Wintry salad

No doubt you've heard of Urban Farming, where people plant vegies in their yard rather than keeping the mostly pointless notion of lawn -- you can't eat grass. There's even an offshoot of this movement -- called, not unexpectedly, Suburban Farming. 

We don't go as far as using either of these labels, and we haven't considered adding chickens or goats to the mix, but we do grow some of our own food when the weather agrees. 

Our most bountiful crops are blackberries and quince, along with beans and salady greens. But we also harvest raspberries and plums, and even took delight this year in 12 tree-grown peaches. Yum!

However, this December, my brilliant partner has taken the notion of home-grown one step further: you might have to call it Indoor Farming. Obviously, our little set-up isn't anything like the vertical farming models that are easy to find on the Internet, nor is it hydroponic, as our plants grow in soil. 

But truly, whether it's a few leafy greens added to a sandwich, or just a sample torn off as I walk by 'their' window, I take delight in being able to eat food that we've grown, often when it's only seconds 'off the vine', all the while looking outside on weather that's clearly December, and mighty wintry. 

Icing on the cake?

Last night, past midnight but well before dawn, light crept into the bedroom, waking me. Outside I discovered the reason. No flash on the camera, just reflected light from the glow of the unexpected white stuff, thus the spooky glow.

I admit to not being a big fan of snow (okay, it can look pretty for a few minutes, especially if it's Christmastime). And even though today is a friend's birthday, the icing on the cake I'm talking about isn't exactly the bonus kind.

Last week broke temp records here.

On Tuesday I was still wearing sandals.

This morning I need to find the shovel and figure out something saucey for those little yellow dots still there shivering on the vine.

Or, I suppose I should just think of all this as icing on the tomatoes.

Bad taste distractions

In a world as nutzoid as ours, sometimes it pays to consider absurdities. My proposal for today’s absurdity is Lima Beans.

Aside from thinking they should be banned for tasting so bad (bitter and slightly furry, as I recall, though it has been a while), I’ll admit that this deep-seated bias probably goes back to childhood and my mother’s cooking. She meant well, I’m sure, but tinned vegies are a sad excuse for greens on the plate. Mushy and vaguely metallic.

My mouth makes a bad face just thinking about them.

And why the heck are they called LYE-ma beans? They seem to be credited as coming from Peru. And I’m pretty sure that Lima, Peru is pronounced LEE-ma. Not that calling them LEE-ma beans would make them taste any better.

The biggest absurdity about these nasty legumes? You couldn’t eat them raw (the yummiest mode for nearly every decent vegetable) even if you could find them at your local farmer’s market. They have to be cooked, or they’re poisonous. Their nasty little secret? Cyanide. Maybe that’s the reason I knew enough to steer clear of them.

Now, if only I could find such a logical justification for not liking pumpkin pie.

Food from Mars?

No, but it sure looks as though it’s from someplace other than earth. Don't you think so?

Although there seems to be some dispute whether it’s cauliflower or broccoli, the experts at least agree that Romanesco is in the family brassica.

It was just one of the treats I found at Port Townsend’s winter version of their famous Farmers Market.

I offered the Romanesco as crudités to accompany homemade homous, then used the rest of it in a stir-fry.

So far at least, no little green horns growing from my head…