What do you do with

1200 garlic scapes?

Make garlic scape pesto!

Here's what you need:

One pound garlic scapes, chopped

1/3 - 1/2 cup chopped and toasted almonds

1/3 cup fresh basil

3/4 - 1 cup grated parmesan

(use the good stuff here, none of this pre-grated grocery store stuff)

3/4 - 1 cup extra virgin olive oil

Put everything except the olive oil in a bowl of a food processor and pulse to a fine uniform consistency. With the motor running slowly drizzle in the olive oil until you reach the desired consistency. Makes about 3 cups. Serve over pasta, boiled potatoes, mixed into scrambled eggs or just dip some good crusty bread into it and slurp it up. Yum!

Next up: pickled garlic scapes.

I read that garlic should be planted under the light of the last full moon in the month of October. And the planter should be naked.

Two years and 2500 bulbs of garlic later I think this theory holds water like the old tarp stretched over our woodpile - not very well. We haven't planted under moon light and definitely not while naked (though perhaps this might scare away the rabbbits?) but the locals acknowledge this is good stuff. Take the following story, for example.

A knock at the door. I go to answer. An older man in jeans and plaid flannel stands before me, hat tilted back on his head and a stand of white hair shooting out from under the brim. I look twice to confirm that a piece of straw isn't dangling from his lower lip. He's stepped straight from the set of Green Acres.

He shuffles from one foot to the other, a slow barn dance of a move to some unheard music.

"Yes?" I ask.

Shuffle, slide, shuffle. "Bought some garlic last week," says Plaid.

"Oh," I say, waiting.

"I said, I bought some garlic," he says again, this time shouting.

Ah, this gentleman is hard of hearing. I nod my head vigorously to show my understanding. "Yes," I say loudly. "That's good."

Plaid snorts like a horse on a cold morning. "It was," he says, grudgingly, nodding slowly. "Damn rights." He eyes me, the pen I hold in my uncallused hands, the yoga pants and hoodie that I'm wearing. "Know how to tell it's any good?" he asks.

I shake my head. Plaid leans in. Winks. He's in his element; he's going to tell this obvious non-farmer standing in front of him something about farming. Some bit of knowledge that he's winnowed from the fields over the years. Something more valuable than you can learn from books and paper and pens.

"People take a step back when I talk to them. Then I know it's the good stuff." He nods once, firmly. Stands up to his full height again and hitches up his jeans, thumbs through his belt loops. "Thought I'd get some more."

Turns out Plaid eats a head of garlic each week. Prefers it raw, cloves snapped from the bulb and popped straight into his mouth, skins and all. No time wasted with mincing or pressing, sauteing or roasting. Nope. A minimum of one raw clove per day straight into his mouth. Keeps back the riffraff. And hasn't had garlic like ours in years.

I'm not sure how old he is but with his garlic consumption I'm sure he'll still be around next year. Note to self: next harvest, set aside five pounds of garlic for Plaid.

Part two - Pass the bread please

I stand corrected. 

In my previous entry on rye bread, I mentioned a bakery located at 57th and Fraser in Vancouver. A reliable source informed me that said baker is called Breka Bakery and is actually located at 49th and Fraser. So, if you've been wandering around the lower regions of Fraser Street, drooling over the thought of a good loaf of rye, head north young man. You'll find what you seek.

Another bread discovery worth checking out if you're in Victoria, BC: Wildfire Bakery at 1517 Quadra. Unfortunately, the owner of Wildfire must be even more of a Luddite than I am, as they don't have a website. But trust me, if you need a good, dense, chewy loaf and you don't want to drive to Cowichan Bay, Wildfire is the place to go.

Dear Loyal Fan Base,

Yes, all two of you.

In the last few months, you might have been wondering what has happened to the City Girl Who Went Farming.

Did I get lost in a snow drift?

Apparently not. The thaw came and went and still no sign of me.

Did I fall under the wheels of a tractor?

Nope, haven't had a tractor around here since the Fall.

Did I go on a road trip to buy rye bread and decide to take up residence at True Grains?

I believe their front room still contains tables and chairs for their patrons, but no bed or closets for personal effects, so that can't be it.

Nope, this City Girl Who Went Farming became the City Girl Who Left The Farm For a JOB. 

