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Last week, I described my envy of the 35 pound pasture-raised turkey that my friend Rachel cooked for Thanksgiving last fall. I wanted a big-pasture raised turkey too! So I found a turkey at Oregon Valley Farms and they shipped it to me. Into the freezer it went until Christmas Day. Then I was curious. Was this big, beautiful, pale brown, pasture-raised turkey going to be noticeably different than its bland, factory-raised cousin with the bleached white skin? The one I could buy at the grocery store?

A while back, I read a fascinating book published by National Geographic titled “Big Chicken: The Incredible Story of How Antibiotics Created Modern Agriculture and Changed the Way the World Eats”. The book enlightened me and totally grossed me out all at the same time. The exposeʹ had me on the edge of my seat and by the end of the book, I understood the phrase “Ignorance is bliss”. I wanted to un-know what I now knew. Because of this, I saw the turkey sitting in my freezer in a new light.

Christmas finally came and I roasted the turkey to perfection, thanks to a probe thermometer that took out all the guesswork. The aroma that filled the room was intoxicating.

I sampled a taste of the crispy, bronze turkey. The flavor burst all over the inside of my mouth and was followed by a moment of silence. Springy like a firm pillow, it was the juiciest, most tender turkey I had ever eaten. The flavor had an indescribable depth. The turkey not only tasted delicious, each bite seemed to be infused with a feeling consciousness . . . like friends, sunshine, exercise, slugs and bugs. The turkey felt true to eat. It had integrity. This was a subtle discernment but the vibe was definitely there. I was free from the back-of-mind worry that this living being was raised in a shadowy barn with no windows and killed inhumanely.

I don’t think this is my imagination, but seems to me our turkey tasted and felt different than one raised in harsh conditions. Much of what we sense in our world is invisible and can’t be validated by our external senses. Happy food just feels better and it doesn’t need an explanation to be true, felt, or understood.

The turkey was scrumptious with the traditional stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy, and cranberry sauce. After the last tender morsel was gone, I described that beautiful big bird as “the feel good turkey”. Eating food that is grown or raised in harmony with the earth elevates the whole culinary experience. That’s soul food at its best. A happy turkey just feels better. I wonder if Rachel thinks so too.

A while back, my friend Rachel who lives on a small farm in the Willamette valley sent me a picture of a thirty-five pound turkey that she roasted for Thanksgiving. Yes, that’s right, 35 pounds. I had no idea that such a big turkey even existed. The picture was so beautiful it could have been a centerfold in a poultry trade magazine. The turkey was festive and grand: it was quite plump and had a lovely golden brown color that made my mouth water. Rachel’s neighbor raised it in a flock of 35 turkeys, so she saw the turkey often before it ended up in her oven on Thanksgiving Day.

I was mesmerized and looked often at the pictures of this majestic turkey on my phone. This turkey lived its life as a proper turkey should – scratching around in the grass of a barnyard for slugs, bugs, and other tender morsels that turkeys like to eat. It was able to socialize and bask in the warm sunshine. I’m not the envious type, but I found myself coveting Rachel’s turkey. I wanted a big pasture-raised turkey too!

But then I remembered . . .  in my lifetime, I had cooked only one turkey. When I was in my early twenties and had only rudimentary cooking skills, I bought a turkey with a built-in pop-up timer. Well, the timer did not pop-up and the turkey got way overcooked, like cardboard. There wasn’t anything juicy about it. Decades later, I was still gun-shy to cook a turkey.

My friend Dave suggested that I find a pasture-raised turkey of my own and then buy an oven thermometer with a probe. I could insert the probe into the turkey and an alarm would sound when the correct temperature was reached. Ah! No more guesswork. No more cardboard.

I found a place ‒Oregon Valley Farms‒ that could ship a frozen turkey. I looked at the company’s website and was pleased to learn that they carefully raise their turkeys in pastures. With great excitement, I ordered a 22 pound bird.

Three days later, FedEx delivered the turkey to my doorstep. I unpacked it and was surprised to see it was still frozen rock solid. Every time I opened the freezer, I was filled with joyous anticipation of a holiday feast.

