Okra Recipe

Well I've got at least one other person interested in trying okra. Naturalmom, author of one of my favorite blogs, left a comment asking for the recipe. Here is the recipe for Naturalmom and anyone else out there who may be interested.

The recipe is from Crescent Dragonwagon's (don't you love that name!) book Passionate Vegetarian. Give 1 lb. of okra pods a quick rinse and pat dry and place in a shallow baking dish. (She recommends skewering the pods. I didn't bother and it worked out just fine.) Pour marinade of choice over the pods. They will not be swimming in marinade; it may be necessary to rub the marinade around a bit to distribute it equally. Marinate for 1 to 2 hours at room temperature or up to 6 hours refrigerated.

Preheat grill to high and then lower heat to medium. Place the okra on the grill and cook until the first side is grill-marked, 3 to 4 minutes. Turn the pods and grill the second side for 3 minutes. Serve immediately.

Now for the marinades: She gives three choices. I have only ever tried the Indian version. If anyone else tries the Mediterranean or South of the Border, let me know what you thought.

Put all ingredients in a food processor and buzz until smooth, scraping down the sides if necessary.

Mediterranean: 6 to 8 large leaves of fresh basil; 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 2 tablespoons olive oil; 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar; and 2 teaspoons of salt.

South of the Border: 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 1/2 bunch cilantro leaves; juice of 1 lemon; 2 tablespoons olive oil; 2 teaspoons adobo sauce; 1/4 can chipotle pepper in adobo; and 2 teaspoons salt.

Indian: 2 cloves garlic, peeled and quartered; 1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped; 1/3 cup cilantro leaves; juice of 1 lime; 2 tablespoons sesame or peanut oil; 2 teaspoons salt; 1 1/2 teaspoons ginger, peeled and chopped; 1 teaspoon cumin; 1 teaspoon turmeric; and 1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne.

Here's hoping you like it as much as I did. If not, that's ok. It just means there is more okra left for me.:)

Two More Poems

The kids decided that Pa and I needed our own poems. These are also from all the small poems and fourteen more by Valerie Worth:

For Pa because he's been broken in and as Mr. Laura put it "he's a real dad now":
pail

A new pail,
Straight, tight,
Brushed to a cold
Silver shine,

Soon learns
Other ways:
Once filled with
Oats or ashes,

Grayed by rain,
Its handle
Bent, its
Bottom dented,

Grown peaceful
And plain,
It becomes
A real pail.

And for Ma and the inevitable day when "all the chicks have flown the coop":
fence

The old fence
Has fallen down,
A pile of gray
Rails resting
In the grass.

Where are all
The cows now,
That leaned
Hard there,
Hoping to get out?

Have they pushed
Through, and walked
Down the road,
Past all fences
Forever?

Poetic Essences

The kids and I have been reading a book of poetry by Valerie Worth called all the small poems and fourteen more. Several times while reading the book we would say, "oh that poem really fits (insert person's name)." We decided to go back through the book and find a poem for each one of them that aptly describes the essence of who they are right now. Here are the selections:

For "heady" Mr. Edwards:
book

Such a
Bountiful
Box of
Tricks:
Packed
With the
Five senses,
The seven
Seas, the
Earth's
Four winds
And corners,
All fitted
Exactly in.


For "strong and ever striving" Mr. Garvey:
acorn

An acorn
Fits perfectly
Into its shingled
Cup, with a stick
Attached
At the top,

Its polished
Nut curves
In the shape
Of a drop, drawn
Down to a thorn
At the tip,

And its heart
Holds folded
Thick white fat
From which
A marvelous
Tree grows up:

I think no better
Invention or
Mechanical trick
Could ever
Be bought
In a shop.


For "the collector" Mr. Laura
pocket

These things
Might go
Into the pocket:
Sea-stones,
A bright
Beetle,
Knitted circles
Of Queen Anne's
Lace;

These things
Come out
Of the pocket:
Sand, splinters,
Scraps
Of paper creased
And soft
As an old
Face.

For "Live in the Moment" Mary:
amoeba

Never wondering
What shape to take,
But with a
Slow shrug
Making a start
In any direction,
And then following,
Flowing wholeheartedly
Into the fluid
Mold of the moment

And last but not least, for "boisterous" Miss Almanzo:
fireworks

First
A far thud,
Then the rocket
Climbs the air,
A dull red flare,
To hang a moment,
Invisible, before
Its shut black shell cracks
And claps against the ears,
Breaks and billows into bloom,
Spilling down clear green sparks, gold spears,
Silent sliding silver waterfalls and stars.

