Pleasant House

I hope everybody had a pleasant and delicious Thanksgiving holiday. If your house is like ours, you’ve probably had your fill of turkey dinner leftovers and tried to get a little creative with them. Turkey and stuffing sandwiches, anyone? How about a Salvadoran Pane Con Pavos? Crispy stuffing with poached eggs for breakfast? Turkey tetrazzini?

I don’t like anything to go to waste. But I also try to make something really enjoyable with the leftovers rather than simply reheating and serving. The first thing that Chelsea and I enjoyed with the leftovers was a rich turkey soup made from the carcass, wings, leftover dark meat, and the confit juices from Darrin’s turkey legs, plus some gravy to add some more dimension to the soup. We still had some fresh kale salad and greens from the polytunnel, a little stuffing, and mashed potatoes to round out our pretty standard Thanksgiving leftovers meal.

The second leftovers meal was something to remember. Our friend Dave, currently of Minneapolis and an all-around connoisseur of fun and leftovers, was staying with us for the weekend, which meant that if we were going to prepare a dinner of leftovers at home, they had better be damn good leftovers. So, I got to work on a menu, which looked something like this:

Dave, not yet aware of the delicious leftovers

Roasted turkey carpaccio with curried green tomato chutney and homegrown lettuces

Turkey and brown rice bowl with Japanese garnishes

Leftover lemon and ginger Bavarian for dessert

If you remember from parts 1 and 2 of “Spatchcocked!” I lined the underside of the turkey breast skin with fresh leaves of sage and barded the breast with thin slices of pancetta. I was left with one-half turkey breast on Thanksgiving, which I removed intact from the turkey. For the carpaccio, I sliced the cold turkey breast as thinly as possible and fanned it out on a dinner plate. The fanned turkey looked pretty with the bits of sage and pancetta. When the turkey came to room temperature, I drizzled it with some extra virgin olive oil and fresh Meyer lemon juice, and seasoned with sel gris and fresh-cracked black pepper. In the center of the plate, I spooned some of my curried green tomato chutney. We enjoyed this turkey antipasto over fresh baby romaine leaves and mizuna lettuce from our winter polytunnel garden.

The brown rice bowl was as simple as can be, but incredibly satisfying. I’ll start by saying that turkey and brown rice are pleasingly complementary. They both have a certain earthiness that matches quite well. I began by boiling the brown rice in water and turkey broth with a turkey wing. When the rice was about 2/3 cooked, I added Darrin’s leftover shredded turkey confit. When the rice was fully cooked and rested, I poured it into a large mixing bowl and seasoned it with salt, pepper, ponzu, Meyer lemon zest, and rice wine vinegar. I dished the turkey rice into bowls and garnished with Japanese pickles and preserved seafoods/weeds, and accompanied them with fukake and hot sauces. Dave, a Korean American who lived for some time in Japan, thought the dish, in addition to being Japanese-inspired, was also Korean-inspired. I guess I must have really been trying to make him feel at home.

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My spatchcocked Amish turkey was baptized by fire on Thanksgiving Day, and the result was glorious. I seasoned the bird one more time with sea salt and black pepper and let it come close to room temperature before roasting it in a 350 degree F. oven. I thought I would cover the breast with buttered parchment and foil ,but instead draped the breast with a butter-laden swatch of cheesecloth.

The most surprising part of the spatchcocked and roasted turkey was the incredibly short cooking time. I didn’t time it exactly, but if you have a convection oven, plan on anywhere from 1 hour and 20 minutes to 1 and a half hours! I’m glad that I had a probe in the turkey the entire tim, otherwise I may not have come back to check it for at least an hour and a half. Because I seasoned the turkey the day before and left it uncovered in the fridge, the skin dried out quite nicely and the bird began to brown in the oven almost immediately. I placed some loose-fitting pieces of foil over the thighs during the last 15 minutes or so of roasting. After the bird came out of the oven, a nice long rest on top of the roasting vegetables and herbs underneath a tent of foil yielded one of the moistest and well-seasoned turkeys I’ve ever roasted.

The saltimbocca effect was subtle, with thin whisps of pancetta still clinging to the breast and hints of sage that had permeated the meat. The Marsala wine in the gravy added a touch of sweetness to the meat. I would recommend this method for a slightly left-of-traditional Thanksgiving but also for pan-roasted turkey cutlets or brined, whole-roasted halves of turkey breast for sandwiches or a meal any day of the year.