Unfortunately, we are not independently wealthy and, as the best and most experienced farmers will tell you, farming is not a get rich quick scheme. We were faced with cash flow issues. That is, the cash was flowing a little too quickly and all in one direction. And so, I find myself pulling my old office clothes out of the back of my closet, shaking off the dust and heading out everyday to sit in front of a computer and attend meetings.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, Mike is in charge of getting the farm project up and running while keeping two small boys from doing too much damage to themselves in their effort to "help out."

And how is he doing? We're making progress; perhaps more slowly than we'd like, but we are seeing changes. Check in again soon for a photo update. In the meantime, enjoy some of the shadow art that we've been working on!

Pass the bread, please...

Here's the conversation:

"Pass the bread, please."

Bread basket is passed, the butter follows. Bread and butter meet. Bread enters mouth.

"This is really good rye bread. Where did you get it."

"Terra Breads."

"Hmm... it's good. Have you tried the rye bread from Cobs?"

"Yes, but they don't always make it. The Cobs on Broadway stopped making it altogether and the one on Fourth Avenue makes it only every third Tuesday when there also happens to be a quarter moon."

"Venice Bakery used to make really good rye bread, but it's not as good anymore. The rye bread from Costco is pretty good though."

"Costco? You're kidding, right?"

"No. It's surprisingly good."

"I've heard about a bakery on Fraser street, somewhere near 57th, that's supposed to make good rye bread, but I haven't tried it."

"I heard a rumour that there's a good one in Coquitlam at Burquitlam Plaza, but they only bake rye bread once a month and you have to order ahead.

***

Okay, maybe this conversation isn't quite accurate, but there's a standing joke in our house (started by my non-Finn husband) that no gathering for a meal of my Finnish family is complete without a discussion of rye bread and where to find the best loaf. I guess you can take the Finn out of Finland, but you can't take the rye bread out of the Finn.

Despite my being a born and raised Canadian, I can't quite shed my Finnish roots. I love many things Finnish: a good, hot sauna complete with a leap into an icy lake so cold that breathing momentarily stops, a slice of cardamom scented sweet bread still warm from the oven and, best of all, good rye bread.

Before we settled on Metchosin for our experiment in converting ourselves into organic farmers, we had been searching the Cowichan Valley for property. While we didn't find the land we were looking for, we did come across a fantastic source of rye bread: True Grain Bread. In this small bakery in Cowichan Bay, some of the finest bread that I've ever tasted is baked. And while many a loaf are excellent, the Ring 'o Rye is the best. But, they don't bake many of these beauties and they aren't open Mondays or Tuesdays, so if you want to sample it, get there early Wednesday to Sunday. And, while you're there, you might as well stay for lunch. Stop next door at Hilary's Cheese. You'll find some outstanding locally made cheese layered onto bread from True Grain, as well as the best soup I've tasted that hasn't come out of my own soup pot.

Recently I was in need of rye bread and we all needed a bit of an excursion after being snowed in for many a day, so we made the hour drive to Cow Bay. We weren't disappointed. A few bowls of soup and many loaves of bread later and all was well in the world again.

For your viewing pleasure, I offer you a look at a Ring 'o Rye and how it should be served. Now, doesn't that make you want to be a Finn?

winter has arrived

This afternoon, in my Kitsilano rubber boots, the ones with pink and green swirls on a black background, I went outside to heft a shovel over my shoulder and check that the drains outside our house were draining and the ditches outside our property were, well, ditching. I do own much more utilitarian boots - plain black rubber, solid footbed, thick sole - suited to serious garden and outdoor work. But today's objective didn't include serious work, simply a quick check to make sure we wouldn't soon be driving up our property value with the addition of an indoor swimming pool. 

Besides, I don't often get a chance to wear my Kits rubber boots these days so I was happy to get out in them. They were fine for walks to the beach on rainy days, but if I'm going to be a serious farmer, I must wear serious farm boots. Swirly pink and green fairly scream city newbie and I'm already worried that we leave a wake of people shaking their heads behind us. And so, my Kits boots usually venture only as far as our property line, and only when I'm alone and not contemplating any serious work that might put a scratch in the paint, so to speak.

Boots on, I headed out to survey the winter scene. And Old Man Winter has indeed come to Metchosin. Local media are reporting an accumulation of 41 cm of snow, more than is currently measured at the North Pole. Given the amount of snow, my first concern (after the issue of the  indoor swimming pool) was the safety of the locals. So, first stop was a quick check on one of them. He seemed happy enough, despite being up to his armpits in snow.

