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In a serendipitous turn of events, yesterday I found myself walking past the Cheese Board in Berkeley just about dinnertime. I had been over at the Thursday all-organic farmer's market doing some research for an upcoming article (and yes, I snuck in a grapefruit and yogurt gelato while I was across the bridge).
When I walked past Cheese Board, something clicked in my brain and I remembered a friend gushing over their pizza. I stopped in, took a look at all the cheese on display -- they must have hundreds, if not thousands, of varieties -- and noticed a stack of cardboard boxes near the register. The sign advertised the pizza of the day as mushroom, green pepper, feta, mozzarella, garlic and parsley. Mr. Food Musings loves pizza, and I love the spontaneity of nabbing dinner on the fly, so I ponied up $18, verified cooking instructions with the man behind the counter (5-8 minutes at 400º) and went on my merry way.
I stopped for a bottle of water a few shops down and as I was paying, the man said, "That from Cheese Board?" When I nodded yes, he clucked his tongue in a congratulatory manner. Good omen, I thought.
Good indeed. The crust was thin but not Neapolitan-thin - it had some toothsomeness and some give to it, too. The flavors were wonderful, and I gotta tell you: good feta + good pizza = real genius.
Cheese Board Cooperative, 1512 Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley, 510-549-3055
It took 1500 chickens to get me out of bed early. Being as I work from home, my alarm clock is permanently set for 8:10 am (with three snoozes built in). I rarely need to rouse my lazy bones any earlier, but last Friday morning, after a night of dinner/drinks/drunks at COCO500, Bacar and mon appartement, I found myself waking Little Sister (in town from NYC), fixing two peanut butter, jelly and bacon sandwiches, and navigating towards the Bay Bridge not too long after the rooster crowed.
We were off to visit Three Wise Hens up in Dixon, California, where a reformed urbanite named Kyle Pusateri has been leasing land from Eatwell Farm and raising laying hens since last February.
Three breeds -- White Leghorns, Rhode Island Reds and Araucanas -- lay 70 dozen eggs a day that range in color from white to brown to a delicate, pale blue. (Breed determines the color of the eggshells.) Most of the eggs are delivered to the members of Eatwell's CSA, and any leftovers are sold at the Ferry Plaza farmer's market and Rainbow Grocery. Miette, the European-style organic bakery at Ferry Plaza, uses their eggs exclusively. (They also they make the best damn hazelnut macaron on planet Earth and stock the cutest old-fashioned cake plates. Sigh.) (at left, Kyle Pusateri on his egg farm)
Little Sister and I arrived at the farm just before 10 in the morning to find funnyman Kyle waiting for us. After changing into my farm boots -- every girl needs a pair, and so what if mine came from Nieman Marcus? -- we took off on a short walk down the dirt road that leads to Kyle's six henhouses. Along the way, I learned that Kyle was living in Oakland and working a standard office job when he got interested in where his food came from. A few days of volunteering at Eatwell here and there (his partner manages their CSA program) and suddenly he was researching chicken breeds, writing a business plan and moving to Davis.
By last February the first chicks had arrived. Due to industry regulations, they can't be picked up from the hatchery in Fresno, so they're shipped over night and arrive in the mail, all a-twitter. Cute, no?
To clear up a popular misconception: Many folks think that free-range means that chickens, whether raised for meat or eggs, get to spend lots of time outside. Uh-uh. All the free-range label guarantees is no cages and access to pasture -- the keyword being access. In some cases, that access to the outdoors is only for a week or two before slaughter, and by that time most of the chickens are trained by circumstance not to want to go outside. In other words, free-range chickens might not live in cruel cages, but they pretty much also never see the sun or sky. (at left, a White Leghorn)
Not so the lucky girls at Three Wise Hens. These chicas live in posh accommodations, sort of the poultry equivalent of the Spelling mansion. They live on open pasture all the time, and the doors to the henhouses are open 24/7. There's a fan in each house, which blows non-stop in the 100º heat of the summer, and water is constantly pumped in from one corner of the pasture. The chickens have plenty of room to roost, nest, lay eggs and chill with their homies.
When they're hungry, they chow on the organic feed Kyle gives them, and sometimes luck out with scraps from Eatwell's organic fruits and veg. They never get any antibiotics or hormones and they're not debeaked, all of which is typical in factory farms and which actually makes the birds more susceptible to disease and suffering. Kyle says that the small numbers of his posse make it easy to keep the houses super-duper clean, and the sun takes care of the rest by breaking down a lot of the potentially harmful, natural organisms. They
live next to fields of sweet potatoes and winter squash and they move every so often to keep their, er, natural resources fertilizing the right bits of land. The plan is to move them to a brand new pasture every few years to keep the cycle going. (at left, brown Araucana chickens and White Leghorns)
All this TLC and open pasture comes at a price -- the constant threat of being et by a hawk or a coyote. To prevent that, especially at night when chickens essentially go blind, there's an electric fence and a fearsome guard dog named Sadie. 
