Thanksgiving Post-Mortem Pictorial

Since I hate letting food get cold, I confess that my attempt to capture our Thanksgiving dinner in pictures was more than a bit hasty. Nevertheless, here's how it all turned out:

The Farm & Sparrow bread was perfectly crunchy on the outside and moist inside. The loaf was so big that it took the place of carving a turkey for testing our knife skills.

The main event, the mushroom lentil pot pies topped with a gouda biscuit, were out of this world. The porcinis and lentils gave the dish a ridiculously meat-like taste and the Yukon Gold potatoes did an heroic job of keeping their shape while soaking up the flavors. The biscuit was fun but we probably didn't need that as well as bread. We'll definitely be having this one again with or without the biscuit.

The root vegetable mash and sweet potatoes in sage brown butter gave us the thrill of traditional side dishes while remaining remarkably easy to make and awfully darn healthy.

And let's not neglect the fennel gratin. Our first foray into using panko breadcrumbs has turned us into converts. I don't think we've had such crunchy goodness since we crumbled potato chips on a long-forgotten dish many, many years ago. The fennel's retained structure made a nice counterpoint to the mushier potato sides though I didn't think the flavor was a strong as I would have liked. 

Here's a plate of sides (isn't that what everyone really wants at Thanksgiving?) with the cranberry compote for color and textural contrast:

And last but not least, the pie. The photo definitely doesn't do it justice. The pepita/ginger/pecan/almond topping was a nice crunchy and spicy addition to the traditional pumpkin pie. I think the recipe made twice as much topping as was strictly necessary, so next time I'll reduce it--or better yet--save the extra for snacking. The topping had the added benefit of holding down the filling while cooking so there were no near-overflow scares in the early stages of baking.

A bottle of our best cider and a 7 Deadly Zins for wine topped it all off. We really couldn't have been more pleased with the way it all turned out. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed!

Thanksgiving

For many years, I clung to my traditional Thanksgiving menu of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, rolls, jellied cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. Jim brought green bean casserole into the relationship and got me to swap out the rolls in favor of biscuits. Once he was forced to go vegetarian (that story's a post for another time), it became more complicated. In those years when we had company, I could still justify cooking a turkey and we'd make a special entree for Jim--usually a Tofurky roast with Tofurky gravy tho' we also tried Quorn roasts, someone's Field roasts, as well as stuffed acorn squash.

This year, we find ourselves without company and increasingly disinterested in the traditional menu. Maybe it's the foodie magazines or the food blogs I've been reading or maybe it's just the pent-up desire to get cooking again in a big way, but we have decided to wipe the slate clean. In searching for recipes for our feast, I was looking for dishes that we both could share so that meant vegetarian food that didn't involve a lot of eggs or heavy cream (neither of which Jim tolerates well) but would feel festive and out of the ordinary. An added bonus would be recipes that wouldn't be so stressful and complicated that we couldn't enjoy the day off.

In a nod to tradition, pumpkin pie still appears, but with a twist. Cranberry compote is the only one of the dishes that we regularly eat and we have had the sweet potato dish at a previous Thanksgiving (mostly because Jim loves sweet potatoes and this is the first recipe involving said orange vegetable that I actually like to the point of wanting seconds). Best of all, I found a vegetarian main course with protein. Despite the lovely trend of more vegetarian recipes appearing this time of year, too many magazines, papers, and blogs seem to think that vegetarian eating is simply a matter of leaving out the meat and adding more vegetables. More on that rant another day. Here's the menu:

• Mushroom and lentil pot pies with gouda biscuit topping
• Root vegetable mash (potatoes, parsnips, rutabagas)
• Fennel gratin with pecorino and lemon
• Sweet potatoes in sage brown butter
• Cranberry compote (see earlier post for recipe)
• Pumpkin pie with pepita, nut, and ginger topping.
• Farm & Sparrow farmhouse bread (from our outstanding local baker) with crabapple jelly
• Homemade hard cider

OK, so if you read Bon Appetit, you'll know where I got most of my new recipes. If you don't, you may be wondering how two people will eat all that food. We won't. But since we won't have turkey or faux turkey leftovers, we'll need something to eat this weekend.....

