Sophia Garden Awakes and Spring Pea and Tarragon Soup Cocktail

I plunge my hands into my pockets and shiver as I stand at the periphery of a large, fallow vegetable patch at Sophia Garden. It has been a chilly, wet morning and there is only a smattering of volunteers milling about. The organic garden has been slumbering for many months but will shortly stir again, yielding some 35 different kinds of vegetables.

Long ago a poet wrote, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.” At this moment in time, the garden is serenely quiet, but still ripe with potential.

Cat Lavallee is the new farmer at Sophia Garden. She is 27-years-old and has come from Rhode Island where she worked for two years as an intern at Rabbit’s Dance Farm in Cumberland, RI and Grateful Farm in Franklin, MA. This is her first time as head grower on a farm. She is a petite woman, bundled in layers of work clothes to protect against the cold. Bright, expressive eyes peak out from under the rim of her thick dark cap.

I wonder how a farmer interprets the garden. Since the purpose is to grow food for cooking, does the farmer think more about the plant, or the food? What does the farmer do to influence the flavor of the vegetables we ultimately eat?

“When you pick it is very important,” says Cat, “picking it when it’s just right. We basically pick the vegetable the day we’re giving it out, so it’s at peak taste.”

This is pea staking day. There are ten pea beds at Sophia Garden. Peas are a shallow-rooted plant and thrive in cool weather. The plants will vine up tall stakes, and be ready for picking in about one-to-two months. As the summer progresses, heat-loving vegetables, like eggplant and peppers will dominate the garden.

In all, there are actually three-to-four mini-seasons that will occur over the duration of the 2009 growing season at Sophia Garden.

“You’re always planting and always harvesting,” says Cat as she heads off to supervise the pea staking. “It’s ongoing. It’s kind of like life.”

As we anticipate the first harvest of spring peas, here’s a taste of what’s to come. Simple preparation and just a few ingredients bring out the fresh, lively taste of spring peas in this soup starter course. Serve in cocktail glasses to highlight the vibrant green color.

Spring Pea and Tarragon Soup Cocktail (Yield: 6 Servings)

2 T butter
1 shallot minced
2 cups chicken stock
1 cup water
2 cups fresh peas
1 T chopped tarragon
Juice of ½ lemon
Salt and white pepper to taste
2-3 T heavy cream

Melt the butter over medium-high heat. Cook the shallot until softened.

Add chicken stock and water and bring to boil Add peas and reduce heat. Let simmer no more than 5 minutes. Peas should be crisp-tender. Add chopped tarragon and lemon juice and puree in blender.

Return soup to pot and add salt and pepper to taste. Blend in cream. Let soup cool slightly, or serve chilled. This allows the flavor of the peas and herbs to emerge.

UPDATE: Read more about the daily rythmns of Sophia Garden at the "Chez Aurora" blog.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Twilight at Sophia Garden: The CSA Experiment Concludes

The crescent moon looks like a sliver of fingernail – thumbs down – against the blackened sky as I approach Sophia Garden on foot. It is a cool night. The volunteers are huddled under the canopy and a propane lantern casts a beacon of light across the remaining bins of vegetables.

It is my last pickup at Sophia Garden, the heavenly organic farm run by a group of Dominican Sisters on suburban Long Island. I joined on an impulse, and now the growing season is over and the summer has turned to autumn. The fields are plowed under and little evidence remains of the plants, stakes and vines once bursting with vegetables. It has been my first experience with Community Sponsored Agriculture. I feel a sense of accomplishment, but a tinge of sadness that it is over. And, my wallet is feeling just slightly pinched at the thought of having to return to supermarket prices, just as the economy is experiencing a meltdown.

The yield is far smaller now. Three carrots, two eggplants, a butternut squash and just a half pound of still ripening tomatoes. Gone are the days of nine pounds of tomatoes, bushels of burgundy beans and bundles of crisp lettuce. Still, I will likely make good use of this produce, generating close to two weeks of meals.

I learned a great deal through this CSA experiment. I approached my meals differently, learning to cook according to the yield of the garden instead of some spontaneous food craving. Usually, I made great use of the pickup, preparing enough good food to carry me through lunch and dinner for nearly two weeks. On those weeks when some of the produce went to waste, I felt badly, and tried a little harder the following week. I cooked in quantity on Sunday and Monday, although I can still improve how I organize my freezer. I also became more thoughtful about where my food comes from.

