Hello again

(Silence).

Yes, I know. That's what it's been like around here as of late. I'm sorry.

To tell you the truth, there have been some changes around here. Big ones. 

In October, David and I loaded up our new truck, our new trailer, said sayonara to Alberta and hightailed it back to B.C. As we crossed the bridge, narrow and metal-framed, slanting upwards over the Fraser river, that delivers you to Agassiz my shoulders slumped in sheer relief to be back. I was here last Fall, doing a cheese-making internship that I wrote about very briefly. In fact, I was meaning to tell you more but somehow never did. Well, let me tell you this: every day that I was here felt like magic. I rode my bike to work past cornfields, donkeys, barking dogs (that chased me down the road), pumpkin patches, windrows of hay drying in the sun. The hillsides were freckled with yellow, with orange, with green. The mist moved over everything so that nothing ever looked the same. And when it wasn't there Mt. Cheam could be seen, rising stony and sometimes snow-flecked, so downright majestic I would always gasp. I trained with some of the strongest, funniest and wisest women I have ever met. There was another intern who happened to be my doppelgänger and is now one of my best friends. I lived with a family, everyone in it so entirely unique and great, that welcomed me into their fold. So, when an opportunity arose to come back, to all of this, and this time with David too, well, I said YES! Every time I cross that bridge into Agassiz I get giddy. My stomach butterflies, my lips curl upwards, my eyes probably shine. I can't believe I'm actually here. That, after ten years of different cities, basement suites, and roommates, after so many moves and travels, I finally, finally feel like I have landed. I am home.

I've got so much more to tell you. The silence is over!

Crumby

It's your last day of vacation and you're at the Penticton Farmers Market when you spy a loaf of bread so beautiful and rustic and sesame-crusted that it's bought before you've even finished browsing. So you also end up with a dark chocolate-stuffed baguette. It's not much of a contest when it comes to choosing which to have for supper that night. (Chocolate). The first loaf is forgotten the next day when you arrive at your parent's house where the bread basket overfloweth. When you finally get home the bread is substantially older and drier, but at least you are wiser. Better make some breadcrumbs.

You might think you should use a bread knife but the bread is so stale that you have to bite hunks off to spit into your coffee grinder, where they're whirled into fine breadcrumb oblivion. You toast them in a 350 F oven for about 10 minutes - maybe more, maybe less. You weren't really looking at the clock. It's wise to check on them often because one second you're thinking they need some sun, the next you're reaching for the aloe vera. Dump those babies into a bowl because you didn't pay five dollars, spend half an hour chewing and then nearly overheat your coffee grinder for nothin'. (They'll burn if they stay on the baking sheet). Toss them with some fine sea salt (to taste) and olive oil (about two tablespoons for each cup and a half of breadcrumbs). Feel free to use different types of oil too - a wee bit of hemp oil is rather scrumptious. 

You can sprinkle your breadcrumbs over grilled vegetables (try zucchini with pecorino), a sumptuous hash (with fresh shelling beans, tomatoes, corn, potatoes and zucchini as the major players), pasta or just leave the bowl on your kitchen table so you can eat a spoonful every time you walk by. There you have it - breadcrumbs!

Cooked as a cuke

You'd think it was the zucchini that was the trouble. The zucchini that was multiplying like mice on a farm or mosquitoes during a hot, muggy Alberta summer. Well, there's been a lot of it sure, but so far this year the star producer of our garden has been the cucumbers. If you're finding yourself in similar straits, I have two recipes to help you out. I know the saying goes "cool as a cuke" but here you're going to cook your cucumbers! 

Spiced Cucumbers and Coconut Milk

From Bon Appetit

This is totally delicious. The cooked cucumber reminded me somewhat of eggplant but maybe even better. In the interest of full disclosure I didn't peel my tomatoes (because life is too short for that), I used dried rather than fresh chiles (which may have made my version a little less spicy) and I used parsley leaves instead of cilantro (because that's what I had). It was suggested that you serve this with rice.

