Discovering celeriac

OK, I know I'm late coming to the kitchen table on this one. It's not like celeriac is this year's 'must try' vegetable. In fact, it's so 2009, based on my Google searches on what to do with this odd, knobby and gnarled, bulbous-headed root vegetable.

While I'm not intimidated by funky looking vegetables, I admit to not always being the most adventurous produce shopper. While my kids are both enthusiastic greens eaters (Ella actually asks for Brussels sprouts and Jack can put away a shocking number of fresh-off-the-vine cherry tomatoes), they're not the most intrepid when it comes to trying new things. But if they're never exposed to unfamiliar ("weird looking" in kidspeak) veg because I don't want to listen to the chorus of "what is that?" or "you're not actually going to make me try that, are you?" then their palates will never evolve. That's what I lecture tell then at least.

Truth be told, I have another reason for trying celeriac: I don't want to grow celery. Celery has the reputation for being fussy -- hard to start from seed, a gluttonous feeder and a voracious drinker -- and while it's easy to grow bitter, stringy celery, growing tasty celery (I'm told) is much trickier.

I'm not up for growing ornery vegetables this year, so I thought about trying celeriac instead. Even though it doesn't replace celery entirely, unlike its greener cousin, it's much easier to grow and it stores well.

While it looks tough on the outside, I simply topped and tailed it, then used a paring knife to remove the skin, which is thicker than a potato but more forgiving than a rutabaga.

While celeriac is wonderful in soups and stews (so I've read) I wanted to taste the flavour on its own, so I kept the preparation simple: I chopped it into a few large pieces, doused it in some cold water with a shot of lemon juice to prevent browning while the water was coming to a boil, and then boiled until soft. I drained the pot, smashed the celeriac, and only added some butter, milk and salt and pepper. That was it.

The kids likened it to a cross between potatoes and celery. While it was definitely more fibrous than mashed spuds, I thought it had a similar comfort food quality, with a celery-like taste and nutty undertones. Nice.
While this could be a side dish on its own, I'm going to try cream of celeriac soup next.

And while celeriac will never take home any prizes for perfect-looking produce, I think I'll include a few plants in this year's garden. For as Ashley Miller writes in her article from the October 2000 issue of Kitchen Gardener Magazine on "How to Grow Celeriac" ugly is only skin deep.

Sprouts!

Every year by early March I start seriously craving greens. While I'm grateful for the nutrition supplied by overwintered root vegetables, I miss the aliveness of fresh-from-the-earth lettuce, spinach, green onions...

So while I'm still waiting on the cold frames, I've been feeding my cravings with sprouted seeds -- a delicious and easy way to add fresh crunch to a meal and vitamins, live enzymes and nutrients to your diet year-round.


While you can buy sprouts at most grocery stores, it's easy and inexpensive to sprout seeds at home, and you don't need any fancy equipment.

I bought mung beans (see photo) and a sprouted seed mix containing red clover, radish, alfalfa, and red & green lentils from my local health/bulk food store.


Simply scoop approximately 2 tablespoons of seeds into a glass mason jar. In the photo I used 500 ml jars, but I should have used 1 litre jars (the 500 mls ones were handier). Cover the seeds with water then soak "all day" (instructions vary between six and 10 hours).


Drain the water, then rinse again.

Cover the top of the jar with a breathable lid (cheesecloth/screen mesh/fine cloth/pantyhose). Rinse the sprouts with fresh water at least twice daily (more frequently if it's hot or humid outside).

On the fourth day, move the jars into sunlight to encourage green leaves to form. On the fifth day harvest, rinse one last time, and store in the fridge in an airtight container. Use within four days


I've been adding these to salads, wraps, sandwiches, rice -- anywhere that can use a little crunchy boost. And at this time of year when the chore list is long and the hours in the day (seemingly) short, I'll take any boost I can get!

Backyard sugaring (or how to make maple syrup)

Disclaimer: I realize the title is a bit misleading because this is simply how we made maple syrup from five trees using low-tech methods.

As this is our first year making maple syrup we wanted to do things on the cheap, so our only investment was in traditional buckets and spiles, which cost about $30 (though we could have used recycled plastic buckets had we wanted to). We chose the iconic lidded metal buckets because 1.) I prefer metal to plastic, 2.) we can use them year after year, and 3.) I like the look of them. When I close my eyes and picture a sugar bush, this is what I see.

