Fermenting and End of the Microwave

Now that we are settling in on our boat-as-home I want to share some of the ways I will be making real food here. At first glance, it might seem that I am operating under some disadvantages on the boat: our galley is small by kitchen standards (though quite spacious compared to other boats), my equipment is necessarily limited, and it can be quite cool here (no insulation and we are in the Pacific Northwest) which can make fermenting tricky. Over time I will share tips and strategies that I believe are making me more creative and resourceful as a cook, things that are applicable anywhere and might especially help any of us who have small spaces or limited resources.

Today, for Real Food Wednesdays (hosted this weed by Ann Marie at Cheeseslave), I want to show you what I am doing about fermenting--and what happened to the microwave.

When we took possession of Whale Song last summer it was the repository of kitschy nautical clutter, conventional cleaning supplies and scented candles, disposable and plastic kitchenware and a huge microwave. In the first 24 hours I managed to basically de-clutter, but that microwave remained, mocking me, who stands for things authentic, not rushed and nuked into submission. It was installed in a such way that removing it seemed more of a project than I had time for on a vacation, so I made myself forget about it until our return last month. Instead, we used it as a cabinet for tea.

As we were moving in and I was looking for places to put everything I might need to live, not just camp on vacation, I decided to rip the thing out. As a storage cabinet, it was a huge waste of space--not something one needs on a boat, or anywhere really. After wrestling with molding and screws and the sheer size of the hulking contraption, I followed the cord and discovered that there is an outlet in this new cabinet above the fridge that I had excavated. Hmm. Power in a large storage space? A seed was planted . . .

After a couple of weeks here my kimchi and water kefir schlepped from Miami had run out. I had gone through a huge jar of pickled turnips, a gift from Joy, my neighbor on the pier. I had bought some kimchi from the Korean woman at the farmer's market, and while it was good, it wasn't as tart as I like. It was high time for me to put up some ferments. I gathered some makings for sauerkraut and kombucha and got going. But where would I put these things to ripen? Last summer I had jars arrayed across the helm--a passable solution, but now Sammy is using this as a home for her dollhouse.

The gaping hole above the fridge called out. I put a wire shelf in it to accommodate small jars and installed the kraut (topped by stones from the mouth of the Elwha River) and my huge vat of kombucha. It was warmish (from the fridge) but would it be enough in this cool climate, next to the external wall of the boat? At least the helm in summer got sunlight during the day. Joy suggested a heat lamp for the space, plugged into that convenient outlet. My husband pointed out that there are bulb sockets that plug in, to be had for pennies at the hardware store, so off I went to Swain's, which Has Everything. And yes, they had such an outlet, for a mere $1.38. The bare bulb threw off a lot of heat: I was in business!

I have since added a thick curtain made from scraps to keep the heat in and a thermometer to gauge the temperature--it has been quite warm, in the 80's F, so I may have to use a bulb of lesser wattage. And my ferments are SO happy! The kombucha has a healthy new mama growing (last summer it took weeks to do anything) and the sauerkraut, purple cabbage flavored with cumin and mustard seeds, may be the best I have made. In addition, I have made beet kvass (sparkly!) and spicy mint chutney (from Nourishing Traditions).

I am so excited to try new ideas for ferments now that I have a perfect setup--maybe even better than what I had in Miami. I can opt for slow, cool, fermentation, or I can add more warmth for those things that are craving it. And with the incredible offerings at our farmer's market, I know there will be plenty of material.

Join me in Happy Fermenting (and now we all have incentive to get rid of the microwave!)

So There We Were: A Sea Story

Well, if you knew the content of the many blog posts I have written out in my head over these last weeks, you would not be wondering at all what I have been up to. Seeing as I have not actually committed these words to cyberspace yet, I can understand your wondering. I truly appreciate your patience in the face of such silence. And so you are wondering still-- therefore I owe you the first of many descriptions of what has been happening and where we are now.

The story begins, according to Cap'n Gary, "So there we were . . . and then," as any good sea tale ought. So There We Were, in St. Louis, packing our things for a morning departure, kissing our grand-baby goodbye, And Then: Rick's phone rings. It's Port Security, in Port Angeles. We have a leak in our boat. After Rick's heart nearly stops, Cap'n Gary commandeers the phone from the Security Guy and explains the situation fully: Never mind that we are slowly making our way across the country to live on her, never mind that there is not a thing we can do from Missouri. Whale Song is taking on water from a failed through-hull (one of many holes through the hull for things like propellers and water intake for flushing heads/toilets) and she needs to be fixed NOW. And Gary (our neighbor) needs to get to work, so we need to figure it out from here/there. He had already exercised his inner hero by discovering the leak at 6 am after the noise from our bilge pumps irritated him out of his last minutes of sleep.