While unique turkey preparations may be considered non-traditional for Thanksgiving, most people do not consider turkey in general, short of the turkey burger or deli sandwich, as a traditional protein choice. Give the best turkey you can get the same treatment that you would a piece of veal or guinea fowl, and I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results!

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I really had a hankering for a different kind of turkey this year. Something boldly seasoned, piquant, tangy, or Mexican-inspired. Alas, Chelsea would have to make her traditional stuffing that she’s been making since she was a little girl, and we weren’t sure if our guests would be up for the diversion. And quite frankly, I wanted to “keep it simple.” Ultimately, I decided on something in between exotic (if you consider a loosely Roman interpretation at all exotic) and traditional, and between medium and simple on the skill-o-meter.

The result is turkey saltimbocca. Last I checked, saltimbocca, which means “to jump in the mouth” or something like that, may hail from Rome, where there probably aren’t many turkeys, especially Amish ones, but there are plenty of sage and dried-cured pork products. San Francisco’s Zuni Cafe isn’t necessarily Roman-inspired, but it is Italian-inspired and that is where I became entranced by a perfect rendition of saltimbocca in which a perfect leaf of sage was pinned to the breast of a guinea fowl like a feathery-brooch, wrapped in a toga-like veil of prosciutto and gently seared. A simple pan jus provided just enough sauce to accompany this delectably rich and herbaceous dish.

My turkey, inspired by the saltimbocca preparation, is just left of traditional. First, the turkey has been spatchcocked which believe it or not, has nothing to do with medieval torture or execution. It simply means that the turkey’s backbone has been cut out. This is done by holding the legs of the turkey straight up and chopping, straight down, on either side of the spine with a cleaver and removing the backbone. Then, by pressing down on the inside of the breastbone, you crack it, flattening the turkey. This method results in a turkey that takes up less space in your oven and cooks faster.

The breast skin has been loosened and underneath it, the naked flesh has been rubbed with an herbaceous seasoning and lined with fresh sage leaves. The outside of the turkey skin has also been seasoned, and the top of the breast has been cloaked with thin slices of pancetta, an Italian-style cured and rolled pork belly. The breast has been tied with butcher’s twine to slightly form the meat and to help in holding the pancetta to the breast. When the turkey roasts, it will have a sheet of parchment and foil covering it for most of the roasting time. Toward that last 30 minutes or so of cooking time, the parchment and foil will be removed and the skin will be crisped.

I have prepared a turkey stock from the backbone, neckbone, pope’s nose, and giblets from the turkey, and will use that to prepare a gravy after the turkey comes out of the oven. The gravy will be enhanced with a splash of dry Marsala wine for that little left-of-traditional touch. I’ll let you know how it turns out!

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One of Mom’s spreads circa 1980s

Originally uploaded by art and chel

This is a typical holiday spread that my mom would engineer for family get togethers. I would help my mom prep for these meals and really got excited about cooking during this time. It was also a dinner like this, maybe even this one, where my uncle Mark said to me, “You should become a chef.” It took me many years before I realized that “becoming a chef” was as legitimate an option as any other profession. I didn’t grow up in the chef as celebrity age or in an environment where my family and I knew chefs. Alas, I became a full-time student of food and a professional chef, and hope to inspire people through my cooking, the same way that my mom inspired me, and to encourage others to follow their passions the same way that my uncle suggested I follow mine.

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During our trip to Sheffield, England, a couple weeks ago, Chelsea and I had the good fortune of having my cousin Baz and my family show us the town. Since Baz is familiar with our obsessively compulsive attraction to all things food, he organized a few field trips that involved food but also be entwined with the culture and history of the region.

Baz not only shows great pride in his city, long-termed the “steel city” because of its former massive steel industry, but is like a walking encyclopedia of regional British knowledge. At our first dinner on our first night in Sheffield we began to dig into the history of the city, connecting some dots between its culture, history, and food. The subjects of this particular connection were Sheffield’s steel-making and silversmith histories, one of the city’s prominent figures, and the table cutlery upon which he built his company.

Baz arranged dinner that evening at Silversmiths, a restaurant made famous by Gordon Ramsey on “Kitchen Nightmares” in the UK. I am happy to report that there were no nightmares at the restaurant, only real-life dreams of pies, pints, and real gravy. Silversmiths, in Sheffield’s city center, is housed in the former silver cutlery workshop of George Ellis. From this point on, we began to learn about Sheffield’s history as a steel manufacturer, more specifically, as a mass producer of silver and stainless steel cutlery.

