I can't think of a farm family I know where one or more of the owners doesn't have another job (or two) outside of the farm to help pay the bills or cover health insurance. This essay by Andrew Tait, a farmer in Shenandoah County, Virginia, was originally published in The Daily Yonder on Aug. 1, 2025.

I live in Shenandoah County, Virginia. I’m a factory worker. A farmer. A father of two girls, one still in diapers. I get up before the sun, and most days I don’t sit down until after it’s gone.

My partner Hannah and I raise our girls on a small farm in the Valley. She works full-time too—though nobody calls it that. She’s a caregiver, a homemaker, a livestock handler, and a mother. She doesn’t get a paycheck. She doesn’t get a break. She doesn’t get counted.

We’ve relied on a cistern for water for over three years. I’m trying to save up to dig a well before it runs dry. We heat with firewood I cut myself. We raise animals for milk, eggs, and meat because the grocery bill outpaces my paycheck.

We’ve stayed unmarried—not because we don’t love each other, but because getting married would kick my partner and our daughters off the Medicaid that keeps them healthy.

My employer offers insurance, sure—but only if I pay nearly as much as our mortgage. I can’t, so we stay as we are; in love but locked out.

I’m not ashamed of our life. It’s honest work, and it’s full of love. However, I am ashamed that in a country as wealthy as ours, people like us are left out in the cold.

When the so-called “Big Beautiful Bill” passed, it was marketed as a win for working Americans. From where I stand, it looks like the opposite. Cuts to Medicaid, reduced support for struggling families, and a ballooning deficit that somehow still leaves us more exposed than before.

You can dress it up however you want, but if it leaves working families behind, it’s not serving the people.

This bill, like so many before it, rewards the already powerful while punishing the people who hold up the economy in invisible ways. It gives to those who lobby and takes from those who labor. It reinforces a message I’ve felt in my bones for years: You’re on your own.

I’m not writing this as a Democrat or a Republican. I’m writing this as a man watching families like mine wear themselves thin; working hard, doing the right things, and still falling behind.

This isn’t about Red or Blue. It’s about the fact that we’re being divided against each other while both sides forget that real Americans bleed the same when the cost of insulin triples or the cost of groceries goes up again.

You shouldn’t be able to carry a hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in two hands. But these days, you can-and that’s not just wrong, it’s dangerous.

I’m writing to ask one simple thing: Who is this country really for?

Because if it’s not for parents doing their best to raise good kids in a broken system…

If it’s not for factory workers and farmers who show up every day, no matter how little is left in the tank…

If it’s not for families trying to make a life from the land and a paycheck…

Then maybe the flag doesn’t wave for all of us after all.

I don’t want handouts. I want fairness. I don’t want politics. I want policy that works.

I don’t want a revolution of violence. I want a revolution of responsibility—one where we take care of each other, where people can raise a family without choosing between groceries and medicine, and where love doesn’t have to take a back seat to red tape.

So, if you’re in power, hear me: We are not okay. We are drowning quietly.

And if you’re not in power, but you’re reading this and nodding along, then know this: you’re not alone either.

We’re not enemies. We’re neighbors. We’re parents, workers, and caretakers. And it’s time we start acting like it.

With respect,

A father holding faith

This story was originally published in the Daily Yonder. For more rural reporting and small-town stories visit dailyyonder.com. Photo from the author.

An extreme heat warning was in effect for the Portland area, but I had five pounds of Bartlett pears from a generous neighbor's tree that were rapidly ripening on my counter and about half of them were ready to tip over into that over-ripe, past-their-peak stage.

Normally I'd try to entice Dave into firing up his Oonie Karu and making one of his fabulous wood oven galettes, but he was knee-deep in smoking 14 pounds of bacon and really didn't look like he wanted to take on another project. Doing some research, it looked like I could get a small batch of jam made in about 20 minutes on the stove, which probably wouldn't overpower our ancient window AC unit that was doing its darnedest to keep up with the broiling temperatures outside.

