From GREG ATKINSON

This soup is so redolent with tomato flavor that you will wonder what the canned version has to do with tomatoes at all. It’s best made with the oversized deep red tomatoes that come in at the end of summer. To set it off properly, a dollop of bright green pesto or a crumble of fresh white goat cheese is just the ticket.

Makes about 4 servings

½ cup organic olive oil
1 large organic onion peeled and thinly sliced
6 large organic heirloom tomatoes (about 3 pounds), cut into thin wedges
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
Pesto, crumbled fresh chèvre, or olive oil, for garnish (optional)

1. Put the olive oil and onions in in a heavy soup pot over medium-high heat and cook stirring regularly with a wooden spatula or spoon, until the onions are soft and beginning to brown, about 5 minutes

2. Add the tomatoes, cover the pan, and when the soup is boiling, reduce the heat to low. Simmer until the tomatoes are very tender and beginning to disintegrate, about 10 minutes.

3. Purée the soup with an immersion blender or, if no immersion blender is available, transfer the soup in small batches to a standard blender. (Put the lid on the blender, then drape a dish towel over the lid, and to prevent the hot soup from splashing out, hold the lid down with the dish towel while the motor is running.)

4. You might wish to strain the soup to remove the seeds. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve the soup hot with a dollop of pesto, a crumble of fresh chèvre, or a drizzle of olive oil.
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]]> http://organictobe.org/2010/09/02/chef-greg-atkinson-fresh-tomato-soup-organic-recipe/feed/ 0 http://organictobe.org/2010/09/01/gene-logsdon-transplanting-tree-seedlings/ http://organictobe.org/2010/09/01/gene-logsdon-transplanting-tree-seedlings/#comments Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:38:30 +0000 Dave Smith http://organictobe.org/?p=5036

From GENE LOGSDON

I have a hunch that readers thought I was joking when I wrote recently about growing tree seedlings in roof gutters. The picture above proves that it works. I thought by now (late summer) the seedlings would have died for lack of water, but we’ve had regular rain so now I can transplant some of those seedlings this fall if not next spring. I can just lift the plants out of the gutter and plop them, roots and leaf mold intact, in a hole in the ground. Ever since a reader, Ohiofarmgirl, called a broadcast seeder “one of those hand-cranked thingies” on her website, I have been thinking of putting together a catalog of farming and gardening  oddities with similar descriptions: sections of roof spouting I would label as “roof whatchamacallits for starting plants.”

There are weeds growing amid the tree seedlings up there in the gutter too, as you might notice. The trees are mostly maple, ash and elm seedlings which gives me an excuse to go into one of my favorite rants. The experts all tell me that I can kiss white ash trees goodbye because the emerald ash borer is killing them. Yes, the old ashes are all dying, but my woodlot is full of seedlings, just coming up wherever sufficient sunlight penetrates the tree canopy or, as you can see, on the barn roof. I argue that when the ash borer has killed off the older trees, it will run out of food and die off too, before these seedlings get old enough for them to kill. A whole new generation of ash trees will come along. Ash trees start producing seed when they are mere saplings.

That is what happened to the elm. Lots of new young seedling elms are growing all over our woodlot. They get old enough to produce seed before they are struck down like their parents. If we can just keep out of the woods those experts who want to kill all the endangered trees to stop the spread of a disease or predator, the ash will survive.

There are also wild cherry and cottonwood seedlings in the roof gutter, which at first surprised me since neither of these trees grows close enough to the barn to drop seeds on the roof. The cherry seedlings, I assume, got there because birds ate the fruit and then pooped on the roof.  Cottonwood seeds, as the name implies, are carried along in the wind because of the cottony growth around the seeds, so they can float a considerable distance before coming to rest on earth. Our big cottonwood is at least a thousand feet from the barn.

All of which underlines a truth or two. First of all, old nature is one wonderfully adaptable mother. Secondly, one learns only by laboriously digging up tree seedlings and transplanting them that unless you have an automatic roof whatchamacallit, it is easier to let nature do the planting or plant seeds where you want the trees to grow so you don’t have to move the seedlings.

Many people believe that to get a new tree to grow faster to enhance a landscape, the larger the transplant, the better.  Actually, an undisturbed tree growing up from seed will often catch up with the transplant in about five years, and will in any event grow more vigorously with a much better chance of survival than the transplant. The bigger the transplant tree, the riskier the chances of survival, and of course, the higher the cost of moving the tree.

This can be true even of fruit trees which we have been taught must be purchased as grafted transplants from nurseries. If you wish to be sure of getting a good, named variety, that is true (although sometimes the good, named variety turns out to be something else).  However we are right now gorging on delicious peaches from unnamed seedling trees that came up on their own around our chicken coop (as I wrote about in a post last year, “Peach Trees Light Up The Old Henhouse”).

