And then there was Hallelujah. 

After so, so long, the deep and resonant music reverberated through the house.  Our house.  The three of us together at last, the piano come alive as if it had been waiting, silent, patient all this time.  As if just yesterday it had carried this music through our rooms and into our hearts.

Just like that.  Together once more with Leonard Cohen the soundtrack of our holiday.  

Families are hard.  They take work and sometimes they take a toll.  But then Hallelujah surrounds us and it's impossible to think of anything better.

I've never been more filled with gratitude or grace.

Hallelujah.

Greetings from Ground Zero - April 1

Breathing deep and taking stock.

Every day feels like a week; every week like a month.  Time grinds to a standstill.

We are all figuring this out, day by day.  The hardships are clear and obvious, so there's little point in diving into them here.  It's hard to be home with your partner day after day.  It just is.  Love is love, but constant togetherness is something else entirely.

But, we are discovering silver linings.  We are seeing the Italians singing from their balconies, our FB friends showing us how they "gather" at cocktail hour in front of their houses with their neighbors.  It is amazing.  Nothing short of awe inspiring how we humans circumnavigate this new world, find ways to connect, apart.  It is beautiful, and terrifying, and poignant.  We are us.

I am working, hard.  Full days, and effectively.  But.  I am also baking bread, I am sowing seeds.  I am orchestrating our food garden.

I have missed this.  More than I realized.  Am I grateful that a pandemic swept over us so that my life was transformed?  No.  The devastation this event will leave in its wake is unimaginable to us, even now, but there are, truly, silver linings.

Moonrise over Stop Sign Farm

With hiccups aside, my husband and I are rediscovering each other.  I am reclaiming my greenhouse and the joy that growing food from practically nothing brings.  We're baking bread and trying to remember what we did right so many years ago.  

My staff is coping, it's not all good.  But we're doing our jobs and trying to figure out ways to help our colleagues do theirs.  We want the taxpayers to be proud of us.  We want to be a part of the COVID19 solution.  

Be well.

Today was a good day.  A day when I felt some control over my own destiny.  Got up, showered, got cozy in my car for a video therapy session.  Drove down the way to pick up another 5 packs of amazing food plant starts, checked in with my daughter, then came home to a house generously gifted to me for alone time by my husband who went for a 5 mile walk.

Cleaned the kitchen, got shit dealt with in the garden, then came inside to watch food shows and get this dough going.  First try in quite some time, so it needs some improving, but today's loaf was still gone in an hour.  Then onto a dinner of spicy prawns with garden chard and onion tops over spaghetti.  On a micro scale, life does not suck.  We are privileged and fortunate and grateful.


Hope this weekend finds everyone well and coping.

Amazing bread - really in 5 minutes once you get into the rhythm

I used to bake bread every day for sale and I could not keep up.  This is what I baked - it's not like any other bread you've ever baked.  Ridiculously easy and so, so amazing.  Fantastic flour available from Bakers Authority (thanks Karen!).

Here's the recipe:

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Greetings from ground zero – March 24

I did not write yesterday.  I just wasn’t there.  Thanks for understanding.

So, my father died suddenly almost a year ago and I am Executor of his estate.  Sounds straightforward enough.  Grief aside.  I had started to spend some much-delayed time with my dad and we were bonding and discovering each other in unexpected ways.  I really liked his girlfriend.

Then his heart exploded in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and that was that.  He was gone.  But everything he built remained and it was my job to steward it.

Did I mention he lived in Canada?

Yeah, so that’s been fun.  Managing an estate with multiple beneficiaries as an Out of Country Executor is not something I would wish upon any of you.  Also, we Americans think of Canadians as Nice.  I am here to tell you (and I am, technically, a Canadian b/c I was born there and retain rights of citizenship – why I’m not living there now is a fair question but not one I’ll be addressing here), they are not as nice as you think as much as they are polite.  We Americans have forgotten manners so nice and polite look very, very similar.