(Okay, she's not fearsome, she's a fluffy love bunny, but she's probably really scary to a coyote.) According to Kyle, Sadie was raised with the chickens from a puppy on
up, and she thinks she's a chicken, too. Bawk, bawk.
When it's cool outside, Kyle's wise and happy hens spend their days pecking around in the dirt looking for snacks like bugs and weeds, or squawking about the yard. A few errant hens, whom Kyle calls "naughty, naughty girls," have managed to escape the fence. They hang out over by a line of trees near the strawberry fields, much like the smokers did at my high school. He's still hoping to catch them. (at left, a rooster strutting his stuff and warning us away from his honeys)
By now he has 1,500 chickens who each lay 4-5 eggs a day. That's a lot of omelets, folks. I probably don't have to tell you how beautiful the eggs are -- not just the speckled shells that remind me of candy eggs, but also the bright yellow yolks and the whites that are nice and thick and don't go sliding all about in the frying pan. I haven't done a side by side taste test, but I have to say that the scrambles I made all weekend long were frightfully good. No cream, no cheese, just eggs, butter, salt and pepper. Studies show that pasture-raised eggs have less fat and cholesterol and more omega-3 fatty acids. All this makes the $6/dozen price tag well worth it. They're also certified organic by CCOF.
On the walk back to the car, Kyle took us the back way so we could cruise through the strawberry fields. "You can eat as many as you want," he told us. Um, okay! Little Sister all but threw my digital camera in the dirt and started filling those little green baskets, a few of which had conveniently been left out. As we munched the sun warmed berries, we talked about life on the farm -- working every single day, come hell, high water, holiday or sickness; the enormous responsibility of taking care of so many living creatures; the dramatic differences between city and country life (which I'd sum up by saying COCO500 or McDonald's). In the end, is it all worth it to be part of the sustainable food production system? "Definitely," he said, popping a strawberry into his mouth. (at left, a shot of the henhouses from a distance. All photos by Sara Nash.)
FRESH FROM THE FARM
A monthly column on sustainable agriculture, humane husbandry & artisanal food production
Originally published in Northside San Francisco July 2006
Marin Sun Farms may have a cult following for its free-range eggs, but it's best known for producing 100% grass-fed beef. David Evans, a fourth generation rancher, raises cattle without antibiotics or hormones on nearly 4,000 acres in and around Point Reyes National Seashore, more than half of which is certified organic (he's working on the rest). Three times a week, he and his faithful dog Bueno move the cows, a mix of Hereford and Angus breeds, to pastures full of perennial rye and white clover. Besides being natural, an all grass diet produces beef wtih a unique, highly prized flavor and high levels of heart-healthy omega-3 fatty acids. Evans only slaughters about 260 beef cattle a year, which has Northside restaurants like Quince and Americano fighting for the steak, but Bay Area consumers are lucky: Evans is adamant about selling his beef locally, so none of it leaves the area. If you buy from his butchery, it's dry-aged for up to 50 days.
Just like the cows, Marin Sun Farms chickens roam freely, pecking at a diet of insects and grass supplemented with organic grain. Evans raises a variety of breeds, some heritage, ordering day-old chicks from all over (they arrive in the mail, chirpring away). Eggs range in color from beige to gray-blue with rich gold yolks, and they are to supermarket eggs what fresh-squeezed OJ is to mass-market cartons. Evans sold his first round of roasting chickens in May with the feet still on, but take heart - he's since decided to remove them.
The Goods - Grass-fed beef, stewing & roasting chickens, free-range eggs, lamb
The Markets - Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market, Marin County Civic Center Farmers' Market, Rainbow Grocery and Bi-Rite Market
Fun Fact - The Point Reyes Station butcher shop, damaged by January's heavy rains, reopens July 1.
www.marinsunfarms.com
Confession time: I have never made fried chicken. It's been worrying me for a while since I'm pretty sure it disqualifies my claims of being southern, so later today Little Sister and I are going to rectify that sitch. Cast iron skillet? Check. Crisco to fry in? Check. (They make it without trans-fats now.) A not-so-secret blend of herbs and spices? Check. Family recipe? Yes indeed-y.
Two days ago, I called my grandmother. I was checking in on my grandfather, who had a stroke a month ago and is about to be transferred from the hospital to a nursing home for what we hope will be a stretch of rehabilitation (the glass is half full, the glass is half full, the glass is half full). Once I had asked after everyone's health, we got down to business. In her own words, here's how to fry up a chicken.
