Cross Country Preserving

It was supposed to be a vacation. Hubby and I travelled, sans kids, to Ontario this past weekend. We attended the wedding of a very special friend in a ridiculously gorgeous location. The weekend also afforded us the time to take leisurely drives, naps, and meals.

I promised myself that I wouldn't worry about capturing every little food related tidbit along the way. A difficult thing when you spend 3 days in the Niagara Greenbelt. So, my camera hardly came out of the bag, I didn't take a single note, and I even left both my laptop and crackberry at home. This girl needed a vacation from it all - kids, the full time job, the part time job, cooking, cleaning, and simply doing for everyone else but me.

So I read a novel, I ate more than I should have, I slept at many points in the day, I cuddled with my Hubby, and even took a spontaneous helicopter ride over Niagara Falls. It is, however, impossible for me to resist a farm stand. Especially a farm stand that declares the sale of sour cherries.

Remember, it was only last year that I discovered the truth about sour cherries. And I only found them that one time. I promised myself that if I ever discovered them again I would buy in bulk and preserve the bounty.

So I made Hubby reverse the rental car in someone's driveway and pull out his cash. After our day trip the cherries were carefully stored in the hotel mini bar. Then packed in a plastic bin, surrounded by gifted books and craft paper. The bin was taped up and made the journey back West in the cargo hold of the Airbus 320.

When we finally arrived home last night I pulled them out and despite my desire to sleep I spent an hour and a half pitting cherries. But when I make that first cherry pie the effort will be worth it. Sadly, the journey resulted in more than a few casualties. But I still got 11 cups of cherries, enough for 2 quart jars and 2 250 mL jars. I figure that is at least 3 whole pies or more than a small army's supply of cherry hand pies.

Cherry Pie Filling

Makes 1 quart

4-5 cups pitted sour cherries

1/3 cup water

1/2 cup sugar

3 tbsps cornstarch

1. Clean and sterilize jar and lid - if you intend to can and not use right away. Keep hot

2. Bring water and sugar to a boil.  Add cherries all at once and let cook for 5 minutes.

3. Combine cornstarch and a few tablespoons of the liquid from cooking cherries. Stir until smooth. Add to cherries and return to the boil. Let boil 30 seconds.

4. Immediately pour into the hot jar. Seal with clean and sterilized lid. 

5. Process for 30 minutes in a boiling water canner.

* Scale up this recipe depending on your total amount of sour pitted cherries.  

Backseat Adventure - Penticton Farmers' Market

The Backseat Gourmet really took the show on the road last weekend. Well, Hubby and I did. Our little eaters stayed home while we went to the Okanagan Food and Wine Writers Workshop. We lived up to the Eater title, and then some.  Throw in a lot of drinking, laughing, touring, sabering, and foraging and you've got a lovely four day Mommy and Daddy vacation.

The highlights from the trip are many.  Sublime meals, foraging our own lunch, actually learning how to taste and describe wines, and learning from other fascinating writers and editors.  Today I'm going to bring you our rainy morning excursion to the Penticton Farmers' Market.

 
I was eagerly awaiting our trip to the market after a particularly splendid and gloriously special meal on our first night of the workshop. Catered by Joy Road Catering the meal featured some spectacular food - lamb, a ridiculously good Santa Rose plum tart, and the most phenomenal green beans ever to have grown.  I couldn't stop talking about the beans for days. Simply steamed and tossed with pickled cipollini onions they were the pure definition of fresh and tasted like the colour green. When I found out that I could buy them from a vendor at the market I repeatedly told my fellow participants that any and all beans were mine, and only mine.  I'm sure it did little to ingratiate me to them, but I needed those beans.

When we arrived for breakfast the rain was looming.  And by the time we finished there was quite the downpour drenching the streets.  A few brave souls that actually thought to bring umbrellas started the walk while the rest of us remained behind, waiting for our short bus. By the time we reached the market and got underway the anxiety was creeping in. Coffees in hand and introductions made we ventured down Main Street to visit the stalls.  