I learned that I love chard and one can eat greens as a main course. I’d always been afraid to try it, and now I’m pining for its sweet, tender flavor. I learned that pasta, rice and couscous can help extend a meal for days. And I discovered that even three small carrots can lead to a surprisingly good meal when transformed into an exotic Moroccan Carrot Salad. I also took the opportunity to purchase more vegetarian cookbooks than one guy should really own.

The rainbow-colored heirloom tomatoes were glorious. I ate them in salads and soups, and used gold and red jewels to adorn the tart pictured above. I even mastered the art of preserving some for later, thanks to Lydia’s recipe for oven roasted tomatoes and some guidance via email on a Saturday night.

The pounds and pounds of potatoes have made their way into frittatas and Spanish Tortillas:

The luminous purple, white and green eggplants became Ratatouille:

In the end, the garden only gave me two butternut squash, but it was the base for a silky autumnal soup with apples, leeks and cider:

Acorn squash goes all fancy when roasted with pure maple syrup and butter:

And, there are even still more potatoes to prepare, this time in a lovely golden potato leek soup:

With all these vegetables, thoughts eventually turn to dessert, and even there, veggies are victorious in nutty and dense whole wheat zucchini bread:

Finally, I must report that I did actually make it to all of my scheduled volunteer work shifts, although at times my attendance seemed precarious. On one occasion, I was introduced to a talkative 8-year-old boy named Elijah who told me his life story and peppered me with questions about mine for three hours as we pulled weeds from between the string bean plants. I also sustained quite a few mosquito bites along the way. On my final shift, I actually found myself alone in the shed with only my thoughts, sorting cherry tomatoes and watching as a burnished, golden haze enveloped the garden. Eventually, it was too chilly and too dark to see what I was doing and it was time to conclude. There were times when I didn’t want to report for duty, but I was usually glad I did, especially when I would complete a task. The garden needs continual care, but at times the weeds seemed daunting. But there was some sense of satisfaction leaving a vegetable plot more orderly and tidy than it was found. Dare I say that Sophia Garden may, in fact, be a metaphor for life?

Happy Winter to the blessed organic sisters of Sophia Garden! I’ve already signed up for next season!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Organic Nerd

I’m geeking out over this week’s harvest from Sophia Garden. There are mini green peppers, more pickling cucumbers, yellow summer squash, beets, burgundy beans, kale, slicing cucumbers, piles of blushing red fingerling potatoes, basil and cilantro and – drum roll please – the first heirloom tomatoes are in!!!

What to do with all this summer bounty? Start slicing, dicing, and boiling!

Dinner consists of a salad of yellow and red heirloom tomatoes sprinkled with crumbled goat cheese and fresh basil that tastes like licorice perfume.

Those red fingerling potatoes are scrubbed cleaned and boiled. Dressed with diced green pepper, cilantro and Dijon vinaigrette, they are transformed into a savory summer potato salad.

Diminutive cherry tomatoes in dazzling red, gold and orange - and sweet like sugar candy - are tossed with minced green pepper and whole wheat orzo for a fresh pasta salad.

You want to hear my geekiest move of all? I’m heading off on a trip to the West coast for a few days. There is so much food, and I can’t bear the thought of leaving my creations in the refrigerator. So, I pack a lunch of orzo salad and potato salad for the plane. Let’s face it. The food on airplanes is dismal, but these organic vegetables have me soaring!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Thank God for Organic Vegetables

I am a true believer. Organic vegetables from the community garden are a blessing.

Amen!

It’s even better when the organic garden is run by a group of Dominican nuns. Maybe I’ll get extra credit in heaven for doing something good for the Earth.

That looked doubtful a few weeks ago, as I’d systematically avoided every available opportunity to do my required 15 hours of work in the garden as part of my share. My afterlife was beginning to look like Lettuce & Lovage & Fire & Brimstone.

