Delight takes root. Ideals grow and magnify ambition. For some of us, the subsequent journey is best informed by those who were born to inherit the future. I am talking: fearless youth.

I know two such folks who work me into an optimistic frenzy. In seven years of marriage, they have harvested their quaint roots for use in a splendid city salad.

When we visit our Chicago guides, we relax in knowing that our old fashion criteria of a good time will be surpassed by the results of their urban research. We find that “Paris on the Prairie” (Chicago reference to the 1909 Plan) is hopping with exuberance.

They have introduced us to Bucktown, a Chicago neighborhood, settled in the 19th century by Polish immigrants. The area is now hip home to galleries, boutiques and a dining standout – Antique Taco.

Ashley and Rick Ortiz, owners of Antique Taco, are idealists. They have the lines to prove the value of such mental gymnastics. “I think for us, we wanted Antique Taco to be an extension of our home. We wanted people to feel like they are dining at a friend or family member’s house,” says Ashley.

Beam me up, back to the future. I crave that kind of old world, creative intellect – ambiance of wonder, exceptional food and good manners. Such a vibe lingers with a customer and makes a body want more.

As Eric Weiner, author of Man Seeks God, states, “I’m drawn to places that beguile and inspire, sedate and stir, places where, for a few blissful moments I loosen my death grip on life, and can breath again. It turns out these destination have a name: THIN places.”

In the case of Antique Taco, Rick’s heritage lends thin: Corn OFF the Cob Salad, Habanero Popcorn, Chili Cheese Curds, Meatball and Mole, Rosemary Margaritas, Masa Biscuit & Lobster Gravy, and Tacos of the Mushroom, Shrimp, Goat or Sweet and Spicy Chicken varieties. Aqua Frescas, House Made Palentas, and Mexican Chocolate Marshmallow House Made Pop Tarts – each dish streaming from the Antique Taco kitchen is an unending perk from Rick’s frequent trips to the market.

In step, Ashley provides a context that also makes for thin – unrepeatable vintage china, cloth napkins, paper straws. She keeps the place stocked with antiques for sale that jog a memory here and perpetuate a reinterpretation there.

“We keep it casual, effortlessly cool and unique,” she says.

Horchata Milkshake – an Antique Taco specialty

Horchata is a term referring to several kinds of traditional beverages made of ground almonds, sesame seeds, rice barley or tigernuts. As Rick says, “Here you go!”.

White Rice 1 quart
Water 3 quarts
Sweetened Condensed Milk 2/7 ounce cans
Evaporated Milk 1/7 ounce can
Canella (Mexican Cinnamon) 4 sticks
Sliced Almonds 1 cup
Sugar if needed
Vanilla Ice Cream 1 quart
Banana 1 each

Soak rice in water with cracked cinnamon sticks for 2 hours.
Blend mixture with toasted almonds, then strain through fine mesh strainer
Add sweetened and condensed milk.
Check sweetness level, add sugar if needed.
Chill Horchata for 24 hours.
Place 1 cup of Horchata, 2 large scoops of vanilla ice cream and 1 ounce of banana and pulse in blender.
Place a few ice cues in mixture while blending to keep frozen.
Pour into 12 ounce cup and garnish with cinnamon sugar.

RESOURCES

Antique Taco
1360 N. Milwaukee Avenue
Chicago, Illinois
773-687-8697
Closed on Monday – No Reservations

No man is an island. John Donne

I read that curiosity is not an instinct, instead it is an innate basic emotion. Too bad that I did not have that piece of information when my aunt reported to my mother that I had been rifling through her chest of drawers. While I have no memory of doing so, most likely because I was shamed; the event was not uncommon for me in my younger frame.

Made for exploration, quite a pity that my package did not also contain a scientific mind.

As an adult, I took my petty vice to a high road and focused on good old fashioned people watching, a prototype mentored by my grandfather. Circa 1899, he would recuse himself from shopping in order to case the joint. When we retrieved him, he was happy as a lark, on duty with “people”.

I learned from him that as long as one remains unobtrusive, trying to guess another person’s story can be good creative fun. Often the results cause me to investigate my own behavior and make changes for the better. Other times the pursuit offers relief and creates a broader sense of being human, drawing me into worlds outside my head.