Finally it was Christmas morning. I made a triple batch of stuffing, inserted the thermometer, and waited for the results. I felt curious. Was this beautiful pale-brown big bird going to be any different than its factory raised cousin with the bleached white skin? Stay tuned next week to hear the rest of the story! I’ll be sure to tell Rachel, too.

Oh-oh! Here it is, about 24 hours before this column’s deadline and the distraction of the holidays made my mind go blank and late. I wanted to write something wise and wonderful about this quiet, magical time between Christmas and the New Year. That’s when a person can reflect on the year that just flew by and contemplate the next one. But my mind was empty again. Were there any profound musings that rumbled in my head as I stared at my keyboard? Yes!

Over the years I have unplugged from making much ado about Christmas. Oddly enough, the more I do this, the more fun it is. Liberation from expectations and the time pressure that a whirlwind to-do list creates frees me up to savor each moment. I can fully enjoy the now, regardless of what happens or does not happen during the holidays.

We have all heard the cliché expression “go with the flow”. But what exactly does that mean and how can we be flexible? I think of it this way: my current experience is what it is ‒ something else is not happening even though at times, I may wish it were. No amount of wishing things were different will change an unwanted situation. But I can adjust the way I see and accept or adapt to the circumstances. Maybe even embrace them. This is so much more effective than resistance.

An example: just two days before Christmas, the drain in the kitchen sink got plugged up; what an inconvenient mess! The kitchen rapidly became a big mountain of yucky dishes. Then it occurred to me: why not put the dishes in the bathtub? I filled the tub with hot water, added half a cup of dishwashing detergent, and dropped all the pots, pans, and dishes into the tub. Then I went on my merry way, free to relax and enjoy the food, the company, and a clean kitchen. I was thankful we still had water.

The next day I finally had time to tend to the dishes. Since they had soaked for nearly 24 hours, they had literally washed themselves. A quick rub with a sponge cleaned them; there was no need to scrub. I rinsed them with the hand-held shower head and let them dry. Doing the dishes in this way was so easy, particularly the large pots and pans. What a great idea. Grace!

I call this a “happy accident”. What a surprise it was to discover I can have self-cleaning dishes. Then I can be free to spend time with friends and family instead of with a mountain of pots and pans. And then I will have time to conjure up things to write about. Happy New Year to all!

Last week I wrote about how lovely it is to receive a handwritten recipe from a friend. It’s even more special when that friend owns a restaurant and shares a favorite recipe. Brenda at Brenda’s Blessings in Fossil recently gave me her recipe for chocolate peanut clusters. This is the perfect recipe if you need an easy no-bake dessert to add to your Christmas sweets list or want an easy recipe that would be fun to make with children.

When I was in Brenda’s restaurant a couple of weeks ago, I spotted chocolate peanut clusters in the dessert case. Brenda makes everything from scratch, so I knew they had to be good. I struck up a conversation with her and she gave me the recipe; that was such a nice surprise! This recipe could not be easier and the slow cooker keeps the chocolate from getting scorched.

2 pounds dry roasted salted peanuts
4 ounces German’s® Sweet Chocolate
12 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, about 2 cups
2 ½ pounds white almond bark

Put the peanuts in the bottom of a 4 ‒ 6 quart slow cooker. Layer the chocolate chips followed by the German chocolate then the almond bark. Set on low and cook three hours. After three hours stir until well blended.  Drop by the spoonful onto parchment or waxed paper. I used a ⅛ cup measure for this.

All the ingredients can be found on the baking aisle of most grocery stores. While the recipe didn’t call for it, I topped mine with a tiny pinch of Maldon crunchy sea salt flakes, a favorite salt that I have written about. Other options might include adding miniature marshmallows or substituting coconut for the peanuts.  Peppermint candies would be good too. I didn’t count how many peanut clusters this made but there were plenty extra. I imagine that a person could make these using miniature muffin tins lined with cupcake papers for a nice presentation. I keep these in the fridge; that way the chocolate is a bit firmer and has a nice crunchy texture to it. 

I ate a peanut cluster with ice cream and then I reminisced about a Dairy Queen Peanut Buster parfait. This candy would make a nice Christmas present, especially when accompanied by a handwritten copy of the recipe. Thank you, Brenda, for sharing your recipe for this special treat with us.

