For all the years I’ve written this blog I’ve talked a lot about real food, the kind our great-grandparents ate. Food that comes from the ground (or air or water). Unadulterated food, as opposed to “manufactured calories,” or “food-style products.” I’ve heard this idea expressed in different ways, like:
“Eat close to the garden.”
“Eat food that’s been through as few machines as possible.”
“Eat nothing that contains more than four ingredients.”
“Don’t eat anything your great-grandparents wouldn’t have recognized as food.”
“Be wary of foods that never go bad; if the bugs won’t eat it, it’s not food.”
I didn’t actually eat any differently this year, but talking about it on the blog felt like preaching. It’s not that the message was no longer relevant, but that it just didn’t feel nearly as important as usual. The most important message this year was to be kind to yourself, to do whatever it takes to get through the day. The worst part of all was that we didn’t know how long it would going to be that way. But this week I am feeling hopeful. For the first time in a year I am imagining how things might be after the pandemic is over. After we get to the other side. After enough of us have been vaccinated to achieve herd immunity. There is still a ways to go, and we need to continue protecting our friends, families, and communities for a while longer, but learning that our family might be able to be together this coming July 4th was music to my ears. In years past, my extended family used to spend July 4th in rural, northwest New Jersey on my parents’ farm, where my dad raised his animals and my mother tended a half-acre vegetable garden on their little slice of heaven for 44 years. We made that trip between Ohio and Jersey so many times over the years, always in anticipation of that year’s combination of steer, chickens, peacocks, French guinea hens, sheep, and goats, not to mention grandparents, awaiting us on the other side of Pennsylvania.
Of course we weren’t the only ones who regularly made that trip. My parents’ treks on Route 80 in the opposite direction were usually accompanied by large bags of produce and a few dozen eggs, often with a peacock feather or two. They would stumble out of the car into the arms of their grinning grandchildren, and immediately hand over the gifts from the farm with strict instructions to “take these inside.” After the preliminaries, they would head straight to the kitchen to empty the bags of produce onto the kitchen counters for everyone to inspect and admire. And admire we did. This is what my family always does with newly picked produce. And that is really what I want to talk about today. I am remembering a time when I got home with a share of veggies from my CSA (community-supported agriculture), and I spread the new produce all over the kitchen counter. Bok choy and kale. Cabbage, potatoes, and onions. Yellow squash, zucchini, patty pan squash. Tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans. Scallions, basil, and cilantro. It was time to get to work.
First, I sliced ½ head of cabbage into thin strips, and left it on the cutting board. Then I mixed ¾ cup of mayonnaise with ¼ cup of thyme vinegar left from last summer, plus a pinch of sugar to cut the acidity. I grated in most of a lonely-looking carrot I found at the bottom of the refrigerator. Then I slid the cabbage, carrot and mayonnaise dressing into a large plastic bag, and placed the bag in a bowl in the refrigerator. I turned the bag a few times, and the next day we had cole slaw, a great addition to a meal of barbecued chicken, potatoes, and fresh tomato salsa.
I found the recipe for salsa by entering ‘tomato cucumber onion’ into Google, scrolling through the recipes, and picking one whose remaining ingredients matched the contents of my kitchen. I started by adding a mashed garlic clove to a few tablespoons of lime juice. Then I diced the tomatoes, cucumber, and half an onion into very tiny pieces. I chopped the cilantro very fine, and slid everything into a large pottery bowl. All it needed after that was a shake of salt, two grinds of black pepper, a good stir.
The potatoes went into a saucepan with lightly salted water. They cooked until they became quite soft, at which point I dumped all the water and added a few tablespoons of olive oil, a generous bunch of coarsely-chopped Italian parsley from my herb garden, and a teaspoon of Kosher salt. I covered the pot, and then shook the contents as hard as I could for about 30 seconds. I call this recipe “smashed potatoes,” and it’s a long-time favorite around here.
I rinsed the kale and removed the thick, central ribs with a sharp knife, wrapped the wet leaves into a tight bundle, and then sliced cross-wise to make strips, which I tossed into a pan sizzling with a bit of olive oil. I stirred the leaves occasionally until most were beginning to turn bright green (less than a minute), and then sprinkled them with a few teaspoons of balsamic vinegar. This simple recipe is good warm, but it also tastes great straight from the refrigerator the next day.
I rinsed the green beans, sliced off the tips, and added the beans, along with slices of onion and red pepper, to a frying pan swirling with hot olive oil. The mix of colors and textures was beautiful, and the onion and pepper softened just moments before the beans brightened. I pulled the pan from the stove, and served the veggies right away with shakshuka (eggs poached in tomato sauce), followed by blueberries and peaches.
I had one more project in mind — a dip made of zucchini and onions. I sautéed the vegetables until they were all soft, and then pulsed them in a food processor with some basil, a tablespoon of nutritional yeast, and lots of pepper until they were mixed well but not pulverized. It was great for scooping with cucumber slices and peppers, but it was also delicious spooned over the smashed potatoes. And I saved the squash and bok choy for another day.
Simple food. Simple recipes. Simply delicious.