Suburban Adventures

As part of Plan C in these parts, Andrew and I are going to try to save money by making more of our own food. Thus far, this has created one rather adventuresome afternoon.

For Valentine's Day I wanted to make Andrew a Maple Buttermilk Pie. My dad made one last fall and it was quite yummy. However, the recipe calls for Grade B syrup, which is expensive (though why, as a lower grade than A it is more expensive than A is a bit of a mystery. It isn't like you overcook Grade A to make Grade B). It being February in NJ, I thought I would try to find a local source for maple syrup. Through Local Harvest I located a fairly close producer, got in touch with him and arranged to head out there.

Oh my. Now, while my standards of tidy-ness are not say my mother's or my Aunt Lorraine's, I still believe in keeping things picked up, and I am working on getting in the habit of making the bed every day (it's coming slowly Mom!). However, I am a federal food inspector these days and this place was A Mess as even my dad would label it. Several rusting hulks of cars, 18 wheelers, Caterpillars, and other assorted junk. The house on the property looked like something out of a bad gothic novel. However, I was in uniform (assulting an Army officer is a felony), it was the middle of the day, and I had my finger on Andrew's speed dial.

Thus prepared, I followed the farmer through the gate. Rust colored puddles of oily water mixtures were on the ground. I had previously talked to him about buying eggs and he'd brought 2 dozen with him. While I would like to say that I was so shocked by the conditions of the place that I didn't buy the eggs, I was too embarassed to tell him that I didn't want them. I figured I could always make egg salad out of them.

He told me to come back to the trailer where his production took place. Swallowing hard, I followed him. As we went deeper into the rust piles, through a maze of total junk, I started noticing an odor. Let's call it eau de dead rat. Holy cow. Here I am buying FOOD from this guy! I go into the trailer where he makes the syrup and see what he's offering. I rather feel like an international arms dealer at this point. But, the syrup looks ok, and I buy a few bottles. We walk out and make small talk. I pay for my purchases and hurry out of there.

But, as I write this blog, the pie is cooking in the oven. The making of the pie will be a story for another day though. Suffice it to say that I did just about everything except mill the flour myself.

And here is a belly pic of me at 25 weeks. I am a little stuck out because I am trying to hold my 24 pound son, but good grief! I didn't really know I was that big!