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Chicken, Corn and Black Bean Salad

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Chicken, Corn and Black Bean Salad

When I think of corn, I remember rows and rows of it in our Shop Garden. When I remember the rows in the Shop Garden, I recall picking the corn, and hearing the satisfying crack as the cob snapped off the stem. I remember emerging from the patch with corn tassels in my hair and arms itchy from the hairy, bristly leaves. Then came the next family project, shucking bushels and bushels of the stuff, with Dad helping us and telling us stories while Mom expertly cut the kernels off the cobs. As our hands grew and steadied, we were allowed to help cut it off. It was like a rite of passage; once you were able to cut off corn to Mom’s specifications, you were an adult. There was a knack to it, you see. It had to be cut close enough to the cob that you weren’t wasting any of that precious commodity, but not so close that you were shearing off the hard gristle from the centre of the cob. And finally, it was quickly blanched, cooled and bagged for the freezer, to be hauled out and served later in the season.

I’m lucky, though, I just tell Steve how many dozen cobs I want Martin’s to set aside for me, and presto, we have beautiful sweet corn appearing at our back door with no itchy arms or corn tassels in our hair. We had a family Corn Day recently and I, as the matriarch of the clan, was telling the cutters not to cut it too close to the cob, but still close enough. Since it was a cloudy, drizzly day we did it inside, but the stories flowed freely as the cobs were denuded of their kernels.

In the evening, the sun came out and we had a campfire, roasting the corn on the grill while the salmon fillets cooked over the fire. We ate the corn with a Mexican Street Corn sauce which made it taste delicious. Since the Mexican cotija cheese is hard to find here, I substituted feta. The texture is similar and it still tasted great. I made sure to grill extra corn because I wanted some for this Chicken, Corn and Black Bean Salad, which is also amazing. To grill it, I simply remove a few of the outermost husks, then place the corn on the BBQ and grill it covered for about 20 minutes, turning it a few times to cook each side evenly. If you don’t have time to grill it, or can’t for some other reason, you can achieve a similar flavour by thawing and draining frozen corn, then sautéing it in a dry skillet until it begins to brown.

I have served this salad times without number and it is always received with gusto. It is especially good served with foccacia, naan or some other flatbread. Grill some fresh peach or apple halves or pineapple wedges for dessert, drizzle with a fancy balsamic, honey or maple syrup, add some cinnamon and some ice cream, and you have a delightful summertime meal.


We used to grow acres of sweet corn here at Martin’s and I learned from that time that quickly cooling down the cobs after picking is critical to maintaining flavour and crispness, especially if you aren’t able to use it all immediately. We had a big vat of cold water that the bins of freshly picked corn would be dunked into before hastening them into the coolers. This way, the corn can easily stay fresh for days without losing flavour or crispness. I am wary of wagons of sweet corn for sale beside the road that have been sitting in full sun for hours.

Chicken, Corn and Black Bean Salad


  • 1/3 cup olive oil (you can use whatever oil you like best) IMG_20170704_183845338-1
  • 1/4 cup fresh lemon or lime juice
  • 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro (parsley for me, thank you), finely chopped
  • 1-3 teaspoons honey (it’s your call on the sweetness level here)
  • 1 clove garlic, minced
  • 1/4 – 1/2 teaspoon cayenne or chili pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon coarsely ground pepper
  • 1 1/2 cups grilled chopped chicken (cooked is okay too, just not as flavourful)
  • 19 oz. (540 ml) tin black beans, rinsed and drained (I use half of this amount)
  • 1 cup of cooked (or grilled) corn kernels
  • 1/2 cup of thinly sliced red or green onions
  • 1 medium bell pepper, sliced or diced
  • Bed of torn lettuce (I like a mixture of leaf and romaine)
  • Chopped tomatoes or grape tomatoes
  • Shredded cheese


Combine the first eight ingredients to make the dressing. This can easily be made ahead, in fact it should sit for at least thirty minutes for the flavours to blend. Place the torn lettuce on a large plate or flat-sided bowl; top with the remaining ingredients in whatever order you wish. Sometimes I create rows, sometimes wedges, circles, random sprinkles; it’s your choice. Drizzle with the dressing just before serving and stir lightly to distribute the ingredients.

