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.