WISCONSIN FUN NEXT EXIT

Dirt made your brunch

Today I found out some exciting news! This summer I will be spending 12 hours a week working at a local organic farm in exchange for a full share of produce, herbs and flowers. I can’t wait to get my hands in the dirt.

I also recently discovered my new (only) favorite farming blog, so the timing is pretty great. Let’s celebrate with a healthy brunch, shall we?

Fresh off an eleven and a half day cleanse (I couldn’t let National Pizza Week go by without celebrating last Friday night) I made this dish for brunch on Saturday (and again on Sunday). It is the perfect thing for a reformed vegetarian diet that will be heavier on the avocados and lighter on the cheese. With a hot cup of black coffee on the side (it was only warm water and lemon juice for 12 mornings), it tasted like spring.

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Garlicky Kale Toast with Avocado and Fried Egg

From Dishing Up the Dirt

Two large slices of a good quality baguette
2 eggs (organic free range if possible)
1 large bunch kale, stems removed and chopped into bite sized pieces
1 small ripe avocado, pit removed
1 TBS olive oil plus 1 tsp for drizzling
2-3 large cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
salt and pepper to taste

In a large skillet heat olive oil over medium heat. Add garlic and sauté for about 3 minutes. Add kale and sauté for about 5 more minute or until kale is tender and bright green.
Meanwhile, poach two eggs in boiling water for 4 minutes (you could also fry two eggs instead*)
Toast two slices of baguette
Spread a little avocado onto each slice of bread. Top with kale and poached egg. Drizzle with olive oil, salt and pepper. Enjoy!

*Having never poached an egg, I fried the eggs in a little coconut oil

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Cheers.

On cabin fever and heavy cream

My tabby cat, Danger Boy, is simultaneously running around the house at high speeds and using the bathtub as a make-shift stage for his yelling practice. At press time, he is entertaining himself by sitting on the kitchen table and sticking his paw in my breakfast- a ceramic white bowl full of steel cut oats, pumpkin seeds, raisins and- Danger’s favorite- a dash of heavy cream.

I can’t blame him- on March 2nd the light is getting longer, but winter is holding heavy here in Wisconsin.

I’ve relied on my regular winter activities to keep myself entertained: Cross-country skiing, hot yoga, hot whiskey, entering the cats in a Bachelor gambling pool , making soup, watching Almost Famous on repeat… but things here have reached an ice-covered fevered pitch. And I’ve turned to sugar.

My mom recently brought me her February back issue of Bon Appétit magazine and the first page I dog-eared had a recipe for meyer lemon cream. I keep telling myself how much I love winter (I love winter I love winter I love winter) and one of the reasons why I love winter is because of floral meyer lemons*, available from November to March. My friend Martha recently gave me a bunch that she hauled back in a suitcase from her husband’s parents’ house in California (California! Lemons grow there on trees! In the winter!) So last night- after hot yoga- I whipped up a batch of meyer lemon cream, while Danger Boy pranced and yelled at my feet. I don’t always have the most success with making desserts, but this one is so simple it would be nearly impossible to mess up.

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Meyer Lemon Cream with Graham Crackers and Sea Salt

This recipe appeared in the February 2014 issue of Bon Appétit magazine

Ingredients:

3 large eggs
⅔ cup sugar
2 teaspoons finely grated Meyer or regular lemon zest
½ cup fresh Meyer or regular lemon juice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1½ cups chilled heavy cream
6 graham crackers, crumbled
Flaky sea salt (such as Maldon) finely grated

Directions:

Cook eggs, sugar, and lemon juice in a medium saucepan over medium heat, whisking constantly, until thickened (mixture should coat a spoon), 8–10 minutes.
Transfer mixture to a blender and blend on low speed, gradually adding butter, until mixture is smooth (you’re not trying to aerate the mixture, so keep blender on low speed). Transfer lemon curd to a medium bowl, cover, and chill at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, whisk cream into lemon curd. Layer lemon cream and graham crackers in small glasses or bowls, finishing with graham crackers. Top with lemon zest and sea salt.

