Fall | Pear Bread

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I really dislike most pears. In fact, the only kind I eat raw with true enjoyment are red D'anjou pears.  They're so juicy, their flesh so creamy and sweet when you bite into them at their peak, it's quite unnecessary to cook them.

Sadly, I don't know of many D'anjou growers close by, so I settled for buying four (4!) pounds of nondescript, local Ohioan pears on my last local-food shopping spree (they were probably Bartlett pears- shudder). At $1.00, they were a steal and I was supporting the Borman Farm, so I felt doubly good about myself. 'Tis almost the season, right?

There was no way I was gnawing through four pounds of pears, so I promptly found a recipe for cinnamon pear bread and fed it to everyone who would try it. Honestly, it was a success. The bread was moist, the cinnamon was not overpowering, and the delicate pear flavor came through.  This is a great recipe for those of you who buy pears with good intentions, but never end up eating them (and, if I know my friends and family, they have pears moldering away in a pretty fruit basket as I type).  So, this one's for you!

Warning: grating the pears is a bit of an undertaking. Prepare to get messy and wet. I used all the juices that grating the pears brought out.  You should, too.

• 3 cups all-purpose flour
  
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
  
• 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
  
• 1 teaspoon salt
  
• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
• 3/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
  
• 3 eggs, lightly beaten
  
• 2 cups brown sugar (my go-to: I just love the flavor)
  
• 2 grated cups of pears- prep this item last
  
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  
  1. Heat your oven to 350°F. Grease and flour either a 10-inch tube pan, or two 9-by-5-inch loaf pans. I used one 9-by-5-inch loaf pan and a muffin pan. I removed the muffins from the oven earlier than the larger pan.
  
  2. Combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a large mixing bowl. Mix well, but you don't need to sift (don't you love making bread?).
  
  3. Peel and core pears, then grate them. You need to set aside 2 grated cups, again, including the sweet juice.
  
  4. In a medium bowl, combine the butter or oil, eggs, sugar, grated pear, and vanilla, and stir to mix everything well. Scrape the pear mixture into the flour mixture and stir just until the flour disappears and the batter is evenly moistened

5. Scrape the batter into the prepared pans and bake at 350°F for 50 to 60 minutes, or until the bread is golden-brown, firm on top, and a wooden skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Again, I took my muffins out earlier. 

6. Let the bread cool on a towel or a wire rack, then turn over and serve. You could sprinkle it with powdered sugar, but it doesn't need it. Butter is better!

I'll admit that, halfway through grating ten small pears, I was growing suspicious that this was a stupid way to spend a Thursday night. Then I tried a warm piece of pear bread with butter, and I thought such nonsense no more. And you will probably be using larger pears, in which case you'll only have to grate 3 to 4.

Bottom line: get your grandmother or your significant other to make this for you if you have no patience, but get it made. It's that good. (Just don't leave the bread out overnight, and it'll stay moist for days!).

Eat Local: Ohio Challenge

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I recently wrote a post for Technorati about The Eat Local Challenge, which was kicked off by Local Matters on October first. This is their noble, and tempting, movement to motivate citizens to eat locally-grown food, based on the idea that it's healthier for you than the alternatives and will help the local economy. I agree with both points, and I totally wanted to take part in the challenge (I've failed at doing it by myself earlier this year), but I live in northern Ohio, and they're based out of central Ohio. I wasn't able to sign up for the challenge (or prizes) in person, but I decided to follow the challenge's guidelines on my own up here.

The challenge is simple: select three or more ways to eat local this month. Some are obvious (try an Ohio-grown food), but you can visit a farmers market, eat at a "locally-minded restaurant", cook a full meal with only local ingredients, host a local food potluck, etc...

I went the easy route and bought those locally-grown apples and pears up there. Needless to say, they're gone. They tasted like typical apples, delicious and mild, but honestly, there wasn't a noticeable flavor improvement. I was expecting something orgasmic, based on the way local food proponents talk about local produce. Not so much this time, but it won't deter me from following through with the challenge. The point to eating locally isn't just flavor, but additional nutrition (and, if you read that link to the Harvard site above, you'll know I'm right) and community support.

