Our Daily Bread

It’s hard to imagine that the wooded hills in my neighborhood once grew wheat. Yet 150 years ago, Maine was the breadbasket of New England. We’re now beginning to see Maine-grown wheat in markets again: a boon for bread makers who want locally-grown ingredients.

My husband Lloyd has been making our bread for the last year. It has transformed our meals, if not our lives. His loaves are hearty, with a mild sourdough flavor and a crumby texture and crisp crust usually found only in the best bakery breads. If that weren’t enough, this bread is so simple to make, all that’s required is patience.

The technique is forgiving, so even if you are not an experienced baker, don’t be discouraged from trying. Lloyd is a free-wheeling cook who hates to follow recipes exactly, and his bread is good every time.

Our daily breadmaking began with two articles by Mark Bittman, who writes a weekly cooking column for the New York Times. His first piece, published November 8, 2006 generated such enormous response that a month later he devoted a second column to answering readers’ questions and suggesting ways to fine-tune the process.

What is so exciting—or revolutionary-- about this bread recipe? It achieves spectacular and reliable results with no kneading, and no special ingredients or equipment. In short, time does the work. It takes 24 hours to make the bread from start to finish, and for most of that time, the dough does its thing without your help. Flour, water, salt and a small amount of yeast are the easy-to-remember ingredients in the dough, which should be almost, but not quite, too wet to handle. The long, slow rise does the work of kneading, and slightly ferments the flour, giving it a delicious sourdough flavor. A crisp crust—crisp as a professionally baked French baguette—is achieved by baking the wet dough in a covered pot in a very hot oven. Voila! It’s that simple.

Now to the recipe—and we’ll talk more as we go along.

Mark Bittman’s No-Knead Bread

Time: 5 minutes to prepare; 18 – 20 hours to rise; 45- 60 minutes to cook.

3 cups bread flour or all purpose flour
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
2 teaspoons salt (as little as 1 ¼ teaspoons of salt may be used)
Cornmeal or bran as needed to handle the dough

A heavy pot (4 quart cast iron is ideal) with lid. Nothing fancy, but able to withstand a very hot oven. Enameled cast iron, Pyrex and ceramic work too. The right sized pot makes a well-rounded loaf. A pot that is too big will make a wide, flat loaf. (We use an 8 quart cast iron dutch oven, which is too large. I’m still looking for the perfect pot.)

1. In a large bowl combine the flour, yeast and salt. Add to the flour mixture 1 5/8 cups of tepid water and stir until blended. The dough should be shaggy and sticky—almost too wet to handle. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a dish towel, and let rise in a comfortably warm place for 18 hours, more or less, until the surface is pocked with tiny bubbles, and the dough clings with shaggy strands to the sides of the bowl.

(Here it should be said that although you can rise the bread for less time—8 - 12 hours – it will not have the well-developed flavor that a longer rising gives. Letting it rise as much as 24 hours will not affect it adversely unless the air temperature is too high. You will need to experiment to find what works for you and your schedule.)

2. When the dough is ready, dust your hands and the dough with flour, cornmeal or bran, and turn it out onto a well-floured pastry board or clean dish towel (not terry cloth). Flatten dough into a rectangle and fold in thirds. Let rest for 15 minutes. Gather the dough in a loose ball and place it seam side down on a floured towel, dust with more flour or cornmeal, and cover with a second clean dish towel. Let dough rise this time for 2 - 3 hours. When ready, dough will have risen to more than double its size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.
(I have had reasonable success shortening the second rise to 1 hour, in a pinch.)

3. 20 minutes before the end of the second rise, put the pot and lid in your oven to preheat to 450. When the oven has reached temperature and the dough is ready, carefully remove the pot from the oven. Lift the dough on its towel and with your hand underneath, gently turn it upside down into the pot. (It will look like an uneven blob in the bottom of the pot, but in cooking will straighten out.) Shake the pan to distribute the dough more evenly, if necessary. Cover, and bake for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes remove lid and bake for an additional 15 – 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. (Time here will depend on your oven: we find we have to reduce the heat to 400 after removing the lid to prevent scorching, and cook for an additional 15 minutes.) Cool on a rack.

If your dough is too wet, it may stick to the towel when you turn it into the hot pot. This is recoverable: quickly scrape the dough that remains on the towel into the pot with the rest of the dough, cover and bake. The dough never sticks to the pot after baking.

