tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7535332323849734712024-03-18T20:30:07.721-07:00weird vegetableseekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02066008299991653232noreply@blogger.comBlogger250125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-27995339021414495562013-10-14T12:54:00.000-07:002013-10-14T12:54:40.771-07:00Kale, Interrupted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCXkALi9IOV7LnBbeEZHxEhwDasaJPWoPMXUeLWYC4yww0LQJJrfGYilYZzkTE7rVUPJigPwvSf_pDR_Is-rxqmBw2RcCKnvFsDQFNuw_4I5kWXpjr1C8XN3FdSG0fN3w75-zeBTPLpA/s1600/kaleonbreak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzCXkALi9IOV7LnBbeEZHxEhwDasaJPWoPMXUeLWYC4yww0LQJJrfGYilYZzkTE7rVUPJigPwvSf_pDR_Is-rxqmBw2RcCKnvFsDQFNuw_4I5kWXpjr1C8XN3FdSG0fN3w75-zeBTPLpA/s640/kaleonbreak.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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This Kale is on MAJOR furlough for the next several months.</div>
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Apologies to the vegetable gods.</div>
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Meanwhile <a href="http://twolinespress.com/join-us-to-celebrate-clarice-lispector-on-october-15" target="_blank">this</a> is happening...</div>
<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-50715176160621680032013-05-19T00:03:00.001-07:002013-05-19T09:47:03.808-07:00Weird Veg in Paper Magazine!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd56WbA8Ne3EA79IMYO5Y2zK5WPdUaQ89oTXkDCx_FEHmrvznndmHOB9Jie1PoRHsMdwnEyUoNhB7INq_UfoYCTvib9rSgno3BMhv7sGgtVlcYpiuFqoJRS0H9GeUEWooNUc0zbxxuSCY/s1600/papermagcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd56WbA8Ne3EA79IMYO5Y2zK5WPdUaQ89oTXkDCx_FEHmrvznndmHOB9Jie1PoRHsMdwnEyUoNhB7INq_UfoYCTvib9rSgno3BMhv7sGgtVlcYpiuFqoJRS0H9GeUEWooNUc0zbxxuSCY/s640/papermagcover.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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I've long harbored a simultaneous pleasure and discontent in the fact that Weird Vegetables has always been a little haphazardly thrown together, never quite ready for prime-time, much less polished than <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">other</a> <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/" target="_blank">food</a> <a href="http://www.ediblegeography.com/" target="_blank">blogs</a>, intermittently updated, falling fallow for long spells.<br />
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On one hand, I'm such a perfectionist that if I sat around crafting my ideal web presence, I'd be just as far behind as I am in my dissertation (<i>ba-dum!</i> of the sad drum, no laughter). In this way, the rough-draft feel of the blog is a productive necessity--and a quality of most blogs, I suppose. But at other times, when I'm daydreaming on the BART train to Berkeley or procrastinating from grading undergraduate papers, I imagine a banner with weirder vegetables, more frequent posts, more interviews and profiles, a more magazine quality to the site. Maybe I don't need to wait to make these changes until after filing that dissertation on competing ideas of propriety and proportion in North American, Brazilian, and, er, some British and French literature, which encompasses Elizabeth Bishop in Brazil, Clarice Lispector, and the Brazilian modernists known as the cannibalists.... sigh. Back to lighter subject matter...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBzeRzOF-Ul9FtKvtGsil6SuA9o0sBmyfGTZ3roPiSf0NcXk1l0cwd7ozvkx2NQYPHDjNHuppI7pjW1pAyTWHZMr-UoXWVGAgUt7OWl9GJDnr8gE_hCuaME6xS9fZiRwB4AEKqkeJTMM/s1600/weirdvegpapermag2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBzeRzOF-Ul9FtKvtGsil6SuA9o0sBmyfGTZ3roPiSf0NcXk1l0cwd7ozvkx2NQYPHDjNHuppI7pjW1pAyTWHZMr-UoXWVGAgUt7OWl9GJDnr8gE_hCuaME6xS9fZiRwB4AEKqkeJTMM/s320/weirdvegpapermag2.jpg" width="320" /></a>So it brought me great surprise and delight to find a short appreciation of the blog in <a href="http://www.papermag.com/" target="_blank"><i>Paper</i></a> magazine's May Tech & Food issue. (Andy Samberg and his cronies from The Lonely Island are on the cover listening to a hamburger, and I thought they looked like they could use some major veggie B-sides). It seems that having a site that is technologically and aesthetically one step beyond a Geocities homepage doesn't entirely discredit the worth of one's online contribution, and that the print world, that old dying king the youthful web armies are doing their best to overpower and supplant, is peopled by, well, people who will spend the time to click through one's forgotten posts and synthesize their wanderings into a thoughtful appraisal:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_ZEeM5Y3f9-A0F7ws4rgsbtTVXB5snpNCYE6SDoi-FNyFRhVSpFzLLS9sTMcl4idYiUuNvByCpwz0jE41iqRcOukNZ2ogR_C_lzLWS5v-ol8CGWenWzdgzlkLzcH8OrfvngAbQPkpA8/s1600/weirdvegpapermag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_ZEeM5Y3f9-A0F7ws4rgsbtTVXB5snpNCYE6SDoi-FNyFRhVSpFzLLS9sTMcl4idYiUuNvByCpwz0jE41iqRcOukNZ2ogR_C_lzLWS5v-ol8CGWenWzdgzlkLzcH8OrfvngAbQPkpA8/s400/weirdvegpapermag.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> "Part scrapbook of images, part diary of encounters with preposterous plants, this blog adds rich chapters to our awareness of the vegetable world. Scroll through to find vintage seed packet artwork or a review of artichoke tea."</span></span></blockquote>
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[Blushing with pleasure!] The shout out appears in a roundup of "weird, smart, funny, yummy" food sites like <a href="http://scanwiches.com/" target="_blank">scanwiches</a>, artist Dan Cretu's high-concept <a href="http://dancretu.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">weird food + art tumblr</a>, and <a href="http://everylastmorsel.com/">everylastmorsel.com</a>, which sounds like grindr for gardeners, except more about hooking each other up with veggie advice. Or something.<br />
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Anyways... the longer feature that this page punctuates is devoted to "foodieodicals" (a new breed of magazines about food), in a beautiful spread that features some local San Francisco publications, <a href="http://www.meatpaper.com/" target="_blank">Meatpaper</a> and <a href="http://remedyquarterly.com/" target="_blank">Remedy Quarterly</a>, plus the brand new <a href="http://modernfarmer.com/" target="_blank">Modern Farmer</a>, which is technically based in Hudson but seems to have lured a communal barn-load of S.F. media people with promises of lower rent and the simple life. They also mention a super rad zine you should know called <a href="http://www.putaeggonit.com/" target="_blank">Put A Egg on It</a>. In the print mag but also <a href="http://www.papermag.com/2013/05/the_new_foodieodicals.php" target="_blank">online here</a>.<br />
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You should also check out a crisply-written piece on the new "foodivists" (magazines love catchy neologisms) who are moving and shaking up the West Coast food + art world, by WV contributing vegetable Leafy Heirloom, aka <a href="http://www.papermag.com/2013/03/bp_leif_hedendal.php" target="_blank">Leif Hedendal</a>. (On a side note, we at WV would like to thank Leif heartily for calling the attentive eyes of Paper Mag to our humble virtual vegetable stand.) <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com.br/2013/04/the-roots-of-spring-paean-to-greens-of.html" target="_blank">Little City Gardens</a> gets a lovely profile, as do up-and-coming SF baker dood <a href="http://joseybakerbread.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Josey Baker</a> (not redundant; that's really his name, yo), a chef from Washington named <a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/best-new-chefs-2012" target="_blank">Blaine Wetzel</a> whose ecto-green broths and foraged edible sculptures I've fallen in love with, plus two groups dedicated to exploring experiments in dining, <a href="http://www.thoughtforfoodsf.com/" target="_blank">Thought for Food</a> and <a href="http://www.thankyouforcoming.la/" target="_blank">Thank You For Coming</a>. You can read the feature in print but also <a href="http://www.papermag.com/2013/05/these_chefs_farmers_and_bakers.php" target="_blank">online here</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqvd-ATubN27LF19tulUlDwWExGG5RtVODwDKq6G0QFRyNJjSTm9rjvDPZYfNTN7bRkbMRwFzx2J_oE4_SEkRWzruq09jbYMQFyCM5BAkDDT9QXPtEG8KMQ3aLSm0CupgrNKt3JCA5o/s1600/littlecity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqvd-ATubN27LF19tulUlDwWExGG5RtVODwDKq6G0QFRyNJjSTm9rjvDPZYfNTN7bRkbMRwFzx2J_oE4_SEkRWzruq09jbYMQFyCM5BAkDDT9QXPtEG8KMQ3aLSm0CupgrNKt3JCA5o/s320/littlecity.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-8313866088326477302013-04-17T14:41:00.002-07:002013-04-17T22:47:15.909-07:00The Roots of Spring (A Paean to the Greens of Little City Gardens)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD</div>
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APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding</td><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="1"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing</td><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="2"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Memory and desire, stirring</td><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="3"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Dull roots with spring rain.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="4"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Winter kept us warm, covering</td><td align="right" valign="top"></td></tr>
<tr><td>Earth in forgetful snow, feeding</td><td align="right" valign="top"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="6"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>A little life with dried tubers.</td></tr>
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From T.S. Eliot's<a href="http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html" target="_blank"> <i>The Waste Land</i></a>, 1922, which I performed parts of in a poetry class during my undergraduate days of wine and roses. In another English-major rite of passage, I also had to memorize the cheery spring-time opening of <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/40/0101.html" target="_blank"><i>The Canterbury Tales</i></a> that Eliot twists into this morbid, modernist version of April awakenings.<br />
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My own experience of spring winds and sunshine sweeping away winter grays in the Bay Area has been decidedly less dramatic and less strewn with the churning of long-dead desires or a pilgrim's wanderlust (I am teaching and dissertating, so in some senses rooted to this place). Still, my heart sounds tentative cheeps of joy at the sight of young shoots and delicately hued petals at the farmers' markets.<br />
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Last weekend, I was lucky enough to partake of WV blogmate Erin's baggie of coveted spring salad greens from <a href="http://www.littlecitygardens.com/about-2/" target="_blank">Little City Gardens</a>, the urban idyll whose 3/4-acre plot sprouts an amazing assortment of bitter, sweet, kicky, crisp, and tender things whose earthy grace can be found in salads at <a href="http://www.bartartine.com/" target="_blank">Bar Tartine</a> and often pepper the platings of other independent chefs, including WV friend <a href="http://www.papermag.com/2013/03/bp_leif_hedendal.php" target="_blank">Leafy Heirloom, né Leif Hedendal</a>. Erin volunteers at the farm every week and in return gets some thank-you trimmings off the harvest heap.<br />
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There are so many tiny delights happening in just one handful of this salad, that it's sometimes hard to single them out individually. (The yellow bok choy flowers were an addition from the <a href="http://cuesa.org/farm/marin-roots-farm" target="_blank">Marin Roots Farm</a> stand at the Ferry Plaza market, $1.50 per bunch.)<br />
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Most of us use forks to eat our salads, but there are some that invite being eaten directly with the hands. The Little City salad is one of these. I adapted almost unconsciously, when my fork ran into some trouble with a resistant spray of turnip greens, while the miniature globed, white turnip dangled awkwardly into the salad bowl. So I put my fork down and picked the turnip up by its leafy hair and proceeded to chomp happily. I began to notice the various shapes and colors—spiky and pronged, smooth rounds and spears, light green speckled with paler green and sometimes with red-purple, the frizzled sprigs of fennel tops, the fuchsia surprise of a tiny radish tucked in among the green, a sudden purple flower (borage?), and a small white bloom, solo orange petals sprinkled throughout like confetti, a lacy yellow bunch of arugula flowers (or was it mustard?). <br />
