happelsauce

Remember my neighbor, Novella? She wrote a book called Farm City, The Education of an Urban Farmer. It’s a very worthwhile read. I finished it last week, just in time to relish in her open house/farm tour yesterday.

She lives less than two miles away from me, in a grittier section of Oakland where abandoned lots have yet to be converted into upscale condos. The lot that sits next to Novella’s apartment on 28th Street is an exception. Not only is it not abandoned, it’s alive! It’s a squashblossomingbeebuzzingchickenscratchinggoatmilking urban farm. Yes, on top of the fruits and veggies that abound, there are honey bees and chickens and goats. I hadn’t seen goats since La Ferme Belmont. I love that I was reacquainted with the animal in a narrow alleyway inside a chain-link fence “on a dead-end street in the ghetto.” Not in Marin County or in a petting zoo, thank you very much.

I brought my copy of Farm City for Novella to sign. I almost kept it in my bag. I didn’t want to approach her. I felt like a dork. But James gently asked the question, “What do you have to lose?” And he was right. I had nothing to lose. So, I handed Novella my copy of her book, told her that I’d really enjoyed it and mentioned that we’re neighbors. Next thing I know, we’re talking about my cheesing life in France, animal rennet versus vegetable rennet, and the vast differences goat diet can make in the final flavor of the cheese. I walked away from GhostTown Farm with a signed copy of Farm City – For Annie – Welcome to the Bay! – and an offer on the table to help Novella make goat cheese anytime.

There’s a page in the book that I marked because it paints a vivid picture and it makes me laugh.

Bill took the overland route instead of the highway. As we cruised up MLK, I reacquainted myself with the sprawling garbage, the boys pulling shopping carts, the drug dealers on the corners. I had only been gone for ten days, the GhostTown looked grittier than I remembered…When we pulled up to our house, I suddenly had a fear: Was my diamond in the rough actually a cubic zirconia in a pile of shit? Had I been deluding myself? I pushed past the gate to the garden. The air that greeted me smelled fresh and clean. Even though it was dark, I knelt to examine the lettuces growing in the raised beds; they were sturdy and vibrant. I sniffed at the sweet peas that sprawled up a trellis. The garlic shoots, I was pleased to see, had grown a few inches. Yes, yes, this was a worthwhile project.

For me, GhostTown Farm came alive yesterday. It wasn’t glamorous. It was exactly what it claimed to be – a farm on a vacant lot in the ghetto that is  loved. It is a diamond in the rough, ripe with tomatoes and zucchini and hope.

When my sister was little, probably in the six to ten year range, she would play the piano. She would sit down, scootched out on the piano bench so her feet touched the floor, and play completely random keys with one of the pedals pressed so the notes sounded echo-y and mysterious. Then she’d let up on the pedal and keep playing. Then back to the pedal. Another press of the pedal, more keys. One final high note and…The end! “Bravo!!” we’d say. Ellie would smile and inform us that she’d just played an original “Imperial Mix-Up.”

I hadn’t thought about Ellie’s Imperial Mix-Ups for years. Then, after making fresh summer rolls with my roommates, neatly packed little collisions of tastes and flavors, I recalled the name. They were, without a doubt, the edible version of Ellie’s Imperial Mix-Up. Also, since I arrived in Oakland almost one month ago, I’ve had four jobs. Four! So, my life at this very moment seems to be one big Imperial Mix-Up. Let me explain.

My first week in Oakland, I volunteered at the elementary school garden program in the Hayward Unified School District. Then I went back again the next week. My time spent helping out was nothing short of inspiring. The moms, almost every one of them from Latin America, learned about compost and prepared a healthy, fresh lunch with the guidance of an instructor. Their kids, sometimes up to five from one family, constructed spaceships out of paper plates and glitter glue and watered the garden with tiny watering cans. Come lunchtime, we all gathered together and ate – handmade corn tortillas, tomatillo soup and sautéed peppers.

My friend Whitney works in residential real estate. She knows that I’ll take almost any job that pays me something. So a couple of weeks ago I spent a few hours posing as a “yoga model” for a new condominium complex in Potrero Hill. The idea behind the photo shoot is to show potential buyers the perks of the neighborhood. Richard, the photographer, shot me and my friend Freddy at a cute cafe down the street from the condos. Then he took about a million photos of me in my “yoga gear” walking down the street, yoga mat under my arm and spring in my step. Actually, more like leap in my step. Richard insisted that I skip down the block, beaming, looking happy happy happy! It was my very first (and most likely last) modeling experience. It left me feeling flattered that anyone thought I remotely resembled a “yoga model.” And so fortunate that the actual yoga studio where Richard wanted to shoot was closed for the afternoon. I can barely touch my toes, let alone do a proper Warrior pose.