Crabapple Jelly

You may recall from an earlier post about cider that we have a wonderful supply of crabapples here on the farm. Each year I try to squirrel away enough of these tart gems to make jelly. The juice is so good for making tasty cider that it can be a challenge to keep them from all going into the press. Last year, I tried making do with the pomace that was left after the press had extracted juice for cider but all I got was very cloudy jelly that didn't taste nearly as good as the previous year's.

After washing and stemming the apples, the next step was to quarter them. You'd think that wouldn't be so bad with little apples but these boogers are hard! They also stain like crazy. The flesh looks white when you cut into it but it quickly turns orange-red. After a couple of hours of chopping, the skin on my hands looked like someone had colored in every line and wrinkle with henna. The chopped crabs went into a pot with some water and boiled until the flesh was soft.

I don't have a picture for the next step because it is just too messy and requires too much coordination for me to manage the camera, too. I strained the resulting juice and fruit through several layers of cheesecloth, trying not to burn my hands from the steam (note to self: don't make evening plans on the day you're making jelly so you have time to let the fruit cool a bit before straining). Also, this time I resisted the urge to squeeze the fruit to extract every last bit of juice--it makes for cloudy jelly. I ended up with lovely, clear juice--not as deep red as some years, but pretty nonetheless. That went into a saucepan and got boiled to within an inch of its life.

Hmmm....that does a nice job of showing bubbles but not the pretty juice. Let's try this one:

Better. From here it was mostly a matter of trying to get the temperature up to jelly stage on my candy thermometer without the whole thing boiling over. Each year I struggle with getting the timing right. The first time I waited too long and the jelly set up like fruit leather. The next time I took it off too soon and ended up with, well, juice. The third time was just right. Still, I don't feel that I really know why. Temperature hasn't been a great indicator, though that may be a function of having a cheap and probably inaccurate thermometer. I have yet to perfect the spoon test, never having achieved the ideal sheeting action.  I decided to err on the side of less jelling, figuring I could always redo the process if it came out too runny. So juice went into jars and they, in turn, into the canner for a water bath.

In the final analysis, this year's jelly was a bit on the underformed side. It started to set up but is a bit runny. Still, after a day in the fridge, it was good enough for home use, so I didn't bother to redo it this time. And the flavor is fantastic. This year, I followed the recipe and used the full amount of sugar so someone other than me (the lover of tart fruit) would enjoy eating it. I think I'll do another batch for giving away and see if I can get the texture up to socially-acceptable levels, too.

If anyone has a recommendation for a good, accurate candy thermometer, I'd love to hear it. Candy-making season is almost here and I would love to go into caramel and sponge candy making mode with confidence.

Coyote

Well, that was unexpected! I just chased off a coyote. It's no secret that we've had coyote around. They are quite bold in leaving their scat prominently displayed in the middle of paths, in barn stalls, and most recently on the logs demarcating our compost piles. Still, I wasn't expecting to see one in broad daylight.

The buffs had been dragging their hooves, so to speak, this morning about crossing through the fish pond to get to the lower pasture. I went to play with Buddy in the yard while waiting for them to make the move. Eventually they crossed and I closed the gate behind them. When I went back to get Buddy for her walk, I whistled to get her attention (her nose was well stuck into the dirt in her usual mole-hunter pose). As she looked up, I saw the coyote about 50 feet past the fence doing a quick about-face and dashing off toward Krabapplestan. Leaving Buddy in the yard, I followed as far as the creek but saw no trace of it.

I suspect the coyote was on its way up the creek to our neighbor's cattle. We spotted a newborn calf there yesterday and it occurs to me that birth smells must be mighty tempting to a coyote. I doubt the coyote would be any match for the bulls but it might make a run at the calf if it were far from the herd. If nothing else, I think I now  know why the buffs were being balky this morning. And why they kept a close eye on us as I walked Buddy. They must wonder why I keep company with a little coyote.

Cranberry Compote

I realize that this blog has strayed a bit from its original concept. The farm and its newest inhabitants have provided so much fodder for posts that the musings on omnivorous happiness have fallen by the wayside. I promise to reform my ways eventually--probably over the winter as my interest in cooking and all things indoors increases. For now, however, I'll simply offer up a recipe that we enjoy throughout the year but is especially good for Thanksgiving: Cranberry Compote.