Parsley Lime Chicken in Cream

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One of my favourite things to plant in the spring is my herb pot. In my opinion, herbs add life to any blah, drooping, weary dish. This summer has been especially friendly to my pot, and, I might add, to me, with regular rains to keep it looking lush. I can shear off a big bunch of them one day, and voila! By the next week there’s another armful of them waiting

I love pretty much any herb, with the exception of cilantro. Cilantro and I have agreed to co-exist, if not warmly, at least peacefully. Parsley is an old friend that goes way back and is useful in many ways. Curly parsley is the prettiest; flat-leaf Italian parsley delivers more punch. One of my favourite ways to consume parsley is in melted butter over new potatoes.

I was planning to grill chicken breasts and sweet corn one night, but it rained, so my plans changed. I browsed recipes and came across one that looked promising, except…cilantro. Parsley, especially flat-leaf parsley, is an agreeable substitute, though, so without much pause, I continued on. It was a success, unlike the rum/vanilla substitution in my Rhubarb Pancakes. So you see, sometimes it does work! Thyme also works well with chicken, but if you insist on using cilantro, go ahead.

I have gotten into the whole liquid-reduction thing in sauces like this; it eliminates the need for thickeners like flour, which is a good thing if you’re cooking gluten-free. You simply add broth, wine and/or cream to the skillet and cook it down until it’s the thickness you want, usually about a third or half. I browned the chicken, made the sauce, then baked the chicken in the sauce for 40 minutes.

I still served it with sweet corn, and spooned some of the sauce over fresh broccoli. We have beautiful herbs, corn, broccoli and cauliflower at Martin’s Family Fruit Farm right now. And so much other good stuff, I can hardly cook it fast enough, let alone blog about it all.

Herbs are a key to adding culinary bling (eye appeal) to your food, as well as flavour. Check how much they spread before planting them. Some of them, such as parsley, basil, and mint, will happily take over the whole pot or bed! 

They can be dried or frozen to use in the winter. I have frozen stems of herbs and chopped off pieces to use in soups, etc.


Parsley Lime Chicken in Cream


  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
  • 1/4 – 1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 1/2 tablespoon fresh lime juice (about half a Persian lime)
  • 1/4 cup chopped onion
  • 1 – 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
  • 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
  • 1/2 cup heavy (whipping) cream
  • Chopped parsley, thyme (optional), lime wedges for garnish
  • Seasonal side vegetables such as cauliflower, broccoli, corn, beans, asparagus, carrots; you name it!


Turn oven on to 375° F. Heat olive oil on medium-high in a large skillet. Place chicken breasts in hot oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Quickly brown them on each side until they are a deep gold colour. They don’t have to be done; browning adds ever so much more flavour. Transfer them to a 7″ x 11″ baking dish. Squeeze the lime (or drizzle juice) over the chicken. In the same pan, sauté the onion and garlic until fragrant and soft, then add the whipping cream and red pepper flakes. Cook until the liquid is reduced by about a third. Pour over the chicken in the pan. Bake in the oven for 40-45 minutes. Meanwhile, you can be steaming the broccoli and boiling or roasting the corn, or prepping your salad.

Spoon some of the liquid over the broccoli and sprinkle everything with chopped parsley to serve. Garnish with a lime wedge.


Garlicky Green Beans

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This is the time of year when new things seem to literally spring out of the ground and off trees, and with a snap of our fingers, a bit of toil or money, can be conjured into our kitchens.

Two of those things are on our menu frequently here, in various forms. Fresh green beans and fresh garlic: who can resist such a tastebud-tingling combination? They accompany everything beautifully; they add colour to any dish, and they’re quick to put together.

