WEST BRATTLEBORO — T'aint summer. T'aint Foliage. T'aint winter. T'aint no leaf peepers. T'aint no ski bums. T'aint no tourist money flowing in, and t'aint no locals going out. T'aint Halloween. T'aint none of them other holidays, neither. T'aint a whole lot going on, and t'aint a whole lot to do.
It's t'aint season, everybody!
T'aint season marks that special time in Vermont where we take a pregnant pause and ... wait. Folks are saving money for the materialistic barrage from Black Friday to White Christmas. Having dipped our foot into the holiday pond with Halloween, we prepare for the baptismal extroversion. If you're a typical New Englander, small talk and cocktail parties t'aint your cup of tea - not when there's a good book wanting to be read.
I'm one of those stoic folk who prefers good fiction to bad nonfiction. My birthday falls in t'aint season - Nov. 19, in the sign of Scorpio. I'm a double Scorpio, which means I hate everybody and everything.
Scorpios slither along the underbelly of their tribe, hoarding dirty little secrets never to be revealed. We spend holiday season as pro-bono psychotherapists, listening with rapt inebriation while the rest of the world unravels.
Think about most of your Scorpio friends. How well do you know them, really? Scorpios gain power in asking questions, then slithering back quietly while you spill the beans. Knowledge is power, and you t'aint getting none of ours.
Scorpion energy symbolizes this oddly wonderful t'ainted time. The ground is frozen and barren. Trees are brittle and bare; colors, dull and muted. Best of all, it's bug-free.
T'aint season marks a cold, quiet, somber time - a spell between dying and death. Seldom appreciated, its beauty might escape those seeking the flashy fix: May's buzzing optimism, July's hedonistic adventures, or September's rich bounty.
In its stillness, November delivers its own delight: the gift to rest our attention on empty spaces in between forgotten landscapes.
Every life needs spells of calm. Every life needs expanses of time when nothing much occurs, when one may sit for several hours in the same place and gaze upon static things, upon some waxen-leaved desert plant, perhaps, or a patch of dry grass... or “a sky across which no clouds, perhaps only the merest of wisp of white, move,” to quote novelist Alexander McCall Smith.
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For my 50th birthday this November, my husband and I will travel to Seattle, where we will visit Marlene's Market and Deli, the birthplace of my newly released book, The No Recipe Cookbook, which was first written while I was working there over 20 years ago.
During my birthday week, we'll offer book-related events at Marlene Beadle's two stores. The week will culminate in a culinary class with Master Chef Roland G. Henin, who wrote the book's foreword.
The last time I saw Chef Henin was in 1985. I think I was a better cook back then. So I'm extremely nervous and full of doubt, but hey - I'm turning 50, which seems like a good time to grow a pair.
On Nov. 5 - which is still in the future at press time - Washington state could make history if its voters approve the NON-GMO Initiative, which would require genetically modified foods to be labeled.
Marlene has been a loyal proponent, active and vocal in her support.
“Washington State is the number one exporter of organic apples,” she writes in one of her newsletters. (Sorry, Vermont.) “The Arctic Apple, nicknamed 'The Botox Apple,' is genetically engineered not to turn brown when sliced.
The initiative, if approved, will “give consumers the ability to avoid apples containing GMOs and would protect organic export markets of this signature Pacific Northwest crop.”
It's been an arduous battle, which began 50 years ago with Silent Spring, Rachel Carson's groundbreaking book on pesticides and their effect on the environment, appeared in 1962. It's not that the war against the environment started then; that's been going on for ages. But through Carson's work, the public gained awareness and began organizing a political response.
Since then, the battle against GMOs has gained momentum. Passing this act might be a powerful step forward - a cry as bold as marriage equality and medical marijuana.
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In honor of t'aint season, the non-GMO project, the return to Marlene's Market and Deli, and my birthday, I offer the classic French apple tart (tarte tartin) - a humble and tantalizing dessert. I'll be preparing it at the culinary event with Master Chef Henin. I've been practicing for weeks. My husband Mark and I have gained 5 pounds each. Gotta get it right for Chef, or he'll kick me out of my own cooking class.
I learned this recipe from a good friend of Chef Henin's, Chef Pierre Latuberne - the chef who taught me the value of conservation [“Scraps = soufflé,” Food & Drink, May 8]. We prepared one tarte tartin every night.
Tarte Tartin
The ingredients are simple: apples, butter, sugar, pie crust, and patience.
Place butter and sugar in a pan, preferably cast iron. Line the pan with cored halved apples, in a “conga line” fashion, spooning them snugly.
Heat the tart on medium-high heat, and behold, it caramelizes. Engage all your senses: hear the delicate bubbling, see the syrupy transformation, smell the apples soften, and touch their yielding flesh as they meld into candied confection.
Cover apples with an uncooked pie crust. I hate making pie crust. My overzealous nature over-mixes this pious pastry, resulting in arubber pancake. Crisco, you say? Shame on you. I'm a purist; I'd rather cut off the tip of my finger than submit to hydrogenated fat. Thankfully, there are healthy ready-made pie crusts available.
Anyway, place an uncooked shell atop the caramelized apples. Bake in medium heat (350 degrees Fahrenheit) until the crust is brown and the filling bubbles up, around 20 minutes.
Remember my tip: Cook food until it's done. When it's done, remove it from the oven and cool a few minutes. Then cover the top with a plate and flip the beauty. (Careful here, or Beauty will become the Beast.) After flipping the tart, gently lift it off the pan.
This lovely tart welcomes you - buttery sweet caramel, golden brown heaven. Gently spread the apples together (like fixing frosting on a cake).
Allow the tart to rest again. It needs to relax, so go prepare a cup of tea. When your tea's ready, you can enjoy your tarte tartin, which is lovely with ice cream, with yogurt, or solo.
T'aint nothing better than tarte tartin on a bleak and beautiful November day. Share a slice quietly, with your Scorpio friends. And, remember to ask them how they're feeling.