Maybe I feel this way because my make-it-yourself upbringing drummed into me the ethic of working for the things I want. I’ve been involved in growing and cooking the food that feeds me since I was a little kid, and it has definitely given me a certain confidence about relying on myself. Just as meals don’t materialize in the grocery store, I realize a new car and a good education won’t just spring into my life on their own, but hopefully I will get there. If everything my heart desired was handed to me on a plate, I’d probably just want something else.
Cooking meals doesn’t have to be that complicated. Most of the recipes in this book take less than an hour to prepare. The average American spends three and a half hours watching TV every day. Even if a family can only manage to eat a meal together a couple of times a week, whether it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner, my vote would be that it’s worth the effort. For most of my high school years, dinner was often the only chance I’d have to see my sister or parents all day. We could check up on each other and recount the traumas and victories of our days. We might end up laughing through the whole meal. A choking hazard, maybe, but also a pretty good way to relieve stress.
Cheese is one of our favorite special foods to make from scratch. This recipe for homemade mozzarella is from Home Cheese Making by Ricki
Carroll and really does take only thirty minutes. For the rennet, plus the cultures for making other cheeses, contact New England Cheesemaking Supply Company.
30-MINUTE MOZZARELLA
Measure out all additives before you start, in clean glass or ceramic cups. Use unchlorinated water.
1 gallon pasteurized milk (NOT ultra-pasteurized)
1½ level teaspoons citric acid dissolved in ¼ cup cool water
Stir the milk on the stove in a stainless steel kettle, heating very gently. At 55° add the citric acid solution and mix thoroughly. At 88° it should begin to curdle.
¼ teaspoon liquid rennet, diluted in ¼ cup cool water
Gently stir in diluted rennet with up-and-down motion, and continue heating the milk to just over 100°, then turn off heat. Curds should be pulling away from sides of pot, ready to scoop out. The whey should be clear. (If it’s still milky, wait a few minutes.) Use a large slotted spoon or ladle to move curds from pot to a 2-quart microwaveable bowl. Press curds gently with hands to remove as much whey as possible, and pour it off. Microwave the curds on high for one minute, then knead the cheese again with hands or a spoon to remove more whey. (Rubber gloves help—this gets hot!) Microwave two more times (about 35 seconds each), kneading between each heating. At this point, salt the cheese to taste, then knead and pull until it’s smooth and elastic. When you can stretch it into ropes like taffy, you are done. If the curds break instead, they need to be reheated a bit. Once cheese is smooth and shiny, roll it into small balls to eat warm or store for later in the refrigerator.
Lacking a microwave, you can use the pot of hot whey on the stove for the heating-and-kneading steps. Put the ball of curd back in with a big slotted spoon, and heat it until it’s almost too hot to touch. Good stretching temperature is 175 degrees.
Here are three great ways to eat your mozzarella:
SUMMERTIME SALAD
2 large tomatoes 1 ball of mozzarella
Basil leaves
Olive oil
Salt to taste
Slice tomatoes and spread them out on a large platter. Place a thin slice of cheese and a basil leaf on each slice of tomato. Drizzle olive oil over top, sprinkle with salt, and serve.
EGGPLANT PAPOUTZAKIA
2 pounds eggplant
Olive oil
Slice eggplant lengthwise and sauté lightly in olive oil. Remove from skillet and arrange in a baking dish.
2 medium onions, garlic to taste
2 large tomatoes, diced
2 teaspoons nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste
6 ounces grated or sliced mozzarella
Chop onions and garlic and sauté in olive oil. Add diced tomato and spices and mix thoroughly. Spread mixture over the eggplant and sprinkle an even layer of cheese over top. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes, until golden on top.
FRIDAY NIGHT PIZZA
(Makes two 12-inch pizzas: enough for family, friends, and maybe tomorrow’s lunch.)
