Masala Farm

by Suvir Saran

  ¼ tsp ground cloves

  ¼ tsp ground ginger

  ¼ tsp ground nutmeg

  1½ tsp baking powder

  ½ tsp salt

  8 large eggs

  1 orange, zested and juiced

  1 tbsp dark or black-strap molasses

  1 tbsp orange marmalade

  ¼ tsp vanilla extract

  ¼ tsp almond extract

  ¼ tsp orange flower water

  1¼ cups/250 g light or dark brown sugar

  1¼ cups/250 g granulated sugar

  3 tbsp superfine sugar

  Place the dried fruits, nuts, and 1 cup/240 ml of the cognac in a bowl or 1-gl/3.8-L resealable plastic bag. Set aside at room temperature for at least 1 week or up to several months (continue to top off the amount of cognac so the fruits continue to sweeten in the alcohol).

  Heat the oven to 350°F/180°C/gas 4. Grease three 5-by-9-in/14-by-23-cm loaf pans with 1 tbsp butter each. Add 2 tbsp flour to each pan, and shake to coat the bottoms and sides. Set aside.

  Whisk together the flour, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl and set aside. In another large bowl, whisk the eggs with the orange zest and juice, molasses, marmalade, vanilla, almond extract, and orange flower water and set aside.

  Beat the remaining butter with the brown sugar and granulated sugar in a stand mixer (or in a large bowl if using a hand mixer) on low speed until combined. Increase the speed to medium-high and beat until light and creamy, about 2 minutes. Reduce the speed to low. Add one-third of the flour mixture, followed by half of the egg mixture. Repeat, ending with the last one-third of the flour mixture, scraping the bowl between additions as necessary. Mix in the cognac-soaked fruit and nuts (leave any excess liquid behind), and then scrape the batter into the prepared pans.

  Place the pans in the oven, and bake for 1 hour. Rotate the pans, reduce the heat to 300°F/150°C/gas 2, and continue to bake until a cake tester inserted into the center of each cake comes out clean and the center of each resists light pressure, about 30 minutes longer. Check occasionally— if the cakes look like they are browning too quickly, loosely tent with aluminum foil. Remove the cakes from the oven, and let cool completely in the pans.

  Place three large pieces of muslin (large enough to completely wrap around each cake; you can also use several layers of cheesecloth in place of muslin) in a bowl and pour the remaining ¾ cup/180 ml cognac over it. Run a paring knife around the edges of each pan to loosen the cakes. Turn each cake out onto a plate. Wrap the cognac-soaked muslin around the cakes so all surfaces, edges, and sides are covered. Sprinkle the top of the cakes with superfine sugar, and then wrap tightly in plastic wrap followed by a layer of aluminum foil. Let the cakes cure in the refrigerator for 1 week (or up to 1 year). Before serving, let the cake sit out at room temperature for 30 minutes before slicing.

  RECIPE NOTE

  Every time you remove a slice, resoak the muslin in ¼ cup/60 ml fresh cognac, sprinkle with another 3 tbsp sugar, and rewrap in fresh sheets of plastic wrap and aluminum foil. If storing for more than 1 week, be sure to soak and replace the muslin on a weekly basis.

  Upstate Apple Butter

  In upstate New York, we are blessed with a multitude of apple orchards, many of which are reintroducing heirloom apples to the public. It’s amazing to discover and taste the various varieties and expand our apple repertoire. Belle de Boskoop is a variety that was new to me—I love it for its incredibly aromatic contribution to apple butter and sauce. I get them from fifthgeneration family-run Saratoga Apple in Schuylerville, New York. My other two favorite varieties for cooking and baking are Northern Spys and Rhode Island Greenings, both early American cultivars that I buy from Hicks Orchard in Granville, the oldest u-pick in New York (since 1905). While the Northern Spy is juicy and crisp, Rhode Island Greenings contribute a wonderful tartness. Used in combination, these three little-known varieties lend our apple butter great flavor and history. Unless you have a spare freezer or refrigerator in a cellar or garage, you may choose to cook a half batch of this recipe.

