This One is for Florence and Harold

When I first started writing the post about my recent trip to Oregon, I had to stop halfway through, erase it and re-write. I didn't realize that instead of writing about food, I instead had unconsciously begun to write about my great Aunt and Uncle who were the catalysts for the annual trip in the first place.

My great Uncle Harold and my great Aunt Florence were my de-facto grandparents growing up in an idyllic suburb just north of Chicago. Their house was just a few blocks from mine and it wasn't unheard of for me, while riding my bike around the neighborhood (this was back in the day when it was safe for children to do so alone), to stop in on them just to say hi. When I was probably about 10, we all flew out west along with their children and grandchildren to celebrate their 50th anniversary.  They were staples at every family occasion and major holiday. To this day we reminisce about Aunt Florence's Thanksgiving gravy, which we could never quite do on our own after they moved to Oregon.

Uncle Harold and Aunt Florence truly lived life to the fullest which I could say is the ultimate Au Naturale lifestyle, in a way. It's certainly one that I hope to emulate as I get older.  Uncle Harold-- who I took to calling "Huncle Harold" as a little girl and eventually got shortened to simply "Hunk"-- was quite the joker. For as long as I can remember he always greeted me with "Hey, it's ol' Whats-Her-Name!" even though he knew perfectly well what my name was. As my dentist growing up, he would make a point to first fill my mouth up with flouride and then ask me how my day was. I would get so frustrated when he then imitated whatever drooly incoherent response I gave back. 

The Hunk played tennis and could whoop anybody's ass well into his 80s. Once they relocated to Corvallis, he joined the local gym and took a cross-training class on a daily basis. He was the only man among a throng of younger-ish women and after class they sat around and had coffee and chatted. We took to calling those ladies "Harold's Harem". He was eventually the star of a television commercial the gym made, where he proclaimed loud and proud that he was training for a triathalon. (He wasn't, but we loved it anyway.) When we visited those early years, he always invited me and my brother to join him at the morning class. My brother went a few times, but I always declined, loving to sleep in the way I did. I always said "maybe next year". Uncle Harold passed away a few years ago at the ripe young age of 92, I believe. To this day I regret never getting up and joining him, even just once.

Huncle Harold also loved music and played in an ensemble. He took his martinis seriously: "Pour the gin and then just wave the vermouth bottle over the glass." He also baked a mean bran muffin that was a staple of our legendary breakfasts out in Corvallis, accompanied by jars of marionberry jam, locally roasted coffee, fresh fruit, and some sort of herbed or infused butter. Just this last trip, I learned from Aunt Florence that when Uncle Harold first retired "he couldn't boil water", in her words. He needed to take up a hobby, and baking was the one he fell into with great success. Our waistlines have always forgiven us his muffins.

Aunt Florence- or Flo, or Flush, depending on your mood- was equally a renaissance woman. She threw a mean pot and our family still has many of the plates, bowls, and flowerpots that she expertly crafted. She was in acting classes with the legendary Studs Terkel. And she was a total chocoholic. No trip could be started without my mom bringing her a tin of truffles. Aunt Florence made and appreciated good food, too. Before the airlines got too annoying we started a tradition of bringing her a pound of classic Chicago corned beef, a loaf of rye, and a jar of pickles. In the evenings after we left town she would go into the kitchen and totally chow down, then admit it with just a touch of guilt when we next spoke to her on the phone. We assured her there was nothing to feel guilty about- we've all done it, too! On one trip out to Corvallis when I first started growing herbs on my deck, I had lamented to her that I had more basil than I could handle. She immediately went to her recipe book, pulled out a piece of paper, and copied a pesto recipe down for me. I still have that recipe, on a the lined paper that is beginning to brown, and use it at the end of each season. This past trip I brought her one of the strawberry basil muffins that I packed as a travel snack. Looking back, I feel like the basil had come full circle.

The thing that amazed me most about Aunt Florence is that even as she got older and weaker in the body, her mind remained as sharp as a tack. This past trip she "held court" as she rested in bed and we gathered around and updated her on our lives. Inevitably she would tell her own stories that our stories had triggered. Someone had told her a joke that she wrote down and repeated for us with perfect comic timing.  I'm trying to remember it now, but I can't quite get it. It was hilarious, and I dare say a little raunchy.

I don't think I fully understood truly how much the two of them contributed to that grandparent role in my life until a few years ago, while I was thumbing through some old photo albums at their house and came across one that I instantly recognized: Aunt Florence and Uncle Harold, sitting at those tiny one-piece desks in a classroom at my Sunday School, staring very intently and with great interest at some sort of art project that a very young me had made. I remembered that day instantly as I looked at the picture.

"Uncle Harold and I were so flattered that you invited us to attend that day," opined Aunt Florence, as she looked over my shoulder at the photo.