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Hang in there, my friends- spring is lurking out there somewhere. Until then, enjoy meyer lemons and a romp in the snow while they last.

*Freshly squeezed meyer lemon juice is also delicious in hot whiskey.

Let’s cut to the chase

There’s a band practice happening in my living room and the snow outside is calling my name, so let’s make this speedy, shall we? A million years ago- or last month- Dan and I loaded up the car with groceries and headed up north to Chetek for a long (-er than expected) Thanksgiving weekend.

Chetek, tucked between Bloomer and Rice Lake, is where relatives on my mom’s side of the family settled their lake homes. After a long hiatus (I have early memories of picnics with my cousins on the ice, a yellow and white checked vinyl tablecloth and beds with electric blankets), I have rediscovered this place, thanks to the hospitality of Nancy and her family.

Summers on Lake Chetek are full of waterskiing shows, treading water for hours with cans of beer and a sleeping porch that might be my favorite spot in the world to sleep, but winters there offer more quiet isolation. Dan and I read by the wood-burning stove and went for long walks looking for animal tracks in the snow.

We did venture into town for some adventure one night and met Betty, the bartender who could not understand what we were possibly doing there after we told her we were neither hunting nor ice fishing. She cracked our bottles of Leinie’s and went about her Christmas decorating while I plugged money into the jukebox for us and the guy in the corner at the gambling machine. No matter the time of year, here is my rule about Chetek- I always stay an extra day then I intend to. I suggest you do the same.

And while I have a feeling that food is the last thing in the world that you want to hear about right now, I do want to share a couple of recipes with you. Dan and I had a lot of fun cooking our vegetarian Thanksgiving meal. It was the first time that I planned and prepared one, ever.

We had mushroom gravy, sage and onion stuffing, bread from Madison Sourdough Company and a crazy delicious kale salad which I will tell you about now. No matter how much you have eaten in the last month, there’s always room at the table for kale salad.

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Raw Tuscan Kale Salad

From 101 Cookbooks

1 bunch Tuscan kale (for ex: black or lacinato)
2 thin slices country bread, or two handfuls good, homemade coarse breadcrumbs
1/2 garlic clove
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus a pinch
1/4 cup (or small handful) grated pecorino cheese, plus adiitional for garnish
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for garnish
Freshly squeezed juice of one lemon
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Directions:

Trim the bottom few inches off the kale stems and discard. Slice the kale into 3/4-inch ribbons. You should have 4 to 5 cups. Place the kale in a large bowl.

If using the bread, toast it until golden brown on both sides and dry throughout. Tear into small pieces and pulse in a food processor until the mixture forms coarse crumbs, or crumbs to your liking.

Using a mortar and pestle or a knife, pound or mince the garlic and 1/4 teaspoon of salt into a paste. Transfer the garlic to a small bowl. Add 1/4 cup cheese, 3 tablespoons oil, lemon juice, pinch of salt, pepper flakes, and black pepper and whisk to combine. Pour the dressing over the kale and toss very well (the dressing will be thick and need lots of tossing to coat the leaves).. Let the salad sit for 5 minutes, then serve topped with the bread crumbs, additional cheese, and a drizzle of oil.

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And the other recipe is for a cocktail, because you can’t possibly be tired of those yet- we still have New Year’s Eve to deal with. I adapted this recipe from 101 Cookbooks, also, altering it to include my favorite winter citrus fruit, meyer lemons.

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Meyer Lemon Gin Sparkler

Adapted from 101 Cookbooks

2 cups water
1 cup sugar
4 tablespoons fresh rosemary leaves
1 bay leaf
meyer lemons
gin (I used Death’s Door)
tonic water

Directions:

Combine the water, sugar, rosemary, and bay leaf in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer for 3-5 minutes, or long enough for the sugar to dissolve, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat and let infuse for 10 minutes. Strain into a jar to cool completely.