A bit of nostalgia? Perhaps. But as we're tapping only a handful of trees, collecting buckets is easy and manageable. Even the children enjoy this chore, racing to each tree, lifting the lid off the bucket and tipping the clear contents into the waiting pail below. (We used food-grade wine-making pails that we found in the barn.)

Five almost-full sap buckets nearly fills three 20 litre pails, which can fit side-by-side on a kids' sled (that I can drag when there is snow) or on the back of the ATV (when there is not). The hard part isn't getting the sap out of the trees or the sap into the gathering pails -- it's getting the pails out of the woods, which can be made downright treacherous by the weather (think mud sucking trails laced with patches of ice).


Next year when we tap more trees (we're thinking 10) this bucket method will still be manageable, though instead of the small wine buckets, we'd use a much larger gathering pail that we'd pull by tractor. Still I can appreciate why a growing number of producers, home-scale and commercial, are switching to plastic tubing pipeline systems, which move the sap via tubes that are connected to a centralized collection "vat" in or near the sugar shack.

Sandy Flat Sugar Bush, Warworth, Ont. March 2010

This is certainly a more efficient collection method, but it is more expensive to purchase up-front, more time consuming to set up and can require ongoing maintenance due to squirrel damage. What's more, something of the sugar bush lore and romance is lost when the trees look like they're connected to an elaborate IV.

As we're simply interested in making maple syrup for our own consumption, I quite like the slow and simple process of gathering buckets. Much of our traditional ways have been lost in the quest for greater efficiency, and while we may be able to harvest more sap for less time and effort by using more "advanced" technology, the experience and link to tradition would be lost.

Source: Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder

In keeping with our low-tech, minimal cost approach, we, too, decided to boil the sap down over an open fire. Larger hobbyists and commercial producers use evaporators, but even a small evaporator for up to 150 spiles would set us back $3,000.

We didn't have a big iron kettle like the pioneers used, so instead I built a rough three-sided "oven" out of cinder blocks in our fire pit and topped it with an old grate. Lucas found a stainless steel stock pot on sale ($13) and we used that for our main boiling pot. (I think it's only a 12 quart size and while a larger pot or shallow pan might have been better, we wanted to make use of what we had or was readily available.)

I had a second pot (not shown) that I used to pre-boil the sap, so as the larger pot boiled down, I added the pre-boiled sap to it to keep the temperature fairly constant (unless the sap in the larger pot threatened to boil over and then I'd add cold sap to cool it off).


I didn't need to sit there the entire time, but I did enjoy several hours of quiet contemplation at the fireside watching the steam billow and the sap dance over the glowing coals as the fire hissed and crackled. Pure magic.

It took about seven hours to boil roughly 55 litres of clear sap down to 4-5 litres of thin golden syrup. At that point, I brought the sap into the house (while it was still hot) and filtered it into another stainless steel stock pot. While I'd already filtered the sap once in the woods, to remove the bugs and pieces of bark, quite a lot of particulate matter (from ash, cinders, etc.) had collected in the boiling sap. It's also wise to remove the gritty sediment called 'sugar sand' (or niter), which is minerals and nutrients from the trees that concentrates as the sap boils down.

I then put the remaining sap on the stove top to finish it. As I'd already boiled most of the water off outside, I didn't need to worry too much about excess condensation in the house (as sap is only 3 - 5% sugar and the rest water, sugaring inside the house can peel wallpaper and invite mould into the walls), but I used the vent fan all the same.

Finished sap boils at approximately 103.8 degrees Celsius (218.8 degrees Fahrenheit) (at sea level). It's important to keep an eye on the sap/syrup as you approach this point because as the concentration of sugar increases, less water is available to boil away, which means the syrup can easily boil over and/or burn.

If you let it boil too long as I did with our first batch, it'll start to thicken and crystallize. (Ironically, this happened as Lucas and I were arguing over whether the sap/syrup was ready yet. Guess he was right.)


The above syrup has a creamy consistency flecked with granulated maple sugar bits and is delicious in coffee, drizzled on ice cream, smeared on toast, eaten by the spoonful...

