Are the very best way to start the day.

My phone fell out of my pocket while biking to work on Friday. Before I could retrieve it, a construction truck rolled by and crunched it. The guts still work so I can her buzzing every time I get a message, but the screen’s completely kaputt. So I know the messages are there, but I can’t see them: kind of a funny metaphor for how communication goes between people sometimes.

So last night, I got an email from my Jieh telling me that baby eagles are called eaglets (something we’d been trying to remember on our Sunday ride out on Harsen’s Island). In the morning, there was another note telling me to come over for breakfast early because Jieh had made the most delicious rhubarb blackberry buttermilk cake and I should have some.

A little after seven, post a.m. ablutions and some puttering about, I biked over with boiled eggs and strawberries and a tube of sunscreen to stash in Jieh’s car for our next adventure.

I arranged some cake on two of Jieh’s pretty ceramic plates and halved the eggs and sprinkled them with special soy; we made coffee and poured ourselves some mango lassi and went outside to the deck. It was sunny and fresh in that dewy morning sort of way and we enjoyed it as we ate our breakfast and talked about our day and upcoming travel. Jieh’s Asian hubby (the other essential member of our little clan) came down from his apartment with adorable bed head and drip coffee and we enjoyed each others company til it was time for me to go and start my day in earnest.

I miss my Daniels and the Chan Clan, and I feel so blessed to have found my way into our little family here in Detroit. It means a lot to belong.

Photo of Harsen’s Island by mdprovost

A few weekends ago, I took a posse down to Florida market including coworkers from NSAC, visiting intern Kara from the Michael Fields Ag Institute (holla!), and friend Sara. We explored and laughed and made friends with taxidermed ruminants and then some folks followed me back home to cook up some traditional Cambodian fare.

We made Ban Chao (savory turmeric crepes) and papaya salad (recipe below) and vegetarian fresh rolls (aka goi cuon) with the quick kind of peanut sauce.

What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

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This is the first of a few posts I’m planning on Florida market (aka Union, aka Capitol City). The whole area is slated for redevelopment — a plan that’s been evolving for the past 3+ years and is surrounded by controversy. It’s a totally fascinating story and something I wish a real journalist would take up. Sara R?!

I am obsessed with Florida market. Anyone I meet these days ends up with an earful about my favorite place in the whole district. I love markets. I really really do. Especially the ones that are a little gritty, that remind one that food isn’t meant to be intimidating or inaccessible, or elitist, but something elemental, raw, real, that we all share.

The Union Market buildings were built in the first phase of market construction from 1929 to 1931 and designed by architect E.L. Bullock Jr. in a reduced “Classical Revival” style.

Florida market is gritty. So much so in fact, that people who have visited sometimes crinkle their noses when I mention it. “You buy things there?” they ask. “But those dumpsters with rotting produce! The trucks! The exhaust! The derelicts! The peeling paint and vacant buildings and signs in foreign languages. The noise, the heat and the smell, and the butchers in that warehouse with all that MEAT.”

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I eat it up. This is the place that feeds DC. The wholesalers in the market distribute to restaurants and retail grocers throughout the district. No one who eats out or shops outside of farmers’ markets can pretend like they don’t eat from here. And when you come here in person, you can find all sorts of treasures you can’t find at Safeway, at Eastern, or even at the wonderful Freshfarm markets.

Also known as Capitol City market or Union Market, this is the place where the “other half” of DC shops. Mostly African and Latino families, with some Southeast Asian representation and occasional neighborhood hipster looking for a deal on tahini.

On Saturdays, most of the shops are open for retail sales, including Sam Wang produce, where besides the staples, you can find banana flowers, shiso leaf, nopales, chayote, lotus root, thai parsley, mini thai eggplant, masa, frozen banana leaves, tamarind pods, plantain, and every starchy root your heart desireth.

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Most families fill up two or three cardboard boxes with produce. Receipts I’ve average $60-100. Many folks ask the cashier to let them know when they hit a limit — “All I’ve got is $67 today, so let me know when we get there.” — some get to the end of the weighing and decide to put back the pumelo or melon because it puts them just over.

