I stopped at a roadside stand in Georgia this week, and picked up some of the sweetest peaches, ever. The vidalia onions were enormous and irresistible, so those went into my market bag, too. I’ve been eating the peaches all week, but the onions were waiting for today…
Wednesday means theWaynesville Farmer’s Marketis open! So, Wednesday afternoon found me making a quick stop at the King Harvest Farm stand for tomatoes (eaten immediately) and yellow beans (asking Terry King about the difference, she said, “They’re yellow.”) and fingerling potatoes.
Today, the full-on market was in swing, so I buzzed down there and bought scallops (Hillbilly Shrimp Market) and rainbow chard (and I’m so sorry I didn’t get the name of Justin’s farm) among other things, and headed home with my haul.
First, the bacon. I rendered the grease from just a couple pieces of bacon, in a cast iron pan. I set aside a tablespoon of the drippings, and then deep-fried the potatoes and beans. (If you’ve never tried flash fried beans – I don’t care what color they are – do yourself a favor. It’s lovely.)
Then it was time to quickly saute the chard and onions in the remaining bacon grease.
I deglazed the pan with a bit of white wine and set it aside as a sauce for the scallops. Then it was time for these babies: I added a fat pat of butter and the reserved bacon grease to the center of the pan and let them do their thing.
Meanwhile, my dish is ready! On a bed of sauteed chard and onions, topped with lightly salted fingerlings and flash fried yellow beans, I crumbled a slice of bacon on the top for good measure.
Then it was time to add the scallops and drizzle with that phenomenal sauce…
And voila’! So fresh, local produce, and I know there’s one last peach in the kitchen for dessert, later. I’ve poured myself a glass of the pinot grigio I used to deglaze the pan (hey, that insures it will pair nicely, hmmm?) and it’s time to dig in.
I was keeping a friend posted all throughout this adventure, and was asked later if they came out well.
This particular Saturday morning at the market was special: I was meeting up with a bride. Ron & Cheryl were married here last November, and now (because I’m insanely lucky) they are also my part-time neighbors. Our schedules have kept us like ships passing in the night, and I’m always arriving in Maggie Valley just as Cheryl is leaving, and vice versa. Today was the magical day. “See you at 10!”
I have a friend who tells me when I’m dressing ‘too old’ and so I’ve been working on that. Still. Today, I fired off a picture to another buddy and said, “Hey, look! I’m dressing up like a twelve year old and going to the farmer’s market.”
But wait, I have this really cool bag…
He pronounced me farmers-markety and therefore qualified to leave the house, and off I went.
The Waynesville Farmer’s Market is awesome. It’s certainly not the largest market I’ve ever been to (it might even be the smallest) but the faces are friendly, the farmers are sincerely interested in knowing what you would like to have, how you’re going to use their produce, and are passionate about what they do. Frankly, I think you’d have to be passionate about farming to do it – it’s not going to make them millionaires. The payoff has to be more than monetary, to make folks work that diligently and consistently. Lordy, I just have to sleep in, now and then. These folks really know their stuff.
I especially enjoy following Terry King on facebook – she and her hubby have King Harvest Farm – because she posts about what’s growing and what’s not, and what to expect at the market each week. It’s fun to follow along, and it’s awfully nice to know what to plan for on Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings. And I do like her twisty sense of humor. Her post earlier this week still has me laughing:
Open pollinated = Poodle.
Hybrid = Poodle + Labrador = Labradoodle
GMO = Poodle + Salamander = DNA manipulation
Bah hahahahaha I want to see the illustrations!! Terry, yer killin’ me! Shop here, folks, for nonGMO and nonSaladoodle (because seriously, who wants doodle in their salad) produce. King Harvest Farm at the Waynesville Historic Farmer’s Market on Wednesday afternoons 3:30-6:30 –right handy for those of us who find shopping on Saturday mornings a challenge– and the main market on Saturdays 8-noon. This is not to say the rest of the folks at the market are not stellar, this is just the one whose name I know. Plus I like their stuff. A lot.
So. Today. First the social stuff – CHERYL!!!! YAY!!!
