Garlic: Garden Grown

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Those photos, top and bottom?  They are why I grow garlic.  That, and . . .    I can.  I didn't know that before last year.  That I can grow garlic.  That it would be so easy and so satisfying.

How can I explain what it's like to walk out to the garden, dig up a huge head of garlic, wash it, peel it, roast, saute, grate raw, do whatever with it,  fresh from the earth?

The cloves are pure, pure white.  Moist.  Mild yet unmistakably garlicky.  No bitter germ here.

As they dry and cure their pungent odor wafts about the kitchen; not overbearing, but a gentle reminder that cloves are at hand when you need them and that you will need fewer in each dish with the ageing.

If you're a garlic lover, as in more is always better, - better yet, if you grow your own - you know of what I speak.

I've just pulled the last of this year's crop. The braid you see below is a small example of my hoard and I hope  I will have enough to last through the winter.

Already I'm turning and feeding the garden beds for an early spring planting when I plan to double the crop.

I also plan to document the process and will bring it to these pages as the months progress.  I'm even going to experiment with planting a few in pots, just to see how they do.  I'll let you know.

Copyright 2005-2012, Christine Cooks. All rights reserved

San Marzano Tomatoes

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While the rest of the U.S. is awash in ripe, red, juicy, delicious tomatoes, we gardeners (at least this gardener) here on the northern California coast are still waiting, watching and coaxing our tomatoes to grow (please) and become edible before the chill of fall sets in.

This does not mean that we are tomato deprived.  On the contrary, our inland farmers bring plenty of heirloom tomatoes to the farmers markets in our area and I buy lots of them.

Stubborn gardener that I am, I started these guys in the greenhouse hoping the warmer temperature within would give me ripe tomatoes sometime this summer.

Then came the white flies.  Clouds of them.

I do not use pesticides, even so-called organic ones.

So I moved the tomatoes to the outside garden.  Where they now sit in their warm black pots.  Pampered.  Not growing.  Sigh.

We have just learned that this July on the North Coast has been one of the foggiest on record since the late 1800s.

One would think that after 18 years of living here I would just get over trying to grow tomatoes.  I guess the part of my life before moving here, the part where I grew up and lived in the hot Sacramento Valley, the part where tomatoes were ripe, red, juicy and delicious by the end of June, that part simply will not give up.

Suggestions welcome.

Copyright 2005-2012, Christine Cooks. All rights reserved

Garden Fresh Recipe for Gremolata with Meyer Lemon and Capers

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Gremolata with Meyer Lemon and Capers

Everything but the capers came from my back yard.  This is the way I love to cook (well, alright ... chop):  go outside, pick a lemon, pull a head of garlic, grab some parsley  ...   put it together and you have a bursting-with-flavors condiment that can be sprinkled on grilled salmon, a slow-cooker stew, roasted vegetables.

Please don't skip making this because you don't have a Meyer lemon tree, or parsley, or garlic growing in your garden.

Please.  Make it anyway.  It's so good.

Gremolata is a an Italian condiment traditionally made with garlic, lemon zest, and parsley.  The capers are my addition to a fairly standard recipe. Leave them out if you wish.

Garden Fresh Gremolata with Capers
Ingredients:

• Flat leaf parsley
• 1 Meyer lemon, or regular lemon if you prefer
• several cloves garlic, fresh if possible
• 2 teaspoons capers, drained
• sea salt to taste, optional

Preparation:
Coarsely chop enough parsley to measure 1-2 tablespoons.
Zest the lemon and chop to measure about 2 teaspoons
Peel and coarsely chop a few cloves garlic to measure 1 tablespoon (less if you find fresh garlic overpowering).
Finely chop the capers. Set aside.
Put the prepared parsley, garlic and lemon zest together on a cutting board and chop together until finely minced.  Don't mince so much that the ingredients become wet; you want this to be on the dry side.
Add the capers and mix well.  Adjust with sea salt if desired.
That's it!

Keep leftover gremolata in a plastic wrap-covered dish in the fridge.  Use it within a few days so it doesn't get sad. :-(

Copyright 2005-2012, Christine Cooks. All rights reserved

The Vegetable Garden

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The weeds are waist high in my vegetable garden. I can barely make out the greens and purples of my newly planted basil, so lost are they among the wild cacophony of flowering invaders: Native white daisies in full bloom, their yellow centers reflecting the bright yellow blossoms of the invasive dandelions; blue-eyed flax; spikey evening primrose; nastily prolific but handsome copper and yellow coreopsis; native blackberry runners running amok; soft yellow buttercups; and the occasional volunteer onion, its papery white flowers atop a tall, smooth green stalk. Scattered here and there like punctuation marks, gleaming orange nasturtiums that escaped from their border bed grow in the understory that is my forest of weeds.

All these and more, beautiful in their own right, threaten my vision of the orderly rows of green beans, cucumbers, tomatoes and squashes that I have not yet been able to plant.

The late rains have drenched my garden's soil, the sloppy, muddy ground effectively keeping me from the task of weeding the usually easily contained maverick weed population which has grown so lush and abundant this year.

Today I stand on the deck overlooking my vegetable garden, leather gloves pulled on tight, hoe in hand, face raised to the gray and lowering sky, daring it to rain one more drop.