1 tbsp vegetable oil

2 cups of 1/4-inch-thick slices of peeled cucumber

salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 small tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped

4 scallions, thinly sliced

2 red Thai chiles (with seeds), thinly sliced

1 garlic clove, smashed

1/2 cup unsweetened coconut milk

1 1/2 tsp honey

1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves

fresh lime juice

Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add cucumber. Saute until beginning to soften, about 1 minute. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Add tomatoes, scallions, chiles and garlic. Saute until vegetables are soft, 2-3 minutes.

Add coconut milk and honey; simmer until vegetables are cooked through, 2-3 minutes. Stir in the cilantro leaves and a squeeze of fresh lime juice. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Makes about 4 cups.

Sour Pickles

From Wild Fermentation

These are the genuine, real-deal pickles you've dreamed of. No vinegar, just straight-up lactic-acid fermented, brined cucumbers. Apparently the bane of pickle-makers is the cucumber's tendency to turn mushy rather than crispy. Adding grape, oak, cherry, or black currant leaves (which are rich in tannins) is said to help keep your pickles crunchy. I tried using red currant leaves and they seemed to work.

3 - 4 pounds unwaxed, small to medium cucumbers

3/8 cup sea salt

3 - 4 fresh flowering dill heads, or 3 - 4 tbsp of any form of dil (fresh or dried leaf or seeds)

2 - 3 heads of garlic, peeled

a handful of fresh grape, cherry, oak, black currant and/or horseradish leaves, washed (if available)

a pinch of black peppercorns

Rinse the cucumbers, taking care not to bruise them and making sure their blossoms are removed. Scrape off any remains of the blossom end. If you're using cucumbers that aren't fresh off the vine that day, soak them for a couple hours in very cold water to freshen them.

Dissolve the sea salt in 2L of water to create a brine solution. Stir until the salt is thoroughly dissolved.

Clean a ceramic crock or food-grade plastic bucket with a capacity of at least 4L. Place the dill, garlic, fresh leaves and black peppercorns at the bottom. Put the cucumbers on top. Pour the brine over the cucumbers, place a clean plate over them, then weigh it down with a jug filled with water or a boiled rack. If the brine doesn't cover the weighed-down plate, add more brine mixed at the same ratio of just under 1 tbsp of salt to each cup of water.

Cover the crock with a cloth to keep out dust and flies and store it in a cool place.

Check the crock every day. Skim any mold from the surface, but don't worry if you can't get it all. If there's mold, be sure to rinse the plate and weight. Taste the pickles after a few days. Eventually, after one to four weeks (depending on the temperature) the pickles will be fully sour and no longer white in the centre. Continue to enjoy them, moving them to the fridge to slow down fermentation.

Makes about 4L.

Birthday Balthazars (and what to do with the leftovers)

In the month of May, which now seems a million miles away, my sister and I threw a birthday party. See, she turned 24 on the 24th of May and, later, I turned 27 on the 27th of June - those are champagne birthdays! 

Around December, when we realized this was a milestone year for both of us, we decided that a big celebration was in order. As we tossed around ideas, like a pie-eating contest or bouncy castle, I declared that we needed a Nebuchadnezzar of champagne. Now, at the time, I didn't quite know how much was in a Nebuchadnezzar (that'd be 15L). All I knew was that after your typical 750ml bottle they had names and they started to get a little wacky - Magnum (1.5 L), Methuselah (6L), etc. So the search began.

At first I thought we'd special order a big bottle from one of the many excellent B.C. wineries making sparkling wine. No one did anything remotely close to that size. I trolled the internet looking for large bottles but my only leads came from the U.K. (with prohibitively expensive shipping costs) or the U.S. (with crazy border taxes). Finally, I was reminded that one of my cousins works for a big booze company. I fired off an e-mail and within 24 hours he'd found us a bottle! Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) we could only get a 12L bottle, a mere Balthazar. Well, it would have to do.

