These beautiful beans were at the weekend farmstand just north of Año Nuevo on Highway One: grown at either Pie Ranch or Blue House Farm—both partnered at the farmstand we visited last Sunday. I intend a longer piece on each, but cannot do them justice this evening.
You traveling SF Bay area foodies: if you are going as far as Swanton Berry Farm, then you need to make room on your schedule for the rustic and beautiful farmstand, called the Roadside Barn, at 2080 Cabrillo Hwy, Pescadero CA 94060. If you hit Año Nuevo, going south, you've gone too far. Mind you, they don't open until noon on the weekends, so plan accordingly. And get there early: the pies are a dream.
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The lovely Kirsten Roehler, who was farming with Jasmine Roohani at Everett Family Farm a couple of years ago when I met them, has moved on, but is still quite active in the work of promoting sustainable agriculture. And sustainable, additionally, in terms of human life.
She recently sent me a link to an article by Matthew McCue, at Farms Not Arms. McCue is an Iraq war vet who is now teaching farming in Niger, Africa. Kirsten interviewed him for his position in the Peace Corps—a very moving piece. He writes:
I would still go to sleep afraid of mortars but the joy of the present and anticipation of the next harvest made the past seem to loosen its grip on my life. I learned more from six months on a college farm in Santa Cruz than four years in the Military. I escaped the army without a scratch -- but before learning to care for life I was caught in a slow death with nothing to watch but my own mortality and the horrifying news.
I feel like the luckiest person alive because as I work in my field in west Africa my body becomes stronger and I am no longer an observer of the quiet beauty, I am a caretaker. Having been very effectively conditioned to kill and accept death, taking care of plants has had a kind of opposite effect on my mind, heart, and soul.
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His words remind me of those of my ranching friend, Jim Dunlop, who told me that surfing and some other brain-relaxing activities for six months in Australia—following his tour of duty blowing things up in the first Iraq war—had erased the trauma. Well, enough that it was not discernible to me at our first visit. He carries no darkness. He's not short of smiles.
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All over the map, so to speak, but I've recently had the opportunity to photograph one of the nicest places in Santa Cruz, a restaurant, wine bar, and wine store known as Soif. About Soif ("swaaf," French for "thirst"), I had previously written on this site:
Soif has so much going for it that I'd set it against anything in any city anywhere on earth. First of all, the people who own/run it are wonderful. I know Patrice Boyle from being a former member of a culinary group that shall remain nameless [I can tell you now, it was CASCC, the former Culinary Alliance of Santa Cruz County, killed by "Chef" Lynn Sheehan and her then-boyfiend], and Hugh Weiler I know from the times he participated in the farm dinners I used to photoraph.
Secondly, the wines. It's a small place, but tremendous care has been put into finding a range of wines from all over the world. This isn't a giant warehouse, but more like a tiny library of wines. When I discovered Gruner Veltliner at Farallon in San Francisco back in 2003, who did I turn to, hoping to find it in picayune little Santa Cruz county? Well, yes, Soif. (And actually, I tease about Santa Cruz being picayune. It's true that people here don't wear pantyhose to the farmers markets, but there is a vibrant and dynamic food scene here that anyone who knows anything would not deny or pooh-pooh.)
If good people and great wine aren't enough, honey, go for the food. The chef, Chris Avila, worked previously at Manresa (if you're a food blogger, I don't need to explain that). He retains David Kinch's respect and even his patronage. Of course, Chris is farmy (supporting local farms), and he's also inventive with his flavor combos. You can get small plates for as little as $3, or go for a full entrée that won't break the bank. This is good, good food in a lovely room. (You can see the afternoon sun, above, streaming into the warm space.) Adorning the walls above tables are the skeletons of grapevines, evoking the feeling of a hunting lodge, if the hunter is devoted to the pursuit of fine grapes.
Soif has a great vibe: its openness (tall ceilings, great music, great guidance in every choice you need to make there) and design are, as I said, something I'd stack up against any city in the world. It's also beautiful, and abundant, and it was a great honor to be asked to come to try to capture some of that spirit with my lens. For me, the lens-bone is connected to the soul-bone. I especially love the wine shop: unusual and rare doesn't always equate to expensive, and they will guide you to goodness.
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Finally, it's summer, and the poetry of food is at its most overwhelming. The abundance of color and volume of food—piles of beans, heaps of fruit, pyramids of tomatoes, bouquets of basil more like bushes than stems with leaves—well, it's just overwhelming. Right now, on any given food blog, you will read the simplest recipes about the most delicious foods, all of which speak to why people farm.
Tonight for dinner, the star of the show was Joe Schirmer's Romano beans (that's a link to a photo). I don't have a combo that I like more than green beans with cherry tomatoes and garlic. The beans are broad and flat, and near impossible to overcook. I, forever juggling with the finishing times of various dishes, appreciate that in a green bean. These are beans that are less like dental floss than some of the diva, slender beans you can find now. (Haricot verts, I'm looking at you.)
These beans are just wonderful beyond measure. I'm not into Foodie Trends: I am into what's good and real and lasting. Just as we'll be doubling our plantings of padrón peppers next year (two bushes is just not enough), we will be adding these perfect beans to our garden.
Which you see here, taken about a month ago. The corn now is about seven feet tall. Folks, if Linda Butler tells you how to amend soil, you need to listen. Our tomato plants last year were too pathetic to photograph: they looked like anorexics on chemo. I'm serious: three pingpong ball-sized tomatoes on any given plant. Now it's so thick, you can't even walk between the rows.
Don't take my word for it, look at our darling little Logan, who is eating corn he helped grow, ten minutes after it was picked. Uncooked. Note the juice on the belly.
"Nana, did you know corn has sweet juice in it?"
Summer is good, and my outside (paying) work is picking up, and I can't get out to farms right now, but I can still be the channel for all this good.
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Anyway, it's late and this is overdue, and I have miles to go before I sleep.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: “Summer afternoon - Summer afternoon... the two most beautiful words in the English language.” — Henry James (1843 - 1916)
Thank you for visiting.
How this post resonates with me. I adore Soif, as well as Chris's other wonderful eatery: La Posta -- Last night was our first time to sample La Posta's Sunday supper: a 4-course meal, served family-style, and it was sublime. The star of the first course: fresh cranberry beans. Marvelous.
Posted by: casey | 20 August 2007 at 08:36 AM
What did you amend the soil with?
Posted by: David | 20 August 2007 at 08:59 AM