"Really?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Why?"

"Because you invited your great Aunt and Uncle to Grandparent's Day," she responded matter-of-factly.

I was confused. Yes- so what? And then I realized what she had meant: technically, they weren't my grandparents. But they were the ones I wanted at that day dedicated to grandparents. And I knew it was Grandparent's Day- I remembered the event, and what it was called. But it seemed so natural to me that they should be there, and it never occurred to me that they were technically not my grandparents, even though I always referred to them as "Aunt" and "Uncle". It just simply made sense. That conversation was truly the first time it hit me in such a literal sense.

On August 14th, exactly 3 weeks after we returned from this year's trip out to see her, Aunt Florence passed away. She was 96 years young.

I miss her and Uncle Harold more than I ever thought possible. I have more memories of them than I could possibly fit here. They lived and loved life to the fullest, and if I can find the supply of whatever Fountain of Youth elixir they must have hidden somewhere in their house, I'm chugging it all.

In honor of their extraordinary lives, below are the recipes for Uncle Harold's bran muffins and Aunt Flo's pesto.  Should you ever get around to making either one of these, please raise a glass in their memory, and know that these recipes were shared-- and enjoyed-- with love.

Harold's Bran Muffins

Ingredients:
3/4 cup salad oil
2 beaten eggs
2 1/2 cups buttermilk
2 1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 cup white sugar
1 1/2 cup bran

Instructions:
Pre-heat oven to 375.  Combine salad oil, beaten eggs, buttermilk and stir well. In a separate bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, white sugar, and bran. Mix well.

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add liquid. Beat together, but do not overbeat. Bake in tins at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.

Notes: muffins supposedly come out better if batter rests in refrigerator overnight. Batter will keep for 3 weeks in refrigerator. Baked muffins keep well in the freezer. Also, for a different twist, add 3/4 cup chopped dates or 3/4 cup raisins.

Florence's Pesto

Ingredients:

3 garlic cloves

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2C olive oil

2C basil

1/4C pine nuts

1/2 cup parmesan

Instructions:

Put garlic, salt and oil in blender/processor- process smooth.

Add basil and nuts and blend.

Transfer to bowl and stir in parmesan.

Milestone

Let it be known that on Monday, August 22, 2011 at 4:10pm, I had my first sip of "regular" soda for the first time in all of 2011.

I was slightly disappointed in myself- I was hoping to never drink one of those things ever again. However, having been quite ill for no apparent reason the night before (funky stomach pains? Food poisoning? Allergic to relaxing vacations?) and still feeling a little shaky with a 10-plus hour car ride ahead of me, I needed to find the nearest can of ginger ale.

It was also pointed out to me that come the end of 2011, I can most likely truthfully say that I only drink one to two cans of soda a year. Certainly better than the average American. For that, I will forgive myself yesterday's indiscretion.

Green Pepper!

Look! Look look look!



(and yes, that is indeed a shark slipper in the background)


What you see there, my friends, is the first official pepper out of my Earthbox. This has made me unbelievably excited: due to the crazy windy storms we've had here throughout the summer, so many of the fresh buds on my pepper plants have been blown off that my crop is coming in late and very slowly. This is in sharp contrast to last year's cucumber harvest. I couldn't keep up with those guys.

The good news is another green pepper is about ready to be picked, a yellow is coming along nicely, and I've seen a good 3 or 4 reds that have started to form. My first poblano is coming in too, with a ton of flowers that are just ready to pop. Please, crazy winds, pleeeeease hold off!

Not the most insightful post, but I was just happy to share. You will be pleased to know that shortly after this picture was taken and I had tasted an unadulterated slice (delicious!!), this pepper gave its life to be part of an egg scramble with onion, tomato, and goat cheese with some toast and butter on the side. And of course, every single ingredient was fresh from the market or farm box.  Au Naturale all the way!

Ground Turkey Recall. Yawn.

This is old news already, but I think it still begs to be given some attention. Our good friends at Cargill, the folks who generously gave us CAFOs and genetically modified corn,  had to issue one of the biggest ground meat recalls in history due to salmonella contamination that has already killed one person.

Good work, Cargill.

Normally this news would not be worthy of a post. Sadly, food recalls are issued with as much regularity as movie premieres. And hey, it's just salmonella: apparently the USDA knew about this issue long before the recall but did nothing because salmonella is no big deal as long as you cook your food properly. This one, however, is noteworthy because this particular strand of salmonella is antibiotic resistant.  And that, my friends, gets to the heart of why CAFOs are as bad for us as they are for the animals that spend their lives cooped up in them.

