butterfly

I'm drying papaya seeds so that I can sprout them for salad mixes. The fermenting fruit attracts butterflies, wasps, bees, all sorts of visitors. Here's an owl (thanks Mike) butterfly from the side you rarely see.

fruit porn

a corner of our farmers' market stall

 

From left to right: kombucha, durian, marang, dried fruit mixes, crystallized ginger, fruit leather roll ups, mangosteen, salak, rambutan, langsat.

three burners, three pots, three jams . . . oh my!

Today was a jam day. A lovely, bubbling, boiling, sugary, syrupy, fruity day. With a massage at the end (thanks Maria!).

I have a three burner gas stove in the kitchen. I love this stove, it has a black glass top, automatic ignition and there's space around the burners for all sorts of spoons, spatulas, jar lids and measuring/pouring devices. It's wonderfully easy to clean and looks good.

Today, as most days, it was busy. I had jam orders to fill and just about enough fruit to do it. We have a client who wants to sell our products in a health food store in San Jose, she wants a sample jar of every jam we make. I've explained to her a couple of times that our jams are seasonal - I use what's on the trees until there's no more left, and then I use what's coming into fruit next, and on it goes. She understands what I say, but the gap between understanding and understanding can be large at times - especially when we live in a world where everything is always available (so it seems even for those in Costa Rica). Seasonal is an empty word for most of us.

But that's the beauty of my work - I can never get bored of making the same thing - two months or less and that fruit I thought I'd always have is gone and something new has to be created for what's up next.

Having said that, there are fruits which have seasons throughout the year - and these were the ones I concentrated on today. Taking the beagle, I set off looking for nutmegs. The main harvest comes in the spring, but most of the time one can find 2 or 3 or 5 or 6 ready and open. Today I found 5 - just enough for 2 pots of jam.

Next we headed to the araza - a tiny gathering of 12 fruit, enough for about 4 pots. We had more luck with the cas, but the season is winding down after 2 glorious months.


By the kitchen I picked up half a box of mangosteen, and a couple of limes. The mangosteen has maybe another 3 weeks to go, I'll be sorry to see it go, for a whole year too.

Back in the kitchen I peeled, chopped and simmered the nutmegs while I opened the mangosteen and slipped the seedless segments into the blender. The seeded segments have to be squeezed - the seeds add too strong a flavour to the jam. I blended the mangosteen pulp and began to cook it down in a pot while I pureed the nutmegs. The araza had to be washed, halved and the seeds and goop scooped (think overripe pumpkin), then chopped, put in a pot and cooked down also. Then came the adding of sugar - white cane sugar for the mangosteen and araza, and raw brown cane sugar for the nutmeg. Grate some more nutmeg and sprinkle some cinnamon into the nutmeg butter, add lime juice to the mangosteen, and try to stir three pots simultaneously while telling the beagle he had better not chew my baskets for the market. Think about coffee and wish the farmer would appear and make some.

The nutmeg has a tendency to sputter and spit, but today no, thankfully. The mangosteen came out a beautiful pink, and has the best flavour so far (2 limes to 1/2 a box of mangosteen, about 3 handfuls of sugar). The araza behaved impeccably as usual and set up first. And the cas? Well that was scooped, strained and is sitting in the fridge waiting to become fruit leather tomorrow. After all I had my massage to go to.

Chempedak - heaven, with a hint of something rather more sensual

It's hard to describe the chempedak, it's my all time favourite fruit, possibly favourite food. I have 1/2 a chempedak drying just now and the smell is driving me crazy: it's like walking into a candy store as a kid with a pocketful of change, buying a mix and cramming it all at once into my mouth - that's the heaven part, the hell part - well it's not so much hell, but I don't think the heady sensuality, the tactility, the heavy warmth of the aroma or the enveloping nature of the taste is something that goes so well with the traditional take on heaven. It's so decadent a fruit. I found myself face first in the remains of it, after I had extracted all those golden lobes and had scraped as much as I could with my fingers I buried my face in what was left trying to savour as much from the outer flesh as I could. Finally I somehow awoke from my reverie somewhat embarrassed and very sticky, face and hands covered in sweet goo. . . Oh chempedak.

