Banana Cream Pie

Welcome 2012.  I am rededicating myself to this blog, starting today.  In the spirit of pursuing happiness, I will try to pay more attention to the simplest of things in (and occasionally out of) my kitchen that bring me the best kind of contented joy.  Perhaps it has been regression in a way, but lately I have been wanting nothing more than bare satisfaction, a return to sweet romance preserved in Mason jars, to a love song baked into the grain of a pungent sourdough, to feeling exhaustion because I worked my hands, my back, my heavy legs, and not because of longing for living from behind a desk.

For several days now, an overstock of aging yellow bananas has been collecting on my red kitchen table.  Loaves of banana bread are my traditional use of such excess, but this time I decided to make something I haven't made in ages, something simple, reminiscent of home (any one's home), and something that requires crafting:  Banana Cream Pie.  Is it healthy because it's low in calories and fat?  No.  It's healthy because it's made with the barest bones of natural, some local, ingredients.  It's healthy because when you eat it, it should soothe your worries for just a moment. 

The crust is half whole-wheat, half organic white, made flaky with homemade Snowville Creamery butter, coarse natural sea salt, and Tennessee whiskey.  Inside it's layered with buttery yellow vanilla pudding, creamy and whipped together with Snowville Creamery dairy, organic cane sugar, cornstarch, deeply orange local free-range egg yolks, pure vanilla extract, local raw honey and a pad of butter for richness.  Sandwiched between the layers of custard are slices of bananas, constructed just the way my Mom taught me.  It's topped off with homemade Snowville whipped cream, sweetened with local raw honey and a few grains of sea salt.  This is the purest, most simple banana cream pie, an heirloom, soul food for certain.

I hope for a joyous, productive new year for everyone.  I'll be toting this pie with me to a party tonight to help ring in 2012 and my newly impassioned focus on pure and simple, old and honored, sweet and succulent.  Salute. 

Of love and cowgirls

Southeastern Ohio may not be big sky country.  It may not be the Black Hills, the rolling plains of Oklahoma's panhandle, or even close to being hundreds of thousands of lush green mountains, littered with geysers and the playground of thundering herds of bison or wild horses.  What it is, or rather, what I have learned it to be after moving out of the Athens bubble and into the Appalachian foothills, is the home of some of the most dedicated farmers I know. 

These are men and women who have had their hands on the rough hair of a warm, heavy breathing, soon-to-be mother as they anxiously await the arrival of a spring calf in the bitter strain of frozen beginnings, with March roaring in the distance.  Most of them have told stories of heaving calves, year in and year out, over their shoulders, and like dedicated comrades, carrying the helpless newborns out of the icy muck and mud, to the warmth and safety of a bed laden with hay, and many nights spent sleeping in the arms of and under the watchful eye of a farmer.  I know for a fact that most of the cattle owners, the beef and dairy farmers I now call my friends and loved ones, have more personal, intimate, familial relationships with their animals, their herds, than any John Wayne or legend of lore of the old West.  These are real cowpeople--cowboys and cowgirls.  

Last Wednesday night I had the great pleasure of being welcomed to the table of the Downs family.  While this may not seem like anything different or out of the ordinary, as I spend many minutes, hours, days and nights with the Downs family, you will learn that if you pay particular attention to the ordinary, you find the extraordinary.  As I sat around a wooden, oval table under the glow of the yellow hew of lamps on a hanging fixture, I found myself noticing the treasures, the valuable moments that lie in the everyday comings and goings of an abundantly loving, hard-working, tightly knit family. 

There were four generations around this table, something which I will likely never experience in my own family.  There is no hierarchy in this family, as I was reminded that the teasing and harassment is equal opportunity.  However, Elma Downs knows her family like a map she's honed in her mind, like directions to a destination she's followed so many times, she can see the handwriting as she makes the next turn.  I think we often overlook the people in our lives who create our every day, our ordinary, the continuity we come to take for granted.  Elma is one of those people.  Planning meals, cleaning house, packing lunches, knowing when to buy new rugs, when to buy new socks for her husband, when to pick the green beans, how to pack the tomatoes, where to store the potatoes, how to crochet the blankets her children and grandchildren will throw over their laps mindlessly for years to come, Elma is the keeper of the pace of life in the Downs family.  My maternal grandmother was the same for her family.  I'd have given anything to have known Erma Turrin, and I see the stories of her reflected in so many ways in Elma Downs.  Being able to know Elma has been one of the most healing experiences of my life.

Elma's granddaughters Tiffany and Heather are modern day Annie Oakleys.  They keep alive a work ethic, and an attitude of hospitable confidence that is unmatched by their suburban and urban counterparts.  Humble but proud, outspoken but quiet, Heather embodies the long line of hard working mothers from which she descended.  As she carefully balanced outbursts of laughter with her cousin Tiffany while carefully blowing on small spoonfuls of spaghetti to feed the hungry toddler that happily bounced in her high chair between them, Heather emanated the living, breathing energy that warmed the room where her family gathers to share meals every night.  Her daughter Haylee is the fourth generation.  At seventeen months old she knows how to say "cow," and has a spitfire personality inherited undoubtedly from the bright, often fiercely loyal, but playfully loving and deeply devoted family into which she is being raised. 

And if you don't already know how I feel about Tiffany Downs, then perhaps you don't know me very well.  Not too long ago she expressed to me that she has been missing her "country," side.  She spends most nights with me in town, most days at college, and the in between time she spends in the car driving between those two places and her job.  She doesn't often go home, slip on her boots, and head out to the woods, or through the fields and trails of her family's 300 acre farm, followed only by three faithful dogs and the silence of her own thoughts.  And she definitely doesn't often get to set out hay bales, or tend cows, or just tool around in the garage with her Dad and his collection of Chevrolet's.  I love her country side, and she may not know it, but she'll never lose it.  She may feel like it's somewhere else, like it has faded to a flickering dim, but it will never go away.  I hear that genuine hospitality every time she speaks to someone she's never met.  It's embedded within her and perhaps, much like my fly or my city swagger, it just needs to be channeled.  She's been sporting a new pair of Wranglers lately, and plaid shirts and a sliver studded belt.  Perhaps now her outside matches the inside, which she'll never lose. 

I love spending nights around the dinner table with the Downs family, and I love spending my days and nights and hours and minutes, my short conversations and my laughs, my struggles and my accomplishments with Tiffany.  They may have taught me a lot about country, but more than anything they've reinforced my belief in the goodness of humanity, our universal understanding of love and the strength of our families, no matter who sits at our dining tables.  When I think of cowgirls, and cowboys, I'll always think of them first.

In my feeble attempt to help Tiffany feel as country as she knows she is, I made Gingerbread Cowgirls.  In my feeble attempt at making cookies healthy, I spiffed them up Queen Honeybea style.  They're full of whole grains, rich local honey, and homey winter spices.  They made my entire house smell like Christmas, and they've lasted for days.  I frosted them with a simple mixture of confectioners sugar, lemon extract and enough Snowville Half & Half to reach the consistency I wanted for piping.  I hope you enjoy this recipe, and always remember to buy local and eat well.

