The next generation of strawberry lovers

I spent yesterday afternoon getting mobbed by 3rd graders climbing over each other (and, at times, me) to find the picture of a strawberry on the seasonal food poster, count the number of green berries on the demonstration strawberry plant, and tell me how much they loved the juicy red berries that were in their lunches that day at school. Yes, it was the annual DC Farm to School Network's "Strawberries and Salad Greens" day at Tubman Elementary.

Lettuce was a harder sell. And, oddly, the demonstration plants I had were harder for the students to identify.
"What is that one?" I'd ask.
"It's a plant, " they would answer.
"Yes, what kind of plant?" I would push a little further.
"A plant with leaves." Yes, well.
"Well, most plants have leaves. We usually use these leaves in salad. Can you guess what kind of plant it is?"
"A salad plant." Not an eyelash batted.
Silence.
"It starts with an 'L'," I'd offer.
Silence.
"It's lettuce."
"Lettuce! Hey, it's lettuce! Can I have my sticker now? I want to go get some more strawberries."

I think we're going to have to work a little harder on cultivating salad eaters. Maybe they'd like some of the strawberry-laden spinach and kale salads we've been making at the Columbia Heights farmers' market lately. Yep, I think local strawberries are the portal to a lifetime of loving fresh fruits and vegetables.

 

Bike to Work day is this Friday!

So, admittedly, every day is bike to work day for me. Hmmm. Not as catchy on a t-shirt, I suppose. Anyway, sounds like a fun-filled day for area bikers. Sign up. Win stuff. Ride with lots of other cyclists along DC's growing number of bike lanes (and lots of other streets that should have them). More details are here.



(Hold on. Is that cyclist in the logo wearing a helmet?)

You may be a bike messenger if...

1. your day involves dashing into various print shops to pick up fliers, posters, and banners and then transporting them across town on your bicycle.
2. you find yourself hurtling downtown in rush hour traffic on a Friday afternoon to get to the UPS Store to pick up that last, critical package before the shop closes for the day.
3. you treat red lights as stop signs. (Hopefully the metropolitan police department does not follow this blog. Though if that is the case, officers, please look into ticketing those SUVs that regularly park in the 15th Street bike lane.)

No, don't worry, I have not acquired yet another job -- I still only have six. Today's bike-courier-like schedule was due to the final day of rushing around to get everything ready for tomorrow's opening day at the Columbia Heights farmers' market.

The guys at the UPS Store were pretty impressed as I described how I planned to transport the 3 three-foot by six-foot banners back home on my bike. "That's a real woman there. I wouldn't even know how to get something like that on a bike. You're really going to put that on your bicycle?? You know, I think she's calling us out." Yes, sir, maybe a little bit. I could try and make some kind of quiver out of a cardboard tube and my scarf and sling it over my shoulder, but no need to get too crazy: really, you just need a couple of panniers and some bungee cords. I always travel with a few extra bungee cords these days. (Oh, if only they saw the gear I hauled around the country for more than a year....) It's not that hard. For heaven's sake, the banners even roll up.

I made it home safely and had a beer on the back patio and did a little early evening gardening to celebrate. I'd have taken a victory lap if my legs weren't spent from the uphill ride back. In truth I could never be a bike messenger. I mean for starters, I wear a helmet. And I look with disdain upon death traps (aka fixed-gear bicycles). And I don't go the wrong way down one-way streets. And that swerving in and out of traffic? That's not me. See? I'd never make it as a messenger. Better stick to being a short haul trucker. And a teacher. And a writer. And a curriculum developer. And an outreach specialist. And a distribution manager....

Short Haul Trucker

Yesterday was my first shift picking up and delivering CSA shares for White House Meats in their refrigerated van.

What’s that? A meat CSA? Yes. Usually Community Supported Agriculture shares consist of weekly boxes of fresh, local fruits and vegetables, but they don’t have to be fruits and veggies. I’ve heard of everything from an all-herb CSA to a pie CSA to, well, a friend of mine was even talking about doing a beer CSA. (Sign me up! And dad wants a double share.) The point is you're supporting local producers and getting a high quality of a variety of tasty goodies. White House Meats approached me a few months ago to see if I could help them start up a local, grassfed meat CSA to market their pastured beef, chicken, pork, and lamb to folks in DC. I’ve tasted their wares – good stuff. How could I resist the chance to get out of the city to visit farms one day a week, yap with farmers, pick up delicious, Ibti-approved meat, then bring it back into the city and talk with folks about how to cook it? We decided on an 8-week trial run to gauge interest, test out the model, and work out the kinks.