These peach trees are right next to the barn. If a peach tree seedling comes up in the gutter, now that would be another pleasant surprise. The trees aren’t tall enough yet to drop a seed on the roof, but I suppose a squirrel or an opossum might carry a peach up on the barn roof, eat it, and let the seed slide into the gutter. But I have a better idea. I will eat the peaches and put the seeds in the gutter, er, in my roof whatchamacallit, myself.
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From THE ORGANIC CENTER
Adapted

I started (slowly at first) eating a gluten-free diet about five years ago.  I noticed that I was having trouble digesting wheat and would get a rash along my jaw line each time I ate it, particularly if it was a white flour roll straight from the bread basket of some Italian restaurant.  You know the type!

In the meantime I have tried countless gluten free crackers, pastas and baking/flour blends.  Some are great.  Some, frankly, aren’t.

The Gluten-Free Bistro is in that “great” category.  And it’s because the three ladies eat the foods themselves.  In an interview recently published in Boulder’s The Daily Camera, co-founder Julie McGinnis said of other gluten free products, “Texture was lacking, taste was lacking, nutrition was lacking and I really got sick of buying products and throwing them in the garbage.”  Julie started GF Bistro with friends Kelly McCallister and Barb Verson who since have found great success selling their products (pizza crust in particular) to a growing list of restaurants.

Well, I too hate seeing food go to waste which is why this week’s recipe, pairing overly ripe bananas with the Gluten Free Bistro flour blend, is perfect…

Ingredients

• 4 ripe organic bananas – mashed
• ½ cup organic butter
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 organic eggs
• 2 tablespoons organic buttermilk
• 1/2 scant cup of sugar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 2 cups Gluten-Free Bistro flour blend (or organic whole wheat flour if not making GF)
• ¼ cup ground flax seed
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• ½ cup raisins
• 2 tablespoons grated ginger
• ¼ cup chopped candied ginger
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 teaspoon dried ginger
• 1 tablespoon honey

Grease a standard size loaf pan or 4 mini loafs and pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Beat together banana, butter, vanilla and eggs until well blended and light.  Beat in buttermilk and sugars.

In a separate bowl, mix together dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg and cinnamon.

Slowly add to wet mixture and mix until well blended.

Stir in raisins, and gingers.

In a bowl toss together almonds, dried ginger and honey.

Pour mixture into a loaf pan and sprinkle with tossed almonds.

Bake for 1 hour or until knife comes out clean.
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From JEFF COX

When summer corn is at its freshest and sweetest best, thrill people with this tasty corn dish to serve on the side. The flavors in this dish have a synergy that will surprise you—it’s greater than the sum of its parts. The medley of colors makes for a pretty presentation, too, served at the table.

5 ears very fresh organic corn, husked and desilked
2 medium organic leeks, white and light green parts only
3 slices bacon, cut into ½-inch squares
1 tablespoon unsalted organic butter
½ jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
4 cups organic chicken broth
1 large organic potato, peeled and cut into ½-inch dice
1½ teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
4 tablespoons heavy organic cream
Salt to taste
3 spears chives, finely chopped

1. Cut the kernels from the corn and transfer to a large bowl. Slice the leeks into very thin rounds.

2. Place a Dutch oven or large saucepan over medium heat and add bacon. Fry until crisp, then transfer to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the bacon fat from the pan.

3. Place the pan back over medium heat and add the butter. When melted, add the leeks, jalapeño, and several grinds of black pepper. Cook, stirring often, for about 5 minutes, or until the leeks are soft.

4. Add the chicken broth, corn, potato, and thyme and increase the heat to high. When the mixture reaches a boil, reduce to a simmer and stir, simmering about 15 minutes, or until potatoes are soft.

5. Transfer 1 cup of the stew to a blender and puree until smooth. Return the puree to the pan. Add the cream and stir to mix well. Add salt. Sprinkle the chives and bacon over the surface of the stew. Remove from heat and serve while hot.

Makes 4 to 6 servings
~
Image Credit: © Fei Yang | Dreamstime.com
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From JESSE COOL

Indian Summer

At summer’s end, when the memory of vacation fades, the routines of school and work urge me back to my kitchen. The days of casual summer dining subside, and the meaningfulness of being surrounded by family and friends for a leisurely meal returns.

Indian summer is a time of large platters overloaded with the bounty of just-picked goodness. It is a time to celebrate the harvest with family and friends and speak of fond memories of summer. It is also time to honor and cherish the last summer crops, such as tomatoes and raspberries. I also give open-arm welcomes to baby acorn squash, broccoli, kale, chard, and other early fall crop arrivals All earn prominent places on my dining room table.

Aware of the juxtaposition of seasons that Indian summer represents, conserving for the cold months ahead becomes a priority for me both at home and at my restaurants. My two food dryers are working nearly every night, the racks filled with tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, figs, and even berries. At the same time, herbs hang in bunches above my kitchen cabinets. Green tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, baby onions, and even Brussels sprouts are saved in jars filled with herbal or chile-infused vinegar.

