Crocking the safe

In a dark corner of the basement of my 1919 bungalow sits a crock whose interior has had the good fortune of fermenting pounds of cabbage into sauerkraut for the last few years.  In an attempt to come closer to the heritage of my Eastern European Jewish ancestors, I have decided to give kraut a break and to use it to make my favorite pickled green tomatoes.  I have written about these in former posts, and it may seem as though I am obsessed- true story.  It's not my fault, though, as I inherited it from my parents and grandparents from Philly.   Because I usually use Ball jars to make these, I am excited to see if the traditional way is better...

For this recipe, I have used the same salt to water ratio that I use for my pickled kohlrabi and beet stems: 5 tbsp salt to 2 qrts water.

• Dissolve the salt completely.  
• Take 3 pounds of green tomatoes and quarter them.  
• Put a whole head of garlic (cloves peeled and put in individually) into the bottom of the crock. 
• Then, put the tomatoes on top of the garlic.  
• Put two or three grape leaves in - the tannins will keep the tomatoes crisp.  
• Then, pour in the brine and make sure that all of the tomatoes are covered with it; the crock came with stoneware weights that fit perfectly inside so that there is no chance of anything sticking out of the brine and attracting mold.  
• After all of this, put some water inside the lip of the crock and put the lid on- this is an airlock system that works perfectly!  

My next post will give the results of the experiment.  See you in a couple of weeks!

Japanese Knotweed: Smart not hard

I have always wanted to grow rhubarb.  Strange assertion, I know, but those of you who read this are aware that this whole blog is predicated on strange.  Yes, I have always wanted a patch of big, green leafy rhubarb with its long thick stalks of red sourness, and I have never had any luck.  Not sure why, maybe I haven't tried enough.  This year, I was up for another try; before I could even put a spade in the ground, I rediscovered something that I had known about for quite a long time, but had never given any serious thought: Japanese knotweed.  

I am what you would call a type A- personality: I am extremely driven, but when it comes to working, I try to work smart, not hard.  All of the type As I know are incredibly industrious and seem to thrive on the work itself.  I am more interested in the product.  So, you might be asking yourself what this has to do with rhubarb...

I have been "foraging" since I was 10 years old and I bought my first book on wild edible plants.  It looked like this:

In 1983, most of the world was infatuated with one-handed sparkly gloves and jelly shoes.

             

  

Foraging was not really on most people's agendas and probably even less so ten-year-old boys, although I'm sure many kids have eaten wild plants and just not talked about it.  It's inevitable when you're out playing and you get hungry.  

I'm not even sure foraging was called foraging back then; I think it was just called "weird" or "grody". I mean, you go out and eat stuff that doesn't magically appear in the produce section at the grocery store?  Then again, when you live in subsidized housing and don't have any money, you can be pretty creative with your spare time.  The fact our complex was bounded by woods on one side helped us to pass the time.   

We used to eat even stranger stuff at my house than I did in the field.  My brother's father introduced us to organ meat when I was 9 (heart and kidney), although my mom had already very generously presented us the fantastic opportunity to eat liver and tongue- a vestige of her bubby's cooking back in Philly.  There was milk soup with dumplings, hominy, grits.  Pickled green tomatoes when we could find them, bowties and kasha.  Our favorite sweet was halva, coupled with the fabled Tastykakes my aunt would send us from Philly. We pretty much ate anything that could be consumed.  It's no wonder my sister and I came up with our famous pickle juice and spaghetti concoction.  It's exactly what it purports to be: raw spaghetti noodles broken up and mixed with pickle juice and garlic powder.  The crunch of the noodles and the acridness of the pickle juice was only enhanced by the intensity of the Aldi's garlic powder we sprinkled on the top.  This was our go-to snack.  Yes, we were odd, but we secretly reveled in our oddity.

After these culinary experiences, it is not so difficult for me to label something as food, and so this post comes full circle.  Foraging for me is not odd, nor is it some cool trend like lacto-fermentation or buying organic.  It is part of my childhood collective memory and identity.   So, when given the chance to wait a year until the rhubarb grows or harvest an invasive weed, I chose the latter, of course!  

Japanese Knotweed (Polygonum cuspidatum) grows in abandoned lots, back yards, anywhere it can sprout its sourness and is incredibly invasive.  Because of this, many of us would like to eradicate it like we would garlic mustard.  Its shoots look a bit like asparagus, but not really when you compare them side by side.  To me, knotweed looks like it would grow in Japan; it's got that elegant Eastern look to it.  Especially when it is fully grown with its flower, it looks like it could be outside of a shinto shrine.  This is what the shoots look like in early spring.  They have that bamboo-like quality, conveyed by the nodes with papery sheaths:

The taste is similar to rhubarb, but not as intense and the texture is not as stringy, either.  A friend who hates rhubarb tried my pickled knotweed and to her surprise, really liked it. Just another testament to my motto when it comes to food: work smart not hard.  Here are some links to learn more about this amazing foodstuff:

Steve Brill's great resource: http://www.wildmanstevebrill.com/Plants.Folder/Knotweed.html

Eat The Weeds: http://www.eattheweeds.com/japanese-knotweed-dreadable-edible/

So far, my favorite way to eat knotweed has been to grill it like asparagus:

Take several spears of knotweed.