The byproduct is a heart opening, mini download of empathy.

These days I try to be a people watching role model for my granddaughter. We are working on the good manners that must accompany such an amateur social science, but just the same, there is much to gain.

Watching her become the watcher is a kick in the pants. By the sparkling eyes, I know that her tiny wheels are turning as she makes the story work for good.

Liver Casserole

For me, liver is a treasure – delicious and unique. I first ate it because I wanted to emulate a liver lover who I observed and revered. She said that occasionally, the iron content of liver was vital for life.

1 pound lamb liver
1 cup flour
1 large onion or 2 if no mushrooms or bacon are used
2 or 3 tomatoes
1 handful of button mushrooms or 2 portobello mushrooms
3 or 4 slices bacon or 3 tablespoon vegetable onion
1 teaspoon rubbed sage
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup of beef broth; use part wine if desired

Cut the liver into about 8 similar sized pieces, discarding any tough veins or membranes. Dredge it in the flour, and set it aside; discarding any excess flour.

Peel and slice the onion or onions and set them aside. Wash, core and slice the tomatoes. Clean and slice the mushrooms. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Next, fry the bacon briefly in a skillet until softened but not crisp. Remove it and set it aside. Fry the onion slices, taking care to keep them whole. Remove them and set them aside. Finally, fry the liver pieces on each side, just to brown them. You may need to add a little more oil or bacon fat.

Arrange the onion slices, tomato slices, mushrooms, and liver in overlapping layers in a casserole dish. Lay the bacon on top.

Put the sage, mustard, salt and pepper into the skillet, using the broth and/or wine to deglaze the pan. Cook and stir, scraping up any brown bits until the broth is reduced to half. Pour over the liver and vegetables.

Bake the casserole for 20 to 30 minutes until the tomatoes are soft and the liver is done to your liking – pink at 20 minutes, well done at 30 minutes. Serve with rice or potatoes to soak up the juices.

RESOURCES

Lamb Liver – Glendale Farms – glendalefarmtn.com

Tomatoes and Onions – Farmers Fresh Market – Columbia, Tennessee – www.columbiamainstreet.com

The thousand pink blossoms of the peach tree fade away in spring. But their color is one. Zeizan Zenji

In 1990 I was faced with a query so earnest and over my head that it took my breath. My youngest child had lived her first 7 years with awesome assurances – fortunate gifts to be sure.

Just the same, the ravages of adult-sized fear waited at the door and were blown open by the inexplicable death of a constant in her life – a vital and beloved caretaker, her grandmother.

Swimming in the water of my own anxiety, I gave little thought to my children’s grief stricken images. One night as I put her to bed, the tears began to flow and in sobs, she said that she was afraid that I would die too.

In that moment I knew inadequacy. The truth of it weighed more than I could bear alone so I said – “Yes, I will die one day, but I hope not for a very long time. If it happens before we are ready, you should know that you will have many more people to love in life, but some things stand. I’ll still be your mother and you’ll still be my daughter.”

I would like to think that she instantly felt better, all the same, I know it took a while. Requirements in the name of ‘I’m here – are you there?’ had to be tested. The mundane did the trick – cooking meals, escorting to and from school, laundering clothes, indulging creative urges, and something that I had to perfect – perpetual listening.

In the end, pushing her outside her self imposed limits proved to be the most worthwhile.

Now she can do it all without me. The responsibility of nurturing children has lifted, but the affection has not. Just the same, in a couple of weeks, we will release her from the south as she and her fine young husband make their way to Utah.

Not knowing a soul, she’ll push away from fear and experience adventures in the disguise of a newly married, school librarian. At close range, she will observe the Mormon faith and encounter spectacular scenery. Perhaps, she will even learn to ski.

If she has an uncertain moment, she can remember that some things stand ……. I’m still her mother and she’s still my daughter.

Chicken Spaghetti
A frequent deposit inside Mimi’s freezer , a casserole of chicken spaghetti was found there after she left.

