Channeling My Inner Bubbe
The Chicago Tribune writes a front pager on eating local. They skip any mention of the one store with local as its raison d'etre, Green Grocer. I mean I'm in it for the delicious food, the saving the earth, the friendships, but mostly for the title, "World's Best Locavore." Cassie's got a business to run! Get ye to Green Grocer.
As can be expected, July's looking good for Cassie. She went small with City Farm, pinkie wide carrots and beets the size of gumballs. Maroon raspberries and darker cherries, some herbs and other some green things. Cassie stocks more than local produce. My wife calls Indiana's Traders Point Creamery Triple Orchard (or something like that) yogurt her crack. Cassie carries that as well as other products from Trader's Point including cottage cheese, ice cream and fresh mozzarella. Proteins today included tilapia from Aquaranch, James Farm beef, and a rarity for locavores, chicken breasts, that's breasts alone--me and my pals, we usually have to buy our chickens whole.
Getting back to those baby beets. As we've been discussing on LTH [ed. and here too!], it may make sense to eat like your grandparents. Eating that way means playing the part of your Bubbe, getting in that zone where you can effortlessly peel a bunch of beets. It does seem that the method to do such escaped me. I needed more than the zen of the paring knife. I needed Jaques Pepin in the kitchen.
On my last beet, my wife, who would later yell at me for not cutting the beet greens uniform enough, says, "I'm shredding them anyways, you do not need to be too careful." Too late, she took my exquisitely skinless beets and quickly shredded them in the processor.
It was Northern Italian night at the Bungalow. She made riso (think soupy risotto) with the end of the year asparagus. Our side, shredded beets and their tops, sauteed with a good hand of butter, lime zest and a sprinkling of chive. If nothing else, we enjoyed the break from our usual extra virgin olive oil cooked food.