There are some pretty neat food items on the shelves of Oberlin's local market. I'm looking forward to experimenting with them this month, so you're going to be seeing them, as well!

Slow Train | Reuben Pub Pie

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Pastrami is the most sensual of the cured meats.

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I tasted my first Gray House Pub Pie at Slow Train today. I, of course, went with the reuben pub pie (because I'm George Costanza).

The experience started off a bit shakily, with the server microwaving the pie right in front of my best "look of horror" face. They claimed the pies were made with 100% sweet butter, however, and there was enough of that to coat my fork in liquid gold when I cut into it. That gave me hope - for a moment.

Something was off with the pastrami. A call to Gray House the next day (Why - yes, I am insane!) confirmed that the company uses roast beef for the pie's filling.

The point is: Gray House does not do reubens well, but does anyone outside of a Manhattan deli?

In any event, the crust good enough that I'm willing to forgive Gray House. I'm so willing to forgive that I've already made plans to drive out to the source and try a freshly-baked Gray House pub pie, despite my experience with the reuben ...

... the microwave, however, was unforgivable. Bad, Slow Train! Bad!

Summer | Blueberry Picking

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Peaceful and scrumptious.

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Ready for the most important rule for picking blueberries? "You must eat while you pick", according to the cute jail bait working the shed. If you're going to do that, you'd better pick organic blueberries.

I went to Chance Creek Blues. You can eat them while you pick and not choke on pesticides. Chances are you'll be chowing on some all-natural fertilizer and insect larvae in the process, but that's part of getting back to nature!

Rule two: pick the darkest berries. Have you ever heard someone say, "The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice"? Well, they know their blueberries.

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Red means stop, green blue means go.

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Rule three: Blueberries are blue. See the red blueberry in my palm above? Don't pick blueberries that look like that. It's tart, waiting to ripen, and it isn't even blue! Blueberries are one of those pain in the ass fruits that don't ripen off the vine, so it's a totally wasted berry, and if too many people pick unripened berries they can ruin the farm's future prospects - ruining the fun for everyone else.

One last note: while I was at the farm, the jail bait advised me to "stick to one bush" and get all the ripe fruit. That may not seem like the most efficient way to pick berries, but I almost filled my bucket picking on just two bushes. That's FOUR POUNDS OF BLUEBERRIES!

Oh well ... at least I won't have to buy any more blueberries for a while!

If you want to try your hand at picking berries, check out PickYourOwn.Org for local growers who will let you get your hands dirty while you eat healthy.

The Dangers of Blueberry Picking

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Picking fruit in Florida can get really ugly. We hang with gators, sun-bathing cotton mouth snakes, rattlesnakes, an assortment of mean spiders, and we all spray poisonous chemicals on our bodies to deter disease-carrying mosquitoes. You can imagine my surprise when, while picking blueberries down at Chance Creek Blues, I observed this warning:

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They forgot to mention "butterflies" and "sunshine".

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My first reaction was that the notice was a joke. The farm is located on the outskirts of Oberlin, a liberal college town full of hipster, ironic Millenials, after all.

I tested my hypothesis on the gentle college graduate manning the shed. I told him I'd been chased by a bee for a couple of feet. He looked startled and asked (very cutely and earnestly), "Ohmygosh, are you okay? You weren't stung, were you?"

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I laughed all the way to the blueberry bushes, high on being the biggest predator in Ohio. My competition that day consisted of a couple of fat beetles and grandmothers. I have to admit, I'm loving it here.

Ohio City's Bounty

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You can lead a horse to water, but he can't drink if the river's on fire!
Photo credit: John Kuntz, The Plain Dealer

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I'm just tickled that Cleveland, ranked consistently as the most miserable city in America, has joined the national restaurant trend toward locally-sourced food, and created green and (hopefully) profitable spaces for its urban population.

