Spring Warren's Blog, page 10

Third cutting broccoli frittata

I love the tiny and tinier heads of broccoli that form after the main stalk of broccoli has been cut.  These little guys, while looking like full sized heads of broccoli are actually no bigger than my pinkie.  I cut enough from my plants to fill a collander…

…steamed them slightly and put them in an oiled skillet.  I beat six eggs, added some cheese (it varies wildly but tonight I used a cup of fresh ricotta – a delicious by-product of making cheese with Sacha and Michelle – and some parings of a truffle infused cheese, sotto cenere).  I threw in some salt, some chopped herbs (sage, rosemary, and thyme) then poured it over the broccoli.

I believe in LOTS of greens, and just enough egg and cheese to glue the greens together in my frittatas, so at first it seems like the relatively little bit of egg is NOT EVER going to cover the broccoli. But to make this work you must believe it will and keep patting the broccoli down, stirring a little, patting, stirring, patting, until the broccoli is indeed covered with the egg mixture.

A minute on a medium burner to set the bottom of the frittata, then a few minutes under the broiler set on low and it is done.  This quick finish is one of the pluses of using relatively little egg compared to greens.

The truffle and herbs were so subtle yet so good in the frittata, and the ricotta made it exceptionally moist.  Those home-grown hen eggs weren't bad either.  The girls are laying again now that the days are a bit longer.  At a production level approaching 3 eggs a day, I  predict more frittatas in the future.

Hypsipyle – injured again.

If Hypsipyle was a kid, I'm sure Child Protective Services would be investigating us.  If Hypsipyle was a kid, she'd be the kid who continually stuck her head through the balustrades on the staircase, then, after the firemen had freed her, went on and stuck her head through the gaps in the gate, and then into the space under the stairway…and got stuck again and again.

And she panics.

Somehow she injured her wing (again) this week.  One minute she was fine, and the next – there she was trembling with blood dripping down her side.   I was just about to go to work, but I set down my bag and commenced my day long watch of the clumsy goose.

It was the tip of her wing that was bleeding.  But why?  I searched the yard and finally found 2 small drops of blood on the gate and scratches.  She must have somehow got her wing trapped (perhaps in between the two sides of the swinging gate?) then, terrified, scratched the heck out of the gate trying to make it let go of her wing, which it finally did, but not without breaking the tender end of the feathers and wing.

She eventually stopped both bleeding and trembling.  I got a lot of farmwork done as I hung around home to make sure Hypsipyle's bleeding stopped and that she didn't go into shock or something terrible like that.  I managed to re-set the pavers that had been uprooted due to the sewer fiasco, pull all the rest of the dead tomatoes and eggplants, weed, cut the spent cannas, and move some raised beds.  I also spent no little time just sitting with the giant gosling, who seemed to want to tell me all about it – and who enjoyed the treats she got, including fresh mandarin oranges.  I'm sure goose protective services would approve.

Here it is – Ciambella, the recipe!

I had Ciambella in Rome, but the one I had there was at the street festival at the Piazza and it was Ciambella the way that the cheese you get at the fair (skewered, battered, and deep fried) is an example of cheddar.  The Piazza ciambella was really a giant doughnut.  It was delcious, and hot on a cold, cold night, but there is another version of ciambella, closer to biscotti than doughnut, and it is even better.

I got the recipe out of Marcella Hazan's Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. And then I made a few changes that I will put in italics.

Ingredients

8T melted butter
4 C bleached flour
3/4 C granulated sugar
3.5 t baking powder
Peel of one lemon grated without digging into the pith underneath   **I added a full cup of lemon zest which is more like 2 grated lemons
1/4 c lukewarm milk **in addition I added half a lemon's worth of juice to sour the milk and react to the baking powder
2 eggs

Preheat oven to 375.

I am going to simplify the method here, but do check out the original recipe for more exhaustive instructions.

I put all the dry ingredients into the mixer, mixed.

I added the rest of the ingredients (holding back a bit of egg yolk to brush atop the ciambella), then thoroughly mixed.

I kneaded the dough for a few minutes, shaped it into a two inch thick sausage, formed a ring with it, and brushed the top with the egg yolk that I saved (and added a bit of water to).

Bake (I lined my cookie sheet with parchment paper) on a cookie sheet for 35 minutes (mine took closer to 45).  Let cool, and if you can stand to wait a day, wait because it is (supposedly) better the second day. I wouldn't know.

Even with all the extra zest I put in, the ciambella is just barely lemony, and soo good.  I put extra zest in because the yellowy orange Meyer lemons I have a tree full of are so beautiful, and taste so fresh.

And speaking of beautiful, fresh lemons, of which I have a tree full of – Limoncino is my next foray into the nexus of Italian cookery – and lemons!

