Potential

I've been thinking a good bit about potential lately. Untapped potential, realized potential, unknown potential. My own potential to author two books in 6 months having never authored a book before (oh, for those of you who might not already know, I'm authoring a series of books on the "new" domesticity, starting with two books on Raising Chickens and Canning & Preserving; bee-keeping, goat-keeping, herbal products, cut flowers, making cordials and elixirs are all potential-again, that word!-topics for future books in the series).

Then I came across the first acorn of the season on our property. I found it in the driveway, directly in front of the tree festooned with Hell's Interior. Talk about potential. This tiny nugget holds the means of creating an enormous oak. Latent potential if there ever was any! 

As today is Monday, I'm thinking of potential projects for the week. I'm thinking of potential delicious meals and stirring conversations to enjoy. I'm thinking of the potential of having to fly through the remnants of Fay on my way to San Francisco Thursday for the Slow Food conference. I'm thinking of potentially meeting Alice Waters. I'm thinking of potentially dancing at a venue other than family weddings. Potential. What a motivator. 

A Few of My Favorite Things

    French toast for breakfast, with caramelized oranges

     Cats atop dryers, all warmed up and gorgeous.

        (not too many things rhyme with "oranges")

Fringe Benefits

It's always this good. Seriously. Glenn whipped up this blue-cornmeal-crusted-local-catfish-with- blueberry, corn and yellow cherry tomato relish-atop-cabbage-slaw number while I ran out to get AAA batteries. 

When I wrote my mental list of qualities I'd like in a spouse, gourmet chef seemed a bit too much to ask for. I went instead for things like character, integrity, the ability to not take oneself too seriously. I got all that AND my own personal Thomas Keller. Oh, and we washed it down with ACE hard cider. Happiness is a full belly and a husband, barefoot and chef-ing in the kitchen.

Eggstravaganza!!

The girls are laying. It all started just over a week ago. Glenn and I were in the kitchen making breakfast. Suddenly, there was an enormous shriek, following with thunderous squawking. We exchanged glances, instantly thinking the same thought: "The chickens are being ripped apart by ravenous hawks", or perhaps "ravenous raccoons" or "ravenous bears" or, worst of all, "ravenous owls braving the light of day." No matter the perp, a bloody and painful death occurring at that very moment in the coop was the only rational explanation for the ruckus thatt we could come up with. Glenn flung his spatula to the side, I immediately halted all toast buttering and away to the coop we ran.

What we found were Uno and Hedwig, in the nesting boxes, shrieking it up. Turns out, laying that first egg can be a wee bit uncomfortable. There's the whole stretching of the muscles thing, let alone the cramping component, and least of all, the whole "OMG! Something weird and completely unanticipated is happening to me!!!" factor, all undertandably coalescing into the need to yell, or shout, or cluck loudly, as it were.

And so began the egg abundance. I'm currently gathering around 3-4 eggs per day. Not all hands are on deck just yet. Hedwig, Uno and Georgette are definitely laying. As for Micah and Buffy, no one's talking. Glenn and I have been discussing getting 5 more hens. Then we'll definitely be swimming in eggs. Not that we suffer from any shortage of egg-centered cooking and baking ideas. More eggs simply translates into more frittatas, more egg salad sandwiches, and, of course, more custards and creamy, dreamy desserts. Should we find ourselves with more egg abundance than we can bear, I know of several willing mouths ready to relieve us of our burden (you know who you are...).

You know when new parents talk at length about the cute things their infant does? Even if their audience has no children? And they are so enraptured of the little ones antics that all other babies just completely pale in comparison? Well, that's me and my hens. Not only are they the prettiest chickens, but there are the most affectionate (four of them let me scratch their backs, doing what I call the "war dance" as I walk up to do this to them, which roughly translates to stomping their feet alternately, squatting, and thrusting their wings up a bit in preparation for the scratch-fest) and their eggs are the best ever. Period. Really. The. Best. Eggs. Ever. Glenn agrees. We're no stranger to eggs, either. Before our ladies came along, we routinely purchased local free-range eggs from our local natural foods store.



