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Keeping your community covered. We're committed to producing high-quality, fact-based news and information that gives you the facts in this community we call home. If our work has helped you stay informed, take action, or feel more connected to Windham County – please give now to help us reach our goal of raising $150,000 by December 31st.
Along with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, dressing and an overabundance of gravy, my childhood Thanksgiving menu always included cabbage coleslaw with Miracle Whip, sweet potatoes with small marshmallows and brown sugar, creamed Bird's Eye onions, overcooked frozen “frenched” green beans, and lots of pie.
Thanksgiving is all about tradition, and I have, however unwillingly, learned to surrender to the turkey, the dressing, and small amounts of gravy and mashed potatoes. I really do love cranberries. I concede to the holy trinity of pumpkin, apple, and pecan.
As for the rest, I try to get away with what I can without changing things to the extent that my family flees in horror at the unknown.
This year in my kitchen, the cabbage slaw of old has been replaced by a crisp, lemony, mustardy concoction made with raw kale and brussels sprouts. The candied sweet potatoes have become braised Gilfeather turnips, courtesy of my sweetheart's brother-in-law and Julia Child. The creamed onions will be swapped for lush caramelized shallots, and the gray and limp green beans will magically transform into golden roasted fennel with raisins and walnuts.
It has been suggested that it was the pear, not the apple, that tempted Eve in her act of defiance. Just one look at its shape is pretty convincing. Its elongated form suggests that of a voluptuous woman, tapered at the top and rounded at the bottom. Apples seem...
My immediate response to bad news is to cook. The comfort of the kitchen has always soothed me, and I like to imagine that through its refuge I have sometimes soothed those around me who are in pain. The kitchen is one of the few places where I can...
The recent events at the Brattleboro Food Co-op have disturbed me greatly and saddened me in a way that is beyond my connection to the people involved. I attended the vigil held on the Whetstone Path and must admit that I came away unsatisfied. Why is it, in the face of the horror of these inexplicable events, that our first need is to assure ourselves that we are fine, that our community is still wonderful, that whatever has happened is...
July is the very definition of “high summer,” that time of year when the green is just at its lush peak, the veeries are in full song, and life is wonderful. We have had lots of very hot weather and lots of rain. Tomatoes are happy. Beans are ecstatic. Garlic is in heaven. I love garlic. In years long past I grew it, but now my garden patch is small, my ambitions lean more toward the kitchen, and my home...
I was a plump, worried girl growing up in East Bethel, Vermont in the 1950s, prone to the overly dramatic. A lot of time was spent in the backyard pretending to be in television commercials. A lot of time was spent thinking about food. Those who know me now will not find either of those facts surprising. June was a highlight for me because it included our tiny town's annual Strawberry Festival, held in a farmer's field at the top...
Each year, I am startled by seeds that sprout and perennials that really do come up again. Somehow, spring always takes me by surprise, as if the long snowy winter had wiped out my memory of the songs of birds. But gradually, I become accustomed to the color green and the distinct possibility that both my garden and myself have survived another year. May is filled with a breathtaking promise of what is to come, but it has its own...
I have lived in Vermont long enough to know that as soon as I let out that long end-of-winter exhalation, more times than not we are slammed with a late storm. But I am an optimist. I planted spinach and radishes, and for the first time in ages I am trying my hand at starting flower seeds. The little bulbs I put in the ground last fall are just starting to poke their green noses up amidst the brown rubble...