Holy cow omigosh we are adorable, aren’t we? I have yet to master the whole selfie thing. So…. I stole this one from my bride (thank you, Cheryl). We stopped by King Harvest Farm (naturally) and then made our way down the row and behold! Another friend! I haven’t seen Monica in a year. She’s selling her free range eggs at the market, so there’s yet another good reason to head that way on a Saturday morning. And here’s our merry band…
But we had more merrymaking a.k.a. shopping to do. We found a delightful new vendor, the goat lady. Right out of Cold Mountain. (Ok not. She is unlikely to harm her goats, which she says are like a herd of 160 pound great danes.) Her business is Wholly Goats Soaps & Such -the name just tickles me- and you’ll find her at the Saturday market, as well. All her soaps are made with goat’s milk from her very own goats, and nonGMO oils (no doodle in your salad there either, folks) and I am gaga over the Amazon Lily & Rain fragrance. There was a good bit of discussion about just what’s in there (lemon, grass, pine) but if you hug me in the next few weeks, that’s the scent you’ll notice. Yummy.
We wandered about and enjoyed the booths and chatting with vendors. Ron was in his element, talking organic fertilizer (his business and his passion) with all these farmers.
And Cheryl and I were shopping away. I was very excited to find Three Graces Dairy represented! You can bet my Netflix binging tonight will include the lovely manchego style cheese from Three Graces, and a nice glass of Pinot Grigio which is presently chilling in my fridge.
The steamy hot weather had us checking out Waynesville Soda Jerks and I’m here to tell you, that blueberry basil soda is awesome. And the perfect thing for a summer day. I’ll be doing THAT again.
I also picked up some rainbow chard to go with the yellow beans and fingerling potatoes from King Harvest earlier this week.
Me: Hey, Terry, what’s the difference between these yellow beans and regular green beans?
Terry: They’re yellow. Haha, maybe it’s like British humor, and you really had to be there. Trust me. It was funny.
And some scallops. Because – yes yes yes I know, I’m in the mountains, but people, listen: the Waynesville Farmer’s Market is THE place around here to buy seafood! They’re bringing it in fresh from the coast. Seriously like outa the water fresh. And I got these fellas to take pity on me (now that I’m cooking for one) and just sell me three absolutely perfectly fresh and lovely scallops. More to come on that.
This fellow, from Betsy’s Farm, had an enormous bag of basil, just for me. I love that he has just the one head of garlic left. Betting that basket was full this morning!
All in all, a pretty good turnout at the market. I am so glad that I remembered my shopping bag this time. I’m generally awful about that, so today I had a real sense of accomplishment, with all my yummies in my bag, arms full, ready to return home. Looks like I’m not the only one. There were some shoppers out there!
Next up…. a post about that amazing meal. Y’all drive safe. 🙂
I have been remiss. With eleventy bazillion photos of the Creek House all over this website and also www.maggievalleycottage.com, I didn’t realize I skipped pictures of my hands-down favorite place to be – in the kitchen!
Now, this is not a dream house magazine spread designer gourmet kitchen. Far from it. It isn’t snazzy. But it makes you feel so *welcome*. It’s a cook-in-your-socks kind of kitchen. And after making breakfast in here for the past eighteen years (how in the world did that much time fly by?!) I confess that I never want to spend any time in another drywall ho-hum boring kitchen. I love my mismatched cabinets, hardwood floors, low ceiling beams covered in mugs. The hooks are horseshoe nails fashioned into cup hooks for me by a blacksmith, back when we had one of those in Maggie Valley.
There are treasures in every corner, and little odd places to tuck in another bit here, another bit there. I’ve filled it with things I love to use, and it’s an easy place to work.
So this week, when a very nice lady asked for kitchen pictures, I was stunned to find out that in my many tens of thousands of pictures on my computer, I couldn’t find any of the kitchen! That’s because… wait for it… guess what: when I’m in the kitchen, I’m COOKING, not taking pictures haha!
Without further ado, voila: The Kitchen, before and after…
Confessions of an Innkeeper: I’ve had my B&B since 1998, I’m 58 years old, and today I poached an egg for the first time in my life. I’m astonished how fast, how simple, how easy – and why in the world have I been so intimidated by this??!?
Nevermore! Break an egg (cold & fresh) into a small bowl. Put an inch of water in a saucepan. Bring it to a boil and then ease it off to a simmer. Add a teaspoon of salt, two of white vinegar, swirl to make a whirlpool. Ease the egg right into the center of the whirlpool. Cover and remove from heat. NO PEEKING for five minutes. Poof. Egg. I didn’t trim edges, cherry pick the best ones, or anything. This is how they came out. I took them out of the pan with a slotted spoon, laid momentarily on a paper towel and put them in the bowl. That’s it. Oh, and I ate them. With pleasure.
Here are my thoughts re last night’s Italian wine tasting at Frankie’s Italian Trattoria… I’ll start with this: when is the next one?? Because I had SUCH a good time and thoroughly enjoyed it – tasting new wines, presented by knowledgeable people, and good food, in a great space, with a friendly crowd… Definitely repeatable. The highlight of the wine list, for me, was the Ca’ Viola Barbera d’Alba. It stole my heart.
