Betting the farm

What a day the first of April turned out to be. First I led a tutorial on how to pick the perfect fruit at the pineapple bin at Costco, then I took a field trip with my sister’s family to a local farm, and finally I conquered a challenge in the kitchen. Way to be productive, clatter!

As for the farm visit, one might inquire, “Why would you do that?” Since you asked, I did it partly to enjoy the unprecedented warm temperatures of 2011, partly to learn what "cage-free" really means for some of Oregon’s prized hens, and partly to stake out locations for the next episode of Portlandia. The last one is my belated (and lame) April Fools joke, and I haven’t even watched any episodes of Portlandia, but from what I hear about the show, this place could have easily made a scene appearance.

While the “farm to fork” concept sounds enticing and glamorous (especially if we’re talking an agriturismo somewhere in the Tuscan countryside), my romantic notions took a turn and were soon replaced by piles of goose poop and swarms of gnats. The tour guide, Prairie (yes, Prairie), gave us a nice introduction to the crops grown on the farm (we nibbled on the remnants of purple broccoli) and to the portable hen house. At first things were fine and dandy (the hens seemed "happy" enough), but soon I found myself less than impressed with the lack of bee hives and the group of volunteers elbow-deep in mud as they dug out earthworms. Where’s the romance in that? I know I can’t wholly blame the farm for my disappointment and especially not for my poor choice in footwear. I can place blame, however, on the insect that went up my nose and the young mother in the group who couldn't get a hold of her loud, obnoxious boy running all over the place. Maybe farm life is not for me.

But I don’t think I was the only one who expected more from this farm visit. My two nieces found the most pleasure and continued interest not in the geese or the vegetable gardens or the tiny garter snake, but in the sticks they found to use for dueling. Watching them provided more entertainment than any hen ever will.

Meet Opponent #1:


and Opponent #2:

Fierce and focused poise shown by both. Appointment of the highest honor is still being reviewed by the officials.

Completely uninspired by the farm tour, I along with my sister, brother-in-law, and two nieces, rejoined civilization in NE Portland after the field trip to make dinner at my apartment. One might expect that a meal following a farm visit would consist of fresh local products…but not this time, my friends. Instead, I took the opposite approach and thawed some frozen tilapia to made fish tacos. There was much more at stake with this dinner than simply honoring ‘no meat’ Fridays during Lent. The objective was simply this: “I will prove to my brother-in-law that fish tacos are delicious.” Recently we had a heated debate about the virtues of the fish taco, and I could only speak of it in the highest regard, as it’s one of my favorite things to eat. Because words can only go so far, my sister suggested that we prepare fish tacos in order to settle this debate once and for all. I accepted the said challenge, and as such, I got to work in the kitchen, pan-frying the fish lightly coated with panko crumbs and seasonings, while preparing my very own signature slaw with green cabbage, cilantro, red onion, radish, lime juice, sour cream, and various Mexican spices.

As much as I tried to get in my element (I was, after all, in the comfort of my own kitchen), I’ll admit that it was still a little touch-and-go there for a while. Without kid-proofing the apartment beforehand, I had a tough time blocking out every clash and clang coming from the other room. Rest assured I was still able to execute the dish once I learned that the little girls had forgiven me for not having any toys to play with by resorting to jumping on the bed and getting into my make-up bag. That’s probably what I would have done had I been in their shoes. Oh yes, and there was also wearing Auntie Alli’s shoes and clumping around the apartment. I’m still waiting to receive hate mail from my neighbor downstairs.

So, was my brother-in-law able to let go of his less than favorable stance on the fish taco? I’m not about to put words in his mouth or say that he loved it (after all, he could have just been acting as a gracious guest should), but something tells me that his praises were genuine and that at the very least, he’s going to think twice before talking smack about fish tacos ever again. clatter might not be changing lives (one taco at a time), but I still feel as if my work here is done.

And speaking of work, perhaps you’ve noticed that I’ve fallen behind on my literary project. I’m trying to get my act together, so look forward to a couple of book reports this week.