Clean them and peel them if the outer skin is too tough.

Marinate them in good olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Grill or broil until slightly charred.

I used them to top off salmon filets.  Under the salmon is wild asparagus, prepared the same way as the knotweed.

It's easy being green, Kermit

It's early spring and my impatience is palpable.  I can't wait to go strolling for parts of my meal. During the months of April and May, plants are at their most tender stage and this is my favorite time to eat them!  The greens produced during this period can be bitter, but they are nutrient-rich and no one can beat the freshly culled green treats that await those of us who know about them.  I have been foraging for greens and other plants since the early 80s when I was a mere child; unfortunately it took quite a long time for me to develop the taste required to really enjoy these greens.  I am dedicating this post to winter cress because it has quickly made its way to the top of my list.


The pic below shows three of my favorite early spring greens: Winter cress, peppergrass and plantain (left to right and top to bottom).  

Winter cress is a hardy plant that grows literally everywhere I walk in Milwaukee.  I have seen it in old garden beds, along bike trails and even in yards.  It has very shiny, dark green leaves and at this point in the season has grown stalks with flower buds that resemble very small florets of broccoli. These are very bitter when eaten raw, as are the leaves; when cooked, however, they become very palatable to anyone who likes greens and I highly recommend them.  

Pic from (http://www.rhodysurvivalist.com)

To harvest this plant is extremely easy: pick the leaves closest to the top, as they will be less bitter than the large ones at the bottom of the plant.  For the flower buds, just cut them at the base of the stalk, with the leaves still on the stalks.  Put them in a plastic bag in the refrigerator until you need them; check on them if you don't plan on using them right away, as they can become flaccid and wilted.  Just soak them in cold water for a while and drain them to fresh them and then store them in a freezer bag in the crisper. The possibilities for cooking and eating these beauties are endless and I suggest experimentation for anyone who likes to cook.   You can use the leaves, flower buds, and stalks in recipes that call for greens - especially those that require mustard greens, as they are bitter, too.

 Click the tofu for a recipe that winter cress will make even better!

Pickles in the Genes

While fermented foods are nothing new, especially in a city like Milwaukee, where new eateries and gastropubs are as plentiful as dandelions, and the German heritage of the city almost obligates at least a sip of beer and a taste of kraut, I am compelled to write about them. You may wonder why...

A yid vet shtendik gifinnen a zoyere ugerke.  A Jew will always find a pickle.  In my humble opinion, this should be a Yiddish saying.  It certainly is my mantra.  As far back as I can remember, I have savored the green, sour, salt-laden cukes; of course my favorites are sour green tomatoes- the kind you find in delis on the East Coast- and when I realized that the Russians in Milwaukee had made it possible for me to eat them, I almost wanted to swear allegiance to the Russian flag (almost...).  

Growing up with Jewish parents from Philly, any time there were sour tomatoes, half-dones or full-dones around, it was a big deal, especially since we lived in the Mid-West.  Whenever my grandparents called from the City of Brotherly Love, my mouth began to go into shock, as some kind of Pavlovian response triggered my salivary glands to go into over-drive.  There was not even a mention of tomatoes, but I had begun to associate the brash, Brooklyn-accented voice of my grandfather or the Philly-infused patois of my Aunt Sandi and Uncle Marvin with the green, globular, garlicky treats.  When blessed with the occasion to visit them, unlike other kids, our obnoxiously persistent whining was not linked to some chocolaty delight, did not target a creamy, cold cone of ice cream, did not evoque a sugary, granular delice; it simply meant that we were jonesing for a taste of briny, crisp sour tomatoes found for free on the tables of Ben and Irv's deli in Suburban Philly, where my Aunt Sandi and Uncle Marvin would take us for our fix.  As a result of our admittedly salty addiction, my siblings and I never lost the yen for acid and base, sour and salt.

In the next post, I will give glory to the Pickle God; at the risk of heresy, I will admit that the Jews really have two gods... 

So much for monotheism.

¿Xoconostle? ¿Qué?

Tostadas with beans, tomato, avocado 

Pico de gallo de xoconostle

On Friday, my last day of school, right before our end-of-the-year lunch, I was talking to Dolores, one of our amazing janitorial staff.   We often exchange words in Spanish (I don't know how she puts up with my shoddy language skills, but she does...), and most of the time the conversation turns toward food, the universal unifier.  The day before, she was telling me that she is from Guanajuato, a state in the middle of Mexico, which led to a discussion about the cuisine there.  Continuing this conversation Friday, I told her that I had been thinking about experimenting with the xoconostle, a smaller kind of tuna that I had seen at various food markets around my neighborhood.