Oh. Your question was about the driving of the van? Yes, it’s a little out of the ordinary for me. For the record, though I have never owned a car, I did drive the 15-passenger van quite often during my AmeriCorps days. I have a drivers' license, you know, even if I mostly use it when I get carded buying beer. Ollie -- my faithful Long Haul Trucker -- was pouting in the corner when I returned from my gig as a Short Haul Trucker around 7:30 last night. She didn’t seem at all impressed when I showed her the mock tenderloin Seth sent me home with as thanks for a job well done. (True, I suppose bicycles don’t eat much meat. It is a beautiful cut, though. I’ll have to cook it up with a few friends this weekend....) So, yes, I am, as a rule, a cyclist, but the local, grassfed meat CSA was too good of an idea to pass up. And it is patently ridiculous* for me to bicycle out 60-100 miles to these farms, pick up over 120 pounds of meat, and keep it cold while biking it back 60-100 miles into town each week. So, yes, I drove. And sang quite loudly along with the radio, as it was "Two For Tuesday" on the classic rock station and they just kept playing lots of The Who and Hendrix and... well, anyway, it's probably for the best that Seth got stuck in a meeting...

My first CSA drop-off day had a few hiccups, of course: Seth got stuck in a meeting, so my inaugural drive out to pick up grassfed beef from Fauquier’s Finest about an hour and a half away in Virginia was with a GPS rather than the planned human navigator; I had to make a few U-turns out on not-so-well-labeled country roads; a couple of crates toppled over in the back of the refrigerated van (due, most likely, to the aforementioned U-turns); there was a fair bit of rain; and three folks missed the pickup window at District Crossfit (we left their shares in the gym's fridge overnight).

In the end everything seemed to work out. In fact, a few folks already sent in thank you notes. This one’s my favorite: “Already made burgers with the ground beef...Best.Thing.EVER. You guys are awesome, this was such a great idea! Thanks so much!!!”

Not a bad first day. If all goes well, maybe we can expand and extend the program after the 2-month trial. Don't worry, I'll never be a full-time trucker....


*Dad, I know what you are thinking: "It was patently ridiculous to bicycle around the country for over a year...."

The most wonderful time of the year

It's not often that the Kentucky Derby, Cinco de Mayo, a full moon, and the opening of one of my favorite farmers' markets coincide. What did you do on this most celebratory of days?

Me? I went to a baseball game, then a Derby de Mayo party -- mint juleps and margaritas. But before that, I headed to opening day at the 14th & U Street farmers' market for the 2nd annual DC State Fair Seedling Swap. I dropped off my heirloom Black Prince tomato and zinnia starts and took a raffle number, but since I had a half hour or so before the drawing I poked around the market to pick up ingredients for class on Monday. And brunch tomorrow. And, okay, fine, some strawberries and asparagus and sunchokes and a few other odds and ends for myself for the coming week. This may well be my favorite time of the year for produce. (Though peach and tomato and sweet corn season always puts in a strong bid, now that I think of it.)

I made my way back to the swap just as they were getting ready for folks to start choosing plants to take, admittedly somewhat overladen with produce and wondering how I would get everything back the mile straight uphill to my apartment, when my eyes fell on the sole raspberry plant in the mix. Oh, I wanted it -- thorns be damned. Luckily my number got drawn second, so I had almost first dibs. I am now the proud owner of my very own berry plant! (I also managed to snag a little bitty okra plant and a small pot of basil that are now happily ensconced out back.)

Have you been to a seedling swap before? It was my first time. Virginia peanut seedlings and brown turkey fig cuttings were definitely the most popular items on offer and were scooped up early on. But there was still excitement right up til the end. In fact, I think someone could have lost an appendage in the final moments as folks dove for the heirloom tomatoes and peppers and herbs.

Here I am with my friend Marisa and her husband and their Hungarian peppers and basil just moments after the final frenzy of the seedling swap:

Look how proud we are, us novice gardeners. I can't wait to dig a nice hole out back and mix in some rich worm compost for my new raspberry plant. I think I'll call him Scratchy (in honor of the little reminders he left me as I struggled to get him out of my crammed-full pannier back at home)...

A Feast for the Senses

Have you heard of Feastly? No? You will.

Don't worry, I am obsessed with all things local food and I only learned of the underground supper club myself a month ago from my friend Grace, who is buddies with the founder. I was intrigued, soon after to be talked by Grace into hosting a Feastly dinner within a few weeks. Well, it took a little convincing, as I hardly have the capacity (or silverware) to host a proper dinner for folks other than a handful of friends or family at my tiny apartment. Certainly not anyone paying for a meal. After a talk with my friend and fellow foodie, Carina, we decided to co-host a dinner. But since her living situation also presented some large-dinner-party-hosting challenges, and because we wanted to include an educational component to the meal -- Carina is also a food educator, heading up the second year program over at Brainfood -- we decided to hold it at our favorite urban farm in town. It happened this Saturday, and it was great. A little cold. A little damp. More than a little exhausting. But great.