You will no doubt rejoice to learn that I’ve averted hellfire and actually completed my first shift harvesting green and burgundy beans. It was hot as blazes, so maybe I just think I’m on my way to heaven, and refuse to accept the inevitable. But it was fun to meet a couple of fellow gardeners and spend a few hours picking vegetables and really sweating for a change. I’m not trying to claim an epiphany or anything, but there is something fundamentally simple, healthy and good about harvesting food and cooking it with your own hands.

It’s a little like Christmas in July each time I make a pick up at Sophia Garden. There’s always something new, and the color, texture and variety is a welcomed challenge to my culinary creativity.

Ten heads of garlic – fresh, tender and sweet – are now the seasoning of choice:

Burgundy beans turn green when steamed, but offer a festive contrast in a salad with cherry tomatoes:

A single head of cabbage becomes a tart, sweet-and-sour soup, worth several days of meals:

And, brilliant yellow summer squash and just-picked onions are sautéed with garlic for a fluffy frittata:

It’s just like manna from heaven. I can’t wait to see what the Garden of Eden offers up next!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

First Visit to Sophia Garden and Spinning with Salads

The summer sun beats down on my neck as I walk across the field towards the pickup area for newly harvested vegetables at Sophia Garden. There is a tented area to shade the vegetables and two volunteers are nearby to give direction.

I ask how the system works, mentioning that my parents picked up my share the first time. “You’re that guy?” asked a volunteer.

I do a double take. Is she talking to me?

She continues. “Your father said YOU should have been here picking up the vegetables last time. He said it was YOUR job.”

She then signals to another volunteer. “Chris, this is the guy whose parents picked up his vegetables last time.”

It’s like someone is shining a spotlight on me. I’m already overly sensitive, since I haven’t logged a single hour of volunteer time at the garden, and the summer seems like it’s slipping away. I’ve never been publicly ridiculed by a volunteer at an organic garden, and somehow I suspect this may be my outspoken father’s method for getting me to nominate someone else to stand in for me the next time I am unable to make a pickup.

I choose, instead to focus on my vegetables, and while I had hoped for some new options in this week’s harvest, I see that the bumper crop of lettuce continues. There’s quite a bit of butter lettuce and red and green romaine and more snap peas and shell peas. There’s also a head of bok choy, which I’ve never cooked, a stalk called tat choy and even two small but perfectly shaped beets. You take what you get in community agriculture.

I take a quick stroll through the garden, enticed by what is to come. It’s still early in the season, but there looks like there will be more beets, more lettuce, and tomatoes on the way. As I’m leaving I pass the tool shed where the sign up sheet for volunteer work hours is hanging. I pause, and then continue on my merry way, narrowly avoiding the bolt of lightening from heaven that I’m sure has just crashed down behind me. As you may recall, Sophia Garden is the community mission of a group of Dominican nuns, so while I’m doing something good for the Earth with my support, I am slightly concerned about the theological implications of my neglect of duties.

Back home, I wash some of the produce and begin to plan my menus based on the yield. I can still feel the summer heat emanating off the new produce as I place it in the vegetable crisper. It looks like it will be another week of spinning salads, but there are some interesting new twists. As the days progress, I will serve up a composed salad on a bed of butter lettuce with chicken and pickled asparagus from rick’s picks, garnished with the yellow flowers from the tat choy, that taste like broccoli:

I will get snappy with snap peas, including a snap pea saffron risotto, and a salad of snap peas, yellow zucchini and whole wheat orzo:

I will read up on bok choy and finally settle on Mark Bittman’s preparation of Bok Choy, Mediterranean Style, where the greens are sautéed with olive oil, capers and brine-cured olives.

And, when I’m completely bereft of ideas, I will pile the leftovers on a massive platter of romaine lettuce:

Wake me from my salad stupor when the zucchini crop comes in!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

How Green is My Kitchen – The Organic Community Garden

It’s not easy being green, but I’ve noted a touch of chlorophyll pulsing through my veins as of late. Determined to eat locally – to the best of my abilities – I’ve shunned produce from Chile, worshipped at the compost bin of Barbara Kingsolver and become an apostle of Michael Pollan. I even purchase Martha Stewart’s “Good Things for a Healthy Home.”

Yet practical solutions are far more challenging than embracing rhetoric. The produce demographic of the typical Long Island grocery store resembles a well-traveled TripTik from The American Automobile Association and it’s often wilted or even rotten, as well.

