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Rocking the Filson, Vashon Style

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My friend Greg returns to the Pacific Northwest (via stints in New York and LA) to embrace his sartorial roots and love of Filson. (No Greg, not a bit overdone.)

Vashon Islanders enjoy a style all their own. Most Fashion Police have been voted off the island and everyone tends to wear exactly what they want. Vashon is a place where peasant skirts never die; tie-dye is a revered art form; the lumberjack look has remained a style staple since 1888; wool sweaters are second skins; and Gortex is considered waterproof silk.

When my nephew from Miami first visited me here, he looked surprised when I got in the truck to go to town. He asked, “Don’t you want to change?” He had a point. I would have been escorted off South Beach for my look, but on Vashon, a paisley shirt, paint-stained overalls, plaid cap, and muck boots pass for acceptable shopping attire (or opera wear for that matter).

Boz, Gracie and I take in the Vashon Halloween Street Scene. (For clarification, no I was not wearing a costume.)

I have been known to push the menswear envelope. One well-dressed friend and self-appointed Mr. Blackwell saw me in the grocery store and said, “Really Tom…really?” At first I thought he was scrutinizing my three quarts of Ben and Jerry’s and bag of Cascade chips, then I realized I was being taken to task not for what I was putting in my body, but rather what I was putting on my body, specifically a madras shirt, cargo shorts, panama hat and rubber boots.  I smiled politely, and thought dare I take fashion advice from a man in a mock turtleneck and a pair of Dockers?

Just yesterday, my friend Greg dropped by for coffee, sporting a Northwest look that was worthy of a kitchen photo shoot. I do believe Eddie Bauer would have teared up over the look, I know I did. Bravo Greg, well done, and welcome back home to the Pacific Northwest!

Don’t be fooled; Boz isn’t begging for that apple treat, but rather for a few fashion tips from Greg.

How to Find Your Slice of Farm Fresh & Local

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Better than a bowl of  broccoli, I had no illusions that any bit of this farm-fresh pizza would see daylight.

Farm fresh and local can come in many shapes and slices sizes, as seen in these mouthwatering pizza photos. My farm-gal pal Karen of LaBiondo Farm recently purchased an amazing wood-fired pizza oven that she hopes to make mobile for the upcoming Vashon Farmers Market 2012 season. (She may need a team of draft horses to pull the thing.)

This is what farm fresh and local looks like.

Just last night (even after my awkward public display of affection toward her pizza oven), Karen let me make my own pizza using a bountiful array of her farm fresh ingredients. The moment took all of the self-control I could muster to refrain from creating a mile-high pizza too heavy for the peel and too tall for the oven opening.

As you can see, skimpy was not part of my recipe or equation.  My toppings of choice included homemade goat milk chèvre and mozzarella, tomato sauce that would make an Italian grandmother tear up, caramelized onions as sweet as candy, richly flavored roasted garlic, and pork sausage from one happy, healthy and well-cared for pig.  Five minutes in the culinary inferno, and voilà, out came an edible masterpiece. The crust was thin, the edges chewy, each topping had a memorable presence and tasted exceptionally delicious.

Tomatoes blow Boz up like a hive-speckled Macy’s parade balloon, so he prefers only the crust ends and errant cheese chunks.

So my goal today is not to make you drool over my dinner last night, but to help you realize (if you don’t already) that farm fresh and local ingredients are likely to be easily available in your neck of the woods. Support your local farmers; they are some of the hardest working people on the planet. And if paid an hourly wage, carrots would likely retail for $10 a bunch.

Find your local farm producers and products here:

  • Local Harvest: Find farmers’ markets, family farms, and other sources of sustainably grown food in your area, where you can buy produce, grass-fed meats, and many other goodies.”
  • Eat Wild: Source for safe, healthy, natural and nutritious grass-fed beef, lamb, goats, bison, poultry, pork, dairy and other wild edibles.”
  • Eat Well Guide: Hand-picked locally grown listings
  • Pick Your Own: Find pick-your-own farms in your area
  • Puget Sound Fresh (Seattle area): Your source for what’s fresh, local and in season year-round.
  • Rodale Institute Farm LocatorA great place to locate a farm in your area and a great place for farmers and businesses to matchup.

