Lazy Sunday

There's something nice about the occasional day with minimal commitments. I didn't have to volunteer at the Ocean Institute today, and the Wrangler's soccer game wasn't until the afternoon, which allowed us to sleep in until 10. Waking at 10 is reasonably decadent without being as sloth-like as rising at 11, which, admittedly, we sometimes do on Saturdays (hey, we don't have kids).

After our trip to the farmers' market, the Wrangler headed out to his soccer game, and I started reading Ricki Carroll's Home Cheese Making: Recipes for 75 Homemade Cheeses. I dozed off due to the cuddly, warm puppy on my lap. We grilled vegetables for dinner, and I baked a deliciously gooey strawberry pie. Right now, I'm waiting for my bread dough to rise. I'm using the recipe that allows me to refrigerate the dough and break off a chunk each night to bake. Baking fresh bread after a long day at work helps me transition from corporate to cowgirl.

I'm ready for the week.

"To Market, To Market..."

I grew up in the Midwest where it was not unusual for city-folk to have large vegetable gardens and fruit-bearing trees. We had two apple trees, a plum tree, and a pear tree, and my dad grew lettuce, carrots, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and radishes in our suburban backyard. My parents canned tomatoes and pickles every fall. As an adult, I don't eat nearly as many veggies as I did as a kid, probably because I don't have a garden and have to rely largely on flavorless grocery store produce that has spent days in transit.

The Tenaka Farms veggies that we bought last weekend added an undeniable spark to our meals this past week. Questioning our smarts for not doing so years ago, the Wrangler and I decided to make an effort to buy only locally grown produce from now on. California certified farmers' markets are easy to find around here. All farmers who sell at a certified market are inspected by the county agricultural commissioner to ensure that their farms actually grow the food that is sold at the market. This makes supporting local farmers as easy as going to the grocery store, and we pay less money for better quality food. Win-win. Today we spent $16 on farm-fresh green and red peppers, asparagus, Maui onions, green onions, broccoli, green beans, squash, tomatoes, and carrots. I'm guessing we would have paid more than double that amount at the grocery store.

Truckin'

Someone down the street is selling a beat up 1978 Chevy pickup truck for $700. Picturing it on the ranch with a few bales of hay in the back, I gave it more than a little thought. Then, as things tend to do in this house, the modest $700 plan rapidly evolved into an alarming $30,000 idea as I found myself searching ebay for a shiny red, fully restored 1950s-era short-bed truck. I imagined selling the convertible and rolling into work in my vintage truck, which would look delightfully out of place among the fancy-pants BMWs and Mercedes in the law firm's parking garage. And I didn't plan to stop at one truck, since I really need two--I don't want to put hay and chickens in my shiny red short-bed. I figured that I'd better get the '78 Chevy for those kinds of tasks. It was all fun and games until the Wrangler put the kibosh on both proposals, pointing out that we don't actually have a ranch yet. I don't know when he became so fixated on minor details.

Vegging Out

Ugh, so I've become a vegetarian. The Wrangler is convinced that aliens have abducted the real me, who believed that a meatless meal really is just a snack. Until I quit eating meat cold-turkey, so to speak, I probably hadn't gone without eating it for more than half a day. I regarded my friendships with vegetarians with skepticism--I secretly suspected that our differences were too great to bridge. I remember filling a pinata with Slim Jims instead of candy. I was offended by pizza lacking meat toppings. I have cookbooks with titles such as "The Meat Club," and "Bacon." When asked what I wanted for dinner, I usually just said, "meat."

For a while I'd been finding it hard to reconcile my love of pets and animals with my love of eating meat. Something had to give. I really don't have a problem with eating animals who have had nice lives and did not suffer. But the reality is that most of the meat sold in grocery stores and served in restaurants does not come from natural or humane circumstances and conditions.

I'm by no means a vegan or even a strict vegetarian; I still eat seafood, eggs, milk, and cheese. I don't know why I feel sorry for cows and pigs but not fish. Maybe someday I will.