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At one point, there was a pause in the conversation and Erin said, in a neutral voice, "You can eat those, you know." I looked down at my hands and realized I had been unconsciously pinching off the microscopic root ends of purple mustard sprigs and tossing them to the side while I devoured the weak shoots like a mighty giant.<br />
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<tr><td>What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow</td><td align="right" valign="top"></td></tr>
<tr><td>Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,</td><td align="right" valign="top"></td></tr>
<tr><td>You cannot say, or guess...</td></tr>
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Oops. Peach-fuzzy clumps of flower buds, root-vegetable tops, stringy, hairy, rat-tail trailing roots, all these things we normally discard for being too woody, too clumpy, too dirty, too outside the normal purview of our known salads, were meant to be appreciated in this lovingly inclusive mix.<br />
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One by one, I put the baby mustard roots in my mouth. They were slightly stronger in flavor, slightly hardier than the leaves, and surprising in their mix of texture and flavor. I imagined the extra kick I tasted was the heart of all the plant's power. But I am just a lowly wordsmith and amateur vegetable lover, not a biologist or farmer. I cannot say, or guess, for I know only this taste from a heap of scattered greens that have soaked up the welcome beatings of the sun. kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-86526915363571301032013-04-01T23:25:00.001-07:002022-10-28T12:27:30.475-07:00Cultivating Feral Intelligence with Deborah MadisonLast month, I went to Santa Fe for work, and thanks to a friendly introduction from <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2012/05/weird-vegetable-iron-chefs-at-ny-food.html">Leafy Heirloom</a>, had the pleasure of meeting Deborah Madison. Author of <i>Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone</i> and founding chef at Greens restaurant, she's an icon to anyone vegetable-friendly. We talked about <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2010/07/miners-lettuce.html">miner's lettuce</a> in Golden Gate Park, scolding our moms for buying eggs at Safeway, and her newest book, <i><a href="http://deborahmadison.com/vegetable-literacy/">Vegetable Literacy</a></i>. <br />
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<blockquote><b>EK</b> In your 10th Anniversary edition of <i>Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone</i>, you mention that it pre-dated <i>Fast Food Nation</i>, <i>The Omnivore's Dilemma</i>, and our current hyper-awareness of the obesity and diabetes epidemics. Now, with <i>Vegetable Literacy</i>, you've created a cookbook focused on the interrelatedness of plants — you're describing and cooking from botanical families. What was your motivation?<br />
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<b>DM</b> Well, I’ve cooked for a long time and I’ve gardened some. My brother is a farmer and my dad was a botanist. So I had some awareness of plant families for a while and I felt that if we were, as a people, more literate about plant and botanical relationships we might begin to engage on a yet deeper level.<br />
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<b>EK</b> How do you mean? Writing and thinking about food today, would you say that <i>Vegetable Literacy</i> is responding to a raised awareness, post-Schlosser and post-Pollan? Do you think we've made it to a point where we're less in need of coaching on the virtues of a vegetarian diet and have moved toward craving sophisticated vegetable knowledge? I know more than a few readers of <i>The Omnivore's Dilemma</i> who finished the book and thought, <i>now what</i>? Do you think that a deeper understanding of the plant world and a respect for biodiversity will stimulate home cooks in a new way?<br />
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<b>DM</b> Since I’ve been writing — or cooking, even, at Chez Panisse in the ‘70s — we’ve gone from buying a big head of lettuce, breaking it down and using just the little leaves, to bagged mesclun at Walmart. That's quite a transition. There are many more different kinds of plant foods and vegetables within view, but we don’t have any sense about how they relate. I think we need to deepen our knowledge — it’s not enough to see things as pretty. (And I'm the worst when it comes to that!) I think if you have an understanding of plant relationships, it gives you some confidence and a clue and a basis to cook from more intuitively.<br />
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<b>EK</b> I see this new book as an extension of your earlier foray into encouraging readers to learn their way around vegetables: you're saying we need to be armed with a little more information to be more comfortable in the kitchen and excited to cook, but is there a grander motivation? You seem to be digging into what we've lost, knowledge-wise, as our food sources have become more distant — or am I ascribing too much to your ambitions?<br />
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<b>DM</b> Well, gardening and observing plants gives us a kind of feral intelligence that I think is really fun. It’s not about just being smart about food, it’s about being in the world, seeing relationships in the plants we use, observing their characters. A full-blown leek has yards of greens that it waves like a flag and a lot of varieties are named to reflect that: Broad American Flag is one. Welsh soldiers used to wear them on their helmets, but that doesn’t make any sense to most people because they don’t see them growing. But when you do, you see all this amazing biomass that it takes to produce that leek and what a really impressive vegetable it is.<br />
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<b>EK</b> So you started to pick up this knowledge from your dad, while growing up in Davis, and did the rest come from working in restaurant kitchens, at places like Chez Panisse and Greens, where vegetables are treated with reverence?<br />
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<b>DM</b> I also wrote this based on my own experience in the garden. If you garden — and a lot of people are starting to garden — you begin to see all kinds of things. You ask yourself questions and observe patterns in plants that you'd never notice if you were just left to the grocery store, which is all about parts and not about whole plants. After you see plants growing, the supermarket is totally weird, like a butcher shop. In a butcher shop you see pieces: you don’t see the whole cow, you see pieces of meat. And in the produce aisle you see pieces of things, you have no idea how much it takes to produce a broccoli head or a cabbage. We’re just so ignorant, we have no idea. There are all these leaves, stalks, stems, and flowers that make up a plant — many of which are edible — but we only know one little bit.<br />
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<b>EK</b> Okay, so you're working to broaden our knowledge — to awaken instincts and channel the curiosity that comes with observation. Is there a particular vegetable or flower or leaf that you discovered as a gardener or during your research that you really love?<br />
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<b>DM</b> As far as the families in the book, some of them I really do love a lot, and others... well, the daisy family is really interesting to me: <i>Asteraceae</i>. It’s got all these thorny, thistly, prickly, <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2008/05/dancing-with-doons.html">cardoons</a> and artichokes and salsify. This was really a particularly difficult family to access. One of my sourcebooks, written in 1943, implies that already a lot of those foods were considered beyond the pale, even back then. Then you grow them and you see why! Goat’s beard (or salsify) — it has a million roots on it and you have to cut all of them off, and I can see there may be some reason behind why they’re not common or familiar today. On the other hand, they're undeniably interesting.<br />
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<b>EK</b> Wait, so cardoons and artichokes are in the same family as daisies?<br />
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<b>DM</b> As daisies, as sunflowers as salsify as lettuce, yes. They’re in a different genus but they’re all related. They all have tendencies towards bitterness. If you cut a Belgian endive root, it bleeds this white milky sap, <i>lactuca</i>, as does lettuce, as do they all. So you put some on your tongue and you go Yo! That’s really not very good! And it’s how you learn. And then you go in the kitchen and maybe you bought something at a farmers’ market and you cut the root, and you see all this white sap come out and you go Aha! When lettuce gets old and bolts it turns bitter — the bitterness has been bred out of it for the most part but it reverts. I found that really interesting — the tendency toward bitterness in this family, the thorns, the prickles, plus the fact that a lot of them are considered to be good for the liver.<br />
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<b>EK</b> I happen to think cardoons are one of the most beautiful plants in the garden — eerie, regal sculptures — and you mentioned that you want to push people (including yourself) beyond buying food simply because it's beautiful. That said, did your time in the garden unearth some unexpectedly beautiful ingredients? <br />
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<b>DM</b> One of the old ways of telling how plants are related, that my father told me when I was very young, is by their flowers, or morphology. The umbellifers all share the quality of growing umbels for flowers. Carrots, parsnip, parsley, lovage, fennel, coriander — they all make these beautiful little <a href="http://www.culinate.com/columns/deborah/getting_smarter_about_vegetables">lace-caps</a>. <br />
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<b>EK</b> I love those! My friend <a href="http://brookebudner.squarespace.com/about-1">Brooke</a> called them robot paws. Sometimes they look like magic wands sprouting clusters of mini suction cups.<br />
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<b>DM</b> The only reason I did get attuned to them is that one year I didn’t pull up all my carrots and there they were. And then I noticed that red carrots made umbels that were sort of pink, and they opened eventually to become white. Then you look at all the herbs in that family, and guess what, they’re great with all these vegetables. That’s a family that has a lot of coherence. It's the first chapter in the book.<br />
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<b>EK</b> Which reminds me, I've almost forgotten that <i>Vegetable Literacy</i> is, first and foremost, a cookbook. Can you think of a recipe that's inspired by the interrelations and complementary flavors within a plant family?<br />
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<b>DM</b> I always like to bring members of the same family together — such as (from the daisy/sunflower/aster family) sunflower seed oil, sunflower sprouts, frisee, other greens, and calendula petals - a real showing from that family.<br />
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<b>EK</b> It's clear to me that this book is a love letter to gardening. Would you encourage somebody who doesn't have a garden to buy this book? Can a person cultivate what you called "feral intelligence" without committing to their own garden? How else might a reader become vegetable-literate?<br />
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<b>DM</b> You don't need to have a garden in order to relate to <i>Vegetable Literacy</i>. There are other ways to open your own eyes. Hopefully the book will help you see the plant world differently, whether it's in your own garden, a community garden, or a botanical garden. Go on a farm tour, or look at a photograph of a cardoon or some bolting chard. Or you might try growing a plant or two on your fire escape - that counts, too. Having a garden is great, but it's not for everyone. This is not a book about gardening, it's really a book about seeing and going beyond the pretty vegetable on the market shelf.