Artocarpus integer is closely related to breadfruit (Artocapus altilis), marang(Artocarpus odoratissimus) and jackfruit (Artocarpus heterophyllus). It's native to Malaysia where it's eaten young as a vegetable, mature as a fruit: fresh, fried in batter or made into ice-cream. The fruit has a strong smell when ready, stronger even than durian and can be mistaken for natural gas - the first time I smelled one I hunted all over the kitchen for the gas leak. It's not such a large tree, at least those I've seen growing in this area aren't very large, although they are all still in their 20s at most. The fruits grow in clusters straight out of the trunk and larger branches, just like the jackfruit. The trees begin to produce between 3 and 6 years and can produce twice a year, with one harvest being heavier than the other.

The fruits take about 6 months to mature and are somewhat cylindrical shaped with a green, yellow skin covered in flat or slightly raised hexagons, each with a dot at its center. They soften as they ripen. Each fruit, between 8 and 12 inches perhaps, breaks apart to reveal around 25 to 30 seeds, large like the durian and fatter than jackfruit seeds. The seeds are wrapped in golden yellow sweeter than honey envelopes of flesh. It's sticky, but nothing like the jackfruit, not as much as the marang either, and the seeds are easy to remove. The flesh is far more like jackfruit than durian and has a firmness which becomes deliciously chewy (like taffy) when dried.

In 'The Fruit Hunters', Adam Leith Gollner describes sneaking his chempedak round the back of his hotel and gorging on it, he compares the taste to his childhood favourite - Fruit Loops. I've never had Fruit Loops, but would be delighted to find they tasted the same. It's that kind of fruit - it becomes in an instant a treasure, a somewhat secret joy to be taken quickly, all at once and in hiding, while one is lost in the very pleasure of it. Something primal about it. It's wonderful, I'm planting a field of them!

Chempedaks are what's termed 'ultratropical' - they won't grow below a certain temperature, they like to be in warm, humid climates, preferably with shade and out of the wind. Definitely a forest tree, so maybe I won't plant a field, maybe I'll search out secret hidden spots in the jungle for my secret, hidden fruit.

up to my neck in fruit

I haven't had time, or energy in the evening, to write anything remotely interesting, let alone grammatically correct. I've been immersed in fruit. My hands are sore and cut from opening durian and removing the flesh; they're stained purple brown from breaking into mangosteens; puckered and lined from squeezing cas pulp through colanders. I'm happy. And tired.

Durians are here!

Our durian harvest has begun. We have two trees, an older one of about 15 years which is roughly 18 meters tall, and a 5 year old which is maybe 6 meters in height. The young tree has her first fruiting this year, last year she gave flowers but they all dropped. I'm happy she's fruiting.

Durians are beautiful trees large yet somehow delicate with smaller leaves which are a mossy green above and a subtle golden bronze below. The flowers are fist sized and shaped rather like a bell with a ping pong ball stuck in the opening. They grow straight from the branches, and we had hundreds, if not thousands this year. If the flower is pollinated it drops the petals and looks a little like a bean pod sticking out from a tiny ball, this takes 3 months or so to grow into the most incredible geometrical wonder, full of sharp green spikes in a pattern that must correspond to the Fibonacci sequence, it seems so perfect. As the fruit grows and swells we worried about fruit set, sure enough many of the young fruits dropped and we had to cull several more for fear of branches breaking with the weight.

It's been 3 months now and the fruit are ripe. They have to fall by themselves and will lie on the ground for a day or so before they open. One can tell from some distance when the fruit splits along its 5 seams: the smell is intense and unmistakable. One can smell it from a good distance, maybe 25 yards. It's an unusual smell, heady, rich, strong, perhaps unpleasant. I've been interested in this fruit since I was a child watching David Attenburgh on the BBC wincing and retching as he sat beside a large open durian in the rainforests of Burma. It took a long time before I was able to smell what all the fuss was about.

Inside there are pockets of fruit, sometimes more than 5 segments with fruit hidden away in secret chambers which one has to find cautiously as the spikes are very sharp: one has to feel through the thick ridges within to see if there is hidden treasure. The fruit is white or yellow and dense and is shaped, to me, (and this may well sound strange), like the embryo of a manatee. The fruit is soft and tastes - well it's a matter of opinion. Some say it's divine, others that it's like rotten fish in condensed milk, others say carmelised garlic and onions in custard. It's a very personal thing. I love it.

The seeds are simple and carmel coloured and can be roasted and eaten or cooked in asian style dishes. Some say it's wise not to eat too many at one time, but with the average durian size being about a kilo and a half, there's not so many seeds to share around.

Recipes for durian include cakes, ice-cream, candies and savoury dishes with unripe fruits. Here it never gets as far as the kitchen, we scoop it right out of its beautiful shell. The dogs love it too. Today we took 3 to market and for those in the know it was the first durian of the season. The three were gone within 5 minutes. Last year I dried some fruit and added it to a connoissuer's mix. It was rather good mixed with jackfruit, champadeck and bananas.