Phone numbers were exchanged, calls made, permissions given, and Whale Song was in the boatyard by 11 am. She had all of her through hulls checked, the failed one repaired, and had a good cleaning and bottom painting for good measure. All of this while we traversed the land of Winter between Spring in St. Louis and Spring west of the Cascade Mountains. There are more tales there to be told, but that is for another day. The conclusion of this segment is that we arrived three days later to our floating cottage back in the water, as if nothing had happened.

And Then: we found that the 38 year old refrigerator had died. That is why our first day in Port Angeles was spent searching for that rare breed: an apartment-sized refrigerator. So we could, you know, put the food away. And get to unpacking everything else. After looking in six stores in two towns, we found one in the independent appliance shop practically in our backyard. Chalk one up for small town service. We navigated that fridge down the ramp in a dock cart (picture that!), over the rail of the boat (with some able-bodied assistance) and through the narrow spaces (removing doorknobs as we went). And it worked!

And all went well, as we unpacked, tore out the space-hogging settee and the 70's era carpeting. We had shelves built and new flooring put down. I painted everything rich browns and reds and yellows. We unpacked some more, shuttling between the storage locker and the dock. It was starting to feel like home, so we ventured to the farmer's market and indulged in all of the spring offerings--greens, wild and planted, root veggies from storage, oysters and halibut, orange-yolked eggs. We brought the bounty home to prepare a feast . . .

And Then: the 38 year old stove died. We went back to the appliance store and bought a range to fit the small space left by the old marine stove, wrestled it down the ramp in a dock cart and over the rail and into the galley. . . and, well, it didn't work. It was the wrong sort of power (220 vs. 110--why didn't we think to check?) Moreover, we couldn't find a 110 stove anywhere, even on the Internet, that would work for us. And you know how vital cooking is to me, to us. We bought a hot plate and thought about our predicament. We used Gary's stove--a brawny beast of a marine stove, fueled by propane. We debated propane and it's pros and cons--gas is great to cook with--I have been lamenting electric stoves for years-- but on a boat it can (due to it's heavier than air property) accumulate in the bilge and can (to quote Cap'n Gary yet again) cause the hull and the deck to forcibly part ways when ignited by a wayward spark, such as from the bilge pumps doing their job.

And so, of course, we decided upon propane--with a many layers of protection to make the setup viable from a continuing-to-live standpoint. But these things take time. The stove had to be ordered and converted from natural gas to propane. The tanks were purchased, hose fittings and connections created, housing for the whole assembly built. The solenoid that would serve as a fail-safe had to be ordered and mounted, power sourced and wired. We installed a propane detector in the bilge. All of this involved many kind people, paid and unpaid (the unpaid ones have been promised much roast turkey). All this work, and still no roast turkey. Weeks later, we are just now, maybe, going to use the stove tonight (I will let you know). It seems that we neglected to add one more fuel regulator into the system (who knew you needed two? We are learning so much with every project.) This may explain the lack of gas to the stove and the lack of food on the table (just kidding there--it's amazing what you can do with a hot plate . . . but it does explain the lack of baked goods).

And then, somewhere in there, one of our heads (toilets) died. No joke. Really. We learned a lot about "open-head" surgery (Gary's phrase, again). Rick replaced the macerator pump. Then it clogged and wouldn't flush one day when Rick was at work. It was my turn to do the dirty work. As the former owner said, since the hands that repair the head also make the salad, think twice about what you put in there--only that which has gone through your body should go into a head. Even so, there I was on my hands and knees, wedged into the tiny space, next to the rubbish bin filled with used toilet paper, taking instruction over the phone as to exactly which part I needed to dismantle. In the end, I figured it all out (it isn't the rocket science aspect that makes it a dreaded task) and got the head working better than ever. Did you know that a one-way valve/gasket on a head outflow pipe looks an awful lot like a a heart valve? Picture one of the three-part valves in black rubber and you're pretty close . . . interesting. Ok--I will cut the mental chatter out . . .