When I say fresh garlic, I’m talking wet, sticky, pungent garlic; the real deal. When we were visiting England in 2011, the land of cutsie, corny names like Bangers ‘n’ Mash, Stinking Bishop Cheese, The Wibbly, Wobbly Bridge (seriously! believe it; it’s true), Duttons for Buttons, and Fat Rascals, we saw a sign above a basket of fresh garlic that read “Wet Garlic”. Immediately Steve and I looked at each other and exclaimed, “Of course! That’s exactly what it’s like!” Ever since, I think of the freshly harvested undried garlic as “wet garlic”. Forget that anemic Chinese stuff that you need to use three of to get any sort of flavour. This is for serious garlic-lovers.


So last night I took three handfuls of fresh Ontario green beans, one for each of us; washed them, cut off the stem end, and threw them into my medium sized frying pan with a wee dram of water, and a teaspoon or two of olive oil. I pried out one clove of garlic, finely chopped it and sprinkled it in with the beans, along with a tablespoon of chopped onions. I covered it, but kept the lid ajar (this keeps the beans green), and cooked them until they were starting to turn bright green. Then I removed the lid, and finished cooking them as the liquid reduced and the beans started frying a bit. Grate salt and coarse pepper over the lot, and you have a scrumptious side dish. Sometimes I add crumbled bacon or quartered cremini mushrooms. This time I served them with chicken schnitzel, new potatoes with fresh parsley butter, and a slice of a lovely ripe heirloom tomato. It was a meal fit for the Queen! Next time I should invite her.

By the way, I do love England; it’s a mystical, magical country full of Charles Dickens, Beatrix Potter, William Shakespeare, Beefeaters, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, the Bronte’ sisters, and The Phantom of the Opera. It made me remember books from my childhood and youth, and lots of history lessons coming to life. It’s a country of contrasts and paradoxes. Also, sheep. Lots and lots of sheep.


Garlic is planted in the fall and left out over winter. It is harvested at the beginning of July, then dried for several weeks on racks. The dried stuff is brought out for sale after the “wet garlic” is sold.

Typically dried Ontario garlic is twice as pungent as the Chinese stuff; “wet” up to thrice as garlicky. Keep dry garlic at room temperature; wet in the fridge in a bag.


Garlicky Green Beans


  • 1 quart (4 cups) fresh green beans, washed and stem end removed
  • 1-2 tablespoons chopped onions
  • 1-2 cloves of minced garlic
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil, butter, or bacon drippings
  • 2-3 Tablespoons water
  • Salt and pepper to taste

Optional toppings: crumbled bacon, shredded cheese or fried mushrooms


Toss beans, garlic, onions and water into a medium to large frying pan. Cover partially, leaving lid ajar for steam to escape. This will help to keep the beans green. Cook quickly until liquid evaporates, then remove lid and stirfry the beans until they are just beginning to brown slightly. Top with desired optional toppings, then grind salt and pepper coarsely over all.




Buttermilk Rhubarb Pancakes

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Buttermilk Rhubarb Pancakes

Ah, spring! How thou dost delight the senses, and exhaust the resource of time. It has been well over the period I have set myself for a publishing schedule, but please note the above observation. I really do want to post about one of my favourite springtime treats, though; the lowly and lovely Rhubarb.

Rhubarb is one of those enlivening foods that burst upon the tongue with an invigorating splash. I’m surprised no-one has written a song about it yet. “Oh, Rhubarb, ’tis of thee, We sing in grateful glee; Long may you grow.” Anyway, it grows in large clumps; the leaves are poisonous; it looks like a medieval weed; but oh, how many delights can be created with the stalks of this weed. My rhubarb has always been of the green variety. I’ve tried the red, but I find typically it’s drier and less tart. It does look prettier, I admit.