In the meantime, juice and strain your lemons.

To make each drink combine 1 1/2 ounces gin and 1 1/2 ounces lemon juice and a bit of rosemary syrup in a tall glass. Stir to combine, fill glass 2/3 full with ice and top off with 1 1/2 ounces of tonic water. Stir again and garnish with a rosemary sprig.

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Happy holidays.

Spectacular contentment revisited

A couple of months ago, I meant to tell you about cucumbers. I had a simple recipe, a photo, a title.

I wanted to tell you about the day in July when I made these cucumbers while visiting our friends in Cheyenne, the last stop on a western road trip that started at a campsite in Wall, South Dakota and took us to the sea and back.

Lingering over familiar coffee mugs, not your mug, but one you know well enough to anticipate the exact weight of it in your hand, we discussed that evening’s dinner menu. With that settled, we jotted lists and designated trips to the store. Free of shopping duties, Meagan and I decided to take a walk to the park with her daughter. We strolled through an area known as the peace garden, a place where quotes are etched into flat stones. One of these quotes caught my eye and I read to myself again and again, memorizing it and trying it out. “The world is full of people looking for spectacular happiness while they snub contentment” this stone told me a man named Doug Larson said.* And never was a stone more adept at reading someone’s mind. We made our way to the herb garden where I picked dill for the cucumbers and Meagan and I talked about our lives. Choices are made about where to live and jobs to have, but there is a nagging voice always questioning. Is this the right thing? Would I be happier if…?

Skies threatening, we walked back home and fixed lunch, opening a cheap bottle of rose wine to mix with fizzy water.

I meant to tell you all of this a couple of months ago and then… And then my job started back up. The one where I get to write poems with nine-year-olds and read books by E.B. White. The one where I have to test the nine-year-olds more than anyone should be tested and feel the weight of the world to get these kids “where they are supposed to be” according to someone else’s standards. Enter the voice… Is this the right thing? Would I be happier if? What if I lived in the mountains? On a farm? What if I wrote for a living? Or worked the land, a speckled cow dog by my side?

To paraphrase Lloyd Dobler, all I know is that I don’t know. But here is what I think: By all means, have dreams, go to lengths for spectacular happiness, don’t fight against yourself and what you know is right, but allow yourself those moments of contentment while you try to figure it all out. Familiar coffee mugs. Cheap wine. Marinated cucumbers. Old friends. As my dad always says, it will all come out in the wash.

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Marinated Cucumbers

To make marinated cucumbers, combine equal parts water, sugar and apple cider vinegar to cover thinly sliced cucumbers and onions. You can also add dill, if you like. Let sit at least a few hours before serving. These will keep in the fridge for a few days.

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*When I looked him up, I learned that Doug Larson was a newspaper man from Door County, Wisconsin.

Pickles and polaroids

Our friends, Mary and Jeffrey, of cucumber luge fame, got married this past weekend in Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin.

And I, trying to rival what Mary and Jeffrey pulled off in that magical valley, I made pickled green beans for my picnic the evening before (more on those in a moment). But it was a seriously beautiful wedding.

There was a pre-ceremony cocktail hour in the woods where a square wooden frame hung from a pine tree, beckoning smiling faces. There were guests sitting on hay bales and horse blankets watching Mary and Jeffrey plant a tree in soil dug up from their respective home- and adopted- towns. And there was a groom in yellow sneakers, not to mention a bride in a stunning pine needle forest floor-length gown. I even got to fulfill a dream- singing a Townes Van Zandt duet with Dan at the reception (I’ll tell you what- singing in the shower is a whole different ballgame than hearing your voice amplified throughout a valley). In the background the shade crept up the hill as people played badminton and croquet, caught up with old friends and sipped on gin and ginger beer cocktails. When darkness took over there were speeches and bottles of prosecco. The speeches are usually one of my favorite things about a wedding, and this one was no exception. A hush fell over the crowd and tears sprang to eyes as a man named Nils with skinny yellow shoelaces went from describing a scene in which Mary stopped traffic on a Colorado highway as Jeffrey’s truck with 560,000 miles took its last breath, to poetically stating how every relationship needs a doer and dreamer. It was so moving, I almost pocketed the copy of the speech that he left folded on the corner of the head table (maybe there is a less sneaky way to have it? Mary and Jeffrey- could you hook it up?) And then there was dancing. And tiny polaroid photos to be taped into a makeshift guestbook on yellow legal pad paper.

