Sunflowers on our porch this summer

How I’ve neglected thee!

The summer has gotten away from me it seems, and Fall is upon us! Well, almost. There are still quite a few tomato days left in the year, and in our neck of the woods the thermostat is still reading into the 90s most days. But the kids are back in school, the apples are ripening on the trees, and the nights are getting cool enough for a blanket. I miss the smell of New England Fall that lingers in the air in the evenings at this time of year, but hopefully an upcoming trip to Portland, Maine will cure that.

Before Summer 2011 does slip away, here are a few images from how we spent the season. Though I do miss the East Coast, it’s hard to complain about living amid such glorious land and cityscapes:

Hiking the Rubicon Trail, Lake Tahoe, July

Swimming at Candy Rock, July

Weekend in San Francisco: Morning in the Mission, August

Weekend in San Francisco: Lunch in Japantown, August

Camping at Young Lake (10,000ft), Yosemite, August

Backpacking in Yosemite, August

Tourists in Yosemite National Park, Glacier Point, August

Tufa formations at Mono Lake, CA, August

Last year at this time, we were watching in shock and horror as our lovingly planted and tended first vegetable garden was eaten away, root by precious root, by a devilish little animal known as the gopher. And by devilish I don’t mean impish or naughty in that mischievous yet still somehow adorable way.

No, no, no.

Gophers are truly the devil (picture rodents with pitchforks) of any backyard garden in our neck of the woods.

Be warned: no raised beds, no hardware cloth, NO veggies! Set traps, get a gun, blast sonic waves. Do something or those subterranean bandits will steal the fruits of your labor and make you cry. Seriously.

But this year is different. Thank goodness. I am very happy to say that as I look up now from the kitchen table and glance out the screen door and across the horse pasture and into the far corner of our field I can still see the tomato plants green as the oak leaves on the hill.

Whew! Breath with me. One big sigh of relief.

Every night we visit the garden to make sure everything’s still standing and in good working order. Mainly, though, we go down there just to delight in the growth spurts of our Sun Golds and Cherokee purples and Odorikos (The Odoriko, a Japanese tomato, has actually grown to E-normous proportions. That is one mother of a tomato plant!)

There is something magical about watching tiny plants shoot up toward the sun, grow new leaves, flower, and produce fruit. So basic and yet so rewarding.

The deep color and smooth, glistening skin of our eggplants:

The sweet, licorice aroma arising from a crushed leaf of Thai basil:

The irony of a delicate cucumber tendril, stronger and more persistent than anything else in the garden:

Good stuff, right? And in just a few weeks, it’ll all be ripe, and we’ll be eating ratatouille and pesto and tzaziki and gazpacho and lemon basil sorbet and and and…

Are you getting excited yet?

I am.

Three cheers for gardens! (And one big cheer for hardware cloth!)

As I lay under the covers this morning, trying to get one more short round of shut eye, Bastien marched into the bedroom, loudy trumpeting (yes, literally making the sound of a trumpet) a familiar tune. In my morning fog, eyes still heavy, mind still groggy, it took me a few seconds to recognize what song I was being serenaded by. Having given up on sleep when the trumpeting didn’t stop, my only choice was to play along. Name that tune! And as I opened my eyes, I realized that my own personal herald was tapping his toes to la Marseillaise, the French National Anthem. And in that brief moment between semi-consciousness and awakening, when images and reality go from cloudy to concrete in a nanosecond, I realized not what by why: today is la fête nationale en France. Bastille Day. Of course!

So in honor of my adopted country, where there is no longer a monarchy but where food is still king, I’m posting what else but a recipe.

Bonne fête et bon appétit!

Tarte aux fraises

I recently made this strawberry tart when our neighbors came for dinner. I’ve also made it with peaches and nectarines, and it could easily be paired with apricots, figs, raspberries or other fruits of the season. The recipe is inspired by one found in Food and Wine magazine.