Sweet Misery

One of the best things about having published a book is that I am given the opportunity to do things like judge book contests.  I have judged first novel competitions, children's book compilations, short novels, and mass market paperbacks.  I find it wonderful to get books in the mail, to think about the people who wrote the book, who feel good about having accomplished getting all those words into order to tell a story that pleases them.  Sometimes the books are self published, sometimes a book is published by a large press, but always I feel happy for the authors who have "birthed their baby".   It is sweet.

The first time I judged a first novel contest I vowed to write a note to each and every author telling them something I like about their writing.  A vow I broke.  Which brings me to the misery segment of this blog.

Jeez, Louise, that's allotta books. This year especially it seems the pile of tomes just keeps growing and growing and growing.  (I just got a box of a dozen different titles from one publisher that I haven't yet added to the pictured pile.)   The first novels I mentioned were so numerous I couldn't write to all those authors.  I certainly won't be able to contact the authors of all these books, either.  What I can do, however, is believe that each book I crack open could be my favorite, and give it that focussed attention.

Suffice to say is it is a good thing I am a fast (yet thorough) reader, and I hope my poor eyes can handle the strain.  But most of all I'd like to shout to all you writers out there, Good Job!  I am so proud of you!

The Olives…are down

But what few olives I managed to save are now weeping (with joy, I'm sure) beads of bitterness into the salt they are imbedded in.  I "make" olives every year, which means my tree makes olives, some years more, some years less, and I pick them and layer them in swaths of sea salt within a bag (this year I'm using a cloth grocery bag) that I can roll around and make sure the salt is in contact with the olives at all times.

Oh, these olives are good.  But what a disappointment when there is a sudden, violent rain storm and most of my olives take a dive.

Since we've been back from our vacation we've been hit by the worst of luck.  The key breaking off in the car ignition, the lost keys, the sewer back-up and repair, the dryer deciding to it is really just a tumbler, the printer not working, the bikes stuck…it starts to feel like we are being punished.  But running along the bike path lined with olive trees I see thousands of olives on the ground there as well.

For some perverse reason this makes me feel better.  It wasn't my olive tree joining in the fray to persecute me.  It was just weather, and it hit everyone. I guess misery does love company, though I might feel differently when I have to pay big bucks for olive oil.

When I edit, I think of pruning. When I prune, I think of editing.

I did a lot of pruning yesterday.  This monster shrub was about the size of a full grown elephant seal, and looked about as likely to flower.  It was time to take charge.  As I was sawing, snipping, and snapping, I thought about how much the process of pruning was like the process of editing.  Not a new thought for me, as I often think of how like pruning editing is for me.  How is this?  you ask.

How pruning/editing is like editing/pruning – (Please feel free to switch the words edit and prune, as well as tree and manuscript at will)

1. The more you prune (edit), the easier it is to see the structure of the tree (manuscript).

2. Because of this, it is the first cuts that are the most difficult.

3. The more one prunes, the easier and the better a pruner one is.

4. You will save time making big cuts.  Editing all the little branches (adverbs, etc.) then seeing that it is really the large branch (chapter) that has no business being there is frustrating, but sometimes necessary.

5. You are afraid you're going to mortally wound your tree (book) at every turn.  But even if you make a few poorly chosen cuts, the tree will grow back, you can always write more.

6.  A manuscript that allows air and thought to move through its narrative (branches) is not only more beautiful, but more productive and healthier than a tome heavy with dead words, unnecessary description and weak crotches (segue).

Finally – 7. Ultimately, it feels great to not only look at the pared down finished product, but also to view the huge pile of dead chaff you've removed from your baby…and know that all that growth (writing) was not wasted.  It will break down, compost, and provide new growth (ideas).  Happy writing!

OW! My farm, my farm!

Oh, my pretty farm.  Once it was neat, verdant, not requiring feats of acrobatic skill to walk across its peaceful pathways.  But that was before we had a little…let's say, bathroom event.  First it seemed a mere inconvenience and just a small bag of money would be the cost.  Then after digging up the clean-out (two feet below the surface and capped with concrete) it was discovered that there were further problems…another 2 feet deep and eight feet long worth of problems.  Then, that distance dug, add another fourteen feet (Louis dug 20 feet in a fete of super professor strength) then ten more feet, through two tree's root masses and all California clay.  Are you exhausted yet, feeling broke?  We are.

The reason for our problems?  Pipe that is basically made of cardboard and asphalt that was widely used in the 40′s and 50′s.  Soft, squishy, can be breached by inquisitive, thirsty (eeeuuuhhh!) plant roots.

Hypsipyle, social butterfly that she is, loved all the commotion.  The plumber on the first day rather insulted her by noticing we had one goose, but asked what the white fluffy thing was.  (hahaha!)

But by the week's end he and the Hypster were pals.  Our plumber walked into the backyard this morning and said, "Hi guys!" as the geese, duck, chickens all made some noise for him.

O

Okay, Jeannette – the- timid, wasn't so pleased with Dave.  He might be nice, but he had some noisy tools.  She kept her distance.

If you're in Davis and need a good plumber, give me a call and I'll get you the number.  Tell him Hypsipyle, the fluffy one, sent you.