 

voilà

Lemon-Pineapple Marmalade: Recipe for a Rainy Day

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Lemon-Pineapple Marmalade lemon-pineapple marmalade on toast I’m not sure what the impetus is, perhaps a Northwest sky determined to drop a snow-rain mix, or one too many Facebook friends sharing albums of tropical beaches, but I need a little sunshine. Not a lot mind you, but just enough to jump start me on this gray flannel day.

When winter weather and mental outlook are tanking, I turn to the pantry to retrieve some sunshine in a jar, specifically my homemade lemon-pineapple marmalade.

RECIPE: Lemon-Pineapple Marmalade

Ingredients:

  • 1 ripe pineapple
  • 4 lemons
  • 3 Cups Sugar
  • sprig of rosemary (optional)

Preparation:

  1. Pineapple: remove skin and core
  2. Pineapple: dice into bite-size chunks
  3. Lemons: zest each lemon
  4. Lemons: cut in half, slice thinly, remove seeds
  5. Layer fruits in sugar in nonreactive jam-making pan
  6. Leave overnight
  7. Add a sprig of rosemary (optional)
  8. Simmer gently until mixture is thick, stirring regularly
  9. Remove rosemary
  10. Jar up jam, seal, and place in water bath for 10 minutes

Things to love about this recipe:

  • Lemons and Pineapple are in season at the same time
  • Nice mix of sweet and sour
  • Jam sets up nicely without need for pectin
  • Easy to make
  • Delicious and unusual combination

I’m especially fond of lemon-pineapple marmalade with cream cheese on toast, but butter works, too. (How’s that for a backup plan.) If that’s not decadent enough for you, I mix 1 cup of jam with one egg and 1 cup of milk to make a great little mini-tart filling. And while sunshine is absent from the forecast, I always have an emergency ray or two tucked away in the pantry for such rainy days (and hunger pangs).

lemon-pineapple marmalade

Kitchen Tip: Don’t Get Burned by the Phone

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I’m pretty handy in the kitchen, but grand failures do occur, especially when I add a heaping spoonful of distraction to the recipe. So let my burnt rock hard candied orange peels be a lesson. When the phone rings, turn off the burner.

My new doorstop: hardened block of candied orange peel in a pan.

Pruning Fuzzy Kiwi: Taming a Wild Beast

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Little does Boz realize that as he stands (make that sits) watch…

…a fuzzy kiwi vine kidnaps the napper.  (Later, Boz drags me out in a daring rescue.)

Fuzzy Kiwi vines are notoriously vigorous, so vigorous in fact that I almost went missing one summer day. Cloaked by coiling vines with questionable intentions, an afternoon nap almost resulted in a search and rescue. (I’ve seen Little Shop of Horrors.) After seven years of kiwi vine domination, which at one point included the summit of my second story house,  I was determined to tame the beast and domesticate its demeanor. Lucky for me, an ice storm accommodated my plan by pulling the vine off of the house for easier pruning. Thank you Mother Nature.

My tools of the pruning trade included a reciprocating saw with pruning blade, floral pruners, sturdy loppers and Felco pruners (not shown).

After locating five to six of the strongest and healthiest canes, I kept them intact and clipped out the wild mess of remaining vines like an army barber takes on a head of hippie hair.

Working from one end to the other–prune, separate, repeat–I pulled the intact tangle of vines away from the parent vines in one fell swoop. While the newly pruned kiwi vines seemed a little naked and a lot diminished, I knew my pruning tough-love was necessary for the health, productivity and life of the vines. My new plan is to build a strong (very strong) wire trellis arbor that will guide as well as corral growth, resulting in a vine focused on production, not abduction.