You can add other ingredients (cheese, olives, caraway seed, nuts, raisins) after the first mixing, or fold them in before the second rising.

A word about flour:

We have used as much as 100 % whole wheat flour to make the bread, but it has better crumb when lightened with some white. 1/3 wheat to 2/3 white gives reliably good results. Rye is difficult to work with in this recipe. It makes the dough too sticky and is almost impossible to get to rise. I would recommend no more than 20% whole rye flour. Experiment.

The Bounty of Bones

I have by now filled our chest freezer with locally-raised meat for the coming year: beef and lamb; two dozen chickens; pork sausages and bacon. There are many pleasures to be had from buying one’s meat from local farmers. First is the pleasure of knowing that the animals are raised humanely, out of doors and on pasture, the way nature designed them to live. A happier animal is a healthier animal, and that translates to better quality meat. And it is satisfying to know that I am helping my neighbors in a very small way to keep the farm. Another pleasure is that I can choose, to some extent, the cuts of meat I want. Before the animal goes to the butcher, the farmer sends me by email a “cut sheet”, where I can designate how I want my share of the animal cut and packaged. This requires a bit of education. When we buy our meat at the supermarket, we can remain innocent of where the meat comes from; what cuts come from what parts of the animal, and what the best uses of each cut are. Somehow, it seems more responsible to know a little about the creatures who nourish us. And to have a relationship with the farmer who raises them.

Typically a whole lamb, for instance, will provide leg and shoulder roasts, loin and rib chops, shanks, stew meat, ground meat, soup bones and organs. When I order lamb and beef, I choose cuts that have the bone in when possible, because meat cooked on the bone is juicier and more flavorful than with the bone removed, and the bones can be used later for stock-making. (The rewards are worth the effort of all this planning.) I also order extra suet (the fat surrounding the loins and kidneys) for my winter birds, and marrow and knuckle bones which aren’t generally given out by the butcher unless requested.

Once the wood cookstove is lit, there is hardly a day in our household when the stock pot isn’t simmering.

Meat stocks are highly nourishing and restorative; chicken soup is, after all a traditional remedy for the flu. Not only are broths good for whatever ails us, but they add great flavor to food--be it soup, sauce or braising liquid for pot roasts and stews. And, they are very easy to make.

Ideally you will want to use a variety of bones from different parts of the animal for your stock. Knuckles and feet, for instance, are rich in gelatin; rib, neck and marrow bones impart color and flavor. If you can’t get these, collect and freeze assorted bones from cooked roasts and chops until you have enough to make a pot of stock.


Beef, Lamb or Venison Stock

6 - 8 pounds assorted bones from beef, lamb or venison (including knuckle, neck and marrow bones if available)

½ cup vinegar

2 onions, coarsely chopped
3 carrots, coarsely chopped
3 celery stalks, coarsely chopped
several sprigs of fresh thyme, (marjoram, oregano or savory can also be used) or 2 teaspoons dried herbs
1 teaspoon dried peppercorns
1 large handful fresh parsley
sea salt

If using knuckles, feet or marrow bones, place them in a non-reactive soup pot with the vinegar, and cover with cold water. Let stand 1 hour. (The vinegar draws the minerals out of the bones into the water.)

Brown the meaty bones in a roasting pan at 350 with one half of the chopped vegetables for 20 – 30 minutes. During browning baste the vegetables with the fat which accumulates in the pan. Add browned bones and vegetables to soup pot, pour off fat, and deglaze pan: add 2 cups of water to the pan, bring to a boil, and stir to loosen pan juices. Add this mixture to the soup pot with remaining vegetables.

Add more cold water to cover the bones and vegetables by at least 2 “ and bring to a boil. Skim off any brown scum that rises to the surface as the liquid comes to a boil. After the scum has been removed, reduce heat, add herbs and 1 ½ teaspoons of sea salt. Cover pot loosely. Cook at a quiet simmer for 4 – 24 hours. The longer the stock cooks, the richer and more flavorful it will be. (If the liquid is reduced below the level of the bones during cooking, add more water to cover).

Strain stock through a colander, pressing liquid out of meat and vegetables with a wooden spoon. Cool, degrease and strain again through a fine-meshed sieve or cheesecloth. Adjust seasonings, adding salt if necessary.

