This is for my cousin, Monica, who also hates to see anything go to waste.
I came across this recipe in The Little House Cookbook years ago when the girls were very young. I had always wanted to try it, but never got to the pumpkins until they were too ripe. It wasn't until this year, however, that Edmund's gentle pleas and Will's reading the recipe over and over at the kitchen table motivated me to stop canning for an afternoon and turn to the few green pumpkins we had left. I made a few modifications in the spices, but the results were a delightful surprise. I found that the leftover pie was even better since the flavors had a chance to meld. Enjoy!
Green Pumpkin Pie
1 pastry crust recipe
Green pumpkin, about 4 lbs., or enough to fill a pie shell
1 c. brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
Pinch of salt
1/3 c. cider, the harder, the better
1 tsp. butter
Pare and seed pumpkin. Slice thinly, and put in bottom of pie shell. Mix brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt together. (You may want to add a tablespoon or two of flour if you want the syrup thicker.) Cover the pumpkin with the sugar mixture. Pour the cider over everything, add the butter, and cover with the top crust. Bake at 425 for 15 min. and then at 350 for 45 min.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sustitutions
Yesterday I made barbecue sauce to add to leftover rice and chicken. I found I was missing brown sugar, and so I made my own by adding a tablespoon of molasses to one cup of sugar. No one knew the difference except the cook.
Easy and good in a pinch, substitutions are the emergency backup plan in every busy kitchen. And thanks to the internet, substitutions are listed everywhere. No more the mad dash to the grocery store for a missing ingredient. (And let's face it, for those of us who live well outside of town, those trips are not in the true Yankee spirit of thrift.)
Many good cookbooks have sections full of substitutions. My Joy of Cooking has a nice section, but this requires pulling out and thumbing through the cookbook with food covered fingers, which as Joey might say, is not cool. Since I am inherently lazy, the small list I bought from Current years ago and taped to my baking cupboard door works well in a pinch, but unfortunately it is not a complete list. Here is a nice site for those who might need to have a more complete list for your cupboard. http://www.millennium-ark.net/News_Files/Food/ingred_subs.html. Some of the dry substitution mixes, such as Italian seasoning and pie spice, I make up in large amounts and store in a tightly covered jar for use. I am a Yankee with my time, too.
Enjoy cooking!
Easy and good in a pinch, substitutions are the emergency backup plan in every busy kitchen. And thanks to the internet, substitutions are listed everywhere. No more the mad dash to the grocery store for a missing ingredient. (And let's face it, for those of us who live well outside of town, those trips are not in the true Yankee spirit of thrift.)
Many good cookbooks have sections full of substitutions. My Joy of Cooking has a nice section, but this requires pulling out and thumbing through the cookbook with food covered fingers, which as Joey might say, is not cool. Since I am inherently lazy, the small list I bought from Current years ago and taped to my baking cupboard door works well in a pinch, but unfortunately it is not a complete list. Here is a nice site for those who might need to have a more complete list for your cupboard. http://www.millennium-ark.net/News_Files/Food/ingred_subs.html. Some of the dry substitution mixes, such as Italian seasoning and pie spice, I make up in large amounts and store in a tightly covered jar for use. I am a Yankee with my time, too.
Enjoy cooking!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
A Foul Fowl Affair
This evening, I sat out on the front step cleaning, trimming, and sorting the shallots with a cat purring on my lap and the ever curious geese and ducks for companions. After the heat and humidity of the day, the cool evening air was a delight.
Dusk had already settled in when I realized that the new chicks were still outside. Now here is where having strong, wiry sons would come in handy. But unfortunately they were all out in town with Papa. So I went to the pen and looked at the 18 chicks. This can't be too hard. All but three were eager to be "caught", and this I did, placing them into the old rabbit cage for transport to the barn. What I didn't count on was how HEAVY 18 1-month old chicks would be. Not only were they heavy, but somehow the birds sensed that they were in the wrong hands, and so they started to shift back and forth inside the cage.