My daughter wanted pancakes as I was trying to decide what to make with some of my first rhubarb; and this idea was born. Why not use rhubarb in pancakes? We add apples, blueberries, pumpkin; all kinds of things; why not rhubarb? So I added rhubarb. And a generous splash of vanilla rum flavouring. I’m sure you’ve heard and perhaps experienced how some of the best concoctions are born out of mistakes. Well, this experiment was not one of those. I really wished I had checked the bottle more closely when I grabbed it from the pantry. But the pancakes looked pretty and tasted okay if I closed my eyes and pretended I was savouring vanilla instead of rum. As I closed my eyes, I thought, “You know what would taste REALLY good? Orange rind grated into these pancakes.” Next time I make them, I’m going to try that. I hope I don’t grate cheese into them by mistake.

Rhubarb typically is harvested in May and June. It should be stored in plastic in the fridge. Wilted stalks can be revived by sprinkling water over them before chilling in plastic. 

Before using, wash rhubarb, and cut off the leaves and the bottom of the stalks where they curve inward. 

Buttermilk Rhubarb Pancakes

Buttermilk Rhubarb Pancakes


  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flourButtermilk Rhubarb Pancakes
  • 3 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 3/4 teaspoon salt
  • 2 tablespoons white or brown sugar
  • 1 egg, beaten
  • 2 cups buttermilk
  • 3 tablespoons melted butter, shortening, or oil
  • 1 teaspoon rum, vanilla flavouring, or 1 tablespoon grated orange rind
  • approximately 1 cup chopped rhubarb
  • maple syrup for serving
  • a pat of butter for serving


Measure flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and sugar into a large bowl, and stir with a fork to mix well. Whisk egg in a medium bowl, and add buttermilk, melted butter or oil, and desired flavouring. Stir the liquid mixture into the dry ingredients just until mixed.

Heat skillet to 350°. Place a small dab of butter and/or shortening in the bottom of pan and swirl until it’s melted. Drop by 1/4 or 1/3 cup measures into the hot pan. If it doesn’t sizzle, turn up the heat. Drop rhubarb pieces on top of pancakes. Cook until the edges are browning, and the pancake is puffed, and holes are beginning to appear on the surface. Turn over and cook the other side until golden. Repeat process until the batter is used up. Keep finished pancakes hot on a platter in a 250° oven until they are all done.

Serve with a dab of butter and a drizzle of syrup.

Asparagus, Ham and Egg on Toast

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Asparagus is one of those vegetables that I feel really only gained its rightful dues in the last few decades. At least it did in my life. We didn’t often eat it when I was growing up, although I remember Grandma having a patch beside us and then later we planted one in garden #2, or The Bottom Garden, as we called it. We had three large gardens to feed our big family. Garden #1 or The Top Garden ( the elevation of our lawn was higher there) held the peas, beans, carrots, lettuce, radishes, and other sundry experimental crops that we were trying. One year that was peanuts, another year it was watermelon, cantaloupes, celery, and so on. Garden #2, The Bottom Garden, was filled with potatoes, and a row of asparagus and rhubarb bordering the edge. Strawberries rotated between these two gardens. Garden #3, or The Shop Garden was a long narrow garden full of corn, out in town beside my dad’s store fixture business. Hence the name, The Shop Garden. Makes sense, doesn’t it? We were all about making sense back then.

Later, when I had my own garden, I realized how much work was involved in growing asparagus. The war on weeds was never-ending. One time I turned my head to stare into the science fiction eyes of a praying mantis that landed on my shoulder. I confess that he won the staring match. In warm weather those stalks grew like bamboo. Eiyiyiyiyiyi! I learned to let it grow until it was at least 8″ tall, then snapped off those that were as thick as my finger, with the heads still nice and tight, just above the greyish part at the bottom of the stalk. Then I stood them upright in a box with a bit of cold water in the bottom and stuck them into the fridge. If they were too thin, I let them grow to become lovely tall ferny fronds to use in bouquets.

