News posts from dpacheco's Archive


Pastured Turkey Cooking Tips, and a Recipe for Walnut Sausage Stuffing

Tuesday, November 26th, 2013

By Shannon Hayes

For the past week, farm families across the country (including my own) have been rising each morning to engage in what has become our own unique, albeit macabre, Thanksgiving Tradition.  We are processing our turkeys. 

Unlike the factory-farmed birds found in most grocery stores, these birds are usually processed just a few feet from the lush grasses where they were raised, quite often by the same hands that first gently set their newly hatched toes into a brooder, and then carefully moved them, once they were old enough, out to the fields for a few months of free-ranging turkey living.  Now that the processing complete, our birds sit in our coolers and await our customers, who will venture out to the farm for a tradition of their own, retrieving their annual Thanksgiving feast.  For those of you who are new to this process, here is a list of tips to guide you through and make sure that you have a delicious holiday feast.

  1. Please be flexible. If you are buying your pasture-raised turkey from a small, local, sustainable farmer, thank you VERY much for supporting us. That said, please remember that pasture-raised turkeys are not like factory-farmed birds. Outside of conscientious animal husbandry, we are unable to control the size of our Thanksgiving turkeys. Please be forgiving if the bird we have for you is a little larger or a little smaller than you anticipated. Cook a sizeable quantity of sausage stuffing if it is too small (a recipe appears below), or enjoy the leftovers if it is too large.  If the bird is so large that it cannot fit in your oven, simply remove the legs before roasting it.
  2. Know what you are buying. If you don’t personally know the farmer who is growing your turkey, take the time to know what you are buying! “Pastured” is not necessarily the same as “free-range.” Some grass-based farmers use the word “free-range” to describe their pasture-raised birds, but any conventional factory farm can also label their birds “free-range” if they are not in individual cages, and if they have “access” to the outdoors – even if the “outdoors” happens to be feces-laden penned-in concrete pads outside the barn door, with no access to grass. “Pastured” implies that the bird was out on grass for most of its life, where it ate grass and foraged for bugs, in addition to receiving some grain.
  3. Brining optional. If tradition dictates that you season your meat by brining your bird, by all means, do so. However, many people brine in order to keep the bird from drying out. This is not at all necessary. Pastured birds are significantly juicier and more flavorful than factory farmed birds. You can spare yourself this extra step as a reward for making the sustainable holiday choice!
  4. Monitor the internal temperature. Somewhere, a lot of folks came to believe that turkeys needed to be roasted until they had an internal temperature of 180 degrees Fahrenheit. Yuck. You don’t need to do that. Your turkey need only be cooked to 165 degrees. If the breast is done and the thighs are not, take the bird out of the oven, carve off the legs and thighs, and put them back in to cook while you carve the breast and make your gravy. That entire holiday myth about coming to the table with a perfect whole bird and then engaging in exposition carving is about as realistic as expecting our daughters will grow up to look like Barbie (and who’d want that, anyhow?). Just have fun and enjoy the good food.