I ran across a recipe for pear and ginger preserves on Serious Eats that would fit the bill with the ingredients I had on hand, though their recipe called for crystallized ginger that we can't keep in stock because of some snack hounds around here (ahem) who eat it like candy. So I upped the amount of grated ginger to account for that, and increased the quantity of lemon juice to give it just a little more spark—pear jam can be a bit "bleh" left on its own—and also mashed it for a smoother texture. In 20 minutes I had four beautiful jars of preserves and the house was barely warmer than when I started.

Whew!

Lemony Ginger Pear Jam

2 1/2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored and diced
1 1/3 c. cane sugar
1/3 c. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp. zest
2 Tbsp. fresh ginger, grated with a microplane (about 3" knob)

Place pears, white sugar, brown sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, crystallized ginger, and minced ginger in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened and sauce has gelled, 20 to 30 minutes. If you'd prefer a smoother texture, at this point simply mash the cooked fruit with a potato masher. Remove from heat.

Ladle jam into clean jars, placing lids on jars after wiping any residue from the rim and outsides of the jars. Allow to cool on the counter, then move them to the refrigerator or freezer. If you want the jam to be shelf-stable, after ladling the fruit into the jars and cleaning the rims, place canning lids and rings on them and follow directions for water-bath canning.

Peppers are popping at our farmers' markets. When I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market to pick up our CSA share from Stoneboat Farm then wandered the aisles to see what else I might need, there were brilliant red sweet Italian peppers, fluorescent green anaheims, sunshine-yellow sweet peppers, and grassy green serranos, jalapeños, poblanos, shisito and, of course, those sneaky-but-irresistible padrons.

I was hoping to make Hank Shaw's Nopales en Escabeche, but in a fairly thorough search I couldn't find cactus paddles anywhere. But, instead of calling off the whole shebang, I bought a pound of jalapeños from Eloisa Organic Farm and decided to proceed with the plan, using the carrots and onion I had in my CSA bag.

Mexican escabeche is that ubiquitous condiment familiar to anyone who's been to Mexico or has frequented an authentic Mexican restaurant. A combination of quick-pickled vegetables, it usually includes jalapeño peppers, carrots, onions and garlic, but can also have cauliflower, red onion, jicama or radishes in the mix.

The vegetables are generally sautéed for a few minutes—some recipes char the whole jalapeños in a hot cast iron pan—then the ingredients are simmered in the brine for a short period before being spooned into quart jars with the remaining brine. You can either seal them with a canning lid and, once they're cool, store them in the fridge, or water-bath can them so they're shelf-stable. The escabeche should then be ready to eat within a week and you're free to include them in tacos, tostadas, nachos, egg dishes, grilled meats or anything that could use a little pickley zing.

Mexican-style Vegetable Escabeche

1 Tbsp. neutral oil
1 lb. whole jalapeños
1 medium white, yellow or red onion, halved lengthwise, then thinly sliced vertically
3 medium carrots, halved lengthwise then sliced into thin coins or bite-size pieces 
1 head of garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1 1/2 c. water
1 1/2 c. white vinegar or white wine vinegar

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Place onions in pan and sauté for approximately 2 minutes.

Add jalapeños, carrots and garlic into the pan and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the vegetables from sticking and burning.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the pan and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes, or until carrots and jalapeños are tender. Remove from heat.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer vegetables into two clean wide-mouth quart jars and fill with brine that remains in pan. Place canning lids on jars and seal with canning rings. Cool to room temperature and store in fridge, or water-bath can them according to canner directions.

A couple of years ago I posted a recipe for a plum upside-down cake that has become a family favorite, one I make several times when plums (and particularly Italian prunes) are in season. It's a simple batter cake that comes together quickly, with a buttery, pound cake-like texture and a to-die-for caramelized, crunchy top and sides when inverted.