</blockquote>eekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02066008299991653232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-42490886303477581242013-04-01T10:51:00.002-07:002013-04-01T10:52:20.415-07:00Kale Daikon on Hiatus; Exciting Winter Veg Discoveries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7y46fD_XD3nUdmpn8N3yyecP8CSA2pC64VPg34H34l3YWpm55GNOoT_RJklMGE4B51ZCyAAfgVkLafUaJq7SNnMD5X9j-iGON4cvhoIc2SwGBqRGmxVQucbUw8NWvsvmG8fy93zxb2A/s1600/hiatusroots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7y46fD_XD3nUdmpn8N3yyecP8CSA2pC64VPg34H34l3YWpm55GNOoT_RJklMGE4B51ZCyAAfgVkLafUaJq7SNnMD5X9j-iGON4cvhoIc2SwGBqRGmxVQucbUw8NWvsvmG8fy93zxb2A/s400/hiatusroots.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
Dear vegetable loverz,<br />
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You may have noticed a very long, wintry pause in the vegetable rumblings of this site. This is just to say that Kale Daikon is still at large, indulging in and thinking about the wide world of weird vegetables. At the same time, she has been thrashing about in the undertow of various other pursuits for the past several months (teaching, writing, translating, bouncing between apartments in an increasingly crazy S.F. Bay Area housing market), so her blogging activities have come to a stand-still for the moment.<br />
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We look to her valiant sometime co-blogger Eggplant Kohlrabi to come to the rescue, with a new series of vegetable musings, beginning with a very exciting interview with one of the vegetable world's preeminent stars, coming soon.<br />
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In the meantime, I leave you with some beautiful root vegetables to salute the end of winter, in this rainy interim while we notice the wind-blown blossoms and inhale the bewitching scents of spring.<br />
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To the right, above, are butternut squash, green-tinged celeriac (celery root), normal onion and the flatter, slightly sweeter cippolini onion, a regal Scarlet Queen hot pink turnip, an orange-purple rutabaga, and special apples whose names I forgot (vegetable names make a deeper impression on this mind, it seems).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNXKC1spMNg0qUSA0pnrjm3OzclM5_eOpQZR6IZO9FknHbHezOA4BVc0WPKnUXfXw9Yq55Dq1JRoR5p4RfTZXvlr4Izpdx21apIbixKer4DPuuXKnuTS50qg4K8A8If-3NiwChHzXgwA/s1600/scarlet+queen+sliced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNXKC1spMNg0qUSA0pnrjm3OzclM5_eOpQZR6IZO9FknHbHezOA4BVc0WPKnUXfXw9Yq55Dq1JRoR5p4RfTZXvlr4Izpdx21apIbixKer4DPuuXKnuTS50qg4K8A8If-3NiwChHzXgwA/s200/scarlet+queen+sliced.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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The <a href="http://www.osborneseed.com/product-details.cfm?turnip--scarlet-queen-rs-f1" target="_blank">Scarlet Queen turnip</a> was one of my most exciting winter finds at the Tuesday afternoon Berkeley Farmers' market. It comes from <a href="http://riverdogfarm.com/" target="_blank">Riverdog Farm</a>,
which quickly became my market favorite for tasty, reasonably priced
root vegetables. Turnips aren't normally my, er, cup of tea, but these
were so crispy and fresh, with a barely discernible sweetness, almost
like <a href="http://kitchen-parade-veggieventure.blogspot.com/2011/05/what-is-jicama.html" target="_blank">jicama</a>
(which I just discovered is also known as Mexican turnip, whoa), that I
found I was eating them immediately after slicing. I also put them in
salads because it seemed a shame to cook out the freshness and flavor. I did cube them once for inclusion in a <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2007/12/winter-vegetable-lasagna.html" target="_blank">winter vegetable lasagna</a> that was a highly pleasing root veg carnival.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5w1tez4dHl1BED8UWeJ593g0-5wD88oooxs35MHO60ZpRfKchiIBeUTh6gzIEFFojXH7yUYcFZY8lZBLMBGbrqiAn483m_fj9kNwCsygXNpehMwQwILxr2ugSYkYNWFNlJvPr9buUVhU/s1600/scarlet+queen+sliced+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5w1tez4dHl1BED8UWeJ593g0-5wD88oooxs35MHO60ZpRfKchiIBeUTh6gzIEFFojXH7yUYcFZY8lZBLMBGbrqiAn483m_fj9kNwCsygXNpehMwQwILxr2ugSYkYNWFNlJvPr9buUVhU/s200/scarlet+queen+sliced+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKK_2RSxrrMj5A5CatRmYNJ0t7ujEuen-6fBAcQSkUJ0AElCNQY1R5c4gFALyY505KpKlu-bJtVvSBl27zu363QSw-FxRh_Qoy06W9dZR6fMmvs_0BwIJ1kJ0jQgap0O3jKbk8hOh-BbI/s1600/karinata+kale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKK_2RSxrrMj5A5CatRmYNJ0t7ujEuen-6fBAcQSkUJ0AElCNQY1R5c4gFALyY505KpKlu-bJtVvSBl27zu363QSw-FxRh_Qoy06W9dZR6fMmvs_0BwIJ1kJ0jQgap0O3jKbk8hOh-BbI/s320/karinata+kale.jpg" width="240" /></a>But my absolute favorite new weird vegetable discovery of the season came from <a href="http://fullbellyfarm.com/" target="_blank">Full Belly</a>, at whose stand I tend to be careful about what I pick up because they are very $$$, the Porsche of market produce, but I nearly fainted with delight after trying their <b>Karinata Kale</b>, an out-of-this world (for kale lovers) mix of Red Russian Kale (lacy, gray-green, purple-tinged leaves) and Red Mustard. I almost never eat kale raw, even though it is my favorite vegetable, mostly because I find its leaves too tough for chewing, but this kale is so tender, so flavorful and with a mild mustard-green kick, that I found myself tearing off huge pieces and stuffing them into my mouth like a feverish rabbit that had suddenly awoken to find it had opposable thumbs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm9oB0uYROHm48wxc8Gr0NmZBpLYCScxTp5gYx9o5jyNrFpxDq7q3bBtZlWzDPaK8I_RvqhBUP1-NhTIopKzQjC5xf51QqzgL3ZlboPo72R1JjF-sPvpTlUwjYgqqfL5rwYEsugREfCE/s1600/karinata+closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm9oB0uYROHm48wxc8Gr0NmZBpLYCScxTp5gYx9o5jyNrFpxDq7q3bBtZlWzDPaK8I_RvqhBUP1-NhTIopKzQjC5xf51QqzgL3ZlboPo72R1JjF-sPvpTlUwjYgqqfL5rwYEsugREfCE/s200/karinata+closeup.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
Big-time yum. The only drawback is that this kale is very very hard to
find and sells out in the first couple hours of the market, so you have
to be semi-unemployed or have an unconventional work schedule to get
them in that 2-4pm Tuesday market window. Here is a <a href="http://fullbellyfarm.com/recipes/pasta-with-greens-and-garlic/" target="_blank">fuller description, plus pesto recipe</a> from Full Belly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1YyYSGwS54LGE88dfmmgx_OdV00N3ex4ruLkLeVTOWm4EQV7advmpCh0rkAHIAvQOo4Oyf7GintJym_hbI4ToITa0FdgIzdYd81LGycWJNTfM3nNqGfM7vRW53ZgQEZ6Wu8cssG9ogk/s1600/karinata+closeup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1YyYSGwS54LGE88dfmmgx_OdV00N3ex4ruLkLeVTOWm4EQV7advmpCh0rkAHIAvQOo4Oyf7GintJym_hbI4ToITa0FdgIzdYd81LGycWJNTfM3nNqGfM7vRW53ZgQEZ6Wu8cssG9ogk/s200/karinata+closeup2.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
So purple-green and delicate, it could almost pass for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiso" target="_blank">shiso</a>!<br />
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May your winter-into-spring bring more exciting weird vegetable treasures. I will be on WV hiatus through May but until then, look out for some new posts by my partner in crime, Eggplant Kohlrabi, also known by her initials "eek."<br />
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Karinata Kale Kisses,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Kale Daikon</div>
kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-13105275638006176052012-12-12T23:20:00.001-08:002012-12-12T23:20:23.192-08:00Vilmorin's Vegetable Garden of My Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The days grow colder, shadows lengthen, and roots burrow deeper
into the land, swaddling themselves in ever thicker layers. The carrots are so cold they turn pale and begin to shiver like leeks. The turnip puffs its cheeks out with cold breaths. Only the beet manages to keep itself warm with wine-dark passion.<br />
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Auntie Rutabaga knits green caps for herself and her soil mates, and makes a jaunty violet affair for poor Tiny Turnip. Old Man Celery has lost his color and his beard tickles the cheeks of the squeaking new potatoes. Purple Cabbage has a cold; she wraps her ashen face in insulating folds. <i>It is freezing frozen, so cold in the ground</i>, they say. <i>Dig us up and put us somewhere warm.</i><br />
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Here are some vegetable fantasies to fuel your holiday dreaming. Taschen has reissued <a href="http://www.taschen.com/pages/en/catalogue/classics/all/42815/facts.album_vilmorin_the_vegetable_garden.htm" target="_blank"><i>Album Vilmorin. The Vegetable Garden (1850-1895)</i></a>, featuring color plates and illustrations from the catalog of the French seed company Vilmorin-Andrieux & Cie, which was founded in 1766. <br />
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If you are seeking more of an Americana feel to your vegetable musings, check out an old <a href="http://www.burpee.com/about/covergallerylist.jsp" target="_blank">Burpee's catalog</a>. You can usually find a couple at used bookstores.<br />
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kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-62005804293348823202012-12-11T23:26:00.000-08:002012-12-11T23:32:13.502-08:00They Draw & Cook VegetablesThe art of cooking intermingles with the cooking of art over at <a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/" target="_blank">They Draw & Cook</a>, a website of recipes illustrated by countless artists from around the world. The illustrations all take the form of a long, rectangular banner, but vary in style from hand-drawn cartoons to saturated watercolor splashes to the clean lines and flat shapes of graphic design. I particularly like the experiments in typography and narration of recipes that move between the textual and the visual. In the same way that I usually find out more about TV shows through reading newspaper reviews than actually watching TV, I discovered the site through a review buried at the back of the print magazine <a href="http://www.gastronomica.org/fall-2012/" target="_blank">Gastronomica</a> of a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1616281383/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thedraandcoo-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1616281383" target="_blank">cookbook</a> the founders have published with 107 of their favorite illustrations from the site. Read the review <a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/blog/gastronomica-reviews-the-tdac-book-wonderfully" target="_blank">here</a>. Below, a few choice vegetable recipes. Green jello salad wins the prize for freakiest vegetable dish.<br />
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/beetrooty-yogurty-thingummyjig-by-corrina-rothwell" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xz0-EVT76h_dk3Dfeu8Vz0NM0g3IADsCfxOiB6Nqc4prq9Bd-fWSuN7nLW5NX551zrOkRqTm408udWU0GCZEM7FIpqNTak720WnYAN7liv0pONaFZoZ_vvo6RHgFAULBlQ6qUvhKlIU/s640/beetrooty.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/jacket-potatoes-with-curried-cream-cheese-and-grilled-tuna-by-isuri-merenchi-hewage--2" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjecefLlSu5Ykk46NM7fHtgudykOJsR5Qo8Hfs7rvMwei3BYxO04wMboJJ9ybqRGuYodgrftg_G-UerKKXqz0-rJbW8qf4RkWgCWDC4IyQkHYSJTAQ6rIw0BIoPMasa0mh6VAMUAGRMavU/s640/jacketpotatoes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/lacto-fermentation-pickling-by-charrow-charrow" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQn-dAxklvN-2uW7CmchhCVHkRrmJ36Fgs6kMN-lQAdkRpbMvdv9-WGcCZLlSlfQWO9GjmNZUaf40yWih-dLS3UX2X3-zLC9qD4AMYQ1xncbhijuhmoCPDHXAPitcCZE3EYrQLUGcfWU/s640/fermentation.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/fabulous-farro-by-salli-swindell" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlqUjPOXU9wQlw8vYOYKDCE4u9AQkD1D_g5tGt_aK15mFkm7lry-M1c_ueEI3cYqEJZso1Ws9__n4skkemd5Ze53WsnGJFvLnEjYXQ-g1lK7BxsXgAX9dJBPWouul-5XWB5Voqibmec4/s640/farro.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/asparagus-and-mushrooms-by-kristin-youdesignme" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYR-Pmp6Q8ungM6VpbxLrgCh0y6VQxfSaUgtxr1-PeBZ8L9IcJIE14RXUn9B9lE-enOAX1BlnUVIS3BkwSA4VNDFz8_FZZOjjGEEcMLO-W6axNGMQg-oYnLXECaqfC4wMjLj9_7c6k9g/s640/asparagusmushrooms.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.theydrawandcook.com/recipes/green-jello-salad-by-katherine-codega" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPBGCymxpYT4fdikFRx_LeUKlmQzmffzOuv65YVYCb5axyf0T37Fh6XEI6WQEWPmelPOkQs3Jjsk2XqKCq_2RebC1_zwtKKbldqQiwXS66UveFz_UFp1sTvcpBkpzQUfnVaGw6V0e0UU/s640/greenjello.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-3014924862192367662012-11-20T00:56:00.000-08:002012-11-20T09:21:57.223-08:00Somebody Take This Obese Pumpkin, Please!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's the time of year when gourds start to take over, spilling from the oven and dinner plate onto people's front porches and various home display nooks. And the grocery stores start getting inspired with their gigantic pumpkin and yellow-and-green warty gourd displays. Around Berkeley and Oakland, I've seen a number of obese pumpkins basking in their orange Jabba the Hutt folds at the Berkeley Bowl, out in front of Sweet Adeline's cafe, and some random restaurants along Telegraph that I zoomed past too quickly to remember.<br />
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People grow these enormous pumpkins, win prizes at county fairs, proudly display their overgrown vegetable progeny in a blaze of harvest glory. And then the excitement fades and reality sets in. You have an enormous, unwieldy pumpkin that no one is going to eat, that will grow moldy and disgusting, and that you will have to hack at with a chainsaw before it'll fit into your green bin.<br />
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The photo above comes from a Craigslist post from a San Francisco family that won this 160-lb. pumpkin for correctly guessing its weight and, now that the euphoria of that victory has shriveled to a wizened tendril, are trying to pawn off this nuisance on someone else. Here's the ad:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">160 lb pumpkin -- who can resist?</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
</span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Date: 2012-11-13, 8:45PM</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
We won this pumpkin in a contest for correctly guessing its weight.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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We've enjoyed having it for the past month, but now it's time to let go.</span></span></b><br />
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Wouldn't necessarily suggest eating it, but great for use for decorative, artistic, or composting purposes.</span></span></b><br />
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Yours for free if you'd like to come pick it up. I'll help you carry it to your car.</span></span></b><br />
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We're near Japantown.