Sam Wang’s just one of the many shops. Down the way is a tofu production facility where you can get a tub of three super-fresh tofu blocks for $3. My roommate who once ran the kitchen at a vegetarian restaurant in town used to bike here every morning to buy in bulk.

You can also get a huge bag of fresh sprouts for $3 that’s bigger than a baby, but I don’t recommend it unless you plan to make pho for an army.

So far, I’ve brought about a dozen friends to the market with me on mini trips and all of them have found something to love:

Besides the produce, there’s a wonderful Halal market with basil seed juice (?!), samosas, frozen ready-made paratha, ginger tea, and lots of spices. Apparently you can also get goats, but I haven’t had time to set up a spit, so I haven’t indulged yet.

Then there’s the flea market where you can find everything from rusty industrial muffin tins to dancing panda radios, and also some useful things like an adapter for your beat-up no-frills cell-phone or sea foam stilettos to add a splash to your otherwise staid pantsuit.

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There’s a great market directory here of the businesses that sell direct to consumers. See you there Saturdays.

Every weekend I spend in DC, I fall in love a little bit more. It’s a small town full of brilliant, motivated, passionate people who all seem to be connected to one another in a complicated, but pretty tiny social network. It’s a transitional town where people come and go and folks seem open to experience. Plus, it’s below the Mason-Dixon line, which (I’ve been told) means that folks are just naturally more friendly.

Sure, there are those who might be a little too into the ‘game’ — collecting connections like baseball cards (or Magic cards for the fantasy inclined), racking up favors, perfecting tactics, but I’ve been fortunate to mostly a crowd of interesting and genuine people.

To those who bemoan the black and grey suits, the wonkiness, the who-do-you-work-for-who-do-you-knowiness of the district, I say: come to Bates House to hang out and your soul will be revived. Next party’s Saturday April 17th — hope you can make it.

One weekend in February, we threw a little brunch party. Around 25 friends and neighbors came to snack on cinnamon rolls and frittata and drink delicious coffee. The first guest arrived a little before 11, and the last one headed out the door around 6. Seven hours of community and conversation: not bad for a lazy Sunday.

The drink station set-up. Strong coffee, Bailey’s, tea and mango puree. Yum.

Marcie making French toast and Chris on BACON, BACON, BACON.

Happy Chris and the first guests, partaking of food (plus the back wheel of my bicycle making a cameo appearance in the left corner)

Greg, the ex-architect and documentary film maker chatting with neighbor Lara, public health advocate and server at a legendary local bar.

Friends in the happy food corner, where most of Bates eating action happens.

Bates love.

The die-hards, sticking it out till the end. Can you spot the two ethnomusicologists in this picture? The activist who works directly with victims of human trafficking? DC, you are ridiculous.

My boyfriend Jaime sent this to me. He is on his way to becoming a fancy scientist who studies the impacts of salmon farms on wild salmon populations. He is incredibly supportive and, if you can’t tell, he has a sense of humor.

from Toothpaste for Dinner

There’s nothing like a celestial event to put things into perspective.The annual leonid (shooting star) shower happened Tuesday night and I organized a little camping adventure.

Tuesday at 7pm, friends Christina and Mark, my mum and I piled into a car laden with sleeping bags, lanterns, blankets, binoculars, firewood and cocoa and headed up the 5 freeway towards the Santa Lucia Mountains. A few minutes prior, friends Steve, Brandon and Katherine left from Palo Alto driving south to meet us.

Mark said the last hour of driving was like the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland sans giant cobra. It was a bumpy, narrow dirt road in the stygian night. We passed one campground (the wrong one) but otherwise couldn’t see any signs of the campsite where we were supposed to meet. No cell reception (obviously) and no markers. Google Maps + the GPS = failure.

Eventually, we turned back, planning to camp at the one campsite we had noticed. I turned off the road down the marked path to head towards Navajo campground, but then decided to retrace a little farther on the main road before giving up on the other half of our party. As we came up on an unmarked path, HEADLIGHTS! Hooray!

