Tin Roof

This is a photo of our farm taken about 1900. The house and other structures are no longer there but the big barn still stands her ground. Family folklore says the western half of the barn was already built when great-great grandfather Henry bought the farm in 1863. There is an alley that runs perpendicular through the barn just short of the center point and it’s obvious that one side of that alley was once an exterior wall.

Just as a kitchen is the heart of a farm house this old barn is the heart and soul of the farm. Its beams are hand hewn and joined together with wooden pegs. It is supported by native sandstone piers in lieu of a full foundation. The classic barn siding on the west side has lost some of its battens so the afternoon sun streams into the hay loft in dramatic golden stripes making dust particles into sequins. For most of its existence it was home to cattle, horses, and mules in the stable. There was room to store grain to feed the animals as well as hay and straw for bedding in the loft. Maybe it’s my vivid imagination but every time I walk into that barn it’s like walking back in time with every one of my ancestors there in spirit, my dad and uncles in the lead.

This spring when our typically violent Midwestern thunderstorms started peeling up the tin on the south facing roof I knew it was time for the old girl to have some work done. I hired a local crew that specializes in barn roof replacements. They made a daunting task look easy. Here they are after having removed all of the old tin.

Now the old girl has a new roof on her south facing side and in her honor here is a recipe.

Tin Roof Sundae

Premium vanilla ice cream

Hot fudge sauce, warmed

Salted Spanish peanuts


You know what to do.

Blackberries

Once again I am sweltering in the blackberry patch on a hot and humid July afternoon cursing the blasted plants as their thorny canes grab my shirt, get hopelessly snagged on the bird net, and dig their evil spikes into my hands. The ripe berries are glossy purple-black and no bigger than the last joint on my little finger. Just as the berries are not big compared to modern varieties their seeds are much smaller also. So much smaller that you hardly notice they have seeds when eating them. That fact alone is a reason to continue to cultivate them although there has been more than one occasion when I have walked away from those thorny devils scratched and bleeding determined to spray them with Round-up!

Growing blackberries is a family tradition I find myself obliged to uphold. These berries are offspring of plants that belonged to my grandfather and considering their tenacity I am suspicious that they are direct descendants of a wild variety.

In 1929 my maternal grandfather moved his family from a farm in Jefferson County Missouri to a more productive piece of land in Monroe County Illinois, a gutsy thing to do at the start of the Great Depression. My mother assures me he brought blackberry plants with him. Twenty- five years later when she married my father she brought blackberry plants to the farm on which we now live. I am still picking thorns out of my fingers.

This is a photo taken in 1921. The little girl is my mom, Ellen, age 7 and her little brother, Bill, age 3. Although it’s difficult to be certain I believe they are standing in front of a row of blackberries, the descendants of which I have growing in my garden today. So out of respect for my grandfather and love for my mother I continue to cultivate the thorny, blankety-blank blackberries.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that they make pretty good pie?

Blackberry Pie

For crust recipe see Flaky Foundation

Filling:

¾ cup sugar

3 Tablespoons cornstarch

2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest

Pinch of salt

2 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice

4 cups ripe freshly picked blackberries
(frozen berries work too but do not thaw them )

In a small bowl mix the sugar, cornstarch, lemon zest, and salt. Put the berries in a large bowl and add the lemon juice to the berries. Sprinkle the sugar mixture over the berries and toss to coat evenly. Turn them into the pie shell add the top crust and bake. Go to Flaky Foundation II post for detailed crust shaping and baking instructions.

Eight Ball

It’s certainly not a measure of cocaine, and definitely not a pool ball. It’s a type of zucchini that grows in a globe form rather than the traditional shape. Because the traditional green and yellow summer squash are so easy to find at the market I like to plant squash that have different forms. In addition to eight ball, I like the yellow scallop, sunburst and ones called flying saucer that are star shaped. I love super fresh summer squash. It has delicate skin and mild creamy flesh that is so full of moisture that it literally squeaks when I bite into it.




















Squash is native to South America. Columbus took the native seeds back to Spain and from there squash spread across Europe. The Italians are credited for developing zucchini. Zucchini is one of the easiest garden plants to grow. Put a few seeds in the soil, keep them watered and you will have squash. It is also one of the most prolific plants. The fruit can grow inches in one day. The largest zucchini is on record at being 5’9” long and weighing 65 pounds! I have a relative who tells me that one summer his garden produced so many zucchini that after he gave them to family, friends, and acquaintances he still had many more than he could use. Then a devious idea hit him. He put all of his extra squash in his car and drove to the nearest large parking lot. Then he patrolled the lot for unlocked cars and when he found one deposited a few zucchinis in the front seat. Imagine the poor driver’s surprise when he got back to the car after his shopping trip!

