Posts from — May 2009

Last night around 10:30, Pritha and Adam picked me up and we headed over to our friend Sarah’s house on the north side of the island. She was hosting a fire in the little gully where she lives.

We drove through dark tunnels of trees with eerie Swedish ambient music lulling us into just the right mood for a lowkey little campfire in the middle of nowhere.

Eventually we found the deadend turnoff, and headed up a hill until a sign advertising “Bullfrog Ln.” seemed to point us off into a huge field. No ATV, so we decided maybe it was a case of bad sign placement and kept on straight, winding down a dirt path scrunched up between tall dark forest, until Pritha decided we had gone too far. We went just a little bit further, saw the sign for “Mystic Way” and we had arrived.

We parked the car with the keys still in and made our way through the brambles and over a couple of bridges to the campfire where a dozen or so friends were lounging in a quiet, post-grilling, sated, happy glow.

I got a tour of Sarah’s home, glowing in the light of her one propane lantern. Herbs drying from the ceiling, jars and brik-a-brak scattered around, a bottle of cod-liver-oil on the kitchen counter next to a number of beautiful ceramic bowls, ribbons decorating the eaves of the loft, and a beautiful, smooth, wooden ladder heading up to her bed. No refrigeration, no running water, no electricity at all. An rustic, but pretty darn idyllic island retreat — one of the homiest homes I’ve seen.

Some of the sated glowing fire friends were headed back to the farm, so I decided to manage risk and spare Adam and Pritha the extra trip, what with the gas tank on empty, and head back with the earlier crowd.

On the way out, half a dozen tromped on ahead, and I followed up in the rear, trying to squint to use what I could of the headlamps and flashlights bouncing ahead. I hadn’t walked 20 steps when I took a step and suddenly felt like I was falling. I could see lights way down below, and I was falling and giving out a little yelp, gasp…. and then I hit the water. And the mud.

I mostly felt relief as I my immediate sensation told me I was going to fall and fall and fall. And then there was the unavoidable flood of embarrassment, and then shivering.

Doesn’t actually look that bad, but my clothes weighed a ton.

Just like after a long hike in the rain. Squelch, squelch, squelch.

Tonight, I put together a Singapore-styled feast for a dozen friends over at Sweet Earth Farm. Elaine, one of the farmers, grew up in Singapore back in the days when the Satay man came calling down the street. We found this random connection while chatting at the farmer’s market a couple of weeks back, and jokingly talked about having a “Singapore Night” to reminisce about the place and share good food.

In the end, Amanda, Elaine’s daughter, suggested we throw the big party in honor of Elaine’s birthday, so that’s how we ended up out on the lawn tonight with full bellies and fire in our mouths, talking about Thieves’ Alley and the Singaporean National Anthem.

The birthday girl and the chef share a celebratory satay skewer

Happy people stuffing faces

Happy faces feeling stuffed

A dinner 2 and a half days in the making, with ingredients all the way from Bukit Batok (thanks to Soy-lau-ko for sending them to Jilly and Jilly for sending them to me in a big care package!). All in all, a HUGE success.

Whole Wheat Paratha
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup white flour
1 tsp salt
1/4-1/2 cup ghee/butter
around 1 cup water oil

If using butter, bring to room temperature. Mix flour and salt, and water slowly and stir until it comes together into a dough. Turn it out onto a table and knead 6-7 minutes, until well mixed. Cover with oil and let it rest 30 minutes in a plastic bag or under a wet towel. Cut the dough into 8 even sized pieces. Shape each piece into a ball. Cover with oil and let rest 10 minutes under the towel or in the bag — this gives the dough a chance to rest and makes the parathas much easier to roll!

Take a ball and push it flat with your palm. Using a rolling pin, roll it out to 9-10” in diameter. Rub a 1/2 to 1 tsp of butter/ghee on the round. With a sharp knife, cut a radius of the circle, then starting from one side, take the edge of the dough and roll it round the circle, until it meets itself in a cone. Place the cone upright and smush down onto the table. Repeat this with all 8 pieces.

Starting with the first paratha you rolled out roll out the smushed spirals again into flat rounds about 8” in diameter. You can fry these right away, or keep overnight — just be sure to wrap them well in plastic.

Heat a flat pan. When it gets hot, add the paratha and let it cook about a minute. When it begins to get small bubbles, flip over and add a small teaspoon of oil around the paratha. When brown spots appear, take it out of the pan. Serve warm with curry or for dessert with sweetened condensed milk.

Sunday was the day of reckoning for our brood of 105 broilers and 26 too-old-for-laying hens.

Ten of us worked from 8 am to 3 pm, killing, scalding, plucking, eviscerating, and cleaning the chickens.

I’ve posted a photo essay of the experience here (sorry for the slow loading), out of respect for folks who read this, but don’t necessarily want to see the photos.

I had never killed a chicken before (the only thing similar in size was a salmon, and that was a much less technical, hands-on operation). I don’t tend to be squeamish, so I expected it would be fine, and for the most part, it was. I tried my hand at cutting and bleeding the chickens — sobering, and bloody, but not gross. I plucked feathers — stinky, and sometimes unpleasant, but not unbearable.