Tenaka Farms

This morning we awoke to cozy, cool weather, light rain, and overcast skies--a rare treat here in Laguna Beach. I love-love-love June Gloom. Come July, we will have sunshine until November. It's a long stretch, and I'm trying not to think about it. 

It was a perfect day to head to the cookout tour at Tenaka Farms, just 20 minutes away. During a guided tour of the 30-acre farm, we picked our own green onions, carrots, cilantro, radishes, green beans, and squash.  

Our guide took us to the BBQ area where we cleaned and cut the veggies, and added tofu, olive oil, and seasonings. The veggie mix was wrapped in foil and grilled for about 10 minutes. Before eating, we added the most delicious grilled sweet Maui onion slices to the veggie mix. Although farmers' markets and stores like Whole Foods have good produce, there truly is nothing like eating something just minutes after pulling it from the ground.

After lunch, we headed to the strawberry fields for concurrent gluttony and picking. I was planning to preserve some, so we brought home two boxes. It would be a shame, however, to add anything to these berries, which simply are perfect on their own. 

Cowgirl Overload

During today's conference call to discuss our upcoming trip to the Sombrero Ranch in Colorado, the Six-Button Cowgirls concurred that we had gone a bit overboard on our last group shopping trip to the Boot Barn in Flagstaff. I guess we can blame it on our state-of-mind, which was decidedly "wild west," as we were about to embark on our mule ride to Phantom Ranch.

I mentioned during the call that I've realized that the clothes I'd bought on the trip are too over-the-top to wear around here. I mean, there's western-style and then there's just plain western without the style. Agreeing, the Denver-based Six-Button Cowgirl noted that a couple weeks ago, she put on the jeans, boots, one of the shirts, and the huge belt buckle she'd bought on that trip and did a double-take when she saw herself in the mirror. The shirts, which are heavy and have no darting or tailoring at the waist, are very unflattering. Add the crazy embroidered pattern, huge brass buttons, and...wow. I love my gigantic belt buckle and Roper Rockstar boots, though. But talk about trying too hard. I sure do feel sorry for all the locals who had to watch our sorry selves swaggering around town!

On the up side, the San Diego-based Six-Button Cowgirl said that she has no regrets purchasing the riding jeans with the "comfort fit" elastic waistband. She wears them when she plans to eat a lot.

Hot Plate

I'm loving Villeroy & Boch's Design Naif fine china pattern. The country and village motif seems very cowgirl / farmgirl, and it even has a Christmas collection.

The Mad Hatter

I bought a traditional raffia straw cowboy hat when I was in Montana last year, and I got a wool Stetson on the mule trip in Arizona this past winter. The latter makes me look like a railroad laborer circa 1850 and makes the Wrangler look like the tall guy who is Curious George's friend. At any rate, for the upcoming horseback riding / camping trip with the Six-Button Cowgirls, I'm tempted to get a Spanish gaucho-style hat--or is it a bolero? I don't know the difference. Think Penelope Cruz in All the Pretty Horses.

The raffia straw number would be far more appropriate, given the season and activity (camping). But one of the wranglers at the Mountain Sky Ranch had a striking custom blue bolero that I haven't forgotten. It cost her over $500, so she vowed to wear it, like, every day. I suppose it is the cowgirl version of Manolos. I've found a few similar hats for under $100, but they are not nearly as lovely as the beautiful blue bolero. Maybe I'll spring for the custom bolero for cowgirl camp next spring. I doubt I can pull off wearing it every day, though.

Gang Aft Agley (To Go Astray)

I've been a bit remiss in blogging lately; I haven't had much time to spend at my figurative ranch due to longer-than-usual hours at work and hosting house guests. I usually read a couple books a week but, as of late, I haven't had time to finish William Alexander's delightful The $64 Tomato, which I started two weeks ago. I haven't baked anything from scratch in the same two weeks, unless you count the Hello Kitty-shaped waffles and homemade pizzas for my adorable nieces visiting from Colorado. Let's not even mention the new fiddle that is sitting untuned in its case in the corner of the guest room. I am part of a fiddle challenge with a Fourth of July benchmark and have made zero progress. What is that Robert Burns poem about gang aft agley and the best laid plans of mice and men...?