Anyway, that’s all background.  Several weeks ago, we (the Estate) received an offer on my father’s condominium that we accepted.  And the closing date is nowish.  It’s actually March 31^st.  There was a fair amount of drama around that date, but that’s what we decided, ultimately.  I was to go up there, be in Toronto for the closing and probate, see Sue, see my father’s home for the last time, yadda yadda.  Maybe even inter my father's ashes.

Two and a half weeks ago, I said, um.  I think we might need to explore a remote option.  Is that possible?  They humored me.  And I said, no, seriously, I’m pretty sure your country will not be letting me in in two weeks.  More humoring.  But, no matter, they did in fact humor me and we pivoted from an in-person scenario to a remote scenario.  And here we are.

Friday, I got the call from the attorneys.  They were shuttering the office.  “Oh, my goodness.  You were so right.  So right.  We are sending the documents this afternoon and then we are going home.  Good luck.”  Polite. 

So, yesterday I received the papers; today I literally video-notarized via Zoom the papers (a stand alone adventure), and tomorrow they should be back in Canada.  Will we close next Tuesday?  No idea.  I’ve come to understand that a week in our current world is an eternity.  Fingers are crossed.

Insert here:  BIG SHOUT OUT to my friend Jan who continues, day in and day out, to keep Vashon’s Country Store open, including its mail service.  Disinfecting constantly and now with social distending “markers” on the floor.  She and her team handled my international mailing crisis with COVID grace.  YOU ALL ROCK.

But it was a stressful, stressful day in the way that people, like me, who are super privileged in these times of intense challenge, need, and grief can be stressed.  I literally feel like I am surfing a wave and catastrophe is the giant wave looming right behind my right shoulder.  Privilege.  Absolutely.  But in my defense, I am responsible for a lot of people.  Want everyone to come out whole.

So, anyway!  After that intense exchange and a full day of work, woven inbetween, I headed to the greenhouse to see if I was up to the task of making a little headway on reclaiming it.  And you know what?  I was.  And I did.  And I’m super excited about getting that space back into production AND being a nurturing space to hang out in.

AAAAAnnndd.  My first baby seeds sprouted in their flat in the greenhouse.  So excited!

Life goes on.  Deep breath. 

Be well.

So, I had a weird day.  Well, we’re all having weird days, every day.  But, I am posting this soothing photo of my willow tree instead of what I actually experienced today.  Illness. Honest to goodness illness and then panic.

I have the chart of Covid/Cold/Flu symptoms but the problem for me and probably many of you is that I ALSO have allergies.  So, it’s not so cut and dried.

I was sitting in bed reading late morning.  I just had thin jammies on and the window cracked. I started to get cold but didn’t want to close the window.  I finally did b/c I was starting to shiver.  Then Mark came up to hang out.  I got up and went downstairs to grab a hoodie, then climbed back into bed.  Shaking so hard my stomach muscles were hurting.  Mark grabbed a 2^nd down comforter and then enveloped me.  Could not stop shaking.  But, no coughing.  No coughing.

I didn’t feel cold any more, just couldn’t stop shaking.  I told him to go on downstairs.  He took my temperature first.  Yup – fever.  He brought me tea and these things called Aussie Bites that we always have (had) around.  He insisted that I eat so that my body could try to stabilize.

By 2 hours into this, I honestly could not tell whether I was shaking from fear or an illness.  My stomach hurt, I pulled a couple muscles.  Still had a fever.  Called Virginia Mason then waited for the nurse to call.  Decided to get out of the sun for a while then check the fever again.  Lower.  The nurse told me I was doing everything right and to keep resting and drinking water.  If a cough develops or the fever spikes and sticks around for a couple days, call back.

Now, lower still.  Whatever this is, it’s hit Mark now.  I am downstairs for the first time today, and not for long, and he is collapsed on the bed. 

Send those good thoughts my way.  I think I’m better.  Could probably use a humidifier if anyone has one.  

Deep breath.