3 teaspoons yeast
1½ cups WARM water 3 tablespoons olive oil 1 teaspoon salt
2½ cups white flour
2 cups whole wheat flour
To make crust, dissolve the yeast into the warm water and add oil and salt to that mixture. Mix the flours and knead them into the liquid mixture. Let dough rise for 30 to 40 minutes.
1 cup sliced onions
2 peppers, cut up
While the dough is rising, prepare the sliced onions: a slow sauté to caramelize their sugars makes fresh onions into an amazing vegetable. First sizzle them on medium heat in a little olive oil, until transparent but not browned. Then turn down the burner, add a bit of water if necessary to keep them from browning, and let them cook ten to fifteen minutes more, until they are glossy and sweet. Peppers can benefit from a similar treatment.
Once the dough has risen, divide it in half and roll out two round 12-inch pizza crusts on a clean, floured countertop, using your fingers to roll the perimeter into an outer crust as thick as you like. Using spatulas, slide the crusts onto well-floured pans or baking stones and spread toppings.
16 ounces mozzarella, thinly sliced
2 cups fresh tomatoes in season (or sauce in winter)
Other toppings
1 tablespoon oregano
1 teaspoon rosemary
Olive oil
Layer the cheese evenly over the crust, then scatter the toppings of the week on your pizza, finishing with the spices. If you use tomato sauce (rather than fresh tomatoes), spread that over crust first, then the cheese, then other toppings. Bake pizzas at 425° for about 20 minutes, until crust is browned on the edge and crisp in the center.
Download these and all other Animal, Vegetable, Miracle recipes at www.AnimalVegetableMiracle.com
SOME OF OUR FAVORITE COMBINATIONS FOR SUMMER ARE:
Mozzarella, fresh tomato slices, and fresh basil, drizzled with olive oil Mozzarella, chopped tomatoes, caramelized onions and peppers, mushrooms
Chopped tomatoes, crumbled feta, finely chopped spinach or chard, black olives
GOOD WINTER COMBINATIONS INCLUDE:
Farmer cheese, chicken, olives, and mushrooms
Tomato sauce, mozzarella, dried peppers, mushrooms, and anchovies
* * *
10 • EATING NEIGHBORLY
Late June
Just a few hours north of Massachusetts lie the working-class towns of central Vermont, where a granite statue on Main Street is more likely to celebrate an anonymous stonecutter than some dignitary in a suit. Just such a local hero stood over us now, and we admired him as we drove past: stalwart as the mallet in his hand, this great stone man with his rolled-up sleeves reminded us of Steven’s Italian grandfather.
We were still on vacation, headed north, now hungry. We pulled in for lunch at a diner with a row of shiny chrome stools at the long counter, and booths lining one wall. Heavy white mugs waited to be filled with coffee. Patsy Cline and Tammy Wynette sang their hearts out for quarters. A handmade sign let us know the jukebox take is collected at the end of every month and sent to Farm Aid. The lunch crowd had cleared out, so we had our pick of booths and our order was up in a minute. The hamburgers were thick, the fries crispy, the coleslaw cool. The turkey wrap came with mashed sweet potatoes. Lily seemed so lost in her milkshake, we might never get her back.
The owners, Tod Murphy and Pam Van Deursen, checked by our booth to see how we liked everything—and to tell us which of their neighbors produced what. Everything on our plates was grown a stone’s throw from right here. The beef never comes from Iowa feedlots, nor do the fries come in giant frozen packages shipped from a factory fed by the world’s cheap grower of the moment. In a refreshing change of
pace, the fries here are made from potatoes. This is the Farmers Diner, where it’s not just quarters in the jukebox that support farming, but the whole transaction.
It is the simplest idea in the world, really: a restaurant selling food produced by farms within an hour’s drive. So why don’t we have more of them? For the same reason that statue down the street clings to his hammer while all the real stonecutters in this granite town have had to find other jobs, in a nation that now imports its granite from China. The giant building directly behind this diner, formerly a stonecutting works, is now a warehouse for stone that is cut, worked, and shipped here from the other side of the planet. If ever a town knew the real economics of the local product versus the low-cost import, this ought to be it.
