It's Alive!

I've been lazy on the cooking front, what with my first cold of 2012 knocking me out of commission for several days and The Husband's bi-weekly pump-induced Bed Rest keeping me busy, but there have been some exciting developments on the vegetable front.

We have seedlings!

 

Yes, things are actually growing!  The lettuces are peeking out, as are the tiny wild rocket sprouts next to them.

The pepper cress has officially gone doolally, which meant I was able to harvest some to add to my scrambled eggs and toast this morning.  I felt so pioneering!

The interior beans are holding strong; I just have to figure out how to train them to climb up the fake trellis I constructed out of cooling racks and picture wire.

The tomatoes are also making a strong showing.  I'm still not sure how I'm going to manage these post-transplantation, but I'll cross that tasty bridge (we're on a bridge, Charlie!) when I get there.  First, though, I have to keep the cat from eating them.  He's already beheaded at least one tomato sproutling (along with a bean stalk).  We contemplated getting him some cat grass, but we don't really want to encourage him to throw up all over the place (even more so than usual).

After much fretting and ruining of heating pads, the some of the peppers have finally woken up, too.

Overall, this little experiment in self-sufficiency is progressing nicely.  The cooking greens (cavolo nero, Swiss chard, kale) have all finally sprouted, as have the beets and peas and rat-tail radishes (the vines of which can apparently grow to several feet tall, so that is requires some frantic, not-yet-figured-out modifications). 

I'm also growing some potatoes in an old trash can.  It actually appears to maybe be working, against all sense of reason and propriety. 

Well, something is growing in there.  Let's hope it's just potatoes.

And not Cthulhu.

Googling.

The Husband wishes that I point this out, so here goes:  Apparently, the most common search terms that bring people to this humble blog (apart from "life in the dessert"), are "philip glass el diablo," which is the second most-popular result on Google and takes you to this post.

For those of you who are now brought to this post:  Welcome!  The Husband would like you to know that he really likes Philip Glass.  I sometimes confuse Philip Glass with Sufjan Stevens (musically, not visually—they look very different), but I am getting much better at that.  Also, we saw his (Philip's, not Sufjan's) opera Satyagraha a little while ago and it was very good.  Especially if you watch it in a movie theater while eating quesadillas (me) and wearing sweatpants (The Husband).  I got a little sleepy during Act III, but I blame the quesadillas.

Also, for those of you looking for the actual exchange from The Simpsons (season 14, episode 18, Dude, Where's My Ranch, which is coincidentally where I first learned about Level 5 vegans), here you go:

David Byrne:

Excuse me, I've been researching indigenous music of Springfield and couldn't help but overhear your delightfully cruel hate song.

Carl:

David Byrne?

Moe:

Singer, artist, director, composer, Talking Head.

David Byrne:

And I used to wrestle under the name El Diablo.

Lenny:

I thought that was Phillip Glass.

David Byrne:

Yeah, he wishes.

Everybody hates Ned Flanders!  And now you know why I don't eat anything that casts a shadow.

2012: The Year of the Vegetable

...or at least the Year of the Carrot.

Yes, gentle readers, I have started off 2012 on an orange foot, having become enamored of a roast carrot salad that I have made —no joke— at least four times since the new year began, and I plan on making it again tonight.  Each time I've tweaked things slightly, but at its heart lies delicious, delicious carrots.  The Husband can tell you about how, after I first cooked these carrots, I wouldn't stop raving about them.  "They are the BEST carrots I've ever made," I'd swoon.  "Seriously: THE GREATEST."  I'd bring them up randomly, in conversations that had nothing to do with carrots or vegetables or food; The Husband would mention some depressing article he'd read, or start talking about something sports-related, and I'd chime in with "Remember those awesome carrots I made?  Man.  Good stuff."  I even started babbling about them to one of the vendors at the farmers' market, who seemed both intrigued and frightened.  When I eventually got around to making this salad for The Husband, he declared it to the best thing he's ever eaten, apparently supplanting the wee stuffed peppers of yesteryear.

