Back From the Farm

A light layer of snow whipped into mini-dunes by constant winds and the broad red-orange glow of sodium lights (once again) made my porthole view more Mars than ORD. Empty terminals and a few mindless layover zombies didn't do much to convince me of a more earthly touchdown. The thing I do love about O'hare are the great signs that United has at every gate. If the airline fails, the disappearance of these signs will be the single greatest tragedy. They combine all of the important information (when the flight is leaving, where it's going, what the number is) with some extras (what's the weather like there?) and are wrapped with just enough visual appeal to make it interesting. Each destination is highlighted by an iconic image placed in the background of the display. Nice touch, that.

For a party last night I produced the following appetizer I will call, in honor of the guest of honor, Randolph Grapes:

Seedless red grapes
sugar
chinese five spice powder
goat cheese (mild)
sharp knife

I've included the sharp knife in the ingredients because it really is a necessity. If you do not have a sharp knife go out and buy a global, they're not that expensive and a new knife will make your kitchen much happier. That being said, each grape needs to be washed, dried, and a tiny sliver of each end should be cut off. Next you cut the grape in half so you have two halves that stand on a plate without rolling around. Pour about a tablespoon (or a little less) of 5 spice and a teaspoon of sugar into a small bowl and mix them together. Add to this mixture a chunk of goat cheese (maybe 3-4 tablespoons?) and mix, mix, mix. You'll know you have used enough 5 spice when the mixture becomes a beautiful, speckled light brown color-- the color of dirt thrown into the air. All that's left to do now is to load the cheese mixture into your pastry bag* and have at it putting a dap onto each grape.

* You can always put it into a zip-lock bag and cut off a tiny triangle of the corner.

More discussion with Dana:

d: off with the flannels, on with the regulars
brb: I hate flannels
d: yeah but it's cold here because of the lame ass heaters
brb: I always feel like I am going to ignite my skin. like a match against striking surface.

But I've just gotten back...

One of the things I do not like about going to rural California: The Dixie Chicks. They are my kryptonite, the 'Chicks, and with this weapon the country punishes me. In many more ways it repays me. There are no lizards in the shower this time of year but the pleasure of waking up late, reading all day, and being generally lazy more than make up for it. And it's green in California these days, extremely green. The sight of green hills in San Luis Obispo County, still kind of a surprise for me, are made even more awkward when the vegetation is growing up amongst the charred remains of the last forest. Yes, there the forest grows in cycles, burns regularly, has a rhythm. This susceptibility to ignition is the source of every farmer's bother: Burn Day.

Officially, you light fires on Burn Day-- and Burn Day only-- if you're following the law. Despite the desire to do otherwise it's hard to hide a column of smoke, even in those mellow hills. Of course, burning a year's worth of prunings gathered from 5,000 trees is going to be hard no matter what the terrain. You call the [air quality control board], they check things out, and you get a go ahead for fire. The goverment controls your fire and they control your water (though not in SLO county yet, apparently) and this is the source of much debate among those who, you know, actually live out there and need these things. The concept of needing to light a fire is, I think, a little foreign to most of us. We don't need to light bonfires at the beach, per se, nor do we need to light a BBQ in the back yard. We're mostly OK with paying for utilities in our cities and are given to calling water "brita." And while you need a glass of water, the people growing you food need hundreds of gallons per minute to water their fields.

The unique idea of needing to light a fire first struck me while having lunch with Stefan in Boston. Sitting in a cafe we were able to spy on a wedge of pavement between buildings being used as a BBQ pit. A small fire contained in the heart of Boston was a little surprising, but I don't know if it was more surprising than seeing a pile of branches the size of a football field on fire. Agricultural quanties, I suppose industrial quantities for that matter, are serious business. What do you do with thousands of pruned branches? You burn them, of course, but only on Burn Day.

When it comes to understanding issues of land cities are ill-equipped to the point of myopia. The paradox of contemporary growing: agriculture legislated by non-agricultural "folk" living in non-agricultural places (cities). Not that Burn Day is a fight to pick, I happen to find it benign, but as our cities and our fields become closer neighbors these sorts of issues take on greater importance.

I tend to think things like, "California's coast will be one single megacity within my life time." Perhaps it will, but then I remember there is a lot of land between San Francisco and Los Angeles. As much as you worry about sprawl, as much as you think our cities are eating the countryside, you haven't been out there. It may be a long time before I have to worry about you trying to build a house in my Orchard.

--Posted 03/03/03 01:48AM