We propel ourselves into the future, I notice, by counting down the last few seconds of the year and cheering at the stroke of midnight on Dec. 31. We relegate the past year of our lives with lists of our favorite, best or worst, top ten events, people or things. Making lists is fun, perhaps imposes order where normally there would be none. What are the highlights of my kitchen year? Here is my countdown.
10. Peaches. There are three trees out there in the new garden, one is a Reliant, the names of the other two I couldn’t say. In April, Jamie came for a day and taught me how to prune them, and we reduced the matronly, branch-replete, eldest to a mere wisp of a girlish tree and I was rewarded by her generosity in late August. The other two younger trees, despite my efforts to thin the fruit, produced amazing numbers of peaches, requiring me to produce chutney and jam, and puree for a favorite sorbet. A spell of rain created havoc, and plastered the ground with rotting fruit, otherwise, I would’ve had a record-breaking crop.
9. Acorn Squash. I like acorn squash, so the mystery here is why haven’t I planted any for so many years? This was bush acorn and it produced four tidy, dark green squashes, each one, when split and baked, a dinner unto itself. Bake on an oiled pan cut side down at first, flip it over, pour in maple syrup and drop some butter in and bake until tender. Ahhhh.
8. Golden Beets. It was Toby’s idea to grow these. I conservatively stick to Early Wonder Tall Top or Detroit Dark Reds. How mundane. These golden beets were stunning when cooked, peeled and sliced into rich, yellow circles. Definitely a must-do next year.
7. Leeks and Nearly Anything Else. What a superior sort of vegetable leeks are. I planted quite a few this year, but still ended up with the sensation that there weren’t enough. Unlike onions, which always make me cry, leeks are a gentle member of the alliums. Perfectly wonderful sautéed and gratinéed, they play nicely with everything else. Kale and chard are absolutely transformed by them when mixed together. Leek brie soup is divine: two or three leeks sliced very thinly and sautéed in lots of butter, add chicken stock enough to give you soup, then cut a slab of brie in chunks, sink it into the soup, and melt the soft cheese out. Fish out and discard the rind. Don’t let it boil.
6. BLTs. This is a seasonal treat, only made when we have our own tomatoes. This year the BLT season started just before the end of July and lasted into mid-November, though those last tomatoes were more like January’s store tomatoes than the rich, red, drippingly wonderful tomatoes of August and September. The sandwich requires lettuce fresh from the garden, mayonnaise and very smoky bacon, assembled on bread soft enough to conform to the ingredients, but not to become sodden with tomato juice. Best eaten on the front porch where we can drip to our heart’s content.
5: The Hoop House. Without this marvel of season extension there would be no BLTs. Or peppers, eggplants, salsa fresca, tomato sauce, stewed tomatoes, tomato salad or lettuce lasting until Christmas, and beginning again around Valentine’s Day. In chilly March and April, the hoop house warms up and at the end of the day, Toby and I take gin and tonics in there to drink and pretend that it is summer.
4: A Microwave. Well, it has finally happened. I have given a microwave some kitchen space. Hardly imaginable a few years ago, the microwave has endeared its little electronic self to me. I learned of its utility when I lived away from home for a spell. Heating a bowl of soup for lunch, reheating cold coffee, nuking a mug of tea, thawing out or warming leftovers: I “got it” about how useful they were. It has proved so useful that when the electricity went out one day, I was truly inconvenienced. How humiliating.
3: Dark Harbor Coffee. It is named after a district of the island, but it is roasted at an enterprise in Lincolnville not far from the mainland ferry terminal. It is, as you might guess, a dark roast, and makes a very sturdy cup of coffee, beside which other coffees seem to be dishwater. Without Dark Harbor made in the coffee maker situated right next to the bed, getting up in the morning would be arduous indeed. How comforting to sit in a warm bed, hands wrapped around a hot mug, sipping our way into consciousness.
2: Helen’s Rescue Chickens. The Big Storm of Sept. 11 blew through mid-island and dropped a tree on Helen’s chicken house. Unable to rebuild right away, Helen asked if I could shelter her four charming birds, all chickens rescued from other flocks. Tearfully one night, she came and put them on the roost next to my three. It has taken a while for the birds to accept one another, but gradually they have formed some kind of poultry alliance, and can be seen patrolling and foraging in each other’s company at the edge of woods and around the yard.
Her birds are prettier and lots smarter than mine. There is a black one, a Barred Rock, an Araucana with a broad, upright tail, and a very sociable red hen who follows us around, speaking Chickenese, and letting us pick her up. Very early on, Helen’s hens figured out how to get the best overnight accommodations by beating the three locals to the coop and occupying each of the four nesting boxes, leaving my three absolutely baffled about where to sleep, something the silly dopes still haven’t figured out.
1: Real Cider. Definitely the highlight of the harvest season this year was neighbor Terry’s suggestion that we make cider. With a press borrowed from a seasonal resident, and apples garnered from hidden corners of the island where we captured fruit before the deer got them. Sure, it took work to run the apples through a hand-cranked grinder, and sure, it has taxed the limits of the freezers around here to store it away. Still, the sweet tart flavor of fresh cider and the lively carbonation of cider allowed to ferment just a bit, beats that miserable pasteurized stuff by a mile.
Sandra Oliver gardens, harvests, cooks and rules the roost on Islesboro.