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A New Year Poem

Tricia — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 22:04:53 +0000

To those who bravely till the ground
And those who make the wheels go ’round
To those who dig the coal and shale
To those who succeed and those who fail
To weak or strong, this word of cheer:
We wish you all a good new year
—author unknown, heard in late December 2010 on “Thistle and Shamrock”

The sun sets on the Wichita Mountains, Dec. 26, 2011.

Decokrating

Tricia — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 01:20:08 +0000

After growing okra for the first time last year, I saved some whole pods for funky indoor decorations. A couple of weeks ago, I pulled out those pods to replace them with fresh ones from this summer’s garden. However, I liked the looks of the papery, old pods — all splayed out after I collected the seeds — so I decided to keep some of them around. (Jeez, this is venturing into agrarian erotica.) The look probably won’t appeal to everyone, but I think it works with my eclectic style. What do you think?

An arrangement I took to the Oklahoma Food Co-op Hootenanny: sunflowers, okra pods, Malabar spinach tendrils.

Winter’s Equivalent

Tricia — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 13:54:39 +0000

Happy March! Spring is coming. And that has me thinking of lightning bugs, the coming summer, sweat, and easy, pretty meals comprised of fresh, whole foods.
Here’s what I’m talking about:

June 9, 2010; July 19, 2009

June 24, 2009

I was thinking about how these kinds of meals are my favorite. So, I put together winter’s equivalent. I’m sure a much better job could be done, but given that I don’t have a winter garden, I was pleased with the flavors and colors. And also glad I wasn’t very hungry.
What would be on your plate? Maybe a boiled egg and some fermented turnips? Pickles and bread?

February 18, 2011
Christian Cheese cowboy cheddar, dried tomatoes from Mediterranean Deli, radish and arugula sprouts from my kitchen

A New Kitchen

Tricia — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 14:59:46 +0000

If you’re particularly observant, you might start noticing a change in scenery in the photos around here. Although it feels like forever ago, it’s been about a month since I moved out of the house I shared with my husband.
I’m getting acquainted with my new kitchen. I had my doubts at first because of the miniature refrigerator and fewer cabinets. I just didn’t know how to cope with such a tiny fridge — I think I channeled my anxiety into fretting about food storage. But all my stuff fit and the fridge is working out perfectly. Some awesome friends (thanks Stephanie and Doug!) gave me a chest freezer and I have plenty of space for my frozen animal parts, jars of chicken fat, garden excess, and tubs of beef stock.
Of course I focus on the kitchen since that’s where I spend most of my time. I mean, that’s where I used to spend most of my time. I hope that remains true. I didn’t realize that a large part of the enjoyment I get from cooking is from cooking for someone. Part of it is very pragmatic: fewer leftovers to deal with (Last week I learned that I just can’t stomach a pound of chorizo, even if spread over an entire week.); but it’s also about sharing the pleasure of food. In time I’ll learn how to plan meals for one person, and hopefully get just as much satisfaction from feeding only myself.
I ate my first meal at the house among the mess that comes with a move: stacks of cardboard, piles of packing material, half-full abandoned boxes, a trail of chaos. I could feel a cold coming on and I was craving some hot and sour soup, which I picked up at China House on my way to spend another evening unpacking and cleaning. (Doesn’t it suck how during the times you need good food most — times of upheaval or devastation — it’s really difficult to make it a priority?) I scooted up to some precious flat surface and ate the soup. It was so satisfying: the taste; that I had found a spot to sit and eat; the realization that this place would eventually represent normalcy. After I finished the soup, I cracked open the fortune cookie and ate the pieces. I observe few superstitions and rituals, but one is that I have to eat the entire fortune cookie before I read the fortune. I should preface this next part by acknowledging that it’s much more convenient to selectively read “signs” as serendipitous, rather than mere happenstance.
Still, it was with a sigh of relief that I read the cookie’s enclosed message: A thrilling time is in your immediate future.
I typically don’t write about my personal life, and at times I’ve debated whether I should reveal such things since I’ve tried to keep my subject matter pretty narrow. But now I’m faced with this situation of my choosing. One that has already affected how I cook, what I cook, and who I am feeding, not to mention the change in scenery.

Lessons Learned

Tricia — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 17:05:10 +0000

I grated my hand. And now I know — I should have sprung for the cheese grater with rubber grippers.

Ouch.

My hands are all sorts of messed up between this cheese-grating incident, cardboard cuts, and a run-in with a kitchen mandolin (this kind).

Conclusion: I should stay away from sharp objects when I’m sleep deprived.

I’m always grateful when I get to learn these sorts of lessons in a relatively harmless way.

I Spy!

Tricia — Sat, 01 May 2010 18:04:29 +0000

Look what I found napping in the kale!

Matt’s been wanting garden gnomes for a while; I think it’s because he feels a kinship with them. I nixed buying shiny new gnomes—that just doesn’t seem right to me—so we’ve been stuck with a hideous OU gnome that he won at a white elephant gift exchange. (Mind you, we are not sports fans.) The gnomes would find us, I said. And this morning, the gnome magic was with us as we spontaneously visited an estate sale on our way home from breakfast.

The strawberry sentinel.

And just for added effect, here’s our garden gnome get-up at Halloween:

Are You What You Eat?

Tricia — Thu, 21 May 2009 22:38:09 +0000

Check out this photo series. Cool, huh? Here is a similar, though more sobering, collection.

I’d love to post a similar series of photos here. Let us peek into your life by emailing a photo of your open fridge. This is a chance to show off the lovely contents of your fridge or to “come out” about your take-out habit. Don’t be shy—email your photo, along with an interpretive caption, to tricia@oklavore.com. I’ll post them here in a week.

Yesterday my fridge said I’m all dressing; no substance. I had a door full of condiments, with little else. But today brought a huge improvement to the contents of my refridgerator since it is co-op delivery day! Wish I could have done a before/after shot. Maybe next month. The amount of real estate taken by beer varies with the time of the month. A photo taken right now might cause one to think I quench my thirst with milk or water alone, but the truth is that we already blew the beer money.

From My Kitchen Window

Tricia — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 03:06:06 +0000

A New Year of Food

Tricia — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 16:15:45 +0000

2009: The year I delve into all things food related, also known as the year seed catalogs arrived in the mail without my requesting them! Oh, and how lovely they are. I feel like the real deal, now. Happy New Year!

What are some food-related things you would like to accomplish or learn in 2009?

Here’s my list, some of which I have already mentioned in previous entries. Forgive the reiteration (if I say it enough, maybe it will actually happen):

Make tomato paste.
Bake a 100% Oklavore pizza.
Learn more about keeping bees and chickens.
See a persimmon tree.
Cuddle a piglet.
Expand the garden by adding some no-dig beds.
Drink more water.
Take a “sleep on it” approach to publishing blog entries. I often lie awake pondering if I misspelled something or used too many freaking em dashes. That’s also why I am rewriting this “New Year’s” post; I forgot to add several things in my initial entry.
Post more often; less lag time between actual event and blog post.
Find out if the vintage pressure cooker I got for Christmas is safe to use; if not, I’ll have to have my own MacGyver Challeng e.

National Pressure Cooker
Eau Claire, Wis.

Falalalala lalalala!

Tricia — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 04:39:57 +0000