I was much more careful with the second batch and while I didn't have a candy thermometer handy (I broke it with the first batch) or a hydrometer to check the density of the maple (finished syrup is roughly 65% sugar) I'd say this one turned out perfect -- deep amber in colour with a smokey rich sweetness.

Sugaring season is short, with most sap coming during a 10 to 14 day "run," depending on the weather. We'll continue to collect sap and make syrup until the buds open and the trees stop producing. With this strange spring, that may come sooner than we hope.

Like many of our "simpler" pursuits, there is a lot of time and work involved transforming sap into syrup, especially when making it the traditional way. But this process fosters a deep appreciation for the gift that nature provides us and helps create a connection to the folks who settled our land and had their own sugaring-off celebrations. If these trees could talk, I'm sure they'd have many sweet stories to tell. Instead, we're sharing our own.

Wildcrafting fiddleheads

Before we moved the farm, I'd heard lots of foodie hubbub about the deliciousness of fiddleheads, but never had the opportunity to taste them. Turns out we're sited on a treasure trove of these coveted wild edibles.

This springtime delicacy is actually the unfurled head of the Ostrich Fern (a telltale feature is the papery chaff) and can be found in woodlands or in our case, in the ditch along the road that fronts our farm.

While it's possible to buy fiddleheads at some farmer's markets (for as much as $6.99/lb), they're largely a foraged and wildcrafted springtime treat. If you're lucky enough to find some, be sure to only cut two or three fronds per plant.


The fiddlehead has a very short season -- less than two weeks, I'd say, before the frond uncurls completely and becomes inedible.

But when harvested young, the fiddlehead has a taste most often compared to a combination of asparagus, broccoli and green beans with woodsy undertones. Packed with vitamins A & C, these green gems are good for you, too!

Preparation is simple: rinse the chaff off the greens in cold water. Due to some reported cases of foodborne illness from eating raw fiddleheads, Health Canada recommends steaming or boiling before eating.

While many folks treat fiddleheads like any other kind of greens -- think stirfries, quiches and salads, for starters -- we like the quick and easy approach: I boiled this batch for 3 minutes, dumped the water and then steamed for another three minutes before tossing with some butter and dusting with salt & pepper. Delicious!

Making homemade yogurt

Yogurt is a part of our family's daily diet and that's a good thing -- it's rich in calcium, high in protein and teaming with good-for-your-gut bacteria. But not all yogurt is created equal and many store-bought varieties are also loaded with sugar, artificial dyes, preservatives and stabilizers such as gelatin.

I'm always on the lookout for ways to buy less and make more, so I started making our own yogurt. It's deliciously tasty, wonderfully textured, less expensive and so easy too!

There are lots of low-tech ways to make yogurt using a cooler, insulated canister or even the pilot light of your oven, but I use a yogurt maker -- simply because my dad gave me his.


Regardless of the tools you use, the process is essentially the same: you heat milk to just below boiling, cool it to around 110 degrees Fahrenheit and then carefully add a starter culture of live bacteria. Nature does the rest. (For some fascinating reading on "how yogurt works," pop over this New York Times article by Harold McGee.)

The key is to keep the yogurt warm and draft-free during fermentation, which is where the yogurt maker comes in handy.

The recipe I use calls for:

• 3 1/2 cups of milk (I use whole cow's milk, though I'm going to experiment with goat's milk next)
• 1/4 cup to 1/2 cup instant milk powder (I use the greater amount for a thicker yogurt)
• 1/2 cup plain yogurt with live or active bacteria cultures (simply take this amount from your current batch and use it for the next)

Processing takes anywhere between four and 10 hours , depending on how mild or tart you want your yogurt.

This is after just four hours in the yogurt maker and two hours chilling in the fridge:

At this stage, the yogurt's taste is mild, milky and gentle on the palate. While it's lovely to eat on its own, we enjoy adding dried fruit, homemade jam and honey. But our hands-down favourite has to be locally-produced maple syrup.


Homemade yogurt makes the perfect compliment to our DIY granola, but it's more than that. As Salon author Francis Lam writes, "I don't know exactly how the tradition of eating yogurt for breakfast started, but it's a lovely symbol. Mornings are about renewing, and yogurt is a perfect symbol of rejuvenation -- of making old milk new again, living and breathing and good."