Last weekend I worked for Whit’s company again. This time I was in Walnut Creek giving home tours to prospective buyers and manning the information booth at the “Dog Days” event in the courtyard. It was a mixed crowd – potential condo buyers on one end with lots of specific questions, and dog owners with their dogs on another, swinging by to pick up doggie snacks and refreshments. It’s safe to say that it was an utterly random weekend, and another first and last to add to my resume. Or not.

The good news is, job number four is legitimate. At least, I’m excited about it. It pulls from my experience in PR and marketing and it’s only part-time, so I’ll still have time to network and look for a full-time job that fits the bill. I’m consulting for Aliph, the maker of the Jawbone Bluetooth headset, pitching their new EARCANDY line to various publications for their holiday gift guides. When I went to the Aliph office to meet with my new boss, she promptly handed me a brand new Jawbone in Blah Blah Black to try for myself. I took it home, charged it up, and talked on the phone for a good while, relishing in the hands-freeness of it all – chopping veggies, flipping through a magazine and making my bed all while deep in conversation.

And so, enough about my Imperially Mixed-Up life. The summer rolls that my roommates and I made when we cooked our Thai feast are worthy of the title too. They were freshness wrapped in a rice paper roll, dipped in sauce, and bursting with crispmintycoolbrightness.

I love summer rolls. I order them, almost without fail, whenever they’re on the menu, but I’d never made them before. Yes, it takes a little time to slice all the veggies, but once that’s done, these rolls are a snap. And they’re completely customizable. We made ours entirely of vegetables and fresh herbs, no meat or tofu or rice vermicelli. They were wonderful. I wouldn’t change a thing. But you can, of course. After all, no two Imperial Mix-Ups are exactly the same…

Imperial Mix-Up Summer Rolls

Serves 4 as an appetizer

1 cup bean sprouts

About 10 lettuce leaves

1 cup carrots, finely shredded

1 English cucumber, thinly sliced and cut into strips

1⁄2 cup mint leaves, rolled and sliced into strips

1⁄2 cup cilantro leaves

1/2 cup basil leaves, rolled and sliced into strips

Rice paper wrappers (about 8” across)

• Lay out vegetables in an assembly line.
• Heat a pan of water until it’s almost too hot to handle.  Soak one rice paper wrapper in the hot water for 15-20 seconds then take it out and lay it flat.
• Flatten out one lettuce leaf on top (this helps prevent other fillings from poking through the wrapper).  Next, place a big pinch of each veggie and fresh herb in a mound closer to one side of the rice paper.
• Fold the ends of the wrapper in, then roll the remaining paper over to secure the goodness.
• Set roll on a platter, seam side down.  Keep rolls moist until served, and separated so they don’t stick together (the wrappers will rip).
• Serve whole or cut in half, with your choice of dipping sauce.

James made a perfect peanut ginger sauce for our rolls. He mixed a bit of peanut butter, soy sauce, fresh minced ginger, minced garlic, sesame oil, and hot pepper flakes to taste. If you do the same, you’ll have yourself a deluxe dipping sauce that won’t disappoint. Or, for something lighter, try a few tablespoons of rice vinegar and sesame oil to a half cup of soy sauce. And with whatever dip you desire, don’t forget the Sriracha.

During my stopover in Seattle I had unbridled access to my mom’s savvy cooking insights and a lovely, full, working kitchen.  I hadn’t had the pleasure of cooking in a kitchen that nice in a long time – disposal, dishwasher, ceramic bowls and an endless supply of clean wooden spoons. I felt like I’d clicked my heels and landed on a cooking show set. What made it even better is that the kitchen hadn’t changed. I knew where to find everything.  Pots and pans hang from the ceiling rack – copper, stainless steel and cast iron; sharp knifes rest in the top drawer next to the fridge – serrated, butcher, pairing; and mixing bowls sit in the bottom drawer – nestled from large to small.

Now I’m in Oakland. Upon arrival, everything was new and unfamiliar. The kitchen was no exception. I started small with salads, and then a few days in, I ignited the stove for tea and sautéed veggies. Then yesterday I graduated to full-fledged baking. I turned on the oven for the first time and I made an apricot galette. The entire house smelled like butter and warm apricots…until Dan cooked salmon. But details. I divided it in three and sat around the kitchen table with my roommates. We ate our slices with our hands, pizza style.