Durians can be found in most Asian markets either fresh, dried, frozen or in cans. I'd recommend a sampling . . .

workshops

I'm giving workshops to students interested in sustainable food production. For me that means taking what grows on the farm and making the very most out of it, preserving abundance and appreciating just how much beauty and joy and taste and energy a (fruit) tree creates.

For the student it means spending a day on the farm, in the kitchen and orchards watching, experiencing and learning how to do the things I learned from my grandmothers and from my own trials and errors. The students are all North American or European college students or freshly graduated who are down in Costa Rica to learn more about sustainable development or environmental issues or organic farming. They are fun to work with, armed with notebooks and pens, bright eyed and eager, and surprised and grateful at discovering how easy things can actually be.

We start with harvesting whatever is available in the orchards, it might be charichuelo, carambola, araza, cas, nutmeg - depends. While we gather I talk about the farm, cacao production, what happened when the cacao blight hit, monocultures, big plantations. We walk through rainforest back to the kitchen: perfect opportunity to talk about biodiversity, permaculture and tropical farming. We stop to look for edible mushrooms or pick some edible leaves.

Back in the kitchen we make sourdough bread and talk about making the culture. I have them take care of any sprouts that might be growing: both are such easy excellent ways to begin bringing consciousness into one's eating and living, as well as slowing down one's pace by engaging with one's food. I start soybeans for tempeh while they prepare the fruit we harvested.

It's good to see processes through in their entirety so after the fruit is washed and trimmed we make fruit leather and jam, or blend it to make frozen yogurt, or use it in cookies. Or usually all of the above. It helps when students can see different ways to use the fruit and sample the simplicity of each, basically it's just variation on the theme of banana for example, or pineapple. What I want them to experience is that there is absolutely enough and that with a little imagination and creativity, life can be very simple.

We drink kombucha and talk about cultures, ferments and microbes. So many North Americans are raised being afraid of 'dirt' that they don't know just how good it can be! I talk them around my microbe wall, electromicroscope images of lactobacillus, aspergillus, mycelium, rhizopus - all incredibly beautiful and bursting with energy.

Lunch is our sourdough bread with homemade hummus, tempeh or Miguel's cheese, served with whatever we found on our walk, and fruit. After lunch the tempeh is ready to incubate and there's jam to be bottled, dried fruit to be packaged, and sprouts to be watered again. And cookies to look forward to.

The students have an experience of every part of production, from harvest through preparation, drying, baking or preserving, to packaging and labeling. This is a working farm and we sell what we produce. Sustainable means taking heed of livelihood as well as the environment, and I believe it is important to show that one can live well by living simply with one's environment and making the best of what one can find.

Usually by the time afternoon coffee and cookies rolls around the students are so immersed in jams and jars, molds and yeasts, that I'm the only one eating. My small library of books is well thumbed and recipes and addresses are scribbled down on floury pages, while the talk is all about sustainable agriculture and the future of food.

Tomorrow I have two young women coming, one from France working on her masters in Sustainable Development and the other from the States who's thesis is on Food Security. We'll be making bread, tempeh, carambola chutney, lovi-lovi and carambola jam, cas fruit leather, dried bananas and candied ginger. Oh and cookies.

hasta luego araza

Three weeks ago I thought it would never end, the araza season seemed to be stretching endlessly into the future as basket after basket of soft yellow fruit became leather or jam or frozen yogurt or cookie or even chutney. But now the trees are bare (not really true, they already have flowers for the next fruiting), the ground below is spotted with the odd fruit squelchy and marked and full of worms. The season is over.

What shall I do? Looking at the Sapote Columbiano and the Carambola it looks like it'll be the end of July at least before they are ready to harvest. Which poses a different question - how will I cope with so much fruit? I'm working on recipes now for both, it looks like there will be a lot.

But in the meantime, what? There's small amounts of Cas and Ceylon Gooseberry, and I saw with some delight that we have a huge Hog Plum tree, although they're rather astringent and mostly seed. I'll experiment, seemingly traditionally they're used to flavor popsicles.

Of course there's lots for me to do. We're putting in raised beds at the back of the nursery and readying another compost area, plus there's tempeh and kombucha, fermented veggies and drying fruits, granola bars, ginger and cookies to keep me occupied. And it looks like there is a very demure nutmeg season on its way.