I made it recently when we had three small but very ripe peaches left over from Dave's foray into ice cream-making (another delicious recipe I'll share soon). They were super-flavorful Red Havens from Kiyokawa Family Orchards in Hood River that I'd found at Hollywood Farmers' Market.

And they needed to be used right away.

Since their skins were fairly thin and not too fuzzy I decided to skip peeling them, which worked quite well after baking, so if you feel like being brave and eschewing the dunk-in-boiling-water-then-in-an-ice-bath method for peeling peaches, feel free!

Peach Upside-Down Cake

For the baking pan/dish:
3/4 c.butter, softened, divided
1/2 c. packed brown sugar (for buttered pan)

For the cake:
2 c. fresh peaches (3 small or 2 large), sliced into wedges
3/4 c. sugar
1 lg. egg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 350°.

Melt 1/4 cup butter; pour into an ungreased 9-in. round baking pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar. Arrange peach slices in a single layer over sugar.

In a large bowl, cream sugar and remaining butter until light and fluffy, 5-7 minutes. Beat in egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt; add to creamed mixture alternately with milk, beating well after each addition. Spoon over peach slices and smooth top.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 45-50 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temp.

I am loving our neighborhood co-op, the Alberta Co-operative Grocery. I admit to being stuck in the supermarket chain rut until its employees called for a boycott after two years of working without a contract, and we were forced to find an alternative. Fast.

The change, frankly, has been revelatory…while the store itself is much smaller, the co-op seems to have just about everything we normally shop for, the brands it carries favor local producers and the bulk of the goods—including the bulk goods—tend to be organic. The prices are much better than at the chains, too, and between our Stoneboat Farm CSA and the co-op, our grocery bill is noticeably reduced. It even has a senior day every Tuesday for 10 percent off your total bill.

I was checking out the other day (yes, a Tuesday) when the cashier asked me what I was going to make with the miso I had in my cart. Since I'm putting miso in just about everything these days, I rattled off a list of my favorites. She then began describing her latest favorite featuring miso, a miso-glazed roasted eggplant, and how much her up-till-then eggplant-hating husband had done a 180 on the vegetable after she made it for him.

I was sold.

After arriving home I sat down and looked up several recipes (some even in actual books) all with some similarities to the one my cashier friend had described, but none was exactly the same, so I was left to wing it. While my guys are not eggplant averse—Who could dislike the cheesy goodness that is this Eggplant Parmesan?—they flipped out over the version of roasted Japanese eggplant in the recipe below.

I'll keep working on it to see how it holds up with different sizes of the fruit, but I'd recomment sticking with smaller-sized fruits or, better yet, the long Japanese varieties.

Miso-Glazed Eggplant

For the eggplant:
6 Japanese (long) eggplants, approx. 3-4 oz. each
2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil

For the glaze:
4 Tbsp. miso (white or red)
1-2 Tbsp. sugar or honey, depending on how sweet you want it
2 Tbsp. mirin or dry white wine
1 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 large clove garlic, pressed or finely minced
Toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Slivered green onions (optional)

Preheat oven to 450°.

Slice off the stems of the eggplants and remove any remaining bits of the cap. Slice eggplants in half lengthwise and, with a paring knife, score the cut side of the eggplants in a crosshatch pattern about 1/8” deep. Brush with toasted sesame oil. Place cut-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

While the eggplant is roasting, put all the ingredients for the glaze in a small mixing bowl and combine well.

Remove the eggplant from the oven and turn up the temperature to 500°.

Carefully turn over the halves so cut side is facing up. Brush with miso glaze and place back in oven for 5 min. Turn up the oven to broil and place the pan 8-10” from the element. Broil until glaze bubbles and begins to char slightly, 5-7 min. Remove and serve sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and chopped cilantro or green onions.

In the nearly half century that Dave and I have been camping together—first with ancient metal-frame backpacks strapped to our backs and then, as our spines and constitutions gradually weakened, with cast iron and glassware packed with a queen-sized blowup mattress and a big tent that Dave, at 6'4", can stand up in—we've picked up a few tips and tricks to pass along when traveling with pets.