And more dancing followed by the late-night discovery of the bottled beer stash when the tapper ran dry. As I led Dan by the hand back through the pitch black pine forest without a flashlight (I was a camp counselor, afterall) we emerged under shooting star-filled skies, back at the camper near the cornfields we got to call home for the weekend. A successful day, to say the least. Cheers to you, Mary and Jeffrey- thank you and your families for a lovely weekend.

And now, finally about those pickled beans. I decided to pack a picnic for our dinner when we arrived in Soldiers Grove on Friday evening. I prepared a panzanella salad with sungold cherry tomatoes from my garden (I kept the olive oil and balsamic vinegar in a separate jar until we ate and didn’t add the bread until later, either) and decided to ‘quickly’ pickle the green beans I had just purchased. Along with a loaf of country bread from Madison Sourdough Company (three-quarters of which we ripped up into bite-sized pieces to add to the panzanella salad), a circle of goat brie, salty olives, 1/2 a bottle of chilled rose wine, and a brief appearance by an orange crescent moon, it was quite the picnic.

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Quick pickled green beans

¾ lb. green beans, tops removed
1¼ cups water
1 cup cider vinegar
¼ cup granulated sugar
2 garlic cloves, lightly crushed
fresh dill
red chili flakes
1/2 chopped jalapeno pepper
salt

In a large saucepan, blanch the green beans for 3 minutes in gently boiling water, just until tender but still with a snap. Place the green beans in an ice water bath to stop them from cooking further. Transfer beans to a clean (washed in hot, soapy water) jar.

In a medium saucepan, bring the water, vinegar, sugar, garlic, dill, red chile flakes, and salt to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 2 minutes.

Pour the pickling liquid over the beans and cool, uncovered, in the jar (I added the chopped jalapeno- leftover from my lunch- at this point). After about an hour, they should be ready to be sealed up and hit the fridge.

Chill, covered, for at least 24 hours for the flavors to fully develop.*

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*We enjoyed the beans later that evening, although they continue to taste better each day.

4, 930 miles

Fun with Pets : Dixieland Jubilee edition

(Guest post by Dan Walkner)

Ah, pets. Are they truly everywhere? What about the southern United States? Are Southern pets as cute as, say, pets of the Northwest or Midwest? I put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and walking shoes and walked to our rented car and drove down south to answer these ever pertinent and burning queries. Join the Jubilee!

Our journey took us to Asheville, NC. While there, we were looking for the art district that we would ultimately find a week later, which upon finding the brewery that we HAD TO GO TO OMG, IT’S SOOOOO AWESOME wouldn’t serve me, we got lost(ish). As we puzzledly scratched our respective noodles and gazed about, I saw a poodle holding a cat as though it were a baby doll. For real. Erica slammed on the brakes and reversed the half block to the scene of the whatever-the-opposite-of-crime-is place, and we got out and captured some of the magic. Dig:

That’s love. These pets show what teamwork is all about. What sport you ask? Hmm, I’ll have to think about that. While I do, here’s another gem of these pet diversity acceptors:

Yeah it’s a little fuzzy, but maybe, just maybe, tears of joys fell on the camera-look-at-stuff-glass-part-thingy of the camera. Sorry for the science jargon. Moving on.

We arrived at our cabin and immediately found a crafty sasquatch in the hot tub! Scary, right?!?

