup--classically in Louisiana gumbo. Here they are, ready to eat:

9/ THE LATEST NEWS

Your trusty bloggee and bloggette have returned from vacation in the Pacific Northwest. Thanks to our readers who have asked about what's happened with the blog. Well, we have recovered from jet lag. And are back at work. And we promise to post next Saturday, if not before. Thanks for staying with us! We are busy eating local corn, red and green peppers, green beans, okra, tomatoes, peaches, cukes, carrots, grapes, spinach, cilantro, garlic, eggplant. More summer veggie posts to come: promoting okra in Vermont, finding locally grown and dried Italian prune plums in Washington, eating Dungeness crab, witnessing the tossing of the Coho at the Pike Street Market, and consuming gigantic marionberries in Oregon.

—Jane and Michael

8/ TOMATES/ TOMATOES

It's August and tomato season, finally, and I've been saving this poem to post until now. As the song says, "Only two things that money can't buy, that's true love and home-grown tomatoes."

Oda al Tomate / Ode to Tomatoes

La calle / The street
se llenó de tomates, / filled with tomatoes,
mediodía / midday,
verano, / summer,
la luz / light is
se parte / halved
en dos / like
mitades / a
de tomate, / tomato,
corre / its juice
por las calles / runs
el jugo. / through the streets.
En diciembre, / In December [July],
se desata / unabated,
el tomate / the tomato
invade / invades
las cocinas, / the kitchen,
entra por los almuerzos, / it enters at lunchtime,
se sienta / takes
reposado / its ease
en los aparadores… / on countertops…
Tiene / It sheds
luz propria, / its own light,
majestad benigna. / benign majesty.
Debemos, por desgracia, / Unfortunately, we must
asesinarlo: / murder it:
se hunde / the knife
el cuchillo / sinks
en su pulpa viviente, / into living flesh,
es una roja viscera, / red viscera
un sol fresco, / a cool sun,
profundo, / profound,
inagotable, / inexhaustible,
llena las ensaladas / populates the salads
de Chile, / of Chile,
se casa alegremente / happily it is wed
con la clara cebolla, / to the clear onion,
y para celebrarlo / and to celebrate the union
se deja / we
caer / pour
aceite, / oil,
hijo esencial del olivo, / essential child of the olive,
sobre sus hemisferios entreabiertos, / onto its halved hemispheres,
agrega / pepper
la pimienta / adds
su fragancia, / its fragrance,
la sal su magnetismo; / salt, its magnetism;
son las bodas / it is the wedding
del día, / of the day,
el perejil / parsley
levanta / hoists
banderines, / its flag,
las papas / potatoes
hierven vigorosamente, / bubble vigorously,
el asado / the aroma
golpea / of the roast
con su aroma / knocks
en la puerta, / at the door,
es hora! / it’s time!
vamos! / come on!
y sobre / and, on
la mesa, en la cintura / the table, at the midpoint
del verano, / of summer,
el tomate, / the tomato,
astro de tierra, / star of earth,
estrella / recurrent
repetida / and fertile
y fecunda, / star,
nos muestra / displays
sus circunvoluciones, / its convolutions,
sus canales,/ its canals,
la insigne pelitud / its remarkable amplitude
y la abundancia / and abundance,
sin hueso, / no pit,
sin coraza, / no husk,
sin escamas ni espinas, / no leaves or thorns,
nos entrega / the tomato offers
el regalo / its gift
de su color fogoso / of fiery color
y la totalidad de su frescura. / and cool completeness.

—Pablo Neruda

We'll be back from the Northwest in two weeks to post: HOW TO GROW TOMATOES. In the meantime, enjoy.

—Jane

7/ OLD MEN/ CHANTERELLES/ BABA GHANNOOJ

Last Wednesday night, Michael and I went to hear a Cornell Summer Lecture Series talk by M.H. Abrams, “On Reading Poems Aloud.” Abrams will turn 96 next Wednesday (we share the same birthday, a few decades apart) and has taught literature at Cornell since 1945, along with editing the Norton Anthology of American Literature for about as long. He was energetic, well spoken, gently hilarious, and moving. He gave us seven poems: first, his thoughts on each, then a warm reading. It was delightful to slow down and listen, carefully, to the elements of language and remember how much is communicated in so little: a consonant, a breath, a pause, a broken rhythm, a shortened line ending, a made-up word. The last poem Abrams read, and the only modern one, was written by the late A.R. Ammons, who taught in Cornell’s MFA program. It evokes my father’s request that his ashes be strewn in the New Mexico desert, where he loved to walk and explore.

