Quieting Life

At Long Last, Chickens

We finished building the coop and the run this weekend, and yesterday we went and picked up some chicks from Wing and a Prayer Farm. The chicks are about 5 weeks old, a mix of Faverolles, Columbian Wyandottes, Araucanas, and some other stuff (maybe Tammy will post a comment and fill in the holes). I'm not sure which, or if any, are purebreds; we were so caught up in the delight of selecting our 12 hens, and agreeing to be chosen by one of the roosters. That's him on the left in the picture.

Soup to Brighten a Winter's Day

I like to keep a supply of soup on hand. Whenever I make soup, I make a giant potful so I have plenty for putting by; the door of the upright freezer downstairs is neatly stocked with uniform quart containers in a rainbow of colors. On days when no one can get it up to cook, we can grab instant lunch or dinner from the freezer. We had a lot of those days in January, taking turns being sick or working long hours. And the soup supply has gotten woefully depleted. Time for restocking.

Making soup, for me, is a restorative. It's generally not a technical challenge, just a simple meditation over chopping and stirring and tasting. And it fills the house with a welcome warmth on these frozen days.

This bright and happy soup is one I've been evolving since the fall – built on sweet winter squash, chick peas, and kale, with some subcontinental spicing. My first go at it had lots of ginger with some cumin and cayenne, tarted up with fresh lemon juice. On my second try, I thought to add a can of coconut milk...which tied everything together into an extremely satisfying soup. I took careful notes on this latest batch so I could share the recipe.

So here you go: Winter Squash and Coconut Soup. This makes a big batch – we had a few steaming bowfuls and I still had 4 quarts for freezing. You can easily halve it for a more manageable dose.

Winter Squash and Coconut Soup

3-inch piece ginger
5 large cloves garlic
3 small ribs celery
2 large carrots
2 medium red onions
1 large butternut squash (@3 lbs.)
1 large bunch kale
2 tbsp. neutral-flavored oil (unless you have coconut oil on hand, which is what I used this time)
1½ quarts chicken stock (or rich vegetable broth for a vegan soup)

• • • • • • • •

2 19-oz. cans cooked chick peas (or 3 cups chick peas cooked from dry)
2 13.5-oz. cans coconut milk
juice of 2 lemons
salt to taste
2 tsp. ground cumin
1½ tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp. cayenne or other ground hot chile (more if you want it spicy, less if you don't)

Peel and coarsely chop the ginger, garlic, celery, carrots, and onions; set aside together in a bowl (these are the 'aromatics'). Prepare the following and set aside separately: Peel and seed the squash and cut into largish (1½ inch) chunks. Remove the tough ribs from the kale and coarsely chop the leaves. Drain and rinse the chick peas.

In a large pot – at least 8 qt. – heat the oil over medium heat, then sauté the aromatics until soft. Stir in the stock and add the squash. Bring carefully to a boil, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer until the squash is tender (about 45 minutes).

Remove the pot from the heat and let the soup cool enough that you can handle it comfortably. Purée the soup until smooth. A stick (immersion) blender is the best tool for this, as you can purée the soup right in the pot. Or you can purée the soup in batches in a blender or food processor.

Return the soup/pot to the stove and bring back to a simmer. Add the kale and chick peas and simmer until the kale is softened (about 30 minutes).

Stir in the coconut milk and lemon juice, then taste and add salt to your preference. Stir in the spices and simmer the soup for another 10 or 15 minutes. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

The soup will keep for up to a week in the fridge; freeze it for long keeping.

I'm hoping this coming storm just buries us in snow. I don't wish it on the cities and suburbs, but we're prepared to handle it here. Bring it on.

Living with Packaged Greens

In a perfect world, we would have a bed of salad greens growing fresh throughout the winter, protected from the elements by cold frame or greenhouse. Without even a good local grower, the sad reality is that I buy my winter salad greens in a tight plastic box, just like everyone else. But how many times have I (or have you?) bought a box of precious baby arugula or spinach or lettuce with every intention of composing a virtuous salad and then gotten sidetracked...only to crack the plastic a few days later and find a bunch of rotting green slime?

Plastic boxes might be smart for transporting fresh greens, but they're a terrible way to store them. So I've learned to expend a little effort on the front end to ensure a bit of longevity. For starters, I check before purchasing to make sure the greens are recent; if there are already suspect bits showing, there's not much hope for prolonging freshness. Most of the local groceries seem to take delivery on Tuesdays and Fridays, so I try and target my purchases accordingly.

As soon as I get home, I remove the greens from the box and plunge them in a quick cold water bath in my salad spinner – just a few minutes to rinse and refresh them. After giving them a good drying spin, I stuff them loosely into a big plastic bag with a few paper towels, then seal the bag – leaving as much air as possible inside. Stored in the vegetable drawer of the fridge, they'll now rest clean and fresh for at least a week.

The seed catalogs are coming fast and furious now, and I keep reminding myself that planting time may be as close as 10 or 12 weeks away. Walking back up from the mailbox yesterday, I got a distinct sense that we're on the downward slope of winter; there was an unseasonal softness to the light and the air.

Christmas Dinner

When I was growing up, my family had roast turkey with all the trimmings twice a year – at Thanksgiving, and then a month later at Christmas. After my mother died (when we were all just becoming adults) I led a revolution and proposed that we have roast beef for Christmas dinner, and so we did for as long as my Dad and my siblings and I continued to be together for the holidays. Time and distance and marriages and resentments keep us apart these days, and my husband has a job that keeps us right here in Vermont for Christmas, so it's just us and whoever manages to come this way (this year, all of the kids and TJ's Mom).

Christmas Cookies

Putting together an assortment of Christmas cookies is like building a good cheese plate – it's all about variety. Different flavors, shapes, and textures, all in a festive mood. Christmas cookies should be a little luxurious, a few pegs up from quotidian cookie-jar treats. Chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal-raisin, snickerdoodles, hermits; I love them all, but they just don't make my Christmas cut.

I make 4 or 5 different kinds each year, holding to the same ones for a few years then moving on to something new that grabs my fancy. But I seem to have settled on a consistent palette: toasty nuts, chocolate, warm spices (cinnamon, ginger, clove, cardamom), something orange, lots of vanilla, and always plenty of butter. My current roster includes Double Gingersnaps, Mexican Wedding Cakes, chocolate-dipped Shortbread Stars, Mint 'Oreos', and Cuccidati. I won't include recipes here, just notes on what I've changed or tips for getting them right.