So, as is often the case, I go online for options and quickly find myself at LocalHarvest, a bountiful web resource for everything from farmers markets to organic produce. I type in my zip code and…it is as if the Red Sea has parted.

It must be divine intervention. Who would have imagined that among the strip malls and gridlock of suburban Long Island one could find an organic community garden? It is like manna from heaven, and just to push the celestial analogies to the limit, check this out – it’s run by an order of Dominican nuns.

Welcome to Sophia Garden, a little organic patch of God’s country in Amityville, Long Island and a mission of the Sisters of St. Dominic who have lived on the land and often farmed it since 1875. I rejoice to see that memberships are still available.

The next day I dial up and secure a share. For a very small price and a commitment to work 15 hours during the season in the garden, I will get 10 to 15 pounds of vegetables every two weeks. It sounds so easy, and the community involvement will be fun. I note the first Saturday garden work day on my calendar and plan to attend.

Almost immediately, my failings as a localvore become painfully obvious. I arrive home horribly late from a business trip and sleep through the first work day. For an entire week after, I live in fear of being disciplined by the nuns for cutting class. I am wracked with guilt, which is easy when the clergy is involved.

Then, I read the fine print more carefully and discover that the Saturday work days don’t even count towards my 15 hour quota. That means I’m going to have to take a few days off to meet my work commitment. I commiserate with a working mom colleague who is intrigued by such activities but bemoans the lack of time in her schedule. “Can’t I get my housekeeper to cover my commitment?” she wonders.

As the growing season moves on, I’ve not managed to log a single hour of weeding in the garden and conclude that I am guilty of the sin of organic omission.

Finally, I receive notification that my first pickup of produce is scheduled for mid-June. I plan carefully so I can be there to commune with the farmland…and another business trip comes up. So, I must impose on my parents to make the first pickup and deposit the harvest in my crisper while I am away.

My localvore experiment is already fractured and my parents are cutting into their gasoline budget to pick up my organic vegetables. During high school, they chauffeured me, and now they’re chauffeuring my vegetables.

Several thoughts begin to germinate. First, I offer my parents a cut of the initial harvest (no sense wracking up more guilt). I decide not to go to the grocery store, since my refrigerator will be overflowing with produce. Then, I recall that – according to Barbara Kingsolver – in the cool, early spring and start of summer, it is the season of tender leaves and shoots. On the airplane to the West Coast (not helping my carbon footprint, either) I obsess over whether I’ll be eating lettuce at every meal. How will I creatively prepare, eat and store the yield? I’ve got to make sure I plan my meals carefully so ten pounds of veggies don’t go rotten on me. Where is Clarence Birdseye when you need him?

I arrive home from San Francisco at 2:00 in the morning and head straight to the crisper. As anticipated, the yield is mostly salad greens. Peter Rabbit would have a field day. Do you know what 10 pounds of lettuce looks like? Mom can’t even fit it all in the crisper. But, it is divine! It is the wee hours of the morning, I am examining glorious produce, and my fingers are covered with dirt and grit. I could almost sing the “Ode to Joy!” It's like a little revival meeting right there in my kitchen.

I still have to do my penance – 15 hours of hard labor in the Garden of Eden – and I’ve already got a conflict with the next upcoming workday. I’ll have to let my conscience sort that all out. In the meantime, I must decide how to prepared my share of the first harvest – my bags of “vegetable love.” As always, Mom is detail-oriented and leaves me a thorough written inventory:

Red romaine lettuce
Green romaine lettuce
Butter lettuce
Garlic snaps
Haiku turnips
Mixed radishes
Snap peas
Sugar peas
Mixed field greens
A handful of mesclun greens

The next night, I get to work planning my plant-focused menu for the week. Thank goodness I didn’t let my Professional Declutterer dispose of the salad spinner during Spring Cleaning. Soon, my head will be spinning from excessive use of the salad spinner.