Queen Honeybea's
Whole Grain Gingerbread Cowgirls
(makes 3 dozen or so medium sized cookies)

1/2 cup of organic butter, softened
1/2 cup of raw sugar
1/4 cup blackstrap molasses
1/4 cup local honey
1 tsp. vanilla
1 local, free-range egg
2 1/4 cups organic whole-wheat flour
3/4 cup of organic buckwheat flour
2 TBS. oat bran
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. sea salt
2 tsp. ground ginger
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1.  Either lightly grease, or cover a large cookie sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

2.  In the bowl of a stand mixer, or in a large bowl with a hand held mixer, beat together the butter and raw sugar until soft and incorporated.  Beat in the molasses, honey, and vanilla until combined.  Beat in the egg.

3.  In a separate bowl, combine the whole-wheat flour, buckwheat flour, oat bran, baking powder, sea salt, ginger, cinnamon and cloves.  Gradually add this to the wet mixture, beating on low until all of the dry mixture is worked in and a cohesive dough is formed.  Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

4.  Pre-heat your oven to 375 degrees.  On a lightly floured surface, roll the chilled dough out to 1/4 inch thickness.  Cut into shapes with cookie cutters of your choice and place on greased or parchment lined baking sheets.  Bake for 8-10 minutes, until edges just begin to brown.  Cool for a minute on the pan, then remove to a wire rack to cool completely.  Repeat this procedure until you've used all of the dough.

5.  Once the cookies are completely cooled, you can eat them as they are, or frost them with a mixture like what I described above, or other cookie frosting that you enjoy.

Spelt Pumpkin Bread with Bourbon Soaked Raisins

As soon as the crisp chill of fall air can be felt and also can be smelled, inhaled, breathed deeply infused with the scent of crushed dryed leaves and fallen pine cones, as soon as I step out my front door and find myself swaddled by a cool autumn breeze, that's when my brain recalls fondly the warm, earthy orange hue of pumpkin.

Pumpkin is one of my favorite vegetables, and so I attempt to incorporate it as often as possible into my fall and winter diet. Let's face it, as a locavore I will be eating pumpkin from now through the first frost and beyond as I freeze quarts of starchy puree. If you're not a pumpkin fan, let me try to sell you on this recipe.

Spelt pumpkin bread with bourbon soaked raisins would be an indistinguishable pumpkin source to anyone who did not know to taste keenly for the familiar bite of the overgrown squash. You could easily pass it off as spice bread, but if you're like me, you'd know that the moistness, the density, the heavy wet crumb of the bread is only made by one thing: pumpkin, period. Bananas don't make bread like this, nor does zucchini or applesauce or anything else you might try. Pumpkin quick bread has the best consistency, not to mention its spices are reminiscent of a pumpkin pie and a slice will keep you from breakfast to lunch with a hearty dose of heart healthy spelt.

My recipe calls for pumpkin puree. Obviously, I would use a fresh pie pumpkin. Making pumpkin puree is simple, and one pie pumpkin will make enough for two recipes of this bread, or for other pumpkin recipes you're toying with trying. I heat my oven to 400 degrees. Then, I cut out the top and scoop the seeds and seedy pulp out of my pumpkin. I set the entire pumpkin on a sheet of parchment paper on a baking sheet. I roast the pumpkin for about 30 minutes, or until the pumpkin flesh is soft and wilted. Then, allow the pumpkin to cool and scoop the soft pumpkin flesh out from the skin and mash it. Pumpkin puree!

I am embarking, beginning just this week, on writing a cookbook. I want this cookbook to be a collection of not just what I eat, but how I eat. It should be a gospel, of sorts, of my food philosophy, the sustenance and the soul food. This recipe will be included, for sure, with subtitutions and ideas on how to make it your own. That's the key to me, creativity and interest in the kitchen. Without those things, we are a hopeless nation of fast-food addicts. I hope many more recipes are to come for the Queen Honeybea cookbook. Enjoy this one, and remember to buy local and eat well.

Spelt Pumpkin Bread with Bourbon soaked Raisins

¼ cup golden raisins
¼ cup organic dark raisins
2 TBS. whiskey or bourbon

12 oz. pumpkin puree , 1 ½ cups
½ cup pure maple syrup
¼ cup raw sugar
1 egg plus 1 egg white
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 TBS. apple cider vinegar

1 cup organic white spelt flour
½ cup whole wheat spelt flour
2 tsps. baking soda
½ tsp. sea salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. ground ginger
1/8 tsp. ground cloves

1. Pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 9 inch metal loaf pan and set aside.

2. In a small sauce pan, over medium-high heat, combine both kinds of raisins with the whiskey or bourbon. Bring this mixture to a boil, simmer for one minute, then remove the pan from the heat, cover it and set it aside.

3. In a large mixing bowl, beat together with a whisk the pumpkin puree, maple syrup, egg and egg white. Slowly drizzle the olive oil in as you beat with the whisk to incorporate it completely and slowly. Continue until all the oil is worked into the wet mixture. With a spatula, fold in the vanilla and apple cider vinegar. Set aside.

4. In a smaller mixing bowl combine the white spelt flour, the whole wheat spelt flour, the baking soda, sea salt, cinnamon, ginger and cloves. With the spatula, fold all but 2 TBS. of this mixture into the wet mixture to make a lumpy, just barely moistened batter.

5. Use the lid of the sauce pan with the raisins to drain the excess bourbon directly into the batter by keeping the raisins in the pot. Toss the soaked raisins with the reserved 2 TBS. of flour mixture, then fold them and the excess bourbon gently into the batter.

6. Pour the batter into the pan and bake for 40-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean or nearly clean, and the center of the loaf seems set.

7. Remove it from the oven and tip the hot loaf pan onto its side to cool for 10 minutes. Then run a knife around the edges of the bread and remove it from the pan. Cool completely.

Serve the bread completely cooled the next day, when the flavors have married.

Apple Crisp

Ouch. July 8th. That was a long time ago.

Since that time, I have started a new job, and also 3 weeks ago began my graduate program at Methesco. Oh, and I started writing a bi-weekly column for the local paper. I'm kind of busy these days.

However, for my own sanity I spent yesterday afternoon blissfully preparing food in my lately neglected kitchen. I picked up a local butternut squash, some local apples and apple cider and a box of free-range organic chicken stock at Jo-Ad Specialty Store in downtown McConneslville. God bless that place. I'd have to drive miles to shop without it.

The weather yesterday was perfect for homey, warm food and a few small, fall indulgences. It was a crisp, cool 63 degrees, clouds and sun battling it out all day long in the skies above, and my kitchen windows cracked ever so slightly to feel the cool breeze every now and again as I whisked from stove to refrigerator to sink. Bliss, I tell you.

I had taken some lamb rib chops from my freezer that morning which I had purchased from Shew's Orchard, right here in Morgan County. I smeared them with a mixture of mashed fresh garlic, sea salt, coarse cracked black pepper, dry rosemary and ground thyme. I seared each side, then added 2 TBS. of dry white wine and 1/2 cup of chicken stock. I let the chops, and the pan juice reduce by half. I plated them up and placed the bowl of juice on the table. We ate them "au jous" style, dipping each piece of tender, pink lamb into the juice then racing it into our mouths before we dripped. My first time ever cooking lamb and it was perfection.

To go along with that (because my theme lately is "clean out my freezer in order to put more food into it"), I sauteed then braised red and green cabbage with garlic salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar and water. I removed that from the pan, then seared off 10 handmade pierogies from the West Side Market. I combined them with the cabbage, and it was like a bite of home as soon as I took a bite. Cleveland is so fabulously Polish, pierogies will always make me a little homesick.