By that time, it was nearly midnight and cold. We started a fire and unloaded the car and sat around snacking and drinking warm things. Eventually, around 2:30am we headed up a small hill where we unrolled our sleeping bags and gear side by side like individually wrapped sardines and stared up at the sky. Our whoops and hollers at the bright projectiles soon turned into murmurs of appreciation, then some of us dropped off to sleep and it was quiet.

Around 4, we woke up, a few feet down the hill from where we started. The slick sleeping bags had no chance against gravity. We started the fire back up, warmed our numbed toes and soon after, started to pack up to head home.

Me and Christina straining towards the heavens.

Mum, fire-tender extraordinaire.

Christina like an adorable cartoon warming herself in front of the fire.

The crew (I’m taking the picture)

Yes. Looks like the same picture, but wait… who’s that in the middle?

Dawn on the drive home.

I think this is what it means when people talk about “community.” In the past, I’ve studied and even written about community in the educational context: “community based organizations,” “community-school collaboration” etc., but I feel now like I never really understood what it could mean to be in a vibrant, healthy, active community where a weekend in August means non-stop music and free food at the Island Village Barter Fair, Sunday mornings mean brunch and yoga at Sweet Earth Farm or coffee at Credence and Andreas, and there are so many potlucks you’re always afraid you’ll run out of enough quinoa to cover them all.

I guess that’s a lovely small town for you.

And not just a small town, but a town that seems to attract a certain kind of individual who cares about his neighbor more than the average Joe.

I guess some folks come to the island to retire and hide out and lay low, but it seems like most people, especially the young ones, are looking to carve out a niche in a place that’s different from your run-of-the-mill city. A place where you can go see your lamb being slaughtered, where you can work-trade a jar of jam for a haircut, where you know your server in a restaurant and the cashier at the supermarket and the teller at the bank, and so on.

I’ve only been here 6 months, but I already feel the island creeping under my skin. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s not just that. It’s also that there’s this overwhelming sense of connectedness and support and enthusiasm for each other that is like a super contagious mega-virus, the tropical kind that you think you’ve kicked, but that comes back to haunt you 10 years down the road.

I heard a story on NPR today about Flint, Michigan considering a physical downsizing of the city as a means to lowering costs and improving services to a core of city-dwellers. Interestingly, the story offered a community garden as an example of the potential benefits of this sort of plan, the idea being that as residential buildings were consolidated, it would leave more land for parks, gardens, and other shared community spaces.

I know this touches on many different issues: sprawl, infrastructure costs, homeowners’ rights — but I’m most interested in how this sort of change will actually affect interactions between people, everyday.

How do you experience community? In your family, in your neighborhood, through an organization or club?

This weekend Jaime and I headed off-island to the big city of Seattle for Jaime’s bro Liam’s graduation. We got up a little after dawn to make the 6am ferry to Anacortes and the Subaru pulled up outside Liam’s apartment in Seattle a little after 9am.

It felt strange to be in a city again. I spent a couple of days back in SF en route to the farm back in March, but that was familiar territory, friendly streets, friendly faces. This was folks who hurry by without smiling back at you, and over-tan girls in short short skirts and chainlink fences and unkempt grassy patches on sidewalks.

Of course there are things that are wonderful about cities, like eating a HUGE plate of migas at Portage Bay, dinner in Chinatown, a trip to the famous Uwajimaya, but for the most part, I felt out of place like my heart was being tugged back farmward.

After Seattle concrete, it was lovely to arrive in Bellingham on Friday night. Saturday and Sunday morning were spent lying in the sun, reading, playing with little nephew Adyn, walking into town and eating — lovely lazy time with the whole family. It was wonderful, but it made me miss my own family something awful, and it also made me think of what it’s going to be like when Jaime leaves again.

Since I first visited Jaime five-and-some-months years ago, I’ve come to think that Bellingham is a pretty awesome little town — it seems to have such vibrant community life and a thriving local economy. I know it has it’s issues, but it seems like the very sort of place I’d like to end up. If only there were cheap land, and it were closer to California…

Feasting in Bellingham: Farm-fresh greens, Orzo salad, Grilled wild salmon, Chili crab, and a big glass of milk

Last weekend was the Singapore feast, and this past Saturday we hosted another big dinner in honor of Jaime’s arrival — this time, representation from the (arguably) best known of the Southeast Asian cuisines: Thai.