This fruit is very sour and is used in soups, stews and salsas.  Dolores was very excited about a salsa recipe using this peach-colored cactus product and began to tell me all of the ingredients and how to make it. Of course, I didn't write it down; so, I looked up recipes online and found that it was hard to choose between the dozens and dozens of sites extolling the qualities of the xoconostle.  The one that I eventually prepared was the simplest in that the xoconostle does not need to be cooked, which also gives a more honest idea of the flavor of this little-known fruit.  It's really wonderfully tart and spicy, with a freshness that you don't find in conventional pico.
*If you don't like really spicy salsas, I would halve the amount of chiles de arbol.

I bought the xoconostles at El Rey Foods, but you could also go to Cermak on Miller Parkway.  You will need:

• 6 xoconostles
• a white onion
• cilantro salt 
• 1 lime
• 3-6 chiles de arbol
• a mortar and pestle or a spice grinder

Click adrianaguillen.com for recipe.

Once the salsa is prepared, you can prepare the tostadas.  I have been making these tasty, simple flat tacos ever since I lived in Ukrainian Village in Chicago. Right across the road from my house was a bodega that sold latino foods.  They were filling, healthy and best of all.... cheap!  I was making aliving playing music and needed all of the help I could get saving my money.  This recipe serves one person, so you will need to double it for 2 people, triple it for 3, etc.  

Ingredients:

• 3 corn tortillas
• 1/2 tomato chopped
• 1/2 avocado cut in chunks
• 1/4  can refried beans ( I like the ones with green chiles in them or the black beans)
• Sour cream or plain yogurt
• Xoconostle pico de gallo

Directions:

- Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.
- Spread a thick layer of refried beans onto each tortilla ( I usually make 3 per person).
- Once oven is at temperature, put tortillas with beans spread on them directly on the oven rack placed in the middle of the oven.  Make sure that you check them as they are cooking because the tortillas bend from the heat and will fall through the rack if you don't position them right (each oven is different, but you will see what I mean).

-The tortillas should be ready when they are fairly hard (not too hard) and the beans look a bit crusty on the surface.
-Take them out of the oven and add the ingredients on top.
-Top with Xoconostle pico and sour cream or plain yogurt.  Serve.

As always, try new things, you won't be disappointed!

Watermelon Gazpacho (and its garnishes)

In the late spring, when the heat of the day rears its welcome head, turning on the oven or even a burner on the stove begins to sound like a really awful idea.  These are the porch-sitting days, where we yearn to travel back to a time before air-conditioning when families sat outside on the porch and kids played in the front yards.  Because of the heat, there is an automatic desire for cooling, watery foods: enter the Gazpacho family.  Garnished with a sandwich, a salad and some fruit, this soothing yet spicy cold soup can really make sitting on the porch an even better experience.

One of my favorite porch lunches to prepare is Watermelon and cucumber gazpacho, cold shrimp pita sandwich with greens, tomato and mayo and fruit on the side. A tangy, vegan coleslaw made with 6 simple ingredients rounds out the plate and gives it that little picnicky touch.

---- SANDWICH

1 piece of pita bread per sandwich

vegan mayo

1 tomato, thinly sliced

spring greens (or any green you prefer-arugula, etc,)

smoked salmon, left-over grilled shrimp, salmon, etc.

Grill pita on burner of stove or heat non stick frying pan to high and toast bread lightly on both sides until slightly browned.  Let cool.  Cut in half (use on half for bottom of sandwich and the other for top- see pic above).  Spread mayo thinly on both sides.  Put greens on bottom, then tomato slices, then fish.  Put other half of pita on top to make sandwich.  Cut in half and place on plate.

---- COLESLAW

2 cups coleslaw mix: finely sliced green and / or red cabbage, broccoli stems and carrots

2 tbsp red wine vinegar

salt

pepper

a little honey

2 tbsp vegan mayo

Pour slaw mix into large bowl.  Then, mix in mayo and vinegar.  This slaw is not an exact science. These are approximate measurements and it is recommended that one put in half of the vinegar and mayo, then mix with the slaw and taste.  If it does not taste saucy enough, add more until you get a mix that suits your taste.  Add a bit of honey (perhaps a 1/2 tsp at first) and taste.  Then add a little salt and pepper.

Plate the slaw in the middle of the sandwich halves.  Then put the extra watermelon outside of the sandwich and slaw, still on the plate, where there is space.  

---- GAZPACHO

You will need a food processor.

From: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/watermelon-gazpacho-recipe.html

Although the recipe I used was from Tyler Florence, like any cook, I have changed it slightly to reflect my taste.  I added more vinegar and used a little more watermelon.  I also add more hot pepper, as I like my gazpacho to have a little more bite.  In addition to these little variations, I might add a little tabasco, as well. I like to vary the herbs suggested in the recipe- perhaps a little mint or cilantro, etc. I do not use the feta, but I'm sure it would be amazing with the garnish; I steer clear of cheese most of the time when allergy season hits, as lactose aggravates my hay fever.

The beauty of this recipe is that it is extremely easy to vary the ingredients and still have a delicious dish.  