Confessions, Obsessions, Okra, and the Good Life

I was born and raised in the south. With the exception of 5 years spent in Buffalo, NY and a year in Texas, which although south, is definitely not southern, I have always lived in the south. Food is a big deal down here and while I consider myself an eater of many varieties of food, I have never liked the mushy overcooked vegetables that you often find on many a southern table. One of my particular food nemesis during childhood was okra. My mother loved okra which in turn meant it showed up on the dinner table frequently. She would stew it with tomatoes, batter and fry it, or hide it in soups. No matter the preparation method, I could not bring myself to eat it. I do not like nor have I ever liked okra. There I said it. A few more blasphemous confessions from a southerner - I also do not like iced tea, rice and gravy, corn bread, butter beans, watermelon, cantaloupe, or tomatoes. I so despise melons that I won't eat any other fruit that has been touched by a melon. While one bad apple may not spoil the whole bunch, for me, one piece of melon does spoil an entire fruit salad. I realize that my not liking these foods in not very southern of me. Normally this would not be a concern to me, however, I am trying to eat more locally produced foods. I am doubting whether this will be possible for me living in the south. If it weren't for grits, peaches, and collards I would have all ready given up.

But back to the okra. Recently we had dinner with some friends who fixed the most amazing Indian feast for us. One of the dishes was a grilled okra dish. I saw the okra and instantly thought "oh no". Wanting to be polite, I put one on my plate. As I ate, I cut the okra up and scooted it around on my plate in an effort to make it appear as if I had eaten it. Somehow a piece of it managed to make it onto my fork and into my mouth. I cannot begin to describe the experience. My taste buds were tingling and my tongue a tappin'. The combination of spices was heavenly. The okra was crisp and crunchy. There was not a hint of slime anywhere. I was suddenly sorry that I had not put more on my plate.

I have been thinking about this okra for weeks now. I have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of okra at our local farmer's market. Last week's market bulletin finally announced that the first locally grown okra would be available on Saturday. In three short days I would have okra. I could hardly wait. You know you are getting old when the idea of getting your hands on a vegetable makes you feel like a kid a Christmas.

Our bounty from the farmer's market this past Saturday did indeed include okra. I hesitated in cooking it for a few days for fear that it would not be as delicious as I remembered. I finally took the plunge on Tuesday morning. I prepared the marinade and grilled the cute little guys. I am happy to report that it was as scrumptious as the first time. I am now completely obsessed with okra. I am counting down the days until Saturday when I can get my hands on some more of those delectable green slender lady's fingers. I am scouring cookbooks for recipes. (Apparently a dry-heat cooking method like grilling is what is necessary if you prefer crisp over slime.) I am dreaming of okra. I am driving my family crazy with okra talk. I am planning where in the garden we can grow lots and lots of okra next year. I have not felt this way about a vegetable since brussel sprouts in 1996. I blame that obsession on account of being pregnant with Mr. Edwards. I ate brussel sprouts morning, noon, and night for months. I have no such excuse this go round. I have never thought of myself as having an addictive personality, however I am beginning to understand what a junkie looking for his next hit must feel like. I suppose obsessions and addictions when they involve locally grown produce and intoxicating spices may not be such a bad thing. If we all only had it so bad. It really is a good life. Watch out tomatoes, you're next!

HELP WANTED

On Sunday the girls woke up determined to fight, argue, and bicker with each other ALL DAY LONG. It drove the other five of us insane. They drove the boys so crazy that they declared it a "boy day" and played together in their room for most of the afternoon. We tried talking to the girls about it. We tried pointing out the behavior when it was happening. We tried ignoring it. We tried distracting them with new activities. We tried separating them by forbidding them to be in the same room together. Nothing worked. They seemed determined to annoy and be annoyed by each other no matter what. Their last argument before I finally banned them from being in the same room at the same time went something like this.

Mary: Can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It is too small for you.

Mary: Please, please can I try your dress on?

Miss Almanzo: No. It won't fit you.

Mary: I just want to try it on one time.

This continues for several minutes.

Miss Almanzo: I said no. Take my first answer. Quit asking me the same question again and again.

Mary: I did not ask you the same question again.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did.

Mary: No I didn't.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did!

Mary: No I didn't.

At this point you could safely go for a 30 minute run and not worry that you missed anything. Their arguing continued with each "Yes you did" and "No I didn't" getting increasingly louder. Miss Almanzo finally broke the stalemate with the following.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you did and now you are arguing with me.

Mary: I am not arguing with you.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

Miss Almanzo: Yes you are!

Mary: No I'm not.

At this point you could grab a quick bite to eat without fear of missing any of the argument. Their "Yes you are" and "No I'm not" volleying continued until I could take it no longer. Now they were actually arguing with each other over whether they were arguing with each other. I sent them to different parts of the house until dinner. Mary went upstairs to her room and fell asleep. Peace and harmony settled over the house for an hour or so with the exception of an argument between Mr. Laura and Mr. Garvey. It went like this.

Mr. Laura: Can I play with your cars?

Mr. Garvey: No because you break them.

Mr. Laura: I didn't break them. It was an accident.

Mr. Garvey: Maybe in a little while.

Mr. Laura: I don't like you any more.

Mr. Garvey: That is not a nice thing to say.

Mr. Laura stomps off upstairs mad. Moments later he is back and he and Mr. Garvey are laughing and rolling around on the floor together.

There is definitely something to be said for the way the males in general handle their disagreements. They say what they have to say and then they move on. What is the significance of the way women argue and hold grudges? I know my sister and I fought like this as children. I can still hold a grudge when I feel that I have been unfairly treated. Anybody out there have any good suggestions for curbing the non-stop bickering and arguing between their daughters?