Some of my longtime favourites include eating it raw (try it – it tastes like raw peas!); asparagus quiche; creamed asparagus with hard-boiled eggs over toast; asparagus roasted at 450° or grilled, (use thick stalks for these) tossed with a little olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper and sprinkled with Parmesan flakes; and asparagus wrapped in bacon or prosciutto, then grilled or roasted. Whatever you make, DO NOT OVERCOOK IT! Trust me, asparagus that has the life cooked out of it is a tragic thing, both in looks and flavour. It should still be a bright dark green when you’re done, and a little crisp. Wash the asparagus well, especially the heads, to remove the sand or ground. Cut off at least 1″ from the bottom of the stalks. If you’re boiling it, cook it in a skillet or something wide enough to accommodate the length of the stalks. Bring about 1 1/2 inches of water to a boil before adding the asparagus, then cook it uncovered. This helps to retain the fresh green colour, and deters overcooking. Cook in rapidly boiling water until they are all bright green, and you can just pierce them with a fork. Don’t add salt until you remove the asparagus from the water. Remove them immediately and place on a platter to hold in a warm oven until ready to serve.


More recently, I’ve been using them in salads and omelets. Recently, on a trip to the Outer Banks, NC, we stopped at a roadside stand and picked up asparagus. I knew it would be ready when we got home, but you know how it is – you always want what you don’t have right then, and I wanted asparagus! So one morning at our beach condo I made these open-faced breakfast sandwiches just for kicks, and they were good. Lucky you, you now get to make them too. In the evening I made a chefs salad and used the remaining lightly cooked and chilled asparagus in that. Locals, you don’t have to go to NC to get asparagus; I hear via the Martins grapevine that it’s ready at home, along with wild leeks and radishes. Yay! Spring is here!

Asparagus is okay, even good, if it’s thick, as long as it’s fresh and crisp. Don’t be afraid to buy thick stalks locally; they’re actually better for grilling that way. Really thin stalks are a result of very young or stressed plants, or overly hot weather, and can be stringy.

If you store the bunch upright with a little water in the fridge, it will keep up to a week without losing much flavour. 


Asparagus, Ham and Egg on Toast



  • 2 slices bread (I used sourdough)
  • 2-4 slices old-fashioned ham
  • 1/2 cup sliced sweet onion
  • 8-10 stalks of asparagus
  • 2 eggs, fried or poached
  • sprinkle of cheese, your choice



Wash asparagus well and put 1 1/2 inches of water into a flat skillet with sides. Add asparagus when water is boiling. Remove when it is bright green and tender-crisp. Meanwhile, brown ham lightly in another skillet that was lightly brushed with butter. Remove and brown onions in the same skillet. Remove, and fry eggs lightly, still in the same skillet. Toast the bread and butter it if you wish. On two separate plates, layer 1 slice of bread, a few slices ham, onions, the asparagus and egg. Sprinkle with cheese and grind salt and pepper over all of it. Serve with sliced tomatoes or oranges, if desired.  



Bonnie’s Egg Bread

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Two things conspired to formulate this post. One: I had Egg Cheese whey in the fridge, and Two: I had volunteered to bring Bonnie’s Egg Bread to the Easter dinner with my husband’s family. This recipe is a tradition in our Martin family. It was made originally by my dear sister-in-law, Bonnie, but she called it Grandma’s Egg Bread, because it was one her grandma in the States used to make. Bonnie was tragically killed at the age of thirty-two in a fluke accident eighteen years ago, along with her husband, Sandy; my husband’s brother. She was a vibrant person who flung her whole being into everything she did. She and Sandy were wonderful parents for those six short years, and we still miss them terribly at our family gatherings. We recall and imitate Sandy’s most common greeting, “Hey, (insert name). God is good!” Everywhere he went; at work, at church, and at home; this was his salutation, and he lived as though he meant it. So we make this bread in memory of Bonnie, and reminisce about them, wondering what they would think of their three children all grown up into strong young adults now. In fact, their oldest son is getting married this summer! Another milestone reached.