  5. Cook the stuffing separately. I know a lot of folks like to put the stuffing inside their holiday birds, and if Thanksgiving will be positively ruined if you break tradition, then stuff away. However, for a couple reasons, I recommend cooking your stuffing separately. First, everyone’s stuffing recipe is different. Therefore, the density will not be consistent, which means that cooking times will vary dramatically. I am unable to recommend a cooking time, since I cannot control what stuffing each person uses. Also, due to food safety concerns, I happen to think it is safer to cook the stuffing outside the bird. Plus, it is much easier to lift and move both the bird and the stuffing when prepared separately, and to monitor the doneness of each. Rather than putting stuffing in my bird’s cavity, I put in aromatics, like an onion, carrot, garlic and some fresh herbs. When the bird is cooked, I add these aromatics to my compost heap. The aromatics perfume the meat beautifully, and the only seasoning I wind up using on the surface is butter, salt and pepper.
  6. No need to flip. I used to ascribe to that crazy method of first roasting the bird upside down, then flipping it over to brown the breast. The idea was that the bird would cook more evenly, and the breast wouldn’t dry out. When I did this, the turkey came out fine. But I suffered 2nd degree burns, threw out my back, ruined two sets of potholders and nearly dropped the thing on the floor. Pasture-raised turkeys are naturally juicy. Don’t make yourself crazy with this stunt. Just put it in the oven breast-side up, like you would a whole chicken, and don’t over-cook it. Take it out when the breast is 165 degrees (see #2, above).   If, despite the disparaging comments in item 2, above, you still want to show off the whole bird, then bring it into the dining room, allow everyone to ooh and aah, then scuttle back to the kitchen, and proceed as explained above.
  7. Be ready for faster cook times. Pasture-raised turkeys will cook faster than factory-farmed birds. Figure on 12-15 minutes per pound, uncovered, at 325 degrees as you plan your dinner. That said, oven temperatures and individual birds will always vary. Use an internal meat thermometer to know for sure when the bird is cooked. For more help with cooking your turkey, don’t forget to refer to The Grassfed Gourmet Cookbook by Shannon Hayes. What?!? You don’t own a copy yet? Click here to buy one immediately!
  8. Use a good-quality roasting pan. If this is your first Thanksgiving and you do not yet own a turkey roasting pan and cannot find one to borrow, treat yourself to a really top-quality roaster, especially if you have a sizeable bird. (I don’t like to endorse products, but I must say that my favorite is the large stainless All-Clad roaster. Last I knew they were still made in the U.S.A. – but then, I bought mine ten years ago, so that may have changed. My mom has other name-brand roasting pans, and they are shabby in comparison to mine. Please don’t tell her I said that….) Cheap aluminum pans from the grocery store can easily buckle when you remove the bird from the oven, potentially causing the cook serious burns or myriad other injuries in efforts to catch the falling fowl.  Plus, they often end up in the recycling bin, or worse, landfills. If you buy a good quality large roasting pan, and you happen to have a copy of The Grassfed Gourmet Cookbook (another shameless hint), I guarantee you will have multiple uses for the pan!
  9. Pick the meat off the bird before making stock. If you plan to make soup from your turkey leftovers, be sure to remove all the meat from the bones before you boil the carcass for stock. Add the chunks of turkey back to the broth just before serving the soup. This prevents the meat from getting rubbery and stringy. For an extra-nutritious stock, follow the advice offered in Nourishing Traditions, by Sally Fallon, and add a tablespoon of vinegar to the water 30 minutes before you begin boiling the carcass or, better still, use the recipe for chicken stock in The Grassfed Gourmet Cookbook. The process of adding acid to the stock draws more minerals from the bones and releases them into the liquid.
  10. Help is available. In recent years, our home seems to have become the unofficial Sustainable Thanksgiving Hotline. Please do not hesitate to write to me with your questions at [email protected]. I make a point of checking email often right up through Thanksgiving Day (I stop around noon), so that I can promptly respond to your questions or concerns. Enjoy your holiday!