Ingredients:

• 1 large tomato
• 1/2 serrano or jalapeno chile
• 2 cups cubed fresh watermelon (seedless works really well)
• 1 teaspoon red wine vinegar (or infused herbal would be delicious)
• 1/4 cup olive oil (I don't put as much in, but this is a personal choice)
• 2 tbsp minced red onion
• 1/2 seedless cucumber
• 2 tbsp minced fresh herbs (dill, mint, etc.) plus more for garnish
• salt and pepper
• 1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese (I don't use this, but I'm sure it's tasty!)

Directions:

In a blender, puree the tomatoes, chile, and 1/2 of the watermelon.  Pour in the red wine vinegar and olive oil and pulse.  Add the onion, cucumber and herbs and season with salt and pepper.  Puree until smooth.  Pour into chilled bowls and sprinkle with herbs, feta and remaining watermelon.  Serve.

Serve the plate and the cup or bowl of gazpacho together with a crisp white wine or sparkling water with lemon and mint.

Bonne dégustation, as they say in French!

Extremely local foods

Since the age of 10, I had been looking for the elusive Jerusalem Artichoke.  I remember seeing the photos of this great plant and wild edible in the Audubon's A Field Guide to Edible Wild Plants; the thought of finding it was like some mysterious deep-sea treasure hunt coming to a successful, triumphant end!  Last year, as summer transitioned to crisp, chilly autumn, the prize was finally captured.  The great find happened on a portion of the Hank Aaron State Trail, which runs from the 6th Street Bridge at the start of the Menomonee Valley all the way west to 124th Street and beyond.

While strolling along its newly paved, smooth asphalt surface, I looked to my right, then to my left, scanning for edibles I recognized.  Immediately to my right was a stand of yellow flowers, not unlike small sunflowers.  At first I thought they were black-eyed susans, but the center of flower was a distinct pale yellow.  I had not seen these before, except in photos.  I took out my field guide and compared the flowers under my excited eyes to the photo in the book.  I then read the description of the plant: hairy stems and leaves, check; yellow flowers with yellow centers, check.  Leaves at the top of the stems opposite, while the lower leaves were not, check.  The only element left to verify was the tubers, which would lead to a definite identification of the fabled plant.

  

I grabbed my garden spade from my shoulder bag and knelt down on the cold, dry dirt around the still extant flowers (many had fallen away, but there were still some left).  I took a breath and shoved the tip of the spade into the hard ground.  Shoveling away dirt from the base of the plants, I sighed with disappointment as I encountered more and more roots without tubers.  Then, something magical happened.  I know it may seem trivial to many, but to me, who had been waiting more that 25 years to find this, it was like finding King Tut's tomb!  I came upon a pinkish tuber, about the size of a fingerling potato.  I broke it open, exposing the fresh, white, apple / potato-like flesh.  It was still full of dirt, but I could not resist nibbling a bit.  It tasted nutty (not in the Andrew Zimmern way) and earthy, with a crunchy texture, a bit harder than a potato.  I dug around this and found more tubers.  This was amazing!  I must admit, though, that the people running and biking by me must have thought I was pretty strange.

I knew that the tubers were not completely ready to harvest, however, because the ground was still too warm and the flowers and plants were still alive.    So, I returned in November and found an abundance of purple tubers.  The smaller, brownish ones are immature or a different species (not sure which).

I am always careful to make sure that there are enough so as not to decimate the population.  The great thing about these is that they are very often already disconnected from the plant.  They store very well in the cold ground until they can be harvested.  Here are two very simple ways I have used them:

Roasted root vegetables:

Ingredients:

• 1/2 lb Jerusalem artichokes, peeled and cut in chunks
• 1/2 lb beets, peeled and cut into chunks
• 1/2 Primrose roots (see upcoming post), peeled and cut into chunks
• 1 head of garlic, cloves separated but husk left on
• olive oil 
• salt
• pepper
• sumac

1) Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  Place rack in the middle of the oven.
2) Put all root veggies and garlic in a glass roasting pan and mix liberally with olive oil, salt, pepper and sumac.
3) Roast in oven until vegetables are soft and caramelized, about 1 hour, depending on oven.

Salad

Ingredients:
Assorted greens
shaved fresh beets
shaved carrots
several Jerusalem artichokes, cut width-wise into very thin slices

Dressing:
Olive oil
Balsamic dressing
Dijon mustard
capers
salt
pepper
honey


1) Assemble salad
2) For dressing: put 2 parts oil to one part balsamic vinegar into a non reactive bowl.
3)Add dijon to taste (I usually add about one tablespoon per cup and 1/2 of liquid)
4) Add honey, salt and pepper to taste
5) add some capers (as many as you'd like)
6) Whisk until all ingredients are combined and the dressing is smooth.
7) drizzle over salad and enjoy!

Can we grow food in public parks?

As we stepped out of the airport shuttle, a gleaming, new modern building challenged us to cross its threshold into the refreshing air- conditioned lobby. Once inside, we went straight to the front desk and checked in. A middle-aged, portly, balding Brit with glimpses of teeth missing smiled at us and gave us our keys. We rounded the corner from the brand new breakfast area, complete with waffle makers and juice dispensers, and called the bright, steely elevator.


