A Mouse in the Pantry

Clinging to This

Well, there's no easy way around it - we're packing the Mouse den.  The dearest chief is being transferred, and so with him we mice will move too.

It's been six years here in lovely, lovely Petaluma. Six wonderful years in the place we will likely come home to someday, whenever Mr. Mouse is done gallivanting around the world.  Petaluma my friends, feels like home.

There is much to get excited about, namely that we are moving (for a few years), to the great state of Hawaii.  Oh my God, yes, that's what I said. There will be haupia pie, and coconuts, and beach after beach. These are all very good things.

But there is also, several weeks into mulling this move, an incredible amount of fear and anxiety.  Hawaii is wonderful. Moving two kids away from their home-sweet-home, is not.

So I'm clinging to this, this week: Travel builds character.

Good lord, if nothing else, hopefully my kids will come out of this as adaptable folks, something I fear will be a challenge for the older one. Transition is hard, really hard, and we're forcing a big one on him.  But wish with me, if you will, for a speedy adaptation and a successful adult (someday), full of world experiences. 

Yes, this is where I'm living right now.

So as these months whip by (early June is move time), and they surely will, Mouse will undoubtedly be reliving what is most precious in this place called home, and what lies ahead in our new adventure.

You are part of that, dearest Petaluma.

Aloha.

A working mom

It has swirled on and off my plate this last few months that I may, in all my endeavors be looking for my mother.

Let me back up.

I tend towards the domestic arts. And when I say arts, I don't mean all of them, more like the baking, cooking, hosting arts. I do not tend towards the cleaning arts, which is inconvenient. But hey, we're none of us perfect.

So my mother.  Someone brought up that the collection of my experiences constitues what many people gain from their own childhood kitchen.  Wow, jaw dropping moment. Yes, I do seem to gravitate towards those that create. Those that make abundance from the hearth. Those with amazing collections of home tid-bits, tales from the stove, bounty to share. In my ideal dream world I would be duchess of a grand farm estate with the funds to build, decorate and bake whatever I wanted (and I would have a cleaning lady, maybe two). That's all really.  I just want to get all Martha Stewarty in my heart of hearts.

I was number four of five. Placed somewhere between the middle child and, well, the middle. My own working mother will be remembered for so many things, but our time together in the kitchen won't be one of them. She worked.  She worked tirelessly and had five children - can you blame her?

And so I have trotted about life (alright, I have more accurately rammed into life head on), fumbling about the food world, the art world, the writing world. And everywhere I go I have collected wonderful women friends. Somewhere in each one lies a trait I admire.  A trait I want in myself. A trait, perhaps, that I might fictionalize into my own upbringing.

Yes, this is perhaps a bit deep for Mouse, but the truth is the truth. This last week found me using a long-handled apple picker to pluck over-sized Belle Flower Apples from a local orchard.  As I stood in my boots, rain slinking down my cheeks and apple branches in my eye, I thought of my mom.

Did she ever see me here?  Would she, if given a different path, have been the mother to teach me how to pick an orchard?

I think each of us as moms have felt that painful moment when we realize at child number two (or three, or four, or five), that our attention isn't quite as evenly spread out.  We remember when there was just one, we slathered them in spirit and education, but when two are on the scene, we must give just a little less.  We must make it stretch.

So if my mother's fourth child yearns for this back-to-the-farm experience so deeply, this insight in growing, cooking and forming family life, would she have found it with me had I been number one?

And would I even have liked it all if she did? That is the "light-bulb" moment of this post. I had an incredible knack for arguing just about everything out of my mother's mouth. To that end, she should have steered me clear of being a lawyer, so that I would have run head first into law school.  I was, and am, obstinate.

And since her life was so engrossed in the mental wellness of other people's children, I knew somewhere inside that the one thing I wouldn't do was be a caretaker. I wouldn't become a psychologist, a therapist, a doctor. I would not nurture the world.

Except, of course, if you're hungry, and maybe you want a piece of pie and a cup of tea and we can sit and talk for awhile - perhaps about your mother? What was she like? Do you need a hug? I can do that.

 

Re-thinking the family meal

It was thanks to a surprise drop off of a slightly used New York Times food edition that I got to thinking about our family's meal time tonight.