Greetings from Ground Zero - March 20 BRIEF UPDATE

March 20

Right now, probably the most important thing for our families is food supply.  For me, I've decided that ensuring some random awful glitch doesn't completely throw my planning off base is my Top Priority.  For me, I want to be sure my mom is comfortable, I am nurturing my seeds to grow into plants that will become food, and to make sure the food stock I have stored in my freezer doesn't accidentally rot b/c the circuit breaker blew and I didn't know it.  So, I decided to make this list and put it on the fridge where we can check things off each day.  

In what I consider a brilliant, albeit late, move, the Army Corps of Engineers will be commandeering and turning into makeshift hospitals all those empty dorms that universities have now that they've sent students home, as well as hotels and other venues.  THANK GOD.  One of the biggest challenges of this crisis is the lack of hospital beds.  So - GREAT IDEA.

Otherwise, a weird day for me.  May or may not write more later.  Beautiful day here and got lots of work done, but really had to cope with rolling waves of panic in a way that I haven't before today.

Probably no greenhouse shindiggy thing this weekend.  Let's see what the universe has in store over the coming days.  I will try to clean it out so that its potential is at least better poised.  I have flour coming in a few days and will start making bread.

Be well -

Let's Rock the Greenhouse!

So, I am thinking about a greenhouse work party this weekend or next to get it cleaned out and set up and then we can sow seeds for us all.  We can do this in a social distancing kind of way.   Jan, if you have seeds left at the store, please bring and I will buy.  All, please let me know what you think.  I have the seed flats. Will need seed starting soil - Jan if you have, add that to the tab.

Sunday?

Could do a 1-4  Open house type thing and have wine and snacks, make it fun, keep our distance, and get some serious business going in the greenhouse.

Thoughts?  Ellen, Elise, please come out!  You are part of the collective.  :-) 

love to all,

Deirdre

Greetings from Ground Zero - March  19

OK, another day not writing about what I was thinking about writing.  It’s going to be short tonight.  I stumbled on this and maybe you’ve already seen it, but I found it strangely inspiring and uplifting – as did my husband.

I urge you to watch ALL of these.  Our late night talk show hosts are doing the impossible – they are bringing us into their actual homes, with their goofy kids and they're funky couches, being absolutely like every one of us, and bringing our humanity into focus.  It’s not only simply amazing, it’s actually helpful.

We’re all glued to our laptops and TVs.  Treat yourself.  Watch Stephen, Jimmy, Jimmy, Trevor, and Samantha.  Heroes – really.  You’ll feel better.

I promise.

https://deadline.com/2020/03/jimmy-fallon-jimmy-kimmel-samantha-bee-post-youtube-bits-1202887318/

Also, I took my calls at the beach and it felt great. 

Greetings from Ground Zero - March 18

Rock star chard that overwintered and is bring it in the garden

Greetings from Ground Zero – March 18, 2020

Yeah, so no.  I’m not writing about what I thought I would want to write about tonight.  There’s so much to chronicle it’s an avalanche or firehose or whatever metaphor makes sense.  Who can tell anymore?

But let’s go with the last thing that struck me on this day that Italy lost almost 500 people, the US Senate decided to get off their collective ass and actually do something, and here in King County today brought 175 new confirmed cases and a total death toll off 66.

I made dinner – by the way, ironically and perhaps temporarily, we are eating ridiculously well – and as I managed to mate a storage container with its lid, I tossed it into the chaotic drawer where these things live and I thought, “huh.  Who gives a shit about this anymore?”  The days of feeling shame/frustration over the state of my Tupperware drawer are a thing of the past.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I am finding this happening multiple times a day.  Like – that thing that seemed really important 2 weeks ago?  Not so much.  Not at all actually.  Full disclosure:  this seems to apply to daily bathing.  I did shower AND wash my hair today and I felt very accomplished as I climbed back into my dress jammies and got on my conference call.