With the butternut squash I bought, I cut off the rind and seeded it. I diced it into half inch cubes, which I tossed with olive oil, maple syrup, sea salt, cinnamon and rosemary. I baked it in a greased casserole pan for about an hour at 350 degrees. It was candied and delicious when we popped it out.

Finally the indulgence portion of the meal. I made 3 baby apple crisps in my stackable mugs. I have this problem with dessert. Had I made a big apple crisp in a square or rectangular pan, we would've been obligated to eat it all. That would require more than one helping over a period of several days. I just can't eat dessert like that anymore. It really is a special treat for me, so small, single servings are perfect.

I wanted to make it just like my Mom's, as I was already feeling nostalgic yesterday. I sliced 2 apples thinly, and layered them with golden raisins in the small, ceramic mugs. Then I combined 1/2 cup of organic brown sugar (sucanat), 1/4 cup of whole white wheat flour (you can use any kind of flour), 1/2 cup of organic rolled oats, 1 teaspoon of cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon of freshly grated nutmeg, and a pinch of sea salt. I cut in 1/4 cup of homemade Snowville Creamery butter, which I then worked in with my fingers until it almost resembled crumbly cookie dough. I packed 1/3 of this mixture on top of every mug of apples. I baked them at 350 degrees for 40 minutes to an hour, or until the crisp top is dark and golden, and the apples are bubbling and soft. Use a knife to see if the apples are cooked through.

The smell of cinnamon wafted out my kitchen windows and around the block. This is what I strive to achieve every time I cook. I want the whole neighborhood to know that good food can be found at my house, that the smell of cinnamon is coming from Betsy's house and she's probably at it again. I want to be the house with the pie in the windowsill and dinner on the table. Yesterday I made that happen, and it was good for my soul.

Happy Fall! Remember to buy local and eat well, with love from Queen Honeybea.

Cowboy Crackers

Back to food. That's been my theme of the past few days. Getting back to food. I think it's safe to say that the past couple of months have been rather hectic, stressful and tiring for me. One job ended, and while I was meant to be winding down and taking some time off, I had an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I'm starting a new job on Monday, and am fresh off of a week spent in gorgeous Cleveland, Ohio visiting my family and friends. My blog has been shamefully neglected and so I will say it again and then not another word about my personal life: Back to food.

While in Cleveland I found myself at an old haunt. My Mom, girlfriend and I went to the End of the Commons General Store in Mesopotamia, Ohio. It's a lot more exciting now than it was the last time I visited, but it still carries the same old stand-by products in bulk foods and supplies. Every time I visit I have to peruse the cookie cutter selection. I will never have enough cookie cutters, never. This trip I picked up three new additions to my collection, a trio of sorts. I found a horseshoe, a cowperson, and the silhouette of a horse's head. Cowboy cookies were definitely in order...well, sort of.

One of the drawbacks of my leaving home is also having to leave my diet locked tidily up in my little duplex. When I say my "diet," I mean the way I eat, my food philosophy. Spending nine days at my parents' house, while my Mom makes great efforts to accommodate me (which do not go unnoticed), always results in feeling a little bad about myself, and my body not feeling quite up to par. Even the smallest addition of processed foods, preservatives and anything really atypical of my usual local-seasonal-organic diet can have a noticeable impact on my body image, and how my body actually feels. One thing that always seems to happen on my trips home is a dessert smorgasbord. Therefore, last night when I unpacked my brand new trio of John Wayne's favorite cookie cutters and could not resist the temptation to use them, I had to get clever.

My time at home made me come to another somewhat new decision. I want to eat as little in the way of processed food as possible. Yes, this is something I already do, but I want to go a little bit further with it. I'm going to try to start making my own snacks. Snacks have always been a point of anxiety for me. When most people imagine snacks, the list of things they imagine is almost entirely processed. I am the same way. So, after nibbling on a couple of Barbara's brand Oatmeal Animal Cookies, I had an idea.

I decided to make oatmeal crackers, cut out into my cowboy shapes. The keyword here is "crackers." That is precisely what they are. With the addition of more sweetener, they might be able to flirt with cookie, but as they are now, they are simply crackers-not savory, not sweet, but delicious. I tried to make them as healthy as possible while also making them taste good. I think I succeeded. The crunchy, dense cut outs are packed with oatmeal, oat bran, whole wheat, spelt, and flax. They contain no butter or eggs, and rely on sunflower seed butter and olive oil for their texture. I jazzed them up with some molasses for flavor, sweetness and nutrients, and some spices reminiscent of a gingersnap. When it was all said and done, I smeared a lucky horse's head with my homemade black raspberry jam and called it my two o'clock pick me up. It was delicious and satisfying and I will be making these again when my bag is almost empty. Enjoy, and always remember to eat well and buy local.



Queen Honeybea's
Cowboy Crackers
Makes 3 dozen large crackers

1/2 cup organic rolled oats
1/2 cup local organic milk
2 TBS. sunflower seed butter
1 TBS. olive oil
2 TBS. local raw honey
1 TBS. molasses
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 cup organic whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cup organic all purpose flour
1/4 cup whole wheat spelt flour
2 TBS. oat bran
1 TBS. flax seeds
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground ginger
1/8 tsp. ground cloves

1. In a small sauce pan, heat milk to a simmer but not a boil. Add the oats and cool completely.

2. In a large bowl, beat together with a wooden spoon the sunflower butter, olive oil, honey and molasses. Add the oatmeal mixture and beat to combine.

3. In a medium size bowl, combine the flours, oat bran, flax seeds, cinnamon, ginger and cloves. Add all at once to the wet ingredients and mix to make a stiff dough.

4. On a floured pastry cloth, roll half the dough out to 1/8 inch thickness. Cut into shapes with cookie cutters, or cut into strips, squares or triangles for quicker, less intricate crackers. Place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and bake at 425 degrees for 9 minutes.

5. Remove to a wire rack and cool completely. Repeat until all of the dough is gone and all the crackers are baked.

For my Dad

Father’s Day is here, and yet another year is passing where I feel like I’m not acknowledging my father on this day nearly as much as I acknowledged my mother on her special day just a month ago. It’s not news to anyone that Father’s Day is Mother’s Day’s red-headed step-child. Why? Perhaps because American masculinity can’t be afforded the kind of emotionally charged tribute we pay to our mothers. Perhaps it’s because American fathers are changing, and American fatherhood is being redefined in both good and bad ways. Perhaps it’s because American motherhood seems to be getting harder, while participatory American fatherhood is dying and we unnecessarily praise American fathers who act like real parents (what a notion). Father’s Day should be just as important as Mother’s Day. Perhaps we ought to just have a “Parents Day,” where we celebrate the people who have lovingly reared us, whether they are our fathers and mothers, uncles, aunts, grandparents, neighbors, friends, daycare workers, etc. However, just like I said on Mother’s Day, not all of those people are my Mother. It is no different for me on Father’s Day. I have incredible parents and incredible parent figures in my life, but I only have one Father, which may be more than some and less than others, but at the end of the day I have one and he has solely defined the word “father,” for me, something for which I will be eternally grateful.

I am a writer, an emotional creature who empathizes greatly and feels deep compassion. That makes me a natural lover of stories. As I sit here thinking about Father’s Day, and specifically my father, I have realized that I have always thought of my father in the context of a story. My father (in all seriousness) is Forest Gump. My father is a textbook American story. While America’s collection of stories that compose our values and our innate sense of connection is massive, my father’s stands out to me…maybe because he’s my father, or maybe because it embodies the tenants on which Americans found their lives, like a cornerstone. While my father’s story is far too long, detailed, deep and broad to share in this small tribute, I would like him to know what it has meant to me, how it has shaped me, and how he has shaped me, how no one else could’ve done that, how I wouldn’t be the person I am without him and how my deepest roots are set in his soil.