So, anyway. You'd think we'd had enough excitement in the span of three weeks to keep us yarning for years, but life, as always has a way of laughing at us when we come to such ridiculous conclusions.

We all know that Fairy Tales begin with "Once Upon a Time", and end with "They Lived Happily Ever After". Not so with a Sea Story. Sea Stories begin with "So There We Were" and end with "And Things Have Been Messed Up Ever Since . . ."

So. There We Were, unpacking, fixing, painting, eating, coping.

And Then: Sammy started coughing. And whooping. Oh yes. Cough-cough-cough-WHOOP. As in Whooping Cough. Pertussis. The Hundred Day Cough.

And we are coughing still . . .


Post Script: While all of the recorded events are indeed true (and we are coughing still) things are not messed up. We are having the time of our lives, loving the friends, the food, the weather. I will write more about the incredible food and resources we have had the privilege to enjoy, but appreciate my tale until then.

ACT NOW: Email Kansas Gov. Sebelius — No Growth Hormones in Milk! | CHEESESLAVE

via cheeseslave.com

A fitting return from my moving break: a call to action! Please help, because this bill sets a precedent--and because Gov. Sebelius is on her way to DC to begin driving policy . . .

Posted via web from justine's posterous

I am Here, but on my way There

Ok all, I really must apologize. I haven't exactly bitten off more than I can chew, but this moving thing has turned out to be a chewy mouthful indeed. I have been working physically at this for a month now, sorting and tossing, packing and donating. I am close to done, almost crispy in fact. I write sassy blog posts in my head as I try to calm my racing mind into sleep at the end of each day. But I really have not had the time to write something coherent about food and nutrition. As a matter of fact, I have barely had the time to cook a decent meal.

Lucky for me that my kids are great cooks or we would all be wasting away over here. And lucky for them too, I guess. At any rate, I am still supposed to be the household shopper, so today we hit a wall--made of onions. All I really had in the larder was onions. And a lot of broth in the freezer. So of course I thought onion soup was the obvious solution. "Not so fast", says my family. "Onion soup is an appetizer" says my sweetheart. "Back me up", says I. "I want meat!" says my petite 17 year old. "We don't have any", says I. She fumes all the way into her room, muttering that she will have to cook herself something if I insist on making onion soup for dinner, that I have planned so poorly that she will starve. The two middle kids quietly finaigle an evening at a friend's house.

Crisis looming, I retreat to my bedroom. No longer a sanctuary, most of the comforts are gone; it is now filled with things I must pack--mocking my slow pace. Dinner is none of it's concern. There is nowhere to turn, so I begin to mutter myself. Sweetheart picks up on the tenor of my rant and offers dinner out. Hmm. This would mean Fuming Child will get her way. But I won't have to cook, or even think about cooking. Well, maybe, just maybe, we can make this work--for my sanity, that is. So, after an appropriate cooling-off spell, my saviour makes a loud announcement of the plan and off we go for carne asada at the college hangout across the highway.

It pains me to eat out, but at least there's a place or two that we can fall back upon when things get too hairy around here. There may be more of that in the coming days, as we count down to Friday's departure. It actually seems, though, that we will be eating a lot of homecooked meals on our trip. We are staying with family and friends as we make our way along the path of the Lewis and Clark expeditions (at least, after St. Louis we will be on their path), and many have offered to shop in advance of our arrival for a communal meal. That is a huge relief for me, knowing we will have real food at the end of each day, made with love and eaten in good company.

I will try to keep you all posted as we go along, but know I that I am HERE, as well as on my way THERE.

The answer is: NO, unless you know the source. A good justification for "beyond organic" . . .

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/04/dining/04cert.html?em&emc=eta1#

Posted via email from justine's posterous

Teaching or Marketing? Harvard Medical School in Ethics Quandary

via nytimes.com

Our medical schools seem to be training students to be de facto mouthpieces for Big Pharma.

Posted via web from justine's posterous

VIDEO: Farmers Commit Suicide in Vidarbha by Drinking Monsanto Pesticides

via chelseagreen.com

We can participate in stopping things like this by avoiding GMO foods: buy organic, buy from small farms where you know the practices, avoid the foods we know are GMO-- corn, soy, canola, cottonseed, Hawaiian Papaya. See http://www.responsibletechnology.org/GMFree/Home/index.cfm for more information and a shopping guide.

We have to muster our outrage, to think beyond our health and our families . . .

Posted via web from justine's posterous