Evisceration, even more than slitting the bird’s throat, seemed like the most intimate and powerful part of the process. Picking up a cold chicken and sticking your hand into its warm guts, pulling out bits of grass, separating the organs, finding half-formed eggs: this is where it seemed like we were really transforming the bird from chicken to meat.

Despite the headiness, nothing about the sight or feel of the chicken disgusted me or made me feel queasy. It was only the smell that managed to turn my stomach a few times, and by three-o-clock, my sleeves drenched in chicken juices, I was definitely ready to be done.

before

after

Today was ridiculously warm and gorgeous, but clear days seem to portend chilly chilly nights in these parts so it’s not surprising that I’m shivering in my kitchen, waiting for my bread to rise.

I’ve been craving Asian food something fierce, so tonight, after making a ridiculously delicious pot of Soto Ayam (Malaysian chicken soup) from one of our old, tough stewing hens (more on this later!), I had some old tough ginger skins leftover and decided to make myself a nice frothy cup of Teh Halia.

Teh Halia is ginger tea, “Halia” being the word for ginger in Malay, and Teh being a cognate or stolen word… I guess I actually made Teh Susu Halia since I added milk for some sweetness.

One of the coolest parts about Teh Halia, like it’s cousin Teh Tarik, is that it’s traditionally “pulled” from one pitcher or glass to another until it cools off enough to drink and gets all frothy up top (Teh Tarik literally means “pulled tea”). It’s an art of sorts. Here’s a pretty good example posted by the awesome blogger from Rasa Malaysia:

and with that as inspiration, here’s the recipe:

Teh Susu Halia (Ginger tea with condensed milk)
serves 1

2 cups water
2 inches ginger, chopped roughly or smashed
1 plain black tea bag
2 tbsp condensed milk
sugar to taste
2 big cups

Put your ginger and water into a small pot, bring to a boil and simmer for 5-10 minutes to let ginger infuse.

Turn off heat and add tea bag, steep for 3-5 minutes or according to instructions.

Add 2 tbsp condensed milk and sugar to taste, stir.

Pour the drink into one of the two cups. “Pull” the tea back and forth (basically pour from one cup to the other, the higher you can go, the better, until it’s nice and frothy on top and a good drinking temperature.

My amateur attempt

So delicious and so relaxing. I can’t wait to shape my boules for overnight proofing, and get into my bed.

One of the very first things I learned to make for myself was fried rice. Growing up, there was almost always a container of leftover white rice in the fridge, just screaming with potential.

To that dried out rice, add some garlic and onion, eggs, random leftovers and a dash of soy sauce, and you had yourself a delicious (and sometimes nutritious) afterschool snack.

The amazing thing about fried rice is that you can put almost anything in it and it will be delicious. There are just a few rules:

• Use old, cold rice – Rice that’s been sitting in the refrigerator for a day or more will be drier, and will separate into grains when cooked instead of clumping together. This is the texture you want in your fried rice, not mush. Save wet rice for delicious porridge!

• Don’t let it get too wet – Same idea as above, but this time pertaining to your ingredients… if you add in too many wet ingredients (like old curry or extra sauce) you’ll get soggy rice

• Use a big pan or wok and make sure it’s HOT — You want to be able to stir without getting rice everywhere. You’ll be adding ingredients as you go, so don’t start out with a small pan and then try to cram in that last cup of rice on the very top (yes, i’ve done it). Help yourself out. Also, make sure your pan’s smoking hot, this will help keep your ingredients from getting mushy too.

I had some leftover white rice staring me down in my fridge today along with some old frittata, carrots, and bunches of greens. So I decided to go for a twist on an old standby. The cheesy frittata with rosemary and thyme wasn’t a traditional ingredient, but the flavors went together perfectly and I scarfed the whole plate in under 10 flat.

Now it’s your turn. Here’s a basic template to paint with your personal palette of leftovers (I’m so so sorry for the terrible metaphor)

Very Basic Fried Rice with Variations
serves 1-2

3 cups white rice, cooked and cold, even better if it’s at least a day old
2 eggs, beaten
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 onion, minced (or more, to taste)
2 tbsp light soy sauce (or more, to taste)
2 tbsp oil
black pepper, to taste

for my frittata rice, I also added:
1 cup shredded carrot
2 cups spinach
3 pieces of leftover frittata
1 tbsp rice vinegar
chives, as garnish

and for more exciting and delicious combinations, try:

1. Nasi Goreng (Indonesian Style): omit garlic, substitute dark soy sauce for light, add 1 cup diced chicken, 1/4 cup diced pineapple, 1/2 cup raisins, 2 tbsp tomato paste, and one tsp curry powder
2. Hawaiian Style: add 1/2 can spam cubed, 1/2 cup carrots cubed, 1/2 cup green peas
3. Nuoc Cham rice: substitute 3 shallots for onions, reduce soy sauce by 1/2 tbsp, add extra clove garlic, 1 cup deveined shrimp, 1 cup long beans chopped, 2 tbsp Vietnamese sweet chili sauce (Nuoc Cham), and 1/4 cup mint leaves
   