My Dad built his own life, and in turn he built ours. My father came from very little. I obviously cannot know what his childhood was like, but the few times I’ve heard my father tell more than just a generalized story, what I imagine is a far cry from the childhood I knew myself. He did not grow up in a family like the one with which he was blessed, the one where he was known as “Dad.” In order to explain to someone what the term “self-made man,” means, I would tell my father’s story. I talk over and over again, boastfully proud of my Italian heritage, of the stock from which I come. I don’t think my Dad knows how overwhelmed with pride I feel when I am reminded of him. Two people created me, two people reared me, two people poured themselves into shaping my life. I am the product of two stories, two lives lived, two great histories. While my father’s traits may not be as readily identifiable in my day to day, he is permanently there. I will strive every single day to embody some semblance of my father’s work ethic. I know what success means because of my father. I understand the word “father,” as this man. I want to provide for a family the way my father did. I want it to be unquestionable that I am his daughter when I am seen learning new things, broadening my mind, reading, and trying to be the best version of myself that I can. I want my patronage to be easily recognizable when I am constantly changing, growing, working, providing, appreciating, giving, loving and simply in my contentment.

What I want my father to know more than anything is that to me, he managed to mold himself into the kind of father that stands out amongst his peers, and it has not gone unappreciated that he did this in spite of his role model. It is difficult for me to show my appreciation for my father without using heavily gendered expressions that don’t in any way apply to our relationship. This is how we’ve built fathers in America. I am not a “Daddy’s girl.” My father is not a “man’s man.” My father is a man, but my father is really an exemplary person. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate his masculinity, but rather that I don’t want my father to just be a “good guy.” I don’t want him to be measured on a scale where a “good guy,” is no more than a man who doesn’t do negative or destructive things. My father is not simply par. I want him to be known as good. Period.

I would like to think that part of this “good,” that my father is has been engrained into me. While my mother may have created my day to day, my father supplemented my character with his stories, his opinions and his innate diplomacy. My Dad is a Vietnam War vet, yet he is the most passive person I know. I have heard, to the point where it is now jokingly laughed at, since I was a small child that “War is chaos,” and that, “You do it for your buddy.” While those may be two sentiments that could easily go in one ear and out the other, the larger message in them has always resonated with me. “You do it for your buddy,” is a part of my Dad’s character. I learned what it means to be self-sacrificing and charitable from him. My Dad is not the typical patriotic war veteran, but rather a man who questions the good in all things, seeks it out, and tries to make it achievable for his neighbors, even within and beyond his own service. He has always taught me that giving back is a pinnacle part of our experience on Earth. I hold that firmly in my heart.



This Father’s Day I want my Dad to know that he isn’t just “father,” as defined by our culture or society, or in Webster’s Dictionary, or by someone else’s expectations of him as a man. He is my father. He shaped me, and to me, he is in my foundation and I cannot truly express how grateful I am for that. A day will never pass where I am not grateful for my father going to work, for paying our bills, for our blessed and privileged life, for being my Mother’s best friend, for checking my oil, for washing my car, for helping me move boxes from one place to another every summer, or for following me for five miles at 4:30 in the morning through a blizzard to make sure I got onto the freeway ramp safely. While I rely heavily on words to show my feelings, one thing my father has taught me, uniquely from anyone else, is how to show them without the words, but to convey the very same message: I love you. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.


From my first few days...to twenty-five years later. My Dad has always, always, always been there.

Memorial Day

The grill was calling. I am as much a red-blooded, (who bleeds blue and green & white on different occasions) land loving American as the next person and even for me on Memorial Day, firing up my grill was clearly the only way to satisfy my carnivorous craving for flame kissed meat, dripping with tangy barbecue sauce. Add a micro brew perspiring in one hand and some fantastic company and we had ourselves a good ol' Yankee Doodle cook out.

For me, hamburgers and hot dogs are not the same. Nothing is really the same. I've taken to dedicated locavorism, and unwavering loyalty to all things natural and organic, and much of the food of my childhood and my recent past just doesn't do it for me anymore. A bun that is white, clammy and has the texture of play dough makes me wonder how I ever thought that was good for my body. No, this cookout had to be revamped Queen Honeybea style in order to suit both my body, and my soul in it's patriarchal claim to patriotism by cooking meat over fire.

This year's Memorial Day cookout was made up of myself, my girlfriend and our dear friend Mike. Mike and I mastered the meat department, and grilled up some ribs and chicken courtesy of King Family Farms in Athens, Ohio. I seasoned them well, baked them partially, then slathered them up with a local brew known as Bungtown BBQ sauce, from the makers of Bungtown Salsa. Check out the link to Bungtown below and read their awesome story of how they got their name. That's the kind of thing I live for!

On top of that we had pasta salad courtesy of Mike, Ohio Green Bean Casserole, Black Bean Brownies, and a heaping bowl of seriously addictive Shagbark Corn Tortilla Chips (made from Morgan County corn) and Frongranch Salsa. We drank beer, laughed, ate, laughed more, ate more, and by nightfall had experienced some fantastic fellowship.

I hope your Memorial Day was as relaxing, enjoyable, and refreshing as mine. Next year, look for some local meat, I promise it tastes better and helps your community. Always remember to eat well (even when binging on carnivorous, flesh and bone, American foods), and buy local.


Shagbark Corn Tortilla Chips and Frogranch Salsa. Addicting.


King Family Farm Spare Ribs and Chicken Thighs lathered up with Bungtown BBQ sauce.


Queen Honeybea’s
Bacon and Dill Pasta Salad

1 lb. organic whole-wheat short pasta (shells, macaroni, penne, farfalle, etc.)
1 cup cooked, chopped Canadian (or regular) bacon (5 slices of Canadian bacon)
3 large green onions, chopped green and white parts both
2 medium size local tomatoes, chopped
1 cup chopped local sugar snap peas
1 15oz can organic garbanzo beans, drained
¼ cup fresh dill, chopped roughly
2 TBS. chopped fresh sweet and red basil
1 TBS. chopped fresh cilantro


Dressing:
1 TBS. prepared Dijon mustard
1 TBS. prepared whole grain mustard
½ cup apple cider vinegar
1 TBS. balsamic vinegar
1 TBS. dried onion powder
1 tsp. garlic salt
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. coarse ground black pepper
1 TBS. local honey
½ cup extra virgin olive oil

1. Boil pasta according to package directions to “al dente.” Drain well, and set aside.

2. In a large bowl, toss the bacon, green onions, tomatoes, snap peas, garbanzo beans, dill, basil and cilantro. Add the cooked pasta.

3. In a medium size bowl, whisk together the dressing ingredients except for the olive oil. Slowly drizzle the olive oil into the mustard mixture while whisking to incorporate until all the oil is added. Pour over the pasta salad and mix well. Refrigerate at least 4 hours, overnight is best.