The funny thing about this newfound infatuation is that I don't even like carrots.  I keep buying them because they are Good For Me, but then I usually just panic and never use them.  Apart from the odd grating in a salad, I can't eat them raw, and I can make only so much mirepoix for soup before life goes from souper to...OK, all I can come up with here is some variant of "pooper," which is too cheap a joke even for me, so feel free to substitute your own, invariably better, play on words, unless you are 11-years old, The Husband, or one of The Husband's friends, in which case, YOU'RE WELCOME that I sullied this fine blog with a lame poop joke.

The basic idea for these carrots comes from Jamie Oliver, whose method for cooking all manner of root vegetables (parboiling, then roasting) I have adopted wholeheartedly.  It also takes advantage of Arizona's glorious citrus season, which is currently kicking into gear and which I adore — as much I as love snow and cold weather, there is something sublime about walking home from the farmers' market, while enjoying 60º temperatures and a just-picked orange, in the middle of January.  Oh, PHX: you would be so much better if you were properly inhabitable for more than four months of the year!

To make the basic version of this salad, get yourself some good carrots; I like the short, stubby, pale orange ones that probably have a fancy name that I do not know, but any carrot would work (this cooking method also lends itself well to beets and I imagine things like parsnips and turnips as well).  Try to use carrots that are all roughly the same size, or cut them into equal-ish pieces, so that everything cooks more evenly.  Boil your carrots in some salted water until tender, probably 10 minutes or so, depending on size.  While the carrots are cooking, preheat the oven to 400ºF.

Also while the carrots are cooking, get started on making the carrot dressing.  In a mortar and pestle (or food processor), bash up a large pinch each of cumin seeds and black mustard seeds, along with a small pinch of salt and pinch of Aleppo pepper (or any dried chile) to taste.  Once those are finely ground, add a clove of garlic and a tablespoon of fresh thyme leaves, then mix up into a paste.  Pour in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil and a tablespoonish of vinegar (a light one, like white balsamic) and stir up.  Once the carrots are done, drain and dump into a large bowl.  While the carrots are still hot, pour in the dressing and mix, making sure all the carrots get nicely coated, then put everything into one side of a baking dish (making sure to get all of the flavorful dressing in as well).  In the other half of the tray, place a halved grapefruit, orange, or other sweetish citrus, then bang the whole thing into the oven to roast.  This should take another 10 minutes, but you know you're golden when the carrots start to brown and caramelize a bit.

While the carrots are in the oven, gather up the rest of the salad parts, which include:

• one handful of washed and drained arugula leaves
• one-half an avocado, coarsely diced
• two small slices of baguette (or other good, crusty bread) toasted/grilled and rubbed with a cut garlic clove, then torn into pieces

Once the carrots are done, leave them to cool and (carefully!) juice the roasted grapefruit/orange/whatever.  To the juice, add about an equal amount of olive oil and  a tablespoon of fruity honey, then mix.  (This will make FAR more dressing than you need, but it keeps well in the fridge in a closed container and is excellent on regular salads.)  Lightly dress the arugula, to taste, then place at the bottom of a bowl.  Add the avocado and carrots, and top with the garlic bread crisps.  Mix up, add more dressing if you like, and enjoy!

Later iterations benefited from the addition of goat cheese, toasted pepitas, pomegranate seeds, matchsticked black radishes, crispy cranberry beans, and/or red/black quinoa.  The main thing to keep in mind, here, is texture: the carrots and avocado will all have a very similar mouthfeel, so to keep things from getting too mushy, be sure to balance them out with toothsome foods, like the crispy bread or crunchy vegetables.

Also, I suppose 2012 could legitimately be considered Year of the Vegetable, because it is the year that I finally got around to attempting to grow some vegetables of my own.  The Door to Nowhere in our bedroom is guarded by a metal railing, from which I have hung several planters that may, Providence willing, become food.