Last week I wrote about how lovely it is to receive a handwritten recipe from a friend. It’s even more special when that friend owns a restaurant and shares a favorite recipe. Brenda at Brenda’s Blessings in Fossil recently gave me her recipe for chocolate peanut clusters. This is the perfect recipe if you need an easy no-bake dessert to add to your Christmas sweets list or want an easy recipe that would be fun to make with children.

When I was in Brenda’s restaurant a couple of weeks ago, I spotted chocolate peanut clusters in the dessert case. Brenda makes everything from scratch, so I knew they had to be good. I struck up a conversation with her and she gave me the recipe; that was such a nice surprise! This recipe could not be easier and the slow cooker keeps the chocolate from getting scorched.

2 pounds dry roasted salted peanuts
4 ounces German’s® Sweet Chocolate
12 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, about 2 cups
2 ½ pounds white almond bark

Put the peanuts in the bottom of a 4 ‒ 6 quart slow cooker. Layer the chocolate chips followed by the German chocolate then the almond bark. Set on low and cook three hours. After three hours stir until well blended.  Drop by the spoonful onto parchment or waxed paper. I used a ⅛ cup measure for this.

All the ingredients can be found on the baking aisle of most grocery stores. While the recipe didn’t call for it, I topped mine with a tiny pinch of Maldon crunchy sea salt flakes, a favorite salt that I have written about. Other options might include adding miniature marshmallows or substituting coconut for the peanuts.  Peppermint candies would be good too. I didn’t count how many peanut clusters this made but there were plenty extra. I imagine that a person could make these using miniature muffin tins lined with cupcake papers for a nice presentation. I keep these in the fridge; that way the chocolate is a bit firmer and has a nice crunchy texture to it. 

I ate a peanut cluster with ice cream and then I reminisced about a Dairy Queen Peanut Buster parfait. This candy would make a nice Christmas present, especially when accompanied by a handwritten copy of the recipe. Thank you, Brenda, for sharing your recipe for this special treat with us.

One of my favorite possessions is a loose-leaf notebook filled with handwritten recipes given to me over the years by friends and family. Many of these recipes were handed down for generations because they are delicious and reliable. A tried and true recipe like this is definitely worth its weight in gold.

I’m always thrilled to get a new handwritten recipe to add to my collection. Recently a friend gave me her recipe for salmon patties. I looked forward to making these because I had not ever made salmon patties. When I was growing up, my father was a CPA and he had a client who had a fish cannery in Astoria, Oregon. We always had cases of canned salmon and smoked sturgeon in the pantry. My mother routinely made a salmon loaf and it was one of my favorite dinners. This recipe caused me to reminisce a little.

I used a 14.75 ounce can of wild caught Alaskan salmon. Canned salmon also comes in a six ounce size. If you use that size, just use two cans and a little bit less of the other ingredients. Dawn said that the mixture freezes well. Also it can be made into small patties and served as an appetizer.

Salmon Patties

One can salmon, cleaned and drained
¼ cup sour cream
Capers to taste
Two tablespoons chopped onion
1 tsp horseradish or Dijon mustard
One egg

Put the salmon in a strainer and thoroughly drain it. Remove the skin and small bones. Combine the remainder of the ingredients then add the salmon. If the mixture is too wet to form into a patty, add a little of the panko until you can make one that retains its shape. Coat them with the panko. I fried one batch in grapeseed oil and the other in butter. Butter has a low smoke point so the reduced heat increased the cooking time. When frying, turn them over only once; that will keep them from falling apart. I fried them about ten minutes per side until they were a dark golden brown which gave them a lovely crunchy texture. Dawn said she sometimes adds chopped vegetables, like tri-color peppers or fresh herbs. I used a shallot instead of an onion and the Daisy brand of sour cream. In my opinion, Daisy seems to have a better flavor than the other kinds.

I put the patties on toasted hamburger buns with thinly sliced red onion. My friend Heather made some tartar sauce using equal parts mayo, sour cream, and dill pickle relish. I served them with a wedge of lemon; a splash of lemon always brightens the flavor a bit. There you have it – a recipe worth its weight in gold.