The name of the recipe's author is a mystery to me. The recipe came to me by way of a friend, Leigh Hilger, who got it from a student in one of her nutrition classes. Would that I could thank its inventor by name. This wonderful dish works as a side or a dessert. It dresses up a dry or otherwise boring meat or fake meat dish (I eat a lot of Quorn patties when I don't have the time or inclination to cook a proper meal). As the Hungarians and the Moroccans know, meat and fruit go great together. It is also friendly to vegetarians, vegans, and those on a gluten-free diet. And it has the added bonus of being awfully darn healthy without feeling that way. So much so that it did what no other cranberry dish had done before: it knocked the canned jellied cranberry sauce off of our Thanksgiving menu.

Cranberry Compote

3 cups coarsely chopped peeled apples (granny smiths work well)
2.25 cups coarsely chopped peeled pears (red bartlett pears are my fave but bosc will do)
3/4 cup fresh apple juice ("cider")
1/2 cup fresh cranberries
2 tablespoons brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

Combine all ingredients except lemon juice in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer 15 minutes until fruit is tender. Remove from heat and stir in lemon juice. Serve warm or cold.

That's it. Make a double batch and freeze the extra for when you need a quick side dish or dessert.

Houdini's Last Trick

Bru is gone. For good this time, we think. Still, one never knows for sure with this dog. A little background:

Bru was the last of the three pets to join our little family when we lived in Atlanta. We really thought we were doing just fine with one cat and one dog. Then this gorgeous, gregarious dog started making appearances in our neighborhood. Ours was not a neighborhood where dogs tended to roam unaccompanied, so we took note when we would see him happily trotting from yard to yard without an owner in sight.

Having seen the evidence on our daily dog walks of way too many cats killed by cars, we were worried that this pretty boy with his mahogany red coat and black bandit mask would meet the same fate. And then our neighbor started working on us: "You should really take him in." "Honestly, two dogs are just as easy as one." "You only have one dog. Don't you think she'd be happier with another dog to keep her company?" "I'd take him in if I could have dogs in my apartment but it's not allowed."

We resisted but by Memorial Day weekend our resolve had weakened and over brunch at the Flying Biscuit, we agreed that we'd feel terrible if anything happened to him. So, we decided to take him in. Never having been good at coming up with names for pets, we had narrowed our choices by using a food theme for all of our pets. Our newest addition had a strikingly jet black back that contrasted with his reddish brown fur everywhere else making him look almost burnt on top--but in a glossy, appealing way. Creme brulee came to mind but it was too pretentious (we'd already had to back off of Butterscotch for the first dog and let her retain some dignity with the modified name of Buddy). We settled on Bru. Derived from brulee but sounding like beer, we thought we were set.

I wish I could show you a picture that does him justice but he has never photographed well. Our friend, George Veltri, got some shots of him early on that certainly show off his personality if not his looks:

Oh, did I forget to mention the dotted line running up the middle of his tongue like lane markers on a road? Our best guess was that he was a Rottweiller/German Shepherd mix with just a touch of Chow--thus the black spots on the tongue. He certainly had the naturally affectionate nature of a Rottie and their habit of leaning on people and exploring the world with his tongue. His shape and shedding habits were more Shepherd but the Chow kept him at a nice size c. 60 pounds.

We think he was about 18 months old when he found us. He seemed to be in good shape, was already neutered, and had a collar with no tags. Our neighbor confirmed that he'd been in the area for weeks but no signs or ads appeared for a missing dog. We took him to the vet to get checked out.

The news came back: he had heartworms. Immediately, they began treatment which consisted of administering arsenic to kill the worms. We then had to keep this dog who was used to roaming freely confined with no activity or excitement for 4-6 weeks. Let's just say that Bru and I did some serious bonding during this time as I tried to keep him company in the small guestroom that became his well-appointed prison for the next month or so. He was remarkably cooperative (didn't chew or pee on the futon--good dog!) and seemed to enjoy being in a place that was climate-controlled, dry, and served good food twice a day along with tons of attention.