Once in our room, we quickly threw everything down, grabbed a couple of hats and went back down to the lobby to ask about where we should go on our first night in the "Charm City".


We decided to go to Little Italy, since it was within walking distance. Thus began our explorations of a city that for many is known only for its high rate of crime and the Harbor. While these two elements do exist and are telling of what kind of a city Baltimore is, we refused to accept that this could define its identity.


After stepping out into the still- bright evening sun, we realized that this newly refaced 19th century building that now held our luggage was surrounded by an area that betrayed the modern interior. If we had let appearances dictate, we might have spent all our money on cabs. As we would find out, appearances were mostly only that.

In fact, one thing I found about this historically significant, coastal town was how seemingly progressive it was. Adjacent our hotel, stands St. Vincent Church, a mission-style building whose glory might be restored with a simple coat of white paint to repair that which is already peeling away from its obvious brick exterior. This church, we were told by a hotel employee, takes care of the homeless that flock to the public park just next to it. As one walks by, it is easy to see why a person would go there if they were homeless. There are many benches shaded by the massive trees. This is a perfect place to escape the brutally hot summers of Maryland -Baltimore is south of the Mason- Dixon Line. It's a testament to the city that the police station is in close proximity to the park, and yet the homeless are left alone to live in the park.


On another of our walks toward the western part of downtown, I encountered a public square in front of the courthouse where the plants in raised beds were not merely ornamental (they were very beautiful); the city ( or someone) had planted red cabbage, red and yellow-stemmed chard and kale. The plants were lush and well maintained, as if no one had touched them. I wondered if they were free for the picking. If not, they should be. My question is this: can we do this in Milwaukee?

June 14, 2012: Day of Hue?

Today, I was at a conference on technology that really was not going anywhere fast, when I received an email that the city nursery was giving away free flowers to non-profits. I had thought it would be a nice idea to have everyone on the block plant flowers, either on the curbs in front of their houses or in their front yards. In short, I wanted to beautify the block. There was a shooting on Sunday and since then I have really been trying to get the other residents to think about how aesthetics can play a role in inviting or repelling crime.
I decided to leave the useless tech conference in favor of gaining free flowers for the block. I had to drive all the way to 51st and Drexel. I had no idea how far away and in the middle of nowhere this was. As I drove down 51st St., I noticed a wooden, engraved sign, just like those in any of the city parks. This one tells you that you have arrived at the City of Milwaukee nursery (where they grow all of the plants for boulevard improvements and other initiatives paid for by the city). You have to get out of your car and open a large gate, then drive onto the property. Once inside, you have to get out of the car again to close the gate. They keep it very private.
I asked where I could find the "free flowers", and a hipster with hipster sunglasses on told me to pull around to the garage and that someone would be "wandering around". I found no one, but after asking again, they radioed the woman and I finally made contact.
There were so many different types of plants to choose from that it was a very difficult choice to make; I decided to ask for low-maintenance, hearty flowers so that the neighbors would be more likely to take them, knowing that the care would be minimal. The woman was extremely helpful and everyone was super pleasant. We loaded my car full of tall, purple flowers whose petals fall off at a whim, French's mustard-colored marigolds, low-lying, ground hugging pink flowers, ornamental grass and some kind of flowering plant with copper and rust-colored leaves- the flowers themselves are more like spiky caterpillars.
When I got them home, Steve and I divided them into 9 different groupings, with 1-3 of each type of plant; I distributed them to the neighbors who I thought could use more color in their front yards. I asked them to only accept the free plants if they would commit to using them in the front yard, in order to contribute to the look of the block as a whole. So far, no one has planted them, but I am hoping on Saturday to see splashes of intensity in every yard so that the block looks expressly unified in color...

June 12, 2012

Today, after biking to Alterra on 1st St. (as I do almost every day in the summer), I ran into my neighbor Geri, who lives behind us on the alley. We started talking and I asked her again how long she has lived in the neighborhood. "26 years," she said, almost with some nostalgia. I asked her what she thought we might do to create more of a sense of community on and around our block. She suggested a block party.
"Has anyone ever done this here?" I asked."No, it was talked about once, but they never acted on it." I then suggested we get a core group together to brainstorm about how to create a sense of community and told her I would talk to her soon.
On my way home from the spot in front of Doerfler school where I had run into Geri, I made a conscious effort to ride past the house of the block captain for the 3200 block of Scott. I had introduced myself on Sunday night after the shooting on the corner of 32nd and Scott. She wasn't home, but I did make sure to say hello to the people outside the house and even meet a friend of theirs, who doesn't live here. It is really important to keep up relationships; it takes time and energy to build them.
Once at home, I called Will at LBWN to see what could be done to expedite the pocket park project, since it seems that the residents (myself included) are losing some momentum. The project seems vague and out of reach. In addition to this question, I wondered if our block might be amenable to planting flowers in the admittedly slim patches of very often ill-cared-for grass between the crumbling,original slate curbs and the sidewalks. This neighborhood is incredibly rich in history, but like a fine old book that has sat too long in a damp attic, it needs the care of professional restorers to bring it back to its original lustre. Stay tuned for more on actively pursuing the ideal neighborhood...