In fact, we still have a dozen or so in the fridge. Just this morning, though, we did a side-by-side comparison. The yolks of our girls (let's call them "The Ladies") are considerably more orange than the store bought eggs. They are so orange, in fact, that when whisked, it almost looks as though turmeric must have been added to the bowl to account for the vibrant color. I actually asked Glenn if he had done just that the first time we made omelets from "The Ladies." Then there are the whites. Creamier than I ever thought egg whites possible of. Tender and succulent, almost like cream cheese, as opposed to the rubber-y consistency of most egg whites.

I never knew eggs could be like this. Not only did I get a few new pets out of this, but they earn their keep, too. The cats and dogs are worth all the work, but they've never laid any eggs. I'm just sayin.'

The Elusive Berry

Turns out we have wineberries. In abundance! I had never even heard of wineberries (turns out spellcheck hasn't heard of wineberries either, as every time I type the word, I am offered "winterize" or "wineries" instead), let alone sampled one. Glenn didn't know about the wineberry profusion either. Apparently, mistaking the bramble-y sprout for an invasive (turns out, it sort of is...more on that later), he had triumphantly cut it back each season, subsequently curtailing any berry profusion lying in wait.

This past Spring, though, we decided to have a Permaculture appraisal done of our property. We did this with the hope of assessing ways in which we might optimize our land (which includes 12 rural acres outside of Asheville, N.C.), while treading lightly on it. Our Permaculture specialist, Chuck, pointed out the fledging wineberries on the property tour, immediately identifying them. Since we'd not yet encountered said berries, we were somewhat suspect, but held out hope considering that Chuck is the expert and we've been trigger happy with the pruning shears.

Remember the "patience" phrase from last entry? The
ever-so-slightly-creepy-yet-totally-beneficial-as-an-adult (sorry mom, but it's true) saying my mom had my brother and I recite often? The wineberries are a perfect example of that. Taking Chuck at his word, we curbed the urge to prune, and sure enough, last month, we got wineberries.

Rubus Phoenicolasius is a species of the genus Rubus, which also includes blackberries and raspberries. Native to Japan, China and Korea, wineberries are a classic example of one man's flower being another man's weed. Considered an invasive on account of its nature to form dense thickets over large areas, choking out and displacing native plants in the process, horticultural types find wineberries to be a pest. I personally find them to be delicious. Often mistaken for raspberries, wineberries are darker in color when fully ripe and pack a wallop of sour barely hinted at in raspberries.


Fortunately, on my property, the wineberries have concentrated themselves in a contained area, rubbing elbows comfortably with a patch of assorted ferns. Fortunately for my chickens, the thicket lies en route to the chicken coop and the past few weeks have found a handful of just-picked wineberries in their morning meal. This is cause for much squawking and rushing to be first at the berries. Uno, thusly named owing to her insistence at having first dibs at mealtime, raises her squawk pitch several decibel levels when the berries are presented. I'm pretty certain I received a "beak lashing" (I cannot get enough lame chicken humor!) one morning last week when I showed up with only the feed, no berries to offer. Uno would have none of that, and, whipped owner that I am, I managed to scrounge around in another thicket, risking close encounters of the reptilian kind (snakes-totally deserving of boldface and italics-love berries and wait beneath the canes waiting for over-ripe berries to drop) to procure the coveted berries.

Wineberries are also apparently a hit at dinner parties. We brought a pint of them, along with a bottle of wine, to dinner at a friend's house recently. The berries were placed on the cheese board and devoured in under 8 minutes, while the wine took up to a half hour to be opened. When people choose berry juice over hooch, you know you have a winner.

I'll end this like an Aesop fable: The moral of the story is, be careful not to cut back what might grow into a nourishing and vibrant gift. Just remember to watch out for snakes at your feet.

It's the Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

I have a sweet tooth. I have never tried to hide this, nor have I ever felt any guilt or shame surrounding it, although I do recall sympathizing with Miranda on Sex and the City when she squirted Windex at a cake she had thrown in the trash, after creeping back to the bin for one more bite. I manage my tooth well. I succumb to it, but only with the best sweets available. If I am going to heed the siren call, I had better make it count. Quality is paramount, friends. That is how I am able to fend off advances from less desirable suitors, like candy bars or bagged candies in Willy Wonka shades, or things like "Peeps." I'm willing to wait for the hand-made goodness, either coming from my kitchen or a trusted one with a proven track record.