Let's review: Turkeys (or cows, or chickens, or whatever animal you want) are forced to live in close quarters, therefore sharing diseases. They are fed a diet of foods they are not biologically equipped to digest, also causing illness. The way to deal with these illnesses when you're working with thousands of animals at a time?  Antibiotics! After a while, the strands of salmonella can only adapt and mutate to survive against those antibiotics. And us humans are left to defend ourselves against the resulting onslaught.

Not to say we still shouldn't be cooking our meals properly, or that animals that are 100% pasture-centered will never get sick or carry diseases like salmonella. Truthfully, in my eyes the USDA is more the bad guy than Cargill in this case, as the USDA will say it's unsafe for a small-scale farmer to slaughter or process his own animals on the farm yet they can't keep up with sanitation issues at the supposedly "safe" mass meat-processing facilities.

Totally natural meat (and not the "natural" branded meat that my local Dominicks is now touting, which is a play on the uneducated masses to eat mass produced meat without knowing really what it is still going through) is more expensive, so I've found myself eating less of it lately. And I loves me some meat! But in the end I'd rather eat less, enjoy what I'm eating more, vote with my dollars by supporting my local farmer, and be safe. That's much better than an antibiotic-resistant alternative.

Oregon, Oregon, Oregon....

How I love thee... let me count the ways!

Or, to use a less generic way of describing my favorite trip of the year: should I ever freak out, or lose my grip on reality, or have a nervous breakdown and need to escape from life and the Big City... you get the idea.... Corvallis, OR is where you will find me.

The annual family vacation over a long summer weekend is my favorite of the year primarily because of the fabulous family I have there-- my cousins Jeff and Patty and my Great Aunt-- but also because Oregon is the epitome of everything Au Naturale. Basically, everything you've heard about the Pacific Northwest is true: the scenery is gorgeous, the people are friendly, and the pace there... well, that's hard to describe. It's slow, but it's not Midwestern slow, the kind of slow that makes you want to scream "Hurry up!".  It's not annoying-tourists-on Michigan-Avenue-blocking-my-path-home-from-work-slow.  It's good, I'm-going-to-enjoy-whatever-it-is-I'm-doing-right-now slow. See? Hard to describe. Just trust me on this one.

As I've been doing this annual trip for 11 years now, I've developed an appreciation for and understanding of it's Au Naturale-ness long before I committed to the lifestyle myself. Beyond everything else I've mentioned above, the food and wine there is spectacular. Corvallis is a college town, home to Oregon State University (go Beavers!), but also home to some amazing restaurants and options for local, natural, and organic food at every turn.

Take Saturday Market, for example, as one of the highlights of the trip. It's the greatest farmer's market ever, so much so that when my cousin Patty suggested we skip it this year in favor of other activities because hey, "it's just the market", we almost skinned her alive. It's a huge market, the biggest I've ever seen, with all local and organic farms and where even the most basic of vegetables looks like they're on steroids. None of the booths were lacking for anything. In fact, just check out this assortment of fruit we grabbed for the dessert portion of the homemade meal we were making later in the day, including my favorite, the succulent marionberries I've mentioned in an earlier post:



L to R: Marionberries; strawberries; raspberries; blueberries

 The fruit was so amazing that Patty had to yell at us to stop snacking on it or else there would be none left for dessert. Instead, we bought a huge bag of the sweetest cherries to tide us over.

Saturday dinner, as has become tradition, is cooked at home with only what we've grabbed from the Market and what we pick up from the local fishmonger, who gets his catch fresh from the coast just a few hours drive away. Even I, who generally does not like cooked fish, can appreciate a fresh Pacific salmon.

Beyond the homecooked meal, however, Corvallis and the Willamette Valley in general can be counted on for great food and wine. On Friday night, we drove to nearby Philomath to dine at Gathering Together Farm, which may be the most Au Naturale restaurant I have ever visited. The name is strange, but that's the actual name of the farm where the restaurant is located. On the front porch they have only about 10 tables and are only open for dinner two nights a week-- so make your reservations now, folks! The head chef came from Chez Panisse in San Francisco and makes incredible dishes from the bounty they grow right on the farm. Whatever they don't have there comes from other farms just down the road. Add a great wine list from the excellent vineyards surrounding the area and we've never been disappointed. As a bonus, they keep the inside market open during dinner so once you're done stuffing yourself, you can also pick up some market-fresh items to take home with you. One stop shop!

I could go on and on... and writing this makes me feel that I should dedicate a post on our vineyard visits and the virtues/pitfalls of organic wine vs. non-organic wine vs. wine made with organic grapes... but I don't want to keep you reading about the details of my trip forever. I've done that a lot recently. That being said, if you happen to catch yourself on a flight west and need some vineyards or restaurants or camping/biking/boating gear (here is where I shamelessly plug my cousin's store, Peak Sports), I will be more than happy to profer suggestions. Suffice it to say I'm already counting down the days until next year's trip.