I am only marginally optimistic about this, given the constraints of location and sunshine (our windows face the inner courtyard, which blocks a fair amount of sun: good at helping keep the apartment cool in the summer, but not-so-good for germinating seedlings), but we shall see what happens.

If nothing else, it gave me a good reason to go to Home Depot, which I love because all the tools and things make me feel super productive and like I could make anything.  Which would be true, if I actually had space for such things.

Like a house.  Not a one-bedroom apartment that I don't own and can't actually make changes to.

And with that, I leave you with the brilliant observation of Mr. Mitchell Hedberg:

I went to the Home Depot the other day, which was unnecessary... I need to go to the Apartment Depot, which is just a big warehouse with people standing around saying "hey, we ain't gotta fix shit!"

Renters, unite!


(Note: the faint red handprints along the side of the Door to Nowhere are not blood, nor were they left by ghosts of murdered children who haunt our apartment.  I hope.)

Wee Peppers: An Update

I just learned that the wee peppers, so lovingly discussed here, are actually called Mini Bell peppers.  Most places suggest that they are good for stuffing, which I guess validates me?  Or maybe it was just the oversized chickpeas that were not good for stuffing?  MYSTERIES.  Where's Robert Stack when you need him?

I'm sticking with wee peppers, though, because it's more delightful.  WEE!

Triumphantly, Wee (Pepper) Return.

Today was a grown-up day, which meant that I made tea when I woke up this morning.  I realize that doesn't sound like much, but when you work from home and are sort of lazy and are maybe suffering from shin splints, it definitely counts.  (Let it be known that I also did some work and learned about pediatric GERD and had some delicious beet pizza [beetza?] for lunch, so I am on some sort of roll).  This is obviously all part of my (half-hearted) attempt to get back onto some type of schedule, so as to round out 2011 on a productive bang.

Fortunately, given how anyone would clearly be exhausted after such a day as this, our fridge is replete with tasty leftovers.  After several months of not-cooking and fail-cooking (how I messed up fried rice is still a mystery), it has been gratifying to discover that I can still make proper meals.  Perhaps my cooking mojo just went into hiding in October because it too was angry at the 100º+ fall days?  And wanted to punish me for dragging it out to the desert by making me go out to eat all the time?  Oh, cooking mojo, we need to work on your intimidation skills.

Tasty dinner #1 was a pumpkin soup, which is described here.  Tasty dinner #2, which The Husband declared to be The Best Meal EVARRR and I declared to be proof of The Husband's obsession with hyperbole, was wee stuffed peppers, called wee peppers because the peppers were indeed wee.

Pros of wee peppers:

• Adorable
• Probably cook quicker?
• You can eat like twice as many and feel like a giant
• Seriously: SO CUTE
• Juggling purposes?

Cons of wee peppers:

• Impossible to stuff

Of course, the cons of my plan were not immediately apparent when I giddily purchased the wee peppers at the farmers' market, and actually did not become apparent until I was already well into making the stuffing and thus could not turn back.  Luckily, I am the sensible sort, which means I just pretended that I hadn't made this realization and just assumed things would work out in the end.

To make wee stuffed peppers, you must first acquire wee peppers.  Mine were red and yellow and hidden amongst the huge beets and parsnips.  I suppose you could use regular-sized peppers IF YOU MUST, but then they are no longer wee and is it really worth it anymore?  (Probably.)

Slice these bad boys in half, lengthwise, and remove the seeds and membrane.  Season the cavities with a little bit of salt and set aside.  You can probably also preheat your oven to 400ºF, if your oven isn't incompetent like mine.