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The ad is still live as of this posting (it's <a href="http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/zip/3408418233.html" target="_blank">here!</a>), so I hope I am doing a public service by spreading the news to someone who might want this bloated orange monster. "<i>Who can resist?</i>" I imagine the family members smiling weakly, trying to convince you of the irresistible allure of the 160-lb pumpkin that's been decaying in their house for a month already and that they are begging you to take off their hands. "I'll help you carry it to your car." Please help. SOS.<br />
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While I'm on the topic of ornamental squash, I'd like to remind you that it's the time of the year when we gather round and reread my all-time
favorite McSweeney's Internet Tendency column, <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/its-decorative-gourd-season-motherfuckers" target="_blank">"It's Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers."</a> by Colin Nissan. It begins:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking
gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room
table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. </span><br />
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It
continues in pretty much the same vein, until the cumulative effect of
the macho-dude swearing and swagger to describe such Martha Stewart
passions for seasonal decor makes me laugh so hard I cry, every time. I especially love the gourd necklace.<br />
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When it rains it pours, and the veggie posts keep coming tonight after
two months of silence. (It's been a busy few months.) It must be the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday
and an early T-day feast last Sunday that got me thinking about
vegetables again. Enjoy your feasts and don't forget to include some weird vegetables.<br />
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And thanks to Amaranth Gadberry for foraging this amazing pumpkin plea from the brambles of Craigslist. Lastly, I leave you with some choice obese pumpkin photos culled from the Internet. While 160 lbs might seem heavy to you, some of these award winners weigh in the area of 1,300 pounds or MORE. Yikes. And yes, that is a man riding in a pumpkin <i>boat</i>.<br />
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<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-54262836015570445582012-11-19T22:23:00.002-08:002012-11-19T22:24:08.894-08:00Witchy Brew: Meadowsweet, Fennel, and Marshmallow Root<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHsuH7cz932KGnX47OlGhipAfN3nwO5j4tATx4c4Lx4CD6PYS7rMPvcM3hhtYr4by8F3Gix_kVVRmwiJL5rGt7X7nKkV7anbKSygf9pdE0AhYJHux6e87y-3p-yl8IKc0NtFyCEpGk5fw/s1600/witchyherbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHsuH7cz932KGnX47OlGhipAfN3nwO5j4tATx4c4Lx4CD6PYS7rMPvcM3hhtYr4by8F3Gix_kVVRmwiJL5rGt7X7nKkV7anbKSygf9pdE0AhYJHux6e87y-3p-yl8IKc0NtFyCEpGk5fw/s400/witchyherbs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magic herbs in the company of the very magical <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/sep/23/wild-heart-clarice-lispector-review" target="_blank">Clarice Lispector</a></td></tr>
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Having recently moved from San Francisco's Mission District to the Berkeley-Oakland borderlands (by way of Rio de Janeiro for a year+ in between), I've had to seek out equivalents for my old favorites in my new neighborhood. <a href="http://scarletsageherb.com/">Scartlet Sage</a> is still my #1 witch store, but I no longer live 10 minutes away, sadly. So I was happy to wander into the Lhasa Karnak Herb Company on Telegraph today while on my way to the heavenly Moe's Books to look for <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/book-of-a-lifetime-the-road-to-xanadu-john-livingston-lowes-789383.html">The Road to Xanadu</a> (found it!). Rows of glass jars filled with magic herbs, walls lined with tinctures and tarot cards, stacks of teas, soaps, and beeswax candles. I inhaled all the familiar scents and felt a faint glow from my inner spirit crystal.<br />
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Today's discovery was a tea made from meadowsweet, fennel, and marshmallow root in equal proportions. I explained my mysterious stomachaches to the young witch at the counter and she recommended this combination to soothe the stresses of a sour, acidic stomach. She recommended it two ways: a spoonful heated up with almond milk (in a tea ball or strained afterward) and also brewing a big batch of tea and straining it into a mason jar because "these herbs like to expand." Or something like that. I imagine that it must be akin to the way wine likes to breathe. I had the milky tea earlier, which eased my way into a delicious post-teaching nap, and am now enjoying some post-dinner tea that's been stretching its legs in an old Spanish olive jar.<br />
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The taste is laced with licorice from the fennel, while the <a href="http://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/m/meadow28.html">meadowsweet</a>, an herb sacred to the Druids, reminds me of chammomile, though with an ever so slightly bitter taste. Marshmallow root, I've never had and I can't quite isolate its taste in this mixture, though I assure you it has very little to do with sticky sweet taste Kraft products. The tea has been soothing to me, even if it does taste a little medicinal (not necessarily off-putting though I can imagine some people not liking the taste).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbE_JsyVbBAG077oOat_xzkQYU7An7i4SphAYNaaOjPL24FeysR_THGUsuUgGozMfG1zew2cbUgR_jGoKamT16ksPBESyY8-IpBzlXgA9PSfFm_40eOFaqif09kQEcTR72yCfGT04K7g/s1600/marsh-mallow-image.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbE_JsyVbBAG077oOat_xzkQYU7An7i4SphAYNaaOjPL24FeysR_THGUsuUgGozMfG1zew2cbUgR_jGoKamT16ksPBESyY8-IpBzlXgA9PSfFm_40eOFaqif09kQEcTR72yCfGT04K7g/s1600/marsh-mallow-image.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">marshmallow root (<a href="http://www.nutrasanus.com/marsh-mallow.html" target="_blank"><ahref http:="http:" marsh-mallow.html="marsh-mallow.html" www.nutrasanus.com="www.nutrasanus.com">source)</ahref></a></td></tr>
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But the strange marshmallow root, like insides of the more familiar campfire roasting treat, is slimy and thick, known as a "demulcent herb" that is meant to soothe mucous membranes (like the lining of my upset stomach). It also has about a thousand other uses, so if you are a witch-in-training as I aspire to one day be, you can read all about them <a href="http://www.learningherbs.com/marshmallow_root.html">here</a>. More on its magic mucous properties from <a href="http://www.nutrasanus.com/marsh-mallow.html" target="_blank">this site:</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">Both the root and the leaf of the marshmallow plant contain a substance
known as mucilage polysaccharides, a mucusy substance that does not
dissolve in water. It is this substance that causes marshmallow to
swell up and become slippery when wet. This attribute of the
marshmallow plant gives it the ability to soothe irritation of the
mouth, throat and stomach, as well as to relieve coughing.</span><br />
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Mucilage polysaccharides! Weeeeird! But my stomach is saying, "aaaaaaah."kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-46759226029737976832012-11-19T21:31:00.004-08:002012-11-19T21:31:47.472-08:00Flowering Kale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaJVT0Av6LFcKvm06-mgF1UYunPg2Aa3LrhJbb0O6UOQ4gU5vz44QPoO8tcvdfWuMBfXIBjhByXbzSFCisJaEL8YKufcpI3OciNvNf-FRhlw1Tjjyayx_PuTci5uI-f2wHQNuFFUwML-o/s1600/floweringkale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaJVT0Av6LFcKvm06-mgF1UYunPg2Aa3LrhJbb0O6UOQ4gU5vz44QPoO8tcvdfWuMBfXIBjhByXbzSFCisJaEL8YKufcpI3OciNvNf-FRhlw1Tjjyayx_PuTci5uI-f2wHQNuFFUwML-o/s400/floweringkale.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Here is a kale blossom to cheer your kitchen as the weather turns cold and the rain gives us an excuse to sleep scandalously late on the weekends and lounge around inside, being both lazy and industrious in ridiculous rainbow knit pants and crocheted slippers. I wish I could say this hearty bloom came from my backyard or an overgrown field I tromped across, but, alas, it caught my eye from a white plastic florist bucket. But the tiny tomatoes are, yes!, from my backyard.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-6972564662843391272012-09-18T23:46:00.002-07:002012-09-18T23:49:23.750-07:00Funny Carrot Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOqcHbO0covkhEY5mUW0PeZ4ele7xP4nR-2W7SCGVDldwm_BbInQYZj1Lz_afMOBGRCMXfPY5tRE4ETq06n1lHsTA6EwFyhobfivd1tR-bMbaIUaTlTTxQ4R-ZmeHJ8XLlNN3Lovtip4/s1600/funnycarrotman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOqcHbO0covkhEY5mUW0PeZ4ele7xP4nR-2W7SCGVDldwm_BbInQYZj1Lz_afMOBGRCMXfPY5tRE4ETq06n1lHsTA6EwFyhobfivd1tR-bMbaIUaTlTTxQ4R-ZmeHJ8XLlNN3Lovtip4/s400/funnycarrotman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Look at this child's funny carrot treasure, dug up during an Internet stroll by Radish Khorn over at the exciting and instantly venerable magazine of weird and delicious food, <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/luckypeach">Lucky Peach</a>. Did anyone see the amazing carrot pants that accompanied the article on trickle-down food trends by Christine Muhlke in Issue 3: Cooks and Chefs? There were a number of particularly alluring weird vegetable items from that issue that I noted and have been meaning to post about.<br />
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Life continues to overwhelm. But this Kale will get her groove back in another month or two. Kales tend to thrive through the winter months. kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-72951230786330606662012-09-04T23:51:00.001-07:002012-09-04T23:51:20.313-07:00Purple Moon Potatoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPkVkojzcvTLpeyjXWrbqJCPDtT2wS_3kRIN7BvML1ANaSc1FxhF_RuQb5HNd4mx94RNCxysxJl-ULveQhJYtjZaAhUoqx98jM-AizL3xd5grMbv2yLmO4nz4fvrPK_YhLZy6IxRfKXU/s1600/purplemoonpotatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPkVkojzcvTLpeyjXWrbqJCPDtT2wS_3kRIN7BvML1ANaSc1FxhF_RuQb5HNd4mx94RNCxysxJl-ULveQhJYtjZaAhUoqx98jM-AizL3xd5grMbv2yLmO4nz4fvrPK_YhLZy6IxRfKXU/s400/purplemoonpotatoes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Been thinking a lot about moons lately, between this month's blue moon and the honey yellow harvest moon I saw rising up from the hills of San Francisco on Sunday around 8:30pm. When I cut into these purple potatoes from the Berkeley Farmers' market, I was stunned by the beautiful lunar forms from a distant galaxy that awaited me. I like to think that some farmers in head-to-toe tie-dye sat around these specially ordained nightshades and collectively om'ed these patterns into being with the help of some healing crystals. Perfect for adding a fried purple haze to accompany my scrambled eggs.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-10839895514104286722012-08-05T23:27:00.000-07:002012-08-05T23:28:43.866-07:00Cute Vegetables and Familiar Faces at the South Berkeley Farmers' Market<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRaxW_T62cnovCho1FPG_oz6eGYBEvCNiAfUX1nwiGUjdH417ClnCAGJh81ZUwQSlqKE9GYb_wSGqGw_7fNrJkhgMIAa0Qk5GdqjWRty_MGhgc8rgAgv9iAgdvMzpBQZ3w-ei1lSkJDc/s1600/berkveggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRaxW_T62cnovCho1FPG_oz6eGYBEvCNiAfUX1nwiGUjdH417ClnCAGJh81ZUwQSlqKE9GYb_wSGqGw_7fNrJkhgMIAa0Qk5GdqjWRty_MGhgc8rgAgv9iAgdvMzpBQZ3w-ei1lSkJDc/s400/berkveggies.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Moving from San Francisco to the Oakland-Berkeley borderlands (with an interlude in Rio de Janeiro) has brought a few challenges of acclimation, like getting lost in Oakland every other time I try to find the Grand Lake movie theater or a frozen yogurt place close to the Oakland Museum. But my food procurement routine has presented some reassuring continuities. I continue to find a wide selection of produce and bulk foods at Berkeley Bowl, my Rainbow Grocery substitute, while the <a href="http://www.ecologycenter.org/bfm/">South Berkeley Farmers' Market</a> presents some old favorites (<a href="http://dirtygirlproduce.com/">Dirty Girl</a>, <a href="http://www.blossombluff.com/">Blossom Bluff</a>, <a href="http://www.bluebottlecoffee.com/">Blue Bottle</a> coffee) alongside some new friends. <a href="http://www.fullbellyfarm.com/">Full Belly</a> and <a href="http://www.riverdogfarm.com/">Riverdog</a> are two farms I've known about for a long time but that don't make their way into San Francisco, so I'm excited to start sampling their produce on a regular basis. Riverdog seemed to have an especially broad selection of cute vegetables last Tuesday, including some of those pictured above. </div>