Indian summer represents a season of preparation for the colder months to come. As the sweetness of summer disappears, I feel satisfied in knowing that I have created a kitchen ready for winter.
~

The toasty flavor of the buckwheat stands up beautifully to the rustic combination of the pork and pumpkin.

1 tablespoons olive oil
¾ pound free-range pork loin, cut into 1″ cubes
1 medium organic pumpkin or butternut squash, cubed (about 2 cups)
2 large organic leeks, whites only, thinly sliced and thoroughly washed
2 organic garlic cloves, minced
½ cup raisins
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup organic chicken broth
1½ teaspoons paprika
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried
8 ounces organic buckwheat noodles
1½ cups organic sour cream

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the pork and cook, turning frequently, for 6 minutes, or until cooked through. Remove to a large plate and keep warm.

Add the pumpkin or squash and leeks to the skillet and cook, stirring often, for 5 minutes, or until lightly browned. Add the garlic, raisins, cinnamon stick, broth, paprika, and thyme. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 15 minutes, or until the squash is tender. Add the pork and simmer over low heat for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the noodles according to package directions. Drain and place in a large serving bowl.

Stir the sour cream into the pork mixture. Remove and discard the cinnamon stick. Pour the pork mixture over the noodles.

Makes 6 servings.
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From ORGANIC CENTER WEBLOG

Like most parents, I welcome the return to the school year with its predictable routines. I also love the excitement that bubbles up from my children when they tell me about their new teacher and classes. One thing that I used to dread about back-to-school was making my girls’ school lunches. Last year we started having them make their own lunches as a way to help us out, as well as have them really learn about creating a balanced and healthy meal for themselves. A stand-by favorite is, of course, the peanut butter and jelly (or honey) sandwich. My only requirement is that the peanut butter is organic. Why?

From GENE LOGSDON

I’ve written before about my attempts to build a haystack that looks like one in a Claude Monet painting (see links at end of this post). This year I came close, as you can see by the two pictures. The distracting blue plastic at the base of my Monet will eventually be put over the haystack although I think the stack will shed water without a cover as well as Monet’s did. I’m not taking the chance of a sudden 6-inch Midwest downpour ruining it— something I don’t think Monet’s farmers had to put up with. They didn’t build their haystacks inside a ring of woven wire fence either, so I’m cheating a little.

Online, you can find haystacks still being erected all over the world. (Reader Ian Graham has sent me photos of his— he does a good Monet, too.) And as for paintings, good heavens! It appears that almost all artists, right up to the present, feel that they must paint a haystack or a haymaking scene just like so many of them feel compelled to paint nudes at some time in their careers. I typed “hay in art” into Google, and up popped hundreds of hay paintings. Not to be undone by the absence of stacks in modern agriculture, today’s artists are filling their canvases with hay bales including those big round ones wrapped in plastic.

I like to think there is more going on here than just an arty thing. The essence of farming comes down to feeding plants and animals so that they can feed us. Grazing pastures is the most sustainable way for animals to eat and plants to keep growing, as the Great Plains buffalo proved. But in northern climates, that means some of the surplus summer pasture needs to be cut for hay for over winter. This was the most practical way to insure a steady food supply back before farmers went crazy and decided to feed the world with corn and soybeans. People in Monet’s day saw much more than just the beauty of a haystack when they looked at one. They saw survival. As long as haystacks dotted the horizon every fall, society knew that it would survive until the next growing season. I wonder if even today, people look at those hay bales dotting a field and instinctively realize the same thing.

For those of you interested in making your own Monet haystacks, (it’s a very low cost way to make and store hay on a small scale) here’s what I’ve learned since I wrote about this subject last year. I quit mowing with the cutter bar (actually my cutter bar mower quit on me) and now cut hay with a rotary mower. The hay is mostly red clover or improved varieties of white clover like Alice. The rotary chops the hay up finer than I would like, or so I thought at first, but it dries faster, preserving the nutrient quality better. I can put it in the stack towards evening of the day after cutting and windrowing it. It dries faster also because I maintain only light stands of clover rather than heavy rank ones. The resulting high quality hay is, oddly enough, also easier to sculpt into a stack than long-stemmed cutter bar hay, especially hay with a lot of long, over-mature grass in it. Long grasses are too slippery to stack well. I actually would not have to use the woven wire base anymore. I can rank up this hay into a vertical wall, at least around the bottom of the stack. The trick is to always stack up the outside first and fill in behind it as you go up. Since medieval farmers did not have mechanical mowers, but harvested hay by the sickle or scythe handful and the rake-full, would that not be why they could form up such beautiful symmetrical stacks?

That suggests an even more awesome philosophical idea: what if hay that is more easily sculpted into a work of art indicates hay that is of higher quality in nutrients too? Could that be more than just an accident of happenstance? Perhaps in the most profound sense, art imitates nature and form forever follows function.
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Images: Monet Haystacks Midday; Logsdon Haystack Midday
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See also Gene’s…

Cheapskate Haystacks For Contrary Garden Farmers

An Offbeat Way To Make Good Hay
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