Ingredients for the pastry:

3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 -inch pieces

2 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons beaten egg

Ingredients for the filling:

2 large egg yolks

1 cup milk

3 tablespoons sugar

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Salt

2 tablespoons heavy cream

1-2 pints strawberries, hulled (leave them whole, halve them or cut them in thick slices)

Directions for the pastry:

In a food processor, combine the flour, butter, sugar and egg; pulse just until the dough begins to come together. Turn the pastry out onto a lightly floured surface and pat it into a 6-inch disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1 hour or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 350°. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pastry into a 12-inch round. Fit the dough without stretching it into a 9-by-3/4-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom. Trim the overhang to 3/4 inch; fold in the overhang and press it against the sides to reinforce them. Prick the bottom several times with a fork and refrigerate until firm.

Bake the shell for 25-30 minutes, or until golden and cooked through. Let cool completely on a wire rack before filling.

Directions for the filling:

In a medium saucepan, combine the egg yolks with 3 tablespoons of the milk, the sugar, flour, vanilla and a pinch of salt; whisk until smooth. In a small saucepan, bring the remaining milk to a simmer.

Gradually whisk the hot milk into the egg yolk mixture. Cook over moderate heat, whisking constantly, until the pastry cream boils and thickens like pudding, about 4 minutes. Strain the pastry cream through a fine sieve set over a bowl. Whisk in the heavy cream. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly on the pastry cream to prevent a skin from forming. Let cool slightly, then refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, at least 2 hours.

Vigorously beat the cold pastry cream until smooth and spread it evenly in the pastry shell. Arrange the strawberries in the tart, tips up, in tight concentric circles. Refrigerate for up to 4 hours. Unmold the tart and transfer it to a cake stand or platter before serving.

There’s nothing like house guests to propel you off the couch and out of the house.

It seems that every time we have visitors, we discover something new in our own backyard. Just when you think you know your neighborhood pretty darn well (especially when your town and all the towns around it are the size of postage stamps), an out-of-towner comes along and opens a previously unopened door and you think, how did I not know about this thing or place or person?

This was certainly the case this past week with my dad out in Drytown from Boston for eight days. We did our fair share of lounging around the house, attempting to keep cool in 100 degree heat, and we revisited some favorite haunts, but we also discovered a few amazing (a-ma-zing) new locations.

Over the year and five months we’ve been living in Amador County, we’ve started to rack up some great restaurants, bakeries, markets, hikes, and other fun local activities that are noteworthy enough to jot down for future days when guests are in town. Until now, though, they’ve been stored away in the cobwebs of my brain. For readers planning to tour the area or for those who just want a glimpse of life in gold country, I’ve decided to add a new feature to the blog, Foothill Finds.

The Foothills are nestled north to south along the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains. This is where the gold rush took place in the 1850s, and many of the towns here were once booming enough to be considered as potential state capitols (Drytown, which is now just a blip along Highway 49, once had 26 saloons in town!). Today the region is rural and sleepy, but there are plenty of historical points of interest, antique shops, good vineyards, good eats, and gorgeous landscapes to draw tourists to the area.

Foothill Finds will be part travelogue, part travel guide, a section in which I’ll share notes on where we’ve been that’s worth a detour.

So here goes, Foothill Finds, take one.

***

Point of Interest: Imperial Hotel

Location: Amador City, CA

Activity: Drinks in the garden

Just three miles from our front door is the Imperial Hotel in the charming town of Amador City. We pass through there regularly for bread and pastries at our favorite local bakery, Andrae’s, and I go zipping through on my way to work at the Cheese Shoppe in Sutter Creek. But until last week, it had never occured to us to walk through the doors of the handsome 1879 brick facade of the Imperial.

So when Dad suggested we pop over for a drink, after hearing about the hotel all the way back in Boston, we jumped at the chance to investigate a new watering hole.

We drove the back road from Drytown past the Fremont and Bunker Hill mines and then down the hill into quiet Amador City, my favorite “city” in the area. The hotel sits facing the rest of town with a second story balcony that hangs out over the front of the building. The front door leads you straight into the saloon with an attractive barroom maintained in the style of what one would imagine were the glory days of the hotel.