Vans and trucks parked behind white awnings.  Some vendors without tents with drops of water glistening on the squash and apples.  Water dripping off the hats of grizzled men committed to their product. Two simple blocks of vendors selling their own veggies, garlic, herbs, sausage, coffee, and baking. Nothing fancy, little in the way of crafts, and more organic produce in one section that the largest Planet Organic in the country.

With the Similkameen Valley as part of the catchment for the market the number of organic producers was a significant portion of the vendors.  The Similkameen Valley has a disproportionately large number of organic producers.  I made the observation that there were more organic vendors than conventional in the market. It was a refreshing change.

It was also refreshing to know that of the vendors we stopped at we were actually meeting the producers.  They could tell us everything about each particular tomatoe or apple.   Their hands were dirty from picking that morning, their trucks low on gas from the trip into town. This one tomatoe guy from Naramata knew the name of each and everyone one of his probably 20 different kinds of heirloom tomatoes. He told us about the complex pen pal relationships he and other growers have to exchange and save seeds.  He entertained a curious four year old with trick tomatoes and dancing gourds. And when I went to pay I finally noticed his classic scale. How cool is this?

But what about those green beans? At every stall I thought, "this is it!"  We met lovely farmers and oohed and aahed over persian cucumbers, tiny tomatoes, and juicy pears.  Finally, finally we got to Gabi's stall. I pored over her pretty baskets of cute little veggies, desperate for those beans.  Someone grabbed the last bunch of cipollini onions while my eyes wandered over every basket and bag in the intense desire for those tender strings of green.  It may have been the rain, but I think I cried a little when told that the beans were sold out.

Sigh.  My heart was marginally mended when Julie shared with me one quarter of the last plum tart from Joy Road Catering's stall.  The tart they saved just for her. We joked about our tears of joy having calories that weekend, but mine at that moment was just a little bit sad.

I would be remiss if I did not thank Jennifer Cockrall-King for organizing such a fabulous workshop.  Wow, this Food Girl rocks! She organized a tremendous slate of events, with meals that can hardly be described by my words.  She brought together a fantastic and diverse group of people that were teasing each other and sharing glasses by the end of the weekend.

I also have to thank our host that morning, Mathew Batey, the executive chef at Mission Hill Winery.  More on him to come.

PS  What are you doing on Wednesday morning? I'll be on Breakfast Television here in Calgary, cooking with some lovely pears that I brought back from our trip. I hope you'll join me.

Backseat Adventure - City Market Edmonton

Hubby and I missed the whole loft train.  For awhile we referred to our flooded and unfinished basement as a "New York Open Concept Loft-Style Basement".  Had we eschewed getting a dog I think we may have found ourselves one of the original warehouse conversions in downtown Edmonton. Okay, I would have fought for it and he would have defended his manly right to a lawn.

Back then downtown Edmonton was a place that positively died after 5 pm.  Other than a handful of restaurants, a mediocre casino, and lots of offices filled with hard-working lawyers there wasn't much going on.  And what little was happening was the sort of activity that most of us don't want to see. No matter how cool the space I never would have convinced him to move there. I still don't think I could convince him - even without kids and dogs and the new lawn - but the City Market could possibly be tipping point. 

Downtown Edmonton now is certainly not the place I wanted to move to 10 years ago, and not even close to the place it was 6 years ago when we left the city.  Damn, it is a vibrant place! There are phenomenal restaurants that actually serve more than lunch, lofts and condos sprouting up everywhere, and retail stores that sell gorgeous, trendy, and expensive stuff. There's even a grocery store.  Not a corner store, but an actual grocery store right in the core.

The City Market, however, is an homage to the old nature of a farmers' market - bringing produce to the urban markets. Located just off Jasper Ave, on a street filled with refreshed and new buildings, the City Market brings over 60 vendors - both food and craft - to the new denizens of downtown Edmonton. it also brings people tired of the crowds, strollers, and popularity of both the Strathcona and St. Albert farmers markets. Plus, they have really cool traditions.