For the stuffing, cook yourself a couple of handfuls of dried chickpeas with a good slurp of olive oil and a dried chipotle pepper.  Mince 10 or so cloves of garlic and, once the beans are done, drain, reserving the cooking liquid.  Heat some oil in a saute pan; when hot, add the garlic and 1 T fresh rosemary.  Once the garlic is fragrant, add the chickpeas and cook, stirring occasionally, until the they are brown and crispy.  While the chickpeas are sauteing, cook up some grains (I used 1/2 c. of a Middle Eastern couscous/quinoa blend, cooked in the bean broth). Mix in one roughly chopped tomato and some diced feta, add the grain blend, then season to taste (depending on the saltiness of the feta).  Remove from the heat, because you don't really want the tomatoes to cook or the feta to melt.

By the way, I think the feta is key, and might just be what made this so good.  There isn't much going on with the stuffing, flavorwise, apart from garlic and rosemary, so a good cheese is necessary.  I fulfilled my bourgeois quota with some local peppercorn goat-milk feta, which was salty and smooth and fantastic.  If you aren't lucky enough to get a hold of fancy cheese, it might be worthwhile to add more rosemary, or maybe lemon, to the stuffing, to perk up the flavors a bit.

Attempt to stuff the wee peppers.  Discover that the chickpeas are pretty much the same size as the wee cavities.  Make a giant mess.  Have a lot of stuffing left over.  Gingerly balance the overloaded peppers into a lightly oiled baking dish, cover with aluminum foil, and bake at 400ºF for about 15 minutes.  Uncover, sprinkle on some shredded parmesan, discover that the shreds of cheese are longer than the wee peppers, make a giant mess.  Return the dish to the oven for an additional 5 or so minutes, until the peppers start to dehydrate a little and get a bit of color on them.  I served the wee peppers on a bed of the some extra stuffing, topped with a dollop of avocado-yogurt sauce (mash one avocado; add a heaped dessert spoon of plain yogurt, a squeeze of lemon, a generous pinch of salt, and some ground black pepper; mix well until smooth).  A sprinkle of toasted pepitas are fun, especially if you just have some lying around from a soup adventure.

The peppers keep pretty well and can easily be reheated in a toaster oven or similar (though they can get mighty soft, so keep an eye on them).  The extra stuffing also keeps, but the feta chunks will melt when heated up; not a huge loss, but I found the large bites of feta to be appealing, so I might keep that separate in the future.  The avocado sauce, however, turns brown and unpleasant with a quickness, so only make what you need (1/2 avocado worked well for roughly 8 wee halves).

Also, because it has been awhile, here's a photo of our little idiot.  Yes, he really sleeps like that.

Blogwhoring

Just a little note to say that there are two—yes, TWO—new(ish) posts up at AW80D: Yorkshire Gingerbread and Kitsune Udon.

Also, my kitchen REALLY smells like pickles.  But I'm a little afraid to look at them.

Also also, the other night I had pig's blood sauce.  Verdict: salty.

Also also also, here's a shot of the blogging process.  Now you know why I'm as productive as I am.

Pickles and Peaches and Pancakes! Oh My.

Finally got to go to the PHX Farmers' Market yesterday [This was actually several days ago at this point, but bear with me. --Ed.] [Who is this Ed person and why is he commenting on my blog? --Heather], which was one of the things I had missed the most during our extended stay in the TUX (along with sleeping in my own bed and not having to furiously disinfect my hands all the time).  It was a strange sensation to be shopping when the giant industrial air conditioners weren't completely necessary, and the Market is even starting to get interesting again, having moved beyond the point where all greens spontaneously combust and the only things that properly grow are chiles and sadness berries.

I'd been itching for some time now to attempt some pickles.  Not just any pickles:  lacto-fermented pickles.  I've become entranced with the idea of idle wild yeasts being harnessed to make my food for me, even if my last two attempts at employing the lazy buggers (for sauerkraut) failed miserably and less-miserably, though saltier, respectively.  However, while strolling through the misters, I happened upon some absolutely darling little cucumbers—all short and squat and knobbly, they were just crying out to be purchased and experimented upon and changed from humble cucumbers into Herculean specimens of pickled perfection.  (Or explode.  Something.)