If you are not planning to use the stock within a week, freeze in pint or quart containers. If your freezer space is at a minimum, boil the stock down to a rich concentrate and freeze in small batches that can later be reconstituted with the addition of water.


Chicken Stock

1 large chicken carcass or 2 – 3 pounds of chicken parts, such as necks, backs, wings and breastbones

gizzards from one chicken (optional)
feet from one chicken (optional)
2 tablespoons of vinegar
1 onion, coarsely chopped
2 carrots, coarsely chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
thyme or marjoram, fresh sprigs or dried
1 handful fresh parsley
1 ½ teaspoon sea salt
10 whole peppercorns

Place chicken parts or bones in a non-reactive soup pot with vinegar and vegetables. Cover with water by several inches. Let stand 30 minutes to 1 hour, to draw out minerals from the bones. Bring to a boil, remove scum that rises to the surface, and add the herbs, salt and peppercorns. Reduce heat, cover and simmer gently for 4 to 24 hours. Add water during cooking if necessary.

Strain, degrease and adjust for salt and other seasonings as in the above recipe for meat stocks.

Preserving our Roots

Carrots and beets, that is! Every home garden should have a row of fall carrots—that most reliable of keeping vegetables -- and one of beets for winter eating. If you don’t have a garden, most market farmers have extra root vegetables at the end of the season, and would be happy to supply you with them.

This year my row of fall carrots got a late start, so I have ordered extra from a friend. Next week I will put her large, sweet storage carrots and beets –unwashed, but with tops cut just above the root and clods of dirt brushed off—into damp wood shavings in lidded plastic tubs in my unheated cellar. Then, through the long winter, a ready supply of locally-grown, fresh vegetables is only a few steps away—at the bottom of my cellar stairs.

Carrots and beets like cold, damp storage, such as an unheated cellar. Onions, garlic, and squash want cool, dry storage—the closet of a spare bedroom on the north side of the house, or an attic, or cool entryway off the kitchen. When you start thinking about it, its not hard to come up with places where you can squirrel away winter vegetables, and you’ll be glad you did. They taste so much better than anything you can buy in the supermarket, come January.

Before canning and refrigeration, the most common method of vegetable and fruit preservation was cold storage of food in its natural state. When the first English settlers arrived in New England almost 400 years ago, they were unprepared for the harshness of our winters. The houses they built resembled those they had known in English villages—but with a difference: in the New World they needed cellars to preserve the harvest which was essential to their survival. Many of our older houses have stone-walled cellars, whose purpose originally was not to house furnaces and hot water tanks, but to store food during the winter. Now most basements are too warm for keeping food. But all is not lost if you don’t have an unheated cellar. A corner furthest from the furnace can be partitioned off to achieve the desired coldness (32 – 40 degrees). A basement window well with the light blocked can be used for mini cold storage, as can the steps of a bulkhead door. A handy piece of equipment to have is a wireless thermometer. I tuck one down cellar near the vegetables, and monitor it from the kitchen.

The beauty of storing root vegetables in damp shavings in tubs with lids is that high humidity is maintained (without having to humidify a large space) and rodents are kept out. Experts recommend that a change of air is necessary to keep the vegetables fresh, but I have found that opening the bins several times a week in the normal course of collecting food seems to do well enough. Moisten the shavings evenly before layering with the roots. The vegetables may touch but not crowd each other. Put a good layer of wood shavings between each layer of vegetable. Cardboard boxes work well, too. The wood shavings tend to dry out faster in cardboard than plastic, and will need to be refreshed with water every month or so. I have not experimented with them, but clean sand or sawdust can be substituted for wood shavings. Parsnips, turnips and kohlrabi can also be stored this way.

This year we ate our last stored carrot July 1—eight months after we put it away. It was still sweet and amazingly crisp—and it had never been refrigerated. To my mind, that is independence!


Carrots are the workhorse of winter cooking, receding somewhat into the background as the aromatic base for soups and stews. Beets, while not quite as versatile as the carrot, are delicious roasted or grated raw in salad. Both are nourishing; packed with vitamins and minerals. Studies done in France, where the carrot is revered as the savory basis of almost everything, suggest that raw carrots alleviate digestive ailments, lower blood cholesterol, and reduce the risk of lung cancer in smokers. Beets, which were developed by German gardeners in the middle ages, are so concentrated, nutritionally speaking, that many vitamins are derived from them. Beets and their tops contain substances that detoxify the liver and clean the blood. In Europe beets are used in cancer therapy.