2 large chickens
2 large chopped green peppers
2 large chopped onions
1 pound box Velveeta cheese
1 large can of mushrooms
1 stick of butter
1 (7 ounce) package of vermicelli
1 can Rotel tomatoes
2 tablespoons Worcestershire Sauce
1 cup tiny green peas

Boil chicken and save at least 1 1/2 quarts of strained broth. Cook vermicelli in broth. Do not drain. Skin and bone chicken, shred into bite sized pieces. Saute onions and bell peppers in one stick of butter. Add Rotel tomatoes, mashed. Add Worcestershire Sauce and cook 5 minutes. Add drained peas, mushrooms, onions and peppers. Add cheese, cut in chunks and stir until cheese is melted. Add cut up chicken and stir thoroughly. Cook 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

RESOURCES

Chicken – Glendale Farm – www.glendalefarmtn.com – Sam Kennedy – Columbia, Tennessee

Peppers and onions – Farmers’ Fresh Market – Riverside Drive, Columbia, Tennessee – 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday

A CSA membership took many of the loose ends in my life and planted them in rich soil. The full harvest was not instantaneous, though a few rewards were immediate, like the rush that follows participation in an ideal.

CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture and is a subscription system for food lovers, devised decades ago, by the small farmer who wanted to stay in the game and believed there was a way to do it.

This concept stands apart from the precepts of agribusiness, farming on a large scale, which has its immense place. Certainly, there is room for both approaches in this world.

I once purchased food without thought of its origin, just like my mother did, packaged and blemish free. The faded memory of grandparent garden produce, beef and lamb delivery hovered around the fringes of the new convenience based system which quickly became the only option.

But then about twelve years ago, synchronicity presented me with the results of a home cooked meal which tasted hollow. What I mean to say is that one evening, after I spent quite a while preparing a meal for my family; we sat down to plates of food that were completely void of flavor. We had not been fed.

About the same time, I was introduced to John Drury. Though he understood that CSA farming was a new proposition to these parts, he was in possession of a pioneering spirit and thus, a tiny yet vibrant community portal began to open. Its final destination results in an availability of real food.

“Real” in food is akin to the description of “real” in the children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit. It occurs when plenty of heart is involved – after the soil has been nourished and rare seeds have been employed.

It occurs when weeds have been humored and subscribers have been educated. It occurs when grasses have been carefully cultivated and a delivery process has employed the minimum of fossil fuel.

And it occurs when people have the opportunity to engage in the give and take of old time commerce by exchanging information.

You may say that such a life style change sounds complex. Still I’d recommend that you give this ideal a whirl. Someone said, “One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure that it was worth watching.”

Besides, all you have to lose is weight.

A supper of zucchini, tomatoes and basil

A non-recipe, this is description from Nigel Slater’s book, Tender. He states, “Squashes of every variety love a tomato. Occasionally you could argue they need it too.”

zucchini – 5 medium
olive oil – 3 tablespoons
tomatoes – 4 medium to large
basil leaves – a handful, torn
lemon

Cut the zucchini into thick fingers. They work best about the size of thick, homemade French fries. Warm the oil and let the zucchini cook over medium heat for 8 minutes until they begin to soften.

Chop the tomatoes roughly and add to the zucchini with the torn-up basil leaves, salt , pepper and a good squeeze of lemon. Stir, cover with a loose-fitting lid, and let simmer for 10 minutes, until the zucchini are tender and the tomatoes have cooked down to a basil-scented saucy dish. “Sponge up the sunny-tasting juices with bread.”

RESOURCES

Year Round CSAs

Bountiful Blessings Farm – delivery in the parking lot of First Presbyterian Church, Columbia, Tennessee
1654 Dry Prong Road, Williamsport, Tennessee 38487
Farm Office – 931-583-2701

Fresh Harvest, LLC
Tallahassee May – tally@wildblue.net
John Drury – john.drury@att.net

Despite approaching dotage, when summer blooms, a quiver of freedom runs through my body, reigniting the possibility of unstructured time and bare feet. Memory also has it that the best of summer encompasses friend seeking and neighborhood investigations and adventures involving water.

Such activities often serve as templates for the inner work that surely erupts as we get older …. if we are lucky. I reveled in such reflection last weekend amid a tender gathering in the name of my longest sustained and most excavated friendship.

Her first born’s wedding brought me to tears. She has long been a source of full life, both in joy and sorrow, as I, no doubt, have been for her.