The day of the party dawned clear and chilly; sun sparkled on frosted wild strawberry blossoms outside the community hall near my grandparent's old farm. We shifted into last-minute party-planning gear with lots to do - lights to string, chairs to set up, outhouses to move.

Soon enough, our guests started to arrive - aunts and uncles, grandpas, high school friends, old co-workers who drove through the night to make it! Over 70 people dined on an entire spit-roasted pig with incredibly crispy, fatty skin and a gamut of potluck fixin's. They visited, lounged around the fire and played football. We blew out birthday candles on seven different kinds of cake - each with a different set of letters that, put together, spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY! And then we opened the champagne. It took a good while, but we opened it!

Once everyone had a glass of bubbly in hand we toasted to birthdays and started the evening festivities. We gathered around another campfire, this one in a clearing inside the woods on my Dad's nearby land. We roasted marshmallows and smokies, drank ApriKat beer and more champagne. We watched a fireworks extravaganza. We danced under Christmas lights and starlight in the middle of that clearing, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, and it was good.

We didn't finish the champagne that night though. 

We didn't even finish it the next morning, mixed with orange juice, to wash down pancakes a la Steve (with real maple syrup) and rhubarb pie. We didn't finish it after the final clean-up when everyone in my family had a big glug as we posed for pictures.

David and I siphoned about 4L into an empty water jug and my sister took whatever was left in the bottle. We drained that a few weeks later, with the help of some grapefruit juice, at a post-funeral brunch. I shared some of mine with folks on the farm. I made a few cocktails. It was going nowhere but flat, fast. 

Then I found this recipe. It called for beer in the batter but I thought champagne would be a better match for blini. Having a glass of champagne in hand while you nibble on one topped with sour cream and caviar is practically a pre-requisite for this pancake of Russian origin. We ate ours with a smorgasbord of spring delights from the woods, our garden, and the farm (the grocery store too). There were radishes, butter, sea salt, asparagus, hard-boiled eggs, dill, nettle pesto, pecorino cheese spread, fresco mixed with some lemon zest, smashed peas with almond butter and bresaola. 

After I made a second batch the birthday champagne was finally laid to rest.

Champagne Blini

Adapted from The Yellow House

I made some changes to the recipe, using instant yeast instead of active dry because that's what I had on hand and it's what I prefer. I like that you don't have to proof it before you use it. All you do is whisk it in when you're combining your dry ingredients, add the wet ingredients and proceed. Super easy. I also used some buckwheat flour in a nod to the classic blini. The recipe calls for olive oil but you can use whatever kind of oil you like. I think I used canola with a bit of hemp oil (both from a terrific Alberta producer) the first time around. The second time I tried some of the camelina oil I'd just gotten as a birthday present. Oh, and finally, if you don't have 3 cups of champagne kicking around use half water, half champagne. The original recipe used half water, half beer but I was itching to get rid of as much champagne as I could!

2 tsp instant yeast

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole-wheat flour

1 cup buckwheat flour

good pinch of salt

2 eggs

3 tbsp olive oil

3 cups leftover champagne, warmed

butter, for cooking

Whisk together the yeast, flours and salt in a large mixing bowl. Crack the eggs into the mixture, add the oil and start whisking. Gradually add the champagne and continue whisking until smooth. Cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and set aside in a warm place for an hour, though more won't hurt. Once the mixture has risen visibly and is frothy you are ready to cook. 

Heat a cast-iron skillet over medium heat and film with a thin layer of butter. I like to use leftover butter wrappers for this purpose. Scoop heaping tablespoons or quarter-cups of batter (depending on whether you want tiny or large-ish blinis) onto the hot surface. When the edges look a bit dry, bubbles appear throughout the batter and the surface has fluffed up significantly (like making pancakes), flip. Cook on the other side until golden brown. 