  Makes six 1-pt/475-ml jars

  3 cinnamon sticks

  1 tsp whole cloves

  1 tsp whole green cardamom pods

  ½ tsp whole black peppercorns

  ½ tsp fennel seeds

  ¼ tsp anise seeds

  1-in/2.5-cm piece ginger, peeled and roughly chopped

  10 lb/4.5 kg apples (about 32 apples), preferably a mix of tart, sweet, and slightly acidic varieties (see “Apples Galore”), peeled, cored, and roughly chopped

  4 cups/960 ml apple cider

  5 cups/1 kg sugar

  Place the cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, peppercorns, fennel seeds, anise, and ginger in a large square of cheesecloth. Gather the four corners together, tie with butcher’s twine, and place in a large stockpot. Add the apples and apple cider and bring to a hard simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer gently, stirring often, until the apples easily mash against the sides of the pot, about 1 hour.

  Remove the spice sachet from the pot and save to use later. Fill a blender about halfway with the apple mixture and purée until completely smooth (alternatively an immersion blender is perfect for this kind of job). Transfer the apple purée to a clean pot and repeat with the remaining apples and liquid.

  Return the spice sachet to the apple purée and stir in the sugar. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium, and gently simmer, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is thick, 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes (if the apple butter starts to splatter, reduce the heat).

  Remove and discard the spice sachet. If you plan on canning the apple butter, ladle the hot mixture into sterilized jars following the instructions below. Or let the apple butter cool to room temperature, and then refrigerate for up to 3 weeks or freeze for up to 6 months.

  RECIPE NOTE: CANNING CHUTNEY, JAM, AND FRUIT BUTTER

  Even when I lived in a cramped Manhattan apartment, I always found the space (and time) to can jams, chutneys, and fruit butters. The process is simple—just make sure you have the right supplies on hand before beginning. Wash canning jars, lids, and bands in hot soapy water and rinse well. Place the jars and bands (not the lids) in a large pot and cover with 2 in/5 cm of water. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat slightly, and gently boil for 10 minutes (or place them in the top rack of the dishwasher and run them through a cycle). Remove the jars and bands using tongs and place upside down on a clean kitchen towel to drain.

  Fill the jars with hot jam, jelly, or fruit butter (a funnel is very handy for this job), leaving a ¼-in/6-mm headspace at the top. Wipe off the rims with a clean towel, place the lids on the jars, and seal. Place the filled jars on a canning rack in a deep canning pot or stockpot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, cover, and boil for 10 minutes. Remove the jars from the pot using tongs and place them on a kitchen towel to cool (you may hear the lids pop as they seal—this is a good thing!) completely. Before storing, press the top of the lid to make sure it doesn’t bounce back—this means the lid is properly sealed. If it does bounce back, repeat the boiling process.

  Canning Checkist

  Canning pot

  Canning rack

  Clean kitchen towels

  Funnel

  Jar lifter

  Jars, lids, bands

  Permanent marker and/or stickers for labeling contents, as well as noting the date (month/year)

  Tongs

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  Winter

  A Rekindling of Community

  The long, harsh, and challenging winter is also the time of year when the true spirit of the North Country people shines. Hearths fill with the sound of crackling wood fires, the air is crisp, and the tables are set for lots of cold-weather entertaining. During what seems like a never-ending season of snow and plummeting temperatures is actually the time of year we look forward to the most—because it’s when nearly all of us can slow down and rekindle relationships with each other
. After moving to the farm, Charlie and I learned quickly that the verdant spring and summer months are lovely, fall is magical, and winter is really where the heart of our community lies.

  While some may think that winter and its harsh, bleak-colored reality of whites, grays, and browns (with an occasional shock of piercing blue sky) might rob locals of joy and happiness, the contrary is true. During the frigid months that make summer seem a million years away, friends and neighbors quickly fill our calendar with brunch and dinner invitations. They open their homes and fire up their hearths, and we gather together around comforting fireplaces to catch up on the season past and the seasons ahead.

  Our immediate neighbors, Joe and Sally Brillon, have a wood-fired hearth that dates to the 1840s, and it was there that I spent my first country Thanksgiving and experienced the ease and graciousness of rural hospitality. A turkey slowly roasted over the open fire and other casseroles and side dishes were cooked in the natural heat of the hearth. Homemade hummus, baba ghanoush, and even pita bread were served. I realized that my new neighbors did not fit any country stereotype I could have dreamed up—and they realized the same about me.