We have loved each other beyond the unsolicited ideas for the other’s best interest.

We have laughed, though possibly not as often as we should have.

She threw up the sash on my under confident head and heart. Decades later, I’m sure that she was the only emissary who could have done so.

In reviewing the personally edited film of our first encounter, I see the promise of summer and a trip to the creek for her mother to source watercress (the oldest known leaf vegetable). The resulting mud fight and clean up aftermath bring on a very long talk. We connect some far flung dots that smack of compatibility.

The binding result has endured for 45 years. I still seek her beautiful smile. All of which brings to light, in my mind, my menu choice for a summer sandwich with watercress which I selected as the first meal in route to the festivities for her boy and his bride.

I know that she’ll say it’s only watercress, but for me, it’s a renewing symbol of what my mother-in-law’s best friend once offered – “Old friends should hold hands and roll down the hill together.”

In expectation of the reunion with mon amie, I place an order for just one half.

Baguette with mushrooms, tomatoes, watercress and herbed ricotta

Mix ricotta spread. Slice baguette open longwise and add herbed ricotta spread and top with sauteed mushrooms, sliced tomatoes and watercress.

Herbed Ricotta

8 ounces of ricotta cheese
1 minced clove of garlic
2 teaspoons of a combination of fresh herbs such as basil, thyme and oregano
2 teaspoons of grated parmesan cheese

It’s as he is nearing the parking lot that Aaron realizes God’s inherent value is reflected in the fact that there are so many doors to choose from.
Bee Season by Myla Goldberg

Beets are out of style in country towns such as ours. I knew by virtue of an informal survey that I took. “No, I don’t eat beets – ever,” was a standard response.

I called three grocery stores in the county. Only one chain operation carried beets. “Is anyone around these parts still eating beets” I asked. “Someone is eating them; I just reordered,” replied a produce manager. Things were looking up.

My CSA farmer, John Dysinger, said initially they were timid about investing in beets. “We understood that today, beets are among the least loved vegetables, but it turns out that our customers love them,” he said and noted that a salad mixed with roasted beets appears to be in fashion.

In fact these days, many chef owned restaurants in the big city sport beet inspired dishes. However, chain restaurants generally do not go for for such an ingredient.

I cannot guess why. Beets keep for 2 months in the refrigerator and are quite budget friendly at a 1.50 per serving.

Delicious as beets are at a slim 58 calories per serving, I can only suppose that they do not lug enough calories for today’s palate. We seem to prefer tasteless entrees having lost our ability to savor. A researched headline from our era could reveal – “Mass Murder Of The Taste Bud: Genetic Wipe Out Via Incessant Marketing Of Empty Calories”.

Heartbreaking – there was a time when food was food. A quick trip to see Bob Duncan at the Maury County Archives yielded proof by way of menu from The Bethel House Coffee Shop. At lunchtime on March 25, 1937, one could pull up a chair and have a “Roasted Young Lamb with Salad, Fresh Turnips and Greens and Sour Beets” – all for 50 cents.

Chances are somebody in the vicinity produced the ingredients for such a meal. Some folks still do, like retired banker and garden hobbyist Oneill Moore. He recently gave me a handful of exquisite beets in red and gold. Considering Oneill’s neat row of beet greens, I think I’ll subsidize a tiny crop of my own this fall.

The particularness of beets bear the requirements of a cool season and steady moisture. “I have no special insight on growing beets,” says Oneill. One thing he likes to do when planting them is to cover with something like Promix and put a double layer of burlap over that. He says, “Keep it moist, check under the burlap every day and remove it as soon as the plants start coming up.”

Certainly this is the sort of nurtured creation that could regenerate a body and besides, our neglected palettes await.

Beet Toast

The diced and glazed beets can be refrigerated overnight and gently reheated before serving.

