Guinea Pigs in the Kitchen: Season's Eatings

   Fall.
   In our four-season climate, you may know it by another name, but "fall" was the term everyone used since my childhood, and it took me this many years to understand why it's called that. Plain and simple, the leaves are falling. Haha. Ah. The falls of my past were seasons of death and decay—look to Hallowe'en, the literal mock-holiday of All Hallow's Day. Most American children know fall as the end of summer, and hence the start of school. I loved school, so I can't associate with their dread on that point. But, fall also came to mark a trying time for my family.

   Autumn.
   Recently, this word replaced "fall" in my vocabulary. "I'm really autumning for you." "I've autumnen and I can't get up!" "Genesis 3: The Autumn of Man." Obviously not in any of these senses. But I feel as though "autumn" has a certain warmth to it, or at the very least sophistication, that adds to the season. It's, looking at a Norway maple casting its golden hue in place of shade. It's, drawing your eyes away from the road to stare at a sugar maple that's glowing so orange in the setting sun that it appears to be "on fire." It's, not minding the chill air that plagued you on your walk to the car because you'll soon be sipping a steaming hot vanilla chai. Where "fall" is simply the connection between peak growth and dormancy, "autumn" brings the magnifying glass down upon this quarter.

   Harvest.
   Now that I've finally gotten your attention, allow me to really indulge your taste buds. If fall is a time of year and autumn is a season, harvest is a reason. It's not just a time to reflect on, remember, or try to forget, nor even solely a moment to take a breath or have it get taken away. "Harvest" invokes bits and pieces of these sentiments, but on a grander scale it is the end...of a cycle. It reminds us of the work started in springtime, the care continued throughout summer, for the yield gathered now. It speaks of bounty and plenty, the cornucopia. Fall, is a walk in brisk weather. Autumn, is huddled around a nighttime blaze. Harvest, is a meal shared in good company.

The Greens-House

   I'm a huge proponent for seasonal eating. What that means is this: certain food items should be eaten at certain parts of the year, which then implies that region is taken into account. Nowadays, with the mass-production of foods via vast allotments of land, incredible use of resources, greenhouse-growing, GMO research, synthetic additives, natural and artificial preservatives, etc., the concept of only having a season in which to eat a particular food item seems like the cause would only be lack of supply—solely economically speaking, of course.
   Let's take greenhouses, for example, since that is at least my area of expertise. The purpose of a greenhouse (also called a glasshouse) is to create a controllable climate. By such projects, floral greenhouses often succeed in filling a room with orchids, most species of which are tropical, which basically connotes a year-round climate of high humidity and anything above freezing temperatures, from comfortably cool to swelteringly hot. While orchids aren't truly edible (some are used as a garnish), the same logic applies to greenhouses used in the food-industry.
   When considering tropical plants, such as bananas, supply via import-trading is a relatively constant business; because they are produced year-round, they can be purchased year-round. Non-tropical fruits and vegetables, such as cabbage and strawberries, don't share that convenience, so growing these in a greenhouse allows fresh produce to be gathered out-of-normal-season. Because, not only does a greenhouse imitate a necessary climate's temperature, precipitation, humidity, and light requirements (as if that were not enough), but it can also begin the growing season at any given point of the year. And, since most plants do not take a full 12 months to mature their produce, the space of a single greenhouse can provide a much higher yield than an equally sized plot of farmland.
   Yet, while every plant can be grown in a controlled environment, not every plant is. The greatest example of this which I can think of is fruit trees, namely apples. Because individual trees take so many resources, it would be impractical to grow them in a greenhouse. This is mainly because, unlike herbaceous plants such as annual vegetables, arboraceous plants tend to keep to a schedule as dictated in their genetics. For example, light requirements alone can become so technical as solar trajectory (across the sky), measure of light intensity (greatest in the summer) and even a requirement for darkness. While it is certainly within our grasp to build houses capable of controlling each and every one of these factors, it would be a lot of work just to improve a process which is far from broken.