Since it's springtime, we decided to focus on spring herbs. Hence the menu:

• Deviled quail eggs with tarragon, garnished with micro mustard greens, pickled asparagus and turnips
• Cucumber almond soup with dill (truly a bike-powered feast... you'll see)
• Fresh bread with homemade herb butter (nice mashing, dinner guests!)
• Risotto with asparagus, shiitakes, and crumbled sage
• Mixed greens with strawberries and fresh herb vinaigrette (not too shabby on the mixing, dining friends!)
• Spring carbonara with spicy greens and duck confit
• Honey lavender icecream and ginger spice cookie sandwiches (hands down the crowd favorite)
• Handmade dark chocolate truffles with lavender, cardamom, and orange zest (yes, dessert #2)

Since it's springtime, our first date got rained out. The original dinner was slated for right smack in the middle of a rash of thunderstorms. (How the heck was I going to keep Ryan from eating the two dozen meticulously crafted lavender ice cream sandwiches in my freezer? And what was I supposed to do with 10 pounds of cucumbers?? These are the struggles I deal with. I made a lot of pickles and made Ryan promise to keep away from the ice cream while I was asleep.)

Dinner guests gathered at Walker Jones Farm at 6pm this past Saturday evening for the rescheduled feast. It was chilly. It was overcast. And in fact it rained not once but two separate times over the course of the 3-hour dinner. (Really, weather gods??) But our guests (and our helpers) persevered long enough to make it to the truffle course. That's my kind of spunk.

The gathering kicked off with some rhubarb and orange spritzers -- alas, no booze to keep us warm at this DCPS site -- and an overview of the history and purpose of the farm by Farmer Sarah herself:

After the appetizer course, guests went on a tour of the farm and snipped herbs that they would later mince for the salad dressing and herb butter.... The adventurous dinner guests were good sports. They worked in teams to make their own dressing out of the ingredients I handed out: lemon juice (squeezed by two guests who opted out of the herb harvesting due to poor choice of farm footwear), spicy mustard, creme fraiche (because we needed an emulsifier and wouldn't you know it I left the quart-sized bottle of olive oil on my kitchen countertop), salt, black pepper, and a mix of just-harvested herbs. Yep, here I am blathering on about my homemade mustard:

They marveled as Ryan churned up the cucumber almond soup on the bike blender. They laughed as they smooshed herbs into a bowl of butter, then decided to put the butter dish atop a cluster of candles to warm it enough to slather it on the bread. And, in some cases, they came back for seconds (and in one case, thirds) of risotto and carbonara.

The food was great. Our guests were great. I think we may have covered the cost of ingredients (or at least come close) for this labor of love of food. All in all, the dinner was a success, though one that would not have been possible without the help of two of my favorite people:

Jeff -- photographer extraordinaire, who managed to capture the beautiful meal in spite of low lighting and finicky camera settings, and may have saved me from a nervous breakdown about three times earlier in the day






And Ryan -- fearless sous chef, who almost lost a few fingers to frostbite while washing cucumbers in icy water, who humored me by wearing the chef's hat bike helmet while blending our soup course -- safety first! -- and tirelessly supported me through the whole evening.

Thank you. I owe you an ice cream sandwich.

Veggie Time!

You'd never guess it with today's gloomy, rainy weather, but earlier this week was just gorgeous. Take Thursday. Clear and sunny and warm: a perfect afternoon for a garden scavenger hunt and some spring planting with a dozen or so boisterous kiddos from a nearby elementary school. It's all part of my local farmers' market's Youth Garden project, which teaches elementary and middle school students in Columbia Heights how to sow, care for, and harvest vegetables in the North Columbia Heights Green.

[Incidentally, this particular community garden is so well hidden I only discovered it after living in CH for five years, and even so had to be shown where it was by one of its founders, and then had a heck of a time finding it again on my own two weeks later. I know! Me! Lover of all things local food and gardening and Columbia Heights! I am humbled. Granted, the first time I saw the Green was later in the evening after a couple of beers at Wonderland, but still.... Though I will say that a friendly stranger who claimed to have lived two blocks away from the garden his entire life had never heard of it. Like I said: well hidden.]

The youth garden project is linked with Kid Power's "Veggie Time!" program, where students study food issues and environmental sciences, operate citywide urban gardens, sell produce and prepared foods at markets and restaurants, and use the profits to support home and community service projects focused on nutrition. In the case of the CH Green, Kid Power helps students promote and sell the fruits (and vegetables) of their labors at the Columbia Heights farmers market. And wouldn't you know it, coordinating market days for the Youth Garden project is part of my job now -- how cool is that?

Before we could plant anything in the raised beds, which would eventually produce those market vegetables, Katie and I had to go over a few ground rules: Don't bother the bees and they won't bother you. No running with sharp tools. No standing on the beds.

Then we pulled up the cover crops -- winter rye in one bed, clover in another -- and composted them. These young gardeners weren't slouches. Look at that stack of rye!

Then it was time to loosen the soil -- boy, do these little people love wielding shovels. That soil was well loosened by the end, let me tell you. Finally, we got planting. Squash, okra, basil, tomatoes... mmm.... add a little water, and the plants look great. Ready to start cranking out a bumper crop, I should say.

Looking forward to next week, when I'll head out with students from the nearby middle school....