During those decades we've traveled in various sizes of vehicles, starting with old Volvos (both 240 series sedans and wagons, for the cognoscenti) to a Mini Clubman dubbed the "clown car" for the amount we could pack into it, to our current Subaru Forester. The sizes of our dogs went from a 72-pound Husky named Nikki to the pair of Cardigan Corgis we are currently herded by. And yes, we are now that old couple who, in our wildest dreams, can't imagine road tripping "sans chiens," that in our youthful sophistication we might have rolled our eyes at and whispered, "How cute is that…but we'll never be those people."

Ha!

Getting There

For car trips I'm not suggesting you go the route of my aunt and uncle, who erected a platform fastened between them in the front seat of their large 60s sedan so their Dachsund could look out the front windshield. But we have adopted a water-resistant sling for the back seats that both preserves the integrity and the cleanliness of the seat fabric and also keeps the dogs from tumbling into the footwells if we need to brake suddenly. And I'd advise lining the bottom of the sling with an old bath towel if your furry child has a tendency to get carsick just as you're within spitting distance of your destination. Sigh.

Campsite

At the campsite, I've already discussed erecting a zipline to allow the dogs some freedom of movement, and we've found it helpful to have a plastic-backed picnic blanket underneath it for them to lay on while we're attending to camp duties (i.e. cocktails, reading, etc.). It also helps keep them just a bit freer of detritus.

Of course you'll take dog bowls for food and water, but just filling the water bowl with enough for a couple of drinks will save you from having to dump it out innumerable times during the day due to the buildup of needles, dirt and critters that inevitably drop into it.

As for feeding, if your dogs eat kibble you're golden, but since we feed raw food it's a bit more complicated, since it has to be kept quite cold. I usually thaw enough before leaving to last a couple of days, then freeze whatever we'll need for the trip and use it as additional "ice" in the ice chest. It'll thaw gradually, but I keep any leaks contained (and separated from the other food) by putting the containers in large ziplock plastic bags at one end of the cooler next to the drain, then place ice bags next to them. Other items like milk or mayonnaise can then be put on the other side of the ice bags, giving more separation to avoid possible cross-contamination.

If your dogs insist on hanging out with you around the campfire, Dave designed an ingenious way to tie them to your camp chairs by bringing the hand loop at the end of the leash up and underneath the arm of the chair, then bringing the loop up and around the front of the arm. It works with our 33-pound Corgis if you're sitting in the chair, but they have been known to drag an empty chair across the site to chase a chipmunk. So adjust that method as needed.

Elderly Pets

At this point I have to address traveling with an elderly, occasionally incontinent pet, so if you're not yet in that place, you can skip to the end.

Kitty, a sweetie pie at 15 1/2 years old, is in diapers when inside and needs her crate lined with training pads (we call them "pee pads"). Camping is a little easier because we could dispense with diapers since she was outside anyway, but the tent situation can be dicey—no one wants to spend three days in a urine-soaked tent, right? So on our last trip we took her crate and crate pad, a dozen pee pads and diapers and set it all up in our very large tent (see first graph). It actually worked really well, so we'll do the same thing on our next trip.

Another note about traveling with elderly pets—we've noticed that lately Kitty has difficulty adjusting to new spaces, whether it's a hotel room or a campground. It may be because her sight has dimmed over the years or she's experiencing the onset of dementia, but we try to keep her close for the first day or so and let her familiarize herself with the new environment. (So far it hasn't been a problem.)

The key is knowing that you're going to have to adjust your expectations to keep your pet comfortable and safe, whether that's finding dog-friendly vacation spots or hikes that you all can enjoy. But it's worth any trouble to see that grin on your buddy's face after a swim in a rushing creek or a long romp on the beach.

