Sour Milk White Bread

The last of that more than expired milk turned into tender, soft, white sandwich bread. The kind of bread that elevated the classic American sandwich before Wonder and others stepped in. Homey, sweet, smooth white bread.
I wish this were my recipe. I wish I had come up with some thing this terrific, but this perfect loaf, farmhouse white, is from Susan the farmer, cook, and blogger behind the delightful rural blog Farmgirl Fare.
Kneading the dough, by hand, for the full ten minutes the recipe requires I felt frugal and smart, and strong, and capable. Now that is a great recipe.
Don't wait until your milk is sour to whip up these easy loaves.

Zucchini Season Starts Early

Our neighbors built a green house this year. Our plants are barely above ground while they are already searching for willing squash eaters. James stopped in for a visit and while driving home found a couple bright green marrows on the back seat.
Tonight I turned those early (and I must say delicious) zucchini into James' spaghetti dinner. For our simple sauce I sautéed sliced zucchini, red onion and garlic for a couple minutes and then covered the pan to let the vegetables cook down to a soft purée. I stirred in some thinly sliced salami and finished with a bit of diced mint from our garden. After a quick toss in the pot with the drained pasta, a bit of the cooking water and parmesan cheese James' greenhouse garden fresh dinner was ready to serve.

Southern Style Cornbread

Finally home again.
Staring into a nearly empty fridge (I mean we are out of cheese -- when are we ever out of cheese?). A carton of milk well past it's expiration date stared back.
I could pour it down the commode hoping to revitalize our septic as I've read online. But, it's still food. I hate to throw food away, especially when a little creativity can make what some consider trash into a homemade meal. Food from nothing is my favorite game.
I think that's what I love so much about Southern cooking. The traditional cuisine of the American South is frugality at it's best. True nose to tail cooking born as much of scarcity as it is of a reverence for ingredients.
Staring at that milk I suddenly saw sour milk cornbread. A quick google search will bring up pages and pages of debate on baking with sour milk -- pasteurized vs raw, homogenized vs separated. Ignoring the warnings I pressed on.
I whisked two eggs and 2 cups of that sour milk, along with a teaspoon each of baking soda and baking powder -- for insurance sake. A pinch of salt, 1/4 cup of flour, 1 1/2 cups corn meal and 4 TB of melted butter finished my quick mixed batter. I placed my iron skillet with 1 TB of bacon grease (that's why I save it -- cornbread and french fries -- in a 400º oven long enough for the fat to melt and start to sizzle -- about 5 minutes. I gave the grease a swirl in the pan to spread it across the cooking surface and poured in my batter. After 20 minutes my cornbread was light and fluffy and not the least bit sour.
A nod to the South but not quite authentic. Here in California the grocery stores don't stock the finely ground white cornmeal treasured in the Southeast. Next time I travel I'll bring back a bag and try again -- I'm sure milk will be waiting.

Your Garden's Most Delicious Cover Crop

Cover crops are "green manure" that help manage soil fertility. Though there are many other benefits (and types) basically these members of the pea family return nitrogen to the soil and by containing erosion and controlling water usage prepare the soil for your next crop.

The greens from cover crops can be cut into the soil for extra nutrients and many are excellent animal feed treats. Every year I plant a hefty crop of bright green fava beans, the darlings of Mediterranean style spring salads, fresh crostini and pastas.

Now in my little raised bed with heavily amended soil I can't say I really need a cover crop. My beds could sit idle through the winter waiting for spring's frost date and my hearty summer tomato crop. But, I love fava beans. 

 I just don't love the work that comes with them. Favas have a thick foamy substance that makes the beans a challenge to grab and each bean has a thick skin that interferes with the bright delicious taste. I've read over and over again that young beans can be eaten unpeeled but I have never met a fava that did not benefit from this second skinning. From that sizable harvest pictured above after shelling the pods and then blanching and peeling each of the individual beans we were left with but a small sampling of our spring treat -- and pretty cramped hands.

The fruits of our labors. A piquant, hearty Peposo -- Tuscan beef stew slow-cooked in red wine and lots of black pepper topped with a bright salad garnish of fresh peas, arugula, and our home grown favas.

Oven Barbecue

I remember once when I was a kid being invited to dinner at a friend's house. I peeked in the oven to see what I was told was a family favorite -- baked chicken coated with a thick glop of blueberry jam. I don't remember if I stayed or if I even tasted that bird but I do remember my pre-teen horror starring into that sticky, thick, sweet, very blue glaze.
Years later I spied a recipe for sticky ribs that despite my reaction to that chicken seemed worth trying. The recipe, from Mogridder's BBQ truck in the Bronx (hardly a BBQ hotspot), glazes oven baked spare ribs with a coating of peach (or apricot) jam combined with ketchup, pan drippings, and lemon juice. James loves it. But because we grow apples and always have more than I know what to do with (not to mention our generous neighbors with the apple orchard) and because I enter my preserves in the county fair (we also have more jellies and jams than I know what to do with) . . . when I make these sticky ribs I use one of my many varieties of apple jelly.
First I season the whole racks with salt, pepper and granulated garlic and lay the ribs out on a baking tray. I sprinkle in about a dozen whole cloves and pour over one bottle of lager. Wrapped tightly in aluminum foil the ribs bake for 2 hours at 300 degrees until super tender. When the ribs are cooked I pour the pan drippings, 1 cup of ketchup, about 3 TB lemon juice and 1 cup of apple jelly into a saucepan along with -- when I am feeling sassy -- a dollop of siracha or hot sauce. I let the glaze cook down for about 20 minutes until thick. First I brush glaze on the boney side of the ribs and pop the tray under the broiler for 7 minutes. Then I flip the ribs to the meaty side and paint with half of the remaining glaze. After 10 minutes under the broiler (until just beginning to char) I brush on the rest of the glaze and let the ribs broil for another ten minutes, just until browned. Let the ribs rest a good ten minutes or so before serving.
A great summer recipe for guests the ribs can be baked off and the glaze prepared early in the day leaving a quick finish (and your jelly secret safe) for dinnertime.

Last Minute Frittata

"Honey have you had any thoughts about dinner," James asked form the other room. Honestly I hadn't. "It is 7:30," he went on to explain.
Drat these sunshiney long days. I lost track of time and was facing the clock.
Eggs! A perfect night for eggs.
Having just made a trip to the farmers market I started tossing chopped vegetables into a pan with olive oil and garlic and chunks of Italian sausage. When the vegetables were soft and the sausage cooked through I poured in a bowl of eggs beaten with S&P, shreds of parmesan cheese, and cubes of fresh mozzarella I happened to have in the fridge. I left the pan on the stove just long enough for the eggs to set around the edges and then popped the skillet into the oven to quickly broil the top.
No idea at 7:30, dinner on the table by 8 thanks to (as the commercial says) the incredible, edible egg.

A Beautiful Tangle

Finally back from my foray to the Southeast I'm greeted by an exuberant and colorful tangle -- a lanky container collection of fragrant sweet peas I planted back in February looking forward to this day. Modern cultivars of this ruffle leafed climber were all the rage of the late Victorian era enlivening nosegays with creamy pastel shades and sweet, heady fragrance to put any perfume counter to shame. For my first planting, instead of familiar pinks and whites I opted for the rich purple and vibrant bi-color fuchsia flowers in these little known varieties. The color may be unusual but the wafting scent clearly defines these beauties as classic old fashioned sweet peas.