In last week’s column I mentioned that 250 species of cinnamon grow around the world and I thought about cinnamon all week. There are two in my spice collection: Vietnamese and Chinese Tung Hing. Vietnamese is hot, sweet, and potent; it’s the flavor in red hot candy. Tung Hing is extra sweet and pungent. Now I was curious. Which one of those 250 species is the best culinary cinnamon on planet earth? The one that stands out because it has such awesome flavor all the other cinnamons pale in comparison. The Supreme Grand Champion of cinnamon ‒ the stuff that makes epic apple pies, cinnamon rolls, and pumpkin spice lattes. Where on earth is that cinnamon?

My sojourn started with a short lesson on the geography of cinnamon and how it grows. It’s a tropical and sub-tropical plant, grown in ten countries. Indonesia, China, Vietnam, and Sri Lanka grow most of it. It grows in the United States in warm climates. In 2020, the world produced 222,122 tons (please remember that random fact if you ever are a guest on jeopardy). Cinnamon grows as a tall evergreen tree or a small shrub. To make cinnamon, farmers shave off the outer bark and harvest the tender inner bark. Cinnamon naturally curls up into quills as it dries. Those quills are then cut into sticks and crushed into powder and chips, or pressed for oil.

I went down the rabbit hole as I continued on  my quest. You know how it goes: you read one website and then the next and all roads eventually lead to  . . .  Amazon. And the winner is — Alba cinnamon from Ceylon. This rare cinnamon is the topmost grade and smoothest cinnamon in the world noted for its spicy, citrus, and floral flavors. I ordered a package of “Ceylon’s Finest True Alba Cinnamon 5 Inch Long Quills, Harvested in 2022.”

While waiting for this package to arrive I did a cinnamon sampling. I put equal amounts of vanilla ice cream in separate dishes and sprinkled the Vietnamese cinnamon from my spice cabinet on one and Tung Hing on the other. The warmth of the cinnamon and the cool creaminess of the ice cream were a perfect pair and I had ice cream for lunch three days in a row (please don’t tell anyone). The flavor differences were subtle yet distinctive.

I am so excited to get my new cinnamon! Freshly grated, world class Alba cinnamon sprinkled over vanilla ice cream for dessert anyone? Add a drizzle of dark chocolate syrup and chopped pecans and the experience may just well be over the top. Ah, life is good, isn’t it? Stay tuned for the next episode!

A question I contemplated years ago was, “What is the minimum number of foods a person needs in their pantry so they can whip up something delicious in just 20 to 30 minutes”? After all, the alphabet has only 26 letters, yet the Oxford dictionary lists 171,476 words made with various combinations of those letters. What could a person make with 26 “just right” food items in their pantry? That would be the ingredients ABC’s!

The next question I asked was “How many foods are there in the world”? Think about all the different foods grown in various geographical regions around the earth. Take cinnamon for example. Most people think the cinnamon commonly available at the grocery store is the only kind there is, but did you know that the genus of cinnamon has 250 different species?  Cinnamon comes in four forms – sticks, chips, powder, and oil. That’s potentially a thousand different kinds of cinnamon, each with subtle distinctions in flavor. Or how’z about lemons?  Surprise! There are 30 different varieties. The sort typically found at the supermarket is called Lisbon, but there are also Buddha’s Hand, Meyer, and 27 more.

Many foods are made with the same ingredient but are produced in different ways, such as cheese. There are thousands and thousands of cheeses, each made with only milk and/or cream, but created by unique methods. Each culture/region has its own indigenous version.

In the late winter, I like to flip through the five-hundred page “Whole Seed Catalogue” which lists hundreds, if not thousands of heirloom fruits, vegetables, and edible flowers. The catalogue explodes with beautiful photographs and mouth-watering descriptions of varieties not often seen in a grocery store. That’s just one seed catalogue; there are many others.

The possible food combinations are endless. I am so thankful to have this huge kaleidoscope of foods available to give me boundless fodder for discovery and adventure. I can browse the world of food just by standing in an aisle at an ethnic grocery store or perusing a website.

This Thanksgiving, I will take a moment to contemplate the unfathomable generosity of Mother Earth and the extraordinary playground she provides. Here, we can endlessly explore and discover the world of food among other things. What a sensory delight! I will thank Father Sun, as well, for giving her the power to create. Pondering on these musings evokes in me deep feelings of joy and my spirit expands with fullness. I love this big blue marble I call home and the tens of millions of letters in Mother Earth’s food alphabet. Oh my! That’s a lot of letters, isn’t it? To infinity and beyond!

