On Ravenswood

I've got Portage Park on the brain as we prepare for home ownership in a new neighborhood, but I think it's important to take some time to reflect on the great years we've spent in Ravenswood. Being in a slightly undiscovered area of the 'wood we've had the privilege of being walking distance from Lincoln Square, Andersonville, and the heart of the neighborhood, but tucked away in a little quiet corridor where yuppies and puppies are scarce and upscale, overpriced restaurants are non-existent. Here's what I think I will miss the most about my block:

• Garcia's
• The nice Indian guys at the little liquor store
• Garcia's
• The odd demographic on the block of latinos, lesbians who can't afford A-ville, and millionaires with babies
• The Crafty Beaver around the corner
• Three full store-fronts of knitting yarn. Actually, strike that. Arcadia just closed and I can't say I'm all that surprised because, come to think of it, there was not very much yarn in there for three store fronts and the ladies were mean. But since neither impacts their new business plan as an online store, I wish them all the best.
• and, Garcia's

So long, old pal. You may be seeing me anyway from time to time, if for no other reason than to secure a late night burrito the size of my head with extra avocado. mmm.

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** You may not think this directly relates to the primary content of this blog, but fear not. Ravenswood is an inspired neighborhood of forward-thinking urbanites who cherish their neighborhood gardens, green home design, and post-industrial flair. It is a place where you can walk safely through alleys and find raspberries, pole beans and roses growing freely. It is the people of this great place that inspire me to grow things and make things and cook things and I will miss it. However, we are on to the next chapter of our lives, to a place where I don't have to keep my bikes in my bedroom or ask my land lady if I can put a compost bin in my yard.

Pass the syrup

I get a hankering for pancakes about every other week. A peculiar pancake craving came over me yesterday morning and, alas, there was no syrup in the pantry. Channeling my inner Better Crocker I converted the logic of a simple syrup to brown sugar. I could not tell the difference, and in fact, I may save myself $7 for a 12 oz. bottle of maple syrup and make it this way all of the time...

Brown Sugar Pancake Syrup

1/2 cup of pressed brown sugar

1 tsp. cornstarch

1 cup hot water (not boiling)

Directions:

1. Pour hot water into a small sauce pan containing brown sugar and cornstarch. Set heat to medium-high and whisk until sugar dissolves.
2. Stir constantly until boiling.
3. Continue to boil for 1-2 minutes, stirring constantly
4. Pour into serving pitcher and enjoy hot or cooled.

WWLID: What would Laura Ingalls Do?

I'm still on a bit of a pioneer kick and as the wind whips against the window panes and the air turns colder, my thoughts are turning to winter, using up what precious fresh market produce I have left and making it last.

While I won't have the burden of hiking through 6 feet of snow to shoot jack rabbits, I'd like to eat an apple in the middle of the winter and not pay $2.39 a pound for a mealy, squishy, overall bad apple. At times like this, I ask myself, "What would Laura Ingalls do?" How would Laura eat an apple in February without one of those big box stores that now roam the high prairie in greater numbers than jack rabbits?

Thus, today was my first attempt at making dried fruit from scratch. No more mealy, squishy apples in winter; no more $4.00 for a bag of air and sulfur dioxide.

Want to try too? It was super easy!

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Dried Fruit

Fruit of choice

1 lemon

12 cups water

Directions:

1. Wash or peel fruit, then pit or core if applicable. Slice larger fruits into thin slices.

2. Soak in lemon water for a few minutes while oven pre-heats at 90-150 deg-F

3. Line a baking sheet with parchment and place in a single layer, not touching.

4. Place trays in oven and wait several hours. Resist the urge to turn up the heat.

5. Let sit out over night (at least 12 hours) before packing away in air-tight containers

Lauren Warnecke, M.S., M.C.

You know you are in good company when a group full of middle aged women in applique vests, young eco-hipsters (like myself), and old men who rent greenhouses for the winter can share a potluck dinner while passing around gifts of worm poo while the mistress of ceremony tells stories about her lifelong passion for compost and childhood trips to the circus to pick up elephant manure.

Last night I proudly and officially assumed the title of Master Composter. So far I think it's safe to say the I've used this title much more than the one for which I owe the US government an ungodly amount of cash.

The MC program was something I did on a whim, but in hindsight it was exactly what I was looking for to engage a change of lifestyle, and perspective. I met new people who are doing incredible things to conserve our resources and reduce waste. Without this program, I wouldn't look at garbage and wonder if my worms can eat it; I wouldn't want to make things from scratch, or clean things with vinegar, or mend old clothes instead of buying new ones.