The next day, we had lunch at The Milestone gastropub near Sheffield’s Kelham Island, the former industrial center for steel production in Sheffield and where the original Bessemer converter is still kept. Kelham Island reminded me of the area around Chicago’s Goose Island. As an aside, a couple of days later we visited Wakefield and Pontefract, where my grandpa was born and lived, and whose family worked in the coal mines–the very mines whose coal must have fed the ovens in Sheffield that smelted the steel. By this time, Chelsea and I had developed a newfound pride in Sheffield and proceeded to flip over silverware at each of our dinners throughout England in search of the made in Sheffield stamp.

A tour of the Metalwork Gallery at The Millennium Gallery Museum in Sheffield showcased some of the greatest examples of the city’s metalwork, much of it cutlery and service ware, from the fourteenth century until today. Browsing through the glass cases at the immense variety of cutlery and implements reminded me of my training in fine dining cuisine,  with all of its table service regalia. I dreamed of visiting the nearest place to lunch on a whole-roasted trout while we utilized all of the appropriate silverware and drank from Victorian chalices.

At the Metalwork Gallery we were briefly introduced to the work of David Mellor, a modern silversmith and designer from Sheffield. During a car trip through the Technicolor-green hills of Derbyshire (dar-ba-sure), just outside Sheffield in the National Forest of the Peak District, on our way to the museum and modern-day workshop of David Mellor, I became more acquainted with Mellor’s work, spotting one of his most notable designs shown at his museum: the modern stoplight that can be seen throughout England. Mellor’s workshop “operates on the simple principle that well-designed equipment can improve your life.” The workshop itself is housed in a modern roundhouse designed by Sir Michael Hopkins and will satiate your thirst for award-winning architecture. The museum is also a fully-functioning factory where you can see all of the Mellor cutlery being made.

Mellor factory

Mellor may be best known for his modern silverware collections, which he first produced in the 1950s, or for his contributions to everyday designs found in British public spaces. Some of Mellor’s most notable works are the previously mentioned 1966 traffic light as well as the controversial 1966 square pillar box. Mellor also designed an iconic outdoor chair for Abacus; the tubular steel frame and steel wire seat won the Design Council Award in 1975. Mellor designed everything from pruning shears to tea pots to such elaborate one-off designs as fountains and even disposable cutlery, the latter of which didn’t quite live up to its name, as many people washed them and re-used them.

disposable cutlery 1966

Mellor’s tableware designs are striking examples of the food and design worlds intersecting in a way that speaks to the “less is more” philosophy of modern design. The apex of a modern design, to me, is when form and function are alloyed on a level so as not to compromise functionality but to enhance it through its form. The end result of Mellor’s designs are, really, a subconscious appreciation of the tools of everyday tasks like eating, sitting, or even waiting in traffic. That is not to say that I take the same pleasure in waiting at a red light as I would in enjoying a nice meal with Mellor cutlery. Suffice it to say that Mellor achieved his goal of “improving design standards over a broad spectrum, directly affecting very many people’s lives.” Mellor had it covered, whether it be eating, being stuck in traffic, working in the garden, or enjoying a cuppa.

It can be theorized that design has some sort of an effect on everyone who touches it, and Mellor sought to affect as many people directly with his design as possible. Indifference, while not necessarily a desired effect of good design, is an effect nonetheless. Some people are as indifferent to good design as they are to the food they eat. But in Mellor’s designs, objects that are often guilty of eliciting indifference are reworked so as to make an indelible impression on the user. I have to believe that Mellor also intended to enhance the eating experience and encourage good cooking through his designs because his museum store, in addition to selling his own cutlery, also sells high-end cookware and glassware from other manufacturers.

Ever since my first trip to Europe I have been overwhelmed by its traditional architecture and its adornment, and also by its prolific modern design and architecture. I am always impressed by how comfortably the two coincide. Even though modern designers are not recreating St. James Cathedral, the skills of the artisans and craftsmen who built it and fabricated its materials and fixtures have passed that knowledge down over the centuries. That knowledge is kept alive by modern designers and craftsman like Mellor and, I believe, wrapped up in the souls of their modern interpretations.

Photo credits Notcot.org: David Mellor candelabra

Some designs are beacons of what was en vogue at the time of their creation, no matter how exaggerating the style may be. Mellor’s brightly colored “Chinese Ivory” steel and resin cutlery line of the 1970s is indicative of a time when dining started to become a little more informal and light-hearted. While some designs could be called “dated,” they could still be considered good designs. The fact that many British households had brightly colored silverware at the time is a good indicator of that, as well as the fact that these pieces are back in production.