3 beets ( 3/4 pound)
4 thyme sprigs
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1/2 cup sherry vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 rosemary sprig
salt
twelve 4 by 2 inch slices of dense whole grain bread, brushed with olive oil and toasted
goat cheese
12 sprigs of parsley
extra-virgin olive oil for drizzling

In a medium saucepan, cover the beets with cold water.
Add the thyme springs, black peppercorns and red wine vinegar and bring to a boil.
Simmer, partially covered, until the beets are tender, about 45 minutes, replenishing with water if necessary.
Drain the beets, then peel and cut them into 1/4 inch dice.
Return the diced beets to the saucepan.
Add the sherry vinegar, sugar, rosemary sprig and 1/4 cup of water and bring to a boil.
Cook over moderately high heat until a syrupy glaze forms, about 12 minutes.
Discard the rosemary sprig and season the beets with salt.
Top each whole-grain toast with a spoonful of the glazed beets, sprinkle with goat cheese.
Top with a sprig of fresh parsley and drizzle with extra virgin olive oil

RESOURCES

Beets – Local CSAs (Bountiful Blessing Farm) or local Farmers’ Market
Goat Cheese – Bonnie Blue Goat Cheese – www.bonniebluefarm.com
Artisan Bread – Twin Forks Farm Bread – Whole Foods

For the love which from our birth over and around us lies
Folliot S. Pierpoint

I received communion again last Sunday. With a probability that my math is askew, I figure that since joining the church at age 13 – take away a few heathen years of college and intermit patchy attendance; I’ve chalked up somewhere near 1,000 such ceremonial moments.

With shame, I’ve often struggled with these bits of time which are designed for peace – probably my propensity for multi-tasking. And I confess that ingestion of the body and the blood has been a stressor.

The responsibility of communion has always turned my thoughts toward the church community, a group to whom I have been emotionally attached for decades. Overtime, I’ve registered physical transformations and the tole of personal trials. I’ve often dwelled on lost opportunities for those of us who linger with the topic of sin as the major preoccupation of a spiritual life.

But even after a lifetime of somber prayer and tile shaped bread surrogates – after decades of grape juice shots measured out by glass or plastic – after an eternity of suited cuffs and averted eyes, I had a moment of genuine elevation.

Relief came with some words of love from Reverend Joe Evans.

Something about “not the fear of punishment, but the desire to live in a way that honors the love that we have received,” opened my heart.

Over thinking ceased. Flailing for ceremonial words desisted.
With the mystery of it all, a word dropped into my exhausted brain – refresh.

Serendipitously about the same time, another ritual of rejuvenation had occurred. Elodie, her mother and I ventured to Susan and John Drury’s Farm. We had new born strawberries on our minds.

In a joyous explosion of a two year old’s discovery, my road weary soul recommitted. Navigating rows of berry plants with bare feet, we loaded cartons of lush red, expertly tested and marked with the imprint of tiny teeth.

From juice streaked peewee cheeks and fingers, a call went WAY up to Mr. Golden Sunshine, a friend who often seems to disappear as quickly as he is shown.

Thank God for ritual and the mental freedom of a restorative moment – be it the impossible beauty of the seasonal strawberry plucked straight from the earth or communion with the birthright of love.

The Jackson Junior League cookbook Come on In published in 1991

Come On In Strawberries

1 carton sour cream (8 ounces)
1/4 cup maple syrup
3 pints whole strawberries, washed and hulled
2 1/2 tablespoons firmly packed brown sugar

Combine sour cream and maple syrup, cover, and refrigerate at least 1 hour. Arrange strawberries in dessert bowls. Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over strawberries and chill. Pour sour cream mixture over strawberries and serve.

RESOURCES

Strawberries from the Drury Family Farm

Fresh Harvest, LLC

http://freshharvest.locallygrown.net/

tally@wildblue.net

Luckily no one was there to issue commentary on the day three years ago when I planted purple asparagus in my back yard. I had no idea what I was doing. The event was a long time coming, first inspired by a gift from family friend Rufus Ross to my startled mother. Wide-eyed she later said, “He has his own asparagus bed.”

I was nonplussed – nothing had ever sounded so divine. In these parts during the sixties, at first bite, fresh asparagus could claim divinity. We all were unnaturally convinced that asparagus from a can had to suffice as the impostor that it was. Such a travesty.

Seeking more information, I utilized my untested driver’s license for a jaunt to view the asparagus bed. As Mr. Ross showcased the plants; he delivered a caveat – “Three years from planting until harvest.”