My sister-in-law and I - kids in tow - hit the market on what was probably the first really good weekend for local produce.  There were carrots, peas, greens, potatoes, herbs, strawberries, scapes, baby beets, and those fabulous sour cherries. We sampled and drooled our way through the stalls.  She's been there before so she pointed out some great crafts (I got a fantastic dress for The Monster) and knew where to get the better deals.  We weren't crowded with our strollers and my nephew flirted his way into the hearts of everyone woman he met.

It was really fantastic to see the area so alive, so vibrant.  As a former Edmontonian I will fully admit to pride in the city, the area, and especially the market.  In fact, the only thing that spoiled my morning was the lady who stole my strawberries.  Seriously, I said quite distinctly and not loudly that I wanted two pints of strawberries to the vendor and this lady pushed her hand through the person next to me and my sister-in-law and practically snatched it out of the vendor's hand. Considering that there were only three pints left and one of them as already in the hands on my sister-in-law I, being a nice person, said nothing and settled for one pint. 

There must also be something special about the atmosphere there.  Immediately after I delivered a huge speech about how Smilosaurus ate everything but raspberries she started grunting, pointing, and rubbing her hands together while I paid for my peaches and raspberries. For those of you not up to speed on baby speak that means "Please, please, pretty please can I have that? NOW!" So I grabbed another pint, we sat on the curb, and promptly ate them all. Yup, there is definitely something special about the place.  

Reminders

This was a weekend of reminders.  Reminders that we have some damn good friends in our lives, reminders that there is indeed such a thing as summer, and reminders of what a farmers market can be.

We've been in Calgary for almost 6 years now, after living in Edmonton for most of my life (university and grad school being the exception).  We've made ourselves a very nice life here, one we have no intention of leaving (are you listening, Grandma and Baba?).  But sometimes it is just necessary to connect with loves from the old life in Edmonton.  Sure, we go up there far more frequently than we would probably like, but we spend all our time driving between family that we never get to spend time with our old friends.  So even though they had to stay in a hotel because of our renovations, some old friends came down for the weekend, just to hang out. 

And hang out we did.  The four kids ran around with hoses and jumped on the beds while my girlfriend and I nursed gin and tonics.  Yes, we are that kind of a mom.  We chatted non-stop and it felt like the days when we used to sit on the porch of our old place and watch the world go by.  Except now the world was full of screaming toddlers instead of drunk university students. So really, not that different.

Yesterday we drove South to Millarville to the farmers' market.  We've been going to the Calgary Farmers' Market so long that I really had forgotten what a true farmers market can be - actual farmers selling from a table in front of an open truck.  It truly was a shock to my system after nearly 6 years at the Currie Barracks.

So much is being said about the Calgary Farmers' Market.  Honestly, I'm staying out of the fray. We do enjoy going there on Sunday mornings, and do buy most of our groceries from there. I talk to the regular vendors that I shop from, catching up on their gossip and getting the latest from the fields. And I'll be honest, we spend a lot of time at the bouncy castle - my kids are the ones hogging it and being so damn cute that all other parents stop to watch (well, that's the way it seems to me).  As I've gone from daughter to student to adult to mom and seen the evolution of my market goings the Calgary Farmers Market seemingly works just fine.

Then I went to Millarville yesterday and my comfort all got blown away.  Seeing those trucks and the dirty hands counting out my change reminded me of all that is good about the market. The direct farm to consumer relationship, the open air, and even the crowds fighting for samples of something new and interesting.  I've been treating our weekly market trips as a good family outing, but also like only a bit more than a trip to a really friendly supermarket.

I've decided that for the rest of the summer I'm going to visit more markets, more parking lots filled with trucks, tables, and farmers.  I'm going to see what we can discover and what new people we can meet.  And I'm taking you along.  

It's summer, let's eat.