And finally, here’s my favorite recipe for walnut sausage stuffing:

Walnut Sausage Stuffing (serves 8 )

  • 1 whole baguette, chopped into ½ inch cubes and allowed to sit out overnight
  • 2 Tablespoons fennel seeds
  • 1 cup walnuts, mildly crushed
  • 2 Tablespoons olive oil
  • 1# Sweet Italian, Hot Italian, or Breakfast sausage
  • 4 Tablespoons butter
  • 4 onions, chopped
  • 2 carrots, peeled and diced
  • 1/2 cup dried cranberries (or use one cup fresh)
  • ½ cup raisins
  • 2 T rubbed sage
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 2 tablespoons brandy
  • 6 eggs
  • 3 cups chicken broth
  • 1 teaspoons salt
  • 1 teaspoon black pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Bring a mid-sized skillet up to a medium-hot temperature.

Add the fennel seeds and allow them to toast until fragrant.

Remove the seeds to a small dish, then add the walnuts to the same hot, dry skillet and allow them to toast 3-5 minutes, taking care to stir them constantly to prevent burning.

Pour the walnuts off into a large bowl.

Add olive oil to the same skillet, then fry the sausage until it is cooked through (about 8-10 minutes).

Remove the sausage to the same large bowl containing the walnuts.

Add the butter to the skillet, allowing it to melt and blend with the sausage drippings.

Add the onions and carrots, sauté 2 minutes, then add the cranberries and raisins and sauté two minutes longer.

Sprinkle the sage over the vegetables, sauté 1 minute, then add the garlic and toasted fennel seeds.

Sauté two minutes longer, then add the entire mixture into the large bowl with the walnuts and sausage.

To the same big bowl, add the bread, chicken broth, eggs, salt, pepper and brandy, and prepare to get messy.

Using your hands (or salad servers), thoroughly mix all the ingredients.

Butter a 13 x 9 inch baking pan, add the stuffing, then cover tightly with a piece of buttered aluminum foil.

Allow the stuffing to cook 35 minutes, the remove the foil and allow it to bake 30 minutes longer, until the top is nicely crisped and lightly browned.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Shannon Hayes is the host of grassfedcooking.com and the author of Long Way on a Little, The Farmer and the Grill, The Grassfed Gourmet and Radical Homemakers. She works with her family on Sap Bush Hollow Farm in Upstate New York.

Ode to Campari—and a Recipe for Vodka Negroni

Thursday, July 12th, 2012

The following is an excerpt from Libation, A Bitter Alchemy by Deirdre Heekin. It has been adapted for the Web.

I’m trying to remember the first time I tasted Campari. What’s difficult is isolating the occasion for the sense of that first taste: the setting, the weather, the conversation. There have been so many occasions, places, and circumstances. I’m trying to remember this particular moment because I’ve only just realized that a Campari and soda, or Campari and orange, or a negroni, that powerful elixir made of equal parts Campari, gin, and sweet vermouth (unless one doesn’t like gin—which I don’t, so I substitute vodka) have become a kind of personal madeleine, that theory laid out so languorously by Marcel Proust: that a taste could bring to mind a whole catalog of memory, the key to his remembrances of things past.

Campari stitches together a string of my own remembrances that have formed almost half my life. Somewhere along the line I decided that it was important to mark a place, a new place to which I’d traveled, by saluting it with a narrow, cold glass filled with ice and liquid the color of cochineal, cochineal being that strange and luminous red dye made from the wings of ladybugs. My initial experience with Campari clearly set the stage for my own particular era composed of equal parts adventure, romance, melancholy, and inspiration. I want to examine how a taste passing over the tongue conjures a memory, or a series of memories, allowing a person to experience them over and over again through the tip of the tongue, the sides of the mouth, the back of the throat. By most accounts, we can only sense five flavors, which seems to correspond quite elegantly to the inevitable events that mark our lives: sweet, salty, bitter, and sour, and then a fifth flavor, which I feel is somehow synonymous with the category we might label inexplicable, made possible by an amino acid and known by the Japanese as umami.

So I follow the braid back, the little woven string of all the glasses of Campari I have known, starting from the one I had just last week on the first hot day of our summer, a five o’clock cocktail after a day of gardening, of cutting back dead canes on roses, of weeding a plot of herbs, of building new cedar boxes for raised beds. This cocktail hour is reminiscent of growing up in an age when parents would break at the end of a hot summer day and mix their gin and tonics or Irish whiskies (why did they never have Campari?) and sit on the porch in the shade, or on the patio next to the white-blooming camellias. This is also what their parents did, some with the selfsame brand of Irish whisky, others with a glass of cold, pale local beer.

My husband and I sit with our Campari on the porch, and as we drink we look at the garden we’ve so carefully tended all day, our glasses sweating in our hands, the evening heat sliding by us. We’ve marked the first day of our summer not by the calendar, but by the first sip of this bitter, slightly medicinal liquor. My husband proffers a notion: Perhaps every Campari is a first Campari, and each time you drink it the taste surprises you (because you are, on each occurrence, in a different state of mind) and marks the experience that much more clearly, while at the same time bringing on a flood of all the past Campari. Perhaps, he warns, I will never rediscover the original experience.