Building our cold frames

When we first moved to our farm, our barn was filled with decades of, ahem, stuff. Much of it was beyond salvage, but we did find many well-seasoned tools that linked us to the hands that once worked our land and treasures from a time when this smallholding provided a livelihood and sustenance for its caretakers.


The farmhouse has been renovated and upgraded over the years, but there are still some relics from an earlier homestead that are tucked into a dark corner of the barn. While I'm grateful for our energy-efficient windows, I knew these old storm windows could once again help shelter our family from the cold.

I was fortunate to attend a conference where I heard Maine farmer Eliot Coleman speak about his ingenious and yet simple strategies for extending the growing season. Much of his knowledge is captured in his inspiring and sensible book, Four-Season Harvest -- a must-read for anyone interested in tending to, and reaping the delights of, a year-round, fresh-food garden.

Coleman got me turned on to the idea of growing, harvesting and eating fresh in every season. While we're still enjoying preserved goods, onions & garlic and root crops from last season, my body is craving greens from the garden. So today, we built our first cold frames.

We originally planned to build the boxes according to Coleman's suggestion for the simplest cold frame: a rectangular wooden box, 8' long and 4' wide with a 12" back wall and an 8" front wall.

But as we were collecting scrap wood from the barn and driveshed, we found these pieces that seemed just right.

We did measuring and some cutting...


... and constructed two small boxes measuring 4-1/2 feet wide and about 2-1/2 feet deep -- much less than Coleman's recommendation for two 4' x 8' cold frames per person.

We mounted the four windows on the top using eight hinges - the only materials we purchased for the project...

... and we set the two frames outside the perimeter of our existing kitchen garden.

Over the next few days, I'll begin to stock them with our first scallion, spinach, leek and lettuce seeds.

These frames are small but to me, they represent another step on our family's path towards self-sufficient living. And I can't wait to taste farm-fresh greens next February!

How (not) to make granola

I'm always looking for ways to create wholesome, nourishing food for my family and save money at the grocery store. Both my kids love eating cereal for breakfast but with all the empty-caloried, sugar-filled yuck on the market, there are only a few brands that we'd buy -- and these don't come cheap. So I started making my own.

Here's our favourite wintertime cereal recipe : a simple Honey Almond Granola, filled with nutritious grains and crunchy nutty goodness, kissed with a hint of sweet and a dash of love.


I get most of the ingredients at the bulk food store, except for: the honey, which my dad buys from a local farmer (until we get our own hives buzzing); the vanilla, which we make ourselves from vanilla beans; and the vegetable oil. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, here's the recipe:

• 4 cups large flake rolled oats
• 1/2 cup oat bran
• 1/2 cup wheat germ
• 1/2 cup unsweetened large flake coconut
• 1/4 cup sunflower seeds
• 1/4 sesame seeds, not toasted
• 1 cup unsalted raw almonds, roughly chopped
• 1/2 cup honey
• 1/4 vegetable oil
• 1-1/2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 cup golden raisins *
• 1 cup dried cranberries *
• 1/2 cup dried currants *

* or dried fruit of your choosing

1.) Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Have ready two heavy-bottomed baking sheets.

2.) Stir together the rolled oats, oat bran, wheat germ, coconut, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds and almonds in a large bowl and set aside.


3.) Stir the raisins, cranberries and currants (or dried fruit of your choosing) in a separate bowl. Marvel at how pretty and festive it looks. Set aside.


3.) Place the honey in a small pot and heat until melted. Add the vegetable oil and vanilla extract and stir until combined. Pour over the rolled oat mixture and stir until the grains are evenly coated with the honey mixture.

4.) Do not get swept away by your six-year-old's insistence that we should add the berries now because it would look oh-so-pretty.


5.) Do not spread the mixture out on the two baking sheets before re-checking the recipe.

6.) Do not spend the next 20 minutes hand-picking all the 'pretty berries' from the grains and cursing the recipe for having 2-1/2 cups of assorted dried fruit in it. Do not notice the pursed lips in the photo posted below.


7.) Do not give up and decide to bake the granola anyway, covering the baking sheets with tinfoil and hoping for the best. Do not ignore the scent of roasting cranberries/raisins.


8.) Skip steps 4 through 8.