Queen Honeybea's Bacon and Dill Pasta Salad

Sights and Tastes of Early Summer

Yes, I am still here. After overwhelming myself by creating my own blogging deadlines and expectations, I needed some time off. I love writing about food. When it got to the point I resented it, temporarily, I needed to stop and start again when something began blooming inside of me, telling me things like "Betsy, this rhubarb is so beautiful, don't you just want to share it with the whole world and make them see how fantastic it is?" The answer to that very obscure internal question was Yes. Summer is arriving slowly and food ecstacy is becoming as abundant as sunshine.

Seasonal eating has been a challenge, but immensely rewarding. It has been a long winter of kale, chard, squash, potatoes, and thank heavens bag after bag after bag of greenhouse grown microgreens from Green Edge organics. At the first appearance of snap peas in early April, my girlfriend can attest to the child like delight I beamed as I skipped toward the table and snatched them up. Every week there has been something new, and it is very much like I am eating strawberries, asparagus and rhubarb for the very first time. Once you become as much of a seasonal eater as you can without dancing the line of malnourishment, you appreciate things so much more. Those first strawberries, while not overly sweet or juicy, were so pleasing to bite, to chew, taste and swallow. It's a sense of satisfaction only foodies know, but something from which I wish many more people could derive such simple joy.

Two weeks ago I was leisurely strolling through the breathtaking Athens Farmers Market with my list in hand, scribbled with all the usuals--Crumbs Bakery 10 Grain, Birdseed Bagels, Lettuce, Laurel Valley Country Jack, etc.--when I glanced over at a woman carrying a beautifully woven basket over her forearm. Inside the basket my eyes spotted clear, plastic quart sized boxes glowing red from the seed studded, green capped strawberries held carefully inside of them. Disbelief for a moment, then I was on a mission to find where that woman had ascertained those berries. Moments later I found myself paying premium prices for an early variety of strawberries called "Sweet Charlies." From them came five or six mornings of strawberry dressed whole grain cereal, strawberry slices adorning a peanut butter slathered bird seed bagel, and one delightful seasonal favorite, strawberry rhubarb tart.

I love springtime in Southeast Ohio, because the food availability is like summer in Cleveland. I've come home with pounds of rhubarb which turned into tender tart morsels baked and drizzeld with honey over yogurt, lemon-rhubarb bars (made with Morgan County lemons from Mr. Cherry's fine lemon trees), strawberry rhubarb tart, blueberry rhubarb pie and a "shut your mouth" delicious Rhubarb-Lemon-Blueberry upside down cake. I've come home with 3 quarts and one pint of strawberries, which in addition to what I listed above also made a fresh strawberry tart for my father, as it is his favorite. I've come home with bags of green house cherry tomatoes and cucumbers which found themselves in every salad from here to eternity, including the fattoush I concocted last week. I've come home with giant, stalky bunches of green onions, bright red, and white radishes, skeins of dill and mint, and pint boxes of dirt flecked snap peas, all of which have made some unique, insatiable spring salads.

Welcome summer. Welcome food. Welcome inspiration. I've been waiting for you. Please remember to buy local, seek out local food, go an extra mile for fresh eggs, find a farmer who will sell you his apples, because I guarantee you it's worth every extra step. And from Queen Honeybea in her summertime glory, always remember to eat well, because you not only deserve it, you are worth it.


Queen Honeybea's Lemon Rhubarb Bars. Zingy and tart, with a hint of ginger in the whole-wheat shortbread crust, crafted from homemade Snowville Creamery butter and a dash of their rich 2% milk. Slices of these will be attending the Memorial Day Chesterhill Produce Auction with me.


A springtime treat, crispy and tangy Queen Honeyea's Fattoush Salad, with local microgreens, mesculin mix, greenhouse cukes and tomatoes, fresh mint, lemon zest, toasted whole-wheat pita chips, bright green onions, slivered red onions, topped with homemade falafel and lemon-tahini-yogurt dressing.


Fresh Strawberry Tart, with slivered berries from the Chesterhill Produce Auction and a whole-wheat butter crust...the perfect end to an unseasonably hot May day.


Blushing sweet and tart Strawberry Rhubarb Pie, topped with flaky flowers in celebration of spring blossoms.


Finally, my latest concoction: Queen Honeybea's Lemon-Rhubarb-Blueberry Upside Down Cake. A velvety lemon olive oil cake topped with chunks of tangy rhubarb and bursting bites of sweet, popping blueberries, with just a hint of cinnamon. Find the recipe below.

Queen Honeybea’s
Lemon-Rhubarb Upside Down Cake

Topping:

2 TBS. extra virgin olive oil
3 TBS. sucanat (unrefined brown sugar, or regular dark brown sugar)
¼ tsp. cinnamon
A pinch of freshly ground nutmeg
1 ½ cups chopped rhubarb (about ½ inch pieces)
1 TBS. chopped lemon peel
½ cup blueberries (you could use any berries here, depending on the season)

Cake:

1 cup whole-wheat pastry flour
½ cup organic white spelt flour
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. salt
1 TBS. lemon zest
½ cup plain, low-fat organic yogurt
½ cup organic evaporated cane juice
½ cup local, raw honey
2 large free range eggs, 1 large free range egg white
2 TBS. lemon juice
¼ tsp. vanilla
1/3 cup olive oil

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Using 1 TBS. of the olive oil, brush the bottom and sides of a 9 inch cast iron skillet to coat. Add the second TBS. of olive oil to the bottom of the pan and place inside the hot oven for 2 minutes, to heat the oil thoroughly.

2. In a small bowl, mix the sucanat, cinnamon and nutmeg. Sprinkle half of this mixture over the hot oil. Top with the chopped rhubarb, lemon peel and blueberries. Then sprinkle the remaining half of the sucanat mixture over top.

3. In a medium bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, salt and lemon zest. Set aside.

4. In a large bowl, combine the yogurt, sugar, honey, eggs, lemon juice and vanilla. With an electric mixer, beat until well combined and fluffy. Pour the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and beat again to combine. Slowly drizzle the olive oil into the mixture, with the mixer running, until completely absorbed and incorporated.

5. Pour the cake batter over the rhubarb and berries in the skillet. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until well browned, the cake appears set, and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove to a wire rack to cool.

6. Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes. Run a knife along the edge of the pan to loosen the cake, then using a large serving dish, invert the cake out of the pan onto the dish. Cool completely and serve with ice cream, whipped cream or yogurt.

For my Mom

Mother’s Day has come and gone, I know. Early May is a big month in my family. First, my Father’s birthday, then Mother’s Day (typically) and then my Mom and Dad’s Anniversary all fall within the first two weeks. Every year it seems that not one of those events gets the recognition it would probably receive if it fell, for example, in early October when my family is on a dry stretch as far as celebrations go. While I didn’t get to spend Mother’s Day with my Mom this year, she has been and is always on my mind. In fact, I’ve been counting my blessings lately and my Mother’s value in that calculation cannot be measured nor surpassed. In fact, she is so valuable to me that I carry her with me constantly, and it is easy for me to look in a mirror and see her shadow cast in my own reflection. In honor of recently passed Mother’s Day, and every day that I have my Mother in my life, this is for her.

Some memories stand out to me like photographs hung on the walls and corridors of my constantly working mind—but they’re not like other people’s memories. When I close my eyes and try to process and pull out memories of my Mother from as far back as I can remember, it is like a movie reel run out of control, the film flickering on the screen, glimpsing everything yet seeing little. The memories that stand out to me are more like muted representations of what my childhood was like. For example, I remember sitting on a brown and yellow, floral patterned couch anchored into mustard yellow carpeting, watching Sesame Street and eating a turkey sandwich after an exhausting half-day of kindergarten. It is not that I remember one specific lunchtime where my Mother prepared a specific sandwich and I watched a specific episode of my show, but rather that this situation occurred so many times that the pattern has become a generic memory—I know it happened, and I can recreate it in my head.