Writer Sam Sifton's "Why Does It Matter That Families Eat Together" article, accompinied by the modest photography of Stephanie Sinclair, held my attention immediately as I poured over it's pages. This was a story of families eating together. Not what they ate, or where they ate it, or who they were, simply the act of sitting together to do it.

I like to think that we sit together, as a unit, at least once a day. In truth, I hope it's more than once - but that's optimistic in a world full of drop-offs, ballet, swim team, work and chess club. Still, once a day I sort of assumed.

But tonight, as the three of us (minus our fourth for the moment) closed in on a meal (purchased way too fast after swim team), I had to really take stock in our dinner routine.

Though I'm more likely than not to cook dinner from scratch, I don't think I had stopped to evaluate whether my meal prep and clean-up also included a space for communication and nourishment.  I looked at both my kids, this recent article discussing the merits of family time around the meal, including healthier eating habits, fewer teen pregnancies and higher education, was swirling fresh in my head.  Have I talked to them lately while we ate? Really talked.

Somehow, sitting there with my two bobbing bouncing bubbles, I could only come up with fart noises and giggles as recent topics of conversation.  Yes, we all sit down to satiate our starving hard worked frames, but the missing link, at least according to the New York Times, was in fact me.  I hadn't been asking, prodding, poking for more.

I asked my son to close his book. Reluctantly he did, and I began.

"So, what did you do in enrichment today?" I asked.

A shrug.  At all of eight years old I more often than not get the shrug.  I didn't expect it so soon in our life, and it posses a certain kind of obstacle, but he's only eight, so it's not a cement wall - just yet.

So I asked more. And, I mirrored the same questions to the darling golden-haired three year old.  Her responses were more ad-lib. A fart noise. A fake burp learned and perfected from her older brother. A mention of ballet and how fabulously "pink" it was today (as opposed to other days when it is also very pink).

It took some time, a few minutes really, but over our wrappers and premade meal we had a conversation. A real conversation that had me reeling in the absence of it for so long. This tiny check-in over burritos was actually making my children better people. More successful. Less Pregnant.

And bed time? Bed time was easier. Everyone had aired their dirty laundry and in a slightly deeper state of closeness, all went off to bed without worry or concern.  Tomorrow will be another day, and tomorrow's dinner will be one more time to talk about what life's all about.

What's on the menu at your house?

Start Your Sourdough!

Mouse has sported her "super ego" alter ego, the Pie Hole, this last several weeks, and as such I've been blessed with the opportunity to teach the ancient art of fermentation via Sourdough Starter (along with baking hundreds and hundreds of sweet treats).  At the first ever Heirloom Exposition (which was a momentous affair to be sure), we handed out over 50 lbs of baby starter to eager bread-fans all around.

And this last weekend, at the 4th annual Handcar Regatta, we had the pleasure of standing in ranks with the Homestead crew (led by fearless preservationist Heather Irwin of Bite Club Eats) Where we once again passed on this ancient grain fed treat.

So now maybe you have a wee bit of starter in your hands from one fo these events, and you've come here to find some answers.  Perhaps it's close to a 1/2 cup.  And you want to feed it?

Yes you do.

Starter does well with a 1-1-1 ration, in that 1 part starter should be mixed with 1 part flour (unbleached white or whole wheat), and 1 part slightly warm water.  You may, after all this want to add a couple more tablespoons of flour, as what we are looking for when mixed, is a sticky thick peanut buttery look. O.k.?

You just fed your starter - now what?

Well, chances are if you started with only 1/2 cup of starter before feeding, that you still don't have enough (even fed) to make much.  You do, after all, want to always save at least half of this mix if you decide to create something risen with the other...

So put your fed starter in a clean jar or bowl with a tight cloth lid (must breath) of some sort, on the back of your counter in  a warm local, overnight.  In the morning you can feed it again using the same method as above and you will have double.  Now you have enough to do something.

I would suggest pulling half now, just after feeding and putting it (in that jar), in the fridge.  Here it can stay for the next week before being fed and divided again. Or use it sooner, if needed. Alternately it can stay on your counter, in that jar, and be fed every 3 days...

With the pulled half: Let it stand on counter loosely covered for a few hours.  Now you will need to decided what you're using it for and follow directions for said product (bread, biscuits, english muffins, pancakes, waffles...).