Trained in philosophy, he continues, recalling a discussion of memory theory from his university days. He remembers a warm spring afternoon in the classroom and the professor, her sleeves still buttoned at the wrist despite the heat, explaining the idea that we attach various tags to memories, and later we find a tag and then, we hope, the memory, provided the memory has not lost its tag, or vice versa. We might have tags for Campari such as: Taste, Campari; Scent, Campari; Location, Campari; Certain Temperature of Air with Quality of Light and Time of Year, Campari; and so on and so on. Anytime we raise a glass of it to our lips, we engage our minds, and we are back at that café table or dinner table, or in that city, or out in the countryside, and we have transported ourselves elsewhere in time, even while tagging a new moment.


recipe for vodka negroni

This drink is adapted from an hosteria in the little hamlet of Terano Nuovo in the Abruzzo, not far from Pineto, an old-fashioned seaside resort on Italy’s Adriatic coast. The padrone, a generous soul, treated us to three rounds of negroni, and would have treated us to more if we had felt more stalwart.

This is the sort of drink that can restore one’s faith. In any case, its fuchsia sunset color chases away all the darker moods. A traditional negroni is made with gin, but gin does not always agree with me, and the clean elements of vodka complement the bittersweet of the Campari and sweet vermouth very nicely.

  • Ice cubes
  • 1 healthy ounce vodka
  • 1/2 ounce Campari
  • 1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
  • Lemon twist

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice cubes. Add the vodka, Campari, and vermouth. Shake, then strain into a highball glass over more ice cubes. Finish with a twist of lemon.

Miso Soup for the Soul

Monday, January 23rd, 2012

The following is an excerpt from Wild Fermentation: The Flavor, Nutrition, and Craft of Live-Culture Foods by Sandor Katz. It has been adapted for the Web.

The classic way to enjoy miso is in the form of miso soup. The comfort and healing that Jewish grandmothers have proverbially offered in the form of chicken soup, I have more often found in miso soup. No food I know is more soothing.

When you make miso soup, miso is the last thing you add. In its simplest form, miso soup is just hot water with miso, about 1 tablespoon (15 milliliters) of miso per cup (250 milliliters) of water. Add the hot water to the miso and blend it thoroughly. Boiling miso will kill it.

On the other hand, miso soup can be as elaborate as you want. Adding seaweed is generally where I start. Seaweeds have deep, complex flavors. Some people think it makes them sound more appealing to call them sea vegetables. But I like to honor their wildness by calling them weeds. They carry the essence of the sea. They are rich in nutritional and healing properties. One of their specific benefits is a compound called alginic acid, which binds with heavy metals, such as lead and mercury, and radioactive elements like strontium 90, and carries them out of your body (much like the dipicolinic acid of miso). Seaweeds also nourish the cardiovascular system, improve digestion, help regulate metabolism and glandular and hormonal flows, and calm the nervous system. I love to throw seaweed into pretty much anything I cook. Miso soup is almost always prepared with seaweed. Japanese recipes for dashi, or soup stock, traditionally call for kombu, a Pacific Ocean seaweed. I get my seaweed from small-scale seaweed harvesters on the Maine coast, where kombu is not found. The North Atlantic equivalent is called Laminaria digitata. Digitata is a thick and hardy variety of kelp. Each stalk’s growth splits off into several digits of wavy greenbrown flesh, hence the name digitata.

I had a memorable experience harvesting digitata, guided by seaweed harvesting partners Matt and Raivo of Ironbound Island Seaweed, off the Schoodic Peninsula in “Downeast” Maine. We woke up at 4:00 A.M., squeezed ourselves into skintight wet suits, and drove down to the harbor. We got into a wooden boat that Matt had built himself, and towed a smaller wooden boat, which he had also built. Do-it-yourself has no limits. We glided through the calm bay waters into the foggy dawn for a long time. I wondered how my guides could possibly navigate in the dense grayness where the sea, sky, and land all blended into one. We saw seagulls and seals. The water got choppier. We were headed beyond the harbor to the turbulent ocean waters where digitata thrives.