Pat Conroy, owner of Great Lakes Brewing Company, has upped his karma points by 1000%. Not only does his company make great local beers (I'm looking at you, Edmund Fitzgerald Porter), he's now recycling the barley left over from the brewing process into compost on one acre of Cleveland's new six acre urban farm project, Ohio City Farm.

The farm sits mere blocks away from the historic West Side Market and just behind the projects, making it accessible to a wide demographic range. The latter will be sold deeply discounted produce, according to Debbi Snook at the Plain Dealer, while the former will get really fresh produce and some good stories.

The Ohio City Near West Development Corporation, the creator of the project, is hoping the farm will re-energize the city, providing jobs and educational opportunities to locals as well as refugees from Bhutan, Bhurma, and Burundi (and local farmers, too)- all lofty, worthwhile goals.

Keep on truckin', Cleveland! Forget Lebron, the corruption scandals, crappy night clubs, and the population loss. You're doing great.

Vermilion Farmers' Markets

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Vermilion's blue skies

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I moved into my little apartment in Oberlin last Monday. Three days have passed and I'm still surrounded by boxes and bags thanks to a lovely friend native to the area. She's been introducing me to Amherst and Vermilion's many family-owned farms along Baumhart Road.

Miss K knew I wanted to pick my own strawberries, so she took me to the Aufdenkamp Family Farm yesterday. I found out that strawberry season lasts exactly one month up here. I assumed that I had plenty of time to pick them because I was used to Florida strawberry season, which lasts roughly from December to April. Silly me. So much for carpe fragaria- I'll have to pick the damn things next year.

The absence of strawberries at this particular farm was remedied by these yummy red raspberries, which I devoured the same day:

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They were way better than the black raspberries we found. I also bought sweet purple onions, but they didn't look as nice in the photos.

I don't like to function without a daily intake of strawberries, so we drove twenty feet down the road to Krieg's Strawberry Farm and Market in the hopes of finding a field for pickin'. No luck there either! I resorted to strawberries in a cute wooden basket to make myself feel better, and bought a week's worth of produce for $9.00, which is comparable to what I'd spend at Wal Mart. That's quite an accomplishment, by the way. Organic, locally-grown produce typically costs way more than good ol' corporate-grown veggies.

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Bonus: I actually received instruction for boiling corn properly from Mrs. Krieg, which I will share with you: bring salted water to a boil, pop the husked corn in the boiling water for 4 to 5 minutes, and then take it out. Add salt and butter to taste, and devour.

Strip | Strawberry Shortcake

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Life has become a little complicated this month what with finding new jobs, moving, and being ill, so I've put my plan for a cross-country strawberry shortcake pilgrimage this summer on hold. Rest assured, these little setbacks haven't prevented me from gobbling up strawberry shortcake whenever I come across it.

My latest find is offered at Strip, an independent steakhouse in Avon Lake, OH. It's a unique version of my favorite dessert, featuring a large slice of angel food cake with a dollop of strawberry cream (strawberries whipped into cream until it's airy), a scoop of french vanilla ice cream, sliced strawberries, and whipped cream. It's not a light dessert, but it is so delicious that I thought of the biscuit version I had at Howley's in West Palm Beach only halfway through the bowl.

The verdict? I prefer an old fashioned biscuit base or even a chiffon cake base for my strawberry shortcake. The biscuit provides a more savory counterpoint to the strawberries' sweetness, but Strip's rendition is definitely worth eating again.

If you go on a weekend, call them or go to their website for reservations. The restaurant is housed in a restored barn in historic Olde Avon Village, a neat place to visit if you're in the area and would like a boutique shopping experience in a quaint, rustic setting.

Strip Steakhouse
36840 Detroit Road
Avon, OH 44011-1570
(440) 934-9900

Driving in a Winter Wonderland

This would have been ideal.

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Now that the Ohioan winter is firmly behind us, I can turn around and stick my tongue out at it (figuratively, of course).