Last week I wrote about my alarm over the high price of lettuce – seven dollars for a head that weighed about a pound (this week that same head of lettuce is $7.49). That’s about the same price as ground beef. This seems just  . . . well, NQR – not quite right.

When I complained about the soaring price of lettuce to my friend, she suggested that I view the situation in a different way. Why not be thankful we can even get lettuce and other out-of-season produce any time of the year?

When I grew up, pineapple was available only in December and it was a huge treat. My mother would serve it as dessert; it was special! My father was born in 1899 and was a lifelong Oregon resident. He said at Christmas he got one orange in his stocking and citrus was not seen for the rest of the year. Now we have not only citrus and pineapple, but blueberries year around. I once studied the “global blueberry supply chain”. We are so fortunate to get blueberries in the winter from Peru, Chile, and Argentina. Raspberries are available all year too, along with a long list of other out-of-season fruits and vegetables.

I took my friend’s advice and in the spirit of being grateful, I started to think about all the people involved in getting iceberg lettuce onto my plate. How many people participate in the process from the time the farmer plants the seed to when a shopper plucks the head of lettuce from the produce aisle? Think about it. Fertilizer and pesticides, farm labor and machinery, farming cooperatives, processing plants and warehouses, trucking and containers, refrigeration, food safety, regulators and inspectors at every turn, and labor unions. Then include all those involved in the policy-level issues such as immigration, trade, and subsidies. On first glance the head of lettuce may seem commonplace, but consider the collective effort it took to get it onto your plate.

I can make a choice. I can complain about the high price of lettuce or appreciate all those people who make it possible for me to eat that sweet, succulent, tender lettuce when it’s 30 degrees outside. Having a gratitude attitude might sound cliché, but when I notice the constant stream of the small little blessings in life, I feel fullness and joy. It’s like Thanksgiving every day when I see the cornucopia of good things that come my way.

This Thanksgiving, acknowledge the contribution of the all unseen people who help get food onto your table. This will add richness to your celebration. Maybe now you can even be grateful for that $7.49 head of lettuce.

The other day, I went to the store to buy some salad greens and I was aghast to see that a head of iceberg lettuce was seven dollars, a big price jump from the week before. Why the sudden increase? After all, iceberg lettuce is rather traditional and not exactly upscale.  We have all noticed creeping food inflation. Is this sudden price spike a harbinger of things to come? Will a salad become financially out-of-reach for most people or eaten only on special occasions?

Later that night, I talked to my friend Jerry who had talked to his friend Larry who had also been to the store and noticed the price of lettuce, too. Oh my! Hot gossip from the produce aisle! Was this true in other places? I texted my friend, Margie, who lives in Salem and asked her to please note the price of iceberg lettuce next time she went to the store. Did lettuce cost seven dollars only for people in rural Central Oregon for some random reason?

Two days later I was still pondering on this situation. My inquiring mind wanted to know why the lettuce price is so high! I posed my question to Google; apparently many other people had inquiring minds, too. The price spike wasn’t all due to inflation. A disease called the Necrotic Spot Virus hit the Salinas Valley in California (nicknamed the nation’s salad bowl) and caused severe damage to harvests. Seventy-five percent of the crop has been tossed out. The disease affected most of the lettuces, not just iceberg. Add to that more expensive fuel, fertilizer, a shortage in truck drivers, and soaring labor costs and that picture looks grim. Soon, lettuce will be harvested in Yuma, Arizona and prices will decline. If not, who knows, lettuce could soon become a black market item.

For the time being, lettuce is a precious commodity. Store it correctly so that it does not go to waste. When I researched food waste, I learned that the number one wasted item was bagged salad greens, with almost half being tossed out. Most people tend to store lettuce in plastic but lettuce needs air and moisture. Store it wrapped in moist cloth or paper towels that you spray with water occasionally; doing that will prolong the life of your lettuce. The stem on iceberg lettuce falls out when you forcefully whack the stem end on the counter and twist it out. The leaves easily separate that way.

Jerry dropped off a pound of elk meat today; I invited him to come for elk burgers. I will go ahead and buy a head of iceberg because whenever I eat elk, it’s a special occasion.