Mom's Wild Rice Casserole

 

Last year this season, from the beginning of fall on through to the new year, went by in such a hurry. Between gatherings and performances, shopping and getting it all done, there wasn't much time left for soaking it all in. This wonderful season with early nights all aglow in twinkle lights, where even the stop lights seem to join the festivities on those raining dark evenings when you have to dart out to get marshmallows for hot chocolate. There's a certain mystical magic in the air. Maybe a remnant of childlike anticipation, or maybe its a deeper tuning in to the changes within ourselves and our communities, or maybe it IS just magic. This year I'm turning my focus to being present during the fall and winter months. To not let it all go by in a blur. To remember to give thanks for each moment and to fully absorb each day. To let the transitions take a hold of me and prepare me for the new year. Part of this being present, I've discovered, is preparing traditional family meals on normal every day evenings. Cooking and baking are grounding activities, reminding me to take delight in the simple everyday moments. This is a recipe that my mom (or another family relative) has prepared every Thanksgiving for at least as long as I can remember. And unlike the Spinach Casserole that took some time to grow on me, I've loved this Wild Rice Casserole since I was little. It's earthy and delicious and will fill your kitchen with rich buttery warmth.

WILD RICE CASSEROLE

1/2 cup butter (I use 1/3 cup)
1 cup wild rice, well rinsed and drained
1/2 cup slivered almonds
2 T. chopped onions or chives
1/2 pound fresh mushrooms, trimmed and sliced
3 cups chicken broth (or vegetable broth for vegetarians)

Sauté first 5 ingredients for about 8-10 minutes, stirring almost constantly. Transfer to 2 quart casserole and add broth. Cover tightly and bake in a pre-heated 325 degree (F) oven for 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

Hallooooooooweeeeeen

MONSTER FINGERS A LA BLOOD

INGREDIENTS

01) pretzel sticks

02) white melting chocolate

03) food coloring (green, blue or purple, or perhaps you prefer human flesh colored, and red)

04) sliced almonds

METHOD

Break your pretzel stick in half and set aside. Melt your chocolate according to package instructions. Stir in food coloring and pour melted chocolate into a narrow glass for easy dipping. Dip, twirl, drip the broken pretzel end and place on a sheet of parchment paper. Press an almond sliver on top where the nail would be. For the bloody cuticle effect, I squeezed a small drop of red food coloring before pressing the nail on. My mom suggested later that I could have scratched in knuckle wrinkles with a tooth pick. You should definitely do that!

And that's it! Easier than pie.

Look at that bloody deliciousness! No, not the photo below. That's just disgusting.

There was a period of about 4 years when I was living in the Ozarks where Halloween was spent tucked in a hollow along the Buffalo River. We'd hike along a forest floor covered in a thick blanket of leaves searching for whatever camp suited our fancy, be it a rock overhang or an old homestead with nothing left but a stone fireplace and chimney or just nestled in a grove of oaks and hickories bedded down in leaves at least a foot deep. Having grown up in California, I'd never experienced the changing of the seasons the way I did during my time lived in Missouri. Those deep valleys rooted with the most brilliant array of colors. I loved being out there in the Buffalo Wilderness, lost for a few days in the middle of the map (sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally), immersed in the beauty of the passing of time. Fall in the Ozarks was such an adventure and I'm so grateful for those experiences and the way they have forever rearranged me.

Fall in California is different. It's slow to come on and slow to shift into winter. The seasons here gradually fade into the other almost imperceptibly, until one day you realize it's barely 40 degrees outside. Ha! I know, I know. We're so spoiled, it's pretty ridiculous. I had to go look that up, just to be certain, and sure enough in the Central Coast region over the course of a year, the temperature typically varies from 41F to 84F and is rarely below 33F or above 93F. I'll just stop talking, right there. But truth be told, I liked the extreme weather. I'm even a little envious of it now. It had a gravitas that was simultaneously humbling and empowering. That reminded me how small I was and at the mercy of the unknowns of a world spinning through space on its axis. And I wore it like a badge of honor. Those breathtaking fall vistas and brutal icy winters carved out a piece of my soul that I'm having trouble filling in these evergreen and ever dry 60F days.

Wait. What IS THAAAT? Pitter patter on the roof! Ohp, it stopped. Remember those California winters when it rained non-stop for days? Here's hoping we have one of those! Without the mudslides and flooding of course!