The memories I have of my Mother are not like those I have with my Father. I remember specific things about my childhood with my Dad. I believe this can be attributed to the fact that my Father is a working man, he worked during the week, and when I did something with my Father it was special. It is not that I didn’t get to see him, but rather that when Dad and I spent a Saturday together at the Art Museum, or he’d take me fishing just the two of us, it was not like every other day spent in the daily happenings of life. My Mother was the creator of the daily happenings of my life. As an adult, I now wonder what thoughts passed through her mind as she spread mayonnaise on white bread for my sandwich day in and day out; I wonder what she worried about, I wonder what plagued her and I wonder what personal triumphs she celebrated. As a child, my world would not have existed without my Mother to grease the mechanics, to keep the engine running, to refuel the days of pattern and structure. What dreams did she have when she poured my cereal and washed up the dishes? What ideas did she conjure in the car driving us to the grocery store? Being my Mother’s friend through the entirety of her life would have been an experience about which I can only dream. However, I do have something tangible to treasure and value: as an adult, she is my very best friend.

It always seems on Mother’s Day we thank the matriarchs in our lives for being just that: matriarchs, for being the influential women in our lives. I want to thank my Mom for far more than that, because I had many influential women in my life, but they were not all my Mother. I want to thank my Mom for whatever mindless daydreaming she entertained, then tossed away as she folded my softball uniform. I want to thank my Mom for the turkey sandwiches, for truly creating my life in more ways than just the obvious. I want to thank my Mom for loving my Dad, for being a part of my “parents.” I want to thank my Dad for loving my Mom, because she is one of a kind and we wouldn’t be who we are without her. I want to thank my Mom, not because I remember making one apple pie with her, one time but because I remember making lots of pies with her, and tomato sauce, and Christmas cookies year in and year out. I want to thank my Mom for molding her life around nurturing ours. I want to thank my Mom for teaching me just that: how to nourish, for teaching me how to fiercely love those closest to me. I want to thank my Mom for that especially because without her I wouldn't love preparing food, I wouldn't love caretaking and tenderness, and I wouldn't want to be a mother someday myself. I cannot count the blessing that is my Mother, it is too great to measure and therefore I will just bear the weight in my heart, so that she will dwell with me no matter where I am, and I will shine her likeness for the world to see. Thank you for every day. I love you, Mom.


Mom with me. I wish everyone in this world knew the privilege of being so loved.

Six Week Project: Days 34, 35 and 36

The weather in Southeast Ohio in the spring time is amazing to me. Yesterday, I made a snuggly, comfort food supper, and we tucked into the couch, under a blanket and listened to the cold rain hit the roof of my porch. Tonight, Wednesday, just one day later, I fired up the grill on a beautiful, warm, sunny spring day.

I got good news this morning, and while leftovers were on the agenda, I was inspired to cook. Therefore, grill was fired, and after discussions of the grilled bread I made several weeks ago had been dominating my conversations, I decided some thick slices of spiced, grilled bread were definitely on the menu. They'd be accompanied by two chicken breasts from King Family Farm that I salted and peppered, then slathered with a cilantro-garlic spear-green onion-grapefruit pesto. These packed a garlic punch, but were tasty. This was only to be married with a big salad tossed in a grapefruit vinaigrette. It was zingy, springy and satisfying. Cheers. Please, if you love me, buy local and eat well.



For Thursday and Friday, it was leftover pigeon peas and rice, salad, sauteed spinach and pita bread. See you Saturday!

Six Week Project: Day Thirty Three

Close your eyes and imagine a spring day, laced with a chill and drenched in a day's long rain. The kind of day where you can see your breath easily, and droplets of water drip from the tip of your nose, when your glasses are covered in bubbles of rain, and a little jacket doesn't quite cut it. Now, imagine the kinds of food you like to eat on those days: pot roast, chili, roast chicken, beef stew...how about a gooey grilled cheese and a steaming bowl of tomato soup? Bingo.

Tuesday night I made grilled cheese sandwiches on bread brushed with olive oil, then hugged around four different kinds of local cheese: Laurel Valley Havarti and Country Jack, Athens Own Cheddar and Kenny's Farmhouse Norwood. Ooey, gooey, hearty and the bearer of a fabulous bite from all that ripe, local cheese. While I imagined this fromage-tastic concoction would be the highlight of this dinner, as it turned out, it was shown up...by soup.

I bought spinach last Saturday from Green Edge Organics. I wanted to find a way to consume said spinach, along with its cooking water. See, spinach releases its nutrients when it's cooked. Ever had someone tell you to drink the cooking water? That's because it contains the good stuff. When it dawned on me that I could drop lovely chopped fresh spinach into a soup, and I'd get all the good stuff and also a hearty spoon full of other great flavors, I was sold. I made my own version of Tomato-Florentine Soup. Wow. I'd make it again right now if I could. It was a full, thick soup with big chunks of meaty tomato, but just enough creaminess, and flecked with nutritious, delicious spinach. If you're a soup fan, and even more so, a tomato fan, try this. Enjoy! And please, for me, buy local and eat well.



Queen Honeybea's
Tomato Florentine Soup
Serves 2 large portions, 3 smaller portions.

1 TBS. extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup finely diced red onion
1 TBS. local honey
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 TBS. organic tomato paste
28 oz. can of organic, fire-roasted diced tomatoes, juice reserved
1 TBS. chopped, dry basil
2 tsp. chopped, dry oregano
3 cups of vegetable stock
1 1/2 cups finely chopped local fresh spinach
1 TBS. balsamic vinegar
1/2 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. black pepper
2 TBS. organic, low-fat Greek Yogurt

1. Heat the olive oil in a medium size sauce pot over medium heat. Saute the onions until sweating and translucent, about 3 or 4 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the garlic, honey, tomato paste and diced tomatoes. Cook until much of the liquid has evaporated, about 8 or 9 minutes.

2. Add the basil, oregano, reserved tomato juice, vegetable stock, spinach, vinegar, salt and pepper. Stir together and bring to a boil over high heat. Turn the heat to low and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, until thickened and the flavors are correct. Remove from the heat and stir in the yogurt until well blended. (Do NOT let the soup return to a boil after the yogurt is added) Serve with hot toasted bread, grilled cheese or just all by itself.

Six Week Project: Day Thirty Two

Monday night. I can honestly say, I can't wait for Easter to roll around so that I can stop documenting every dinner I eat. Clearly, it is now Friday and I'm just now getting around to posting five blogs behind. These daily project things are just not my cup of tea. However...here we go. Monday night: Pigeon Peas.

On Saturday, I simmered dry pigeon peas that I had soaked overnight in a combination of chicken stock and coconut milk, with cilantro, peppers and onions. Then I added brown rice and simmered until the rice was cooked and the liquid had been absorbed. We ate these on Monday night with a big salad. Remember, buy local and eat well.

Six Week Project: Day Thirty One

“We’re going for a cruise.” These have been the words of the week. Whether it was to get away from a stressful work environment for a few minutes, or to pass the hours of a welcomed day off, that has been the theme of this week. It seems as though when everything gets to be too much, getting into my car and driving somewhere other than where I am is one way for me to bring life back into perspective. As I head away from the place that’s bogging me down, I feel freer in every mile. It’s liberating to be able to take off without a care in the world, and I am going to treasure that while I am still able to do it, before I enter the future phases of my life where other adult responsibilities might inhibit my pedal to the metal attitude.