Boz has no idea what it is, but he’s certain it’s edible (and he did rescue me from the clutches of Kiwi the Creeper, after all) .

And This Is Why It’s Called a Captain’s Chair

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Boz prefers a perch, even if it takes several minutes to reach the summit.

Once there, comfort is a work in progress.This is his Whistler’s Mother pose: part playing possum; and part keeping an eye on the diner and his plate.

 

Please Don’t Take My Free Sign

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Fashioned from a paint sample drywall scrap, one of my best free signs was also one of my most quickly pinched.

Vashon Islanders have many quirks. (Just ask someone from Seattle.) As a community of free spirits, our behavior and island traditions often beg for scrutiny from those unfamiliar with our island ways. Case in point: free-cycling and the end-of-the-driveway giveaway pile.

Whenever we have something bordering on not worthy enough to donate to charity, but good enough to reuse or recycle, folks here tend to leave such treasures at the end of their lanes with a homemade sign stating “free” (just to establish that a taker is not a stealer).

Does it work? Heck, yes, in fact let me list some of my remains of the day that disappeared from the driveway before nightfall: hot pink hot tub, gutters, bent lawn chairs, twisted chicken wire, and a hardened bag of cement. (Go figure.)

Now to the point of my ramble, a couple tips:

  • Takers: The free sign is not part of the deal; free designates the surrounding items, not the board with which the offer is posted.
  • Givers: Don’t make the free sign more appealing than the stuff you’re offering.

Boz the bulldog supervises the barn clean-out, barking at the things that need to go, things worthy of a place next to the free sign.

Winter Left the Door Ajar

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Mount Rainier as a sundial (from Maury Island)

Winter Left the Door Ajar

Winter left the door ajar, enough to steal a peek,
Perhaps to silence my discord, to quell my harsh critique.

For winter breezes often fool, impostors of seasons to come,
Sky belies the biting cold, Trompe L’Oeil for a willing sun.

Feathered leaves of robins fall in mass to search the beds,
Frantic dance of scratch and peck, two-stepping for wrigglers and reds.

Daylight shines for minutes more, warmth kidnaps my heart and day,
Spring drops by for a coffee klatsch, but reminds it just can’t stay.

I offer a chair, say “please sit a while, your visit’s a welcomed gift,
A kiss of balm, a pause to smile, an unexpected lift.”

But spring as interloper, is helpless to preempt the race
Winter holds the keys to light, while nature sets the pace.

Spring shines on me this winter day, begs patience in my court,
Assures me of its full embrace and days of lush transport.

Suggests I celebrate this time, bask in its anomaly,
And smile upon the primrose, spring’s first and jauntiest draftee.

My thanks to a harried winter, who headed to a harsher coast,
And left the door unattended, so I could be the host.

–Tom Conway

Primrose, spring’s first and favorite fan

Northeast side of Vashon Island

Ellisport, Tramp Harbor, Vashon Island

(Photo credits: photo 1, 4, Leslie Shattuck, and photos 2, 3, Tom Conway)

Spreading the Chestnut Love

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Autumn’s bounty: a bowlful of chestnuts, a tabletop of squash

I have a thing for chestnut trees; let me count the ways.

  1. I love the tasty nut and the porcupine casing that protects it.
  2. I love the tree’s reaching habit and stately form.
  3. I love the way the sawtooth leaves dry to the color of tobacco
  4. I love the nut’s sweet and savory culinary applications

I’m so smitten with the tree that I’ve planted several different varieties on my property, most of which should begin bearing about the time I start gumming my food and asking for a walker. As an optimist, I’m willing to wait for my nutritious reward or at least leave a tasty legacy. While European, Chinese, and Japanese Chestnuts are more common, American Chestnut trees are relatively rare in North America, the result of a blight at the turn of the century that decimate stands in their East Coast range. Surprisingly, in Washington state, some trees from pioneer plantings still survive.