I solve the problem of having too many huge squash that are woody and filled with hard seeds by harvesting them when they are small. With eight ball they are ready when they are anywhere from golf ball size with the blossom still attached to tennis ball size. Simple preparation with fresh ingredients is the best way to enjoy summer veggies. I like to lightly steam these little zuchs and toss them with butter, salt, and pepper. Sometimes I want a zucchini dish with a little more depth of flavor so I prepare the following:





















Sautéed Zucchini

2 Tablespoons salted butter

One medium to small sweet red or white onion, sliced

One medium sized zucchini, sliced
or two to three small zucchinis, sliced
or six to eight whole baby zucchini with the blossoms attached


Four fresh large mushrooms, sliced

One medium homegrown tomato, chopped

Six fresh basil leaves, chiffonade (sliced)

About a Tablespoon fresh oregano leaves, chopped

1 teaspoon salt—more or less to your taste

1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper—more or less to your taste

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until they are softened slightly, about 5 minutes. Add the zucchini, mushrooms, and tomato. Sauté a few minutes then cover the pan and steam just until the zucchini are cooked to your liking. I like mine a little firm so I only steam them a minute or two. At this point you should have a lovely pink sauce in the bottom of the pan from the tomato, zucchini, and mushroom juices. Add the basil, oregano, salt, and pepper and toss to blend. I serve this with pasta, rice, or bread so you can soak up the sauce. You can add or substitute other fresh veggies like green pepper, sugar snap peas, beans, or whatever sounds good to you. This makes four generous servings.

Cabbages and Kings

In case you haven’t deduced this from looking at my last name, my family heritage is very German. My father’s family came to America from the Rhinepfalz (Rhine River valley) in southwestern Germany in 1843 and my mother’s family, as near as I can tell, came from northern Germany a few years before that. My family, having a stubborn German streak, held on to the old ways of living and eating about 100 years longer than most immigrants. Sauerkraut, pork sausage, spaetzla, and kohlrabi were all foods I grew up eating. I was surprised and a bit amazed when I discovered that most people thought that kohlrabi was an odd, exotic vegetable. Maybe it is a little odd, but this mild mannered vegetable that grows in the garden is certainly not exotic.

Kohlrabi is a member of the cabbage family along with cauliflower and broccoli. Kohl is the German word for cabbage and ‘rabi’ could be a form of Rube the German ‘root’ word for turnips, carrots and beets. Legend has it that in 800 AD, Charlemagne the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, ordered kohlrabi grown in all the lands of his realm. Most of us think of Charlemagne as French but his chosen city of residence was Aix-la-Chapelle now called Aachen located in western Germany. Somehow the German name for this form of cabbage stuck through the ages.

Kohlrabi is often mistaken for a root vegetable because of its bulbous shape. It actually grows above the ground as cabbage and cauliflower do. The swollen stem produces the beet shaped bulb and leaves grow in concentric layers from its exterior. You can see where I cut the stem just above the roots in the photo. It sort of reminds me of Saturn with rings of cabbage leaves orbiting it.

Kohlrabi tastes nothing like a root vegetable either. It has a mild delicate flavor like cauliflower stems but sweeter and crunchier. My husband grew up eating it cut into slices raw as a snack or side to sandwiches. I grew up eating it cooked in cream sauce and served as a side dish with summer Sunday dinners of fried chicken and garden fresh green beans.

If you find kohlrabi at your farmers market or at the supermarket as I did earlier this spring buy ones that are tennis ball size or smaller. As they get larger they tend to get tough and bitter. Remember that whatever you do with cabbage, cauliflower, or broccoli you can do with kohlrabi. You can shred it in salad and coleslaw. You can steam it and top it with sautéed breadcrumbs. You can hollow out the center and stuff it with sausage. You can smother it in cheese sauce. You can eat it raw.

This is the classic recipe for kohlrabi as I grew up eating it. I like to think Germans have been eating it prepared this way for centuries.

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Kohlrabi in Cream Sauce

2 kohlrabi bulbs, peeled, halved, and sliced in 1/8 inch thick half moons

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon sugar

1 Tablespoon butter

1 heaping Tablespoon all-purpose flour

½ cup milk

2 Tablespoons cream

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon sugar

¼ teaspoon fresh grated nutmeg

1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

Put the kohlrabi, salt and sugar in a saucepan. Cover with water and bring to a boil over medium high heat. Cook until kohlrabis are tender but still firm. Drain but reserve ½ cup of the cooking liquid. Put the cooked kohlrabi in a serving bowl and cover to keep them warm.

Melt the butter in the saucepan and stir in the flour. Keep stirring until the paste is golden brown. Slowly add the milk and reserved cooking water. A wire whisk works great here. Keep whisking until the sauce is smooth. Add the cream, salt, sugar, nutmeg, and pepper. Continue to cook and stir as the sauce simmers and thickens, about 5 minutes. Put the cooked kohlrabi into the hot sauce to warm them, and then return everything to the serving bowl. This makes about four servings as a side dish.