As soon as the vet gave us the all clear, we added him to our daily walks around the neighborhood. We soon discovered that we were not the first to try to rescue Bru. Everywhere we went people greeted Bru but not by that name. "Foster!" "Sparky!" "Houdini!" Had we taken on a total con dog who kept switching identities to stay one step ahead of the law? Turns out, the truth was in that last name. He was indeed the world's greatest escape artist. No one had been able to keep him for long. Our five-foot privacy fence would prove no match for a dog who could climb over or dig under a fence with ease and one time literally climbed a tree to avoid being recaptured before he was ready to come home. But he always came home--he just liked making his social rounds in the neighborhood. We did our best to keep him entertained, socialized, and at home when he wasn't accompanied by one of us, but we did spend a lot of time chasing him to prevent him from getting into trouble and annoying our neighbors.

Nine years ago, we moved to North Carolina and discovered the joys of an Invisible Fence. The electronic fence managed to keep our canine Houdini at home better than we ever could have hoped for. It probably helped that neighbor dogs could come and play with him, so he didn't feel as much need to go to their homes.

Getting older probably helped, too. By the time we moved to our farm two years ago, he was getting arthritic and didn't seem inclined to escape much, despite having only a four-foot chain link fence to keep him in the yard. Only when the temptation was great (e.g., the first time the horses came over to graze in our pasture) did he haul himself over the fence to go lick them on the noses and then he came right back.

July 4th weekend this year, he disappeared for four days. Given that he was nearly 14 years old, suffering from cancer, cauda equina (spinal nerve compression), and laryngeal paralysis (floppy vocal cords making him sound like Darth Doggie and making it difficult to keep his stomach contents in his stomach), we were pretty sure he'd gone off to die. We live on the edge of a 2600 acre conservation area which makes for a great place to disappear so we weren't surprised that no one responded to our "lost dog" signs. As I made my way to check the shelters after the long holiday weekend, who should I find trotting along the road heading towards home but Bru? He was tired and sore and thirsty, but happy as always. We were ready to euthanize him, if necessary, but he bounced back after a few days rest. Despite his lengthening list of health problems, he continued to think like a puppy and seemed to be having more good days than bad, though he had started insisting on sleeping outside at night around the time he started having accidents in the house. Good dog.

Two weeks ago, he ran off again. He hadn't been eating much for a few days (and this is a dog who never turns down food) probably because the regurgitation was getting worse. This time, he disappeared in broad daylight when I was working nearby on the electric fence for the buffs. Having grieved prematurely in July, we waited this time. After four days had passed and the weather had turned bitterly cold, we suspected we wouldn't see him again. There have been no reports of him near here or at the shelters, so we're pretty sure he's gone for good. Sure, it's possible he's found an old barn with a nice straw bed and loads of mice to eat but I'm working on the assumption that we've seen Houdini's last trick. And it better be, because if he shows up again I am going to be pissed! So will Buddy. She's enjoying being the only dog in the house again.

Oh, and about that two dogs are just as easy as one? Total lie. But he was worth the trouble.

Eschol Becomes a Man

Well, to be more accurate, Eschol has entered adolescence. And he hasn't changed species. It's just that our baby bull is showing signs that he is a baby no more. He's all bull now.

One fine October day--our wedding anniversary to be exact--Eschol began taking a very adult interest in Audrey. Yes, love was in the air that day. I remember it not just for the romantic associations of the date but also because I had just installed the electric fence around the fish pond. 

Not being too confident in whether the electric rope would be a sufficient deterrent if the buffalo were determined to get out, I really didn't need to see Eschol showing off his newly-discovered testosterone surges. I must admit it was equal parts fascinating and nervous-making as I watched him make his initial advances just a few feet from where I was standing.

While I was aware of the risk of being this close to a frisky bull, he and the object of his affection were blocking my primary escape route. It quickly became apparent to me that he was only interested in one of the three females in the immediate area: Audrey. Effie and I were chopped liver. Still, the situation required keen attention to staying on my toes in case the action suddenly moved in my direction.

How can I describe it? No, I can't use a picture because I didn't have my camera with me. Technically, I suppose one would say that Eschol mounted Audrey. But that terminology hardly does justice to how very ungainly and ridiculous the whole process looks. Truly, Eschol would just fling himself up in her general direction and kind of splay out his front legs over her back. He'd only get a few seconds to try to get his groove on before Audrey would trot off, leaving Eschol in her wake. 