Sunday was a day that began without a plan. There’s a line in one of my favorite movies, Songcatcher, where Tom (the laid back Appalachian mountain man) says to Lily (the high-strung city dwelling professor), “Do you ever have a day without a plan?” That’s me. I plan. However, this Sunday, I vowed to myself (and my girlfriend) that we’d not set the alarm clock, we’d not have an agenda, and the only thing that hung over the day like a lovely misty haze was our idea to go shopping. It didn’t settle anywhere in a time frame, it didn’t get allotted to an hour or minute of the day, the idea was just there. How nice it was to experience a day like Sunday.

We took off for Marietta, then Parkersburg. We hit up our favorites (we’ve discovered that we do, in fact, have common favorites), T.J. Maxx, Old Navy and Borders, dropped a few bags in the trunk, and with the windows down and the sun roof open, I looked to the passenger seat of my car and said, “We’re going for a cruise.” I was fairly certain of the route that I wanted to take, but being the natural planner that I am, I consulted my trusty road map (I have a functional brain, and therefore I don’t have a GPS), and we hit the pavement sailing South on State Route 68 in West Virginia. State Route 68 follows the Ohio River and is studded by large farms, vast expanses of green, grassy fields and spring blooming wildflowers. When we got to Ravenswood, we crossed back into our home state and continued to hug the river down Ohio State Route 124. We made a joke out of every road sign we saw, said the name of each tiny town we passed through out loud, and commented incessantly about how beautiful of a day it was and what a perfect activity we’d found to occupy it. We stopped in Middleport at a lovely little antique store I’d visited in the fall, then burnt up some more time before dinner with a little trip to Gallipolis (where I found the cheapest gas I’d seen all day, and therefore filled up). We came back up State Route 7, and stopped at a little country place called Millie’s (of which I’ve previously written) for dinner.

I think I blew my girlfriend’s socks off when she saw not only what Millie’s served, but also what I ordered. Every now and again I break my own food rules. Not often, but once in awhile and when I do, I want it to be worth it. Millie’s is worth it. I was served up a huge, steaming bowl of white, gummy noodles (the way they’re meant to be) in broth naturally thickened by the flour that clung to the noodle dough as it was thrown into the boiling stock. This was flecked with pieces of shredded chicken, and was absolutely heavenly. As I told my girlfriend, making chicken and noodles into something whole-grain and healthy just isn’t worth it. It will never taste the same. So instead, I just break my rules maybe 3 or 4 times a year, and get the good stuff. This was accompanied by a bowl of sweet, tangy Harvard beets and an equally pungent and zingy three-bean salad. It was country-fied awesome.

Then, I broke down and cheated. This was my girlfriend’s first trip to Millie’s, and she loves pie. There was no way we’d be dining at Millie’s and skipping the homemade pie. We split a slice of apple, and I had no guilt whatsoever. There’s something about Millie’s pie that makes me feel homey. It’s not the best I’ve ever eaten, mostly because I think the apple pie I make, or my mother makes is the best, but it is better than most and the perfect way to cap off a meal there.

Evidence that I cheated, but it was so worth it.

We drove home the long way, up Old 33 through Shade and past the Last Chance Corral. The sun was beginning to fade, the breeze beginning to cool, and the beauty of the day began to culminate and slowly burn down like an ember. We picked up some coffee at the Donkey in Athens, then made for Morgan County and the work week that lay ahead of us. If you have an opportunity to take a day and explore your area, as we did, taking in all things local, I highly recommend it. There’s nothing quite like a day without a plan to make the days with plans seem worthwhile. I’ll pass those days along until the next day like Sunday rolls around. Please, buy local and eat well.

Six Week Project: 28, 29 and 30

Days 28 and 29 were somewhat boring, as leftovers had made their way into my fridge and alas, onto my plate again. Thursday night was left over sauce and pasta and chicken from Sunday, and Friday night I concocted a "taco salad" out of left over vegan chili, greens, sprouts, salsa, cheese and tortilla chips. It was delish.

Day 30 was slightly more exciting. What counted as my dinner on that Saturday was my late afternoon lunch I got the privilege of sharing with two of my best friends, Aly and Lisa. We caught up, laughed and as usual they gave me life guidance and I tried to return it. We met at Casa Nueva in Athens, one of my favorite places. Casa Nueva is locavorian heaven. They use as much seasonal, fresh, local stuff as they can. Their menu changes seasonally and their soups, veggies of the day, salsas and dressings reflect what's in season at the moment. I had the pleasure of having a dish of their Berry Medium salsa, whipped up with strawberries from last year's Chesterhill produce auction. It was awesome. It accompanied my wrap stuffed with refried beans, monterey jack cheese, greens, and guacamole, and a side salad topped with sesame soy dressing. Casa Nueva is heaven for me. See the photo evidence below. Always remember to buy local and eat well.


My yummy wrap. Note the vibrant red salsa that is accompanying it. Salsa-licious.


My friend Lisa's lunch: Open faced pita sandwich and tofu fries. Yummo.

Six Week Project: Day Twenty Seven

An unseasonably warm night, a good round of playing catch on a baseball diamond, and fellowship with loved ones were the precursors to a perfectly paired meal for just such an occasion. Wednesday night was pizza night in my house.

Of course, pizza in my house is healthified and yummified. I made a whole-wheat and spelt crust, thick and doughy with crunchy edges. I topped that with some left-over homemade tomato sauce from the pot I made last Sunday (the worst thing about making a pot of sauce is using it up, but pizza is a great way to do it!), crumbled chicken sausage from King Family Farm, grilled red peppers (frozen from last summer) and red onion (from the Market), and a combination of Kenny's Farmhouse Norwood cheese and Laurel Valley Creamery's Country Jack Cheese. It was melty, bubbly, local and satisfying.

Always remember to buy local and eat well.

Six Week Project: Day Twenty Six

Dinner isn't always a big production in my house, and I think you're realizing this as my blog posts begin to include more and more days at one time. I think about food as much as men are purported to think about sex. Seriously, I do. I think about everything that goes into my mouth and what kinds of benefits my body will get from it. That's why, when I do cook, it's thoughtful and typically (I must say) pretty damn good. However, several nights a week I eat left-overs, or I don't eat what everyone else would consider "dinner"- sometimes a bowl of cereal, sometimes a peanut butter sandwich. Tonight I worked from 11:30 this morning until 9:30 tonight. Therefore dinner was a container of Thai Peanut Tofu Salad from the Farmacy in Athens, and a bag full of fresh snap peas from Duff Farms and a carrot from the Athens Farmer's Market, peeled with the greens still attached. I had to chuckle to myself when I packed this "dinner," because the people I work with always accuse me of eating rabbit food. If they could see me with this green topped carrot, they'd never let me hear the end of it.

However, since I managed to get the morning off given my extra-long day and evening shift, I took advantage of a chilly spring morning, and some random containers of "almost gone" peanut butter and made one of my new signatures: Queen Honeybea's PB+CC=Love Cookies. I decided to share this recipe with you, in lieu of a dinner post, because they're really, really delicious. Enjoy! And always remember to buy local and eat well.