Anywho, I guess my point is, Fall, you have my heart. Go easy on her, will ya? She likes snuggling by a fire with warm mugs of honey chai tea, knitting projects and endless episodes of Deadwood while raindrops plip plop on the roof. Can you handle that, Fall? Much appreciated. 

So. Halloween my friends, was AHHHMAZING. Imagine, Freddy on the big screen behind you (and peeking out the window), Jack the Ripper strung up on a cross out in the walkway, zombies hiding in the bushes, monster fingers served up with a side of blood, throngs of little Elsas crying and clinging to their mothers while reluctantly holding out their candy sacks. Muahahahaha, it was a glorious dark and spooky night. JUST KIDDING YOU GUYS. We did NOT scare little children......on purpose. They had to be at least 8 years old or out past 9:00 to warrant the triple-threat zombie, Jack, Freddy jump-out. We're not heartless, guys. 

Chateau Boo in all its glory. 

Careful folks, he's real.

From Chateau Boo, a few of us brave souls decided to trek on over to this neighborhood boo crew haunted house where we got our comeuppance for terrifying the neighborhood children. This whole operation is volunteer and donation based. Every year the owners of this very normal suburban home transform their front and side yard into a bonafide haunted castle in a different spooktacular scene each year. This year it was a mine, replete with moving box cars, dying men in tar pits, a real live Big Foot, and the creepiest woman with swollen fingers sitting on a chair in the middle of the walkway who grabbed at you as you went by. I screamed no less than around every corner. It was truly magical.

And then to wrap up the holiday weekend, there was Bridge, the greatest card game known to man. And nope, not a single one of us playing was over 80. 

Not a bad supporting hand my friends. 

THE END.

soup's on: stories about autumn

Wait. I started a blog? Good grief, WHAT was I thinking? Something along the lines of pretty pictures, documenting life, pushing myself into a creative outlet. I knew there'd be growing pains. A mixture of embarrassment, not good enough, this is lame growing pains. But if puberty taught me anything, it's that there's only one way to grow up: the hard way. No wait, that can't be right. Actually puberty wasn't that mean to me. It was the college years that really dropped me on my ass, kicked me in the gut, smeared dirt on my face, and then held a mirror up for me to see. Ahhh, good times. Anyways, the point is I have grown. I have learned. And I make very different mistakes than I used to. Wink wink. So as it was in my college years, so shall it be in the beginning of this blog. We'll get through it. Someday, down the road, I'll be able to look back and see a record of the path I walked. Just in the mean time, don't go telling anyone I have a blog.

Look out, there's about to be a new stretch mark in the making (am I reaching on this metaphor, this gross metaphor, too far?) and a whole lotta pictures.

I'm nostalgic for Fall in the worst way.

The vibrant yellows and oranges and fiery reds. The crisp morning air mixing with smoke rising out the chimney. I want to rush out in between rains and walk the wet neighborhood sidewalks in knee-high boots as the wind carries away all the energy of the past year. I want to watch the leaves fall and twirl together in the street for one last dance. I want to kick off my galoshes on the porch next to the pumpkins and enter the embrace of a warm home on a cold rainy day. I want to cuddle up with a blanket and a book on the couch counting my blessings as sounds of family echo through the hallways.

I want to feel Fall in my heart and all around me. To be made stronger in each fallen leaf. To feel the beauty of death and rebirth in my core. I want the struggles of the past year to be swept away with the wind, buried in the snow and transformed in the spring. I want to marvel at the ease in which a tree lets go of its leaves. Unfortunately, the central coast isn't putting on much of a show this year.

Ugh, it hurts. Nostalgia, you wicked thing.

^^ Hey here's some color  ^^

 

I'm happy to report that it rained a couple of days ago. And then the sun came out and dried up all the rain and the itsy bitsy spider and all of her large creepy friends found their way into my humble abode.

Blessings aren't at all like chickens. You should count them often and repetitively and especially before they hatch. Just something I've been thinking about.

Sure is pretty in these thar them hills, bro. 

Seasonally speaking, the farm fields round here know what's up. Here's my recommendation for beating the Where's Fall Blues. Grab all the ugly root vegetables and throw them in a pot. I call this my...

CLEAN OUT THE REFRIGERATOR/PANTRY SOUP

INGREDIENTS /

ONE / the contents of your fridge.