We thought about sitting with the cowboy at the bar, but the room was heavily airconditioned, and I wanted to sit outside, so we walked through the long, exposed brick dining room to the back of the restaurant, where glass paneled doors led to an unexpected find, a European style garden.

Young olive trees, trellised vines, mini cypress in terra cotta planters, a bubbling fountain, and white globe lanterns overhead made us feel like we had stepped out the door into an Italian courtyard. What a heavenly perch for a pre-dinner drink.

Channeling my mother, my first reaction was, What a great spot for a party! And, as it turned out, they were hosting a rehearsal dinner in the garden an hour after we arrived. Had we not had to vacate our table for the incoming party, I could have easily whiled away the evening there. But an hour-long cocktail was plenty to appreciate the tranquility of the place and to add it to the “must return here” list.

Bastien and I ordered cosmopolitans, and Dad ordered a glass of Chandon Blanc de Noirs. And for $9, we split a Mediterranean Plate with house-made hummus, baba ghanoush, pita, greens with olives and roasted tomatoes. The rest of the menu advertises French and Italian influenced American bistro fare. A few highlights from the menu include Liberty Duck Breast ($29), Chicken Marsala ($23), Pumpkin ravioli ($13), and Bistro steak ($24).

The food, unfortunately, was the one disappointment of the evening. Someone in the kitchen clearly has yet to discover salt, and the hummus and baba ghanoush were completely bland. I can’t report on the rest of the food, as we didn’t stay for dinner, but as you can see from the photo below, our enjoyment was unmitigated by the flavorless appetizer.

It won’t be long before we’re headed back for more cosmos in the garden!

Peach-faced lovebird

Once, on a college trip to Costa Rica, I encountered an older couple flying to the tropics to bird. They were decked out in camouflauging colors and vests with more pockets than I could ever imagine a use for. Around their necks were cameras, binoculars, and the strings attached to wide brim straw hats that sat squarely on their backs as we waited for our luggage to appear. To complete the uniform, in the fashion (or lack thereof) of a flashing siren that screams, I am an American tourist!, they wore bermuda shorts, shiny new sneakers, and white tube socks pulled to mid-calf. (Wouldn’t the birds see them coming from a mile away?)

I observed them, at the time, with a mild edge of mockery (okay, I was 21, so it might have been more than mild). Their over-eager attire wreaked of geek to me, and their mission, “birding,” seemed laughable if not downright ridiculous. Who goes on vacation to look for birds?

My roommate and I were headed for adventures in the rainforest and hours of lounging on the beach. These two imbeciles would spend their time in tropical paradise sitting motionless in a blind, binoculars glued to their faces, waiting for hours for the elusive quetzal to fly by when they could be sipping mai tais by the water. Idiots!

Skip ahead ten years and you will see me going out onto the porch or taking walks up the hill not for a breath of fresh air…but to see the birds! D’oh! Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m becoming a birder. And it’s clear that I’ve married one.

The tiny burg of Drytown seems to be a sanctuary for birds. There are certainly more of them than there are of us. The sign into town should read POP. 200, BIRDS 2000 (the first number being a wishful miscount and the second most likely a gross underestimation). We have all the usual cast of characters here — blackbirds, crows, magpies, sparrows, blue jays (though not the kind I was used to seeing on the East Coast) — and then a whole slew of new and unusual (to me) ones.

On a steamy afternoon last week, Bastien crept and slunk stealthily around our yard and over the neighbor’s fence to capture of few of these beautiful winged creatures. Here’s what he saw:

White-tailed kite

Nuttall's woodpecker

Anna's hummingbird pair

Peach-faced lovebird

Turns out birding’s not for the birds after all!

Bastien turned 30 on Friday. The big 3-0. It was a low key birthday celebration, no dancing til dawn or next-day hangovers as there surely were 10 years ago. But there was plenty of good food, good wine (a bottle of Perle d’Antan from la Tronque, his family’s vineyard, arrived in the mail), kayaking and sunshine on the menu. And a big cadeau waiting for him–a new camera!