"I'm not the fryer in the family," she started out by saying. "That's M [her sister]. But I've fried a lot of chicken. What you want to do is salt and pepper and flour the chicken. T. [our cousin] says you should soak it in milk before you flour it. He brought us some fried chicken one time and it was mighty good, but I don't know. Then you want to cook it in hot grease. You can use Crisco or you can use the liquid, it doesn't matter. We always used Crisco. But anyway, you want to cook it in enough hot grease to cover the chicken.
"Pawpaw [my great-grandfather] called himself the 'Master Fryer,' and Mother always said, 'I guess you are. All you do is stand there and fry it and I have to do all the rest of it and all the cleaning up.' We had fried chicken every Sunday morning for breakfast with biscuits.
"But anyway. The smaller the chicken the better. It's done when you can stick a fork in easily and no blood appears. Maybe 20 minutes, but watch it. Then just put it on a paper towel to drain."
Right now, my chopped up, local free-range chicken is sitting in a cold bath of buttermilk, skin side down. I'm going to let it sit that way until we fry it tonight. We're also going to have Little Sister's curried deviled eggs, spiced sweet potato fries, cilantro & mint cole slaw and a jelly roll cake with homemade strawberry jam.
Happy Birthday, America!
As our tires crunched along the gravel driveway at County Line Harvest Farm yesterday afternoon, I realized that we were nearly thirty minutes late for dinner, but that's what happens when the driver is too near-sighted to read street signs, the co-pilot is threatening to barf, and the directions are wrong. Still, Mr. Food Musings and I were thrilled to arrive at the farm in the middle of the hot afternoon and find the other diners milling about on the front lawn with glasses of chardonnay. We parked our car in the makeshift lot, took turns using the Port-a-Potty (oh, joy!) and proceeded to grab a glass of wine and go kiss-kiss with the Tablehopper, who was there in the flesh. (She and I had devised a secret plan ahead of time to bring matching red purses and thereby identify one another. Smooth, no?)
The occasion was my very first Outstanding in the Field dinner, which connects hungry diners with a Bay Area chef, loads of locally raised meat and produce and a dinner table right smack dab in the middle of a Northern California farm. I've been wanting to attend one ever since I first read about them a few years back, and when my Northside editor assigned me a column, I did a little jig. I'm going to let the pictures tell the story, so grab a piece of straw to chew on, sit back, and relax.
We gathered last Sunday afternoon at County Line Harvest farm just outside Petaluma, happily chattering away with strangers over glasses of Alfaro Family Vineyards chardonnay. Once all the stragglers had arrived (gulp -- guilty as charged), OITF founder Jim Denevan, a one-time chef himself, extended a warm welcome to all of us. While logistics were being explained, I took the opportunity to survey the crowd.
We were an eclectic mix of of young and old, out-of-towners with zip off pant legs and moneyed folk from wine country, hippie-granola types and hip city types (who no doubt
regretted their sexy shoe choices after the farm tour, otherwise known
as "the dirty, dirty dirt walk"). Thirty-something couples mingled with industry folks, including one of the partners from A16, whose new executive chef Nate Appleman was manning the stoves. There were veterans of other OITF dinners, art gallery owners, the purveyors who supplied the evening's food, gastro-tourists and folks who farm on the side.
Then Jim introduced farmer David Retsky (at left. FYI The guy in the cowboy hat is Mark Pasternak, owner of Devil's Gulch Ranch, which keeps The French Laundry and other such restaurants in rabbits.) Retsky told us all about his farm, which he financed with a $50,000 family loan back in 2000. Though he grew up in the urban jungle of Los Angeles, somehow he got bit by the farming bug. Now he and his wife Francesca, their 3-month-old tot Nico, their farm crew -- a family of 6 from Oaxaca, Mexico -- and 3 interns farm 6 leased acres. (To be honest, I doubt the baby does much.) They sell their goods at farmer's markets in Marin County, Petaluma and Oakland; despite being on the Ferry Plaza waiting list for years, they can't seem to break in. Most of their produce makes its way to San Francisco restaurants like A16, Delfina, Farallon and Rose Pistola. Retsky also sells to Greenleaf Produce, a local business that has been supplying restaurants with organic produce for more than 30 years.
"Farming is a lifestlye," the affable, suntanned Retsky explained. "You go to sleep thinking about it and you wake up thinking about it." He and his family are hoping to cruise down to Costa Rica for a month this winter, because during the planting and harvesting months of summer and fall, they're pretty much handcuffed to the farm.