(beets, dinosaur kale, carrots, potatoes, fresh herbs)

TWO / the contents in your pantry.

(pasta, vegetable broth, dried herbs)

METHOD /

ONE / peel everything.

TWO / combine all found items into a large pot on the stove over medium heat.

THREE / forget about pot on the stove for about an hour.

FOUR / serve delicious soup.

FIVE / note modifications for next time.

The last of the pot. Extra pink. Light on kale. 

Worth noting: Go eeeeasy on the pasta. Actually, just replace all pasta with more dinosaur kale. It got to the point where if I threw little cheese on top, it became a casserole, which was delicious, but not what I was going for. Aiming for more chicken noodle and less casserole. 

And oh yeah, Happy Halloween ya turkeys.

Fall Farmers Market

This just in: 

Fall will be arriving on the Pony Express, 

approximately one month later than the rest of the country.

Exclusive Fall preview at a farmers' market near you.

Fall is my favorite color. You know how people used to ask you all the time when you were younger what your favorite color was? Nobody has asked me lately, so I'll just go ahead and tell you. It's Fall. Specifically October. And November.

All over my Instagram feed are pictures sporting Fall in other states. Yellow and red-leafed maple trees boasting behind recently rain-drenched steps lined with pumpkins. Ugh. The colors are so vibrant, I can feel them in my soul. So breathtaking, I can feel my breath jump at the crisp Autumn morning air filling my lungs. So stimulating, I can feel a collective excitement bursting at the seams as the clouds release a summer's worth of pent-up rain.

Well, I can almost feel it. California hasn't quite gotten the memo yet. The Pony Express must have gotten delayed in the South Carolina rains on their way out here.

The evergreens ARE changing color though! Dehydrated brown pine-needles have covered my driveway. ;)

It might still be Pacific Ocean swimming weather, but the farmers' markets round here have DEFINITELY gotten the Fall memo. Leave it to agriculture to be perfectly in tune with the season! Baskets of apples, and pumpkins, and gourds, oh my!

Don't you just love farmers' markets in the Fall? The colors. The abundance. The displays. The textures. The rawness and humility in presentation. Jewels of the soil, encouraged forth with months of patient and consistent labors, overflowing out of old wicker baskets onto gingham covered tables. And the farmers themselves, humbly standing behind their products. Actually this is my favorite part about farmers' markets all year round. In this smoke and mirrors industrial food system culture of waxy apples and giant tasteless strawberries, what a fresh breath of crisp Autumn air to have the grower looking you squarely in the eye as you exchange money for truly nourishing foods. Farmer's markets, the Autumn of the food system. :) Give me all your worm-hole apples and two-pronged carrots! Raw real food from raw real people. Tell me, what could be more appealing than that.

Happy Fall, y'all.

fish tacos + kimi swimmy

"Cheers to the journey, the whole journey - to the magical moments in all their glory and to all those other times, when you simply have to create your own sunshine."

-Kimi Werner

Off the shores of Haleiwa, Hawaii there lives a mermaid with flowing walnut-colored hair and copper skin kissed by the sun. She glides through the ocean on the dorsal fin of a great white shark and dives to the seabed to prey on octopi cozy in their crannies. She competes to protect our oceans and hunts invasive species that threaten our reefs. Nope, she doesn't breathe water. No gills. But she doesn't breathe air as she dances with whales in a world few of us humans will ever know.

Kimi Werner //

/ Patagonia Surfing Ambassador

/ U.S. National Spearfishing Champion

/ Artist

/ Chef

/ Speaker

/ Sustainable Living Advocate

/ INSPIRATION.

Your heart will spark listening to her speak. Your eyes will glisten, corners turning up into a smile. Your legs will start to twitch, antsy for a new adventure. I tell you. Her words and images remind me to live from my heart and strive for a life that ignites my soul.

"The moment we stop taking care of nature, that's when everything is going to be lost. Whether it's respecting the plants that we eat, the animals we hunt, or even the ones that might be hunting us, it's all a beautiful thing and we're all in it together."

-Kimi Werner

The cultivation of food, the culture, the preparation, the flavors, the medicine, the impact. It's something I care a lot about. All of us who eat, are contributing to the structure of the food system through the choices we make in growing, harvesting, and purchasing food. Bringing awareness and intention to the food choices we make on a regular basis gives power to our individual voices in the manifestation of the food system. Each time you eat is an opportunity to positively influence agriculture, our planet, our economy, our communities, your health, your spirit - in line with your values. How cool is that.