  As free as the animals are during the warm months of the year, during the colder times they remind us of our responsibilities and duties toward their survival. Charlie and I are out in the snow, sleet, and freezing rain every morning and night filling water containers for the goats and chickens; heaving bales of hay and back-breaking bags of feed from one barn to another, and providing general company and comfort to the geese and ducks who expect nothing yet are so delighted to find grain and interaction in the stark winter.

  After being outside in the elements, nothing beats retreating to the sofa in front of a stoked fire with a cup of hot chai and maybe some spicy Indian snacks or a tea biscuit to take off the chill. Charlie reads his farming manuals, and I knit or crochet—we are quite the picture, the two of us, a new representation of American Gothic if ever there was one. The wind howls through the barren trees, the sky grows dark, and a quiet like you’ve never experienced before takes over the farm. It is eerie and beautiful and incredibly serene. I don’t find myself missing the frenetic energy of Manhattan for one second.

  Of course, the warm kitchen is where we spend most of our time in the winter. The perfume of a Kerala-style onion and egg roast or a cranberry-strawberry galette just out of the oven fills our home with a cozy fragrance no jar of potpourri could hope to duplicate. We cook and create new recipes and have fun rummaging through our larder, using up jars of jam preserved in the summer, or unique vinegars, seasonings, and dried fruits and mushrooms purchased on trips abroad. Friends come by for dinner, congregating at the kitchen island, and we often never even make it to the dining table, eating up the delicious food as I cook it. Samosas, dumplings, soups, and roasts are served alongside conversations about politics, religion, or just plain country gossip. It’s all a part of the winter table, providing us with sustenance and stories to see us through until spring.

  Old-Fashioned Eggnog

  There is nothing quite like lusciously silky, rich, and creamy eggnog during the holidays. It couldn’t be simpler to make, yet the art of homemade eggnog has fallen by the wayside, with convenient store-bought cartons laden with artificial ingredients, preservatives, and nasty thickeners taking its place. Make this once and you’ll be amazed—I have served it to fine chefs, city slickers, and country friends alike, and all are always charmed by its pureness and wonderfully luxurious texture. Make eggnog with the freshest eggs you can find and be prepared to rediscover the charms of this delicious holiday tradition.

  Serves 8 to 10

  4 cups/950 ml milk

  9 large eggs

  11/3 cups/265 g sugar

  ¼ tsp kosher salt

  3 cups/720 ml heavy cream

  1/3 cup/80 ml Grand Marnier

  1/3 cup/80 ml cognac or bourbon

  ¾ tsp vanilla bean paste, or 1¼ tsp vanilla extract

  Freshly grated nutmeg

  Bring the milk to a boil in a large saucepan and turn off the heat.

  Crack the eggs into a large bowl and whisk in the sugar, then slowly pour in the hot milk while whisking constantly. Return the mixture to the saucepan, add the salt, and cook over low heat until it coats the back of a wooden spoon (your finger should leave a trail that doesn’t run) and it reads 170°F/77°C on an instant-read thermometer, 6 to 8 minutes.

  Pour the eggnog base through a fine-mesh sieve and into a large bowl. Stir in 22/3 cups/640 ml of the cream, the Grand Marnier, cognac, and vanilla. Cover with plastic wrap and chill until cold.

  Before serving, in a medium bowl, whip the remaining 1/3 cup/80 ml cream to soft peaks. Whisk the whipped cream into the eggnog and serve with a pinch of nutmeg.