We arrived at our destination just as the tide was getting low enough to give us access. Seaweed harvesting is ruled by the tides. Matt and Raivo do almost all of their harvesting during the week each month when the tides are at their lowest. We anchored the big boat and got into the smaller boat, then aimed for a large stand of digitata growing from an underwater rock ledge. When we got near the digitata, we jumped out of the boat into the cold, choppy water. Matt and Raivo took turns staying in the boat to keep it from drifting away, continually rowing back to near where we were, so we could toss the digitata that we harvested into the boat.

There I was in the ocean, with a sharp knife in my hand. The idea was to stand on the rock ledge from which the digitata was growing and cut the stalk to harvest it. Sounds straightforward enough. And it would have been, had the waves been kind enough to stop. But every time a wave came rolling rhythmically in, suddenly the water over the rock ledge I was standing on was about five feet deep instead of two feet. Reaching down to the digitata stalk in the deeper water involved dunking my entire body, head included, into the ocean. And half the time the wave would knock me right off the rock ledge.

I spent a lot of that morning flailing around, knife in one hand, seaweed in the other, feeling like Lucy Ricardo in another madcap misadventure. When I’d actually get a handful of digitata, the goal was to throw it into the rowboat, another challenge intensified by the rough water. It was crazy, and incredibly fun, regardless of how little I managed to harvest. As my body was pushed around by the waves, I identified with the seaweeds, whose lives are a continual push and pull of tidal influences. Several small rowboat loads later, the tide was rising too high for us to continue, so we boated back in the mid-morning sun to the South Gouldsboro harbor, nestled in a bed of slippery digitata.

When we got back to Matt and Raivo’s place, we shed our wet suits and ate, then got down to the business of hanging all the seaweed to dry. Each plant requires individual handling. After hours of hanging digitata, our hands were covered with gooey gelatinous slime. Another time when I helped Matt and Raivo hang wet seaweed, I had just been in an auto accident. I found that the flexible slimy seaweed absorbed the shock from my body. Eating seaweed brings this soothing absorptive quality into your digestive tract.

Most of the seaweed available in the United States is imported from Japan, where it is a popular staple ingredient and is farmed intensively. I want to make a plug for seaweed bioregionalism and urge readers to support small seaweed harvesters along America’s coastal waters. Matt and Raivo sell seaweed as Ironbound Island Seaweed. Other seaweed harvesters I can recommend are Larch Hanson in Maine and Ryan Drum in Washington. Contact information for these suppliers is listed in the Cultural Resources section.

We were making miso soup. Use whatever is in your refrigerator or your garden that needs to get used up. Here’s how I do it:

  1. Start with water. One quart (1 liter) of water makes soup for 2 to 4 people. Quantities of the other ingredients are in proportion to a quart of water. Start heating the water to a boil, while you add other ingredients; once it boils, lower the heat and simmer.
  2. Add the seaweed first. As it cooks, its flavors and qualities melt into the broth. I use scissors to cut up dried seaweed into small pieces, easier to fit in a spoon. Cut up a 3- to 4-inch (8- to 10-centimeter) strip of digitata, kombu, or another variety of seaweed, or more than one type. Add the small pieces of seaweed to the water. Once this boils for a few minutes, you have a traditional Japanese dashi, or stock. Make your miso soup from this, or make it more elaborate.
  3. The next thing I add is root vegetables. Burdock root (gobo in Japanese) gives a hearty, earthy flavor to soup, as well as its tonifying and cleansing powers. Use about half a burdock root. Slice it lengthwise, then into thin half-moons. Also cut up a carrot and/or part of a daikon root. Add the root vegetables to the pot of soup stock.
  4. Next I add mushrooms if I have them around. Shiitakes are my favorite, but any kind goes well in soup. I never wash mushrooms because they are so absorptive and I would rather have them absorb soup than plain water. Just wipe away any visible dirt. Slice 3 or 4 mushrooms into pieces small enough for a spoon and add them to the soup stock.
  5. Cabbage is good in miso, just a little bit, chopped finely and added to the stock.
  6. If you want heartier soup, you can add tofu. Take about half a pound (250 grams) of tofu, rinse it, slice it into small cubes, and add it to your stock. If you have any leftover cooked whole grains around, add a scoop of them to the stock. Break up any clumps with a spoon. Soups are an excellent opportunity for recycling leftovers.
  7. Peel and chop four (or more!) cloves of garlic and prepare any green vegetables. Cut small pieces of florets from a stalk of broccoli, or chop up a few leaves of kale, collards, or other greens.
  8. Check to make sure the root vegetables are tender and the tofu is hot. When they are, turn off the flame. Remove a cup of the stock and add the garlic and green vegetables to the pot. Cover the pot. Mash about 3 tablespoons (45 milliliters) of miso into the cup of stock you removed. For a hearty soup, you can also add 2 tablespoons (30 milliliters) of tahini. Once it’s well blended, return it to the pot of stock and stir. Taste the soup. Add more miso, if needed, using the same technique.
  9. Garnish the soup with chopped scallions, wild onions, or chives. Enjoy. Soup like this is a one-dish meal.
  10. When you heat leftover soup, heat it gently, trying not to boil the miso.

WATCH: Eric Toensmeier Shows You His Edible Forest Garden

Wednesday, June 16th, 2010

From Eric Toensmeier, award-winning author of Perennial Vegetables: From Artichokes to Zuiki Taro, a Gardener’s Guide to Over 100 Delicious, Easy-to-Grow Edibles and contributing author of Dave Jacke‘s Edible Forest Gardens Vol. 1 and 2:

Here’s a little video tour of a nice patch from our edible forest garden. It is an edible forest garden in miniature built around an American persimmon.

About the book: There is a fantastic array of vegetables you can grow in your garden, and not all of them are annuals. In Perennial Vegetables the adventurous gardener will find information, tips, and sound advice on less common edibles that will make any garden a perpetual, low-maintenance source of food.

Learn more about Perennial Vegetables in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

June Is for Gardening! All Gardening & Agriculture Books 25% off!

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

Bring Chelsea Green authors into your garden with you this summer!  In celebration of the upcoming summer solstice, all books in the Gardening & Agriculture category are a massive 25% off!

Sale ends June 30.

View all Gardening & Agriculture titles here.

WATCH: An Interview with Cheesemonger Gordon Edgar (Extended)

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

In this extended interview, cheesemonger Gordon Edgar recalls how punk rock led him into the cheese business and recommends a few of his favorite cheeses.

About the book: Witty and irreverent, informative and provocative, Cheesemonger: A Life on the Wedge is the highly readable story of Gordon Edgar’s unlikely career as a cheesemonger at San Francisco’s worker-owned Rainbow Grocery Cooperative. A former punk-rock political activist, Edgar bluffed his way into his cheese job knowing almost nothing, but quickly discovered a whole world of amazing artisan cheeses. There he developed a deep understanding and respect for the styles, producers, animals, and techniques that go into making great cheese.

Learn more about Cheesemonger in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

Riki Ott on Countdown: BP Involved in Massive Cover-Up

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

Marine toxicologist and Exxon Valdez oil spill veteran Dr. Riki Ott alleges that BP has been engaging in activities to cover up the true extent of the damage from the Gulf Coast disaster.

Watch now:

 

 

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

About the book: Author Riki Ott, a rare combination of commercial salmon “fisherm’am” and PhD marine biologist, describes firsthand the impacts of oil companies’ broken promises when the Exxon Valdez spills most of its cargo and despoils thousands of miles of shore. Ott illustrates in stirring fashion the oil industry’s 20-year trail of pollution and deception that predated the tragic 1989 spill and delves deep into the disruption to the fishing community of Cordova over the following 19 years. In vivid detail, she describes the human trauma coupled inextricably with that of the sound’s wildlife and its long road to recovery.