Chestnut leaves are some of nature’s handsomest

Recently, at the Vashon Island Growers Association’s (VIGA) annual meeting (and awesome potluck), I enjoyed chestnut butter and pumpkin dinner rolls courtesy of Jennifer from Pacific Crest Farm. The yeasty crescents were no less than divine golden chariots delivering gooey chest-nutty goodness to my awaiting piehole.  When I asked Jen for the recipe, she said, “I just pureed our chestnuts and blended some honey.”

Just? Just! And maple syrup is just tree sap. What Jennier made was spreadable ambrosia.

Now on to the recipe, as made by Tom

RECIPE: Chestnut Honey Spread

Ingredients

  • 1 pound Chestnuts
  • 1/2 cup of honey (or more if preferred sweeter)
  • 2 T brandy or 1 T vanilla or 2 T Glayva (all optional)

fresh chestnuts to roastGood to know: use a serrated knife to cut a line in the chestnut before heating it. This makes the nut easier to peel, and keeps it from exploding when roasting (much like a wee firecracker).

Preparation

  1. Cut each chestnut in half at equator, halfway down
  2. Use serrated knife to avoid slippage
  3. Heat water, boil nuts for 15 minutes
  4. Remove from heat, drain
  5. When cool enough to handle (keep nuts warm in moist towels) remove outer peels and soft paper skins
  6. Toss nut meats into a food processor
  7. Pulse, puree
  8. Add honey, pulse until smooth
  9. Add brandy, vanilla, or Glayva
  10. Pulse mixture to fully blend
  11. Spread on lightly buttered artisan bread/toast (or worthy vehicle).

Don’t Make This Bitter and Brittle Mistake

chestnut spread ingredientsMy first attempt was an abysmal failure based on two big errors: I roasted the nuts too long and left the outer soft skin on (see photo above). I suspect granite gravel would have been softer and a glass of quinine less bitter. The brown skin pellicle (as it’s called) is unabashedly bitter and must be removed. Batch two and three were worthy of human consumption, but batch one was inedible, not only to me, but to local crows.

On the bright side, when prepared right, chestnuts offer a wide variety of applications in the kitchen, from gluten-free flour, to soup, cakes and stuffing.  Did I mention they are rich in vitamin C, cholesterol free and half the calories of other nuts. And should you wish to plant one, it’s majestic presence will rule over your garden and grounds for generations to come (just leave peeling and cooking instructions as a courtesy).

Related links

Snow Days and the Power of the Outage

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Snow days and the beauty afoot!Snow days on vashon island Every year I plan on being prepared for the torrent of Pacific winter storms that buffet coast, home and hearth with unapologetic bravado, but somehow between spring, summer, and autumn I fail to take action. Even this week when our local network anchors were practically convulsing over the opportunity to report on an approaching, and likely record-breaking snowstorm, I sipped java and read seed catalogs. Their proclamations of Seattle Snowmaggedon and Puget Snowpocalypse did not compel me to buy batteries, bring in more wood or stock provisions.  I knew this was a false alarm; they were crying wolf in a community all to aware of former forecast fiascoes. Historically, there’s a direct correlation: the bigger the hype, the smaller the impact (or so I thought).

Threes days later, two of them without power, showers, heat, internet, cooking or coffee, I became a believer.  (Of course, Boz and Gracie suffered little in their tartan wear and fireside nests.) Going forward, my new winter check list includes (along with no excuses) a generator, propane camp stove, long johns and ground coffee.

Boz loves snow days when the power is out

And while I may have been cold, tired of oatmeal and morphing into a look sported by Jack Nicholson in The Shining, my eyes were opened to the beauty of the world unplugged: the rarity of silence, the gift of stillness, the reflection of my own company (bulldogs notwithstanding), and the luxury of staying put.

No picking apples today.

Snow days in the madronna

Framed by Douglas Fir, madronas steal the show.

Outside temperature 30 degrees Fahrenheit, inside temperature 48 degrees, and folks say fireplaces don’t work.

snow day at Tall Clover FarmHome sweet home, with or without snow.

And finally (against my better judgment ), the face of cabin fever.