I perked up. I knew better than to doubt his authority having once, in his presence, made a flirtatious dash away from his son Bob while shouting – “Get your son in control, Mr. Ross.” He shot back – “It looks as if you are doing that.”

I felt the silly girl inside me…simmer down.

Asparagus beds were not a dime a dozen. I surmised that getting one would require some feistiness and at the least, a background in delayed gratification. As a beginner in both categories, I chose to indulge my love of asparagus each spring by selecting an occasional bundle in the grocery, though I winced at its origin.

And so passed my twenties, thirties, forties until my fifties, at which time I received a second fresh asparagus prompt. It issued from my car radio in the voice of an elder master gardener. Before her soliloquy faded to music, she paid tribute to the fact that she had finally planted a crop of asparagus crowns.

“Don’t put off planting as I have – I’m 76 and by now, I could have been eating from my own asparagus bed for many years but…better late than never,” she said.

That did it. I made a purchase of purple passion crowns on March 27, 2010. I know this by virtue of a garden journal that I started that same day which states that I also picked up a few rhubarb plants. All to say that though rhubarb is now a sad and distant memory, the purple passion rules. And just as Mr. Ross forecasted, three years later, the tiny edible spears are beginning to break soil.

Never think for a moment that my project was the low maintenance sort. I had to select a pleasing site and use a shovel. Then too, there was those one way morning coffee chats where I provided encouragement to each crown, investigating their latest incarnation from flowering ferns in late summer to straw colored bushes in the winter.

The commitment was hefty – but the reward, mighty.

Some say I’ll be eating fresh asparagus every April and May for the next 20 years and during that time, I plan on startling some mothers with deliveries from my very own asparagus bed. I was taught that’s the way to get the party started.

Steamed Asparagus with Vinaigrette

Tiny asparagus are particularly delicious steamed. Secure two handfuls of asparagus. Snap the cut If you don’t have a vegetable steamer (either metal or bamboo), place a colander inside a pan of boiling water and cover with foil for 5 minutes. Meanwhile whisk a heaping teaspoon of French mustard, 3 tablespoons of olive oil and a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Add a little white wine or water to loosen. Toss steamed asparagus with vinaigrette. Top with chopped fresh herbs: parsley, mint or basil.

Just because my freezer has been empty most of my adult life doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate a well stocked larder. Just the same, a quandary is present whenever I consider the order and the down right science that comes with freezing food.

My heritage is deplete of positive freezer therapy. One grandparent kept a gigantic freezer chest in an isolated hallway. Once the heavy top was flung back for all of its worth, I could peer inside to preview the cavity contents, darkened with net bags of unshelled pecans and rump roasts that were on special from the Jitney Jungle. This would leave me in a cold sweat.

But that was then and this is now. Today the thing that holds me back from enhancing my food preservation skills is my friend, the freezer genius. The contents of her appliance can provoke intimidation and down right tears of envy. Masterpiece comes to mind.

For many years she has tested various concoctions in icy suspension. Knowledge of her special powers have grown exponentially and she is now a trusted source for many who prefer consulting a live expert with their freezer queries.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she is a sublime chef. Even so, the roles of exalted cook and freezer artist entail separate gifts. Her freezing penchant requires a obsession with being prepared, putting her in the category of Martha Stewartness. Only my friend doesn’t have a staff. She prepares and freezes every single morsel on her own. Joyfully, I might add.

Anecdotal evidence is strewn about the country. Ask anyone who knows her and has experienced duress. She is often the first to assuage a furrowed brow with delivery of a complete meal, instructions taped to the top in her small, neat script. And by complete, I mean – main dish, sides and dessert.

I admire that her family is able to shop her stash – appetizers, casseroles, breads, and desserts. Her legacy is without equal. She has a deeply practical grip on life, most likely gifted to her by who else, but a grandmother.

She recently honored me with a peek at the family jewels, beautifully wrapped and labeled plates of food – gourmet TV dinners. With that I knew that I had no choice but to gather some self respect, up my game and learn to freeze like the artist.