Daily acts that promote neighborhood improvement

The next set of posts will be about my daily efforts to instill a sense of community among residents on and around my immediate block. Every day I am in town, I am making a commitment to do one small thing that works toward improving the quality of life in the neighborhood. I will then chronicle these actions. Through this, I hope to inspire others to do the same in their neighborhoods.

Pocket parks: Productive land-use to improve the quality of life

Since moving to the Silver City neighborhood in June 2009, I have been involved with an effort to make the neighborhood an even better place to live. It is much more feasible to do this by beginning with the smallest possible unit, the block.
In the fall of 2012, Will Sebern, the outreach coordinator with Layton Boulevard West Neighbors, followed up on a conversation we had had the previous summer about what to do with a vacant lot across the street from our house. It had been suggested that we look into purchasing the lot from the city and gift it to the neighborhood association so that they could do something productive with it. Will had another idea. He contacted the city and was given permission to begin brainstorming ways to use this forgotten piece of land. Architecture for Humanity came on board for design counsel and thus a partnership was born. Through several meetings between residents of the 3100 and 3200 blocks of West Madison, a design was chosen and plans to get the materials donated were made. The pool of initial meeting goers was mixed: Hispanic, White and African-American; young and old; men and women; renters and owners.
The next step was to contact the alderman's office to gain his support. A letter was sent to constituents within two blocks on all sides of the vacant lot (in Spanish as well as English). The last meeting was held on Sat., June 1 with about 12 residents in attendance. We are now looking to have Milwaukee Urban Garden purchase the property to maintain stewardship of the land, since the city will not allow any permanent structure to be built on city land. Once this is done, we will set build-out dates and any volunteers are welcome.

Clover heads? Ok. Locust seeds? Better not...

Last weekend, Mike and I decided to go on another foraging adventure. We decided to try another spot in the area, so we set out for Port Washington. Bike trails are great for urban foraging because usually it's like cutting a path straight through the woods, but it's paved. The Interurban trail is one of the most extensive paved trails in the state, stretching from Mequon to Belgium. Along this path I have observed wild asparagus, wild grapes, wood sorrel, high-bush cranberry, raspberries, rose hips,and many other great edibles. And in the morning, further north on the trail, not too many people are out, giving you the impression that you are all alone, a welcome feeling when you live smack in the middle of the densest neighborhood in the city.

When we arrived in Port (as the natives say), we parked right next to the start of the trail, adjacent to the old light tower. We were once again armed with plastic bags and scissors. As we started off along the trail, we began to look for plants to harvest. It being close to autumn, most of the fruits were gone, except for the cranberry, which aren't ready yet, and the wild grape, of which we had had our fill. About 15 minutes in, single berries dotted the raspberry bushes, and we nibbled on the them, so long as a bird hadn't stolen half of the berry before us. We walked and walked. This had once been our favorite biking spot; somehow our memories of the distance from point A to point B were coming up in bike miles. Walking took much longer than we would have thought. At a certain point, I started to feel hungry. Hunger then gave way to desperation as the coffee I had had that morning turned into low blood sugar. I was about ready to pass out. I needed to eat something.




All around me were light purple clover flowers. I realized that I should probably eat some, since I felt light-headed; at this point we had crossed the over pass of the highway, and were about 2 miles from where we started. I grabbed about 6 plump, spiky purple clover flowers and started eating. They can be quite good, with a texture that is not my favorite, sort of grainy and grassy and the same time. The flavor though is worth it. A kind of perfumy, honey flavor, with a hint of sweetness. In about 3 minutes, I felt much better, and we decided to head back to the car. We had not really found anything to harvest.

About 1/2 mile before the car, I looked to my left and saw white and purple pods hanging down from a tree with pinnate leaves. I thought it looked like a black locust tree. I had never really noticed these before, so I got out my field guides. These were definitely black locust pods. In Sam Thayer's book The Forager's Harvest he explains that many people say these are poisonous to humans. He goes on to say, however that Euell Gibbons claimed that he and his family used to harvest the green seeds and cook and eat them without any consequences. He also says that he has eaten them and that he never had a problem. So Mike and I did something that we should never have done. We opened up a couple and ate some seeds. They were delicious! They were a cross between raw sugar snap peas and green beans. Upon further inspection, I realized that the book made a difference between raw and cooked. The cooking process took care of the toxins.



Now we had really done it! As we walked back to the car, Mike told me he felt strange. I asked him what he felt like. He told me that he was spacy and sweaty and that he felt shaky and was extremely hungry. Of course these were the very symptoms I had experienced a half hour before. He had the coffee jitters, but of course our mental state was all about being poisoned by the seeds.

He began to eat wood sorrel and started to feel much better. We then headed into town to eat at some family restaurant. I was pretty worried, especially since I had only eaten three seeds and Mike had eaten like three pods. I was afraid I had killed my friend!