Find more camping hacks and gear suggestions. And get my suggestions for some of the best campgrounds around the Northwest.

Two farmers, Kat Topaz and Jim Abeles, stand in a rutted field. Jim's arm is around Kat's shoulders and a caption floats over their heads that reads, "We need your help." Tearily, Kat says, "It doesn't feel right to be sharing bad news, but it's at that point we need help."

What bad news is this homey farm couple talking about?

Jim explains, "DLCD, the [Oregon] Department of Land Conservation and Development, has come out with a policy recommendation that if it's adopted later this year will make it virtually impossible for agritourism to survive."

"The DLCD rules will put the nails in the coffin for us," adds Kat.

Jim continues, "If you enjoy u-pick, if you enjoy farm-to-table dinners, if you enjoy pumpkin patches, if your kids enjoy a hayride or cow train, these are the kind of things that we and other farms are going to lose."

It certainly sounds dire.

The video has gone viral, not just locally, but has been reposted on the feed of at least one nationally recognized influencer. With so much injustice happening around us every day, from Los Angeles to Gaza, it's not surprising that a tearful plea from local farmers pulls at our sympathies.

But it's not what it purports to be.

Alice Morrison, co-director of Friends of Family Farmers, an advocacy organization for Oregon's small farmers, said she wasn't surprised at the outrage the video has generated. "I totally understand that if what they were being told was 100 percent true, I'd be furious, too," she said.

"These rules do not outlaw farm stands, ban u-pick, or prohibit on-farm events.
This is only to do with farm stand permits, and has no bearing on all the other types of agritourism permits which allow on-farm concerts, festivals, private events, etc."

Morrison, however, knows that it isn't entirely accurate—or as one wag put it, it's "truth-adjacent." That's because Morrison has been on the Rulemaking Advisory Committee (RAC) for the DLCD since a legislative working group decided that the sweeping changes proposed for farm stands in the 2025 legislative session in HB 3133 would be better dealt with in the rulemaking process.

In a statement FoFF released on its blog directly addressing the sturm und drang generated by the Topaz Farm video, it states:

"These rules do not outlaw farm stands, ban u-pick, or prohibit on-farm events. This is only to do with farm stand permits, and has no bearing on all the other types of agritourism permits which allow on-farm concerts, festivals, private events, etc. Regulations on agritourism vary by county and we do intend to address that discrepancy as well, but this RAC is only about farm stands."

So what's really going on?

On its website, Topaz Farm lists myriad activities like classes in pickling, dyeing using plants growing on the farm, farm tours, farm-to-plate dinners and more. Then there are the crops they grow, including berries, pumpkins, greens, onions, garlic, tomatoes, potatoes…the list is long.

Topaz Farm is not answering questions about the video, instead referring callers to Samantha Bayer, the General Counsel at the Oregon Property Owners Association (OPOA), which describes its mission as"protect[ing] the right of private property owners to make use of their property. At the legislature and ballot box, in the courts, working with the media, and through our many educational efforts, OPOA works to reduce the regulatory barriers that hamper Oregon’s private property owners."

Interestingly, the OPOA is using startlingly similar messaging to that used in the Topaz Farm video, getting traction with headlines like "DLCD’s Farmstand Rulemaking: A Critical Moment for Fate of Agritourism." Oregonians who've followed legislative politics will recall the name Dave Hunnicutt, OPOA's president, as being connected with past anti-tax campaigns and other efforts to undercut Oregon's groundbreaking land use laws. On the OPOA website Hunnicutt is described as “a registered Oregon lobbyist" who "has successfully advocated for the passage of legislation to protect Oregon property owners."

The deadline of July 25th to submit comments is also not accurate, according to FoFF's Morrison. "It hasn't even gone through legal review yet," she said in an interview, noting that the draft is just the first step in the revised rule-making process. Public comment can be sent to DLCD until Nov 7, and FoFF anticipates more amendments to these drafts are coming before formal public meetings in the fall where the public will have the opportunity to respond to the proposed rules.