As of tonight, my daughter and I have switched roles and she is coaching me.  I went to our local grocery store first thing Tuesday AM and was careful only to buy 1 or 2 of anything that seemed in short supply, but my daughter reiterated the awesomeness that is Bakers Authority and tonight I ordered 100 lbs of flour and a brick of yeast.  Back in the day, this family made loaves of bread that our neighbors practically fought over, so bread we can do.  And share.

 

Tonight's dinner of smoked salmon with bought and grown veggie
 plus pasta for those who can tolerate it.

That’s where I am now.  I want to make sure my friends are OK.  My usual recipe makes 3 loaves – so I could just do that, keep 1, give 2 to my pals every day, every other day, and folks will have half a loaf of bread every day.  It’s not great, but it’s something.  And I can double it and more people will have a loaf every other day.  We need to think of ways to take of each other

I have a greenhouse.  So, that’s my next strategic planning exercise.  We can do A LOT in the greenhouse.  When I was rocking it, I had hundreds of plant starts in there.  We can do this again and share out so that all the friends have starts to pot up and turn into food over the summer.

We can do this.  We can. If anyone is reading this, please send me your ideas. 

Be well.

Greetings from Ground Zero - March 17

 March 17

Well, happy St. Paddy’s Day, I guess.  I had a good day today.  Mom’s nurse came for her weekly visit and we had a good chat out in the sunshine.  We talked about Mom, of course (she is so, so thin.  I learned that at some point the body just stops absorbing nutrients.  So, while she is eating remarkably well, it’s not really doing anything.) but also the larger context of what her nurse and the team are operating in.  Stating the obvious:  it’s really, really tough out there for our health care professionals.

Earlier in the day, my workplace held its first regular staff meeting virtually.  It went remarkably well, with most people jumping on Zoom, using the chat feature to share feelings and comments while folks were talking, and generally participating earnestly and seamlessly.  There was fear.  Resentment at losing the ability to work at work.  Denial.  But, generally a collaborative vibe, a we’ll-get-through-this-together feeling.

We talked about self-care and how to get through this.  One person shared her favorite natural immune-boosting supplements.  Our Executive Director shared the importance about not being glued to your computer 8 hours a day.  I shared what I read yesterday:  Take this moment to nurture your creative side.  We are in a time of Before and After.  No matter what happens, the rest of your lives will forever be Before this moment, and After.

Journal.  Write what you are experiencing, what you are seeing.  What is unfolding.  Even if just so 6 months from now you can remember.  B/c otherwise it will absolutely all be a blur.  Chronicle your own personal experience.

That is what I am trying to do here.  Some days better than others, I am sure.   I am actually embarrassed about yesterday’s post.  But, it is what it is.  I’m out of practice and I hope I will get better each day.

Tomorrow, unless I change my mind, I am going to write about what it feels like to me to be living in the cliché that every major global event spurs people to write about:  how it all happened so fast – one day you’re living what feels like a rich but stressful life and then 2 weeks later, you’re looking back and it seems an eternity since that life was your reality.  You're different, the world is transformed, and every decision is fraught with consequences.

But, who knows, the clouds or the grass or the dog might strike me as needing some writing love.

Be good to yourself, be kind and generous with others.  Be well.

See you tomorrow.

#Greetings from Ground Zero

So, it’s Day 13 in the Mostly-Self-Isolated G-W household and unbelievably no acts of violence have occurred.  Good news.

I worked a shift at the NW Flower and Garden Festival Wednesday, February 26^th and again on Saturday, February 29^th.  If my sniffles, scratchy throat, and occasional cough came from anywhere, it is most likely from this event (to clarify – if I have been dealing with a mild case of the virus, this is likely where I caught it).  By the following Wednesday, March 4^th, I was heading home from the office on my way to isolation in a thankfully forward-thinking moment.

I participated in a conference call on the way home that I was woefully unprepared for, believing, erroneously, that it had been canceled, joining more than 20 minutes late, and distressing all our partners with my uncharacteristically blunt assessment of how my organization saw the future of this endeavor.  I was distracted and unprofessional.  Major clean up on aisle Oops in the following days.

