The Big Stone Cooking Area is moving forward.

Here’s the footer, ready to bear the weight of the blocks and stone for all eternity.

The Footer

We had an inch of rain after Jay poured it, and there was nary a puddle on it. Jay got it both level and flat.

Here’s the chimney/smoker setting in place.

The Smoker

It is astonishingly heavy. I’d guess it at 500-700 pounds the way the tractor handled.

Here’s Jay cutting the flue pipe holes in the smoker.

Cutting Pipe

Notice the two chains on the pipe. Safety First, that’s our motto. That’s why I told Jay to keep his feet, or any other body part he didn’t care to lose, out from under it.

This shows the flue pipe that will connect the fire pit to the smoker. So the smoke from the fire pit will traverse the flue and then through the cement pipe smoker, providing cool smoke to whatever is in it.

With the chimney in place with the holes cut in it, it is finally time to lay some block and bring some shape to this project!

Block Work

More Block Work

We’ll be cooking in no time now!

My dandelion wine was marginally drinkable at best. And then today Debbie said, “have you checked your sauerkraut lately?”

We had an extra head of cabbage earlier this summer. I chopped it up and sprinkled it with salt.

Cabbage and Salt

Then I tamped it into a crock nice and firm.

Tamping the Kraut

It all looked really good at this point. Nice fresh crispy cabbage, shredded, salted, and packed in a crock.

Looking Good

I weighted it down with a jug filled with water and left it to ferment.

Weighted Kraut

This was about a month ago. I had checked about a week ago and it was doing good. It was starting to ferment, but it was still crisp and smelling more like cabbage than sauerkraut.

I pulled the weighted bottle out today after Debbie said something and phew! You’re lucky the Internet doesn’t include an olfactory interface. It was foul. I poked around in it for while, hoping it had just rotted a bit on top, but it was uniformly disgusting. I took it outside and even then Debbie and Paul insisted I light a candle to cover the stench.

It was an unmitigated and smelly failure. Ah well, cabbage is a fall crop too, so I can try again soon!

I bottled my dandelion wine today. It had been settling and clearing for 3 and a half months and was looking nice and clear, so I figured it was time.

First step (after cleaning the bottle and all equipment) was to transfer the wine from the carboys into bottles.

Filling Bottles

It’s just transferring with a siphon. You put one end of the tube in the carboy and then suck on the other end until you get wine. Unlike siphoning gas, it’s an added bonus when you get a mouthful. Put the other end in your empty wine bottle and the wine flows. On the bottle end there’s a little gadget that when you lift the hose out of a full bottle it stops the flow until you press against the inside of the next bottle. Slick.

After the bottles are filled it’s time to cork them. In the good old days they pounded the cork in with a hammer. In these modern times I get out yet another gadget to cork the bottles.

Corker

You put the cork in the gadget and press the handles down and it pushes the cork into the bottle. It takes a pretty good push to seat the cork. If you’re not careful to keep yourself square to the bottle and push evenly, the whole contraption can go skittering across the counter with wine and profanity flying everywhere.

When buying store bought wine, I usually make my selections based on the attractiveness of the label. I’ll be sure to enjoy my dandelion wine more with a nice label.

An Attractive Label

Who could resist that bottle?

This is all very nice, but what about what really matters? How does it taste? Let’s find out.

Down the Hatch

Debbie said it tasted like drinking dandelion greens. Using winespeak you could say it is overly vegetal. Either one of those is a fairly accurate assessment. It’s not unpleasant to drink, at least if you like dandelion greens, but it definitely has too much green taste. I left the wine sit on dandelions about 6 days which must’ve been too much.

I can sum it up with a quote from the best movie ever, “quaffable but far from transcendent.”

Today we broke ground for the long-considered outdoor cooking area.  This all started in 2002 when my company was moving to a new building.  In the basement of the old building was a cast iron door from an abandoned coal furnace.  Since it was just going to be thrown in the dumpster, I brought it home.  I didn’t need a reason, Debbie and I both firmly believe you can never have too many heavy chunks of iron lying about.

Genesis

Sure enough, my faith in acquiring chunks of iron was rewarded.  In 2003 I saw plans for this adobe bread oven.  “Wouldn’t it be cool to build an adobe bread oven and use the iron door on it,” I thought.

The Initial Concept

The passing years have seen the initial concept blossoming by 2010 into a stone fire pit, smoker, bread oven, and work area.

The Current Concept

You’d think the Federal government was running this show.

We’re planning on using stone instead of brick as in the picture above.  The chimney on our house is stone, and stone figures heavily in our landscaping.  Building it from stone will provide a pleasing consistency, and in keeping with the ever expanding nature of the project, it’s the most expensive choice.

We had a fire pit made out of hand-me-down limestone in the area where we want to put the new structure, surrounded by crushed stone.  That all had to come out to make way for the Big Stone Cooking Area.    Our mason is coming tomorrow to start work so despite today being the hottest day in living memory, I hauled off all the old limestone,  filled in the old fire pit, shoveled up all the crushed gravel, and removed 2 sections of fence.

Shovel Ready

Jay Rosswurm, a local mason, is doing the skilled work for us.  Jay’s a 3rd generation mason (at least 3rd, maybe more, I should ask him).  He came over earlier in the week to look at our site and listen to our ideas so he could work up an estimate.  He doesn’t know it, but he had the job when he said to me, “I’ll have to ask Grandpa about the dimensions for the flue.”  That sort of filial respect, and the willingness to admit you don’t know everything, carries a lot of weight with me.

I’m already considering the first change order; what about a place for a gas ring for frying?