I was very proud of myself when I reached the the ladder to the loft. I looked at the ladder, and I looked at the cage. I looked at the ladder again...It was an old apple tree ladder, not the kind that gives one a sense of security. I placed the cage onto the table near the ladder and stepped gingerly on the first "rung". Next one (Oh, Dear Lord, don't let it break!), and the next. Then I hauled up the birds in the cage. What a racket they made! I managed to push the cage through the opening in the loft and opened the cage door. Not a chick moved. I shook the cage. Then I tipped it. The chicks hung on inside the cage for dear life. All right they can stay in there if they like. I would just have to get their food and water.
Again I realized that this was a job for those made of sterner stuff, and steadier legs and arms. But it was hot in that loft, and the chicks needed water. Carefully I climbed the rickety ladder while trying to keep the waterer level. I only succeeded in spilling half of the water...down the front of me. I raised the waterer to the level of the loft floor only to find that the weight of the ladder had pressed against the screen covering the opening. So back down the ladder I went spilling more water down my shirt. Remove the screen, climb the ladder again, spill more water. I was really breathing hard at this point. Finally, victory as I lifted the waterer above my shoulders and onto the loft floor. And there it sat, water spilling over the rim, out the opening, and yes, down the front of me. (I won't write here what I said at this point. Just know that it didn't have to do with water dams.)
What I didn't realize was that I had an audience the whole time. There below the ladder, looking up at me with the most astonished (I really don't know how else to describe it)looks on their faces were the geese and ducks. I can only imagine what they must have been thinking. I was covered in chicken poop from my shoulders down to my knees, and I know I didn't smell very good either. When I got to the ground I said in my brightest voice, "Hi, guys!" And with that they promptly turned tail and ran from the barn. Oh well.
On the bright side, when I went out to get the chick food, I startled a young deer that had wandered under the old apple tree. With a snort he began to bound away, but then stopped. I began to sing very softly and he took a few steps toward me. He was beautiful and stately in stature, and I realized I had been given a gift. Suddenly he sniffed the air and turning he walked back into the woods. Did I detect a slight air of disgust as he walked away? I think he must have smelled the chicken poop.
Dusk had already settled in when I realized that the new chicks were still outside. Now here is where having strong, wiry sons would come in handy. But unfortunately they were all out in town with Papa. So I went to the pen and looked at the 18 chicks. This can't be too hard. All but three were eager to be "caught", and this I did, placing them into the old rabbit cage for transport to the barn. What I didn't count on was how HEAVY 18 1-month old chicks would be. Not only were they heavy, but somehow the birds sensed that they were in the wrong hands, and so they started to shift back and forth inside the cage.
I was very proud of myself when I reached the the ladder to the loft. I looked at the ladder, and I looked at the cage. I looked at the ladder again...It was an old apple tree ladder, not the kind that gives one a sense of security. I placed the cage onto the table near the ladder and stepped gingerly on the first "rung". Next one (Oh, Dear Lord, don't let it break!), and the next. Then I hauled up the birds in the cage. What a racket they made! I managed to push the cage through the opening in the loft and opened the cage door. Not a chick moved. I shook the cage. Then I tipped it. The chicks hung on inside the cage for dear life. All right they can stay in there if they like. I would just have to get their food and water.
Again I realized that this was a job for those made of sterner stuff, and steadier legs and arms. But it was hot in that loft, and the chicks needed water. Carefully I climbed the rickety ladder while trying to keep the waterer level. I only succeeded in spilling half of the water...down the front of me. I raised the waterer to the level of the loft floor only to find that the weight of the ladder had pressed against the screen covering the opening. So back down the ladder I went spilling more water down my shirt. Remove the screen, climb the ladder again, spill more water. I was really breathing hard at this point. Finally, victory as I lifted the waterer above my shoulders and onto the loft floor. And there it sat, water spilling over the rim, out the opening, and yes, down the front of me. (I won't write here what I said at this point. Just know that it didn't have to do with water dams.)