Buying your goods from local businesses rather than national chains generates about three times as much money for your local economy. Studies from all over the country agree on that, even while consumers keep buying at chain stores, and fretting that the downtown blocks of cute mom-and-pop venues are turning into a ghost town. Today’s bargain always seems to matter more.
The Farmers Diner is therefore a restaurant for folks who want to fill up for under ten bucks, and that is what they get: basic diner food, affordable and not fancy. The Farmers Breakfast—two eggs, two pancakes, your choice of sausage or bacon—is $6.75. The Vermont-raised hamburger with a side of slaw, home fries, or a salad is $6.50. At any price, it’s an unusual experience to order a diner burger that does not come with a side of feedlot remorse. For our family this was a quiet little red-letter occasion, since we’d stopped eating CAFO-produced beef about ten years earlier. Virtually all beef in diners and other standard food services comes from CAFOs. Avoiding it is one pain in the neck, I’ll tell you, especially on hectic school mornings when I glance at the school lunchroom calendar and see that, once again, it’s hamburgers or tacos or “manager’s choice.” (The manager always chooses cow meat.) But I slap together the peanut butter sandwich; our reasons are our reasons. In Lily’s life, this was the first time we’d ever walked into a diner and ordered burgers. Understandably, she kept throwing me glances—this is really okay? It was. The cattle were raised on pasture by an acquaintance of the owner. When Tod asked, “How’s your burger?” it was not a restaurant ritual but a valid question. We told him it was great.
Tod Murphy’s background was farming. The greatest economic challenge he and his farming neighbors faced was finding a market for their good products. Opening this diner seemed to him like a red-blooded American kind of project. Thomas Jefferson, Tod points out, presumed on the basis of colonial experience that farming and democracy are intimately connected. Cultivation of land meets the needs of the farmer, the neighbors, and the community, and keeps people independent from domineering centralized powers. “In Jefferson’s time,” he says, “that was the king. In ours, it’s multinational corporations.” Tod didn’t think he needed to rewrite the Declaration of Independence, just a good business plan. He found investors and opened the Farmers Diner, whose slogan is “Think Locally, Act Neighborly.”
For a dreamer, he’s a practical guy. “Thinking globally is an abstraction. What the world needs now isn’t love sweet love—that’s a slogan.” What the world needs now, he maintains, is more compassionate local actions: “Shopping at the hardware store owned by a family living in town. Buying locally raised tomatoes in the summer, and locally baked bread. Cooking meals at home. Those are all acts of love for a place.”
The product of his vision is a place that’s easy to love, where a person can sit down and eat two eggs sunny side up from a chicken that is having a good life, and a farmer that will too, while Tammy Wynette exhorts us all to stand by our man. It’s also an unbelievable amount of work, I suspect, for Tod, Pam, and their kids Grace and Seamus, who start the day early on their farm and keep things running here until closing time. The diner has had to create a network of reliable year-round producers, facilitating local partnerships and dealing with human problems, for better and for worse. Supplies have to keep running even if a potato grower falls ill or the onion farm gets a divorce.
Trying to make a small entrepreneurial economy competitive with the multinationals is an obvious challenge. Tod has met it, in part, by creating an allied business that processes all their breakfast sausage, bacon, smoked ham, and turkey, and also sells these products in regional stores. With the Farmers Diner Smokehouse and the diner itself both doing half a million dollars in business annually, they can create a market for 1,500 hogs per year. That’s just about how many it takes to keep a processing plant running. A nearby bakery stays busy making their burger buns and bread. The stonecutting jobs have all gone to China, but Tod taps every channel he can think of to make sure it’s Vermont farmers’ hogs, grain, potatoes, and eggs that end up on the white porcelain plates of his diner.
