Locabear’s Weblog

Locavore Living!

Makin’ Bacon. No, Wait. Makin’ Pickled Eggs… February 22, 2009

Filed under: Good local. Good! Good!,Misc Stuff,Recipes,Tips and Tricks — charbear @ 1:01 am

Oh. My. God. I just bit into the most dee-lish-ous. Nuuuuu-trish-i-ous. Milk Chocolatey. Egg. Ok, there’s no chocolate. That would be kinda gross. Nope. I just ate some of my pickled eggs. Man, why did pickling fall out of favor? And more to the point, why did pickling eggs fall out of said favor? I remember growing up with those beautiful, Pepto-colored eggs. I was the most finicky eater, yet somehow I would eat these strange martian creations. No, not just eat. DEVOUR.

My grandmother seemed to always have a large (and by large, I mean institutionally large. Like stolen-from-a-hospital-ward large.) mayonaise jar in the fridge. And in that ridiculously large jar would be floating the most beautiful Barbie-pink eggs. Pickled Red Beet Eggs. Just the name gets me hot. Yeah, I said it. I get hot for pickled eggs. My gradnmother must have sold her soul to the devil to be such a great cook. If it weren’t for fear of eternal damnation, I would be sitting at her feet right now, dutifully transcribing all of her recipes in 8 different languages (no, I dont know more than 1. Rostetta Stone, you just lost out). But I feel that I can cheat the devil and try to recreate (nay, improve) her creations. Dare I be so bold? Yes. I dare.

So I went ahead with my plan to make my grandmother rue the day she met the devil at the crossroads (and by crossroads, I mean a small, Southeast PA suburb of Philadelphia). I went whole hog and make my pickled red beet eggs from (drum roll please)… beets that I pickled myself. You heard that Beeazlebub? I don’t need you and your pieces of silver (or Clover — remember them? — card). Yeah, I’m pickling beets myself. And not just any pickling elixer. Nope. I gots mine in red wine. Oh no she di’int! But as if that weren’t enough, I went a step further. I also pickled some cauliflower in curry. My grandmother is rolling in her grave. Except she’s not dead yet.

Ok, so I got me some pickled beets. I got me some pickled cauliflower. What does that have to do with eggs? Patience grasshopper. All will be revealed. Eat the beets. Eat the cauliflower. The throw the brine awa…. WAIT! The brine! Oh yeah. I just went there.

Get the best freakin’ eggs you can get (Meadow Run. Amen.). And don’t fuck it up when you hard cook them. If I see a green ring around the yolk, then I will hunt you donw like the dog you are. No, put the eggs in a pot. Cover them to just the top of the eggs. If they’re room temp, fill the pot with room temp water. If they’re cold, fill them with cold water. This ain’t rocket science. It’s just eggs. Put them on heat and bring to a boil. Once you got a boil, turn it off and wait 10 minutes. Chill them immediately and peel. No one, not even you, can fuck this up.

Take the leftover brine from your curry and your red beets. Bring it to a boil again and then pack the eggs in jars and fill it. Leave ’em in the fridge for at least a day. You will be rewarded.

Ok, so its true: the NY Times is running articles about hip, New Yorkers composting in their teeny apartments with worms. Been there. Done that. I’m on to pickling. Eggs. Get used to it. It’ll be hot next year. You know, when the new Great Depression comes…


Yes, Tomatoes DO Have A Sense Of Humor… October 8, 2008

Filed under: Misc Stuff — charbear @ 10:35 pm
Tags: , ,

…why else would they, at almost mid-october, produce fruit when they haven’t friggin’ produced squat most of the season!

Let me introduce, Exhibit One:

Defendant's Exhibit One


This is what the stupid plant looked like ever since it started to get flowers. One day, beautiful yellow flowers. The next day, burned leaves. I tried everything that a mother could, all to no avail. The only thing that I could do was trim off the bad leaves. It produced, but seemed to stop flowering too early.

Then, next thing you know…

Exhibit Two:



And, if that’s not bad enough, let me introduce you to the final exhibit, Exhibit Three:



So what gives? Spoiled little brats. I baby them all season, they don’t give a rats ass and now that they’re staring down the barrel of winter, they start producing. Probably thinking that I’ll coddle them. Which I will…


Garden of Flies, Pestulance Part II: Mosquitoes Attack! September 1, 2008

Filed under: Misc Stuff — charbear @ 10:14 pm
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It’s nice to see that the flies are still here. Consistency. I like. But what’s even better are the mosquitoes. If ever there was an asshole in flying, biting form, it’s the mosquito. Little a-holes.

