Preserving

Preserving

Posted by Heather Harris

June is hands down my favorite month. School is out, summer is in, the vegetables are growing, and fruit is ready to be jammed! It also used to be Portland dining month, but someone must have decided that was just overdoing it, and moved it to miserable March this year. After all, who needs an incentive to venture into town on a warm night and taste all of the local produce bursting out of the industrial chic cafes in June? But March? I'm thinking I might need a little help to get me to try the beet and parsnip confit.

But thank goodness, there is this beautiful thing called preserving, which means I can enjoy a lovely strawberry jam in March (if I managed not to gobble it all up by mid-July), almost as delicious as eating a fresh berry in June. Then I can bypass the early spring radish steak special altogether!

June is only half over and I already have cherries plucked from the yard, Rainier's snatched from a roadside stand on the Puget Sound, apricots and jalapenos from the grocery store, and strawberries the kids and I
picked at a local farm, all lovingly sweetened and pickled lining the shelves of our pantry. And my rhubarb was actually beefy enough after four years of cajoling to harvest and mix in with the strawberry jam! The vegetable garden is currently overflowing with kale, but kale marmalade doesn't sound too appetizing. You'll have to wait for Portland Dining Month 2015 for that treat.

An afternoon of canning can leave you a bit parched though, so I have two little recipes below without measurements (this is a gardening blog, not a cooking one) to refresh you after a hot, sweaty, and curse-filled day of canning, using the leftovers stuck with jam glue to your countertops. Just scrape it off and enjoy! Happy preserving!

God-jam Strawberry Vodka and Tonic

Muddle a few over-ripe strawberries in a tall glass with some mint (or whatever edible greenage you have laying around)

Pour on some vodka, amount depends on how the canning went. (Also refreshing without vodka, but who's day of canning went that well?)

Stir in a little lemonade concentrate.

Toss in some ice and top off with tonic.


Cherry Massacre (Very similar to above recipe)

Muddle those last few pitted cherries in syrup that you couldn't quite cram into the last jar with some mint or other greenage etc. in a tall glass.

Pour on some tequila (see how I mixed it up there!) Again, amount depends...

Stir in some leftover sugar syrup.

Put in some ice and top off with tonic.

I Am the Old Lady

I Am the Old Lady

Posted by Heather Harris

The Junior Rose Parade was this week in Portland, so on a whim I decided to help the kids decorate their bikes and join in the fun. It was also the day before my birthday, so I thought, "What better way to start of the celebrations than taking two kids and two bikes to stand for two hours in the hot sun and then walk for two miles, hoping that they stay on their bikes so that I'm not carrying kids and bikes on the two mile walk back to the car?" That is my recipe for fun. Actually it was pretty great, and in a weird infomercial, "but wait, there's more!" kind of way, the kids won a blue a ribbon and then got to ride right next to a baby tiger cub. Yes folks, that's just the awesome kind of mom that I am.

The highlight for me was waiting on Sacramento street in the staging area looking at all of the amazing curb gardens. Wonderfully packed, bizarre, and beautiful plants were spilling out all over the place, many of them planted decades ago. One house on a corner lot had managed to put more vegetable beds on their parking strip than I have in my huge backyard. It was gorgeous and also infuriating. Half of these people just bought their house, and inherited a garden that had been loving tended for generations. Hundreds of heirloom perennials tenderly selected by a dear old grandmother in 1964, and passed down to each lucky homeowner ever since.

The infuriating part is that my house is on a piece of land that was originally a pig farm. A pig farm that I imagine was owned by a skinny, bearded, bachelor in dirty overalls who was perfectly content sitting on the porch staring at his mud wallow while he slowly chewed on the end a toothpick mulling over the sweet dullness of his life. The careful selection of an agapanthus or unusual hosta were not on his to-do list.

My poor yard is grandmotherless. There is one lupine ( a native that probably just accidentally seeded in the yard) three roses, one peony, a few Japanese maples, a couple of rhododendrons (of course), and some randomly scattered daffodils on the entire property. The front yard has some quickly selected shrubs planted by the last owner to spruce up the place for a sale. Everything else was chosen strictly for utility: shade or fruit. It has been inhabited since the 1800's. How is it possible that in all that time no one planted anything ornamental?


I remember walking through my great-grandfather's garden when I was little and my great-grandmother would follow me around with clippers waiting for me to make my flower selection so she could clip off a huge mop head hydrangea or dahlia blossom and wrap it in a damp piece of paper towel. Then she'd send me on my way home with a box of cracker jacks and my treasured flower. A garden needs a little old lady.

And then it dawned on me. I am the old lady. It is up to me to make all of those plant selections, design the garden beds and grab the clippers when the little girls come over. This is both an honor and a huge task, but this pig farm needs a grandma, and I guess I'm it.