Good design is timeless. Its soul lives on forever, reminding us of its decade, like the “Chinese ivory,” or never showing its ag,e like the utilitarian “Thrift” series stainless steel cutlery, commissioned by the Ministry of Public Building and Works in 1965. Or, my personal favorite, the “Minimal” series, which I suspect 50 years from now will seem as new as it did in 2002. David Mellor, another minimalist in my kitchen.

“Thrift”

“Minimal”

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London sunset

Chelsea and I had the honor of staying with our friend Rob at his new house in Islington, London. Rob’s house has a fabulous kitchen that overlooks a quaint little garden, a nice respite to have in such a busy city. Two things that were flourishing in the garden were rosemary and mint. (The three of us enjoyed a few cups of mint tea from Rob’s garden in the evenings, and I suggested some things that Rob could prepare with the rosemary.) It was no surprise that when Chelsea and I offered to prepare a meal for Rob and his friends that we would take advantage of the great produce available throughout London, including Rob’s rosemary.

Our recent travels throughout London, Cornwall, and Yorkshire made me aware that seasonality and locality are a significant part of British food culture. This quality was reflected in the finest restaurants and at many local pubs, grocery stores, and markets. One savory reminder of seasonality that kept popping up everywhere we went was wild game. Whether in the country or in the city, wild game such as venison, boar, grouse, partridge, quail, pheasant, rabbit, and hare were on the menus, in the butchers’ cases, and even hanging up or piled up in the shop–gasp!–unrefrigerated.

wild game at Borough Market

Several non-foodie people that I talked to were also in tune to when certain game was in season, which to me was more reinforcement that the idea of eating wild game is not such an exotic thing in Britain. This must be a result of a few things, I think. Since the United Kingdom is relatively small compared to a nation like the United States, people live closer to pristine, unadulterated countryside that is rife with wild game and people eager to hunt it. Another factor, perhaps, is that the pub culture has kept alive the spirit of eating good local produce that has been served for hundreds of years. Even though many of the pubs have menus that appeal to the masses (think nachos and burgers), I was happy to see wild game on these menus as well. The beverage selection at the local pub is also a modern day representation of England’s global and local taste preferences. I enjoyed a real cask ale with my grouse, but someone else might choose an imported lager like Budweiser or even a pinot grigio. So while people elsewhere have global tastes that are similar to those of Americans, many people have still held on to some of the “artisanal” foods that are unique to their culture, like wild game and cask ale.

breast of wild grouse on vegetable rosti with damson and port jus

cask ales at Three Merry Lads

I was happy to have enjoyed a perfectly roasted breast of wild grouse sauced with a piquant damson and port sauce at Three Merry Lads in Sheffield. After inquiring about the origins of the grouse after my meal, I was informed that the birds had been shot by a neighbor of the pub. Such a great meal was inspiring, and after seeing wild game in London everywhere from Harrod’s to Steve Hatt to the butcher next door to Hatt to the Borough Market to my fantastic meal at The Draper’s Arms and on the menu of St. John Bread and Wine, the idea for the main course of my home-cooked meal at Rob’s made itself clear.

game faggots, Draper's Arms

I’ve made the argument before that being in tune to local foods, no matter where you are, can make it easy to plan a great meal. In this case, I decided to use the rosemary from Rob’s garden and the local game birds, and one guinea fowl, as the inspiration for our homemade meal. The main course couldn’t have been any simpler. Two partridges, a guinea fowl, and a pheasant were marinated in extra virgin olive oil, salt, and pepper, and stuffed with lemon and sprigs of rosemary. They were roasted atop a selection of baby root vegetables, a few garlic cloves, lamb merguez, wild boar sausage, and whole sprigs of rosemary. I basted the birds a few times with the lemony, rosemary-infused juices. The roasted birds and sausages were served with creamy polenta.

partridge, pheasant, and guinea fowl

The vegetables that were rendered soft and caramelized were left to cool to room temperature and then tossed with wild rocket, chicory, and a lemon and rosemary vinaigrette. The cheese course was also a locally inspired treat by way of Neal’s Yard Dairy. Chelsea procured a handsome selection of cheddar, goat, and blue cheeses, and a variety of apples to accompany them. Dessert was inspired by some wildly delicious-looking meringues calling out from the window of Ottolenghi restaurant, not far from Rob’s house. My home-cooking experience in London reaffirmed my passion for cooking with the seasons with local produce and for making people feel at home in their homes.

The Menu:

Wild Game-Bird Roast with Rob’s Garden Rosemary and Creamy Polenta

roasted game birds

Roasted Baby Root Vegetable and Chicory Salad with Rosemary-Lemon Vinaigrette

roasted vegetable and chicory salad

Selection of Neal’s Yard Cheeses and Local Apples

Tymsboro goat cheese

Lincolnshire Poacher cheddar

Stichlton blue

Mixed Berry and Gooseberry Trifle with Ottolenghi Merengue and Double Cream

trifle

Rob’s Garden Mint Tea

Post dinner duel for dish duty

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My brothers and I had a little bonfire and meat fest out in the country to kick off the fall season.

There was fire:

How to light a bonfire

And there was smoke:

smoker

There was meat:

smoked and roasted meats

But only the right combination of fire and smoke will provide you with what expert barbecuers have aptly named the “smoke ring.” Among the mountain of meats that were smoked, roasted, and grilled were pork shoulder, chicken, beef ribs, and some secret hot links. The latter were, surprisingly, scarfed down by my 2 1/2-year-old niece, Gabby. Pretty impressive, given how highly they rate on the hot scale, which is pretty damn hot.

Gabby: like her uncle, loves hot links and Home Depot

John grilling hot links on the Caja China

A couple of guests at the BBQ commented on the appearance of the meat. Specifically, they wondered why the first 1/4-inch or so of the cross-section of cooked meat appeared red while the interior of the meat seemed “gray,” or just regularly cooked. Well, for those in the know, that redness is called the smoke ring and it doesn’t come easy. It is earned. For a scientific explanation of what the smoke ring is, I’ve turned to an expert, “Barbecue Life Coach” Gary Wiviott.   Wiviott, Lth Forum honcho and author of Low and Slow: Master the Art of Barbecue in 5 Easy Lessons, explains:

“The smoke ring is the lovely pink-hued layer just under the surface of the meat, and one of the signs of a successful low and slow cook. It’s the result of a chemical reaction between wood smoke and meat, more specifically, nitrates and nitrites in the wood smoke reacting with methyglobin.”

Gary adds:

“The smoke ring is complicated; there are many factors that can affect its production, from putting the meat on cold, smoke ring stops forming when the meat hits 140.”

The fact that nitrates and nitrites in the smoke cause the pink smoke ring is interesting to me because, as chefs, we look to several different methods and ingredients to achieve the cured effect that nitrates and nitrites cause. Smoke not only makes food delicious, it is also a preservative–a reminder that many of the best-tasting foods are a result of methods of a bygone era. Foods such as duck confit and air-dried ham, which goes for about 10 bucks per ounce at popular restaurants, are so delicious and considered labors of love to produce but were products made during a time when people slaughtered their own livestock and needed to preserve it in the absence of refrigeration. Still, I’m not suggesting anyone leave a rack of barbecue ribs out on the counter for more than a day simply because it has a smoke ring; the preservation doesn’t penetrate that far into the meat.

Symbolically and simply, the smoke ring is kind of like a badge of accomplishment. It’s a magical rainbow that forms after a very long day, or even two days, of stoking the smoker. Here’s how a plate of carefully coddled meat baptized by the right combination of fire, smoke, and time appears. Mmm, mmm…that’s some five napkin ‘cue!

a nice barbecue plate

Originally uploaded by art and chel

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I direct-seeded some okra, greens, and lettuces into the SIPs for the fall season, and re-seeded the Earthbox with mesclun salad greens.

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I felt as giddy as I used to after scoring tickets at the last second for a sold-out concert. Our friends Nicolas and Kelly had reserved a spot, a year ago, to tour chef Rick Bayless’s garden but realized they had other events scheduled that would prevent them from making it. They wanted to bestow the tickets upon someone who would appreciate the tour, so they gave them to Chelsea and me. And wow, did we appreciate it. Thanks, guys.

Bayless is the successful owner and operator of a multimillion-dollar restaurant and retail food enterprise. Some people may know of his nonprofit, the Frontera Farmer Foundation, which provides financial assistance and expertise to small area agricultural operations. These small farms may raise chickens and pigs, specialty vegetables, or other items in what people may call “sustainable” ways. In other words, these farms raise their vegetables and livestock without the use of pesticides, excessive antibiotics, and chemicals. It’s Bayless’s belief, as well as my own, that food raised in rich soil and without excessive inputs is tastier.

The Frontera Farmer Foundation was established in 2003 to attract support for small Midwestern farms. Rick and Deann Bayless, founders of Frontera Grill and Topolobampo, along with the restaurants’ staff, created the foundation out of their concern for struggling farmers and the importance of local produce to the vitality of Chicago’s culinary culture. Small local farms promote biodiversity by planting a wide range of produce, are more likely to operate using organic practices, and add immeasurably to the fabric of their communities. By their artisanal approach to agriculture, these farmers ensure the highest quality of food.

Many people also know Bayless from his TV show, “One Plate at a Time” on PBS, where he prepares regional Mexican specialties and travels around Mexico, educating the audience about the diverse cuisine of our neighbor to the south. Bayless’s home cooking scenes that take place in his kitchen–or at his outdoor grill and wood-burning oven or even in his authentic backyard barbacoa pit–are all filmed at his actual home in Chicago. Many of the recipes that he demonstrates are made with ingredients grown in his lush backyard.

hoja santa

banana tree

Bayless’s gardener and urban farmer, Bill Shores, conducted the tour of the garden. Let’s just say that Shores has his work cut out for him. The Bayless garden is truly multi-functional, serving as an entertaining place with several decorative planting areas of interest, a multifaceted outdoor kitchen, a place to cultivate and maintain many tropicals that are found throughout Mexico, and a space to grow and harvest edible crops for his restaurants. I haven’t even touched on the indoor elements of the garden that are used for over-wintering.

The garden was, of course, as impressive as the Rick Bayless experience could be, even though Bayless wasn’t present. That leads me to what I pulled from the garden. No, I didn’t do what my grandma would have done and stuffed my pockets with little buds and roots; I pulled something much less tangible from the Bayless garden, that being gardening ideas (of course) but something much greater. I walked away with real inspiration and a reminder of the prevailing theme of sustainability that is threaded throughout the Bayless brand.

I have never doubted that Bayless lives what he preaches; this is apparent in his TV show and at his restaurants. The garden and the attitude of Shores made it all very real. These vegetables really are grown for his restaurants, everything you see on the show really is gleaned from his yard for the show and for his family. While explaining the layout and different elements of the garden, Shores mentioned several times that certain materials that were left on the property were reused rather than wasted in order to save on cost and consumption. If I were to describe the ethos that all the gardeners I know share, it would be one of resourcefulness, thriftiness, and a respect for nature and the environment, regardless of your socioeconomic status or more simply, what you can afford.

While looking through other posts on the Bayless garden, I noticed several comments that spoke to how “normal” the garden was. People were impressed at how someone “so well-off” or so famous had a very rustic garden and was using normal, everyday materials. Shores even told me how excited he was that there were leftover polycarbonate panels from the greenhouse that he could use for his microgreen shelter, a big score seeing as these panels come with a hefty crating fee. Depending on what you read into the garden, you could view it as pushing the boundaries of urban agriculture or setting a new example of how we can connect to our food. And on the on the other hand, it all seems very normal.

It’s nice to see someone practicing what they preach for the simple reason that they live their passion. Some people might question why so much effort is spent to grow produce for high-grossing restaurants that could surely afford to buy all of their vegetables from a vendor. Or, why purchase from small farmers who are producing product that is two or three times the price of their commodity equivalents when the bottom line could be greater? The answer to me has been and is now clearer: the things that Bayless values about food, culture, people, and even politics are reflected in his actions. Without this commitment to what is defined as “sustainability,” his restaurants, the show, the foundation, and the gardens possibly may not exist. In other words, all these things are the “Bayless experience” and one couldn’t exist without the other. Right now I do what I can, which is mostly learn, but I hope that one day people will pull from my gardens–and from my eventual businesses and from my actions–the same things that people like Rick Bayless have worked hard over the years to cultivate.

Check out flickr to see people’s photos taken throughout the season of the Bayless garden.

drying garlic

microgreens

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lawn and garden

Originally uploaded by art and chel

If it grows together, it goes together. Even the weeds in your lawn go with the vegetables in your garden. Here, a variety of tomatoes and tomatillos, herbs, chilies, and your backyard chicken simmer away. When everything has sufficiently married, and the tomatoes have begun to break down, a tangle of purslane, a common weed you may find in your lawn, is chopped into 4-inch sections and dropped into the stew. Put a lid over the pot and let the purslane steam until tender. The stew can be served as is with tortillas or with brown rice.

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