The next local I visited also seemed to be faring well, perhaps too well. Such a hardy critter will surely be unfazed by any attempts on our part to protect our newly-sprouting veggies come spring time. This is one well-fed looking long-ears. All I can say is that his lucky rabbit's feet are working for him. If we weren't a couple of vegetarians, his days would be numbered.

I continued to crunch along, breaking through the frozen crust of the snow. Even before I got to the ditches I could hear the water flowing. No need for the shovel over my shoulder. Since temperatures have risen in the last few days, the melt has started but, fortunately, water seems to be flowing in the right direction. 

A quick visit to the seasonal pond was next. It has been appropriately seasonal and filled up. I would never have imagined in summertime that this grassy expanse could possible form a pond. But, there it is, complete with an island in the middle. The ice on its surface is now reduced to a few slushy flows drifting in the current, but last week in the middle of this snowy period, it was a postcard scene waiting for the camera to arrive.

Environment Canada is predicting a warm, wet stretch over the next while. Does this mean that spring is soon to make an arrival and that we won't see any more of this?

Or this?

There's lots to be said for seeing the snow go. It's difficult to get around, the boys can't get out so easily (and it takes forever to get them ready to go out) and the cat gets cabin fever and starts chewing on us. 

In some ways, though, I'll miss the snow. The quiet that falls with the flakes and blankets us in its embrace. The shock of pressing a warm nose to a cold window pane and watching the snow disappear in a fog of breath. The snuggle of two small boys in flannel pajamas when they crawl into our bed on a dark morning and knowing that it's another day of hot chocolate and popcorn and games.

If Old Man Winter wants to stay a bit longer, that's okay. Besides, it would give me a chance to wear my Kitsilano boots again.

Brussels sprouts, the new "it" vegetable

Which would you rather do: 1) get your annual flu shot, or 2) consume a helping of brussels sprouts? If you're like most people - or, at least, most people I know - you'll choose option number one.

The poor brussels sprout has somehow earned a reputation as a vegetable of the lower order, well behind the socially-acceptable broccoli, the ubiquitous carrot, even the sometimes-marginalized cauliflower. But I aim to change the standing of the lowly brussels sprout.

Recently, in our quest to educate ourselves about the farming community of Metchosin, we made a visit to Bilston Creek Organics, a farm run Nao and Trevor Peterson. While we were admiring their green houses and discussing what grows well and what sells well, I couldn't help but notice a long row of brussels sprouts marching down the length of one of their fields. And so, being an enthusiastic sprout eater and never one to pass up the opportunity for a local, organic veg, I offer to take a couple of stalks off of their hands.

As I was loading the brussels sprouts into the back of the car, I realized that most people do not even know what a brussels sprout looks like in its natural state. Their only experience of them is in the produce section of the grocery store where they lie like a heap of Lilliputian-sized green cabbages being passed over in preference of the above named "acceptable" veggies.  For those of you scratching your heads and saying to yourselves "what do they look like in their natural state?" fear not - I will keep you from losing sleep over this one. Here, for your edification, is a pic of brussels sprouts in all their green glory.

Leaves on,

leaves off.

Those darling sprouts simply need to be removed from the stalk with a sharp knife, given a good rinsing, have a few outer leaves peeled off and Bob's your uncle - a delectable veggie treat awaits you.

Stop cringing. It is possible to make brussels sprouts absolutely delish. 

First off, please remember that brussels sprouts are not meant to be eaten with a straw. That means don't over cook them! They should stand up and fight back when you stab them with your fork. You could settle for simply steaming them, but here's a way that will bring even the most reluctant sprout eater to the table asking for more.

Take 25 or so brussels sprouts and give them a rinse. Remove outer leaves to reveal a perfectly glowing green globe of tender leaves tucked around each other. Give them a quick blanching in rapidly boiling water. The sprouts should be a vibrant green, calling to mind fresh spring growth. Quickly drain and plunge into ice water to stop the cooking process ( remember: no straws required). Finely mince a thumb-sized piece of ginger. Sauté the ginger in a bit of butter for 30 seconds or so, add in a tablespoon or two of brown sugar and the drained brussels sprouts. Squeeze the juice of half an orange into the pan. Keep stirring until the sprouts are heated through. Serve immediately. Keep a cricket bat handy to beat back the crowds. Yes, you must share but you want to make sure that you're rewarded for your effort with a sampling of this tasty treat.

May you embrace the beauty of the brussels sprout the way that I have and join me in my quest to elevate the standing of this woefully misunderstood veggie.