Roasting root vegetables sweetens and caramelizes them. Large carrots often have a woody core which is best cut out before cooking. Beets bleed when cut, so if you don’t want their juices staining other foods in the dish, cook them separately or roast in the oven with skins on, and slip off the skins when cooked. (I happen to love the jewel-like stain beets impart to other root vegetables when cooked together!)

Oven Roasted Carrots and Beets

Preheat oven to 400 F.

6 medium carrots
6 medium beets
¼ cup olive oil
Salt and pepper

Wash, peel and trim the ends of carrots and beets and cut them into pieces that are roughly the same size and shape.

In a large bowl, toss the carrots and beets together with the olive oil, and season generously with salt and pepper. Spread the vegetables evenly in a baking pan in a single layer, and roast, uncovered, stirring and tossing occasionally, until the vegetables are tender, for 20 to 45 minutes.

Serves 4 to 6


Salad of Beet, Apple and Endive

2 medium beets, trimmed, peeled and quartered
1 medium apple, peeled and quartered
1 head of curly endive, or lettuce, rinsed, dried and torn into pieces
Balsamic vinegar, or blueberry vinegar
Olive oil
1 shallot, peeled and chopped
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
Fresh chopped parsley
Goat or Roquefort cheese, crumbled (optional)

Grate the beets and apple in a food processor, or by hand. Put into a bowl with chopped shallot, 1 TBL vinegar, and 2 ½ TBL olive oil. Mix, and let rest for 15 minutes to marinate.

Prepare the greens: right before serving whisk 1 TBL vinegar with salt and pepper to taste in a bowl. Add 2 ½ TBL olive oil in a thin stream, whisking constantly. Add the endive or lettuce and toss so that the leaves are coated with the dressing. Arrange the leaves on a serving platter. Toss the beets one more time and mound atop the lettuce, leaving the lettuce showing around the edges.

Garnish with crumbled cheese, if desired, and chopped parsley.

Serves 4 to 6

Pesto, but Hold the Basil

Now that basil flourishes in my garden, releasing its heady fragrance at the touch and making a grand gesture of sliced tomatoes or the simplest of pasta dishes, I am reminded to put up some jars of pesto for the winter.

No sooner are we in mid-summer swing in our short growing season than fall and an unexpected frost are right around the corner. Basil is the tenderest of plants; its leaves will blacken at the first nip of frost. A year’s supply of this most delectable herb can be lost in a twinkling of an eye to the first cold snap, while we are too busy harvesting everything else in the garden.

The aromatic pungency of basil is distinctly Mediterranean—its flavor and fragrance take us on a Roman holiday. Basil is the queen of global gourmet, tasting dramatically of summer’s heat--a fine match for other southern European imports like tomato and pasta.

Pesto comes from the Italian, meaning to pound, or crush. Known since Roman times, this pungent sauce of crushed herbs, garlic and oil originated in the Genoese countryside, where a particularly intense basil grows wild. The addition of cheese and nuts is a regional variation. (Commercially prepared pesto generally contains both.) A version called pistou made simply with basil, garlic and oil comes from Provence, where it is used to flavor the hearty vegetable soups which are a specialty of that region.

Pesto is traditionally made by crushing the herbs and garlic in small batches with a mortar and pestle; a food processor makes the job easier, though purists would say that the mortar and pestle bring out more flavor. The herbs and garlic are chopped finely in the processor, then oil is added in a thin stream with the motor running until blended to a smooth paste. Cheese, nuts or other flavorings are added last.

Several years ago I began thinking about what herbs and greens more suited to our northern climate could be preserved pesto-style in oil to liven up our winter fare of bean soups, stews, and roasted root vegetables. At this stage in my life I am more interested in native-ness than novelty. I no longer want to spend time pampering plants that are--however attractive—out of place in our climate and food culture. Nothing about basil relates to the scents or tastes of the North; Basil and balsam? Basil and venison? Basil and potato? --quite incongruous!