He quickly calmed our nerves by creating a mini snowman mascot for us. Crisis averted.

Our cabin was on a darling little farm. There seemed to be a lot of dogs around. How did I know you ask? Well, barking was happening a lot. We decided to investigate further. Here are the findings:

AHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Intruder alert! Oh wait, it’s just a little yellow dog who ran up the hill, took a leak on a snowy shrub, licked my face, accepted some scratches, and ran away. Ok, back to the pet search:

You know what? All this pet stuff made me want to go get some vintage western wear. (This is a common symptom of pet searching, or, well, me leaving the house.) Tum-te-tum, Dum-de-dum…

BOOSH! This just happened:

I forget this little cuteness nuke’s name, but he tricked me into buying a $30 shirt.

Then he wanted to do a Sam Kinison impression, so I figured what the hay? Let her rip, buddy:

Impressive.

Farms need pets, too. Some to work, some for morale building, and some for both. Our tour of the farm led to all of the above of these aforementioned and viable pet vocations.

What dear reader? Those are only stupid sheep a.k.a. non-pets? Look again my skeptical friend. Eureka! You see it now? The white wookie-esque friend? That is one hard-charging pooch! Sleeps outside for the love of her sheep homies. Dedication makes a farm go.

You’re probably wondering if that dog has a sibling that also has a best cat friend that hangs around, aren’t you? You were? I know. Yup, it’s kind of a gift I have. As promised:

I know, I’m way ahead of you. How much does the cat weigh? This many:

See Big Whitey’s paw? Yeah, the one that trudges around in, well, grody farm dirt all day? He played a little joke on me right after this photo and stuck his paw in my mouth! Heyyyy! Here’s a shot of me not barfing but spitting a lot as he retracts his soil smasher:

Silly new friend, oh how could I stay mad at you? Answer? Can’t!

Donkey!

All this pet stuff made me thirsty and wondery. I put on my Minocqua, WI thinking cloak and got some delicious beers at Wicked Weed Brewing.

Then I started thinking about my own pets. They can be weird at times. Are other people’s cats as weird as mine? Do they eat tape, too? Lick the sides of LP records? Get their head’s stuck in kitchen chairs? Climb cacti? Then P. McMahon’s time machine from 1997 pulled up.

Ah. Thanks, P.

What a whirlwind tour of a single southern city that I’ll be basing all of my fact-finding on! What did we learn? Lots, duh! First, southern pets may bark a little slower and more confusedly, but they still get their point across. Don’t forget to look closely: southern pets are masters of disguise! Keep your mouth closed when tormenting an enormous dog’s best feline friend or be prepared to test the pH of the farmstead soil. Of course, when thrift shopping, fall for the canine wiles and just buy the damn shirt! It’s green and it’s awesome. Finally, no matter what color a pet is, or what part of the world it comes from, he, she, or neuter just wants to spread the love and maybe get a little scratch on the ol’ pet tums. These are jubilous pet times we live in: embrace them or eat dirt.

Happy June

Hot damn! It’s been years. I sit here at 11:28 p.m. on a Friday night because tomorrow is June 1st and there isn’t a month that has gone by since I started writing here that I haven’t posted at least one thing. And I haven’t posted one thing this whole whirlwind month (but I have been writing a little…).

So as Dan sits outside by the fire with a beer and our cats, I sit here on a pile of clothes, staring at dust bunnies, wondering where to begin. And because tomorrow (in several minutes) is the first day of June, I’ll just tell you about grilled mushroom burgers. A year ago my friend Sam invited us over for a cook-out (sometimes a dreaded event for vegetarians) and served grilled portabella mushroom burgers. She marinated portabella mushrooms in crushed garlic cloves, BBQ sauce, Worcestershire, apple cider vinegar, mustard and olive oil. Then her husband Matt grilled them while their dogs photobombed each other and looked adorable.

The mushrooms can be topped with cheese and served on a bun or eaten by themselves. With a side of grilled asparagus and a cocktail, it makes for a scrumptious, meat-free cook-out.