Among the menu items I’ve created are a Chicken Caesar Salad with leafy red and green romaine lettuce and homemade croutons:

A “composed salad” atop peppery, bitter field greens with sweet, tender radishes, raw slices of Haiku turnips, organic hard-cooked eggs and organic chick peas:

A salad of sliced apples, Roquefort cheese and homemade candied walnuts drizzled with aged balsamic vinegar:

Meantime, I’ve been working on getting my terms straight. It took me too long to figure out that CSA wasn’t a public accounting accreditation. I’ve also learned that Alice Waters’ “The Art of Simple Food” is my friend. The Queen of Romaine Hearts knows her lettuce, and I now know the appropriate ratio of vinegar to oil (1:4) for preparation of the perfect vinaigrette. I also spend a lot of time rinsing produce. My kitchen sink has rings of dirt in it, but that’s a very good thing.

Okay, if you want to be a purist, I know I’m not a complete localvore. Who knows where the chicken and anchovies came from for the Caesar salad, right? And, I still have to visit Sophia Garden and get my hands dirty to make it all real in my mind. But, tonight I took my big bowl of salad outside with a glass of Chardonnay from a New York state vineyard and ate dinner at twilight to celebrate the Summer Solstice. The lettuce is piled a mile high in suburban Long Island and I am loving it!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

How Green is My Kitchen – Bothering More

How green is my kitchen? Well, technically, the answer would be “not very.” It’s “Chestertown Buff” a handsome shade of gold, available through the Benjamin Moore Paints Historical Color Collection.

But green is no longer a just a palette choice, but a philosophy as the more enlightened of you well know.

I’m not big on jumping on bandwagons, but Michael Pollan’s piece “Why Bother?” in the April 20th edition of the New York Times Sunday Magazine, gave me pause. Pollan discusses the personal impact we can each have on climate change, and made me consider the fact that my kitchen and some of my behaviors were probably more wasteful than I care to admit.

Pollan eloquently cuts through the verbal clutter of issues around carbon footprints and food miles and makes a strong case that the climate-change crisis is actually “a crisis of lifestyle – of character, even.” Pollan writes, “The Big Problem is nothing more or less than the sum total of countless little everyday choices, most of them made by us (consumer spending represents 70 percent of our economy), and most of the rest of them made in the name of our needs and desires and preferences.”

OK. I get it. I need to change and only I can make it happen. But, where does one start, especially on suburban Long Island, where the grid marks of consumption and mall traffic were firmly established after World War II? I’d love to plant a garden, but I’d never be able to care for it, and the nearest farm stand is about 75 miles away.

But, “home grown” and “sustainable” can be achieved in lots of different ways. “Culinary Types” do have the skills to prepare fresh and exceedingly edible food that is less dependent on highly-processed and excessively-packaged ingredients. So, I’ve resolved to find small solutions that as Pollan writes, may “actually beget other solutions, and not only the kinds that save carbon.” I recently revived the neglected and hibernating bread machine on my kitchen counter, and I realized that for the time it takes to drive to the supermarket, I could actually bake my weekly loaf of bread instead of buying it. It is a small investment of time to measure some simple ingredients and I produce a glorious loaf of nutritious and nutty whole wheat bread, flavored with molasses. The very thought of homemade bread in the pantry is a tantalizing reason to get out of bed, and I can’t wait to indulge in another crusty slice each morning with breakfast. It’s a positive contribution to the environment, and it might also be good for the soul.

For me, the change in behavior becomes even more focused if the results are tangible. Trying to calculate the cost savings of home baked bread is a little like contemplating the miracle of the loaves and fishes. I’m not an arithmetic genius, but some simple math does tell a compelling story. One loaf of commercially-packaged whole wheat bread costs $3.89 which, if I buy one loaf a week, adds up to $202.28 per year. By comparison, a 5-pound bag of organic whole wheat flour costs $4.99 and a five-pound bag of unbleached bread flour costs $3.95, a total of $8.94. If I purchase commercial bread for three weeks, it costs $11.67. So, the cost of the raw ingredients for multiple loaves of homemade bread is already less than the price of just three loaves of commercially-packaged bread. More important, as an eco-friendly colleague of mine pointed out, I will eliminate 52 inner plastic wraps, 52 outer plastic bags and 52 plastic fasteners from the waste stream. Given the uncertainty of the stock market, these are pretty good dividends.

However, there is more that can be done. What are your small culinary solutions? I’d love to know. And, check back in the weeks ahead as I begin to redecorate T.W. Barritt’s kitchen in shades of green.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved