Sometimes you have to move backwards in order to move forwards.

 

I have just moved to Boston, MA.  There are about three reasons for this.  The first is that I decided to attend Tufts University’s Agriculture, Food and Environment program in the graduate school of Nutrition, Science and Policy (These big schools are apparently very into names.  I talked to one dean of the school who told me about a weeks-long debate over a single comma in the title of my graduate school).  I chose to go back to school not only because I wanted to be extremely poor again (hooray negative income!) but also because I thought that this might be my only chance to truly understand the Farm Bill.  Some things you just have to attend 16 classes to fully comprehend.

The second reason for my departure from the farm is the fact that most people who eat food (that is, all of humanity) do not live on farms.  Let’s face it, I was living in a very idyllic situation when it came to eating local and most people are never going to go live on a farm.  Even before I actually lived on the farm I lived in farm country.  Greensboro was surrounded by farms.  Hillsborough was surrounded by farms.  Boston is surrounded by suburbs.  In a city, a BIG city, I can learn more about how it can make sense for most people to eat local.    It’s a big change for me, but for most people this is reality.  If I can learn to eat local here I can speak to many more people.

 

The final reason for my move is climate related.  See, NC was, in my humble opinion, the perfect climate.  We had nice long summers, we had short winters, we had some snow, but not enough to intimidate me.  For a person who loves to watch the leaves change but has never bought a “real” winter coat it was fantastic.  For someone who wanted to eat in season all year long but was an amateur canner it was a dream come true.  Boston, if you’ve never looked at a map, is COLD.  It’s way the heck up there, separated by only one state from Maine.  In short, it’s an insane place to live (I give this designation to any place that standing outdoors in January for more that 20 minutes will kill you).  If I want to live here and eat local I’ll have to learn about food preservation like whoa.

 

 

Now.  I know that I’m a jerk and I went for an entire month without posting anything.  If I have any readers left they are probably all very angry at me.  However, I will now try to make amends.  I have an internet connection again people.  You may not realize this in your homes and offices, but wi-fi is less common in cucumber patches than it is in say Starbucks.  Posting was a major endeavor on the farm.  It required coming in from the fields for prolonged periods of the workday.  Now it’s something that can happen regularly again.

 

 

So, in my first attempt to make you, my readers, happy again, I shall tell you how to make pasta.  Oh yes, pasta from scratch.  And my recipe requires no fancy equipment.  In fact, it doesn’t even require a real rolling pin.  I made this pasta at my father’s apartment in San Francisco this summer kneeding the dough with my hands and rolling it out with a wine bottle (it’s that bottle of chardonnay in the background of all the pictures, if you were wondering).  It’s a recipe that even the least equipped kitchens can handle.

So without further ado I give you a Marcella Hazan and Mario Batali inspired menu:

• Tomato Mozarella Salad with Basil
• Pork chops in cream and mushrooms with white wine
• Home made pasta with  James’ pasta sauce
• Late summer melon salad