The first rule of pickling is that you do not talk about pickling you need the right equipment.  I am fortunate enough to have borrowed (stolen) a small earthenware crock from my parents' attic, because I am also fortunate enough to have a stepfather whose first wife collected things like earthenware crocks.  If you do not have an earthenware crock, I would suggest checking your attic; if you don't have a stepfather whose first wife collected such things, I would suggest asking your mother to get cracking and informing her that there is no dishonor in marrying for pickles.

I rinsed off my cucumbers and popped them into the crock, along with a few dill fronds and some bashed-up cloves of garlic.  Cover with a brine made from 2 T. salt per quart of water, then use a weight to ensure that everything stays submerged.  If you have concerns that small creatures (such as an incredibly dim kitten) will fall in and drown and ruin your pickles, you can tie some cloth around the crock for safety's sake.

Ms. H's home for wayward gherkins.

According to my Lost Art of Real Cooking, these little beauties need to sit for about 25 days to reach their full pickle potential.  They also shouldn't be exposed to temperatures much above 80º for too long, else they will catch pickle Ebola and melt from the inside out.  Hopefully a dark corner of the pantry and a marginally-functioning air-conditioner will keep the wee yeasties in line.

[NOTE: The following peach section is dedicated to The Husband.  I'm pretty sure he'll figure out why.]

Also, on my wanderings through the Market, I kept getting distracted by the abundance of peaches.  One peachmonger told me a tale of a lady from Georgia who doubted the ambrosial qualities of his peaches, but once she sampled his wares, she was so smitten that she promptly bought up a couple dozen.  Of course, I had to purchase some—she was from GEORGIA, people!  Those folks know peaches.

But here's the thing—I don't even like peaches.  I mean, I like them well enough, I suppose, but I'm firmly on Team Nectarine (playing mostly in the underripe division, much to the mocking delight of The Husband).  Anyway, they somehow ended up in my bag, and while I can usually rely on The Husband to deal with things like this, he is still learning how to eat again, which leaves me with millions of six ripe-right-now-I-mean-REALLY-ripe peaches and a total lack of interest in traditional methods of peach consumption (i.e., taking a bite and making an ungodly mess with all the juice going all over the place or having them put into a can by a man in a factory downtown).

Racking my magnificent brain, I came up with a solution (at least until I am tricked into buying the damn things again next week): peach salsa!  I chopped up a couple of peaches, along with several itty-bitty grape tomatoes and half a red onion, then mixed it all up with some salt, lemon juice, and aleppo pepper.

If I had my little way, I'd eat peaches everyday.  (No.)

I think it all would have worked a little better with slightly less-ripe peaches, but it's bright and summery and now I have fewer peaches taunting me (though their voices, I can hear them still), so all is well.

As for Pancakes, he is very happy to have us home and is thoroughly enjoying sleeping on my laptop while I try to do work.  Here he is looking vacant, per usual:

and here he's being a VERY HELPFUL CAT while I'm trying to crochet.

SO. HELPFUL.  Thank goodness he was around, or else that yarn might have caused quite the ruckus.

PEACHES UPDATE: I've apparently decided that right now would be a fantastic time to come down with my first illness since moving to the desert, which is turning out to be a poor decision on my part.  Anyway, given that The Husband is in no position to take care of me, and that actually cooking something for reals seemed way too much effort, I ended up making myself a wee fried egg sandwich to tide me over between bouts of ice cream (which is about the only thing I feel like eating when my head feels like it is chock full of damp sheep).  I toasted up some fancy bread, and while the egg was frying, spread on some goat cheese and smashed avocado and added some arugula.  Next went my horribly-misshapen sunny-side-up egg (I am no good with eggs), a sprinkle of smoked sea salt, a crack or two of fresh black pepper, and a few heaping dollops of peach salsa.  The Husband called me bourgeois, but I was content to control the means of production for this sandwich because at least I was well-fed.

PICKLE UPDATE: My kitchen smells like dill and garlic.  Good sign?