Queen Honeybea's PB+CC=Love Cookies
Makes 1 Dozen Extra-Large Cookies, or 3 Dozen Average Size Cookies

1/2 cup All-Natural Soy Margarine, softened
1 1/2 cups peanut butter (I used some fresh ground organic, some organic unsweetened from Whole Foods and some Jiff Natural)
1/2 cup organic, unrefined sugar (evaporated cane juice)
1/4 cup local, pure maple syrup
1 local, free-range egg
2 tsps. pure vanilla extract
1 1/4 cups organic whole-wheat flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup organic, semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped honey roasted peanuts
Extra organic, unrefined sugar for rolling

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease two baking sheets. Set aside.

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the margarine and peanut butter and beat until combined and smooth. Add the sugar and maple syrup and beat again until combined and smooth. Add the egg and vanilla, beating until well incorporated and fluffy, about 2 or 3 minutes.

3. In a small bowl, combine the flour, baking soda and salt. Add to the peanut butter mixture, beating on low speed until a soft dough is formed. Add the chocolate chips and the honey roasted peanuts and fold until they are evenly distributed in the dough.

4. With a large dipper (or the size equivalent of two heaping tablespoons), scoop out one dozen balls of dough. Roll each ball in organic, unrefined sugar and place evenly spaced on each baking sheet. Flatten lightly with the bottom of glass, until the cookies are about 3/4 in thick.



5. Bake for 15-18 minutes, until they're nicely browned but not over done. Remove to a wire rack and cool completely.

(If you make smaller cookies, with a smaller dipper, they'll probably need to bake less time, about 10 minutes.)

Six Week Project: Day Twenty Five

Simple, fresh and delicious. It was a balmy 72 degrees here in Southeast Ohio today, and balmy is no joke. Rainy, humid with passing rumbles of thunder and storms that blew through like so many people do each day up and down one of the two lane State Routes that transverse this county, leading from one bigger city to another. Warm spring days call for fresh food that bursts with the promise of summer's color and celebrate some of the season's earliest arrivals. For us tonight, that meant a big, big salad.

Tonight's meal was an Asian influenced salad chock full of local ingredients. It is no joke, and I am not ashamed to say that when I saw two small, strawberry boxes full of tender green pods labeled "Snap Peas," at the Farmer's Market on Saturday, I gasped aloud and skipped like a school girl, making a B-line for the lovely woman with what always appear to be soft, tender gray curls and a table full of sprouting pots and freshly cut herbs from Duff Farms. Finally, spring vegetables are slowly beginning to arrive as we're on the downhill side of the snow hump, and these freakishly warm days become less and less freakish. If you have access to locally grown spring vegetables, make up your own salad! Throw things together, cook without abandon, do not fear the ideas you come up with. Salads are meant to be bowls of stuff, tossed with dressing. Make it your own. Of course, always remember to buy local and eat well.




Tonight's Dinner:

Asian Style Salad with Grilled Sriracha BBQ Chicken
Sesame-Ginger Dressing
Grilled Bread

For the Salad (this made enough for a big meal for two):
Approximately 4 cups of chopped local lettuce (Green Edge Organics for me, of course)
2 cups of micro-greens (I used Sunflower micro-greens from Green Edge)
4 small, local radishes, sliced thinly
2 large, local carrots, shredded
2 local green onions, chopped
1 cup of locally grown snap peas, stems removed and chopped in half
1/2 cup whole raw almonds
1 organic orange (1 tsp. zest reserved for the bread), peeled and cut into segments
1 organic avocado, sliced
2 cooked grilled Sriracha BBQ Chicken thighs, sliced (recipe follows)
Sesame-Ginger dressing (recipe follows)

In a large bowl, toss together the lettuce, micro-greens, radishes, carrots, green onions, snap peas, almonds and orange. Toss together with the dressing. Divide onto two plates equally, then top with grilled chicken slices and avocado slices. Serve with Grilled Bread (recipe follows). Enjoy!


A bowl full of just local ingredients: lettuce, micro-greens, radishes, carrots, green onions and snap peas. Yum.

Sriracha BBQ Chicken thighs (For 2)
1 TBS. soy sauce
1/4 cup ketchup
1/4 cup rice vinegar
2 TBS. pure, local maple syrup
2 TBS. sriracha
1 TBS. local, raw buckwheat honey (or other honey that you have)
1 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. salt
2 locally raised, free-range chicken thighs (I used bone-in skin on from King Family Farm, you could use boneless, skinless, or even chicken breasts or drumsticks, it's up to you)

1. In a shallow dish, whisk together the soy sauce, ketchup, rice vinegar, maple syrup, sriracha, honey, onion powder, garlic powder, ginger and salt. Add the chicken thighs and coat. Allow to marinate at least one hour, overnight would be best.

2. Heat your grill to around 400 degrees, medium heat, typically. Cook the chicken thighs skin side down for 10 minutes, basting at least twice. Flip the chicken, basting again, and cook for another 10-15 minutes until the marinade is caramelized and the juices run clear from the meat. Allow to cool before slicing for the salad.

Sesame-Ginger Dressing
2 TBS. low-fat, natural mayonnaise
1/4 cup low-fat, organic yogurt
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 TBS. rice vinegar
1 TBS. honey mustard
1 TBS. local, raw honey
1 TBS. tahini
1 TBS. orange juice
1 TBS. extra virgin olive oil
2 tsps. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. salt

In a small jar or liquid measuring cup, whisk all ingredients together until well combined. Refrigerate until ready to use. Makes enough for the salad above, about 3/4 cup.


Grilled Bread
4-3/4in thick slices of crusty bread (I used Italian Whole-Wheat from the Village Bakery)
2 TBS. extra virgin olive oil
1 TBS. local, raw honey
1 tsp. ground cardamom
1 tsp. grated orange zest
A few grains of salt

In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, honey, cardamom, orange zest and salt. Brush one side of each slice of bread liberally with the oil mixture. Grill oiled side down until the slices are golden, brown around the edges and have lovely grill marks. Flip and toast the opposite side until it is also golden and marked.

Six Week Project: Day Twenty Four

Sunday dinner. Period.

I love cooking Sunday dinner. It's a family thing. We've always had a thing about Sunday dinners and the thought of spending the afternoon in my kitchen preparing a meal with excessive amounts of love and thought, to nourish those who are dearest to me, to coddle them in my nest and keep them safe, warm and full. Okay, I know. However...Sunday dinner was on tap for today.

My mother makes some mean sauce and meatballs. That's where I learned, and I still make my sauce the way my Mom does, with very few changes. However, like one of my Aunts, I love, love, love to cook chicken in my sauce. I don't think this is my Mom's favorite, as she never did it when I was growing up (nor does she do it now), but a pot of tomato sauce simmering with bone-in chicken and chunks of Italian sausage sounds like a bubbling vat of Heaven to me. And that is exactly what it was. So here's to Sunday. And you won't be getting the recipe, because like every other good Italian woman, my sauce recipe is under lock and key, tucked into my brassiere, close to my heart.






Tonight we had:

Homemade Sauce with
King Family Farm Chicken Thighs and Bulk Sweet Italian Sausage
Whole-Wheat Organic Cavatappi
Village Bakery Italian Whole-Wheat bread
Salad with greens and micro greens from Green Edge Organicsand Carrots, Radishes and Green Onions from the Athens Farmer's Market



Mangia. Per favore. And always remember to buy local and eat well. Ciao for today.