Here is my short list of alternatives to basil for pesto making:

Over the years I have grown to appreciate parsley for its vigor, versatility, and year-round ability to make simple foods special. Its sweet-sour flavor is enhanced by garlic and goes beautifully with traditional New England food, from venison to braised cabbage and corn salad. I have harvested parsley from under the snow in December, and if I had to grow only one herb, this would be it. While I still preserve basil for winter pastas, I keep a jar of parsley pesto always at hand. My favorite variety this year is Gigante d’Italia, a flat-leaved Italian heirloom with an unusual sweetness (from Fedco Seeds).

Kale, Swiss chard, and arugula (rocket) thrive in our cool fall temperatures and also make delicious pesto. Kale and chard should be cooked before processing. I use chard pesto as a sauce for roasted beets. Spicy arugula can be combined with basil, walnuts, garlic and lemon juice for an interestingly different sauce. Try a pesto made with mint, garlic, pine nuts and lemon juice with crumbled goat cheese and lamb.

Basic Parsley Pesto made with garlic and oil is my kitchen essential; great as a base for salad dressings, sauces, or brushed on grilled meats and fish. A dollop of it will enliven any soup. Nuts or cheese can be added to the basic recipe even after the mixture has been frozen and thawed.

2 cups packed parsley leaves, washed and dried
4 large garlic cloves, peeled, green centers removed (or to taste)
½ -1 cup good quality olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
Freshly squeezed lemon juice (optional)

Using the steel blade in the processor, drop garlic cloves into the bowl with the motor running to finely chop garlic. Add the parsley leaves and continue to process until they are chopped fine. Add oil in a thin stream until the pesto has reached a desired consistency (thinner, if adding cheese or nuts). Taste, and add salt and pepper, or a dash of fresh lemon juice for more zest.


Kale Pesto made from Tuscan kale (cavolo nero) has a distinct flavor, delicious as a spread on hearty bread, or an enrichment to bean and vegetable soup. I grow Tuscan kale just for this purpose. Kale, cabbage or Swiss chard may also be used in this recipe. Kale is tougher and may need more cooking; cabbage produces a more delicately flavored pesto.

1 lb Tuscan kale, kale, Swiss chard or ½ cabbage
3/4 tsp coarse sea salt
2 garlic cloves
½ cup or more extra virgin olive oil

Carefully wash the kale, chard or cabbage in a sinkful of warm water. Remove the tough central ribs of kale or chard and the core of cabbage. If using cabbage, cut the head into chunks.

Steam the greens or cabbage for 10 or 15 minutes or until tender. Kale will take longer to cook than cabbage. Refresh briefly in chilled water, and drain and squeeze to remove all excess moisture.

Puree the vegetable, garlic, oil and salt in the food processor to form a smooth, stiff paste. Store in the refrigerator in a glass jar, covered with a layer of oil, where it will keep for a week or more.


Note: Pesto can be stored in the fridge for up to four weeks (herb pestos last longer refrigerated than cooked vegetable versions), and frozen for up to one year. I use small mason jars for freezing. When pesto is exposed to the air a natural enzymatic action will cause it to darken. This discoloration does not indicate spoilage. Top pesto with olive oil as you use it to prevent air from discoloring the pesto.

Blueberry Pleasures

My neighbor, Mertie Abbott has been picking wild blueberries for as long as she can remember. During her childhood she and her sister looked forward to a day of picking with their parents. Her mother would make a picnic lunch of fresh biscuits, home-canned meat and cucumbers, and they would travel by horse and wagon to places where the blueberries were plentiful on abandoned farms, or along the railroad bed on the way to Rangeley. Years later Mertie and her own young family would camp on Mt. Blue to pick blueberries. They had no tent, and her daughter Elaine remembers with delight sleeping under the stars on those special trips.

Mertie’s face lights up with pleasure when she recounts these stories of gathering ripe blueberries. The pleasure of a family day together off the farm, the pleasure of being outdoors in the sunshine, the pleasure of a simple picnic (even now she remembers how good those homemade biscuits were!), and later, the pleasure of opening a jar of blueberry jam during the long Maine winter.

At 83, she still picks berries, and there is always a delicious pie to be pulled from her freezer. She is often accompanied by her daughter and great-grandchildren.

The Abbott family’s yearly blueberrying has enriched their connection to each other and to their native countryside, providing a long-lasting enjoyment no trip to the supermarket can begin to duplicate.