The cooking only took a day this time (not counting some minor prep the day prior) but I had a lot of help from Jaime who can fry Pad See Ew like nobody’s business, among his other many talents.

We ended up with a crowd of a little over 20, and we estimate we fed everyone for a little under $3 a head — not bad, given the variety and the fact that we made two meat dishes, and fresh rolls with shrimp. Yum.

Prep work took most of Saturday morning and early afternoon

Mise en place — almost all the ingredients, ready for cooking

The chef snacking on a mango pit

The feast!

Jean serving up some noodly goodness

Patio arrangement courtesy of Lucy and Colin. Flower arrangements by Jaime.

Green Papaya Salad (The papaya was verging on not-green, but it still turned out dee-licious)

Tom Kha Gai, Galangal & lime chicken soup (This soup was a major triumph, just the right amount of coconut, and the dried galangal and leftover kaffir lime leaves from last week infused the soup with a fantastic flavor)


Ground Pork Lettuce Wraps (Simple stir-fried crowd-pleaser)

Pad See Ew (Very similar in style to the Char Kway Teow from last week, but Jaime’s mad frying skillz made it so that the noodles stayed beautifully intact during the frying process)


Basil Tofu (Simple, quick and tasty vegetarian dish)

Fresh Rolls with Shrimp (Made with fresh local spotted prawns bought at the farmer’s market that very morning!)

Dessert
Black sticky rice with mango and toasted coconut

Synergy Farm Thai-style Lettuce Wraps

1 red bell pepper, diced finely
1 1/2 cups carrots, diced into 1/4” cubes
6-8 brown crimini mushrooms, diced into 1/4” cubes
1 cup snow peas, cut horizontally into 1/4” strips
3 garlic scapes diced into circles 1/4” thick
1 small onion minced
1 large shallot minced
2 cloves garlic minced
1 lb ground pork

2 tbsp oil for frying
2 tbsp fish sauce
4 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp brown sugar
black pepper to taste
1/4 cup chopped cilantro or mint or basil

2 lettuce heads (preferably a butter lettuce variety or trouthead for perfect lettuce-wrapping cups)

optional: 1 tbsp oyster sauce, two green thai chilis, minced finely, other vegetables such as bean sprouts, cabbage, sugar snap peas, green beans, etc.

Heat 2 tbsp oil on high heat in your pan or wok. Add in shallot and onion and fry for 10 seconds until fragrant, then add in garlic and fry another 20 seconds. Add ground pork, breaking it up with your spatula or wooden spoon. Fry for 2 minutes, or until browning, but not yet cooked.

Add in carrots and snow peas and scapes and fry another 2 minutes, stirring well. Add in mushrooms and bell pepper and fry another 2 minutes. The meat should be cooked, and everything should be well mixed.

Add in sauce and chilis, if using. Stir well to coat all ingredients. Add in chopped herbs (cilantro, mint or basil) and stir until wilted.

Serve at room temperature with washed lettuce leaves.

First on Monday, the baby chicks. Then, on Tuesday, my baby!

Jaime’s here for June and July! I can tell the summer’s going to be awesome. Today was the first day at the swimming hole with the lovely Pritha + tadpoles, and then a spectacularly delicious dinner:

Jaime and Jess reunited salmon cakes

1 can pink salmon from Alaska
1 bread slice’s worth of yummy bread crumbs from the sourdough boule I baked up yesterday
1/2 a garlic scape, chopped into small rounds
1 cracked egg from the discard pile
1/2 shallot minced
3 cloves garlic minced
5 sprigs thyme
BUTTTTTTTER

Saute the garlic and shallot in BUTTTTTTTTTTER. mmm… savor the smell. Break the bread into little crumbs and mix up with thyme. Add everything else in and mix well. Fry up with a little more BUTTTTTTTTTTER in a well-seasoned cast iron Griswold you bought at a restaranteur’s garage sale in Cole Valley for $2.