  Farm Yarn:

  eBay for Eggs

  Maricel Presilla, a dear friend, chef, and businesswoman with two successful restaurants in Hoboken, visited us at the farm during our first summer here. The whole time she was with us, she kept saying the same thing—that we absolutely must get some Penedesenca chickens, since they lay the most beautiful dark-chocolate-brown eggs. If anyone understands my motives when it comes to chickens, it’s Maricel. While many farmers might have chickens for purely practical reasons—like to provide meat and eggs—Maricel and I have them for idealistic reasons. We have chickens because we love everything about them, from how the chicks follow the mother hen to their beautiful plumage to their cautious curiosty. At Maricel’s urging, I visited Egg-Bid.com, a Web site selling every kind of heritage chicken you can imagine. Just like on eBay, people bid against one another for rare eggs, from Penedesencas to Polish and everything in between. Needless to say, I got hooked, and a couple of afternoons later, we had a dozen or so chicks of various pedigree and breed arrive via FedEx!

  Because I have a fascination with all kinds of birds, I didn’t stop at chickens. I ordered guinea hens, wood ducks, and even Chinese Ringneck pheasants. The males of both species of pheasants and ducks are phenomenal to look at, like living art. I had to have them!

  One morning, eight boxes arrived. Charlie took the boxes to an open-roof area of the barn that had bedding and was separate from the other animals. He stirred some sugar into water, as he planned to feed them as soon as they were let out of the boxes (the birds are often a bit stressed and need liquid and electrolytes). Charlie opened the top flaps of the boxes, and whoosh—just like that, all but two birds flew away! Nine hundred dollars was gone in seconds! (We hadn’t realized that, unlike chickens who are shipped as small baby chicks only able to skit around, pheasants and ducks arrive as juveniles, about one year old.)

  My mother happened to be visiting from India, and she and Charlie ran into the fields hopping after the pheasants, trying to catch them. It was a hysterical sight! A few days later, our neighbor Sally Longo (of Sally’s Veggie Dumplings with Ginger-Soy Dipping Sauce fame) asked us what to do with a gorgeous and wounded Ringneck pheasant that she found on her property. We were delighted to discover the location of one of the birds but devastated to hear of its injury. Charlie and Mom brought the pheasant home and, combined with the two that we managed to keep on the property, we had a whole pheasant family. But we realized that pheasants are much happier wild than in capitivity, so we ended up letting them all loose, and now whenever neighbors spot the gorgeous birds in the countryside, they report back to us. It makes us happy to know that we inadvertently beautified the area with these incredible birds.

  As for the wood ducks, they come to our pond every day throughout the spring. From the initial four that flew the coop grew a family of ten to twelve ducks. We watch them bathe and play in the pond and fly off to the woods that flank our property. It is the best of both worlds really—they get to enjoy the wild and we get to enjoy their beauty, albeit unpredictable and fleeting.

  Farmhouse Chai

  In India, chai is just part of the day—you wake up; you have chai. While the drinking of tea in Western countries comes with a lot of
pomp and circumstance—tea cozies, strainers, fine teapots—in India, chai, made from black tea leaves, spices, milk, water, and a bit of sugar, is an ordinary thing people of all backgrounds and lifestyles drink throughout the day and without much fanfare. It’s not as caffeinated as coffee, so you can drink more of it, and it’s available everywhere, often alongside bread pakoras sold by street vendors.

  American chai is nothing like Indian chai. While this beverage in India is balanced and nuanced—the sweetness of the cardamom and cinnamon is tempered by the astringency of the ginger, the heat of the clove, and a touch of spice from black peppercorns—domestic chai is often candy sweet and horribly spiced, with too much cinnamon or overwhelming amounts of cloves. My chai is neither cloyingly sweet nor overly spiced. I boil it for fifteen minutes to bring out the tannins in the tea, but if you like a softer flavor, do not boil it as long (in India, people boil it even longer than fifteen minutes). My favorite loose-leaf tea to use is the Darjeeling I buy from Chaiwalla in Connecticut—it’s delicate and soft, and allows the flavors of the spices to come through. For a stronger tea try Nilgiri; Assam (Charlie’s favorite) delivers the most assertive cup of chai.

  Serves 4 to 6

  2 cups/480 ml milk

  1 cup/240 ml water

  1½ tbsp loose-leaf black tea, like Darjeeling, Nilgiri, or Assam

  10 whole green cardamom pods, lightly crushed to break open the pods

  6 whole black peppercorns

  6 whole cloves

  2-in/5-cm piece fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped

  1½-in/3.75-cm cinnamon stick, broken in half

  1 tbsp sugar