No, no. Not the Polaroid in the picture. That was just for presentation purposes. B’s first DSLR camera. The kind that you jauntily sling over your shoulder because it won’t fit in your pocket or your purse. The kind that makes people look at you twice and think, Now there’s a photographer. The kind that says, Let’s get serious or I mean business.

And, I hope, the kind that will take great pictures for our blog!

As with most high-end gadgets, there can be a steep learning curve at the beginning. But as always, Bastien just dove right in. He had already learned a ton from every photography blog, review, YouTube video, and personal scrap of advice he could get his hands on over the past month (and no matter how hard I tried to throw him off track and maintain the surprise, he was pretty convinced there was a camera coming his way; apparently I’m no good at hiding these things).

Now, with camera in hand, it is just a matter of practice and of trial and error.

Out in the garden, I thought he was taking pictures of our flowering tomato plants…

…but the new camera has a wide angle lens (and a sneaky photographer behind it), and it turns out he also caught me talking to the tomatoes! Grow little ones, grow! And produce lots of sweet, juicy fruit!

Apparently, there is no subject too small or too banal when one is practicing with a new camera.

Later, when I turned around at the dinner table and ooohed and aaahed at the purple and rose sky out the window behind me, B was out the door like a shot, without a second’s hesitation. I remember as a kid, well before the days of digital cameras, when my dad would blow through an entire roll of film on a single sunset. He would try to capture every angle, every color nuance, every pink cloud. We must have boxes of those slides and snapshots and negatives collecting dust up in the attic. But when I see a sunset like this, I get why he was so snap happy. Truly. What great light to experiment with.

Look at those stunning colors. There’re almost unreal.

We couldn’t take the camera kayaking, but there will be plenty of other summer trips and visits to document before long. And the progress of the garden and the guest room/office. And summer recipes. Many more photos coming your way soon!

My culinary obsession of the week? Mint! Actually, it might just be a culinary obsession period.

Last Spring we discovered a patch of the stuff growing among leaves of lemon balm in our backyard. This was before we planted our garden and before we noticed all the fruit trees in our midst. We were so excited by our finding — something from our own land that we could cook with and eat! — that we had to restrain ourselves from denuding the entire patch. But even after the satisfaction of planting a garden and seeing pears, plums, figs, and olives swell and ripen on the trees around our house, the mint is still exciting to me. I can’t seem to get enough of the peppery sweet aroma and the way it melds so well with both desserts and savory dishes.

Here are some ideas for minting up your day:

Morning pick-me up: Mint infusion. Steep a sprig or two of mint leaves in near-boiling water. Sweeten with honey or cane sugar or just enjoy as is.

Lazy afternoon on the porch swing: Mint Julep. If you didn’t watch the Kentucky Derby this year (or any year for that matter), it’s not too late for a mint julep. Try this recipe from Saveur.

Springtime side dish: Jacques Pépin’s purée of peas with mint and cilantro. This was my first savory mint preparation last year, and I loved it so much I must have made it as a side dish twice a week for at least a month or two. Spring peas are here, and if you can find them at your local farmers’ market, this dish will taste that much better. See below for the how to.

Savory salad: Quinoa salad with feta and mint. I’ve been trying to incorporate different grains into our diet, and I concocted this salad for lunch last week. It was so tasty, I’ll be making it again this week, too! Find the recipe below.

Purée of peas with mint and cilantro

Adapted slightly from Jacques Pépin’s Fast Food My Way

Serves 4

1 pound baby peas (fresh or frozen)

½ cup (loosely packed) fresh mint leaves

½ cup (loosely packed) fresh cilantro leaves

About 2 teaspoons chopped jalapeño pepper (more or less, depending on your tolerance)*

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon good olive oil

1. Bring 3 cups salted water to a boil. Add the peas and return to a boil, which will take 3 to 4 minutes. Boil gently for 1 ½ minutes, then drain in a colander, reserving a few spoonfuls of the cooking liquid.