As I twist and braid the ropes of this bread together, another memory surfaces. I was the oldest of seven girls (yes, you read that correctly; SEVEN!), and from the time our hair was long enough, it got braided into two braids. There were also two boys, but thank goodness, their hair didn’t require braiding. On Sunday morning, Mom would be busy getting the baby ready for church, and combing the little toddler’s hair while Dad peeled and sliced many pounds of potatoes for the Sunday dinner of scalloped potatoes with sausage: one of our favourites. It was also an easy meal to prepare for up to thirty potential diners, since we rarely knew who would be showing up for dinner after church. We two oldest girls would set up our makeshift hair salon in the washroom; each of us braiding a younger sister’s hair as she perched on a low stool in front of us. We became masters at braiding; not too tight, not too loose, but just right. We heard squawks of displeasure or discomfort if it wasn’t just right. Then we piled into our big station wagon and trundled off to church, all spiffed up, with our braids swinging jauntily.

I muse how the rising of the bread is so symbolic of this Easter season where we commemorate the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was “punched down” into death, only to rise again in three days, undefeated by the ultimate enemy. Without that life-changing event, we would have no hope of ever seeing Bonnie and Sandy again. With it, we as separate people are braided together in a common love; knotted tightly together at each end.

See why I say baking bread is therapeutic for me? Look at all the memories that just this one type of bread unleashed!

I use fresh eggs that are picked up by Pullets Plus at local farms and then delivered to us at Martins Family Fruit Farm, all nicely cleaned and graded. These eggs, used with the whey drained from the Egg Cheese, combine to make one of the tastiest breads ever. Its soft, slightly sweet golden interior and glistening seeded crust will look stunning in a basket on your Easter table. It’s a rich, almost Brioche-type of bread, perfect for a special occasion.

Eggs should be stored in the fridge for optimum freshness, especially after being washed. As it is with apples and peaches, the bloom, which is the shell’s natural protective coating, is removed when they are washed. I learned this a couple of years ago, and was intrigued by the similarity to apples.


The finished product, all toasty brown. 

Bonnie's Egg Bread



  • 2 cups scalded milk or heated egg cheese whey
  • 1/2 cup cooking oil or butter
  • 1 tablespoon salt
  • 3/4 cup white sugar (I use only a half cup)
  • 3 large eggs, beaten lightly
  • 2 packages ( 2 tablespoons) rapid-rise yeast
  • 7 1/2 – 9 cups all-purpose or bread flour
  • 1 egg, whisked with 2 tablespoons water for egg wash
  • sesame seeds


Turn oven light on to provide a warm place for the bread to rise. Heat milk or whey until steam begins to rise. Measure the oil, sugar, and salt into a large bowl. Add milk or whey and stir until the salt and sugar are dissolved. Let cool until the mixture is warm, not hot. Whisk the lightly beaten eggs into the warm liquid. Stir the yeast into 2 cups of the flour, and whisk the flour into the liquid. Continue adding the flour, a cup or 2 at a time, stirring vigorously after each addition. When the mixture is too stiff to stir easily, turn it out onto a thickly floured surface. Sprinkle a little flour into the bowl and you should be able to scrape out the dough fragments that cling to the bowl. Add them to the dough and continue adding, folding, and kneading in the rest of the flour until you have a dough that is smooth and soft, but not sticky. Sprinkle a little more flour in the bottom and sides of the bowl to keep it from sticking. Shape the dough into a round ball, and put it into the bowl. Toss a bit more flour on top of the dough. Cover with a large plastic bag or a slightly moistened tea towel and place in the oven with the light on or another warm, draft-free place to rise.