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L-R, they are Armenian cucumber, an albino eggplant, a summer squash that looks as though it were hand-dipped in grassy hues, tiny radicchio, Chinese (or Japanese) eggplant, a fist-sized cauliflower, stripey eggplant (not sure what variety), French breakfast radishes right out of a children's picture book or the Chez Panisse Vegetables book, and pale lemon cucumbers, which turned out to be surprisingly sweet for cucumbers. They are mainly from Riverdog Farm, with a couple cuties from Dirty Girl.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj51pbCoUvc6DpUcZFLcGkTZXdcuo7vneK1KHYgq4Nif4bCXjLNIFrHyZ8cJC-WqqSSHrzR_QjnOdnJiLvHwsHbJLLqYm6wxNKDmgqw86m35sgxmIiSimchUXRYDXZqDy0O0-j7cQ4muw/s1600/berkfarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj51pbCoUvc6DpUcZFLcGkTZXdcuo7vneK1KHYgq4Nif4bCXjLNIFrHyZ8cJC-WqqSSHrzR_QjnOdnJiLvHwsHbJLLqYm6wxNKDmgqw86m35sgxmIiSimchUXRYDXZqDy0O0-j7cQ4muw/s320/berkfarm.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
I got a reminder + $2 coupon in the mail letting me know that the farmers' market had relocated 10 blocks closer to Oakland from its old location (for my personal convenience, of course), and though a few people have grumbled about the move, most of the vendors seem happy with the larger space.<br />
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I've been going to the Tuesday afternoon market, which starts at 2pm. This is exciting because I usually can't wake up in time to get the best of the market on Saturday and Sunday mornings, plus getting there at the start of the market also offers sightings of local foodie movers and shakers. As I strolled along with a Weird Veg special agent chef, he pointed out <a href="http://sanfrancisco.grubstreet.com/2012/03/charlie-hallowell-expansion-boot-shoe-new-restaurant.html">Charlie Hallowell</a>, chef/owner of the most delicious <a href="http://www.pizzaiolooakland.com/">Pizzaiolo</a> and <a href="http://bootandshoeservice.com/">Boot & Shoe Service</a> (where I just ate a delicious nettle pizza on Saturday night), as well as <a href="http://www.foodrepublic.com/2011/10/17/meet-oaklands-auteur-chef-russell-moore">Russell Moore</a>, chef/owner of the much-lauded <a href="http://www.caminorestaurant.com/menu.html">Camino</a> going about their food shopping. Both are part of the ex-Chez Panisse, local-vegetable-loving mafia, which has been spreading its influence over Berkeley and Oakland for years (<a href="http://www.oliveto.com/">Oliveto</a> is another restaurant with Chez Panisse ties that comes to mind, as well as the San Francisco restaurants <a href="http://www.quincerestaurant.com/">Quince</a> and its spin-off <a href="http://www.cotognasf.com/">Cotogna</a>. I wish someone would compile a list of this mafia and their restaurants, or send me a link to where one already exists).<br />
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As I hovered over some Riverdog lemon cucumbers, a broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper mustachioed man passed by me and I had a feeling of déjà-vu that threatened to linger as an unbearably unscratchable itch. Where had I seen him before? "<a href="http://palstakeaway.com/">Pal's Take Away</a>," my agent said in a low voice at my side. Ahhhh, yes, one of the masterminds behind my favorite secret sandwich shop in the Mission, where I used to live in San Francisco. Suddenly, it didn't seem that I had moved so far away.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-50315941162497010422012-07-24T01:11:00.002-07:002012-07-24T11:17:22.373-07:00Literary Kale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq9I-5DKVk7_5LIvDXyS8xBAROF7r2pVnnuJUPtSF5QsO1UeXMpSSy53eXQC4y0NtxuFe1cYYqfjXxCUJ2UxfwgNdbdS_NgaFdgneQlmC_EZp1KVVZ8WqiRqFa-XKB3qinit8D8H7u7Y/s1600/readmykale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq9I-5DKVk7_5LIvDXyS8xBAROF7r2pVnnuJUPtSF5QsO1UeXMpSSy53eXQC4y0NtxuFe1cYYqfjXxCUJ2UxfwgNdbdS_NgaFdgneQlmC_EZp1KVVZ8WqiRqFa-XKB3qinit8D8H7u7Y/s640/readmykale.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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As you may have guessed, I'm always on the lookout for good literary vegetable passages. Thoreau is still my favorite wielder of worded vegetables, especially his passages on pumpkins and beans. So I was instantly delighted at reading the first line of Heidi Julavits' review of the racy werewolf novel <i>Talulla Rising</i> in <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/22/books/review/talulla-rising-a-novel-by-glen-duncan.html?_r=1&ref=books">last Sunday's <i>New York Times Book Review</i> </a>:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">If literature is lacinato kale, genre is gelato.</span></blockquote>
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An extremely erudite vegetable reference, lacinato kale being the blackish green brassica also known as <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2009/01/dino-kale.html">dinosaur kale</a>. Was she implying that those of us who know what lacinato kale is and regularly enjoy it are most likely to also be literary snobs? That we enjoy what's more challenging to appreciate, what the common folks who are chomping on iceberg lettuce do not take the time to notice? The first part may be in there, but she jumped straight from vegetables to dessert, implying the cultural divide is even more extreme. But perhaps reading novels these days is already highbrow, so that liking mysteries or thrillers is more like eating gelato (still the mark of discerning taste) rather than soft serve or Breyer's.<br />
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But tastes are contradictory and likely to cross all sorts of so-called cultural boundaries. Once, my former roommate, who used to research food trends, took a picture of my breakfast because she wanted to capture the incongruity of my organic, farmers' market strawberries sliced over a bowl of Lucky Charms that were soaking up local, organic whole milk from <a href="http://strausfamilycreamery.com/">Straus Family Creamery</a>. <br />
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So I appreciated the way Julavits, a novelist and an editor of <i>The Believer Magazine</i>, took her initial "kale : literature as genre : gelato" metaphor and spun it into a miniature reflection on the mash-up frenzy driving urban food trends as a way to understand similar literary splicings. She continues:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">Despite regular critical attempts to reconstruct this outdated food pyramid, the base holds strong. Fortunately, thanks to a surge in literary molelucar gastronomy, readers can enjoy an ever wider array of broccoli rabe (or brussels sprout, or Swiss chard) ice cream. When cooked by mad word scientists like Glen Duncan--whose new horror novel, "Talulla Rising," is a sequel to "The Last Werewolf"--this harmonic hybrid delivers sweet (plot), salty (character), sour (emotional pathos), bitter (psychological probity) and umami (stylistic and linguistic panache).</span> </blockquote>
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I think the inclusion of "umami," or the fifth flavor, shows this is a woman as serious about food as she is about books. Just when you think you've gotten to the dregs of the food metaphor, it keeps on going, perhaps inspired by the horror genre she's reviewing (ha! not dead yet! a relentless attack!):<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">If books were required to list the nutritional value of their contents, Duncan's sumptuously gluttonous werewolf saga would rank as high in pure cane sugar as it does in omega-3s. </span> </blockquote>
Note how she uses cane sugar and not corn syrup. Like the careful choice of gelato, she's saying <i>Tallulah Rising</i> is a little naughtier than kale but still not the trashiest thing you can ingest. The book looks really fun, by the way, feminist in its narrative of female werewolf empowerment but with a dose of <i>True Blood</i>-style sexytimes. I will be totally honest and say it was actually this pull-quote that got me to stop turning the pages and read this review:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: small;">Can a woman who kills and consumes innocent people and craves near-constant sex be a fit parent?</span></blockquote>
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Ahem. Lettuce turn back to vegetables... Ms. Julavits' opening paragraph clearly planted a tiny green seed in my imagination, as I kept envisioning a book made of kale leaves, one that I could read and eat at the same time. It grew and grew in my mind, until I sat down after dinner and painted it (above). The lacinato, or dino, kale is on top, alternating with Red Russian kale, which I love for its delicate colors, texture, and flavor.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-39809076798524879712012-07-21T21:10:00.002-07:002012-07-21T21:13:36.596-07:00Time For Twig Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNpDlBXTLmmXjLX59GokQCDo2t6_EK3fe0UApXexYUHoiNcmfAaB7BnO7Vty7C6XkhF1t0gOh1bRDJzJW6cIvzReTigHRblShoSNstudIl1I-2XebP31pLwNNre2jWaJxNToyS4DsLuw/s1600/twigtea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNpDlBXTLmmXjLX59GokQCDo2t6_EK3fe0UApXexYUHoiNcmfAaB7BnO7Vty7C6XkhF1t0gOh1bRDJzJW6cIvzReTigHRblShoSNstudIl1I-2XebP31pLwNNre2jWaJxNToyS4DsLuw/s400/twigtea.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Just over here sipping on some twig tea in the nebulous region between Oakland and Berkeley, part concrete jungle and 2am Jack in the Box drive-thru binges, part sunshine garden idyll and self-righteously organic paradise. The air is scented with tiny jasmine blooms and the heady spices of Cafe Colucci, one of the Ethiopian restaurants that pepper almost every block in my new area.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKvsxwHrgmmQxyH04Y0q0A-1878WAk3OJa7VsTqFKZIAi5ZJIc3Tq_PaDXe_43dS5R6cfer3AwTApyDpO4Qggo_lUYdHSLYw3VgPc92EryotYIVyjRYJ9ZYO91VN21UPg3j6aVwTKV8o/s1600/twigtea3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKvsxwHrgmmQxyH04Y0q0A-1878WAk3OJa7VsTqFKZIAi5ZJIc3Tq_PaDXe_43dS5R6cfer3AwTApyDpO4Qggo_lUYdHSLYw3VgPc92EryotYIVyjRYJ9ZYO91VN21UPg3j6aVwTKV8o/s400/twigtea3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I don't think I can make a convincing case for twigs as vegetables, since we can't really <i>eat</i> them, just drink hot water they've been soaked in. Still, it does feel strange and notable to drink infused twig water. You can get <b>kikucha</b> (its Japanese name) in sachets, but I like to get the actual roasted twigs. Feels a bit more witchy that way... I think I got these from <a href="http://www.rainbow.coop/">Rainbow Grocery</a> over a year ago--I found them in a box I unpacked with all my old teas and spices in it (still good, dammit, though the spices probably have their best days behind them).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VYT6ryeuEp0tqrhZZSuEtlRvnHFxuQRptj_aHL_Z5IwvqHqAzxyslJqqpUnhGvxPy-B5STDxPxBjHzVCVFoWFPLgnwYNo37k0p9lyjG2rsHrt7sTzoztFP2e8zD4TuW0_4UCCSkcPMQ/s1600/twigtea2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VYT6ryeuEp0tqrhZZSuEtlRvnHFxuQRptj_aHL_Z5IwvqHqAzxyslJqqpUnhGvxPy-B5STDxPxBjHzVCVFoWFPLgnwYNo37k0p9lyjG2rsHrt7sTzoztFP2e8zD4TuW0_4UCCSkcPMQ/s320/twigtea2.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
Kikucha is not as weird as you might think at first, however, when you realize that the twigs are not just any twigs but come from the tea plant, whose black/green/white-leaf water we're more used to drinking. Kikucha has a little caffeine, which is why I'm drinking it as I wean myself off coffee for a week or so (just so I can restart the addiction with fresh vigor). I got really into twig tea when I tried adhering to a macrobiotic diet for a week-and-a-half and nearly lost my mind--I felt so much healthier but proportionately crazier for all the cravings left unfulfilled. But twig tea was a good friend in that time of need and no coffee.<br />
