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...?

Breakfast on the Beach

I'm not a beach person, and I hate summer weather. The Wrangler's job requires us to live in Southern California, so we live at the beach because we get some cloud cover now and then, and temps generally are not as warm as inland areas. In the midst of longing for rain, fall foliage, and snow, it's easy for me to forget that there are worse places to live than Laguna Beach.

This weekend Wrangler and I took advantage of the May Gray and had breakfast on the beach with some friends. The rare overcast skies kept a lot of the tourists away. Our little Jack Russell lounged on the boardwalk as we munched on almond bear claws from Scandia Bakery. I guess this is what it's all about.

Urban Chickens

The urban chicken craze is undeniable.  In the past two weeks alone I've read articles on urban chicken coops in at least five mainstream magazines and newspapers, including the Washington Post. Apparently, chickens do not require much space, are easy and inexpensive to maintain, and control pests in the garden. A hen lays about an egg a day, so you only need to keep about three to five chickens if you want a dozen fresh and delicious eggs a week. The Wrangler thinks he could stamp out world hunger by giving each person a chicken.

Many cities, including New York City, allow backyard chicken coops. Ordinances typically limit the number of chickens and impose maintenance and fencing requirements. Roosters, which are fairly noisy, often are prohibited. However, a rooster is not necessary (you don't want the eggs fertilized) if you're keeping chickens for the fresh eggs and not for the meat.  

Our neighbor keeps chickens. We see them outside scratching around in the garden in the mornings and early afternoon. The coop is cute and appears to have an ocean view. This is Laguna Beach, after all.  

Loafing Around

I don't know if it's the organic unbleached flour or my homemade honey butter (organic cream, gently shaken in a jar for 10 minutes then drained and rinsed of the buttermilk, mixed with a tablespoon or so of local Laguna Beach honey), but the three+ hours for rising and re-rising was worth it. I can't stop eating this bread. On the other hand, the artisan-style bread made from refrigerated dough that I wrote about yesterday is much more practical for weeknight dinners. It's ready in one hour versus four. But I think I might try to bake traditional loaves every other Sunday.

Artisan Bread and Vintage Stoves

The Denver-based Six-Button Cowgirl recommended the book Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day (by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois), which is premised on the fact that pre-mixed, pre-risen, high-moisture dough keeps well in the refrigerator. Thus, there's no need to make fresh dough daily in order to have fresh bread daily. The system works. I mixed an initial batch and didn't need to proof the yeast, knead the dough, or fuss with the rest-rise-punchdown-rise process. Each day I cut off a portion of the refrigerated dough, allowed it to rest about 40 minutes, then baked it for about 35 minutes. It was easy and enjoyable to do while making dinner, even after a long day in the office.

I prefer traditional loaves over the sourdough-like texture and flavor of artisan bread. But any kind of homemade bread tastes better than store-bought. I guess the real challenge comes from the fact that I have a vintage O'Keefe & Merritt stove, which is beautiful but not always practical. For example, I can't fit a turkey in it. I also can't fit a pizza stone in it--and artisan bread should be baked on a pizza stone. I used a cookie sheet but the bread came out too thick and crusty. I'm going to bake traditional loaves in bread pans to see if a perfect crust is worth the three extra hours.

Fiddler on the...Beach

I'm now the proud owner of a fiddle, of all things. I'm still working on the guitar, and I thought I'd give the piano a try someday. Buying a violin wasn't on my radar until this morning.

After reading the book Made from Scratch (see my blog entry from May 6), I started following the author's blog. This morning, she asked if anyone wants to learn to play mountain music on the fiddle. She'll teach a class if at least 10 people are interested.

She recommended purchasing a 4/4 student violin on ebay for $50. Done and done. It looks like there are about 20 of us who bought our violins on ebay this morning, so lessons are a go.

Dusty Trails

Riding through vineyards on a hot Tuesday morning in Temecula, I was 70-some miles--but worlds away--from the office. Ahhh.