That night, I called him to see if he was still alive. Then, for good measure, the next morning, I sent this text: still alive? He never answered back. Luckily he called me later that day. We had survived, but we will never again eat anything where there are conflicting stories. I looked up black locust seeds, and apparently if we had been horses, it might have been a different ending...

Wild grapes, cont'd.

The last time I posted something on wild grapes, I had found some growing along the chain-link fence that separates the bike path from Miller parkway, just near the stadium. I tasted one, but did not attempt to harvest any, since they were most likely covered with car exhaust and other noxious substances coming from the the road. This year, however, I found that there were many other vines growing within a mile from the place where I first laid eyes on this plant I remember from my childhood.

I finally decided that I would actually challenge myself to do the thing I didn't believe I could do: make grape jelly. For some reason, I hd always been intimidated by the thought of the effort it took to make jelly. Perhaps it was the mysterious pectin, or perhaps the thought that I would have to learn canning methods that prevented any bacteria from killing me. In any case, it was kismet that I read the chapter on wild grapes in Euell Gibbons' Stalking the Wild Asparagus; there, he gives a recipe that just seems manageable. I also discovered that the only reason to can something is if it won't be put in the fridge and consumed within a month. These two bits of information allowed me to conquer my fear of jellies and jams.




In order to stalk some great vines and fruit, I biked almost every day near the place I had first seen the many vines growing over a 3 mile stretch on a bike trail near my house. When I had finally figured out which stretch had the nicest and ripest fruit, I called my foraging partner, Mike, and we made a date to harvest that next weekend.


Starbucks, 8 am. We caffeinated ourselves with admittedly very un-local beans, and set out to the harvesting spot. Each of us armed with plastic bags and a pair of scissors, we walked about a one and a half-mile stretch. From vine to vine we filled our bags with mostly ripened, but a some green, grapes. (Most recipes say to use a mixture since the unripe ones have more pectin in them.) When finished, we each had about 1.5 to 2 quarts of bunches of mostly dark purple, pea-sized, surprisingly insect-free grapes. We could not of course stop ourselves from eating a few, although eating is not really the right word. You mostly suck the juice and spit out the relatively large seeds and tough skin.


When I got home, I put the grapes in a big pot of water to wash them, then I drained the water and put them back in the pot. The question now was whether to boil or not to boil...Gibbons says yes and Sam Thayer, a more recent foraging expert says no. I went with Euell (No offense Sam, but Euell has been a hero of mine for a long time.)
I put enough water in the pot to almost cover the grapes but not quite. I then used a plastic potato masher, being careful not to crush the seeds, and mashed the fruit until it seemed as though all of the juice that could be crushed out, was crushed out. I then put the fruit on a medium high flame for about 15 minutes, after which I drained it in a jelly bag. I read somewhere not to squeeze the bag, but I did anyway, since there was so much more juice in the fruit left over after I drained it. I threw away the pulp and the bowl of juice was covered and placed in the refrigerator for two days, in order to let the tartrates in the grapes sink to the bottom of the bowl. This substance is not wanted and will make the jelly gritty.





After two days in the fridge, I carefully poured the juice into a pot, making sure not to get any of the silt that had settled on the bottom in the juice. I then followed Euell's recipe, which calls for a cup of sugar per cup of juice. I dissolved the sugar in the juice and cooked it until it boiled, then I dissolved some pectin (Euell's recipe does not call for pectin, but I was afraid that this grape variety did not have enough in it to really make a jelly) in a little water and put that into the juice. Once it was boiling hard for about three minutes, I took it off the stove and poured it into a sterilized pickle jar and put the lid on. As soon as it was cool enough to touch, into the refrigerator it went. The next day, it had set; the flavor is much more intense than the stuff you buy. It has a tartness reminiscent of currants. Imagine a fruit growing everywhere, but no one but the birds enjoying it! It's well worth the time to notice these little purple berries. If you're into local food, what could be more local?

Life is ephemeral

Whenever I go to an antique store, I look for the postcard section. It has always fascinated me that when people die, often their memory is erased from the general consciousness. When my grandfather passed on, my father handed me some WWII-era dogtags. On the tarnished, flat, metallic labels was engraved my grandfather's mother's name, as well as their address in Philadelphia. I had never asked him where he lived; of course I had to do a google search. The streetview app showed a vacant lot, and listed the address as approximate. A heavy sadness filled me, as I thought about all of the times, good and bad, that happened in that house. Of course, no one will ever know about those because the house has long been torn down and anyone who lived there has passed. My great aunt is still alive, and at 92 years old, is still fairly active. I should probably interview her, so I can capture the history of my family.

On a recent trip to yet another antique store, I purchased some postcards sent from or to people in my area of the city (the South Side, between National and Lincoln Aves.). Why would I spend money on a relic that sort of chronicles someone else's family history? It is obvious that no other person wanted them, since I found them at an antique store. Probably bought cheap from some estate sale. There is something almost magical about touching an object as personal as a postcard. They are the "thought that counts". No monetary value but priceless, coming almost certainly from loved ones. Especially in a year like 1909, when it was probably easier and cheaper to send a card than to make a phone call.