What I didn't realize was that I had an audience the whole time. There below the ladder, looking up at me with the most astonished (I really don't know how else to describe it)looks on their faces were the geese and ducks. I can only imagine what they must have been thinking. I was covered in chicken poop from my shoulders down to my knees, and I know I didn't smell very good either. When I got to the ground I said in my brightest voice, "Hi, guys!" And with that they promptly turned tail and ran from the barn. Oh well.
On the bright side, when I went out to get the chick food, I startled a young deer that had wandered under the old apple tree. With a snort he began to bound away, but then stopped. I began to sing very softly and he took a few steps toward me. He was beautiful and stately in stature, and I realized I had been given a gift. Suddenly he sniffed the air and turning he walked back into the woods. Did I detect a slight air of disgust as he walked away? I think he must have smelled the chicken poop.
July into August
When I started this blog, I had every intention of posting at least once a week. But life has a way of interfering with those "best laid plans of mice and men."
The end of July began a new venture - an experiment if you will. We opened a small farm stand at the end of our driveway hoping to entice summer visitors with fresh vegetables and homemade bread. The first week was a whopping success which kept me in bread dough up to my elbows. The subsequent weeks have been slower, but that has allowed me to put up lots of jars of raspberry jam. Yesterday I canned chicken broth and soon I will have to can green beans.
I've been picking cherry tomatoes by the dozen every other day or so. The other tomatoes are beginning to ripen, and I have found only two hornworms so far on the plants. (These are rather beastly fellows despite their good looks. They will destroy tomatoes overnight. I usually drown them in soapy water which seems the least disgusting way to dispose of them since they are anywhere from 2-4 inches long.)
The Japanese cucumbers were a trial vegetable this year. About 18 inches long, dark green, and spiny, they have a very good texture and flavor. I also tried bush varieties of pickling and regular cukes in the upper garden. The chickens have somehow managed to get into the kitchen garden and dug up all of the new cucumber seeds I planted over the last few days. I have now put up the white flag, and admit defeat.
Garlic, and now shallots, have been harvested, and in their place I planted some cabbage plants that Papa found along a walking trail in Waterville. Someone had dumped the seedlings along the path. Crazy what one can find if you keep your eyes open.
The end of July began a new venture - an experiment if you will. We opened a small farm stand at the end of our driveway hoping to entice summer visitors with fresh vegetables and homemade bread. The first week was a whopping success which kept me in bread dough up to my elbows. The subsequent weeks have been slower, but that has allowed me to put up lots of jars of raspberry jam. Yesterday I canned chicken broth and soon I will have to can green beans.
I've been picking cherry tomatoes by the dozen every other day or so. The other tomatoes are beginning to ripen, and I have found only two hornworms so far on the plants. (These are rather beastly fellows despite their good looks. They will destroy tomatoes overnight. I usually drown them in soapy water which seems the least disgusting way to dispose of them since they are anywhere from 2-4 inches long.)
The Japanese cucumbers were a trial vegetable this year. About 18 inches long, dark green, and spiny, they have a very good texture and flavor. I also tried bush varieties of pickling and regular cukes in the upper garden. The chickens have somehow managed to get into the kitchen garden and dug up all of the new cucumber seeds I planted over the last few days. I have now put up the white flag, and admit defeat.
Garlic, and now shallots, have been harvested, and in their place I planted some cabbage plants that Papa found along a walking trail in Waterville. Someone had dumped the seedlings along the path. Crazy what one can find if you keep your eyes open.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A Little Like Eden
I awakened this morning to a dull, dreary sky and the sound of gently falling rain. Not that I mind this at all. The inclement weather is a nice change after the week of Syracusan type heat and humidity.
The house is still quiet - the kids are still asleep. Soon Ed will come down with his characteristic 9 year old swagger to give me a morning kiss. Joey will be next, sitting in Papa's chair with his morning cup of coffee. Will is always the last to arise. And so the days go like clockwork.