"I'm telling you for the last time, there aren't any cows here"

I'm packing for a mini-vacation that will include a short and leisurely ride on horseback through vineyards. I just dug my Frye boots out of the back of the closet and was thinking about the last time I wore them this past January. I was with the Six-Button Cowgirls on a mule ride to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

The temperatures at the top of the canyon hovered around 30 degrees. The trails, which are narrow and run right along the ledge, were icy and snowy. About a quarter of the way down, the weather started getting better and the trails were dry. By the time we reached the bottom of the canyon, we had beautiful autumn-like weather. Although we weren't fans of the icy trails and cold weather at the top, I think January was a great time to go. We were the only riders assigned to our wrangler, so the trip was like our own private tour of the canyon.

As we plodded along on our trusty mules, we were surrounded by scenery straight out of an old western movie. We felt like the ultimate cowgirls (and may have said so a few too many times, prompting our wrangler to protest that we were nowhere near any cows).

The Cleaning Lady

Sunday mornings I volunteer in the Animal Husbandry department of the Ocean Institute in Dana Point. As an aquarist aide, my job primarily is to clean the fish tanks, which is as glamorous as it sounds. I also prepare delicious meals of raw chopped squid, shrimp, and sardine fillets for the animals. These include an eel, an octopus, a huge sea hare, sea stars, little sand sharks, rays, skates, sea cucumbers, and giant lobsters. Mmmm, lobster.

The job does have its moments. A shark threw up an unfortunate amount of water and slime into my face while I was peering into its open mouth to inspect its goiter. I've been shocked a few times while working with wet electric cords. I once developed an odd rash on my hand. I can't prove it was from cleaning out the parasites from the quarantine tanks, but I have my s'picions.

I don't know that being a volunteer aquarist aide is particularly urban cowgirl-esque, but I think it's Rainy Day Ranch material because it's definitely not a desk job.

Piece of Cake

I spent this afternoon baking and decorating a birthday cake. It's been about a year since I last decorated a cake, so I was a little rusty. I hate baking cakes (they never turn out perfectly for me), so I just used the Sprinkles Cupcake brand lemon cupcake mix but made two 9-inch cakes. It turns out that the cupcake mix makes a very dense cake. I whipped up three batches of my special homemade frosting. Cakes mixes aren't too bad, but I'm pretty picky about my frosting.

I made about 25 roses for the top of the cake, did a basket weave on the sides, and piped little drop-flowers along the bottom. The basket weave looks labor intensive but actually takes only a few minutes.

I guess the weirdest thing about the cake is that it's bright pink with tons of flowers but is for a dude.

Teardrops Are Rolling

I've written a lot about camping lately, which actually is really weird because the last time I went on an overnight camping trip, Clinton was in office. But I have just one more camping-centric entry for a while. I've decided that the Airstream requires too much of a commitment. The smallest version is about $30,000, I don't know where we'd store it, and I don't think the Wrangler's little Saab wagon could pull it. Enter the teardrop trailer. How cute are these?

They weigh in at just 500 pounds, are small enough to store easily in the garage, and start at about $5000. Some come in kits that you can assemble on your own. A top-of-the-line model is about $13,000. Most are custom built. The one pictured here is from Big Woody Campers.

Made from Scratch

Last night I bought a wonderful book, Made from Scratch: Discovering the Pleasures of a Handmade Life, by Jenna Woginrich. I couldn't put it down until I finished it early this morning. Jenna is a 20-something urban cowgirl who works in an office by day and lives in a rented house. Like many of us urban cowgirls, she dreams of owning a country ranch with amazing views. But she's focusing on the things that she can do until she's able to quit her desk job. For example, she taught herself how to bake, sew, spin wool, raise chickens, keep bees, grow vegetables, and play the fiddle. As she states, if the world stopped, her life at home would continue pretty much as usual.

Ironically, homesteading (producing her own food, tending to her small livestock, etc.) made Jenna happier at work. So maybe all I need to do to keep the BigLaw blues at bay is get some chickens and bees...