I am by no means a sourdough bread expert!  I can however pass on this FANTASTIC Sourdough Pancake recipe that will knock your socks off.

 

Sourdough Pancakes

The evening before:  From your mother batch pull one-cup sour starter. Working in a medium sized bowl, add 1 cup lukewarm water, 1 cup unbleached organic white flour and 1 cup organic whole wheat. Stir to just combine.  Rest in bowl, covered loosely with plastic wrap, overnight in a warm area of your kitchen (near the stove).

The morning of:  In a small bowl mix 1 egg, 2/3-cup milk, 1-teaspoon baking soda, 1-teaspoon salt, 3-tablespoons brown sugar and 2 tablespoons melted butter.  Add this mix to your starter mix from the previous night.  Stir to combine.  Now evaluate consistency.  If the batter is runny like crepes, add ¼ cup more flour to thicken slightly.

Prepare as you would pancakes on a hot greased griddle.  Enjoy with real maple syrup or a drizzle of local honey!

 More cooking classes and events: www.Courtwaycatering.com

 

Good luck all. Happy fermenting.

 

Helpful Sourdough Links:

http://www.instructables.com/id/Sourdough-Bread/

http://www.sourdoughhome.com/startingastarter.html

http://www.joejaworski.com/bread/bread1.htm

 

Regatta Bound

Start your steam engines, the 4th annual Handcar Regatta is chugging into town this Sunday, and Mouse and crew are on board for some Steam Punk Food Slinging Pioneer Homesteading fun.

How on earth can all of that be included in one event? Well, leave it to the brilliant minds at Regatta Arts, LLC and their cohorts, including the one and only Heather Irwin of Bite Club Eats, to solve the worlds weekend problems through massive street festival fair!

Sporting Mouse's other identity as part-time caterer, part-time cooking instructor, and full time theatrical lunatic, we will be taking the Pie Hole on the road for a rip-roaring day of sweets to save your soul.  Be sure to stop by the homesteading frontier for some pop-tarts, berry crisp and gluten-free chocolate cherry cookies. 

Even better is that those of you daring enough to join us (anytime from 11-6 pm on Sunday September 25th on Santa Rosa's Railroad Square) who don't quite feel up to full drag, but still want to participate, can now enter a homemade pie in our Pie Baking Contest (entries should arrive by 11:30 a.m. at the Pie Hole).

And while waiting for your pie to be judged (and than awarded fame and riches), you can meander through the spectacle that is The Handcar Regatta.  There will be beer making demos, cheese making extravaganzas and corsets. Corsets galore!

So join us, if you can, feathers in your hair, bowler hats on, whiskey in your veins.  We'll be anxiously awaiting you by the old railroad tracks. History in the making.

 

It's Time to Eat - Taste of Petaluma 2011

Taste of Petaluma is here again and if you've been at all inclined to try some new spots in P-Town, then this is the weekend to grab a ticket ( and generously support Cinnabar Theaters youth program!).

It wasn't so many years ago that I had the thrill of helping out at the first annual Taste of Petaluma - a smash hit event from the beginning.  So thrilled to see it bringing hundreds of hungry supporters back each year to taste, nibble and lick their ways around downtown Petaluma.

Make sure to buy tickets ahead of time for this Saturday's big event (by tomorrow on-line here), or stop by Helen Putnam Plaza for a booklet of 10 tickets for $40 on Saturday proper.  Hurry though, as only 1,500 guests will receive a chance at tickets.

Mouse and crew will wave in passing this Saturday from 11:30 to 4 p.m., so keep on the look-out, and make sure to say hi to all the local eateries. You are sure to make some new delicious friends.

My personal favs: 

Bovine Bakery!

Pelican Art Gallery where you can munch on Cowgirl Creamery, Della Fattoria and Lydia's Lovin Foods! Hello.

&

Rosso?  Are they really open? YEAH!!!

 

Bacon, Potatoes and Fried Green Tomatoes

My doctor recently broke the bad news to me that despite my recent efforts at superior health, genetics have gotten in the way and given me a case of very bad cholesterol numbers. 

And we're not just talking a tad elevated.  My early "30's" blood looks a bit more like a smoking 75 year old trucker's. It ain't pretty.