By the next morning, I was in total pre-dystopian future mode.  I headed back into the city for my therapy appointment and then to a what-must-seem-laughably-calm Costco.  I picked up what I came for – hadn’t planned on TP and there was none – and headed home where I spent the evening thinking about what an apocalyptic pantry should have and ordering it on Amazon – again, at the tip of the spear of the online-buying community.  Many of my purchases were scooping up the last of the item on offer.  For the record, I did not over-buy/hoard.

By the weekend, we had 20 lbs of rice (Costco), boxes of pasta, tins of chicken and tuna, pasta sauce, pesto, and various beans.  Also tortillas.  Because my husband is addicted to quesadillas.  (thanks, Curt).

Then I turned to the garden.  Well, we were the lucky ones with 5 acres and raised gardens both still producing from last year (kale and chard) and beds ready for this spring’s seeds.  And we had a greenhouse.  Let’s do this thing. 

So, today is March 16^th.  I feel quietly relieved for being out in front of this – that is not to say that I have this nailed.  If supply chains are truly disrupted for a long time, I’m in the tub with everyone else.  But I have planted over 200 seeds of a variety of food crops, and I have strategized with my also-planner daughter 2+ hours away and together we got HER household ready and steady for the long haul. 

They have beans, they have rice, (and yes TP – it took a voyage).  Protein (“don’t knock spam, Mom”), and 200 lbs of flour (“thank god you taught me how to make bread, Mom – I can make 400 loaves with what we have on hand and by keeping our sourdough alive”).  I can sleep.  She’s got this.  She’ll be OK. 

I tell her to tell her roommates that no one is getting evicted if their jobs dry up.  We’re all in this for the long haul.  Stick together.  We’ll get through it.  You have me, I tell her.  I’m a week ahead of you – I will tell you what to look for, what to do.  Lean on me.  She went to Costco late last week and reported it was fine.  I said, you won’t be able to get in next week.  Think through what you need.  Order now.  She did.

Did I mention that I caretake for my 97 year old mom who, at this point, is probably 80 pounds?   Technically, we are all high-risk.  Me, with my asthma, my husband who turns 61 next month and had a heart attack 18+ months ago.  And mom.

We’ve put a lot in place over the past 15 years to ensure her old age would be gentle, loving, and enjoyable.  And we succeeded.  Until now.  She went into hospice late November, but then responded so well she got healthy(ish) again.  Just in time to be a major complicating factor in our household’s response to the virus.

That sounds horrid, referring to my mom as a complicating factor.  It sounds like I don’t love and honor and cherish her.  But I do.  So, so much.  But there’s simply no denying the reality that having in your midst and under your care and decision-making framework a person who statistically is almost certain to contract (caregivers going patient-to-patient arrive here almost daily) and die from this disease is complicating and heartbreaking in more ways than may be obvious.

So, day by day.  My husband and I have come to grips, maybe, with the reality that she will probably succumb to CoronaVirus, and it would have been something else soon anyway.  We try to work in separate corners of the house while we are WFH for the foreseeable future so we don’t start snarking on every perceived slight. I get out in the sun for as much time as humanly possible, with my laptop or without, and we navigate pre-existing family drama as best we can b/c: Life.

We are very, very fortunate.  So many are in way more vulnerable positions than we are.  In the coming days, when I feel more confident that I am not suffering a mild version of this disease and thus am a liability, I will think through how to be an asset to my local and broader community.

Greetings from ground zero.  Thanks for reading.  I’ll keep you posted.

PS - our Great Dane doesn't understand why mom and dad are home all the time, but who gives a crap?

Stop Sign Farm Kitchen - New Favorites

New favorite kitchen tool - herb scissors!  These ingenious little guys make short work of fresh herbs and come with a handy comb that ensures nothing goes to waste and clean up is fast and easy (BONUS:  No trip to the ER  required).  Found mine for under $10 on Amazon.