Wild, lowbush blueberries are part of Maine’s food heritage and culture. Before the advent of commercially canned and frozen foods, people picked and canned for themselves. Now, most of the wild fruit is eaten by birds and animals.
Berries and wild apples are perhaps the greatest neglected resource we have. Rich in antioxidants, vitamins and minerals, the tons of wild fruit in our back yards could nourish every man, woman and child in Franklin County.

If we get out to pick it.

Lucky you if you happen to have a patch of wild blueberries nearby. Blueberries are choosy about where they grow: usually an open hillside where the soil is acid enough. If their conditions are stable, the plants will survive in the same spot for years. In Franklin County wild blueberries are ripe for picking from late July into September. (The higher the elevation, the later the ripening.)

Keep fresh blueberries cool but do not refrigerate for the best flavor. Blueberries freeze extremely well. If you pick your own from the wild or from an organic farm, you can freeze them without washing. Gallon-sized freezer bags hold about four pounds of berries. Once frozen, it’s a snap to thaw out any amount for pancakes, a pie, or jam. They are delicious mixed into yoghurt or hot oatmeal for breakfast. A dessert sauce is embarrassingly easy: gently cook a cupful of fresh or frozen berries with sugar and a little water until tender.

Wild blueberries have a bright, tart flavor that is enhanced by the addition of some sugar in cooking. But don’t overdo. Some jams are so sweet you can’t find the blueberry in them! A dash of lemon juice or lemon peel also enhances their flavor in jams and cooked deserts.

Blueberry Scones

I make these scones with frozen blueberries for a treat after an afternoon of cross-country skiing. The prep time is about 10 minutes, and they are so good you won’t want to have them too often! It is a great way to use up raw milk (available locally) that has begun to sour in your fridge.

2 cups of sifted flour
½ tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
¼ cup butter
1 cup blueberries, semi-thawed
½ cup of buttermilk, soured milk or plain yoghurt
1 TBL honey or unsulphured molasses

Sift together flour, salt, baking powder and soda. Cut in butter to size of peas. Add berries and mix lightly. Make a hollow and gradually pour in milk and honey or molasses. Stir well. Pat dough with hands, to avoid crushing berries, to ½” thickness. Cut in triangles. Place on greased baking sheet. Bake in 425 F oven 12 – 15 minutes. Split, spread with butter, and serve hot. Yum!

6 – 8 scones


Low Sugar Blueberry Jam

A jar of this jam will not last long! This recipe came from a French cook who loved our blueberries. It uses less sugar than standard American recipes and no additional pectin. Use any amount of berries you happen to have: the proportion is half the weight of sugar to berries.

3 pounds of blueberries, rinsed
1 ½ pounds sugar
1 tsp. freshly grated lemon zest
2 TBL fresh lemon juice

Cook the berries over high heat in a non-reactive pot, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon and crushing them with the back of the spoon, for 5 minutes. (The water left clinging to the berries will be enough to prevent them from scorching.)

Add the sugar, zest, and lemon juice and cook the mixture over low heat, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved. Increase the heat to medium and boil the jam, skimming frequently, for 15 - 20 minutes, or until the jellying point has been reached. (A spoonful of jam should solidify on a saucer which has been chilled in the freezer.)

Ladle the jam into warm, sterilized jars and seal.

3 pounds of blueberries makes 1 ½ quarts of jam.

The jam can be made with frozen berries: they will need more cooking time.

Note: the USDA recommends using a hot water bath as part of the canning process. I have never had a jar of jam spoil using this recipe, which does not include a hot water bath. Use common sense and err on the side of caution with any food preservation technique.

Green Thoughts

To my mind, there is nothing that says “spring” like a salad of fresh, baby greens dressed with herbs, olive oil, and vinegar.

Lettuce belongs to the plant family that includes daisies and thistles, and has been cultivated for thousands of years. In our any-food-any-time culture, we are accustomed to lettuce year round. Yet until our lifetimes, fresh salad greens could only be had in season.

My great-grandmother’s kitchen garden manual devotes many pages to the management of hot beds and cold frames to provide fresh vegetables for the table in all but the coldest months. And in 19th century market gardens on the outskirts of Paris, acres of many varieties of greens were grown under glass in order to satisfy the appetites of winter-weary Parisians.