MANSION

So it came time

for me to cede myself

and I chose

the wind

to be delivered to

The wind was glad

and said it needed all

the body

it could get

to show its motions with

and wanted to know

willingly as I hoped it would

if it could do

something in return

to show its gratitude

When the tree of my bones

rises from the skin I said

come and whirlwinding

stroll my dust

around the plain

so I can see

how the ocotillo does

and how saguaro-wren is

and when you fall

with evening

fall with me here

where we can watch

the closing up of day

and think how morning breaks

—A.R. Ammons

As we left the reading, Michael commented, “I hope I don't start moving like an old man until I’m 96.” (A slightly different video version of Abram’s lecture, which also ends with “Mansion,” is available on the web at: http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/newsrel2007/prabramsfellowship.htm)

On Thursday night, we watched Jimmy Carter: Man from Plains, a film documentary by Jonathan Demme about the 39th president’s controversial book, Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid. What most impressed me was Carter’s ability, at 84, to remain himself and to speak clearly and firmly out of his own beliefs while being criticized, misquoted, harangued, talked down to, and heckled in public. Carter spoke in different voices to different groups. For example, with Palestinians, he spoke primarily about their need to contain violence and take responsibility for their elected government’s actions. With Israelis, he emphasized their need to return lands to the Palestinians and take down the walls. Nobody was happy with him. But he was trying to voice in each situation, I think, what was being left out of that particular conversation. It takes a lot of self to do that. In the final scenes of the film, Jimmy and Rosalynn were biking along a red dirt road in Georgia—not bad for 84 and 81.

There must be lots of these amazing old men around; I want to hear more from them.

Early Friday morning, on a walk out South Hill, Michael and I saw a destroying angel mushroom (Amanita virosa). It's one of the most poisonous mushrooms but pure white and exquisitely beautiful. That cued Michael to check out a secret mushroom spot, and there we found a broad sweep of yellow-orange chanterelles (Cantharellus cibarius) under the oaks! Many of them, most of them unfortunately, were already too old and wormy, but we were able to gather a large handful to take home for lunch. What visually distinguishes chanterelles from the mildly poisonous jack-o-lantern mushrooms (Omphalotus illudens) is the branched veins under the cap all the way to the edge (which I think you can see in the photograph) rather than parallel gills. We sautéed the chanterelles in olive oil and ate them on toast with lemon juice and black pepper.

Today, I bought an eggplant at the farmer’s market and made the first baba ghannooj of the season. It was the best either of us can remember. Was it the extra dose of lemon juice? the fresh garlic? the Arrowhead Mills tahini? or maybe just the fact that we haven’t tasted baba ghannooj in nine months? There is nothing else like it: roasty fragrance, airy texture of whipped cream, sharp lemon acidity. Here’s the recipe I use:

BABA GHANNOOJ

1 unblemished eggplant, about 1 lb.
1 large clove garlic, coarsely chopped
¼ c. lemon juice (or half again as much)
¼ c. finely chopped sweet onion
½ t. salt
1 T. good olive oil
2 T. tahini

Pierce the unpeeled eggplant all round with a sharp fork and broil it on the highest oven shelf until thoroughly charred—blackened—on all sides and a fragrance fills the kitchen. While the eggplant broils, about 15-20 minutes, whir the remaining ingredients together in a blender until completely smooth. When the eggplant is done, cool it somewhat, slice it open, and scrape the chunks of pulp into the blender. Blend the entire contents again until smooth.

Pour into a shallow bowl and drizzle another T. of olive oil over the top. Serve the baba ghannnooj as soon as possible with an array of sliced fresh vegetables—cucumber, carrot, radish, pepper—or with fresh French bread or whole-grain pitas or corn chips.

Baba ghannooj is light and airy, effervescent almost, when just made, but it loses taste and texture after refrigeration. So I recommend eating it all up before the end of the day.

Happy summer eating.