Okay. One more.

You are my soul sister Kimi Werner.

CREDITS

01 / Photos on this page are linked to their original source.

02 / http://kimiwerner.com

03 / Instagram @kimi_swimmy

04 / Patagonia Ambassador

05 / RECIPE // FISH TACOS by Kimi Werner 

"We're all different but we're all made to eat...Food is the one thing we ALL have in common. We ALL eat. If we could just be a little more connected to where our food comes from, and the stories that EVERY meal has to share of what it took to get it to our plates, I think we'll all be more connected as a whole, we'll be able to make better decisions that will improve the state of the world, and the appreciation for the meals we choose and the hands that prepare them will also grow immensely."

- Kimi Werner

rustic olive bread and oregon daydreams

A few weeks ago I was up at Skamania Lodge in WA for a family reunion. On the way back from the lodge, I stopped in P-town - my old college days' stomping grounds - and detoured out to my former neighborhood in SE. It was rush hour and the freeways were clogged. Not Bay Area clogged, but I might as well have waited it out anyway. Besides, it was a good excuse for a little memory lane indulgence. I parked the car near my old house and aimlessly walked the streets. Distant faded memories resurfaced, some that made me smile, some that made me cringe. It was college after all. I tried to imagine the new people living inside the homes where I first played at adulthood. 

Hey, there's Marguerite's house. 

I casually walk by. Do the new residents climb out the 2nd story window, I wondered, the one facing the backyard, to sit on the roof drinking wine under the stars, and writing poetry together with heads thrown back in unguarded laughter? I hope so. 

Down the street about a block away was where I used to live with Maddie and her boyfriend, Jeff. The first year I lived there, it snowed so hard and out of character that the city closed most of its doors for 3 full days. Not that anyone stayed inside! There were sleds to ride and x-country skis to glide and snowmen needing top hats. Snow plows were borrowed from neighboring towns to clear the main streets, but the side streets remained hidden under a heavy white blanket for days. I remembered driving in the snow for the first time, my skin electric with excitement with every slipping tire. Oh, the secrets this neighborhood holds! 

As my sandals flip against the sidewalk, my heart both aches for the vulnerability I felt in my life at that age and swells with gratitude for the experiences and lessons I learned (all too often the hard way).

By now you're probably wondering just what kind of food blog this is anyway! Where are the recipes?! Hang in there. I think I have a point coming.

I wander into the New Seasons corner grocery. I just looove this store - it's shelves are stocked with artisan face creams you can eat, non-toxic perfumes in delicate artful packaging, earthy beet flavored kombucha...all the things that make my heart flutter. This particular store was one of the first natural food stores I shopped in regularly and was, in addition to a place to buy groceries, an education in eco-living. The products I saw on the shelves proudly proclaiming "BPA-free!" sparked an interest in what the heck are BPAs anyway and why should I care. It was the same with the various organic certifications and non-GMO labeled ingredients. Fourteen years ago these were all labels I had never seen before and as my knowledge on these topics increased, so too did my pride in purchasing them. Even still, I find great pleasure in wandering through grocery stores of all kinds in any place I travel to. There is so much cultural insight to be gleaned from the items stocking the shelves. Some people dream of standing under the Eiffel Tower, some dream of touring Universal Studios. Me? Just send me to a market in any corner of the globe! 

It was probably time to get back on the road though. I grabbed a loaf of olive bread, a block of aged-white cheddar to pair it with, and (of course) a beet kombucha to wash it all down. 

Which brings us to here and this post. Phew.

That olive bread was hands down the BEST loaf of bread there ever was (ever). And I cannot find anything even remotely close to it in any store within a 50 mile radius of me. I know, rough. So from the depths of my despair, I rolled my sleeves up, pulled out my flour jar, and scoured the Internet for the most delicious-looking achievable-sounding olive bread recipe I could find. And wouldn't you know it, I found a recipe so simple, my dad could do it! (Just kidding, Dad. You've always made a mean macaroni and cheese with hot dogs!) But no kidding around, this recipe doesn't even require kneading. So no knead to worry about technique. It does require a serious amount of proofing though, so let's get started, shall we?

RUSTIC OLIVE BREAD

Slightly sour with an intense olive flavor.