After a handful of questions, we sauntered off on the aforementioned "dirt walk." (They warned us to wear walking shoes, but they didn't say much about the fine, brown powder that would shortly find its way into our shoes, toes, and pant cuffs.) Farmer Retsky took us through the Valley of Baby Lettuces, yanking out weeds that had grown in since the last weeding. His team works from 6 am till 7 pm this time of year, and their biggest challenge is keeping the weeds at bay. Since he's an organic farmer, he doesn't use pesticides and the bulk of time is spent pulling unwanted plants like amarinth and purslane from the rows of Little Gem Romaine. Luckily, the lemony purslane fetches a good price at the market, so he's able to sell that, too.
County Line Harvest plants more than 50 crops, including: broccoli rabe, French breakfast radishes, Romaine lettuce, squash, cucumbers, wild arugula, turnips, chicories, Early Girl tomatoes, and strawberries.
Lettuce is harvested every morning from 6 am till 10. Once the sun is out in full force, it's too late to pick -- the leaves will become bitter. So they leave the lettuce in the ground, and if they have to harvest more, they wait until evening.
On the tour we saw wild arugula draped in white cloth to protect it from mites who make tiny holes in the leaves, giving it a lacy, eaten look that restaurants don't cotton to. We passed by a passel of chickens and a blonde, Polish rooster on our way to row after row of strawberries, where Retsky invited us to taste one or two. They were sweet, juicy and sun-warmed, and they made me think of all the berry picking I did as a kid. After being invited to as many Sweet Peas as we could hold, it was time to sit down.
By now it was 6 pm. As our wine glasses were refilled with more chardonnay, the meal began. With local food as the focal point, we found ourselves splitting open grilled oysters and spritzing them with lemon.
Aside: I'm not one for family style eating. All my friends know it (and ostracize me for it, too, the bastards) and last night's dinner epitomizes why. As soon as the food is set down, the conversation quiets and people get that look in their eye. You know the one -- the one that erases millions of years of evolution and takes us back to the time when we had to fight one another for food. Everyone looks worried they won't get enough to eat, and I saw a few people get a good grip on their forks just in case someone else went for the squash blossom they were eyeing. Luckily, my neighbors always served me first -- not sure why that honor didn't go to their wives, but whatever.
As we ate, the chef walked around, happy to chat if anyone wanted
to, and purveyors like Mark from Devil's Gulch Ranch stood up to talk about their operations.
The oysters were followed by two salads, one a mix of Little Gem lettuce, radishes, and eggs from the farm as well as rabbit kidneys (which I thought would be revolting but actually they were no biggie). A lovely, very dry rosé was poured, and then we moved on to a salad of zucchini and squash blossom flowers with ricotta cheese, sweet cherry tomatoes and mint. When I saw squash blossoms on the menu, I assumed they would be stuffed with cheese and fried, but instead they were simply added to the salad. Though I missed my deep-fry fix, the result was crisp, sweet and pleasingly cool.
The best dish of the night came next, and if it's any indication of what Chef Appleman can do, A16's continued world domination is assured. A coil of plump rabbit and liver sausage was enhanced with herbs like rosemary and savory. It was succulent and flavorful, definitely meat with a capital M, from the grillmarks to the undeniable, if mild, sausage flavor. It was served with wild arugula from the farm, and a bit later great platters of grilled rabbit thighs (?) were served. I didn't nibble on one -- by that time I was pretty full -- but Mr. FM enjoyed his two.
Dessert was nothing if not superlative, quite literally, made up of the sweetest honeydew melon I have ever had the pleasure of eating. It was marvelous, incomparable, and indescribable. Along with the raspberries and strawberries, it came drizzled in wild honey atop cottage cheese. By this time, the hot, sun-dappled day had given way to a surprisingly cold evening. We shivered, wrapping our sweaters closer, and held out glasses for more Pinot Noir. Votive candles and torches were lit, and plates were cleared.
As the crew gathered to say good night and thank us for coming, we sang Happy Birthday to Nate and exchanged phone numbers with some of our neighbors. (Hey, it was all part of "the moment.") The evening was spectacular, and simple, and as soon as Mr. FM is over his horrible motion sickness, we're going to go again. (Photo: OITF founder Jim Denevan, far right, and guest chef Nate Appleman from A16, 7th from right).
Outstanding in the Field events continue through July, with dinners at Live Earth Farm (July 8), Marin Sun Farms (July 16) and Half Moon Bay Sea Cove (July 21). Then they'll take the show on the road to the rest of the country. Dinner is $145-180 per person, depending on the menu, and it's inclusive of wine, tax and tip. Registration is open and if you're interested, do it now -- I hear they fill up fast.
My neighbor's plate at dinner last night in the fields of County Line Farm. More on my first Outstanding in the Field dinner soon...
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