—Jane

6/ FARMER'S MARKET NEWS

This morning (Saturday, July 12) we went to the Ithaca Farmer's Market. The variety of fresh fruit and vegetables available this week jumped up a notch from last week. Here's what we bought today. An asterisk means it's new this week.

loaf of bread—a seedy batard
sweet cherries
blueberries *
Napa cabbage *
scallions
snap peas
green beans *
beets
broccoli
fresh garlic *
cucumber
gherkins *
carrots *

Here are some of the fruits and vegetables that we ogled but didn't buy:

spinach
Swiss chard
radishes
baby potatoes
turnips
cabbage
kohlrabi
pie cherries
Queen Anne cherries
gooseberries *
black raspberries
red raspberries
eggplant *
tomatoes
kale
lettuce
currants *
hot peppers *

The middle of July is an expansive time at the Farmer's Market. A new group of longer-season, heat-loving vegetables ripens. It's one of the very best things about summer, something rich to offset the bouts of hot and humid weather that some veggies need to grow and thrive but that I find oppressive. Unless I'm swimming in the lake or eating a fresh carrot just out of the earth.

—Michael

5/ COLE SLAW

For years, I held out hope for cabbage. There had to be something good to do with it, since so many food traditions have depended on it as a staple. I had a college roommate with Eastern European roots who was always looking for “the perfect cole slaw.” I wanted to be interested but just didn’t like it that much.

Old-timers in the Arkansas Ozarks grew and ate a lot of cabbage, mostly steamed or gently boiled in narrow wedges. I ate it a lot there, but again without much delight.

The summer Anna was born, 1977, we grew dozens of green cabbages. They were beautiful, but what to do with them? I made sauerkraut in a crock, which was a lot of fun to make and to watch ferment. The taste, however, was rather ordinary. (It probably takes a few generations to get sauerkraut right.) The fee for Anna’s birth in one of two labor rooms in a nursing home in Jasper, AR, was $100. And we also gave the two doctors (a married couple) a bushel of cabbages. So, I guess Anna can claim to be one of the proverbial children found under a cabbage.

Doug’s Fish Fry in Cortland, NY, makes delicious cole slaw—I used to eat there sometimes when I still worked in Cortland. But they rely on ingredients that I don’t use on a regular basis: cream, for instance. It’s no challenge to make something taste good with cream—anyone can do it. My goal is to work out recipes that use the healthiest, freshest ingredients and still taste flat-out delicious.

Oddly, the germ of this cole slaw recipe was born in Chile, after Lucy’s wedding. Her friend Simnia threw together a simple cole slaw for lunch one day. I can’t now remember what she used for the dressing, except that the base was olive oil. The key, for me, was that she showed me how to salt the thin slivers of cabbage and let them rest a bit to soften before adding the dressing. I liked this cole slaw very much.

Back at home, I wanted to try Simnia’s approach and happened upon a simple mustard vinaigrette that sounded like a good possibility for the dressing. (I don’t remember where I read it—my recipe gathering/stealing skills seem to come together in fragments.) I use Maille Dijon Originale mustard, which is terrific, I’m now addicted to it. Madhur Jaffrey recommends another, Moutarde de Meaux, but I haven’t found it anywhere yet. Probably any good quality Dijon mustard will work fine.

This week a New York Times article lists cabbage as one of “The 11 Best Foods You're Not Eating": http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/06/30/the-11-best-foods-you-arent-eating/?em&ex=1215489600&en=3e09bb96503e4f20&ei=5087%0A. Cabbage is listed in the number 2 spot. So, now, if you like this cole slaw, you can easily eat lots of cabbage. (Beets are listed as number 1 on the list; I’ll write about beets another day.)

Here’s the recipe:

COLE SLAW

½ a small, perfect cabbage, green or red, cut into 2 quarters, cored, and very finely sliced
a small section of sweet onion, very finely sliced
3 T. good olive oil
1 t. (or more to taste) good Dijon mustard
salt
freshly ground pepper

Pile the sliced cabbage from one of the quarters and a bit of the sliced onion into a serving bowl. Sprinkle salt over the top. Add the remaining cabbage and onion slices, and salt this layer too. Use about as much salt altogether as you would otherwise add to a salad this size, or a little more than usual, to taste. Then set the cabbage aside for about ½ an hour, until it’s beginning to wilt.

For the dressing, whisk together the oil and mustard (a fork works just as well), using a slow, stirring movement until the dressing emulsifies into a beautiful golden-yellow thickness the texture of whipped cream. Watching the dressing emulsify is very exciting! Note: it sometimes refuses to thicken if you whisk too vigorously. Sometimes, in fact, it just won’t emulsify, no matter what you do. Who knows why? But not a problem; it still tastes fine on those days, too.

When the cabbage has visibly softened, stir the dressing into it and all through.

This is the simplest, best cole slaw I’ve tasted so far; and I’m picky about cabbage. The dressing is also great on steamed green beans and broccoli.

—Jane