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I find its amber hue and mellow, smokey flavor very soothing even as it cuts through my drowsiness. It's not as bitter or jarring as some green teas can be and also not as strong as black tea. I often drink it after dinner when I need to get some writing done but still want to feel a little dreamy and be sure I can fall asleep when crawling into bed. The roasted brown rice <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genmaicha">genmaicha</a> is also another favorite tea with a deep yet delicate flavor, but its portion of green tea makes it too caffeinated for me to drink at night.<br />
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You can read more about twig tea <a href="http://choiceorganicteas.wordpress.com/2010/02/24/staff-favorites-twig-tea-2/">here</a> and <a href="http://www.mitoku.com/products/tea/twig_tea_remedies.html">here</a>.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-19404957444325173012012-06-30T20:08:00.002-07:002012-06-30T20:09:54.849-07:00Meanwhile, back at the San Francisco Ferry Building...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Being born and raised in a place like San Francisco should normally make a person avoid tourist tornado zones and the risk of being mistaken for a tourist at all costs (Fisherman's Wharf doesn't even register on the native's mental map of the city), but after having spent a year away from my "<a href="http://alangullette.com/lit/sterling/coolgrey.htm">cool, grey city of love</a>," I was inspired to break one of my cardinal rules: never set foot in the Saturday Ferry Plaza farmers' market after noon. Before 10am is ideal, after 11am is getting a little hectic, and after 12pm is total insanity, destructive tourist gremlins all over the place and everyone headed for a collective meltdown. <br />
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But the siren song of this produce paradise was too much to bear, and since I wasn't actually shopping for vegetables because I don't have my own kitchen yet, I decided that I might as well be a tourist and walk around staring at California's most beautiful vegetables and be that annoying person who just snaps creepy photos and doesn't buy anything except a breakfast egg plate and Blue Bottle coffee. <br />
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While loitering and enjoying said egg plate and coffee, I took notice of the carnival of harmless tourist profiteers that I normally ignore in my rush to be the first to fondle the doughnut peaches and heirloom greens. Superman was sweating buckets under his muscle foam while boinging merrily around on pogo boots, collecting tips for photos ("It's for health insurance!," he told onlookers with a winning smile. I assume it's to uphold his individual mandate and give the necessary support to the healthcare reform package than out of any real need for health coverage. Man of steel and all...). Magicians, clowns, and fresh-faced folksy singers in cowboy outfits rounded out the sideshow, providing much-needed distraction from smartphone data feeds. <br />
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Despite being comforted by the familiar sight of northern California blooms and plaid shirts, I was dismayed to see a sign that the farmers' market has gotten overly crowded and militantly regulated:<br />
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But as I strolled past my favorite vendors, all of whom can be found on the <a href="http://www.cuesa.org/farmers">CUESA website</a>, I moved on to more
satisfying sights, like the multi-colored heirloom tomatoes at <b>Balakian Farms</b> that made me want to dive in and shout, "Treasure
bath!!!"<br />
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And the tranquilly delicious scents of lavender and strawberries at <b>Eatwell Farm</b>:</div>
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Floating dreamily past the brown turkey figs at <b>Knoll Farms</b>, which are fat, pale green, and dusty purple, past the sweet-smelling stone fruit of <b>Frog Hollow</b> and <b>Blossom Bluff</b>, I wafted into my personal favorite weird greens triangle of <b>Heirloom Organic Gardens</b>, <b>Star Route</b>, and <b>Marin Roots</b> farms.<br />
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Heirloom Organics had its usual dazzling rows of salad and braising greens, plus an explosively cute wicker-and-gingham array of pale purple borage and what look like marigolds, alongside delicately tendriled pale carrots (or could they be baby parsnips? hard to say in retrospect).<br />
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Star Route's bounty of rainbow chard and assorted greens (ancho cress, tatsoi, red mustard, and dandelion greens) was holding up well under the swelter of unseasonably hot weather (San Francisco is supposed to be gloomy and foggy in June, a mean joke played on tourists who end up having to buy cheap fleeces embroidered with "SF" in Chinatown).<br />
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I flirted with their stinging nettles for awhile but decided to make that nettle soup, pizza, or pesto into a future ambition.<br />
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Gandhi was looking well-accompanied by a conspiracy of beards as I sauntered from Star Route across the way to Marin Roots to compare the price of designer weeds.<br />
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In a twenty-first-century weeds-to-gourmet story, the slightly chewy succulent with teardrop leaves known as <a href="http://landscaping.about.com/cs/weedsdiseases/a/purslane.htm"><b>purslane</b></a> has risen to veggie stardom, partly on the crest of its omega-3 riches. It is lovingly cultivated by both Star Route (for $6/lb) and Marin Roots ($8/lb). Perhaps the latter's purslane was a bit larger and more comely, hence the premium. I also found a heretofore unknown weird vegetable at Marin Roots known as <a href="http://www.mountainvalleygrowers.com/menpiperitachocolate.htm"><b>chocolate mint</b></a>.<br />
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In an interesting twist of the human mind/palate partnership, chocolate mint does not taste like chocolate but is reminiscent of chocolates that feature this strong mint flavor, like Andes or Peppermint Patties. My slightly lazy clicking through the Internet has rendered insufficient information to say when this "chocolate mint" was thus named, but it's an interesting case of an herb taking on the name of a candy that previously took its name in part from a close relative of that same herb. (In the beginning there was mint, then there were chocolate after dinner mints and there was mint chocolate as an ice cream flavor and flavor of chocolate, and finally there was the chocolate mint for $2/bunch for sale with the spearmint at the farmers' market.)<br />
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Marin Roots also had some very alluring radishes waiting to be ravished:<br />
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After the endorphin-inducing triple-whammy of weird greens, I usually veer right (or south)
and poke my head in among the beans, yarn, and dried hot peppers at <b>Tierra Vegetables</b>,
which usually has an odd yet rustically intriguing assortment of vegetables. Today their onions
and garlic were especially luscious. Maybe I've been away for too long
or these were the only things not wilting in the sun, but for some
reason <b>onions and garlic </b>seemed to be the most gorgeous and
mouth-watering vegetables at the market.<br />
<br />
<br />
See how pretty these red burger onions look in the sun?<br />
<br />
And the chiaroscuro effect of the garlic bin!<br />
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<br />
Around the corner and rounding out my Ferry Building vegetable nirvana is <b>Dirty Girl Produce</b>, whose cherry-red early girl dry farmed tomatoes I die for in late August/September. Today they had the world's most adorable fist-sized romanesco, of course sitting next to yet more pretty onions:<br />
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<br />
Spycam shot of the Dirty Girl stand through <b>Twin Girls</b>' flowers (or did they belong to <b>Four Sisters</b>? Sometimes I get all the farm girls mixed up):<br />
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And next door to Dirty Girl was a farm I'd never seen before, <b>Hunter Orchards</b>, which had its own formidable garlic pyramid and some bright red jackpot cherries.<br />
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<br />
Not sick of onions or garlic yet? Here are even more from Heirloom (left) and Eatwell (right).<br />
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</td></tr>
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<br />
It's beautiful and overwhelming to be back in the Bay Area, starting life back up here and returning to my most favorite vegetables in the world. I'm about to move to the East Bay, though, for logistical and rental price reasons (goodbye expensive Mission District—I bequeath you to the Facebook + Google + assorted tech startup army and the rent control holdouts!), so expect some posts on Berkeley and Oakland farmers' markets in the near-near future.<br />
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<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-91725185627867398552012-05-16T18:46:00.001-07:002012-11-19T22:44:20.946-08:00Artichoke Intensi-TEA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PhnAhmuqM1aae2m5KBqJ_uPqMmldFsy_wU9JE2wgFPGH_laRXaGO5NnPIKVNczO93hOvWdvhVeFPYpsfZYX3Iti7nEzrIFd_enq576OkOVNAgjvLzeCltS_tpkP-Wgu9oGtu0ApuElE/s1600/artichoketea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PhnAhmuqM1aae2m5KBqJ_uPqMmldFsy_wU9JE2wgFPGH_laRXaGO5NnPIKVNczO93hOvWdvhVeFPYpsfZYX3Iti7nEzrIFd_enq576OkOVNAgjvLzeCltS_tpkP-Wgu9oGtu0ApuElE/s400/artichoketea.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Last month, my veggie-loving friend in Rio, Celery Kabbage, brought me a sweet present of artichoke tea. I'd never had it before—neither had she—and we brewed a pot after dinner. As the artichoke leaves steeped, we imagined the gentle, pale green tones of artichoke distilled into pleasant tea form, perhaps a little on the weak side. I thought of the way that eating artichoke leaves a slightly sweet aftertaste to the water you drink with your meal. I took the improvised kettle off the stove-top and served us both. We blew delicately, then sipped...<br />
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<br />
... and nearly spit the evil witch's brew across the room. If Ms. Kabbage hadn't joined in the tasting, I might have thought she'd been trying to poison me. It reminded me of the bitter herbal infusion my dad's acupuncturist made him drink for his allergies or the taste of the betelnut I chewed to be social while sitting on the ground with old ladies in Vietnam. And yet somehow more foul than either, partly because I'd expected a more literally "artichokey" taste. [Please insert pun on arti-CHOKE here.]<br />
<br />
Anyway, thistle is all to warn you: please to only drink the artichoke/alcachofra tea in case of interest in reputed <a href="http://www.therighttea.com/artichoke-tea.html">medicinal qualities</a>, such as stomach and liver relief and weight loss. I don't know how it's all supposed to work, but I can think of a whole bunch of smart alec responses about how this truly awful tasting tea can kill your appetite and make you forget your stomachache because of the bitter bitter flavor in your mouth that is disfiguring your facial expression. Or maybe I should focus on opening up my mind and all my vegetable chakras and try it again, only this time using 1 leaf per cup of boiling water...kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-14752581729902291172012-05-15T09:08:00.001-07:002012-05-15T09:21:39.086-07:00Weird Vegetable Iron Chefs at the NY Food Book Fair<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-APbF0BVUcQP0zNUxSEeLdljg1E0_G1P5r7NDStK66SLPeJLll9dJLM7UU4azAb1dIzPiY_lh97a6HULBtF-zdDiCDKEfrNGy0Jh2srAkUVOeas1dR4RUW8Wa0ifcMiGIyaA3hKJx5eg/s1600/foraged-meal_leif.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-APbF0BVUcQP0zNUxSEeLdljg1E0_G1P5r7NDStK66SLPeJLll9dJLM7UU4azAb1dIzPiY_lh97a6HULBtF-zdDiCDKEfrNGy0Jh2srAkUVOeas1dR4RUW8Wa0ifcMiGIyaA3hKJx5eg/s400/foraged-meal_leif.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild tamarack, basswood leaves, garlic mustard, fiddlehead ferns, <br />