With the modern development of large-scale food production our choice in the market narrowed to a shadow of the rich diversity we used to know. Growers have responded to consumer demand for more variety, offering “gourmet” salad greens and mesclun mixes which include beet greens and arugula; chicory and Asian greens as well as lettuce. But most commercial salad greens still travel enormous distances from farm to table, losing flavor and vital nutrients along the way.

Luckily for us, we don’t have to wait for the Farmer’s Market or our own garden plot to enjoy really fresh salad greens. Cindy Rubinfine and David Blanchard of Flying Pond Farm in Vienna produce greens throughout the year and tomatoes seasonally in their two wood-heated greenhouses. Their certified organic produce is grown without the use of chemical fertilizers or pesticides. A below-ground system of hoses circulating warm water keeps the soil at a comfortable 70 degrees, and the plants respond with vigorous growth.

When I visited the farm recently on a dark, sleety day, David remarked that farming has become more difficult in New England because of changing weather patterns, and for most farmers the margins are slim. “Our food system is built on cheap fuel,” he noted wryly. “There is going to come a point when local is not just a nice idea, but essential to our existence.”

For customers who line up to buy their greens on the days they deliver to market, it was a blow to learn that Cindy and David will be leaving us in July to settle in Nova Scotia, where David plans to deepen his already impressive understanding of entomology at Dalhousie University—his research interest is biological pest control (the good bugs that control the bad bugs). We wish them well, and hope that the new owners of Flying Pond Farm will continue to provide us with deliciously fresh, spirit-lifting greens.

Dressing the Greens

The freshness and delicacy of a green salad calls for a simple French dressing-- known as a vinaigrette-- made with the freshest oil, the best vinegar or fresh lemon juice, and fresh herbs. (Spicy bottled dressings and ingredients such as mayonnaise and catsup will overwhelm the flavors of the tender greens.)


Vinaigrette for 2/3 cup, enough for 6 – 8 servings

¼ teaspoon of salt, or more if needed
½ TBL Dijon mustard
2 ½ - 3 TBL blueberry or good red wine vinegar
½ cup best quality oil
Freshly ground pepper
Herbs (optional)

In a small mixing bowl beat the mustard and salt with 2 ½ TBL of vinegar. When fully blended, add the oil drop by drop, whisking with a small wire whisk or fork until the mixture thickens to a smooth emulsion. Beat in more droplets of vinegar and salt to taste. Stir in chopped herbs, if desired.
Dress salad greens right before serving, tossing well.

I often made my vinaigrette right in the salad bowl, and add the greens lightly on top before sitting down. I wait to toss the salad until the moment of serving. This method saves last minute fluster when entertaining.

A note on amounts: When figuring how much salad to serve, I have found that a generous handful of greens is enough for one person, unless you expect your guests to have more than one helping!


Lemon Vinaigrette

Mince two strips of fresh lemon peel very finely with the salt; scrape it into a bowl and mash with the back of a spoon. Add mustard and substitute freshly squeezed lemon juice for the vinegar, and proceed with the vinaigrette recipe.


A Vinaigrette Primer

The Oil

Buy the best oil you can afford, and always test any oil for freshness—a rancid oil will ruin your salad. I prefer Italian cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil for its lightness and fragrance. When shopping, read the labels. Less expensive oils are frequently bottled in Italy from olives produced in other countries. Use these lesser quality oils for cooking, and save the more expensive extra virgin oil for salads and flavorings.

If you don’t like the taste of olive oil, a mild, good-quality salad oil such as cold pressed canola will do.

Vinegar and Lemon Juice

In France, the best wine vinegars are reserved for vinaigrettes. Because I like to cook with regional food, I regularly use blueberry vinegar, which has a delightful fruitiness and just the right amount of acidity for a delicate green salad.

Balsamic vinegar is too strong for delicate greens, and should be reserved for salads of spicy greens with intense flavor, such as arugula, dandelion and the chicories. A few drops of balsamic mixed with lemon juice goes a long way.

Vinaigrettes can be made with vinegar, freshly squeezed lemon juice, or a combination of the two. Lemon juice alone gives the dressing a light, crisp, summery taste. For more zing you can mince or puree lemon zest into your dressing.

Proportions

The standard proportion of vinegar or lemon juice to oil is 1 vinegar to 3 oil, but you’ll need to establish your own relationship. With a light vinegar or lemon juice I generally use 1: 2 ½.

Mustard

A teaspoon or so of Dijon style mustard goes well in a vinaigrette, and helps to emulsify the ingredients.