My entire life has been devoted to being sustenance for mosquitoes. They love me because I hate them. The thing that really sucks is that I can never feel them biting me. How long does it take for a welt to form? Immediately? Hours? I wouldn’t know cuz I don’t know when they attack. I just know that I wake up with bumps and a desire to Agent Orange all of Port Richmond, Philadelphia.

So I’ve been trying all sorts of natural remedies. I want to avoid DEET at all costs. I’ve tried a Bug Off stick from a local, natural boutiique. I’ve tried Quantum buzz Away Extreme (up to 8 hours. Ha. I put it on and then watched as a bitch landed and bit me). I had my own home remedy: a delightfully fragrant blend of cedars and citronella and neem and sticky oil. My search for outdoor happiness continues…


Garden of Flies: Pestulance, part 1 August 26, 2008

When flies overrun, is that one of the signs of Armeggedon? Well, it should be. I’m being attacked as we speak. Fly fights in my hair. The most disgusting thing EVER. What gives? I thought that this was just a Port Richmond problem (3 locations that I’ve been too, including my own house). But I was in Willow Grove last night and BAM: fly fights. In my hair.

Ok, let me make it clear: I am a clean person. There are never dirty dishes in my sink. My laundry remains clean and fresh. Floor, spotless. Flies? Assholes. They’re EVERYWHERE! What gives? Global warming? Or will one of the Pharoah’s sons be killed? You know, the favorite one…


The “New” Shotgun Wedding August 13, 2008

What’s the opposite of “prophetic”? I mean, what do you call it when you do something like, say get married for health insurance coverage and then read about it the very next day in the NY Times? I call it cool and kinda sad at the same time. Cool and sad? Like Robert Downey, Jr, pre-Iron Man.

So you probably can fill in the blanks here: yesterday, August 12, a day that will live in obliviousness because I’m bad with dates, was the day that I got married to my b-friend of almost 8 years. I like writing b-friend instead of “boyfriend” because it could also mean “best friend”. Which is exactly what he also is. He’s fantastic and I relished the thought of being 80-years old and still calling him my b-friend. But alas, those dreams were dashed with a bout of unemployment and an even more frightening case of “I don’t need a job! I’m going FREELANCE!” Add to that a scare from a little asshole I call the deer tick and you’ve got the makin’s of an ol’ fashion SHOTGUN WEDDIN’! YEEEE HAAAAW!

So I guess now, you just replace “pregnant gal” with “coverage-less gal (or guy)”. And instead of an angry father presiding with a shotgun, you got greedy creditors waiting to pounce at the first sign of lyme’s disease. And where once stood a dirt floor, bare feet and a minister named Jeb, there’s now a Thai restaurant in Philly’s Chinatown on a Tuesday with our best pals and closest family who could make it on 2 days notice. Or maybe I’m just extrapolating my experience. Probably not the best idea because despite the short notice and the business-like arrangement, I have known the dude for a ton of years. We own a freakin’ HOUSE together. So it wasn’t like we were blushing at the thought of sharing the marital bed for the first time. Christ, we’ve been together for so long I’ve seen spinach stuck between every single one of his teeth. Why do people feel the need to have (insert your state here) bless their love? I mean, I hate to tell you this little ones, but marriage is a business arrangement.

Ever since Abraham strolled into Canaan with his hottie Sarah, marriage has been about donkeys and land and pieces of gold. In other words, everything that sustains two people EXCEPT love. That “love” thing is just a novelty. So I’m lucky. I DO love him. In ways that are beyond words. Ways that are too special to simply write down. Ways that reside in the joy when you look at him and he doesn’t know you’re looking at him. Or when you see something that you’ve never seen him do before. Those are like the little precious jewels of a relationship and they escape words. So I’m lucky. And I didn’t need a piece of fucking paper to tell me that.

But apparently, his insurance company did…


Bears Goin’ Local! July 31, 2008

Filed under: Misc Stuff — charbear @ 11:07 pm
Tags: , , ,

Just some background: Bears is the alter-ego of a very silly couple. Randy Bowes and Charlotte Markward become Randbear and Charbear and go about SMASHING things. Cuz that’s what bears do. That and eat locally.

This little ditty is about our travels and experiences trying to keep our food and dollars as local as possible. Oh, the towering highs! Oh the stunning lows! The soft, creamy middles! And the moldy parts that you left under your plate! All are covered here. You will not be amused. I gar-on-tee it!