New favorite ingredient - fresh garlic!  Ever wonder why we eat garlic cured and dried?  Well, because we have to.  We are so fortunate that garlic cures, dries, and keeps so that we can enjoy its pungent flavor in our food all year long.  But, now - just now and not for long - fresh garlic is out there in the markets and farm stands and I say go get some quick!  It's a little juicy and the little cloves pop out of their skins with a simple squeeze and the bright fresh flavor perks up just about anything.  We roasted it with other spring veggies last night and I threw it in the soup today.  So good.  Get a lot - use some fresh now and hang the rest in your kitchen to dry.

Delicious spring

How fortunate to have our very own market here on the island, where we can get fresh-picked vegetables direct from our neighbors.  Not quite the overwhelming bounty of the Portland Farmers Market where Dylan shops, with its rows and rows of tents overflowing with the colors of the rainbow all year long - but a treasure nonetheless.

This afternoon's spontaneous treat:  cream of celery soup!  Hey, hey - contrary to its reputation as a tasteless stalk of chewy fiber fit only for stock and peanut butter, fresh celery with its glorious leaves left intact packs a flavor punch perfect for a light spring soup.  In my enthusiasm at the market yesterday, my eyes fell upon big broad spiky leaves and my brain said "parsley," but when I was unpacking my bag once home my husband said "celery."  I'd neglected to notice the thick stalks attached to the beckoning leaves!

No worries - we had enough Italian parsley in our own garden to work its magic on our slow-cooked "pot roast" short ribs and fresh island veggies.

But, what to do with bunch of beautiful, leafy celery?  Epicurious helped me out with a simple recipe using just what I had at hand - boiled potatoes from last night, onion, fresh garlic, butter, broth, a little dill and a splash of cream.  30 minutes and a quick blend later - a soul-satisfying, brightly colored and intensely flavorful lunch.

Spring, you are delicious.

10 years - and a lot of life lived

10 years.  So many clichés – hard to believe, we blinked, it flew by - but they’re all true.  This Mothers Day marked 10 years that our family has lived together here at Stop Sign Farm.  A lot has changed -  like me. 

I’m a different person than the 40 year old mom excited at the possibilities of making a home, making a farm in the middle of this island in the middle of Puget Sound.  Close friends have walked through the fire, and then the ashes, of ultimately failed marriages.   Dylan has gone to college out of state, my mom has gotten really, really old (93!), and both Mark and I are working demanding, fulfilling jobs.

We still run sheep and goats, although we give them the minimum attention they require; we’ve pushed the pause button on chickens since every predator on the island apparently got the memo that dinner was on us.  The combination of my returning to work and Dylan going to a STEM high school then looking at and preparing for college had the unintended consequence of neglect for this place we lovingly built.

But, the good bones are there, we are back to turning our attention to making this place beautiful, and a new chapter in our lives begins to unfold – one with events of loss that are seeming to become the backdrop of everyday living – but with rewards and gratification and new adventures. 

Yes, a lesson for 50 year old me appears to be that the 2^nd half of our maybe-centuryish time on this earth is that you have to get comfortable with loss.  Your every-Saturday-night friends break up and now Saturdays look different.  Your comfortable dinners together are in the past.  If you’re lucky, your child goes off to their college adventure and now you are that dreaded animal:  the empty nester.  Your beloved pets say good-bye one by one.  It’s hard.  Really hard.

But how can you try on new clothes if you keep pulling on the old ones?   People who live on their sailboats always have one common piece of advice when interviewed – don’t bring on anything new without getting rid of something old.  It’s good advice, and hard to live.  Until life just makes you.  Say good-bye.  Start saying good-bye.  Get good at it.  Because if you don’t, there’s no space to say hello to anything new.  Did I mention that it’s hard?

When your kid goes to college, everyone congratulates you.  That’s nice.  Of course, you’re excited for what lies ahead for them.  But getting a little space to feel loss would go a long to helping parents not feel so isolated.  Maybe it’s just parents of only children – or maybe it’s just me.  But it was hard, last fall, to smile and talk of pride and excitement when I also felt a deep loss that I wasn’t allowed to acknowledge.