There were nine wines, in all. The evening began on a festive note, with a sparkling Bisol Jeio Cuvee Rose Brut – pink prosecco! It was lovely, crisp, not too sweet and with the flavor one hopes for from a merlot/pinot noir blend. It tasted like summer on the porch.
It was followed by a Greco white that did nothing for me – just not my favorite grape, and this one was no different.
Next, a new white (new to me) that startled me into a Wow! What a revelation – and I’m so sorry I didn’t snag a couple of bottles (and am fervently hoping that I find it on the wine list at Frankie’s.) What is this wonderful ‘new’ white? (Stop laughing. I told you it was new to me. I haven’t tasted ALL the wines, yet. But I’m working on it.) Apparently, I’m the last person on the list to drink this wine. When I researched it a bit, I encountered things like, “Italy’s first white wine to gain international repute,” and, “one of the top-ranking Italian whites today.” Well, I am blushing. And I’m also seriously disappointed that I’m so far into my dotage before tasting such a rich white wine. It’s crisp and flinty, with lots of mineral flavor and still manages to deliver lots of citrus fruit. Nicely done! The grape is Cortese, and the region is Gavi, in the Piedmont. This one is Broglia La Meirana. It’s not often (ok never) that I find a white wine I’d drink year-round. I’m a seasonal creature: I want red wine until it’s hot outside and then I want pink or white or sparkling. Chilled. Cocktails? Give me rum or bourbon until summer strikes, and then it’s all about the clear stuff. So. Back to the Piedmont.
Yes, yes, I’d love to be totally conversant with all the Italian wine regions, but I’m not. Oh wait, you aren’t either? Let’s take a peek at a map, then, shall we?
Wow. There are a LOT of regions! A few years ago, I’d have found that completely intimidating…. because I’d have felt responsible to know them all, master them all, and be able to tell you which is the best known wine from each region. Well, no more. Today, I know that honey, it ain’t happenin’. So, having let that go, it just means there’s a multitude of fine wines, just waiting for me to pick a spot on a map and check it out! It’s like *Christmas* out there!
So, today: the Piedmont. Interestingly enough, this region handed over not only this great white wine, but also some of the superb reds that I already know and love from Italy. I just call them the B’s. If I choose one off a wine list, I know that even the mediocre ones will be nice. Barbera, Barolo, Brunello. I’d thought they were Tuscan, but apparently, I’m quite a fan of the Piedmont wines.
Enter into the mix: a taste of Argiano Brunello, from Tuscany. Oh, I was remarkably unimpressed. Lovely on the nose, and the initial taste was no surprise, rich and ripe as promised – and loads of tannins, which I enjoy, and then a beautiful finish. But absolutely nothing in the middle. Like it was hollow. I moved on. (But not before having it pointed out that I’d just dissed a fifty dollar bottle. Oops!)
Back to the Piedmont. Again. The next was Produttori Nebbiolo Langhe. It didn’t start or finish as well as the Brunello, but it had all the middle I was missing! Rich, full, dense, lots of personality. And the more I sipped, the more I enjoyed it. Excellent with food- it didn’t challenge the flavors, but it didn’t disappear in your mouth, either.
Food? Did I mention food? Good heavens: Louis turned out a feast to go with the wines… bruschetta (where he gets flavorful fresh tomatoes in January is a mystery) and olives and cheeses and oh my oh my fresh mozarella drizzled with balsamic vinegar… but I digress. Ahem. Wine.
Because then…. drum roll… I tasted the perfect wine. The Ca’ Viola Barbera d’Alba Brichet 2010 is my wine. (Well, it is now, because I bought some and took it home with me.) It’s not expensive, under $20, and boy it delivers. It’s rich and creamy – if wine were made with heavy whipping cream, it would be in this one. It’s dense, like a port, heavy and tannic, but still balanced. How do they *do* that?! I was over the moon. This wine was downright chewy. Sure, it was fine with the food, but it didn’t need food to complete it. I just love this wine. Did I mention it was my favorite? I may have.
It was hard to yank myself back to the present, and not just keep drinking the Barbera all night, but I moved on to taste the Fossacolle Rosso. Sharing the grapes with Brunello, this was like “Brunello Light”. It was easy, very drinkable, and light, lots of fruit, and most decidedly not empty in the middle. It wasn’t chewy and dense like the Barbera, but rather like the thin viscosity and light body you’d expect in a Beaujolais Nouveau. This is summer’s red wine, when you want something nice on the porch.