Garlic, Scallions and Shallots

Finely minced, these are welcome additions to a vinaigrette, but use only one at a time! Mashed, minced garlic also helps emulsify the vinaigrette. If using garlic, mince and mash the garlic with the lemon peel or alone with the salt if using vinegar. Omit lemon peel with scallions or shallots.

Herbs

Fresh minced herbs add aroma and flavor to a green salad. Good choices are parsley, basil, tarragon, chives, and cilantro. Basil’s intense aroma is best brought out by mincing it with salt at the beginning of vinaigrette making. The others can be stirred into the completed sauce, or sprinkled on the greens before dressing.

The Good Egg

Mud season in Maine calls for comfort food. Something rich and soothing… something made with eggs.

The canon of egg cookery, from scrambled eggs on toast to that mainstay of potlucks and picnics—devilled eggs, reads like a well-loved nursery tale. Eggs are what we want when we are tired, or recovering from the flu, or in need of a nourishing breakfast to get through the day.

Eggs are considered to be nature’s most perfect food; unfortunately they have gotten a bad rap for their cholesterol content. Good quality eggs are an economical source of complete protein and important vitamins and minerals, and they look as good as they taste. When cracked into a bowl, a fresh egg has a dark yellow yolk that stands up roundly, with a white that holds its shape around the yolk.

The eggs in a favorite bowl on my kitchen table will soon go into a caramel custard—my favorite comfort food. The eggs are beautiful shades of white, buff and a glazed blue-green, like Chinese porcelain. Their shapes vary too—from pointed to plump. Here is the rich diversity our grandparents took for granted. These fertilized “Rainbow” eggs come from Mitra Luick of New Sharon. Her flock of Leghorns, Auracana crosses and Barred Rocks live in comfortable circumstances: heated coops, plowed runs for fresh air and exercise in winter. She supplements their feed with cultured raw-milk curd, crushed eggshells and garlic to boost their immune systems and overall vigor. In summer, her birds eat very little grain, preferring their natural diet of bugs. It’s no wonder their eggs are delicious.

Caramel Custard

Made with eggs, milk and sugar, caramel custard is an old-fashioned treat or an elegant dessert. Its success depends upon the freshest ingredients. When I can get it, I use Jersey milk for its luscious cream content, and always the freshest eggs. The following recipe is for 6 individual custards, baked in custard cups or wide-mouth ½ pint canning jars. For a special occasion or a larger group, double the custard recipe and bake in a 1 ½ quart soufflé or all-purpose baking dish for 1 hour. The caramel recipe given here is enough to line the large dish.

1. The Caramel
(this step can be done several days in advance)

½ cup sugar
Prep time: 20 minutes

Pour the sugar evenly over the bottom of a heavy skillet on medium heat. As the sugar begins to melt, swirl the pan now and then, so it melts evenly. Do not stir, or allow it to burn. When the sugar is fully liquid and the color of dark tea, pour it quickly to coat the bottoms of 6 custard cups or canning jars. If it hardens into a lump, never mind—in cooking it will even out. Let cool. When you are ready to make the custard, lightly butter the sides of the cups or jars.

2. The Custard

Prep time: 20 minutes

Preheat oven to 350 F

2 cups whole milk
1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, or 1 tsp vanilla extract
3 large eggs
1/4 cup sugar

Heat the milk and vanilla bean in a heavy saucepan over medium heat until the milk steams and bubbles form around the edge. Immediately remove pan from heat, cover, and let sit 10 minutes. Remove the bean after 10 minutes; rinse and dry for reuse.

In a large bowl, lightly beat the eggs. Whisk in sugar, and vanilla extract if not using bean. Continue to whisk, very slowly adding the hot milk, until the sugar has dissolved. Strain the mixture through a fine sieve into another bowl.

Pour ½ cup of the custard into each of the caramelized cups or jars, and set them in a pan in the center of the oven. Fill the pan with warm water to 1”, and bake until a knife inserted in the center of the custard comes out clean, about 40 minutes.

Remove custards from water bath, and cool thoroughly. (You may refrigerate them overnight and unmold the next day.) To unmold, run a thin knife carefully around the edge of the custard and turn it out onto a plate. Drizzle the caramel remaining in the baking dish over the custard, and serve.

6 ½ cup servings