Morrison said that FoFF is particularly encouraged by the emphasis on educational activities that are proposed in the new farm stand classification, as well as the effort to clarify the rules across Oregon's 36 counties, which are currently not enforcing the standards consistently due to the vagueness of the current language. Morrison also considers the effort to differentiate farm-produced products from what are termed "incidental products" a priority (see FoFF's blog post for details). Morrison adds that although progress has been made in these areas, FoFF does see some areas for concern in the current proposal especially around proposed premit review cycles and costs.

Find a comprehensive breakdown of the proposed rules with context and analysis of the issues on the Friends of Family Farmers blog.

This is a developing story, so stay tuned for updates!

Top photo from Topaz Farm video. Aerial photo of Topaz Farm from their public Facebook page.

Like so many entrepreneurs, Hildner wondered, "Is it a bad idea, or is it brilliant?"

When Traci Hildner wanted to open a brick-and-mortar space to teach food preservation and cooking classes through her Lucky Larder cooking school—having already spent more than a decade teaching classes at farmers' markets, New Seasons markets and Portland Community College—she knew she'd need an additional source of revenue to pay the rent.

But what would that be?

A café? A cookbook store? A commercial kitchen to help small producers bring products to market, making use of her masters degree in teaching and certification as a Master Food Preserver and Family Food Educator for Oregon State Extension Services?

Recalling the winnowing process, Hildner said, "I'd always loved shopping 'used.' There are just things you don't need to buy new," listing "cars, bikes, clothes, and the uniqueness of vintage things."

"I also always loved kitchen stores," she said, having worked the retail side at places like Williams Sonoma and Kitchen Kaboodle. Inspired by local outlets like Next Adventure, Foster Outdoor and the vintage record stores lining Southeast Foster Road, she mused about offering a selection of high quality used kitchenware and equipment, but like so many entrepreneurs, wondered, "Is it a bad idea, or is it brilliant?"

Fortunately it turned out to be the latter.

Celebrating its third anniversary at its current location on Southeast Foster, Kitchen Culture brands itself as "a unique kitchen store, offering a constantly evolving selection of used and new cookware, dinnerware, glassware, kitchen tools, and cookbooks through our consignment program."

Opened with items collected from her own inventory of treasures gleaned from years of collecting, Hildner said the success of Kitchen Culture's consignment program has evolved from an add-on meant to supplement the income from cooking classes to becoming much more central to the character and financial stability of the business.

In designing the consignment program, Hildner said her own experience taught her that, as silly as it may sound to non-cooks, people have an emotional attachment to their kitchenware and, when the time comes to pass it on, want it go to someone who will love it, too. More than 80 percent of her inventory comes from the consignment side, but she also stocks new items like kitchen towels, oven mitts, aprons and the like, many produced by local artisans.

The current roster of upcoming classes held at the store and taught by Hildner and other local culinary educators include Pressure Canning, Water Bath Canning, Essential Knife Skills, Basic Breads, Sourdough Baking, and Egg Pasta & Summer Sauces, Fermentation Basics and more. Plus there's a schedule of regular events like Knife Sharpening and KitchenAid Mixer Refurbishing.

Hildner describes Kitchen Culture as a community space, and as part of that mission she has worked with the Foster-Powell Neighborhood Association to coordinate meal service for Lilac Meadows, a nearby shelter. You can register to help prepare a meal and have a fun afternoon doing something good for the local community. Cost is a sliding scale from free to whatever you can contribute.

In previous posts I've written about my love of cookbooks and my admiration-verging-on-adoration for the inimitable Julia Child. When my friend Mary Bartlett—chef, author, bon vivant and part-time resident of Portland and Paris where she co-hosted the legendary Sunday Suppers held at Jim Haynes atelier in the City of Light—posted the following essay on her Facebook page, I immediately asked if I could repost it here. Mary generously acceded.

"Beautiful!"

