I must retract a statement. The boys making all the noise were not from Virginia. Sorry, Virginia.
The other day, while we hung out mid afternoon in the small pool, sort of central to the 6 houses Craig owns, and calls Nosara Paradise Rentals, I was looking at a seed collecting book. No, you don't collect seeds, like stamps and glue them in. It's an instructional book called Seed to Seed. It was recommended as the best seed collection how-to book I could get. Got it at Earth's General Store in Edmonton. Great store. Hola, Michael.
So, perusing the book, I came across the very interesting method of collecting tomato seeds. Seeds and gel, they say, are squeezed into a labeled deli tub.In one or two days, a layer of fungus will have grown completely across the surface of the mixture. Seeds and fungus are poured into a strainer. The seeds are washed until clean by rubbing the mixture against the strainer under running water.
That is just part of the process. Fascinating, I think, that it's a process mimicking nature's in that a tomato, left on the vine, would rot and fall off. The rotting produces the same fungus that happens during the above described method. It disintegrates the gel sack the seeds are in, leaving them on the ground to eventually, when the conditions are right, grow.
I tell the kids about this, getting them to come to the side of the pool to look at the illustrations (they do, with very curious looks on their faces. Good, I like that). "What's that?" asks the young fella that is staying at the house closest to the pool. His friend joins us. They tell me about their own collection of tomato seeds. I'm impressed. Most 20-somethings don't have a clue about growing things, much less are interested in it. I think there's hope for the future after all.
John, Rick and I chat about growing things, and what we're doing here. The reason for their interest soon becomes apparent. They are chefs. They have recently, within the past year or so, graduated from a New York culinary school.Erroll's eyes light up. These quiet guys are from Virginia.
Later, the two of them come to Robins and we chat some more. they are going to go fishing today, and ask what my kitchen is like. "Sorta old fashioned, but I have all I need to cook well", thinking they were curious about my cooking environment at home. Turns out they want to know because they haven't had a home cooked meal since they left home. Their abode here is a bachelor pad, with limited cooking options. I eagerly offer up our space, offering to share whatever we bring back from the organic market held every Saturday, up at the Giardinia Tropicale; the same place we went the day before to see the chef's garden.
They have a few minutes before meeting the boat, so we all pile in their vehicle to go up the road to the market. Lindsay is in her glory, listening to little boys sell their juice. Much like cool aid salesmen on the side walks at home, these little darlings charm the coins out of the foreigners. There are cool, hand made puppets I didn't get to see, because I knew our time up there was limited. I wanted the vegetables.
There's beautiful jewelry made by foreigner hands. My magpie instincts draw me over, but it's mexican turquois, something I can get elsewhere. I float to where John and Rick are, buying big, bundled leaves, with string wrapped around them. I ask what they are. "plates". hmmm. I watch as they unravel the leaves and take a fork to eat the rice, tucked inside. the leaves are plates after all. I'll try one next time.
I knew that the garden vegetables were easy to miss. Someone had told me to look for a little sign, pointing down the path, thru the trees. Down there, there were 2 farmers set up, with their goods spread out on tables in a small square, doing their business in the centre. On one end, a woman, Mamma maybe, sells her freshly squeezed orange juice, and from a jug, some kind of drink that the farmer motions and says something that must mean "very good for you". I was going to try it, but was distracted by the tables full of cherry tomatoes, basil, spinach, corn, cilantro, buckets of potatoes, huge tubs with big leaves covering the chilled contents: very big celery, lettuce, cucumbers, onions, leeks. Just like home.
I bought $20 worth and struck up a conversation with the farmer that took 6 of us to have. Amongst us, we expressed that I want to go to their farm, that it's a fair distance away, that it's up the mountain, (something I found out earlier is that altitude is a big benefit. The cooler nights allow things we're used to having, like lettuce, a better chance of growing). He, Albin, offers a tour of the garden, and a taste of his fair. I've just read about this custom, common in Italy, in a wonderful book (lent to me by Sheri), called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. It's not unusual for Italian city dwellers to spend the day, wandering the country roads, sampling (for a fee) the local foods, such is their love of all things edible. I like this idea.
The whole thing has me scratching my head, trying to think of how I'll go the 1 hour trip on windy roads. Maybe a reason to rent a vehicle for a day. The altitude of his farm puts his growing methods out of my reach, but the connection may work out to be of use later. I may have to splurge.
In anticipation of eating a good catch (knowing that they might not catch anything, but hoping anyway), I make a fresh salsa. We have tomatoes, onion, garlic, lime, cilantro, cumin and chili powder. With tortilla chips, we can't wait and dig in. mmmm. Also with tomatoes, there's olive oil, balsamic vinegar and fresh basil (OH! I miss having that! I feel like I've cheated and gone summer). Those simple dishes and some fresh bread from Cafe de paris and an avacado are my contributions.
John and Rick come fully loaded with a huge ziplock full of dark tuna meat, already filleted, some soy sauce, wasabi, a few beers and some pretty mean looking knives. They get to work, being slightly mysterious about what they'll make. They chop, mince, drizzle, and sizzle. The first dish is a tuna tar tar. Heavenly. I was a little alarmed that they'd ask us to eat raw fish, but it was so durned good! The next was thinly sliced, just seared on the outside discs. It tasted like a very good steak. I could've eaten the whole thing. Then, there were french bread rounds, toasted in olive oil, with avacado. The next, and last course was fish tacos, with some of my cherry tomatoes in vinegar, a little lettuce and fried fish. Oh me oh my.
After cleaning up, we had a rather disorganized round of 5 crowns. Much banter, then an alarming counter attack on the ants that decided our food smelled that good. That put a little bit of a damper on things. we sprayed OFF around the baseboards and the boys left for home.
Ants be darned. It was a good evening. Food is good.
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