So it's no wonder that I am of late completely obsessed with what's landing on the table.  I've been told there's only so much I can do.  That eventually I'll have to seek out some kind of alternative medicine, or mainstream medicine (ack!), and fight this piece of my genetic background tooth and nail.  But, for now (well for three months actually), my doc is letting me attempt to adjust things - if only a little.  Here's the thing:  I haven't really been eating much dairy for the last three years, and, if you hang close to me, I mostly dodge wheat these days too.  We're not the hugest red meat eating family ever, so that's taken care of, and that dwindles my cholesterol all down to my homegrown backyard eggs (which are by theory quite a bit healthier than store bought). 

Boo.  It was like the "egg that broke the camel's back".  Suddenly all cholesterol laden foods were calling me.  I feel as though I have fallen off a steep cliff and below me in the craggy basin there are cheeseburgers, butter, sausages, eggs in hollandaise sauce, shellfish, cream soups, cakes, donuts, churros, funnel cakes, and not a single walnut in site (walnuts are really good for you).  At the Sonoma County Fair this week I ate one of Bite Club's recommended dishes, "The Elvis". A peanut butter slathered funnel cake with banana pudding, whipped cream and chocolate.  It was amazing.  I'm not here to lie to you.

Ok, whoa, I just got off track.  I'm writing to you today to tell you about the meal that may have saved me from that steep cliff.  The liberation, if you will, from salad and soymilk. The revelation.

Caloricly, this is not an ass saver. Just saying.  But if you are in need of some serious comfort food, and I mean serious, this family meal is straight out of the south and loaded with vitamins, taste, and good LDLs (oh my God, I just mentioned LDLs in my food blog - this is ridiculous).

Fried Green Tomatoes are what heaven sent down to feed the masses when tomatoe's red ripe season is delayed!  In this case green tomatoes dipped in a thick coating of corn flour (and yes, a little egg), and then fried crispy in a puddle of extra virgin olive oil.

While we cooked them, one skillet full after another, I also slid a pan of homegrown potatoes (thank you Pioneer Woman of the West), drizzled in more Olive Oil and covered in chopped fresh rosemary, into the oven to roast.  And somewhere on the side I cooked bacon for all the other members of my family. Delicious bacon. Bacon that made my house smell good and ,my mouth water. But I digress...

The Best Fried Green Tomatoes (Gluten Free) - Recipe by Meloni Courtway

5 medium to alrge green tomatoes (firm, but just starting to change color)

1 egg, whipped to a frenzy in a shallow bowl

1 cup corn flour (I used Bob's Redmill)

1 teaspoon ground pepper

1 teaspoon kosher salt

the finely grated zest of 1/4 lemon

In a large shallow bowl whisk together with a fork all the dry ingredients  and the lemon zest.

Arrange the egg wash and flour mixture next to each other.

Dip 1/4 wide slices of tomato into the egg, and then into the flour bowl, turning to coat. Set on side of bowl and repeat with as many as possible.

Heat a large cast iron skillet to medium high.  Add 1/4 cup olive oil.  As soon as it's hot add slices of tomato to fill pan.  Let them sizzle and crackle. You want a crispy bottom.  Flip after a couple of minutes using a spatula.

Repeat, adding more oil between each new round of tomatoes.

Let cool just slightly, though you won't want to - and you'll burn your tongue.

 

A Single Slice of Pie

Am I insane?

Wait, before you answer that, let's run over Mouse's recent history in the world of food making.

Signed on for enormous festival of six to eight thousand (selling desserts) - check.

~Thought making pie for six to eight thousand was an easy idea - check.

Decided all women selling pie at said festival should be costumed in early 19th century  sailor girl outfits with an edge - check, check.

~Planned to also make handmade flags to decorate said pie/dessert booth - triple check.

I am insane. Yes, I just answered that.  I am also in a state of "edge of my seat" euphoria as the stress, hours, and pie dough build towards this Saturday. This is a major leap forward (we hope), in Mouse's "I'm a woman, not just a mommy!" claim on life.

All of that said, it has occurred to me more than once over this last couple of weeks, that my little mice, all furry and smelly, are the reason I wake up each day.  They are the driving force behind everything, and the sanity check (if you will), that keeps me from say, signing onto 20,000 person events.  They keep me real.

