Musings

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about this project.  It's hard to describe the effect it's had on our lives, even only a month in.  Looking back over the pictures I've posted, it blows my mind how different and yet the same the food we've been eating is.  As adults, Joe and I have always been adventurous eaters -- people for whom food is an experience.  I know that sounds terribly snobby, but stick with me for a moment.

Back in, oh, 2005 or so, Joe and I had the pleasure of eating at a restaurant in Tyson's Corner called Maestro.  Maestro was headed by an ambitious young chef, Fabio Trabocchi, who did an Italian fusion cuisine that was considered some of the best in the Mid-Atlantic.  What I remember most about that meal weren't my veal cheeks, or the perfectly seared sushi-grade tuna amuse-bouche, but a fennel soup, served cold in a test tube, as a shooter.  I can still bring that sensation to mind, even now.  The soup was bright green, and in a heady sort of way it was the pure Platonic taste of spring.  The flavor shocked my tastebuds and the aftertaste left me desperately wanting to taste the soup again.  Thinking back, a larger serving would have been a terrible idea -- any more and I'd have gotten the malted milk ball effect (you know the one; you eat one malted milk ball and it's the BEST THING EVER, then you eat another and it's okay, and then you eat a third and you suddenly never want to taste that again until a couple years pass and the cycle repeats itself).  But in that moment it was sheer heaven.

I certainly can't claim to cook like that.  I'm not a chef, I'm a home cook and baker (and Joe's a better cook than I am (but I'm the better baker!)) who is tentatively stretching out her culinary reach by going back to basics.  We're rediscovering what it is to eat with the seasons, savoring each ingredient in its turn.  Now that the beets are done, I kind of miss them, and I'm going to revel in their return next spring.  The Tomato Apocalypse is about to strike in our backyard, and I'm going to gorge myself in our fresh tomatoes, and re-explore a childhood skill, canning, to preserve what I am able to for this winter.  I'm making some serious plans for next year's garden because I've learned so much from my planting mistakes this year.

We're looking at our fridge and pantry as the source of our food instead of using recipes in cookbooks as our inspiration.  The question has gone from "what are we having for dinner tonight?" to "what are we making with the food we have on hand?"  I haven't set foot in a grocery store in over a month, where I used to have to run out for a specialty ingredient just about every day.  My shopping days are Thursdays and Saturdays, the days that our Farmer's Market is open in Manassas.  I'm starting to recognize and be recognized by the people who are growing, raising, and/or slaughtering my food.  I feel more connected to what I'm eating, and I feel like we're getting a lot closer to Michael Pollan's ideal of "Eat food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants".

I'm also having a lot of fun making things from scratch that most people don't make any more.  Baking bread, making pasta, these are easy things that most people have done in their lifetimes.  Finding an ethical source for milk, meat, and eggs is easier than you'd think, but I've had a terrible time finding good mozzarella or ricotta.  So I've made my own ricotta already and will be exploring mozzarella this week for pizza.  It feels amazing to look down at a cheesecloth-lined strainer and see ricotta that you've made, and it's even more amazing to find out that store-bought ricotta tastes nothing like homemade ricotta.  Joe always thought he hated ricotta until I made some for our beet green ravioli.

When we started this project, Joe and I would joke about how we'd be so excited this fall, when the last CSA delivery happened and the Farmer's Market closed down, to go back to being able to shop 'normally'.  I think that what's going to happen is that we're going to miss this.  I think we're going to miss chatting with the people who produced the food that we're buying, miss the flavor of truly fresh, ripe produce, and miss the sense of connection.  We'll find out.

Here's your food porn for the day:

I needed some comfort food last week, and this is it for me.  Mashed potatoes (potatoes from our CSA), topped with aged cheddar from the good people at Cabot (hooray co-ops doing it right!), sprinkled with bits of bacon (from Steve Baker, who raises heritage pigs that get to live outside), and thinly sliced scallions (from the farmer's market).  Local, ethical, and a perfectly satisfying dinner all on its own.

Tomorrow I've a big post about quiche lined up.  See you then!