The garden is lush and green and producing vegetables that delight the palate.We have been harvesting beet greens, broccoli, cauliflower,lettuce,and peas. The summer squashes are beginning to ripen, and yesterday I spied a costata romanesca that was near perfection. Cherry tomatoes are turning orange, and the first planting of green beans are 2 inches long.
Strawberry picking has become blueberry picking, and now the raspberries are ripening. Our efforts are "bearing fruit" in a very literal way.
I think I am truly becoming a "woman of the soil." (In reality, are we not all?) I find an intense pleasure in the sensual aspects of gardening - the feel and smell of good earth, the scent of impending rain on the air, the delightful aromas of dill and mint, the colors and textures of leaves, flowers, and fruit. It is an Eden-like experience. The parables of the seeds, the weeds, and the harvest all make sense when one is close to the earth.
It takes humility to have a small farm. It is not a coincidence that the 'root' of humility is the Latin "humus" for ground. Humility and earth go hand in hand. Not much is in our control - weather, weeds, insects, poor seed, and destructive birds (the geese are the worst!). We labor, and the garden bears fruit. It is an act of faith, emboldened by hope, and ultimately moved by and toward Love - love of the good earth, love of this beautiful life, and love of our Dear Father Who made it all possible.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Strawberry Fields. Forever. Please.
Doubtless God could have made
a better berry (than the strawberry), but
doubtless God never did.
-William Allen Butler
My William and I were discussing strawberries early in June as we weeded our expanded strawberry patch. Both of us agreed that there was nothing quite like the taste of a sun ripened strawberry picked and then immediately popped into the mouth. That is one of the many advantages we've discovered in growing our own berries. Our feeble effort with 50 barely surviving berry plants and a cold, wet spring 3 years ago has yielded hundreds of young plants that take up about 1/4 of the upper garden.
Not that strawberries are easy. We found that they need a lot of work - lots of manure, constant weeding, thorough picking, and slug control. (I say this with a wink, since we have never had success in the slug area. Except in feeding them, that is. We have tried everything - ducks, sharp sand, lime, the salt shaker, yes, even Papa's good homemade beer. They just keep on coming.) In the fall, they must be covered with a good layer of straw (thus their name), not hay or leaves. But the benefits are worth all the labor.
I am very grateful for the good year. We have heard that many growers were hurt by the late frost in May. Papa made a heroic effort and carefully watered all of the plants before the sun rose too high, thus saving our little patch. He had remembered the chapter in Laura Ingalls Wilder's book, Farmer Boy, when Father, Almanzo, and his siblings hurried out to the cornfield before sunrise to water the corn seedlings after a frost. One can learn a lot from good books.
Besides eating them fresh, we have had strawberry shortcake, strawberry-rhubarb sauce, and strawberry smoothies. (These have become a favorite with the boys.) I sliced up strawberries and put them over Edmund's pouf pancake yesterday, and he ate the entire pie plate full except for the slice he reluctantly "shared" with Tess. Over and over he kept exclaiming, "Yum!" I guess he liked it.
Tess and Mary have been wonderful helps with cleaning and cutting the berries. For years this was my job sometimes extending into the wee hours of the morning so as not to lose too many berries to spoilage. Yesterday we froze 8 quarts, added to the other 4 we had previously frozen.
Strawberry jam, of course, is a must, and I've tried four different types this year. William begged me to make freezer jam again, and so I made two kinds, one regular, and one lower sugar. These are softer in set, but have a fresh flavor and are simple to prepare.I did the same with the two cooked varieties, using one lower sugar recipe. I prefer the tarter jams myself. I've made strawberry-rhubarb jam in the past, but for some reason it is not as popular with the kids - unless I put it over freshly baked biscuits with a spoon of vanilla ice cream. And then there is my favorite...strawberry-rhubarb pie. Need I say anything else?
Friday, June 4, 2010
Spring on the Farm
Beauty is all around us if we just take the time to look. God's hand is everywhere, and I am awestruck, again, at how much He loves His little children, and hopes to delight us with His gifts. Well, I am delighted!
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