There are so many things I wouldn't know I could do if my children weren't here and my husband were always home.  I am, in some sick and twisted way, indebted to the struggles they both provide. 

Many a mom has said in passing to me "I don't know how you do it with him gone", speaking of course of my husbands constant in-and-out of our lives routine, leaving for months on end.  Well, that's the thing, you just do.  There is no choice but to "do" it.  So, you do it all and then realize that you can.  That we, as individuals are quite strong.

And then there's pie, or more exactly "The Pie Hole", which will debut in under a week at the unstoppable Rivertown  Revival.  The Pie Hole very well could have happened without kids, and with ever present partner, but it wouldn't have happened the same. 

It wouldn't have been a collection of giving and gracious moms helping on the day of.  It wouldn't be as well planned out - because before kids I didn't make good plans.  It wouldn't be the pride of a family putting together a booth, and let me tell you, family pride is much more fulfilling than personal pride!  Every drop of effort in this event has taken a village, and I wouldn't have known I had such a large one if my life, were I steady and sane.

So as this week progresses, and my booth and my pies come together, I feel this overwhelming gratitude to my journey and to those who are on it with me.

Tripling my joy is how easy it has become to make pie, and crisp, and pop-tarts out of local and organic ingredients.  My flour is milled in Petaluma.  My butter came from not far from here. My whipping cream is from Sonoma cows. My apricots from our front yard. My berries grew in Petaluma, and my plums in my hometown. It's overwhelmingly wonderful really.

These pies (and crisps, and gluten free cookies and retro pop-tarts), are symbolic of a greater journey. A journey we're all on to move life forward. To feed the soul. To live!

To Quinn and Dolly - I love you.

To Ed - you are my Captain.

To all of you - you are my Mast, strong and wise.

(Thank you in advance to Nichole, Fred, Fran, Melyna, Andrew, Lesley, Leslie, Frances, Heather, Reed, Trinity, Corinna, Suzanne, Jennifer, Cathrine, Cathryn, Katherine, Rosy, Jason, Karyl, Lani, Deb, Naomi, Bridget, Aggie, and I'm sure - many more of you.)

 

 

Eating our way through Oahu

Begin the day with fresh coconut, and anything can happen in Oahu!

Ahi Poke from the side of the road.

Crab Poke above. Shave ice below.

Best Damn Pie Ever.

 

Living Pearl Harbor

It may not sound very mouse like to be wasting away on a tropical isle, exposed to the elements, sipping on a tropical drink, but that is exactly what I, and my little brood of baby mice, have been doing this week. 

An opportunity arose to embrace the paradise that is the shores of Oahu, coincidentally on the biggest summer holiday - the 4th of July. Oh yeah!

Having almost not survived the five hour plane trip with a certain two year old I know, I thrust the children into their Daddy's waiting arms and thought about how to best prop a beach side tent for the length of this vacation.

All of that aside, and a few days into our adventure, I am taking stock of what Oahu holds for us.

It wasn't hard for me to embrace what a Hawaiian vacation must include, but what hadn't occurred to me until recently, is that our trip to Oahu (on the 4th of July), would also give us the opportunity to take in one of our nation's most patriotic landmarks; Pearl Harbor. 

I'm not one to get all weepy at the national anthem, but in this case, surrounded by not just Hawaii (oh my God!), but actually standing on grounds where recent memory knows great loss, and the beginning of our entrance into WWII (something I can feel patriotic about), I'm thinking our national pride might affect me a little differently. 

Most importantly is that on this 4th of July my children will walk where their great grandparent's brothers and sisters in uniform walked.  My son will hear the stories of that day, December 7th, 1941, when life on this peaceful tropical island, and then our country, turned upside down. 

And maybe this isn't the place, or the blog, for this kind of conversation (hey, I've had a mai Tai or two), but if my grandparents and their children lived the tragedies of Pearl Harbor, and if my parents and myself lived the tragedies of September 11th, then what on this great green Earth is in store for our children's children?  When will this historical cycle of attack and defense come to an end?  Did our founding fathers fathom this kind of history?

My hope is that my words and the histories of others can change at least one little boys future. My hope is for peace on earth this 4th of July, and freedom for all men.

Aloha.

 www.inthepowderroom.com