Cottage Pie

The fact that this dish freezes for up to 3 months makes it the perfect vehicle to stow away. (Thaw in the refrigerator, cover with foil and bake for 20 minutes, then uncover and bake for 45 minutes more.) All ingredients can be interchanged for whatever is in season, creating an ever changing way to utilize the items that come with your CSA or with your farmers’ market purchase.

3 pounds new potatoes (about 30)
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup whole milk
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound chopped onions or frozen pearl onions, thawed
1 1/2 pounds ground lamb (or beef chuck)
1/4 cup tomato paste
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups low sodium chicken broth (or homemade)
1 medium butternut squash (about 2 pounds), peeled and cut into 3/4 inch pieces
1 cup frozen peas

Heat oven to 350. Place the potatoes in a large pot, add enough cold water to cover by 1 inch, and bring to a boil. Add 1 teaspoon salt, reduce heat, and simmer until tender, 15 to 18 minutes. Drain and return the potatoes to the pot; add the milk, butter, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and mash. Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring often, until beginning to soften, 5 minutes; transfer to a medium bowl. Heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in the Dutch oven. Add the lamb (or beef), 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and cook, breaking the lamb (or beef) up with a spoon, until no longer pink, 5 minutes; mix in the tomato paste and Worcestershire sauce. Sprinkle with the flour and cook, stirring for 1 minute. Add the broth, squash, peas, and onions and bring to a simmer. Transfer the lamb (or beef) mixture to a 9 by 12 inch (3 quart) baking dish and top with the potatoes. Bake until the potatoes are golden, the filling is bubbling and the squash is tender, about 45 minutes. Let cool for 5 minutes before serving.

Resources

Milk – Hatcher’s Dairy – Buckhead Coffee and Whole Foods Grocery
Potatoes and Squash – Bountiful Blessings Farm – bountifulblessingsfarm.com – 931-583-2795 – Edwin Dysinger
Lamb – Glendale Farm – glendalefarmtn.com – 931-215-5117 – Sam Kennedy

The month of March brings in some rare air. In like a lion, out like a lamb – for me, March cradles the promise of birth and the finality of death highlighted with the dates of my beginning and my mother’s passing.

Last week I officially outlived my mother. At the time of her departure, I considered this day, hovering in the future, a possibility not to be conjured.

She left abruptly. Frozen in exquisite detail, I caught up to her and snatched a glimpse of what we would be like as contemporaries, only to have a one way conversation. As usual, I did the talking.

During this past year as I approached her in age, I prepared to close the gap and give her a high five as if to say, “I did it without you, but it was not easy”.

The tears have come and gone. Now I’m moving on into older age, as I did once before, but this time, I head for uncharted waters.

During a 57 year life span, we shared anticipation of certain markers: a girlhood in Mississippi, marriage to a good man and devoted children. We are linked by the busyness of daily tasks and the exhaustion that comes from living out of others.

Unwilling to move on in a world without the defenses of youth and physical beauty, she unconsciously halted the march of time, but not before passing along some things that I needed.

I cling to her distinct brand of intelligence: a curious nature, a desire to make home a haven, delight in the world of miniatures, love of a good story, ambition for hand made gifts and the proper tools for appropriate dress and good manners to honor the day.

For contrast she lent me a modicum of stormy thoughts and a smidge of the paranoid to frame my hunger for a better world.

These matriarchal gifts often materialize into a scene where I go for mother love. Sitting at the kitchen table, we are eating bowls full of rice and vegetables that she made. I feel the security of her happy mood as she begins to teach me the words of a song.

She insists that I learn each word, as I will have to sing them, on my own, for a lifetime.

Barley-Sweet Potato Hash

This hash is tasty, topped with a couple of fresh eggs, poached or fried over easy. The addition of ham or chicken make it a heartier meal but it is a choice bowl, as is.

1/2 cup pearl barley
2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
1 sweet potato, peeled and cut into 1/4 inch pieces
2 cups vegetable broth
salt
freshly ground pepper

Put the barley in a saucepan over medium heat.
Cook, shaking the pan often, for 5 minutes, or until toasted.
Remove the barley to a bowl.
In the same saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat.
Add the onion and sweet potato and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes until lightly browned.
Add the barley and broth.
Bring to a boil over high heat.
Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes, or until the barley is tender but firm and the liquid is absorbed.
Season with salt and pepper.