But, here’s the good news.  If you’re lucky – and I’m really, really lucky – home is still home for them.  For now.  For a little while longer.  Or maybe even a while longer than that.  And then you get to enjoy the newness and excitement of this new chapter for them – and let go and make space for a little bit of a new chapter for yourself. 

At least, that’s the plan.  I’m getting there.

Toys and life

Father-son bonding over today's hot-off-the-presses iPad3. And let me just say, from the cheap seats, WOW!!!

Meanwhile, the weather gods hate us.



But our overwintered veggies are ROCKIN!

Bacon

Nuff said.

Fromage de tete

As the pork chops harden in the deep freeze and the bacon, guinciale, and prosciutto lay encrusted in salt in the back porch fridge, I embark on yet another culinary adventure I've long anticipated: making head cheese.

Like most traditional French peasant dishes, fromage de tete combines gruesome ingredients with oodles and oodles of labor. So, you're unlikely to see it on a Red Robin menu anytime soon. I'm about half-way through the process time- and grossness-wise, and really just starting labor-wise.

So, what is head cheese? It's not cheese, in fact contains no dairy, but is significantly head intensive. Once you've slaughtered and butchered your pig, shoved your curing cuts deep into rock salt, and begun brining your hams, mostly what you're left with are trotters and a head. What makes the trotters and head so qualitatively different from the rest of the animal is that the meat is hard to get to and it's in close proximity to a lot of joints.

Now, if you've ever had the courage to be curious about that Jello ingredient "gelatin" you already know it comes from the feet of animals and you've already made your peace one way of another with that. (although, Dylan decided one day to break into the ancient box of Jello mix in our pantry to see what this all-American favorite was all about, spent the afternoon waiting for it to set, then promptly threw the whole batch into the trash after 1 bite. "People eat this on purpose, Mom??" he asked.)

But, back to that head cheese. Basically, you clean up the head and/or feet, then split them with a very good, sharp cleaver (can't speak for the trotters, but this is no mean feat with the head - Dylan captured our experience on video it was so extreme), then boil them with aromatics for hours and hours. That's what's going on in my kitchen right now. I'm adding the tongue because it's all about using every bit and anyway, tongue is very flavorful.

In a little while, I will lift the halves of the head and the tongue out of the broth, let it all cool, then pull off the meat and skin, chop it very fine, and set it aside.



Then to the broth. I will finely strain the broth, removing all the aromatics and veggies and skimming any froth off. Not so different than making a basic chicken broth, right? The difference, which cannot be seen at the point, is that this broth that's been created by the cooking head (or feet) will contain all the gelatin that has leached out of the joints.

So, we strain it and set it out to cool. Meanwhile, we prepare a loaf pan by lining it with a big square of plastic wrap, leaving lots hanging over the sides.

When everything is cool, I'll grab a handful of the minced meat mixture and layer it on the bottom of the loaf pan. Then pour a layer of broth over, and keep repeating until I reach the top of the pan. Fold over the plastic wrap to cover it, then pop it in the fridge.


Twenty-four hours later - voila. An appetizer worthy of Julia herself, served with grainy mustard and cornichons on a bed of lettuce or dense, dark bread - like cheese, only yummy with porky goodness and actually quite low in fat.

UPDATE: So, I've completed the process with the first fromage de tete and almost completed it with the 2nd. Am waiting for the weekend to try the finished product with my loved ones and can share a photo of the end result out of its mold then.

Would I do this again? Not sure. It better be really, really yummy. I know for sure I wouldn't do it alone - this is serious It Takes a Village kind of cooking - a slaughter-event dish that many hands would help lighten. I think I would also seriously consider using the trotters instead of the head b/c the sheer size of a pig head makes everything about preparing this dish laborious.

All that said, I withhold judgement until after we try it!

And, merci beaucoup to our pal and culinary adventurer Chris who was kind enough to come over and both assist in the head-splitting (yes, we already made those jokes) and direct us on what the heck we were doing. There's some tete headed your way, mon ami.