A little context for you. I am a native Floridian. Worse, I'm from South Florida. Our driving exams are notoriously lackadaisical. I completed mine down in Homestead (our farming country), where the instructor was easily bribed by young women offering baked goods. I'm fairly certain I would have failed any driving test administered north of West Palm Beach.

Miami in particular has terrible traffic at all times of the day, poor road quality, and people who feel entitled to reinterpret traffic laws. Heck, some Floridians don't even know how to drive in the rain, and it rains ALL THE TIME.

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See? It's not that difficult!

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Somehow, I relocated to northeast Ohio in July with nary a thought about the colossal pain driving in snow would be. Picture me in December sitting in a Dodge Ram 1500 (not a 4X4), with no sand bags or other added weight in the truck bed and no snow tires because I kept putting off their purchase. People started placing bets on whether I'd survive the winter or not.

What saved me from almost certain death? I actually drive o.k. in the rain, and as it turns out, driving in the rain is similar to floating over snow. After months of sobbing in my truck during braving 45 minute to 1.5 hour commutes on snow-crusted highways, I've cobbled together some general survival tips for my lucky readership:

1. Purchase the off-roading tiretracks (pictured above) from GreatNorthernOffroad.com

Can't, or don't want to for whatever boring reason? Then:

2. Don't make any sudden accelerations
3. Don't make any sudden decelerations, either
4. Don't make jerky steering inputs
5. Do follow in the path of other vehicles (mostly for snow)
6. Invest in good windshield wipers
7. Go at a pace you're comfortable with, even if your passengers call you a sissy

If you happen upon a virgin expanse of snowy road, then you're unlucky. This usually happens around three or four in the morning, so it's usually not a problem for upstanding, responsible citizens.

A note about number seven: I may not love driving in winter, but I am looking forward to the entertainment overly-cocky owners of jacked up 4X4s can provide. These monstrous trucks will scream by you on highways, but you'll invariably find them sunk in a snow bank a couple of miles later. You'll get to chuckle while they wait a long time for a tow truck. They felt comfortable at 50 mph in the snow. The point? Be realistic in your "comfort zone", and stay well below the speed limit.

Local Brews

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When I first moved to Palm Beach, I complained that there weren't any locally brewed beers worth mentioning. I was wrong, and soon found the delicious Monk in a Trunk created by the Inlet Brewing Company in Jupiter, FL.

Now, West Palm Beach isn't horrible as far as cities go, but it is one of the more "plastic", superficial places to exist anywhere on the planet. Even so, it is a "real city", and I was worried that I wouldn't find any good microbrews after moving to Oberlin this summer.

I am optimistic, however. Let's face it: if a delicious, Belgian-style beer could be found in this soulless, plastic burg, there is bound to be a decent brewery around Oberlin, Ohio. A quick Google search confirmed this heady (for me) optimism, yielding both the Great Lakes Brewing Company and Fat Head's Brewery and Saloon, among many others.

Reviews coming soon, people. Stay tuned.

Oberlin Surprise

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I'm fresh off a plane into Miami from Oberlin, Ohio, and I'm pretty optimistic about the food situation there.

I was a bit worried that I wouldn't have any good restaurant options, but how wrong I turned out to be!

The restaurants along Main Street (right in the thick of the college) rely on locally-sourced produce. The Black River Cafe, for example, offers local beefs and bacons which are delightfully free from any chemical flavorings, and the proof of using truly fresh ingredients is right there. I ate a BLT and didn't feel heavy or bloated. It was like heaven, except with more hippies than I thought they'd let in.

Similarly, the Feve - a very "accepting" bar that makes up 50% of Oberlin's nightlife - also puts local growers to good use. I put a serious hurting on a half-pound bacon cheeseburger and another half-pound of tater tots there, and didn't feel that "I can't believe I ate the whole thing" feeling I get from fast-food and chain restaurants.

There were other treasures as well, from Gibson's candy shop to Java Zone's Frankie Pizza, but that will all be waiting for me after my move. I can't wait!