(Recipe adapted from Jim Lahey's My Bread)

WHAT YOU'LL KNEAD (wait, no, NEED)

// Pitted Olives

// Bread Flour

// Active Dry Yeast

// Salt (optional)

// Water

// Cornmeal

// Rosemary (optional)

// Dutch Oven (preferable)

TIME

// 15 minutes prep

// 14-24 hours rise

// 45 minutes bake

METHOD

(Makes one 10" round loaf to share, or not.)

1. CHOP OLIVES // Roughly chop 1 1/2 cups (200g) of pitted olives of your choice. I used Kalamata for their rich flavor, but I was tempted to throw some green olives in as well. For details on the varieties, health benefits and history of olives, click HERE.

2. MIX DRY INGREDIENTS // In a medium bowl, mix together 3 cups (400g) bread flour, 3/4 teaspoon (3g) active dry yeast, and a pinch or two of salt. The original recipe does not call for salt, as the olives generally provide enough. Depending on the olives you choose, they may have been cured in salt, water, red wine or vinegar. I read a bunch of reviews about this recipe and decided to add a few pinches of salt even with my salt-brined Kalamatas. I was not disappointed I did.

3. ADD OLIVES // Stir roughly chopped and drained olives into the dry ingredients mixture above. This would be a good time to toss in any herbs that strike your fancy (rosemary!).

4. ADD WATER // Here's where the sleeve rolling comes in handy. Add 1 1/2 cups (300g) cool water (55-65°F) and stir with  your hand until all dry ingredients have been transformed into a wet sticky ball of dough. You could also use a wooden spoon for this, but where's the fun in that? 

Note on yeast and H2O temp: Because of the extensive proofing time, your yeast will have plenty of time to work its magic. I don't honestly know if it matters whether or not your water is cool verses warm, but it's possible to kill yeast with hot water. Most strands of bread yeast are happiest at body temperature. If you can't hang out with your hand in it, it is definitely too hot. I've also read that higher temperatures of water with bread yeast can produce an undesirable flavor. Not coolio.

5. PROOF #1 // Cover this sticky mess in the bowl with plastic wrap or a dish towel and place in a warm, breezeless corner until the surface is speckled with bubbles and dough is more than doubled in size, between 12 and 24 hours.

Kick back with some coffee and a good book, do some dishes, and get on with your life. Your work here is done for the next 18 hours or so.

6. PROOF #2 // At the end of the first rise, gently scrape the proofed dough onto a floured workspace. With floured hands nudge, tuck, fold and shape the dough into a ball or disk. Lay out a tea towel and generously cover the towel with flour and/or cornmeal for added texture. Place your round(ish) ball of dough onto the floured towel, seam side down. Pull up the edges of the towel to cover the dough and let to rise for an additional 2 hours.

7. PREHEAT OVEN // About 90 minutes into your second proof, preheat the oven to as hot as is possible with your dutch oven inside, rack positioned in lower third. For me that was 500°F (260°C). If you don't have a dutch oven, you can use a pizza stone or baking tray (results will vary). Check to see that whatever you are using can withstand the high temperature.

8. BAKE 30 MIN WITH LID ON // Using potholders and caution, remove the preheated dutch oven. Carefully roll the dough off the towel and into the dutch oven. Cover with lid and place back into the oven for 30 minutes. This initial time period with the bread baking inside of the closed pot traps the moisture from the bread and results in a light and airy center with a golden crunchy crust. THIS blog explains this process in detail and offers tips for replicating a crunchy crust sans dutch oven or professional grade oven.

9. REMOVE LID + BAKE 15-30 MIN // Continue baking the bread without the lid for 15-30 additional minutes, until crust reaches desired golden brown color. I sort of excessively floured my tea towel in step 6, so it's hard to see the gorgeous deep chestnut color of my loaf below ;)

Voila!

10. COOL YO LOAF // Using a spatula or potholders, lift your loaf out of the dutch oven and onto a cooling rack. Allow loaf to cool thoroughly before slicing; it will continue to cook as it cools.

11. EAT YO LOAF // Slice it up and eat as is or let your creativity run wild. Slice thinly and use for a grilled cheese sandwich. Slice thickly, toast and slather with butter and jam. Best paired with friends.

I'd love to hear about your experience with this recipe! Leave me a comment below or #britandbutter pictures of your loaf on Instagram!