4. Yangchow (Traditional style): substitute white part of spring onions for onions, add 1 cup Chinese Sausage (Lap Cheung) or BBQ Pork (Char Siew), 1 cup Chinese broccoli (Gai Lan) stems chopped or peas, 1 tbsp minced ginger, sprinke of white pepper, green part of spring onions chopped for garnish
5. Thai Basil rice: substitute fish sauce for soy sauce, add fried tofu, 1 Thai bird chili minced, 1 red capsicum minced, 2 tbsp crushed peanuts and 1/4 cup thai basil
6. Cheeky Leeks: reduce frying oil, add 1 cup bacon diced and 1/2 lb washed and chopped leeks
7. Spicy rice: add 1 cup beef strips, 1/4 lb, 1 green capsicum minced, 1 1/2 tbsp sriracha chili or chili paste (Sambal Oelek)
8. Tex-mex: omit soy sauce and scrambled eggs, add 1 cup corn, 1 cup black beans, 2 tbsp tomato paste, 1 tsp crushed cumin seeds, 1 tsp chicken bouillon OR 2 tbsp chicken stock, serve topped with two eggs over-easy
   
9. Moroccan: omit soy sauce and eggs, add 1 tbsp butter, 1 cup cubed carrots, 1/2 tsp cumin, 1/2 tsp cayenne or paprika, 1/2 tsp turmeric, 1/2 cup raisins, 1/4 cup sliced almonds, sprinkle white pepper and salt to taste
   
10. Kimchi rice: add 1/2 cup kimchi, 1/2 cup minced pork, serve topped with two fried eggs over-easy
    

So it’s not quite 100, but you see how you could make up your own. Go forth, eat rice!

Tuesdays are harvest days and it’s only fitting that in the evenings, there’s a standing celebration down at Jackson Beach.

Heavy rain was in the prediction, but both times, the rain gods were thwarted by the rarely seen, but heartily worshiped sun.

This week, I rode out the 5 or so miles to Jackson Beach with the intention of riding back before dark, but what with volleyball, hummus, a bonfire, and the famous “Chili Willy” playing his charango, I couldn’t tear myself away.

Showing off our mad volleyball skills

Not being able to tear myself away

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in a larger map

One of the things I miss the most on this island is good, really good, Asian food. Though I’ve mastered a few of my favorite dishes, there are things I crave that I know I can’t make as well as my aunties, and when it gets down to it, the real barrier is lack of ingredients. Oh, what I would’ve give for a 99 Ranch?!

Example: I tried this jar of chili sauce from the market.

There’s a lovely little shop called Gourmet Galley that sells some great stuff, including dried galangal and some of your staple sauces: ketchup manis, black bean paste, even tamarind paste… but it’s marked up quite a lot and I still have no where to go for all the fresh goods: decent bean sprouts, decent lemongrass, thai basil, Asian greens… and noodles… all I’ve found are some overpriced, tiny packages of bee-hoon tucked way away on a bottom shelf. They’ve probably been there half-a-century.

Not to mention, the island meat is expensive and the conventional store alternatives are unpalatable to say the least.

I guess this is an argument for living somewhere semi-urban, or becoming much more adept at the online-food-shopping thing. I suppose I could also go chat with the proprietors of the China Pearl or Golden Triangle, the two Asian-y eating establishments in town. Maybe we could work out a procurement deal?

But for now, I’ve decided to take comfort in my bottle of Sriracha and wait patiently for my first visit to the mainland.

PS. I was so so happy to see the excited responses to my last Sriracha post and to the photo I posted on Facebook. I was also super-psyched to see the NY Times article on Sriracha last night. David Tran’s story is pretty amazing.

Lucy spotted them while we were putting up trellises this morning. The plants were transplanted into the beds about 3 weeks ago and have been battling with the schizophrenic elements — frosty nights, warm, warm days.

Despite the hardship (or maybe because of it? I suppose plants can get going early due to stress) here’s are our first Stupice tomatoes:

This evening I’ve been writing cover letters and resumes and sending them off into the internet ether. I’ve been mildly stressing over what to do when I leave here in September and to that effect, have put together a detailed spreadsheet of options. Top contenders include:

• Applying as an Americorps Vista volunteer at one of many food and ag-related organizations… Sustainable Connections in Bellingham, Farms for Families in Montana, and Laurel Valley Farm in Eugene.
• Putting together mish-mash of part-time work in the Bay, including Farmers Market managing for the Pacific Coast Farmers Market Association, an unpaid internship with the Chez Panisse Foundation, work with Free Range Productions, tutoring, part-time field work at random local farms…
• Working on a slightly larger organic farm that has more than 200 CSA shares, more than 30 cultivated acres and some value-added production.
• Getting a job at a farm/non-profit like this or this or this that combines farming and education/non-profit programming

All are exciting. All are making my heart sing, but my brain hurt.

Thank goodness my personal savior, made a delicious dinner tonight and forced me to take a mini break:

Check out my girl’s pockets. Now that’s class!

Romantic, methinks.

And yes, another ridiculously yummy mish-mash.

Friends, farmers, countrymen… what do you think I should do?