1-Up

   Apples are not on short supply. And yet, they are grown seasonally. The apples we find in the stores are possibly harvested one year and preserved in such a way that they can be ripened and sold "fresh" the next. And so, there is a constant supply of apples; and this can be true for much of the produce we grow and consume. Just because they're always in the market doesn't mean they're always in season.
   This is not an attempt to change your food ethics. Some people are strictly against GMO processes, and others like to follow the FDA-approved "organic" labels. To each their own. Likewise, this is not a rule, but simply a preference—because I would be hard-pressed to follow my own advice scrupulously, to the point of avoiding foods that are not in season. No, I simply like to enjoy foods as they were once prepared: fresh from the garden (or, you know, the farm).
   In the case of apples, some varieties come into season ahead of others, and some even mature really late in season. My rationale isn't so technical to know when each and every piece of fruit or vegetable was harvested or would have naturally ripened—I'm hardly a keen shopper as it is. So, generally, what I do is divide the year into four equal parts, roughly 13 weeks each, and consider when certain foods would either be found growing in that time or still be fresh enough to warrant consumption. Winter, then, becomes a season of citrus, cabbage, nuts, and some types of fish.
   The most difficult season out of the way, spring receives berries and some quick-sprouting vegetables. This past summer was packed with shrimp. (Obviously, there are more items on any of these lists, but I'm just settling the basic concepts.) For autumn, just look to the Thanksgiving table.

November 21, 2013 - Mushroom Stuffing

   I concocted this for a Thanksgiving fellowship night because 1. I like stuffing and 2. I wanted to be original. It could be considered vegan (just swap out the butter), however, I've also noticed that a lot of vegetarians don't actually like mushrooms. Weird. I think they're great as a meaty ingredient, and they supply your vitamin-D fix.
   I regularly enjoy catering to people's needs, and that's really why I prepare a lot of vegetable-only dishes. This one began with celery, celery root, and onion, each chopped into about half-inch pieces and sent to a pan with lots of butter. Once the onions softened up, "baby bellas" and white mushrooms went in, along with parsnip, a nutty sort of carrot. And fresh sage and thyme. I love mixing sage with mushrooms, and I'm sure these flavors and scents could stand up as a buttery side dish without moving on to the next step.
   Because we shop for meals and not to stock our fridge, I had cubed fresh Italian bread for the main element of the stuffing. Traditionally, it should be stale—and I just discovered how to "make" stale bread. But I know I wouldn't have been able to even if I knew how then. "Stale" just implies dried, the point where the moisture has left the bread. If you have the time (I never do), you can bake it out, or if you want to take the lazy route, just leave it out overnight—at most in a paper bag. So, the difference between my fresh bread and a properly dried loaf was that the former couldn't absorb very many flavors.
   Once tossed with the veggies into the baking tray shown, the source of moisture came in the form of vegetable broth, store-bought, probably only 1 can, but don't hold me to that. (All of these measurements really stem from whatever recipe I'd used as guidelines at the time.) I finished with fresh parsley and salt and pepper, gave it another couple of folds, then baked it for an undisclosed amount of time and temperature. Uncovered. That probably makes the difference: If the bread I'd used was stale to begin with, that forgotten step might have dried out the dish even more. If I'd used stale bread, I would rather the stuffing be moist, so I guess it's a good thing my bread was fresh.

Apples and Pairs

   So, sage and mushrooms and parsnip and celeriac obviously go well, together and with the season. Another medley that works returns us to apple, the truest fruit of harvest. I'm sure you're all aware of the medieval images of a pig holding an apple in its mouth. More than just a garnish, the pairing of pork and apple is almost too good. Look around: applesauce with porkchops, apple-wood smoked bacon,... that's about it. But, the possiblities are [not really] endless, and they're actually quite inspiring (original recipe to follow).
   Anyway, this meal deserves a bit of history with Jes and I. And my brother, too; he's quite the aspiring chef these days. Within a month after Jes's arrival on the eastern seaboard, he'd baked some squash with oil and served them up otherwise unseasoned. I added pine-cone syrup to mine, because really, when else are you going to get to use pine-cone syrup? (I still have it.)

Jerm's Acorn Squash

Thus began a craze in our family for the healthy, surprisingly easy-to-prepare cousin of the pumpkin. He would go on to buy butternut-squash soup-in-a-box, and my mother would bake the vegetables like potatoes. The following November, Jes and I went to an Italian restaurant (of all places) and ordered a seasonal soup served in an edible ramekin: a squash itself. And it featured ground turkey. I thought this was amazing.
I'd had my experiences with dressing up that boxed squash soup as well (recipe to follow), but recently Jes was perusing Pinterest and found a recipe for stuffed acorn squash. Personally, I'm familiar with stuffed cabbage and stuffed artichoke and especially, as Mom used to make, stuffed peppers. This was very much like the last, and Jes was feeling up to the task, and of course it was overflowing with seasonal tastes.