and knotweed over Spanish mackerel. Source: <a href="https://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/05/08/152268960/from-weed-to-whimsy-chefs-conquer-wild-foods-with-butter-and-oil">NPR</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While some of us gaze dreamily out at the rainy rainforest in Rio de Janeiro, others are busting their chops organizing book fairs and slapping together improvised gourmet dinners in the throbbing capital of, well, capital and haute cuisine: New York City. Congratulations to Elizabeth Thacker Jones for pulling off the first-ever <a href="http://foodbookfair.com/">New York Food Book Fair</a> in high style at the Wythe Hotel in Brooklyn (and proving that grad students can actually meet deadlines and be "real people" too) and to WV friend Leafy Heirloom (aka Leif Hedendal) for whipping up what looks like a very tasty, very veggie-inspired meal to accompany the event—and for getting his leafy mug featured on the NY Times food blog.<br />
<br />
The Garden Gather dinner was held in honor of John Cage, genius of music and mushrooms, and co-founder of the New York Mycological Society, but the wild mushrooms that were supposed to be the centerpiece of the meal suddenly got shy of all the attention, so Leif and his co-chef Mark Andrew Gravel improvised with a whole bunch of New England-foraged greens that they'd never heard of before. The <a href="http://dinersjournal.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/05/07/a-foraged-dinner-at-the-food-book-fair/">NY Times blog</a> and <a href="https://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/05/08/152268960/from-weed-to-whimsy-chefs-conquer-wild-foods-with-butter-and-oil">NPR</a> both covered the event, making it sound like an unexpected Iron Chef competition starring weird vegetables. The featured weird vegetables included twelve pounds of dried heirloom red cowpeas that Gravel packed in his carry-on bag from South Carolina, ramps, basswood leaves, tamarack shoots, lily shoots, knotweed (eh?), ground ivy, toothwort root (what?), sweetflag (what??), and fiddlehead ferns (relatively normal in this esoteric company). The chefs used a combination of the Internet and their instincts about texture and flavor to make the knowns and the unknowns all work together. Another top-chef secret shared by Leif went beyond the forest and into the sea. He made up for the unexpected dearth of mushrooms "by getting a lot of seafood—that's my idea of improving something, is throwing a lot of seafood at it." Oysters, blue crab, and mackerel. Sounds fishy, but we trust his Leafy heart still blooms green.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbPkvj1eqTXgPhTydfZ3VoAZWHWQ1kCMd32QIhx2uCLhZz4hpJ4AsZPkZ_0acDwe7xGTCP4XGKXDnu9dANm5O7QdUy-CXQTq4FiwRmMuzWbN8nzsETqPxIYCXDf1PNkYC4KmUWps9ep4/s1600/toothwort-root-and-knotweed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbPkvj1eqTXgPhTydfZ3VoAZWHWQ1kCMd32QIhx2uCLhZz4hpJ4AsZPkZ_0acDwe7xGTCP4XGKXDnu9dANm5O7QdUy-CXQTq4FiwRmMuzWbN8nzsETqPxIYCXDf1PNkYC4KmUWps9ep4/s400/toothwort-root-and-knotweed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toothwort root and knotweed, though I'm not going to pretend I know <br />
which is which, (I'm assuming that <a href="https://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/05/08/152268960/from-weed-to-whimsy-chefs-conquer-wild-foods-with-butter-and-oil">NPR's caption</a> puts them in l-r order...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The NYT write-up gives a fuller view of the context of the book fair and the meal, while NPR's piece focuses more on foraged greens and the potential incongruity of a swanky $150 per person meal being concocted from what might be considered as weeds: "In a different era or a less rarefied location, such a plate might suggest poverty — someone forced to scrounge for scraps (whey) and weeds (cattails) because they couldn't afford anything else."<br />
<br />
This redefinition of obscure and foraged vegetables as a product of specialized knowledge (both in the gathering and preparation) that carries with it a certain aura of exclusivity and gourmet cachet is a tendency that has marked the culinary Zeitgeist of the past few years. Of course exclusivity and gourmet cachet are nothing new in the world of fine dining, but the attention dining-obsessed eaters are suddenly granting to the endless variety of vegetables that chefs are seducing them into accepting (with lots of butter, high quality olive oil, and creative combinations) has been an interesting and complicated phenomenon to witness—though always pleasing to experience when I'm lucky enough to taste one of these expertly prepared meals.<br />
<br />
But it sounds as though this Brooklyn-based weird vegetable sermon was served to the choir, since one of the guests was already rapturing to the NYT about the greens he spotted on the way to the dinner: "It's really hard not to pick the lamb's quarters and the shepherd's brush that is growing within a block of here."<br />
<br />
We at Weird Vegetables (the royal "we" of Kale Daikon and sometimes Eggplant Kohlrabi) look forward to a Bay Area incarnation of the Food Book Fair with much watering of the mouths and minds.<br />
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</style>kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-20083044800557657002012-04-30T07:25:00.001-07:002012-04-30T07:33:32.304-07:00Vegetable Dressing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5ovs3sFHhf_wE3P_XL9cJrz4Va-qA0HwTa1PK1VVQt5Qo-bEY6jSjLLqJ-QyD6Ni_YKlkG4hG3jyW7TF0zjE2ANVHxHnLqr-kzc6_Hfd-8vkfnnDIrwWvKndCW7g2K_0lp4GKJl3yew/s1600/nytimesvegdress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5ovs3sFHhf_wE3P_XL9cJrz4Va-qA0HwTa1PK1VVQt5Qo-bEY6jSjLLqJ-QyD6Ni_YKlkG4hG3jyW7TF0zjE2ANVHxHnLqr-kzc6_Hfd-8vkfnnDIrwWvKndCW7g2K_0lp4GKJl3yew/s640/nytimesvegdress.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Tutti Fruity" from the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/04/15/t-magazine/womens-fashion/15well-fruit.html?adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1335795101-8JHWze9j3DPkXwDiCggNlg">New York Times</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Look at the New York Times getting all heady with edible fashion and food puns in their spread <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/04/15/t-magazine/womens-fashion/15well-fruit.html?adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1335795101-8JHWze9j3DPkXwDiCggNlg">"Salad Days"</a> from a couple weeks ago... I don't know whether I want to graze from this dress or just throw it all in the compost. The Arcimboldo inspiration is pretty creative, but some of these spreads made me feel abject about the model who got duped into these scenarios (like the one where they stuffed a fish in her mopey mouth, as though reminding her that models are there to look pouty but never speak). I much prefer self-authored perversities, like Suzan Pitt's asparagus animation (see previous post!).kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-62293035172806387642012-04-30T06:58:00.002-07:002012-05-15T19:44:41.200-07:00Psychedelic Asparagus<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="331" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/18754752" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe><br />
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Please watch this amazingly INSANE animated journey by artist <a href="http://suzanpitt.blogspot.com.br/">Suzan Pitt</a> while you are eating asparagus and sitting on the TOILET. It is going to blow your mind. I really like the saturated colors and the rounded, chubby shapes. Makes me think of Brazilian Tropicália. Thanks to the talented Internet huntress Amaranth Gadberry for unearthing this wonder from the year 1978.<br />
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UPDATE 5/15: Uh oh, sorry. Looks like the link pulled one of those "flower that blooms for a night and then fades away" disappearing acts on us. No more crazy asparagus video. Maybe it'll crop up in a different Internet weedbed somewhere. Send any leads on where to find this movie to weirdvegetables AT gmail.com <br />
<br />kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-88981557202114198462012-04-27T06:16:00.001-07:002012-04-27T06:16:51.985-07:00Daikon Prince Charming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiiX09HAmF-gNZcC6sfZ4_2D7pzt400JDPaSwwICYP5EbYyC8FBn5sizc1k17SFKN10B2ZvHslOH_yTi_AW-L8qbmFhsGZ5rLxs2i5rTToo5IcGmwJwRsc5u_3hHRuWXceVH47WkNq_sA/s1600/daikonprince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiiX09HAmF-gNZcC6sfZ4_2D7pzt400JDPaSwwICYP5EbYyC8FBn5sizc1k17SFKN10B2ZvHslOH_yTi_AW-L8qbmFhsGZ5rLxs2i5rTToo5IcGmwJwRsc5u_3hHRuWXceVH47WkNq_sA/s400/daikonprince.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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It's been over a month, and the Turnip Princess was starting to tap her rooty tendrils with impatience at all my delays. Luckily, the WV team is always turning up some good things in the soil of far-flung territories. It was all the way in Santa Fe that agent Celery Kabbage came across this adorable Daikon Prince Charming, perfect for our turnip lady! He speaks Japanese, she speaks Portuguese, but they communicate perfectly in the international language of spicy root vegetables, and the salad days of their green love are in full bloom!kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-83870559236107420622012-03-24T11:10:00.000-07:002012-04-27T06:17:05.346-07:00The Turnip Princess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO1wFyT4GQlYn0sdXsWTw3qGRHrdbGHPDGULD_W1Od4HR80hF0XdweqcReHtUXaMQJvt5SpDOmL8bhi-aLXxXri18A9D7lNofpLOcXACpGfEL47cD0Q2FfttPMDzmOYt085KRdsaHeBM/s1600/turnipprincess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO1wFyT4GQlYn0sdXsWTw3qGRHrdbGHPDGULD_W1Od4HR80hF0XdweqcReHtUXaMQJvt5SpDOmL8bhi-aLXxXri18A9D7lNofpLOcXACpGfEL47cD0Q2FfttPMDzmOYt085KRdsaHeBM/s640/turnipprincess.jpg" width="403" /></a></div>
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The Turnip Princess lies in wait for her Pumpkin Prince to appear one moonlit night and find her absolutely radishing. Her pale luminescence is crowned by her own greeny mantle and a chamommile diadem. In the midst of her reverie, she purses her spiced lips and sheds a single petal tear of unfulfilled joy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OlcMAReW_q3V-MFjK1Z4rjOmhipgFHqw7LSqst4fukQ392B3JBpuJyZhGisORuujzA15qyctwilgub5SQnT9oBZIvX1p2gIpG93t9udwS8CF-NDZr92R92_mYhz4rVmkKzTzDuTY8r4/s1600/turnipprincessclose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OlcMAReW_q3V-MFjK1Z4rjOmhipgFHqw7LSqst4fukQ392B3JBpuJyZhGisORuujzA15qyctwilgub5SQnT9oBZIvX1p2gIpG93t9udwS8CF-NDZr92R92_mYhz4rVmkKzTzDuTY8r4/s400/turnipprincessclose.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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The idea to create a Turnip Princess came to me from a German fairytale I read in <i>The Guardian</i> that is one of 500 forgotten stories recently unearthed from an archive in Regensburg, Germany. These folktales had been gathered in the Bavarian countryside by Franz Xaver von Schönwerth, a 19th-century contemporary of the Brothers Grimm. Here is <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/mar/05/five-hundred-fairytales-discovered-germany">the article</a> about the fairytales and the translation of <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/mar/05/turnip-princess-discovered-fairytale?INTCMP=ILCNETTXT3487">"The Turnip Princess."</a>kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-35430746952502906252012-03-20T19:16:00.000-07:002012-03-20T19:25:12.567-07:00Why Use Pepper When You've Got Spicy Sprouts?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7RAEtDykK1l2K9w0JVoPH60J6y9WJy9p__UYDUjWhXqZLnbm8prcYU3wi1ejDeL88d-RSx0uX3DZj_DNqrdjlCb04mq-3Mz6GeIn_R1jmXpiahZG-nBe3lwLngZRx7IwRNbzTLuHdOU/s1600/arugulasprouts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7RAEtDykK1l2K9w0JVoPH60J6y9WJy9p__UYDUjWhXqZLnbm8prcYU3wi1ejDeL88d-RSx0uX3DZj_DNqrdjlCb04mq-3Mz6GeIn_R1jmXpiahZG-nBe3lwLngZRx7IwRNbzTLuHdOU/s320/arugulasprouts.jpg" width="240" /></a> To the wealth of oft-repeated sayings, such as "The apple falls not far from the tree," or, "Like father, like son," allow me to emend the following adages:<br />
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"Like veggie, like sprout."<br />
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"The sprout sprouts close to the root."<br />
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Do you recognize the sprouts in this photo? Don't worry, I won't make you take another quiz so soon after the last one: arugula. I've had arugula sprouts in the past (I <i>must</i> have), but never have I been so struck by how strongly these babies taste like fully grown, spicy arugula leaves.<br />