In a similar vein, came the Colosi Nero d’Avola. I was really expecting a bigger wine from this Sicilian grape. It was quite nice, and I wouldn’t have been disappointed to be served this anywhere, but it was too light for me.
Finally, we tried the Colpetrone Sagrintino di Montefalco. Smack in the center, Umbria delivers a really nice wine. The balance of light body and peppery fruit made it the perfect wine to sip while finishing off that last bit of cheese from the tasting plate.
Now – in the middle of all this pouring and tasting and munching and chatting, the sommelier mentioned to me that she believed the Argiano Brunello had been unfairly judged, and needed to breathe a lot more than it had been allowed. So, here we are an hour later, and she poured me another taste. People! Night and day!! The middle of that wine had finally Arrived. It was a beautiful thing. It was also out of my price range, so I just went ahead and savored the taste. Beginning, middle, long lovely finish, it was all there.
But you know I went back for my Barbera. Ca’ Viola, thou art mine.
When I am an Old Innkeeper
I shall wear yoga pants and fuzzy slippers
and forget where bras and hair products are stored.
I shall spend my worldly riches on chocolate and good wine
and tequila aged forever in oak.
I shall spend my afternoons playing silly games
and watching old TV series
and reading books one after another.
People will tire of ‘when I was in Italy’ and stories of
unruly guests and breakfast kitchen disasters.
But I won’t care. I’ll tell it anyway.
I will sleep through the morning and have breakfast mid-afternoon
and use paper towels as napkins.
I will lick the spoon and put it back in the sauce because
it will all be for me, anyway.
I will drink from the orange juice bottle in the middle of the night, in front of the refrigerator, in my bare feet and pajamas, with only the one small bulb to light my way.
I will go all week without cooking one egg.
I will go out for breakfast on Sundays, and order ovo-vegetarian-lactose-intolerant-gluten-free-low-carb high-protein-paleo-south-beach-vegan-macrobiotic omelets. With real cream for my coffee. And bacon. On the side.
For now, I will rise before the sun and indulge my guests and perform in the kitchen and savor each conversation and encounter.
But I am already practicing… for when I grow old.
I have a wonderful bride, named Judy. She and John were married here about a year and a half ago, and they recently moved to this area. (Recently, as in 27 days ago.) Judy and I have been having a great time going out and about and exploring the mountains together. One of our trips was to Barber’s Orchard fruit stand (such an understatement to call this place a ‘stand’) where we got apples and baked goods and gorgeous little butternut squashes. Is that right? Squashes? Well, we got more than one squash, ok? I did, anyway. Judy just got one. She said, “What are you going to do with those?” and I told her, “Make fabulous soup.” She asked how and I was almost embarrassed to tell her how easy it is.
Here goes.
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
I used two, er, of the squash. Cut your squash in half (that’s the hardest thing you’re going to do, today) and scoop out the seeds with a spoon. Lay the squash, cut side up, in a roasting pan. I love (love) garlic (love garlic, Love it), so I peeled six cloves for my two squash. Es. Squashes. Whatever. For the squash. Then I peeled and cut a nice sized yellow onion into quarters, and laid a quarter and a clove-and-a-half of garlic into the cavity of each squash half. Then I drizzled good olive oil over the whole thing.
Then it baked for the better part of an hour – until I could poke a fork into the squash and it was like soft butter (or like a baked sweet potato, or -oh wait! like cooked squash, yeah that’s it).
Next step is to get that stuff into the blender. You can use a food processor or what have you, but Larry has a monster commercial Vitamix, and that puppy makes some smooth soup. (And blender drinks, like the pina coladas last night with the fresh pineapple – oh, did I get distracted?) Ahem. Soup. Yes.
If you’ll run a sharp knife around the edge of the squash -just to break the ‘skin’ created by baking- and then score the meat of the squash (not all the way through!) it will simplify spooning it into the blender.
My blender held one squash, along with the quartered onions and cloves of garlic that cooked in each one, plus two cups of good chicken broth and a cup of water. The whole thing was repeated for the second squash.
Look at that! Is that gorgeous, or what?
Here it is, blended, with a bit of nutmeg, cayenne, white pepper, and salt.
And heavy cream. The Elixir of Life. Right up there with butter. Gotta have it.
Two notes: First, only a little of the cream floated on top, so there is a LOT more cream than you see pictured. Second, no I don’t have any idea what the measurement was on the cream. “A generous bit.” There ya go.