Yesterday’s galette was not the first I’ve made this summer. It was the third, or third and a half, because the apricot peach tart I baked for Chris’s birthday kind of counts. I am a huge galette fan for a few reasons – they’re simultaneously elegant and rustic and they’re simple. You can use any stone fruit you like – plums, peaches, cherries, nectarines, apples, apricots. Sometimes I’ll scatter a handful of ripe berries on top if I have them. Apricots are my favorite. Something magical happens to an apricot when it bakes. As if a tiny oven fairy waves her sugar wand and they morph from softly scented to potently perfumed orangey golden gems.

My first galette of the summer was made entirely of cherries from the neighbor’s tree on La Ferme Belmont in France. The tips of my fingers were stained crimson from pitting, but it was worth it. I wish I’d taken a photo of the finished product. I forgot.

Then came the nectarine apricot blueberry galette that I baked for my parents and friends in Seattle.

Next was the apricot peach tart for Chris, which I served out of a box on Wady’s sailboat in Puget Sound.

And finally, yesterday’s apricot galette. I popped it in the oven and headed out to run a few errands on Piedmont Avenue. I lost track of time in the magazine shop down the street and ran the four blocks home with visions of charred apricots and smoke seeping through the oven door. Fortunately I arrived just in time. Channeling Betty Draper, I whisked through the door and slipped an oven mitt onto my right hand, removed the the hot tart from the oven, placed it on the counter and poured myself a glass of sparkling wine.

Apricot Galette
Serves 4-6
Adapted from Alice Waters and Chez Panisse

Galette Dough:

1 cup white flour

6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

¼ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon sugar

¼ cup ice water

• In a bowl, mix the flour with the sugar and salt.

• Using a fork, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles very coarse meal.

• Drizzle the water over the dough and stir until moistened.

• Gather up the dough and knead it 2 or 3 times.

• Flatten the dough into a disk, wrap in wax paper and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Assembly:

4 cups (about 8 medium-sized) ripe fragrant apricots, cut lengthwise in quarters

2 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons flour

extra sugar for sprinkling

• Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

• On a floured surface, roll the galette dough as thin as possible into a big circle. It won’t look perfect and that’s just fine. Place the dough on an upside down pizza pan or a large cookie sheet. If using a cookie sheet, place something beneath it to allow the heat to circulate, a round cake pan or pizza stone works well.

• In a small bowl, mix sugar and flour, then spread mixture on the dough about two inches from the edge. This will sit under the apricots and thicken the juices.

• Arrange apricots over the dough however you like. I always try to make a nice, swirly spiral but my design vision clouds over at the midway point and I end up with something entirely unexpected.

• Lightly sprinkle apricots with sugar.

• Fold the edges of the dough up over the apricots. You can pleat them or gather them in. I tuck the frayed edges of the dough under so the crust appears a bit more even.

• Brush the folded-over edges of the dough with water and sprinkle with sugar so it’s thoroughly coated.

• Bake the galette in a 400 degree oven for 45-50 minutes, until the juices from the center are bubbly.

• Cool on a wire rack and serve.

I’ve been trying to treat my weekends as they should be treated – like wide open windows with endless views that beg for exploration. So, on Saturdays and Sundays I don’t spend all day in front of my computer job hunting. Instead, I try to enjoy my little spot in the world while attempting to leave the smallest possible monetary footprint in my wake. And, I did a good job last weekend. I felt like the Bay opened her arms and gave me a long hug. It was the kind of hug that says, “Welcome Back! I’ve missed you.” Without uttering a word.

It helped that I kicked off the weekend early by volunteering on opening night at SF Chefs. Food.Wine. in San Francisco’s Union Square.  Liz, my friend and old co-worker at OpenTable, was consulting for the event and kindly looped me in. Tickets for the evening’s festivities were sold for $125, but I could attend for free as long as I lent a helping hand. I was assigned to the Redwood Hill Farms goat cheese table. Really good goat cheese. The California Crottin was my favorite.

But, it turned out that they didn’t need much help. So I kept my “Staff All-Access” pass prominently displayed around my neck and headed to the front of the tent for the opening reception press conference and ribbon-cutting ceremony. And I pretended that I was press. Very important press.