Happy June.

Asheville over easy

Dan and I recently returned from a road trip to the Asheville, North Carolina area. We drank lots of hoppy beer, ate lots of good food and spent most waking hours soaking in a cedar tub overlooking the snowy farm where we spent several nights. Ah, spring break.

People in Madison always like to compare our city to the other hip ones: Austin, Texas. Portland, Oregon. Burlington, Vermont. “You know, people always say Madison is a lot like ________ (insert hipster/ progressive/ beer or bike-friendly city here). But I’ll tell you what Asheville’s got that Madison ain’t: Breakfast places where the default side dish is raw kale salad. Not bacon. Not toast. Kale salad. And, while we’re talking about it, in Asheville they use compostable containers for to-go food. Ahem, Madison…

The place where I would eat breakfast every day of the week if I could is Over Easy Cafe on Broadway in downtown Asheville. I stumbled into the bright and noisy cafe at about 9:30 a.m. on a Monday morning. It was a reprieve after emerging from our very clean, but very dark and claustrophobic, windowless private room at the hostel. I took a seat at the bar and lolled over the juice menu, ordering one for “waking up:” Apple, celery, greens and ginger.

Next I pondered food. Tempted by the grits, biscuits with vegetarian herb gravy, and lavender french toast, I decided to try the breakfast tacos: Corn tortillas filled with scrambled eggs, green onions and southwestern tempeh, topped with ginger-lime slaw and cilantro. Raw kale salad and pickled carrots on the side. As I waited I sipped my juice and coffee, people-watched and sang under my breath to the 80s playlist. (“I Want to Know What Love Is” is still a really good song.) Pretty soon I got company at the bar- a gentleman with a newspaper and a cap who sat down on his stool and ordered a carrot juice. He spoke to me about every 5 1/2 minutes, inquiring about my juice, what I ordered, how many apps I have on my phone (“zero- it’s a flip phone”) and to tell me that race car drivers are acting like kids- getting into fights. Just as my food arrived he was scoffing at the man at the end of the bar who he didn’t think had the moxie to finish his double order of pancakes. “You’re too skinny!” I stopped listening as I admired my colorful plate for a few seconds before devouring my first taco. It tasted fresh, healthy and delicious.

After taking care of my check I said so long to my neighbor and went to rouse Dan from the bat cave- we went back 30 minutes later and again on Friday.

See ya next time, Over Easy.

Grapefruit tart in motion

Friday night I was in bed at 10:30. Instead of going out to listen to music and guzzle beer last night, I decided to stay home and assemble a tart. ASSEMBLE A TART. I then asked a friend if he could meet for coffee next weekend. I am having a serious “St. Elmo’s Fire” moment. But I have been dreaming of this tart since I first read about it a month ago. And last weekend while in Bayfield- after narrowly losing out by only 17 minutes in a foot race across Lake Superior to Madeline Island and back to this dog-

I finally found a bag of rye flour as I celebrated my victory over Cody the corgi with a carrot cake cupcake at Coco in Washburn.

In addition to making sandwiches (many vegetarian!), breads and desserts, Coco sells rye and whole wheat flour- ground just down the road at Maple Hill Farm.

So last night I rolled out the crust, separated six yolks from their whites, cursed the curd for not thickening, swore at the crust for collapsing in the oven and fell asleep on the couch watching a 1970 Led Zeppelin concert (Animal from The Muppets must be based on John Bonham) while the tart chilled in the fridge.

And so it became a breakfast tart, enjoyed with coffee for brunch dessert on this slate gray Sunday.

And for my first tart, it wasn’t bad. I think I like the idea of it even more than I liked eating it, but sometimes that is all that matters. There are worse things than daydreaming of citrus and rye, aprons covered in flour and wooden rolling pins. And staying home on a Saturday night.

Enjoy the extra hour of light, my friends, rainy as it may be.

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