Category Archives: Christmas

The Twelve Days of Urban Farming Christmas

art print by Watts Publishing Company

On the first day of Christmas by husband gave to me a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Dovecote from Google Images

On the second day of Christmas my husband gave to me two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

French Marans courtesy of www.MyDarkEggs.com

On the third day of Christmas my husband gave to me three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas my husband gave to me a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Golden Wynadotte at www.MyPetChicken.com

On the fifth day of Christmas my husband gave to me five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Slug-eating-duck from Google

On the sixth day of Christmas my husband gave to me six slug-eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas my husband gave to me seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Image of Milking Goat from Google

On the eighth day of Christmas my husband gave to me eight mini goats-a-milking, seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Garden Whirligig from Google

On the ninth day of Christmas my husband gave to me nine whirligigs dancing, eight mini goats-a-milking, seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Mason Bees on Flickr

On the tenth day of Christmas my husband gave to me ten mason bees a-flying, nine whirligigs dancing, eight mini goats-a-milking, seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Worms from wormfactory.us

On the eleventh day of Christmas my husband gave to me eleven worms a-casting, ten mason bees a-flying, nine whirligigs dancing, eight mini goats-a-milking, seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Seeds image from Google

On the twelfth day of Christmas my husband gave to me twelve seeds for planting, eleven worms a-casting, ten mason bees a-flying, nine whirligigs dancing, eight mini goats-a-milking, seven tilapia swimming (in a rainbarrel), six slug eating ducks, five golden Wynadottes, a four-tined garden fork, three French Marans, two doves (in a dovecote) and a partridge rock in a pear tree.

Wishing that all your urban farming dreams come true!

How to Cook Your Christmas Goose

A Christmas Carol, a story about something or other in which a roast goose makes an appearance

Geese used to be no big deal. When Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, I believe he meant to mock the Cratchit family’s excitement as they sat down to the scrawny goose at the center of their holiday meal:

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course — and in truth it was something very like it in that house… Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

Whatever the size of their goose, those enthusiastic Cratchits had me salivating for goose! I don’t know when turkeys took over the market, but geese used to be THE THING for a holiday meal. Okay, maybe a hundred years ago I would have written off the goose, and thanked the New World for providing a superior bird, the turkey. But today – the turkeys you can get in the store don’t have much flavor, though you could lose a knife in that breast. It’s not impossible to find a heritage breed – I’ve seen them at P.C.C. But if you’re going to go old school, why not go REALLY old school? Why not cook up a Christmas goose?

Guess what's in my cooler?

TODAY’S PEST, YESTERDAY’S SYMBOL OF HOPE

In cities we tend to think of geese as a nuisance bird. The USDA killed a large number of them in Seattle a few years ago, a move that angered a lot of animal rights activists. I have a cousin who actually makes his living chasing geese with dogs. It’s easy to forget, when approached by aggressive geese in a public park in the middle of winter, that geese are at heart, migratory birds.

It used to be geese were always coming and going, crossing the sky in their V-shaped formations. For that reason, people once associated geese with seasonal change. Northern Europeans ritually consumed them around the fall equinox. Geese eaten on that date symbolized a descent into winter, much as Persephone of Greek mythology descended temporarily into the underworld. But the bargain Persephone made not only accounted for the injustice that is winter – it also promised spring. And so for many Northern Europeans, a goose eaten in midwinter – especially around the solstice – would have symbolized hope, the distant dream of spring.

WHERE TO GET YOUR GOOSE

Brad Andonian, like most the farmers we love, isn’t perfect, but he grows a fine goose. Brad’s geese are raised on his farm in Toledo, Washington. They live on pasture, which Brad doesn’t spray. Their supplemental grains come from just down the road from his farm. If they were organic grains, we’d be ecstatic. They’re not. But I figure with all that pasture, Brad’s birds are going to be way better, and way better for us, than most turkeys I can find in the store. And because geese haven’t been bred for large-scale feedlot production, they’ve retained most of their foraging instincts. They’ll get more from pasture than a modern broad-breasted turkey.

Buying one of Brad’s geese will make you feel like the poor clerk Bob Cratchit from A Christmas Carol – they can cost over $100. In my family, we can’t really afford birds like that. But when you look at the finances, it ain’t as bad as it seems. The way I figure it, we’ve stopped buying chickens of any kind all year long, eating only the hens and roosters we cull from our flock and the flocks of our friends. So maybe we can afford to spring for a big, expensive bird once a year. Think of Tiny Tim.

Two Poultry Sellers: A dead Italian on the left, Brad Andonian on the right

If you order goose from Brad, he’ll kill them, dress them and bring them in a cooler to one of his two luxury carpet stores (Bellevue or Seattle’s South Lake Union neighborhood).

A BEEFY SORT OF BIRD

Geese are fattier than chickens or turkeys. I could not believe the amount of fat that rendered out of my cooked goose. (Incidentally, goose fat is highly prized in the kitchen – try frying potatoes with it). And whereas turkey will give you a large, white breast for grandma and dark thighs for the adventurous uncle, geese are all dark meat, all the time. The flavor is stronger and richly colored – sometimes almost like beef, but still the texture of a bird.

my roasted goose

Once I received my goose from Brad, I set it in brine for eight hours (1 c salt, 1/4 c sugar, smashed garlic cloves and enough water to cover my bird), rinsed it (as sugar on the surface can cause the skin to blacken), then let it dry out in the fridge under a towel overnight. I took Brad’s advice and did not pierce the skin to drain fat as advised in many goose recipes. I also roasted the bird upside down, to help keep the temperature down on the breast, which tends to overcook on any kind of bird. It took between two and three hours at 350 (I blasted the bird at 400 for a few minutes in the beginning) to cook the bird. You know it’s done by poking it in the thigh – if the juices run clear, rather than red, it’s done. When you pull the goose out, turn it over and poke it deep in the breast, just to make sure the breast juices run equally clear. If not, cook breast side up a few minutes more.

 

There have been some amazing entries in our Dickens of a Christmas blog hop so far, by:

April of 21st Century Housewife
Ken of Ken Albala’s Food Rant
Heather of Mama O Knits, Craft Lit and the upcoming book What Would Madame Defarge Knit.
Annette of Sustainable Eats
Margo of Hat Shadows, a professional milliner for film, theater, opera and ballet. She teaches hatmaking courses so check out her blog!
Sarah of Toronto Tastings, print journalist, food blogger and author of an upcoming book about the home canning revolution.

As you and yours prepare for the holiday season please take a few moments and enjoy these wonderful posts! And remember to hold dear that which is important in life, to be thankful for what we have and not pine for what we have not. If you are alone, find someone to love and share the spirit of the season with. And above all, have a DICKENS OF A CHRISTMAS!

Dickens Gone!

The winner is Courtney F (or rather her sister but don’t spill the beans to her.)

Courtney, please email me at annettecottrell (at) yahoo and let’s get it sent out.

I hope you all have a Dickens of a Christmas!

The Cratchit’s Christmas Goose

This fine goose was procured from Abundant Acres Farm in Toledo, Washington. Looking for goose? I highly recommend them!

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed wet blotch of wet above each baker’s oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

“Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge.
“There is. My own.”
“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge.
“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”
“Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge.
“Because it needs it most.”…

In time the spirit leads Scrooge to the home of Bob Cratchit, where the “two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker’s they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.”…

After the arrival of Bob and Tiny Tim, “Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course – and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot: Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped.

At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurray!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows!”

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