I would check in at the Redwood Hill Farms table periodically throughout the evening to skewer the raw milk feta onto small rounds of baguette and talk to guests, but mostly I was free to enjoy. Before the doors officially opened I met Dave, a tequila distributor and connoisseur.  He poured me tastes of his favorite tequilas and introduced me to his industry friends. A joyful buzz enveloped me early on and stayed with me all night long while I sampled creations by the newest generation of San Francisco “Rising Star Chefs and Bartenders.” My buzz wasn’t entirely of the tequila kind, I promise. The night hummed with energy and inspiration – from the food and the drinks and their patchwork of flavors.

And all of this before my weekend even began. I was off to a very good start. Two of my best and oldest friends were in town for different weddings in the Bay. I got to spend time with them both. Then on Saturday afternoon, I drove to Muir Beach and hiked in the fog. The path forked at various spots and my last turn spit me out in the bountiful gardens of the Green Gulch Farm Zen Center. Exactly where I wanted to be. My joyful buzz still buzzing.

I left a peach in the car cup holder while I was hiking and when I returned it was warm to the touch. I ate it on my way back to Oakland. It was the best peach I’ve ever had. I took a photo to remember. A quick nohandsonthewheel shot.

A Perfect Peach

Serves 1

Place a fragrant, ripe peach in your car. I’ve been buying mine from Frog Hollow Farm. Or, if you don’t have a car, place it in a paper bag in the sun. Wait a couple of hours. Eat with a napkin to sop up the juice.

This interview with Novella Carpenter, Oakland’s urban farmer-in-chief, is worth listening to. I’m going to drive by her farm soon. It’s only a couple of miles from me. If she’s there, I’ll be sure to say hello and offer to help – harvest tomatoes, clean the chicken coop, whatever! Who says WWOOFing can’t take place in your own backyard?

Novella Carpenter took over an empty lot next to her apartment in Oakland’s gritty Ghost Town neighborhood, and over the years turned it into a lush garden and farm complete with bees, chickens, rabbits and even pigs. Urban farms are popping up in even the most cramped corners of densely populated cities, fueled by a desire for good food and a closer relationship with what we eat. Carpenter joins us to talk about her new book, “Farm City.”

LISTEN HERE: Farm City: Novella Carpenter on KQED Public Radio

I have been spending my days behind my computer applying for jobs. It’s not easy. Yes, I recently wrote, “My future is completely up in the air, but so far it feels good.” And I meant it. But now, quite honestly, it doesn’t feel as good. I have days when I feel like I’ve made solid progress chipping away at the Bay Area food scene and making promising connections. I also have days when I want to throw my computer out the window because I feel like I’m sending my resume into a very dark and ominous abyss where it has no chance of being noticed, let alone read. On those days, instead of actually throwing my computer out the window, I end up opening the fridge and stuffing myself with something I should just throw away, like three-day old couscous. Then I shuffle through my roommate’s record collection and find woeful music to play. “Hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again…”

Last Wednesday was one of those three-day old couscous days. After applying for jobs and emailing contacts all day, I felt utterly defeated. I fled the confines of my temporary East Bay bungalow and wandered through the Mountain View Cemetery. Sounds completely dark and morbid of me, but I really like it in there amongst the graves and flowers. It’s so peaceful. And from the top of the hill on the other side of the Bay, San Francisco sits shimmering in the distance, so full of hope. Why does everything appear promising from far away?

I made a fennel and green apple salad after I returned from my walk amongst the dead. It was the perfect contrast to my day – crispy and crunchy and so alive. The tartness of the apple combined with the licorice snap of the fennel, tossed with lemon juice, salt, pepper and freshly shaved Parmesan. My taste buds rejoiced. I ate it with a  very complementary, wortheverypenny bargain bottle of Vinho Verde Adamado. A salad that resurrects my palate and lifts my spirits? Hallelujah!

Fennel and Green Apple Salad

Serves two as a first course

1 medium fennel bulb

1 medium tart, green apple (Buy local! You can find early-season apples at the farmers market.)

Good-quality olive oil

1 lemon

A hunk of Parmesan

Sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

• Cut the fennel bulb in half from root to stalk, sliced as thin as possible and place in a medium bowl.

• Cut the apple into thin slices and add to bowl.

• Add the juice of one lemon, a light drizzle of olive oil, and season with salt and pepper, then toss it all together with your hands.

• Shave your hunk of Parmesan with a vegetable peeler and set aside.

• Place a small handful of salad onto two plates. Sprinkle with Parmesan shavings. Layer more salad, then more cheese, until plates are full. Serve immediately.