Using freezer contents….(saves on groceries)

When we started working on farms in the Hudson Valley a few years ago it became clear we could use a chest freezer to put by all our surplus food. Now we’ve reached a new level with our winter freezer contents, and as spring is coming around the corner we’re trying to use up as much as we can. Here’s the abbreviated list of what we’ve got left: various blends and molds of pesto, whole chickens, salmon, meat, fruits, greens, a few herbs, tomato sauce, beans, tomatoes, peppers, and many other veggies.

So, we roasted a chicken following Julia Child’s instructions, but the picture is a good use of the leftovers: shredded leftover chicken with couscous, peppers, olives, raisins, and a shallot and lime vinaigrette with butter glazed carrots.

We also got a first use out of grandma Celeste’s copy of Marcella Hazan’s classic, Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, and modified one of her sausage and pasta recipes. The pasta we used was from Mario Batali’s Eataly shop in NYC, and it was called calamari because, maybe I’m stating the obvious, it’s shaped like calamari.

The caveman-like dish was actually a braised lamb shank paired with a great Rosso di Montalcino. In a Dutch oven we braised the shanks in red wine with some aromatic veggies and after a few hours, voila. The Rosso was a great table wine and really paired well with the food. Although Emma sells wine for a living I can at least say this: the wine was well-balanced, smelled of dark fruits, dried cherries or raisins (maybe even a bit of leather), was dry but pleasant to drink with some acidity and a lingering finish. Oh, I almost forgot (probably due to the wine) that the pasta dish was a primi to the lamb, so the Italian wine went well with the Italian dish as well as the lamb. On the side, we roasted parsnips.

And of course we had apple pie for dessert! Emma made the beautiful lattice top, but since it’s hard to level the apples the fruit ended up sinking away from the lattice after baking–ah the details. Nonetheless, we’ve been getting excellent apples at the public market, and for this one we used Matzu/Crispin and Ida Red.

More on peaches and pie

It is true that food can convey a sense of place, geographically and temporally, if made well with regionally-specific ingredients or with a culturally-revelant recipe. I have come to feel this more and more as we choose to cook with fruits and veggies primarily sourced from Western New York State– our food is literally coming from the land/the space surrounding us. Yet, since moving into 99 Clay Ave., I have often felt an additional association to place, one that cuts deep into my most fond memories of eating and cooking as a kid, for the physical space in which I cook every day is the same space where my Grandmother Celeste poured her heart into every meal, pie, or can of peaches that she generously fed to her family day in and out.

Not only did I grow up eating spaghetti and meatballs, Bisquick pancakes, and cherry pie at the same kitchen table as I dine at now with Ben, but I spent much time perched on the corner counter watching Gram peer into a pot of simmering sauce, or elevated to proper working-height on a stool built by my Grandfather, so that I could peel apples and roll out dough for apple pies that Gram and I loved to create together.

Each time I relive these experiences from my past, like baking a pie or sitting down to eat a can of preserved peaches (my absolute favorite treat from Gram’s pantry), the sight, smell, and tastes bring me back to the days when this kitchen was her kingdom, and these meals her loving creations. In this way, food and where it is prepared and enjoyed offers much more than sustenance, it gives each of us a way of remembering and reflecting on our past, and it provides those of us who have shared a meal together before with a collective memory and sense of place and time.

Eating cuts to the core of who we are, to those experiences we have had over food throughout our lives, and by doing so it nourishes our body and spirit, and ties us to a moment or place.Like the way a song can bring you back to the first place you heard it, or a whiff of X cologne brings to mind your first lover, eating in what is now my own kitchen sometimes transports me via time machine to 1995, when eating a bowl of grandma’s peaches after climbing the old oak tree was the most perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon. And on a Sunday morning baking with Ben, I find myself remembering those days with a grin and a tear, as we together carry on the tradition of creating collective memories over the food we share.

Note: These amazing photos of our Apple-Pear pie were taken by Rob Walsh, who helped us create yet another fond memory in the kitchen. Last week he came equipped with all his photo gear to document our latest efforts at pie baking. And he took all the photos on the same corner counter where Gram rolled out her pie dough and where I sat, legs dangling, as we waited for a chicken to roast or a pie to be pulled steaming from the oven.

More on beginnings

For me, the current state of my passion for growing, cooking and eating food is sort of a form of parental introjection. My father a chef, and mother the most hospitable host/server/front-end queen, who owned an upscale restaurant for 11 years during my youth, have forever engrained in me the value of preparing good food from scratch. Furthermore, when I was not in the restaurant roaming free or answering phones to take reservations, I was at my grandparents’ house sitting around the dinner table or perched on the shag-green carpet in front of Nickelodeon, chowing down on homemade gnocchi, lasagna, cherry pie, or (as only grandparents are allowed to spoil their grandkids) Stouffer’s mac and cheese. When Mom and Dad were not at the Rochester Club for the dinner hour,  we were sitting together ’round our home kitchen table, where one rule prevailed: “you must try everything once.” Supposedly, if my sister Anna or I tried something and didn’t like it, then we would not have to eat it again; however this part of the rule was not upheld, since I remember many a time when I was forced to eat broccoli, spinach, and tomatoes…yuck! Fortunately, my heroic grandmother taught me to mask the flavor of these detested crucifers with toasted sesame oil, ultimately paving the way to my current love of all things dark green, sans sesame oil.

Now it is important to also explain how this food blog is going to be different from other food blogs, since there are so many out there.

Having both worked on organic farms after college and admittedly internalizing the now-popular mantra: Think Global, Eat Local, Ben and I set out on a quest to create our own urban homestead, one in which the majority of the food we put on our plate and into our bodies is either coming from our own backyard or from farmers supplying the Rochester community.** What we plan to share with you is not only our adventures in the kitchen, but outside in our garden and about town at the farmers markets, for we take pride and satisfaction in knowing that the majority of the meals we cook contain predominately locally sourced ingredients. To us this means fresher and healthier produce, a more clearly visible understanding of source, supporting a vibrant local economy, and a deeper appreciation of our place on this planet and all that the soils from this small part of the globe can nourish us with.

We have created a garden and a love for tending it and experimenting with its bounty. We now want to share these agricultural and culinary exploits with you through words and photographs. We do this in order that we may come to reflect even more deeply on the practice of cooking at home to sustain our busy bodies, but also so that you may think through the practice you may or may not have yourself of cooking at home. We have shared many a meal with friends and family around our own table, now we come to share our experiences with a broader audience to spread our passion for truly enjoying and thinking about the food we choose to consume.

**Note: I must mention that our current garden and urban-homestead-in-the-making is all greatly indebted to and inspired by my late Grandmother Celeste Brinkman. Last winter as Ben and I were busy planning a garden plotted in the same corner of her backyard where years ago she sowed tomatoes, peppers and my grandfather’s favorite, yellow snap beans, Gram passed away at the age of 92. Following her death, we have moved into her house and further developed the garden she was so excited to see rebirthed. Although she only had the chance to see the first two rows of compost laid, with every bean I pick and every tomato we boil down into sauce, I know her spirit is content and her belly full.

Preparing beans at the Wellesley Hotel. Summer of 2010