2. Immediately transfer the peas to a food processor and add the remaining ingredients and up to 2 tablespoons of the reserved cooking liquid, if the mixture is too thick to purée properly. Process to a fine purée.

3. Serve immediately, or if the purée is made ahead, reheat with a few tablespoons of water or broth in a small sauces pan.

(*Being a wimp when it comes to heat, I leave the jalapeños out entirely.)

Quinoa salad with feta and mint

Serves 4-6

1 cup quinoa

1/2 cup chopped French feta

1/2 to one whole avocado

1/2 cucumber cut into 1/2″ cubes

1/2 bulb finely sliced fresh fennel

1/4 of a red onion, finely chopped

1/2 cup frozen peas (fresh if you have them)

1/2 cup broccoli sprouts (or other sprouts)

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint

2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro

small handful of sunflower seeds

salt and pepper to taste

1. Combine the quinoa with 2 cups water, salt, and pepper in a medium sauce pan and turn the heat to high. Bring to a boil, cover, lower the heat and simmer gently for about 15 minutes. When the quinoa is tender, remove from heat and let cool.

2. Make a vinaigrette in a salad bowl. Everyone has their own ideas about what they like, but here’s the one I’d recommend. With a whisk or a fork, mix together 1 tsp good Dijon mustard, a large pinch of salt and pepper, and 2-3 tsp white wine vinegar until mix is uniform. Add olive oil to your liking. I prefer to use less, as I like a strong taste of vinegar and the mustard.

3. Add the quinoa, the feta, the vegetables, and the herbs to the bowl and mix. Salt and pepper to taste.

As with most house projects, though, the office/guest room is a work in progress. Here’s what it looked like when we moved in a year ago:

We’ve made it past the ladder to a bed and now a little office nook, but I think in my effort to get organized (i.e. reshelving books, making hanging files, finally recycling a large pile of junk mail, etc.), I’ve managed to create a scene of complete disorganization (well hidden from view).

Oops.

I opened up a can of worms with those hanging files when I decided we needed to paint the $5 thrift store filing cabinet (turquoise!). A project within a project spells one thing and one thing only: sloooow progress.

In the meantime, we have a desk to write on. And a view of the roses.

What are your best tips for a well organized home office? And don’t you think we need a comfy reading chair? That corner is begging for one!

For as long as I can remember, one of my mom’s pecadillos was “snitching” flowers from other peoples’ gardens. My mom was so enchanted with “posies” that she somehow looked beyond (or perhaps overlooked) the possible accusations of trespassing and theft for denuding precious blooming beds. For years she clipped daffodils and irises and roses from our neighbor–a reknowned horticulturist, no less!–until, instead of being confronted and banished from his garden, she was given “picking rights”!

One of the best stories of her little péché mignon takes place in a tiny hilltown in the back country of Nice, France. As the story goes, strolling along the cobbled streets of this miniscule medieval village, Mom spotted a rose. There was no purpose for the rose, no arrangement it was headed for, it was just simply too lovely to be left on its branch. And there was no stopping her. Though I wasn’t there, I’m sure she didn’t hesitate for a second in snapping the bud off its bush and sticking her nose deep into the pink petals. The next day, as she and my dad ambled along the same allée, they saw a little girl, walking hand-in-hand with her grandmother. As they passed, the petite fille whispered loudly, “Mamie, c’est celle qui vole des fleurs!” (Granny, that’s the one who steals flowers!).

Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, there were no Hallmark cards to send or phone calls to make, so instead Bastien and I planted a different sort of garden. In her honor.

Cherry tomatoes and purple egglplants and sweet peppers will be our blossoms this summer. (And this time, we’re gopher ready! Watch out gophers! More on that later….) And we’ll think of Mom as our garden grows and blooms, wishing she were here. I know she’d like that.

Mom at age 11, Sausalito, CA (circa 1956)

Mom in her garden last summer, Newton, MA

Jill McKeever Mercer (January 17, 1945 to March 5, 2011)