"Delicious!"

"Marvelous."

"Go very lightly on the brown sugar."

"My favorite!"

(Scribblings in my cookbook.)

Boston. 1969. An aunt gives me Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle. I had just returned from a year in France as a college student and felt passionate about French food. This book, a best-ever gift, battle-worn, stained, and shredded, remains precious to me over half a century later.

First published by Knopf in 1961, Mastering the Art of French Cooking introduced French cuisine to Americans. In the foreword, Julia (and she was the principal author) says this:

"This is a book for the servantless American cook who can be unconcerned on occasion with budgets, waistlines, time schedules, children's meals, the parent-chauffeur-den mother syndrome, or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat."

For many Americans, French cooking was perceived to be overly rich, heavy, too fancy and full of weird things (like a lot of liver). Julia's book explained that a typical French menu was composed of several courses. People didn't have three helpings of mashed potatoes or a two-pound steak. They ate smaller quantities with plenty of variety.

Over time, as cooking shows proliferated and a quick internet search delivered any recipe, cookbooks in general have become passé. While Mastering the Art of French Cooking  has sold over 1.5 million copies, it's hard to imagine most people taking the time to read and study it now. But Julia Child herself continues to play a large part—through television shows and series—in American popular culture.

The meals prepared by the French family I lived with in 1968 were typical: very small breakfasts (bread and coffee), lunch with several courses including cheese and dessert, and a light dinner (often soup, bread and salad). Children had gouter or a snack, often  an éclair or a pain au chocolat after school, but otherwise there was no snacking. The main meal varied between lunch and dinner depending on work and school schedules but a full Sunday lunch was customary and often included grandparents.

One funny memory: In my French family's house, there was always a large saucepan simmering on the back of the stove which contained various scraps and bones. When I asked, I was told "C'est la soupe du chien." It was the dog's soup and that is what the dog was fed. Nothing was wasted.

Reading Mastering the Art requires patience and plenty of time. There are no shortcuts and the recipes are followed by copious recommendations for accompaniments. As an example, the chapter on leg of lamb is fifteen pages long and has seven suggestions for traditional vegetable garnitures: Bruxelloise, Châtelaine, Clamart, Florian, Judic, Provençale and Viroflay. Artichoke hearts, Brussels sprouts, braised lettuce, stuffed mushrooms,  or whole baked tomatoes were just some of these and each garniture referenced specific recipes and their page numbers.

I made the roast leg of lamb on March 28th, 1969, according to my note in the margin along with the following comment: "Cook a bit longer than it says—unless it is really room temp when put in oven."

My enthusiasm for this cookbook and my dedication to learning the techniques hit a big snag, however. I was unprepared for the omelette. 

This is the cheery introduction to the eleven pages of treatise and recipes in the omelette chapter:

"A good French omelette is a smooth, gently swelling golden oval that is tender and creamy inside. And as it takes less than half a minute to make, it is ideal for a quick meal."

Less than half a minute? Between wrestling with my pan, its handle, the shaking, the lifting and finally slapping an egg mixture that was neither smooth nor gently swollen onto a plate, my omelette was a disaster. 

I tried more than once and while I should have taken to heart her cautionary advice—"…before you even start to make one you must read, remember, and visualize the directions from beginning to end, and practice the movements"—I ended up frustrated and seething.

Then I remembered: Julia lived in Cambridge! Right across the river! I raced to the telephone book (yes, children, that's what we had in those days) and sure enough, there was a listing. I telephoned and Paul Child answered. Julia was away for the afternoon but perhaps he could help.

"Less than half a minute to make an omelette?" I sputtered. "It's impossible."

"Now, now," he said gently. "It's patience. That's all you need."

"Really?" I was unconvinced."Yes," Paul said firmly, "Keep making omelettes and you'll be making them in less than 30 seconds." 

Patience won out. And I learned it's not a clock race, it's producing that gently swollen, tender and creamy eggy marvel. 