9.) Divide the grains and honey mixture without the dried fruit onto the two baking sheets. Place in the oven without the tinfoil and bake for approximately 20 to 25 minutes, stirring frequently. When ready, oats (but not the dried fruit) should start to turn a light golden brown. Check often as it can burn quickly.


10.) Remove from oven, cool and place mixture in a large bowl. Only then add the dried fruit mixture and stir until well combined.


The recipe makes about 12 cups and keeps up to four weeks, but it never lasts in our household that long.

Even with the 'oops', this hearty granola tastes delicious topped with with hemp seeds and served with your choice of milk. Or not. Lucas takes his straight up, sometimes with yogurt -- if he's feeling adventurous.

If you haven't already, be sure to visit my Valentine's Day Giveaway post for a chance to win a copy of Louise Riotte's 'Carrots Love Tomatoes!"

Easiest strawberry jam recipe, ever!

I love good tasting preserves: jams, jellies, chutneys -- you name it. In fact, one of my earliest farm-to-kitchen connections lies within a sweet memory of strawberry freezer jam.

One of my best friends from grade school always had the yummiest jam sandwiches. The fruit was chunky and perfectly sweet, not the sugary, cavity-inducing smack I was used to in store-bought jam. When she told me it was homemade, I remember thinking, "You can do that?"

My mum was a creative cook, but not a preserver. So when my friend invited me over to share in her family's jam making day, it was an eye-opening and fascinating experience for me.

I don't have very clear memories of the actual process, beyond marvelling at the redness of the berries and the wonder of actually making your own jam. I do remember bringing home a few yogurt containers filled with berry goodness and carefully rationing them because I knew when the last container was empty, the jam was gone until next year.

While I didn't realize it at the time, it was my first life lesson of eating in season.

So when Ella and I brought home a flat (eight pints) plus four quarts of berries yesterday, I knew strawberry freezer jam was on the top of my "to make" list.

If you've ever wanted to make homemade jam but you think you can't or you're too busy or you don't have the canning supplies for cooked jam, then freezer jam is for you. It's easy and quick and little fingers can help along every step of the way because there's no cooking or boiling water involved.

To show just how easy it is, I've put together our step-by-step tutorial.

For each batch of jam, you need:

• 4 cups of crushed strawberries
• 1.5 cups of granulated sugar
• 1 45 g pouch of freezer/uncooked jam gelling powder

Yep, that's it.

Step 1: Sort the fruit to ensure there are no mouldy or rotten bits. I can't get her to clean her room but she'll do this without being asked.


Step 2: Wash and hull the berries. Feed the tops to the chickens. You'll be their favourite person Forever.

Step 3: Mash the berries but don't puree them. Wonder what your daughter means when she says, "Mama -- I love to smoosh things." Decide it's not worth investigating further.

Step 4: Measure four cups of mashed berries into a bowl. Ignore your daughter's comment that, "It looks like guts."

Step 5: Slowly add sugar to bowl of berries and gently stir. Agree with your daughter that yes, it does kind of look like quicksand. Resolve to ask your husband what kind of stories he's been reading to the children lately. Allow mixture to stand for 15 minutes.

Step 6: During those 15 minutes, chase strawberry-snatching son out of the kitchen and remind him that although he did just get home from school, it's only been an hour since last snack and he can't really be that hungry, can he?


Step 7: Slowly sprinkle gelling powder into mixture while stirring for 3 minutes. Reassure eldest child that 3 minutes isn't really that long and no, his arm won't fall off from the strain.

Step 8: Allow to stand for five minutes. Then gently stir for one minute more. The jam, not the eldest child.
Step 9: Give starving masses (aka the children) a taste test before they pop with anticipation.
Step 10: Enjoy the two minutes of happy munching sounds. Go back to step 9 - repeat three more times.

Step 11: Ladle into containers, leaving about an inch at the top for the jam to expand in the freezer.


Step 12: Repeat step 1 through 11 until you have enough jam to last until next June (we've got at least one more batch to go). Jam lasts six weeks in the refrigerator and one year in the freezer.


According to the gelling package, this entire process only takes 30 minutes but it took us significantly longer. Of course, we had to make time for some silliness.

Who knew quart containers could make so many things such as...
... hats,
... and beds,


... the Eiffel tower (apparently, lamby passed out due to oxygen deprivation that high up)

... and a super hero car.


What's your favourite super simple preserve?