City Girl Has a Garden

I do consider myself a city girl. Despite the fact that I spent the first 20 years of my life in small-town Indiana, know what the phrase "Knee high by the Fourth of July" means, and remember when dining out meant either Chili's or Olive Garden... or maybe Steak 'n Shake (and getting there meant 30 minutes driving at 60 mph on country highways.) I have various valuable and marketable skills learned from country life - catching frogs in pails out by the pond, hauling wood, bike riding on country roads with no shoulder for miles (alone at age 10), and egg collecting from the hen house. Spiders don't scare me. I think the whole concept of 'germs' is a marketing ploy by the antibacterial soap industry. I camp.

But somehow, ever since I was a little kid, I have been inexplicably drawn to the bright lights, the energy, the people, and the excitement of the city. I dreamt of working downtown, amidst skyscrapers, lunching at cafes and meeting exotic people from all over the world. I dreamt of putting on sparkly clothes and going out to the clubs at all hours, rubbing elbows with the fashionable people, people with money and power and a certain attractive je ne se quoi that you just couldn't find amidst the corn fields, chain restaurants, and bible-beating churches of rural Indiana. Eventually, I found myself playing out these dreams in both Chicago and Seattle, proving some dreams and disproving others, until I understood what was real and more importantly who I was against this backdrop, so bright and fast and foreign compared to where I came from. I guess you could say I learned my happy medium. I learned that I was neither one nor the other, but something very in-between.

So here, in this city, I've finally planted a garden. Atop our hill overlooking the skyscrapers of downtown, next to those charming thimbleberries, is a small patch where I have heirloom tomatoes, dinosaur kale, Italian basil, and a mess of oregano and sage as an inheritance from a previous owner's efforts. But please don't assume - I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. My mother has had a garden the size of a large tennis court for years. As an 8-year-old kid I would dig little holes in the ground for the seeds to drop into. When the asparagus popped out of the mulch in early spring, I'd pluck off their plump heads and collect them in a bunch. My favorite was picking strawberries. I liked to pick and collect, but I had really no idea how to grow. When do you plant? Do you start with seed or with seedlings? My mother was no expert, but she did alright, despite her constant reinvention of the wheel.

For the past few years I've wanted to grow my own food. All of my interest in sustainability, organics, and watching my former neighbor grow lush bunches of herbs and squashes in his backyard was all the convincing I needed. I just needed a bit of soil, and this year I finally got it. It doesn't hurt either that our upstairs neighbor is practically a master gardener, and has given me a big bag of compost, bamboo tomato stands, and tips on plant spacing and renewing the soil. This garden is more than just food - it's also a statement about where I am in my life. I've found my perfect home, my mate, and my balance between the two sides of myself. I'm ok with being a girl from Indiana. I'm proud that I know how to bait a hook, build a good campfire, and have respect for the land. I'm also proud that I know how to charm at a cocktail party, know all the hottest restaurants in town... and yes, I own quite a few pairs of clubbing heels. I'm ok with that.

I went out to my tiny garden on Thursday morning and began collecting basil leaves. My own basil! The little plants weren't the sprawling, giant-leafed ones I imagined when I planted them a few months ago. But they were mine, and they were what I needed to teach my Berries class that evening. I taught the students how to make a basil-strawberry pesto, and it tasted all the better because it came from my own effort. The recipe is unique, and it came from Clotilde's Chocolate and Zucchini blog. I paired the pesto with capellini pasta and prosciutto and it was superb.

The recipe is so simple, and a great way to use the basil and strawberries that are in season right now. The fresh and somewhat bitter basil contrasts nicely with the sweetness of the berries and the saltiness from the cheese and prosciutto. Being creative with recipes simply means being creative with opposing elements to create balance. A little like life, don't you think?

Capellini with Strawberry Pesto and Prosciutto

Serves 6

You can use any kind of pasta for this recipe, but I do like a thin spaghetti or capellini best. Gluten-free or whole grain pasta would work well too. I suggest in the directions to not rinse your cooked pasta. Rinsing cooked pasta washes the sticky starch from the outside of each noodle, and this starch helps the sauce or pesto to cling well to each piece. This makes a big difference, see for yourself! Also, be sure to roast the almonds fresh, as fresh-roasted flavor is a major flavor contributor to the pesto. Otherwise, PCC Natural Markets carries fantastic roasted almonds in their bulk section.

1 pound capellini or angel hair pasta

2/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan
(Grana Padano works well too)

2/3 cup whole toasted almonds

2 handfuls (about 1 cup) fresh basil leaves


10 small strawberries (or 5 large) [be sure to use fragrant and full-flavored strawberries: if they're a bit bland, I'm quite sure they'll get lost in the battle]


2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil


1/2 teaspoon sea salt

Few pinches freshly ground pepper

6 ounces antibiotic-free prosciutto

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

In a large saucepan, fill with water and bring to a boil. Add the capellini and stir for one minute to prevent the pasta from sticking. Bring back to boil and let cook until tender or ‘al dente’. Meanwhile, combine the Parmesan, almonds, and basil in a mixer or blender, and process in short pulses until the mixture forms a paste. Add the strawberries and olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and mix until smooth. Set aside. Slice the prosciutto into thin strips. When the pasta is done, drain, but do not rinse with water. Toss pasta with the pesto, adding the 2 additional tablespoons of olive oil if needed to help distribute the pesto. Serve in a mound on each plate, placing pieces of the prosciutto atop each mound of pasta. Garnish with basil.