When the dough has doubled in size, usually about 60 to 90 minutes, punch down and cut into 6 (or 9, for the smaller loaves) even portions. Roll each portion into long ropes, about 1 1/2″ thick for the large loaves and 1″ for the small, and 16″- 20″ long. Pinch 3 of them together at the top, and begin braiding loosely, pinching them together again at the bottom. Tuck the top and bottom underneath the braid a little. Repeat with the remaining ropes. Grease large baking sheets and place each braided loaf in the centre. I like to use greased parchment paper on the pans to keep the egg wash from sticking. Cover and let rise again until doubled. This second rising will probably only take half an hour if your kitchen is warm. Preheat oven to 350° F. While oven is heating, uncover the loaves and brush them with the egg wash. Sprinkle the tops with sesame seeds. Bake the loaves for approximately 25 minutes until they are a deep golden colour. Remove from oven and allow to cool on wire racks. Slide a metal lifter under the loaves to loosen  before removing from the pans. Cool completely before slicing. I slice them into 18 – 20 pieces.

Yields 2 large or 3 small loaves

Of Trees, Grandmas and Schnitz

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This is the time of year that you first begin to see action in this orchard of ours. It begins in a state of ugliness that leads to an abundance of beauty in another month or so. The action happening these days is that of pruning the trees of their surplus branches so that the warm sun can hit every single bud and turn it first into a blossom, then into an apple. Here’s an interesting tidbit: the fruit buds actually form in June of the previous year. The pruning typically begins while there is still snow on the ground, as there was a few weeks ago when I took this picture. The snow is gone now; honestly, it is!

Notice how each small branch is turning up to the sky. 
See? Snow is gone. Told ya.

People are often surprised at how heavily the trees are pruned, but it is critical to have each part of the branch exposed to the sun for optimum ripening and healthy growth of the apple. You see here our team of pruners, two experienced ones and two new apprentices. They come from Trinidad and Jamaica to help us from March to October, and we are very grateful for their help! It delights my heart to hear their happy chatter in the orchard as they work.

After harvest in the fall, the apples are stored all year in special controlled atmosphere storage that you will learn about as we go along. I will give you snippets of information because A) it’s easier for you to digest, and B) I plan to write for quite a while, so I can’t tell you everything at once, can I?

My recipe today is a simple one to go with that egg cheese that I’m sure you’ve all made by now. Right? Of course; right. It is one I watched my Grandma make, who lived beside us all the years I lived at home. She was a tiny little lady who loved children and we loved her. She was an adventurous gardener and cook who liked to try new dishes. She knew every bird, tree, and flower in the woods behind us, and I learned from her which mushrooms were edible, and which ones were poisonous.

You simply cut a firm yellow or green apple like Golden Delicious or Crispin (also know as Mutsu) into thick wedges. This is what is known as “schnitz” in Pennsylvania Deutsch. I use one of those handy-dandy apple slicers that cores the apple and cuts it into wedges in one fell swoop. We carry nice sturdy ones at our store at Martin’s Family Fruit Farm. You melt butter in a pan, add brown sugar, the apple wedges, a generous dash or two of cinnamon and fry on medium low heat until the apples are all gooey and carmelly and starting to soften. They taste wonderful on egg cheese, pancakes, ice cream, or just on their own. Do try them!

Always, ALWAYS store apples in the fridge or somewhere equally cold. They will keep six to ten times longer than at room temperature.

Fried Apples
Fried Apple Schnitz with Egg Cheese


Grandma's Fried Apple Schnitz


  • Fried Apples1/3 cup butter
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar
  • 5-6 medium Golden Delicious or Crispin (Mutsu) apples
  • cinnamon to taste


Melt butter in a large electric or stovetop frying pan on medium heat. Wash apples, but do not peel them. Add brown sugar to the pan and stir into the melted butter. Remove the core and cut apples into thick wedges (about 6 per apple). I like to use my apple corer and wedger for this. Toss them into the pan with the butter/brown sugar mixture, sprinkle them with cinnamon, and stir them gently so that they are coated with the mixture. Fry on medium heat, turning them periodically until they are gooey and golden; soft but not mushy. This takes 5-10 minutes, depending on the firmness of the apples. Serve over egg cheese, ice cream, pancakes, or all on their own.