His unusual take on the ordinary has recently made the place world-famous, at least among those who pay attention to food economies. Here in town, though, it’s just the diner. The average customer comes in for the atmosphere and the food: the NASCAR crowd, or elderly Italians and Ukranians from a nearby retirement home. The old folks love the Chioggia beets and greens, farmstead fare that reminds them of home. Some of his customers also enthusiastically support the idea of keeping local businesses in business. But whether they care or not, they’ll keep coming back for the food.
How is local defined, in this case? “An hour’s drive,” Tod said. Their longest delivery run is seventy miles. Maintaining a year-round supply of beef, pork, chicken, and turkey from nearby farms is relatively simple, because it’s frozen. Local eggs, milk, ice cream, and cheese are also available all year, as are vegetal foods that store well, such as potatoes, beets, carrots, onions, sauerkraut, and maple syrup. The granola is made in Montpelier, the spaghetti and ravioli right here in town. Fresh vegetables are a challenge. The menu doesn’t change much seasonally, but ingredients do; there’s less green stuff on the plate when the ground outside is white. The beer is locally brewed except for Bud and Bud Light, which, according to Tod, “you’ve gotta have. We’re not selling to purists.” Obviously, at a diner you’ve also gotta have coffee, and it’s fair-trade organic.
The Farmers Diner does not present itself as a classroom, a church service, or a political rally. For many regional farmers it’s a living, and for everybody else it’s a place to eat. Tod feels that the agenda here transcends politics, in the sense of Republican or Democrat. “It’s oligarchy vs. non-oligarchy,” Tod says—David vs. Goliath, in other words. Tom Jefferson against King George. It’s people trying to keep work and homes together, versus conglomerates that scoop up a customer’s money and move it out of town to a corporate bank account far away. Where I grew up, we used to call that “carpetbagging.” Now it seems to be called the American way.
Marketing jingles from every angle lure patrons to turn our backs on our locally owned stores, restaurants, and farms. And nobody considers that unpatriotic. This appears to aggravate Tod Murphy. “We have the illusion of consumer freedom, but we’ve sacrificed our community life for the pleasure of purchasing lots of cheap stuff. Making and moving all that stuff can be so destructive: child labor in foreign lands, acid rain in the Northeast, depleted farmland, communities where the big economic engine is crystal meth. We often have the form of liberty, but not the substance.”
Speaking Up
* * *
The increased availability of local food in any area is a direct function of the demand from local consumers. Most of us are not accustomed to asking about food origins, but it’s easy enough to do.
First: in grocery stores, when the cashier asks if you found everything you were looking for, you could say, “Not really, I was looking for local produce.” The smaller the store, the more open a grocer may be to your request. Food co-ops should be especially receptive. Restaurants may also be flexible about food purchasing, and your exchanges with the waitstaff or owner can easily include questions about which entrees or
wines are from local sources. Restaurateurs do understand that local food is the freshest available, and they’re powerful participants in the growing demand for local foods. You can do a little homework in advance about what’s likely to be available in your region.
Local and regional policymakers need to hear our wishes. Many forums are appropriate for promoting local food: town and city hall meetings, school board meetings, even state commissioner meetings. It makes sense to speak up about any venue where food is served, or where leaders have some control over food acquisition, including churches, social clubs, and day-care centers. Federal legislators also need to hear about local food issues. Most state governments consider farming-related legislation almost weekly. You can learn online about what issues are being considered, to register your support for laws that help local farms. In different parts of the country the specifics change, but the motives don’t. As more people ask, our options will grow.
* * *
STEVEN L. HOPP
It does not seem exactly radical to want to turn this tide, starting with lunch from the neighborhood. Nor is it an all-or-nothing proposition. “If every restaurant got just ten percent of its food from local farmers,” Tod boldly proposed, “the infrastructure of corporate food would collapse.”
Ten percent seemed like a small pebble to aim at Goliath’s pate. Lily picked up her spoon and dipped into Rock Bottom Farm’s maple ice cream. We could hear the crash of corporate collapse with every bite. Tough work, but somebody’s got to do it.
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