Keep the blini in a pile on a plate in a low oven until you've cooked them all. Serve them warm with a smorgasbord of toppings to pick and choose from. Mix and match to your heart's content!

Makes a lot of appetizers or enough for about 4 as a meal, with plenty of toppings.

Bananas, boats and dreams

It is a fact that dispatches from this table have become few and far between. I could give all sorts of excuses - say sheep bit off my fingers, Columbian druglords held me hostage, gremlins stole my good ideas, I had a month-long nap. Yet, I suspect that none of these explanations would satisfy the likes of you, you hungry readers. And really, what are you hungry for? (Feel free to leave comments)!

Well, how about this: BANANA DREAMBOATS! I know, I know. It sounds more like some sexual connotations got mixed up with a male stripper than a recipe but, trust me, it is JUST what you need this summer. Some of you, most likely many of you (seeing as I wouldn't shut up about this during a certain period of my life), have heard of the banana dreamboat, some of you have been lucky enough to experience it. It is my mission to make sure everyone gets that chance.

So next time you're going camping - whether hiking a remote backcountry trail, pulling your RV into a mosquito-riden provincial park or even just throwing logs into the backyard fire pit, it doesn't matter - bring along some tin foil and prepare to drift away.

Banana Dreamboats

Modified from a similar campfire delicacy introduced to my sister by her friend Holly

Warning: The following pictures may depict graphic and/or stringy material. Viewer discretion is advised. Thank you to Steve, Pamela and Cody for their superb modelling.

Bananas 

Peanut butter (smooth, sweet Kraft is preferable here)

Chocolate (whatever floats your boat)

Marshmallows

Tin foil

The first and perhaps most important step is to peel one section of your banana peel back BUT not all the way. It must remain attached to the rest of the peel still surrounding the banana. The best way to do this is by grasping the stem and pulling forward so you peel a section from the inner curve of the banana peel.

Next, using a spoon, scoop out a layer of banana. How much you remove depends on how much you like peanut butter. Eat what you remove. But don't eat all of the banana.

Next, spread peanut butter over the remaining banana. Doesn't my last instruction make sense now?

Break your chocolate into rough chunks or crisp squares, whatever you prefer, and press into the peanut butter, single-file-style.

Tear marshmallows in half then squish the halves on top of your chocolate layer until the banana boat is full.

Take the peel you stripped but did not separate from remaining peel and put it back in place. If necessary, press down firmly to keep the contents inside. You have essentially just stuffed a banana with dreams. Wrap tightly in tin foil and place on the waning but still glowing embers of a campfire.

This is the trickiest part. It is hard to gauge how long your banana dreamboat will take to cook. If you leave it too long the banana will turn to a slimy mush and everything will coalesce into a rather unappetizing slop. If you don't leave it long enough the flavours won't mingle and meld into the heavenly concoction you desire. You want your chocolate melting, your marshmallows molten but perhaps still slightly toothsome in the centre, and your banana warmed through. Of course, you only have one shot to get this right. Once you unwrap, there's no going back. Here's my advice: use a not-too-hot fire (more coals than flames), and flip often. It usually only takes 3 or 4 minutes. Practice, practice, practice. In time you'll make the banana dreamboat of your, er, dreams. And remember, sometimes even professionals like me make duds. If at first you don't succeed, try again!

Alright, when you decide your dreamboat is ready remove it from the fire. (Ha! I guess this part can be tricky too). Open the tin foil package, preferably on a plate (this can get messy folks), and strip away the peel that holds it all in place. Eat with a spoon by the glow of an evening campfire. Seriously, make sure it's dark when you eat this. It may taste delicious but it looks awful. 

There you have it. Your life has just been enriched. Go forth, share the word, make this the summer of your banana dreamboat dreams.

I think you know you can make as many as you want or are prepared to make. I find one dreamboat per person per camping trip plenty though.