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Though not adored by all, sprouts are often used to freshen up sandwiches or garnish salads with watery flair. However, they often make more of a complementary visual and textural impact than adding any remarkable taste element. If the usual alfalfa sprouts are like extras, then these arugula sprouts bear the distinctive flavor of character actors, the Kevin Spacey of vegetables (before he turned into a leading man).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcHgr0HQoRFsdKkt61oOcJDu_w3ufaqGmno4_PD701yMGRwaPjR51wge1udrAogj231GTNVv0NGvsV8ScKV1xt2Y_rogSL6fNxjG7okIeu0_xavh3JDuQrM3kO8Z-7MxPHj9R1Ww5sAg/s1600/arugularsproutbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcHgr0HQoRFsdKkt61oOcJDu_w3ufaqGmno4_PD701yMGRwaPjR51wge1udrAogj231GTNVv0NGvsV8ScKV1xt2Y_rogSL6fNxjG7okIeu0_xavh3JDuQrM3kO8Z-7MxPHj9R1Ww5sAg/s320/arugularsproutbox.jpg" width="320" /></a>I paid what seemed like a fairly expensive R$3.50 (about $2) for a box of these at the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/misturaviva/5061095533/">Leblon organic farmers' market</a> in Rio. A bunch of fully grown arugula would probably have cost the same or been slightly cheaper. But a small handful of these heart-shaped babies contains a surprising amount of spicy crispness, and I found that the lot lasted me for a week and seemed well worth the price after all. I sprinkled them on salads, on soups, and most memorably, atop a bowl of bow-tie pasta tossed with fresh pesto, parmesan, garlic, and halved cherry tomatoes.<br />
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Just as spicy, though less delicate than the arugula kids, are radish sprouts. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitEkjkT407Ya9fxDzNT9Jc3DHz3ErUR4wYoLoH1oPnYKbl_k3xT4ahAtsC9W5z6BeueZCPBBCgtLJZdqekYAxBmKpNkOBAJUythQkdT_lBo00eSPT6NfgL3r5HzLS_lAJLCdL8squ4WQ0/s1600/radishsprouts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitEkjkT407Ya9fxDzNT9Jc3DHz3ErUR4wYoLoH1oPnYKbl_k3xT4ahAtsC9W5z6BeueZCPBBCgtLJZdqekYAxBmKpNkOBAJUythQkdT_lBo00eSPT6NfgL3r5HzLS_lAJLCdL8squ4WQ0/s320/radishsprouts.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Interestingly, but logically, I suppose, radish sprouts compare to arugula sprouts in similar ways that radishes are like and unlike arugula. Both are spicy vegetables, but radishes have a more pronounced bite and crunch. They don't take a back seat to other vegetables on the plate as willingly, and the same goes for their mini-me's. Radish sprouts are thicker and harder to chew than arugula sprouts, and bear the delicate yet pronounced signature hot pink tones of the radish. Still, I used radish sprouts in pretty much the same way as the arugula—sprinkling them on top of whatever dish could benefit from a spicy-fresh finish and sometimes just plopping them directly into my mouth.<br />
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While both kinds of sprouts germinate above-ground, it's funny to think how differently their adult versions develop. While the arugula spreads its leaves in the rays of the sun, the radish blooms its secret self underground like a pale, pink, or purple mole, as this pleasing time-lapse video reminds us:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/d26AhcKeEbE?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-75722432418052537032012-03-17T06:19:00.003-07:002012-03-17T06:19:58.892-07:00Strange Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JGzBvB-e5d-GuwbnCPQwPPImgTmCMCaIwMdrnZ6AeUU1YZsNfBOp-UKrGXd54gpWQe6Pw7t0p83RDTKtVKH2JgXxhEzIe-n83bqc39KS8G1qhDxQyTIHeUwrV3DB0Xvj-e_oOqCWNR0/s1600/carrotlove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JGzBvB-e5d-GuwbnCPQwPPImgTmCMCaIwMdrnZ6AeUU1YZsNfBOp-UKrGXd54gpWQe6Pw7t0p83RDTKtVKH2JgXxhEzIe-n83bqc39KS8G1qhDxQyTIHeUwrV3DB0Xvj-e_oOqCWNR0/s400/carrotlove.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"strange how</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">you control my every little</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">move now</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">hanging from your strings</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">is all I know</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">starring in your puppet show</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<span style="font-size: small;">never let me go</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">strange love"</span></div>
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Photo shared by the buds at <a href="http://www.farmerspal.com/">Farmer's Pal</a>, and left on the WV doorstep by Oakland forager-at-large Jícama Calabaza.<br />
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</div>kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753533232384973471.post-47489998652489130612012-03-09T06:53:00.001-08:002012-03-10T15:56:00.483-08:00Weird Veg Quiz IV<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKGrqFAOAOHMgcdPpROsca-2LGDJJS0xl1UgTq6EYDdHCrATT5KQhKhYse_tuugVxR6hhMq42ALtswH1M67GqEEXndFY-m7SwaS6ZlJZ6HJdC2pMfo2tqup2nRDLTSZ0o2YeRTNzDZSA/s1600/vegmedley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKGrqFAOAOHMgcdPpROsca-2LGDJJS0xl1UgTq6EYDdHCrATT5KQhKhYse_tuugVxR6hhMq42ALtswH1M67GqEEXndFY-m7SwaS6ZlJZ6HJdC2pMfo2tqup2nRDLTSZ0o2YeRTNzDZSA/s400/vegmedley.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Dear class, today we are having a QUIZ!<br />
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Yes, your favorite! It's been awhile since we've had a weird vegetable mystery post, so to keep you on your toes, I'm posting this medley and you have 30 seconds to identify the 5 different veggies in this photo.<br />
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I'll give you some clues: two are temperate veggies and the other three are specific to sub/tropical regions, like Brazil, where I am at the moment.<br />
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Here's some inspirational music to play while you're thinking it over and writing down your bets and final answers. You get one life-line and losers have to send me their first-born tomatoes of the season (I will accept them both canned and fresh). Correct answers are displayed after the video.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vXGhvoekY44" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Okay, ready?<br />
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The two give-away veggies to make you feel good about yourself are: beets and cucumbers.<br />
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The others are a bit trickier...<br />
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On the bottom edge are manioc chunks. Also known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassava">cassava</a> and yuca, it is a much-beloved tuber here in Brazil, mostly eaten boiled or French-fried, or in the form of a grainy-flour condiment known as <a href="http://frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/22/manioc-showdown-farofa-v-farinha/">farinha or farofa</a> that gets toasted and sprinkled on beans, fish stews, or mixed up with bananas and eggs. I think it tastes like sand but is nevertheless strangely appealing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUqAXbej_BkeCNhmQCgFnEwYEdMwwMLRKkt-5uVfjSHT0wDQElIEtW8lgQUREeWHo7CyhvK42-NRvMB7LTqrswz5HWTtQKdT9O-l0z1RvZafmQ2W71_lrqWPmVpeURISNuS9l4hYsT2w/s1600/manioc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUqAXbej_BkeCNhmQCgFnEwYEdMwwMLRKkt-5uVfjSHT0wDQElIEtW8lgQUREeWHo7CyhvK42-NRvMB7LTqrswz5HWTtQKdT9O-l0z1RvZafmQ2W71_lrqWPmVpeURISNuS9l4hYsT2w/s320/manioc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I boiled the manioc shown above in salted water then peeled and tossed the chunks with a trickle of olive oil and a sprinkle more of salt. The skin is hard to peel, so it's best to boil it first, then skin after. Also, some kinds of manioc are poisonous when eaten raw, so I like to boil them for a long long time. The taste is like potato, only deeper somehow, more substantial, and ever so slightly sweet (or some other yet-to-be-named taste that lies far on the savory side of sweet).<br />
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There are some manioc plants growing right outside my hermit house in Rio, and their roots will be ready to harvest as soon as they get a foot or two taller. The spiky leaves bear a striking resemblance to California's most beloved barely il/legal cash crop.<br />
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Next, the green sauteed chiffonade on the right may look like kale but—GOTCHA—it is in fact a dark leafy doppleganger: the more delicate <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2011/04/taioba-better-than-kale.html">taioba</a> (tie-OH-bah), the giant leaf of a plant that's related to taro and that I posted about last year.<br />
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And finally, the most mysterious of all, so mysterious that even Brazilians at the farmers' market I went to last week were like, "Whhhaaaat, is that?!" (Que que é iiiiiisssso??):<br />
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TREE TOMATOES!!<br />
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What?? I know, they're so weird. <br />
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Here's <a href="http://www.tradewindsfruit.com/tree_tomato.htm">more info</a>. Also known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamarillo">tamarillos</a>, these are tomato dopplegangers that grow on trees and taste slightly tangy but are sweet enough to enjoy raw (though some people add sugar and make a juice from them). The ones I got were a far cry from ripe because apparently they turn bright red or yellow-orange when ripe. These look almost like figs, though the gooey red central seeds remind me a bit of pomegranate. Not realizing these were still incredibly unripe, I tried one, which actually turned out to be quite tasty with easy-to-chew seeds (very soft, those tiny red pods). But thinking of them as tomatoes, I was surprised to find that the rind was too tough to bite into, so that I had to gnaw the yellow meat off as though they were tiny watermelon slices.<br />
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And now you're probably griping, "Heeyyyy, that's not fair, those aren't even <i>vegetables</i>," in which case I refer you to the official Weird Vegetables response to this objection, which is to point out that fruits are, <i>in fact</i>, a subset of vegetables, as vegetables are culturally defined as any "edible part of a plant," and fruits are biologically defined as coming from a flower and bearing an enclosed seed. For further explanation, I refer you to the now-seminal <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/2008/08/lemon-cucumber.html">Lemon Cucumber post</a>, the interview with WV on the <a href="http://blogs.kqed.org/bayareabites/2009/06/23/weird-vegetables/">KQED Bay Area Bites Blog</a>, or this slightly embarrassing and potentially career-damaging video of me holding forth about fruits vs. vegetables after a couple glasses of wine and feeling very sweaty and dinner-partied and not entirely realizing I was being recorded at WV chef Leafy Heirloom's <a href="http://dinner-discussion.blogspot.com/2010/04/number-fifteen-42710.html">Dinner Discussion series</a>, in which people working in food and art get together to talk about, well, food and art. While he serves a tasty dinner of mostly weird vegetables.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/FRStvCAtNnw" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Okay, now let's tally up your marks. Tally ho!</b></span><br />
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0 correct: you need to go to the farmers' market and read this blog more<br />
1 correct: pat yourself on the back with your forefinger. Now go make a salad. <br />
2 correct: mildly respectable. You probably guessed beets and cucumbers, right?<br />
3 correct: good, you have a discerning eye and some awareness about international weird vegetables, and maybe you've been reading this blog<br />
4 correct: verrrrry impressive, companheiro/a. Have you spent time in sub/tropical climes?<br />
5 correct: you are a scientist or a magician. or a farmer, which is a combination of both.<br />
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If you missed the previous quizzes, you can find them all <a href="http://weirdvegetables.blogspot.com/search?q=quiz">here</a>, plus an entertaining <a href="http://www.mentalfloss.com/quiz/quiz.php?q=998">Obscure Veggies Quiz</a> from Mental Floss that eventually leads you back home to Weird Vegetables.kale daikonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10575290983221841933noreply@blogger.com0