Humbling, indeed

Living simple is complicated

After returning from a weekend trip away, the cupboard is bare. I always make a point before traveling of using up any fresh ingredients that might spoil while I'm away. But this was a rather whirlwind trip, and it didn't occur to me that (1) it wasn't really long enough for everything to spoil, and (2) there was no time before returning to work to go to the store and replenish the bounty.

As a result, the past few days have been really-creative-meal wise. Determined to eat at home and not order food (having eaten in restaurants for the entire weekend), I was nearly brought to tears standing in the kitchen at 11:30pm on a Tuesday night mashing pinto beans by hand into refried beans (for which I have no salsa or chips) with a red sauce made from frozen tomatoes and a slightly past-peak summer squash on the stove, and a mystery casserole in the oven.

Tears of joy, or tears of pain?
Yes.

It feels pretty good to take a pantry of nothing and freezer of next to nothing and make four full days of food out of it. It is envigorating to make things from scratch; if I have one goal in life it's to make as many things from scratch as possible. And, I feel as though I could definitely survive an atomic bomb or the apocalypse given my uncanny ability to create a variety of meals from dried beans, rice, chicken, frozen tomatoes and slightly off squash.

On the other hand, no one should be mashing beans after 9pm on a school night.

When people lived in a time where everything was made from scratch they had the whole day to mash beans, churn butter, bake bread, whatever. I, on the other hand, am required to spend eight hours of the day with my butt in a chair and have few precious moments between, say, 8 and 11pm to try and "live simply". I'm not saying I work harder; butt-in-chair is not hard, it's just extremely time consuming.

So what, then, is the point? Why do I do this to myself when I could, with a lot less effort and a roughly equal amount of money, eat a TV dinner every night? It almost feels like in this day and age, living "simply" is less simple than living a technological, busy-body, microwaved life. Why does everyone say "I'm so busy," or "I don't have any time" when we spend SO much time sitting on our butts?

Say Pickles!

'Tis pickling season! You know it's come when you see mass quantities of Ball jars on sale everywhere. How fortunate are those who have such an overabundance of home-grown vegetables that the only way to deal with them is to pickle and can them? With fresh inspiration from the edu-tent at the Glenwood Sunday Market, and the fortuitous acquisition of a bounty of cucumbers (from a location which I wish not to disclose at this juncture...), I shall pickle.

After making a seriously good batch of refrigerator pickles (bread and butter, of course), I'm left with a sinking feeling. Do I put them in a hot water bath until the jar lids make that popping sound? Do I simply put on the lid and store in the fridge? Dear me, I can't remember! I choose hot water bath. However, after noticing a slight sediment that has formed in my pickle jars, and confirmation from GSM's pickling expert Toni that they needn't be hot water bathed, I have serious regrets. I hope that six months from now, when I crack open that jar in the middle of a Chicago blizzard, that that my dear pickles that tasted so yummy this morning don't disappoint.... or give me a case of botchulism.

Want to try it yourself?

Easy Refrigerator Bread and Butter Pickles (courtesy of grouprecipes.com)

8 small pickling cucumbers, washed (not peeled), and very thinly sliced

1 medium onion, halved and thinly sliced

1 cup apple cider vinegar

3/4 cup sugar

4-1/2 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp mustard seeds

1/2 tsp dry mustard

1/2 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp crushed dry red pepper flakes

1/2 celery seed (in my case, optional)

Directions:

1-Combine all ingredients in a soup pot and heat to boiling, stirring occasionally

2-Boil one minute, stirring frequently

3-Pour mixture into a large bowl, cool to room temperature

4-Cover and chill overnight before serving

5-Spoon into jars with tight fitting lids and refrigerate for up to four weeks.... (jury is still out whether or not you can use hot water bath to extend shelf life and seal jars. I'll let y'all know when I crack them open in a couple months).

Ode to the Vending Machine

Dear vending machine,

I think it's time that we called it quits. It's not you; it's me. We just aren't meant for one another. I thought maybe we could just be friends, but really, I think it's best if we make it a clean break. Please do not call or write. I'm not good for you, and clearly you are not good for me. I'd prefer it if you left the building entirely, but it seems as though we are going to have to learn to work together as professionals and not as partners. I hope that this doesn't cause you as much pain as it causes me.

Kind regards,
Lauren