Thank you, Paul Child.

Get a copy of Mary's Throw a Great Party that recounts menus and recipes from those fabulous Sunday dinners in Paris with Jim Haynes.

Photo by Mary Bartlett of her well-loved copy of Julia's classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I'm sure some sage has written wise words correlating adversity with opportunity and growth. And you would be well within your rights to ask why I'm bringing this up in a post that's ostensibly a recipe for strawberry sorbet, and the answer is this: When Dave developed lactose intolerance in his early 40s we were devastated. As I wrote at the time:

It was a very bad day. One of those days that forever changes you. A day that delineates a definite "Before" and "After." The life-altering occurrence? My husband found out he was lactose intolerant. And, no, not just the "take a Lactaid pill and have some cheesecake anyway" kind of lactose intolerant, but the kind where it's inadvisable to partake of butter, fresh cheeses or any product containing milk without risking...ahem...shall we say "explosive repercussions."

As Joni Mitchell wrote: "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."

It led to a complete rethinking of our very profligate and, frankly, thoughtless use of dairy in everything from our morning toast to creamy casseroles to buttery pastries and desserts. Store shelves today proudly proclaim their products to be "dairy free" and "vegan," with lactose-free butter, milk and cheeses in stock almost everywhere. Even restaurant menus now offer dairy-free options and label entrées "DF" or "V," but thirty years ago it meant switching to margarine and tofu-based simulacra of our beloved dairy products.

And you could pretty much rule out a romantic date night—the machinations involved in trying to ascertain what was and wasn't available, the wait staffs' eyes rolling around their heads and a whimper of "I'll have to check with the kitchen" uttered in complete helplessness, then ordering something and hoping desperately they'd got it right made for a less-than-relaxing experience.

But the upsides were legion, as well. One of the big reasons for Dave's dive into sourdough—yes, it predated the nation's "discovery" of this ancient technique during COVID, particularly by middle-aged white men—was because reading paragraph-long bread labels on shopping trips was taking way too long and the "may have been produced in a facility using dairy" descriptions felt too risky. I could also list benefits like discovering the infinite and delicious permutations of olive oil cakes, and the concomitant escalation in our use of (organic) olive oil, or, to get back to the point of this post, the discovery of fresh sorbets that were like the creamier, less icy Italian versions our Cuisinart ice cream maker produces.

With local fruit season just beginning to burst onto the scene, you can count on several berry and stone fruit sorbets appearing as luscious cappers to backyard soirées here at Good Stuff NW. For instance, this strawberry version is easy, taking less than an hour to pop into freezer and then three or four hours to freeze.

Don't have an ice cream maker in your kitchen inventory? No problem! Read to the last part of the recipe below and check out how my friend Mary Bartlett made the incredible sorbet pictured on the left using just a whisk and her freezer.

Fresh Strawberry Sorbet

2 pints fresh strawberries
1 1/4 cups simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water, warmed and stirred until sugar is completely dissolved)
2 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed orange juice or a teaspoon or two of triple sec or Cointreau (optional)

Cool the simple syrup in the refrigerator.

Put the rinsed, stemmed and halved strawberries into a food processor or blender with a quarter cup of the simple syrup and blend until smooth.  Pour the mixture into a larger bowl. Mix in the rest of the simple syrup (or to taste). Mix in the orange juice or booze, if using. Pour into an ice cream/sorbet machine and follow manufacturer’s directions. Freeze for a few hours before serving.

No ice cream machine? No problem! My friend Mary Bartlett said: "Follow the instructions, make the base and put it in a bowl that will go into the freezer. Place the bowl in the freezer. After one hour, using a whisk, stir the mixture. (Pro tip: Keeping the whisk in the freezer between stirrings will help speed the process along.) Repeat this hourly for about 4 to 6 hours.

Photo of blue bowl and hydrangeas by Denise della Santina. Photo of sorbet in china cups by Mary Bartlett.