I really don't know if Audrey was in heat and that was what got Eschol going or if he's just starting to get testosterone surges and thus decided to practice his breeding moves.  They are both at an age where they could breed but it would be at the early end of the range. Audrey is the oldest of the two girls, so it wouldn't be surprising that she might be the first to go into heat. On the other hand, she's also the most docile, so if Eschol just wanted to practice, she's the one most likely to put up with his antics.

And boy does he need practice. Of his many, many attempts that day, the funniest was when he launched himself over the front end of Audrey. I tried to remind him that not only would he have little success with this method, his breeding days would be short-lived if he landed on her increasingly long and pointy horns.

 In fact, she only pushed him away when he tried to mount her while she was eating hay. That seems entirely reasonable to me. In fact, I think she was very gracious about the whole thing seeing as Eschol made dozens of attempts. Effie was the one who got fed up with it and tried to push Eschol off of Audrey. 

In retrospect, I think Audrey was in heat. After a day and a half of breeding attempts, Eschol suddenly stopped. Water buffalo have notoriously short and hard-to-detect heat cycles, so it's entirely possible that she was showing no other signs than that of Eschol's attention. 

He made a couple of half-hearted attempts yesterday which seems a little soon for another cycle (three weeks would be reasonable), but just now he and Effie were fighting like I've never seen them before: locking horns and chasing around the pasture like mad. I wonder if she's in heat now but is aggressively resisting Eschol. Maybe last night he smelled an opportunity but went for Audrey out of habit (or because she won't try to kill him). He is being persistent despite rejection and I fear for his internal organs. Effie does not hesitate to use her horns to make her displeasure known. Audrey has already had to intervene several times to break up the fight and convince Effie to let it go. 

I hope they sort it out before the really cold weather moves in tonight. I don't want Eschol kicked out of the barn for bad behavior. He's going to need the protection from the cold and wet. I know the girls won't let him snuggle up with them, so I've put some straw piles in stalls well away from their area in hopes that he can find some comfort there.

Pray for us all......

Winter's Coming

Much as I have enjoyed the long-lasting warm weather, I know that reality will soon rear its ugly head and once again, it will be cold. Cold for real--not the 28 degrees at 7am but then 75 degrees by 3pm--all day and all night cold. Granted, winter in Western North Carolina is nothing compared to the Chicago winters of my youth. Warm days here are a possibility. We've enjoyed 70 degree weather on more than one New Year's Day. Those lovely days, however, are breaks and not normal weather for November through March at least.

After last year's harsh weather wherein we set a record for most days with sub-freezing temperatures and had a monster snowstorm that wreaked havoc for a week just before Christmas, we're feeling that we're due for a milder winter. The forecasters say La Nina may grant us that wish. Still, many nights will be below freezing even if most of the days are not.

Here's a bunch of the things I've been doing to get the farm ready for winter:

- Pulling the remaining plants out of the garden (must look for recipes to use up large quantity of fresh herbs now sitting in my fridge)
- Emptying the rain barrels
- Draining and storing the many hoses used for conveying water to the garden and to the water buffalo
- Making room in the worm composter by taking a layer of castings to the garden (could do this anytime but it's a much less pleasant chore in the cold--especially the part where I have to clean the bin and end up drenching myself)
- Purchasing and spreading straw in the big barn for the buffs to snuggle into on cold nights
- Giving the buffs' water tanks a thorough cleaning (again, a self-drenching issue)
- Closing up the beehive (leaving a small opening for "cleansing flights") and piling straw bales around it as a wind break
- Moving the buffs to a new pasture to keep them eating grass as long as possible (so I don't have to feed as much hay) and to keep the thatch and vines from taking over
- Worrying that the buffs don't have enough fat on them yet so feeding them some hay anyway
- Scanning the hay ads (and you thought Craigslist was just for apartments and adult services) in case I decide  that my current stockpile won't be sufficient
- Using rainy days to plant orchard-grass seed wherever the pastures are thin on good grass
- Cleaning out the old feeding troughs in the big barn so I can drop hay from the top level to the buffs below when it's too cold or rainy to be outside
- Locating the heat lamps and extension cords for placement on vulnerable pipes when the temps get into the low 20s

Ack. I know there's more but I'm getting tired just thinking about it all now.