As I read the cards, I thought about the fact that these people are long gone and wondered why someone would sell or give away proof of their existence. Not only do these prove that they lived, but they are like recorded snapshots of personal relationships. There is a certain melancholy that takes over when one realizes how fleeting life can be. Gladys and Mildred, Miss Kurtz and F. & R., Gini Krawczyk and Dorothy and Bill Gruel... All of these people are gone, and all of the things they said and did in their lives all but forgotten, except for these postcards.

I have set out to find the houses that received these documents. The only one so far that still exists is 1747 S. 32nd St. A bungalow not unlike the one in which I live. Still well maintained. It's absolutely mind-blowing to think that in 1935-1940, Bill and Dorothy ate dinner every night and talked to their friends Gini and Aug. Maybe they had children. Their house is right behind the public par and pool. What a great location for kids!




We can imagine that they went to church every Sunday. Maybe they drove, maybe they took the street car. Did they play cards every Friday? Did they go dancing to the sounds of the local big bands? Did they know someone who was killed in the war?





What about Miss M. Kurtz? What was her first name? How old was she when she received the card? Who were F. and R.? Why were they "going to Stevens Point this afternoon"? These are questions that will never be answered, yet beg to be.

Return to productivity

After a rather long hiatus, ethni-city, Milwaukee is back with a vengeance! The mission of this blog, so to speak, is to inform people and further incite them to experience things in their own city that they may not necessarily think would be interesting, but finally, are. The next few posts will be on businesses in the Silver City neighborhood, namely the area on National Ave. between 31st and 39th streets in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.



The neighborhood is under the jurisdiction of the Layton Boulevard West Neighbors Association, who is doing some really great work. To read about their projects, please go to http://www.lbwn.org.

Enjoy the next few posts and please feel free to comment on things you find interesting, odd, normal, intelligent, dumb, insulting, complimentary or any other adjective you should think of whilst perusing these pages.

Happy reading!

-Brett

Wild foods in urbania? Wild Grapes and Chicory

Just adjacent to my current neighborhood, Silver City, I have come upon small portions of vine, which I know to be wild grapes. The leaves cannot be mistaken, with their three separate points, the middle one higher than the two flanking it on either side. The deep purple, almost black berries grow in small bunches, and like the domesticated larger concords, often hide under a layer of leaves, so that, in order to find them, one must poke and prod. It’s really a shame, however, that I am extremely loath to eat these, since the part of the city in which I live has been an industrial wasteland for so long. Many are the chemicals that have probably leached into the groundwater and thus polluted any of the plants that have come to depend on this water. One has to wonder how many families could be fed just by wild plants alone, were the city not so polluted.


The very fact that so many dandelions and plantain plants have been poisoned by weed killer and that so much car exhaust settles on the leaves seems to make this a moot point. Too, bad, though, because these greens are extremely rich in vitamin A and protein, much like spinach. The grapes are rich in vitamin C.

There are two herbs known to dwell in urban areas that make wonderful tea: gill-over-the-ground and yarrow. In addition to these is the ubiquitous chicory. With its pale-blue flower, there is so much of it that this could constitute an industry in itself in the Menomonee Valley.

One day this summer, on my way back from biking, as I rode along the almost abandoned industrial throughway from 6th St. to the Pick and Save on 19th and National, I decided to stop and pick some of this root, well-known especially in Louisiana. The road workers may have thought I looked pretty strange, but I didn't mind.

It took some work, but I finally pulled up enough of the stubborn taproots to make one tiny cup of chicory. Home I went with the roots peeking out of my tan shoulder bag. I washed them and cut off the endings. I roasted them in the oven at 350° until they were a rich dark brown. I cooled them off and then ground them in a standard hand-held coffee grinder. I decided to make the chicory in my one-cup Italian stove-top espresso maker. I mixed it with some soy milk. It was delicious! It has a smoky flavor that does bare some resemblance to coffee. Of course, it is the roasting that creates the taste. Dandelion roots can be put through the same process.

The fact that this drink seems to bring to the mind and palate the flavor of Americas’ favorite upper has to do with the fact that we are extremely overzealous with the roasting of our beans. Anything liquid burnt tastes like coffee. In fact, the coffee known as Ethiopian Sidamo contains a very brazen blueberry note, when the bean is not roasted for so long and at so high a temperature that the subtleties of the bean are lost. Many coffee beans from Central America are known for their citrus notes and an espresso I drink regularly (The National Café on 9th and National) is supposed to evoke not only Merlot, but chocolate and fruit. Now, not everyone will smell these with their “pif”- the French word for a nose that knows-, but we can all appreciate taste and smell if we concentrate on these senses that, along with listening, are very often lacking nuanced distinctions in our society. We’re all too quick to assume that we should just wolf down our food and drink to achieve the result (satiety and quenched thirst). Unfortunately, but for a growing minority, we are all product and no process.