After a recent stint baking for my mother's short but sweet-lived bakery (R.I.P. Sweet Blessings!), I've been more consumed with baking fever than normal, which, honestly, makes next to no sense at this time of year. Cranking up the oven to 375 degrees in the middle of July is a form of self-inflicted torture only appreciated by the truly committed/dedicated. However, duty calls, as it did after coming across a recent New York Times article on the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Then, my favorite food blog, Orangette, covered the topic. Believing it important to pay attention to coincidences, I saw this as a sign. Who am I to get in the way of celestial forces? Not that I believe in celestial forces, but we'll stay with that notion for point-proving's sake. So, on came the "Bake" light, out came the cookie sheets, and soften the butter I did.

This recipe's uniqueness owes to two distinguishing traits: 1) the dough must be allowed to rise for a minimum of 24 hours, 36 being preferable (which is what I did) and 2) it calls for adorning the tops of the cookies with Sea Salt sprinkles just prior to baking. In full disclosure, the recipe had me at "sea salt." The marriage of salty and sweet renders me utterly defenseless, even more so when the players in question are of the chocolate and salty ilk.



When I was growing up, my mom had a riddle of sorts she would have my brother or I say if we were getting impatient. It went, in a call and response fashion:

"What is patience" (Mom)?
"Patience is a virtue" (Kids).
"What is a virtue" (Mom)?
"A virtue is good" (Kids)
"So what are you going to be" (Mom)?
"Good" (Kids)

Repeat this often enough, as I did, and you cement it to memory and take it permanently to heart. On account of this, I have the patience of Job. I can, most of the time, watch and wait patiently. Sometimes when Dexter is barking at one of the cats and Kali the cat is meowing because its 5:35 and she ALWAYS gets her dinner at 5:30 (!!!!-cat emphasis punctuation) and another cat suddenly barfs, I get a wee bit impatient and often resort to uncorking the rose.

This patience comes in handy when waiting for things like 36 hour chocolate chip cookies with SEA SALT!!! But boy, is the virtue profound! These are, without exception, the best chocolate cookies I have ever baked. The extra rising time allows the dough to hold its shape gloriously when baking, not squat and spread out all over the cookie sheet, as has many a time been my misfortune. The texture is perfect, crunchy upon first bite, then meltingly perfect as the little oven in your mouth liquifies the chocolate chips.

The crowing glory, though, has got to be the sea salt. Glenn suggests eating the cookie upside down so as to maximize the tongue-to-salt ratio, seamlessly fusing the salty and the sweet in one unctuous bite. A perk of the recipe is that it makes a good bit, about 4 dozen. You can either bake off half and freeze the remainder of the dough or engender good will from your family, friends, neighbors, grocery store clerk, waiter, etc. by baking the whole lot and giving them away liberally.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Adapted from Jacques Torres

Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling

-2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
-1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour

***I actually just used organic all-purpose flour for both the cake and bread flours with great results; this would combine to a total of 3 2/3 cups minus 2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour***

-1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
-1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
-1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
-2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
-1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
-1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
-2 large eggs
-2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
-1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)

***In lieu of the chocolate disks, I used Ghiradelli 60% bittersweet chocolate chips, easily found at most grocery stores.***

-Sea salt

1. Sift flours (or just AP flour, if substituting), baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.

2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.

3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside. (The recipe neglected to mention it here, but I found removing the dough from the fridge at this point helped it to be more scoop-able in the next step)

4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie.

***I used a regular ice cream scoop here, forming the dough just to fit the inside of the scoop. Doing so might explain why the recipe produced almost 4 dozen cookies for me while the recipe indicates a yield of 1 1/2 dozen.***

Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.

Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.

Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.

Dexter In His Two Modes

Dexter exists in either one of two states, at all times.
Wild and frenzied, such as when he conquers Mt. Dishwasherus, (obviously pre-wash here, folks)

or at a complete standstill, like when he found his patch of orange.