It’s a perfect August morning here, 70 degrees and promising to get hot later, a soft breeze, and clear blue skies. It seemed like an ideal day to visit a farmer’s market. I made my way down Highway 205 to the Columbia City Farmer’s Market. It was in full swing when I got there about 9 am.

With the Indiana gardening season reaching its most bountiful time the vendor’s tables were loaded with the good stuff. I came home with a cantaloupe (or is it a muskmelon?), 2 eggplant, a pound of plums, an enormous bunch of loose leaf lettuce, and a free range heritage roasting chicken.

There’s going to be some good eating at our place the next few days!

Life, actually my mom, has given me peaches, so I’m making peach daiquiris.

Peach Daiquiri

A handful of ice, a teaspoon of simple syrup, a splash of lime juice, a peach, and a shot of rum.  Stir it all up in the blender and you’ve got the perfect use for ripe peaches on a blistering summer day!

Deb’s roommates are at Skunk Hill for a visit, so I cooked tonight.

Barb Sandy Dinner Menu

It turned out really good (if I say so myself) and the staging of the meal (which can be an issue) went smoothly.

All I need now is a little French man-servant outfit to wear to make it the total experience.

Debbie and I have started writing a weekly column on buscovoice.com. If you’re one of the many who just can’t get enough of the witty, insightful, and often brilliant writing on zumbrun.net, check out our Two Farmers and a Fork at Local Columnists

We’re on vacation in Topsail Beach, North Carolina. It’s 800 miles from home, so we took 2 days to drive here and had several interesting dining experiences along the way.

Around suppertime the first day we were looking for a place to eat and around Marietta, Ohio there were signs on the Interstate for Applebees and Bob Evans so we pulled off on Highway 7. As we wheeled into the parking lot that surrounded the Applebees Debbie spotted a storefront Mexican place. She said, “wanna try the Mexican place?” I said, “sure.”

What a find! Las Trancas. When we stepped in I figured we were in for something good. The open storefront had been artfully divided up in several dining spaces, the wait staff were all in uniforms, the decor was nice, and most tellingly, the place was packed at 5:20 in the evening.

Debbie ordered up carne asada and I got carnitas. Yum, yum, yum! Debbie’s beef was fresh and perfectly cooked with a beautiful sear. My carnitas were moist and rich with delicious charred bits. So, so good! If you ever find yourself in Marietta, Ohio, check it out.

We stayed that night in Beckley, West Virginia. We started off early the next morning and had breakfast in the Omelet Shoppe next to the hotel. I was delighted to see grits on the menu and ordered them. When I did our waitress said, “ummph.” Debbie said, “what, you don’t like grits?” The waitress said, “well, not here. I like them if my momma cooks them.” Now there’s a sterling recommendation. But to this Yankee they tasted just fine.

Finally rolling downhill towards Topsail Beach on I-40 we stopped at a Smithfield Chicken and BBQ (or SCNB as some of the signs say.) It’s a regional chain of fast food BBQ and chicken. The pulled pork was just splendid. They serve it with cole slaw and vinegary sauce. It’s definitely fast food bbq, but it’s real tasty all the same. And the service they provide is a model for what all restaurants should be.

Now we’re at Topsail, enjoying fresh shrimp every day.

Wow… Wow… Did I say wow?

Sustainable farming, slow food, local eating, etc are often, and often justifiably, accused of being elitist, impractical, expensive, utopian.   I agree with  lot of that criticism.  The idea that we’re going farm vacant urban lots or create vertical gardens and feed the world is just dumb.

Utopian dreams aside, there’s a lot I agree with in the whole ecotarian movement.   You should eat locally when it makes sense.  Sustainable agriculture makes sense (Well, duh.  Who’d be in favor of unsustainable agriculture?).  Cooking at home from scratch is sensible.    You don’t have to go off the deep end and vow to only eat locally for a year, insist all chickens be allowed to run free, or never let anything containing white sugar pass your lips.  There’s a sensible middle ground.

Harvest House exemplifies that middle ground for a restaurant.  You step into Harvest House and it’s nice. The decor is pleasant, and it’s spotlessly clean. Nice. You look at the menu and it has what you’d expect in small town breakfast and lunch place. Soups and salads, sandwiches and a white board with specials.  Nice.

Then you get your food and take a bite and you realize it’s a lot more than just nice, it’s something special.

I had a breaded tenderloin with ‘Harvest House chips.’ Pretty standard fare for Northeast Indiana. We love our breaded tenderloins. Breaded, salt-laced, deep fried delights with only the barest hint of pork under all that breading and grease.

The Harvest House menu advertised their tenderloin as hand breaded. And it was. It was a piece of real pork, tender and moist, not pounded paper thin, but a tasty quarter inch slice. The breading was panko-like and fried to a perfect light golden brown.  It’s OK to eat meat.  It’s even OK to eat breaded, deep fried meat.  It doesn’t have to be an overly processed, overly breaded, overly salted, overly fried gastronomic nightmare.

The Harvest House chips were like homemade potato chips. A bit thicker than commercial chips, and unlike commercial chips they actually tasted like potatoes.  Like the tenderloin, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a fried potato with salt on it.  It doesn’t have to be the smallest wafer of potato possible that hold together when fried in whatever is the cheapest oil available (i.e., commercial potato chips.)

There’s a little information available about Harvest House on the web. It talks about their commitment to and use of recycling, sustainable farming, and local produce. Their restaurant is living proof that these concepts aren’t unaffordable uptopian dreams, but something that could be, and is, happening today right in our backyards.

If you find yourself anywhere near Albion, Indiana at breakfast or lunch time (seven days a week), you should stop at Harvest House.  I’d provide more explicit directions, but honestly, if you can’t find something in Albion you need more help than I give you (hint, it’s by the stoplight).