Finally, simmer and stir, simmer and stir. You’ll have a lovely treat in about half an hour.
Buttermilk Pancakes – light as air and lots tastier
The whole entire secret to making good pancakes -really excellent pancakes- is eggs. You can use a recipe, you can use a mix. But if you use a mix, you have to ignore the part where it doesn’t call for eggs. Separate a couple of eggs, and beat the egg whites – you want them pretty stiff, like a meringue. I sprinkle in a bit of sugar toward the end because I’m impatient and it makes them peak faster. (‘Peak’ as in, when you lift the beater out of the egg whites, it leaves a nice peak.) Now, set these aside and mix up your regular pancake batter, and fold in that meringue. I’ve used lots of recipes, but none of them make better tasting pancakes than Krusteaz buttermilk pancake mix. Now, I do add Mexican vanilla and the eggs to that mix. If you’re a purist who wants a recipe, here’s mine: 2 eggs, 3 C flour, 2 T baking powder, 1 t baking soda, 1 tsp salt, 2 T sugar, 1 T brown sugar, 2 C buttermilk, 1 T Mexican vanilla, plus whole milk as necessary. Whip egg whites, adding 1 T sugar to help them hold their peaks. Set aside. Mix everything else, including egg yolks. Add milk in small amounts until you have the consistency of very heavy paint. And then fold in the egg whites. They don’t need to be blended in completely. Cook on a preheated 350 griddle.
The reason for the first tablespoon of sugar is to make the meringue. The second is to sweeten the batter. The brown sugar adds depth. The meringue makes the pancakes say, “Poof!” when they hit the griddle, and puffs them up light as air, while the sugars combine to make them brown so prettily.
The reason for the Mexican vanilla is two-fold. First, it’s really good vanilla. The second is that, when I’m out of vanilla, Larry has to take me back to Mexico. If you are tempted, now, to tell Larry where I can find Mexican vanilla closer to home, I’m going to have to do something about you. So… don’t… Ok?
If you just really don’t like to cook, that’s ok. I’ve got this one. Come on down, and I’ll make you up a mess o’ pancakes.
Ok, so I bought the teeny tiny itty-bitty micro mini squishy marshmallows to make scones. Because I was buying raspberry chocolate chips for scones, and lemon drops for scones, and cinnamon bits for scones, and I already had milk chocolate chips and graham crackers at home… so when I spotted the teeny tiny itty-bitty micro mini squishy marshmallows, I thought, “Aha! S’more scones!”
But this morning wasn’t about scones. We were having Cherry Chapelure (my version of oven French toast) with a pecan praline topping, and I had these lovely apples for the fruit course. I really (really) didn’t want to make baked stuffed apples. And the t.t.i-b.m.m.sq. marshmallows were just sitting there… trying to look all innocent… temptation in the making… irresistible…
So, I peeled, cored and sliced the apples. This next step will revolutionize your morning, if you haven’t figured it out already: put the apple slices in a bowl with a healthy splash of orange juice (toss ’em around in it). The OJ will keep them from browning. Now cover and steam them in the microwave until they are just tender. They get a head start on cooking, and it helps them keep their shape.
I sprayed ramekins and layered the apple slices with a sprinkling of t.t.i-b.m.m.sq. marshmallows. Not too many. Just enough to make the apples say ahhh. Then I put graham crackers and vanilla wafers into a big baggie, sealed it shut, and rolled them just like a pastry with my rolling pin, until I had nice coarse crumbs. Added just a hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground cloves to the baggie, shook it up, and topped my apples. Then I melted way too much butter and drizzled it over the top. Off it went into the oven to bake with the Chapelure and sausage patties, and voila – breakfast.
This was all packed into the breakfast basket along with cinnamon-vanilla syrup, maple syrup, orange juice, and everything they needed to make a picnic breakfast happen, covered in pretty linens, flowers tied to the basket, and delivered to the cottage door.
And voila. S’more Apples. A new addition to my breakfast repertoire, for sure!
After a request for a ‘plain’ breakfast, and a bit of discussion, guests have had a breakfast basket delivered daily with ‘plain’ food. Today’s was a pretty crystal tray of fresh cut fruit (nectarines, kiwi, and grapes) with no dressing or yogurt or sauce, per request. Frittatas made with eggs and ham, potatoes, peppers, onions and herbs (and a little cheddar because I can’t help myself). Cheese grits, by request, and yes there’s a little jalapeno in there because, well, I’m pretty sure there’s a law about that… And some decidedly un-plain cherry scones. I just love this Southern man to pieces – he wants sweet tea at every meal. How precious is that?