Ginger Chocolate Almond Granola

Fall has been good to us lately. I seem to remember much more rain this time last year. There were more dark and cloudy days. On my morning runs along the bike trail, I’d see so many sodden red and yellow leaves stuck like papier mache to black pavement. This morning the leaves were wet, but only because of the dew of the cold October mornings we’ve had. Little rain, more blue skies to act as the backdrop to those technicolor leaves.

There was quite a bit of blue today, and the sun, in it’s low angle, peeked out from behind a few fluffy clouds to illuminate the yellows and oranges. It’s funny how each season has its colors. Spring is rose and yellow-lime green from new buds, with hints of violet purple from the crocuses. Winter is deep pine green, if you live in the Northwest, with lots of grey from clouds and foggy mornings. Winter is also white, as some mornings you may look out the window and find that a cloak has been pulled over your front yard. Our whiteouts come not from snow, but from a marine fog that will never let you forget where you are. If you don’t touch the waters of the Sound that day, the Sound may reach out and touch you.

Fall has many colors to give, but the ones that pop up everywhere are school bus yellow, orange and brick red. Fall also gives us smells. Today while jogging along the trail, admiring the confetti of leaves and low sunlight, I smelled cloves. Sometimes there is a mild cinnamon in the air too along with the chill. No wonder this time of year we turn to spices with hearty, deeply-colored foods to make our meals - orange pumpkins, profoundly green kale, and orange-red foraged mushrooms like chanterelles and the lobster variety I saw at the market. We incorporate the smells… spicy pumpkin pie with cloves and cardamom, cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg too. The spices have also found their way into my kale and root veggies. Their piquancy wakes up your tongue, warms your mouth with a low, slow heat. A penetrating, sustained heat that is surprisingly subtle, despite is power.

The most attractive of all the warming spices is surely ginger. It’s my absolute favorite of all the spices that we associate with fall and winter cooking. It’s actually a rhizome, not a seed as most spices are. We can use it dried and ground, or peeled fresh and grated so the powerfully hot juice runs out with the pulp. China grows more of this rhizome than any other place in the world, but we import lots of it from Jamaica too. Yes, unfortunately it’s not a local food. It’s one of those exotic ingredients that we’ve come to see as quite normal here in the US. Like chocolate and coffee, we don’t really produce much, if any, but we enjoy it in abundance.

So on this cold, dewy October morning with Mark still asleep in bed, I decided to make a batch of something spicy and warm. I love granola. I love ginger. Why not combine the two? This recipe is so simple. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t make their own granola on a weekly basis. The fresh stuff is so great, and you avoid having to buy the stuff from the boxes or bulk bins that use extra oils and way way too much sugar. It takes 30 minutes, from start to finish. I added almonds, honey and maple syrup, and then some chopped chocolate. Divine.

My feet are freezing against the cold kitchen floor, and the windows are fogged from the cold outside – but the heat of the oven will fix that. The oats and almonds are toasting and the smell of ginger is wafting into every room. I have nowhere to be but right here, stretching my neck toward the windowpane to watch the sun peek out.

This to me is Fall - hearty and warming food, the oven on early to heat the house. We’ll let the rain come eventually and the greyer skies too, but for now I'm having my Fall.


Ginger Chocolate Almond Granola

This is almost too decadent for breakfast! I enjoy using a candied ginger from Trader Joe's that is uncrystallized, so it isn't gritty and too sweet like crystallized ginger can be. Green & Black's chocolate is fantastic if you can get it, in this recipe I used the 72% baking bar. If you can't find this particular brand, try to get chocolate that's organic and fair trade. This granola would make a great dessert served with some honey-sweetened yogurt and black cherries.

5 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1 cup raw almonds
2 tablespoons unhulled or hulled sesame seeds
1 - 2 tablespoons whole flax seeds
3 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup grade B maple syrup
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 tablespoon dried ground ginger
1 - 2 tablespoons fresh ginger, chopped
2 teaspoons cinnamon
3/4 cup uncrystallized candied ginger, chopped finely and loosely packed
1/5 cup dark chocolate, chopped, 70% or higher

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, stir together first four ingredients. sprinkle in the vanilla in drops while stirring. Then add the honey and maple syrup, and stir to coat all the dry ingredients well. You may have to really work this for a bit to get all the clumps out - but if you like clumps, just add more honey and don't stir as much. Once all the dry ingredients are coated, put in the dried and fresh ginger, cinnamon and salt. Stir well. Place mixture on a large baking sheet with raised sides, so your granola doesn't slide off and make a mess. Bake for about 20 minutes, stirring halfway through. The granola should be brown and golden all the way through (stirring once or twice during baking will allow even toasting.) Cool the granola completely - and I mean totally, otherwise the chocolate will melt all over the place... but hmmm, maybe that's a good thing... so go ahead and add the candied ginger and chocolate. Serve it up with vanilla soymilk. Yum.