Learn more about Not One Drop in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

The Obama Presidency: Possibility or Peril?

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

Is Barack Obama’s presidency really in peril? Robert Kuttner thinks our president is squandering a historic opportunity for fundamental, FDR-scale reform.

From The Nation:

Kuttner identifies four main reasons for why BHO is thus far no FDR. “One is his own character as a conciliatory consensus builder,” he writes. “A second is that economics was never Obama’s strong suit. A third is the residual power of Wall Street; without a president personally committed to Roosevelt-scale change, even a national financial collapse has not been able to shake the hegemony of finance. And a fourth is that the social movements that were so prevalent during the other eras of crisis and great presidential leadership are largely absent today.” Such an outcome was by no means inevitable or preordained, Kuttner believes, despite the awful hand the new president was dealt. “In Obama’s fateful first year, there was a road not taken, a possible road to radical reform, broadened prosperity, and the mobilization of an appreciative citizenry,” he writes. Kuttner faults Obama for this, but is far more critical of the president’s top advisers, who he believes led an inexperienced leader astray. “In many respects, the path Obama chose was determined by the people he appointed,” Kuttner asserts.

About the book: In this hard-hitting, incisive account, Kuttner shares his unique, insider view of how the Obama administration not only missed its moment to turn our economy around—but deepened Wall Street’s risky grip on America’s future. Carefully constructing a one-year history of the problem, the players, and the outcome, Kuttner gives readers an unparalleled account of the president’s first year.

Learn more about A Presidency in Peril in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

Education of a Homesteader: The Rutland Herald Reviews Up Tunket Road

Monday, June 14th, 2010

Up Tunket Road was recently reviewed in the Rutland Herald:

It’s a tale that captures the unpredictable nature of life as a Vermont homesteader, but it is also part of a serious narrative about a family’s quest for a self-sufficient lifestyle and a reflection on what homesteading means in an age that is coming to grips with climate change and increasing human demands on the land.

Read the whole article here.

About the book: Up Tunket Road is the inspiring true story of a young couple who embraced the joys of simple living while also acknowledging its frustrations and complexities. Ackerman-Leist writes with humor about the inevitable foibles of setting up life off the grid—from hauling frozen laundry uphill to getting locked in the henhouse by their ox. But he also weaves an instructive narrative that contemplates the future of simple living. His is not a how-to guide, but something much richer and more important—a tale of discovery that will resonate with readers who yearn for a better, more meaningful life, whether they live in the city, country, or somewhere in between.

Learn more about Up Tunket Road in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.

WATCH: Riki Ott on The Riz Khan Show: With Government’s Help, BP Is Censoring the Media

Friday, June 11th, 2010

Marine toxicologist Dr. Riki Ott, author of Not One Drop: Betrayal and Courage in the Wake of the Exxon Valdez Oil Spill, appeared on the Al Jazeera English program The Riz Khan Show to discuss BP’s failed attempts to stop the oil leaking into the gulf, their censorship of the media, the federal government’s collusion, and the health effects of the toxic crude and the chemical dispersants on wildlife and on cleanup workers.

Watch Part 1

Watch Part 2

Read Dr. Ott’s piece on the Huffington Post: From the Ground: BP Censoring Media, Destroying Evidence

About the book: Author Riki Ott, a rare combination of commercial salmon “fisherm’am” and PhD marine biologist, describes firsthand the impacts of oil companies’ broken promises when the Exxon Valdez spills most of its cargo and despoils thousands of miles of shore. Ott illustrates in stirring fashion the oil industry’s 20-year trail of pollution and deception that predated the tragic 1989 spill and delves deep into the disruption to the fishing community of Cordova over the following 19 years. In vivid detail, she describes the human trauma coupled inextricably with that of the sound’s wildlife and its long road to recovery.

Read Real People v. Corporate “People”: The Fight Is On from Yes! magazine.

Learn more about Not One Drop in our bookstore.

Buy it on Amazon.com.

Find a Green Partner store near you.


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