Entries Tagged as 'Trips'

Royalty Pecan Farms Tour

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14.1.13

One of the first things you’ll notice about Austin is the pecans littering the sidewalks. When I first moved here, I foolishly gathered them while passerby looked at me like I was nuts (ha ha). Now I just take them for granted– almost every yard in town has a pecan tree. They’re our version of autumnal red leaves in New England.  And those sneaky squirrels usually get them before I do.

There are numerous pecan orchards all across the state. Back in October, I visited Royalty Pecan Farms in Caldwell, Texas. It lies in the Brazos River Bottom of Central Texas, which is traditionally cotton country. “River bottom soil is some of the most fertile in the world,” explained Rebekah Stallsworth, the daughter of orchard manager Andy Sherrod. She was raised on the property, home schooled there, and has worked in the orchard in almost every capacity. She’s truly a pecan expert.

As soon as we hopped into her SUV, we heard the squawking of a bird repel system masquerading as a hawk. “Crows are quite detrimental,” Rebekah said, “they can carry pecans off by the thousands of pounds per day.” Surprisingly, squirrels don’t cause too much trouble at the orchard– the real threats are deer and the pecan nut case bearer, a worm that lays eggs in the trees’ flowers and consumes pecans from inside the shell.

By the way, did you even know pecan trees had flowers? “They do, but you would never know it.” Rebekah told us. As wind pollinated nuts,  two or more trees of different cultivars must be present to pollinate each other. To accomplish this, they plant eight rows of dominant varieties, then two rows of complimentary varieties.  We drove deep into the orchard, looking down the seemingly endless rows of pecan trees with feathery green leaves.

Pecans are only harvested October through December, but caring for an orchard is a year round job. The trees need plenty of water, well over a thousand gallons per tree. They use a buried drip system for irrigation, located eight inches below the surface that secretes water efficiently so that every drop is used.

Apparently they can’t pick all these pecans by hand like I had naively believed. Harvesting requires lots of heavy duty equipment. In the fall, a shaker sends vibrations through the trunk of the tree, forcing the ripe pecans out. Next, a blower pushes the pecans and debris like twigs and leaves into the next rows. Eventually, it’s all consolidated into two wind rows.  Then a leaf vacuum comes through, and the harvester picks out the pecans. The nuts are then pushed through this massive green apparatus, or crank. It magically selects the good pecans based on weight!

The machine must be adjusted to reflect the different weights of different pecan varieties. Although there are hundreds of pecan cultivars, Royalty sticks to six: Choctaw, Cheyenne, Desirable, Gracross, Wichita, and Pawnee. all of them tend to be harder varieties, not the paper shell pecans that I used to see in Louisiana and Mississippi during my New Orleans days.

Pecan enthusiasts debate the virtues of each cultivar, but they all taste buttery and sweet to me. Harvest season was just starting in October, so I could try only the Choctaws. You can taste the different varieties side by side during the winter, but I’m sure the trees look sad and bare. Mid to late March is Rebekah’s favorite part of the month because the trees are “bright vibrant green, like the whole world is coming alive.”

 

The Thrill of the Hunt

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02.12.12

It always starts with the lead ‘shroomer talking a big game. He makes grand promises of the mountains of chanterelles or bolletes that await.  Next thing you know, you’re fighting over a small piece of pluteus or chicken of the woods– the edible dregs of the mushroom world. The head ‘shroomer will scoff at any fungus you find, but when HE finds the same species,  you’d better plop down in the grass and listen to him expound upon it’s wonders.

In this chanterelle and morel-less state, you might find yourself getting excited over a polypore (you know, that boring shelf stuff growing on trees). One woman might quietly add, “Wood ear is supposed to be good for cholesterol.” And the mushroom man will proclaim, “Yes, wood ears ARE technically edible but no one in their right mind would want to eat them!” If she’s brave, she might offer a fascinating retort, “The Chinese use them in sweet and sour soup.” But the mushroom man will disregard such input– he’s the expert.

Or you could find yourself sitting around a camp fire with a kooky Russian drinking home-distilled spirits.  She’ll tell you innuendo-laden stories about tripping on magic mushrooms (ugh, I don’t want to think about that). Now all the ‘shroomers are really letting their spores loose– one man is playing the flute to get the mushrooms to come out (“come out, little mushrooms!” he sings), or trying to flirt with you by taking a picture of your eyeball. Later that night, while sharing a saggy old grandma bed with your friend, you’ll wonder– why the hell am I here?  And why do I feel slighted because they didn’t recognize me as the only one who found an amanita? Why do I even care? You didn’t even know what an amanita was until 4 hours ago.

There were two things I loved as a kid: wondering through the woods and Easter egg hunts. I loved veering off the path, climbing rocks, carving my way through brambles, looking inside dead trees. The stars haven’t quite aligned for me yet, so I take the ‘shroomers cast-offs. Mycologists are too cool to eat stuff like pluteus, honey mushrooms, and even puff balls.

You might not like how the head ‘shroomer conducts hunts, but you must endure it because the stakes are high. You’re at his mercy during a mushroom hunt— your life is in his hands. I can’t blow him off like I might do in other areas of my life. So I keep returning whenever the he says the weather is ripe for hunting. Someday I’ll find my golden egg.

Kitchen Pride Mushroom Farm Tour

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28.11.12

There’s a steel barn located on an old country road in Gonzales, just 90 minutes outside of Austin. But you won’t find cows seeking shelter from the winds that blow harder and colder these days. Instead, the unmistakably earthy odor of fungus smacks you in the face as soon as you step inside. You’re now at Kitchen Pride Mushroom Farms, and it smells like the inside of a plastic produce bag full of creminis. Greg McLain, son of Kitchen Pride founder Darrell McLain, was kind enough to show me around last month.

The first mushroom farm clue was the massive pile outside the barn. Growing mushrooms starts with making compost from straw. Greg  showed me the intricate compost system in different stages of decomposition– it takes about four weeks to complete. The steaming piles towered over my height of 5 foot 4 inches, and the smell was distinct. It was reminiscent of the caves of my cheesemonger days, with a nostril burning ammonia aroma mixed with chicken coop elements. The compost is later pasteurized in a steam room to refine it.

The result is the perfect substrate for growing mushrooms. Each room in the barn contains raised beds, stacked six high, full of the stuff. The compost is inoculated with mushroom spawn, and then a web of mycelium (I think of them as mushroom roots) appears on the surface a week later.  After 13 days, the mycelium is covered in a layer of peat moss, and eventually mushrooms start popping up through the peat moss. When the mushrooms appear, they grow quickly– after 21 days they’re ready for picking!

Greg told me to grab hold of one of the mushrooms and twist it out of the compost. I popped off the cap and tasted it. Like a good sausage, the mushroom flesh snapped as a I bit into it, but it was fresh and a little bit sweet. I’m always amazed that mushrooms pull out of the soil so easily– they have no root structure!

Some of the creminis are thinned to grow larger and become portobellos. Did you know that portobellos are actually just large creminis? Of course the yield is less, so they’re usually more expensive in stores.


Kitchen Pride also grows oysters mushrooms on a straw based substrate that isn’t composted, mimicking the trees that they grow on in the wild. They also grow shittakes on an entirely different substrate made from wood–  a much slower process.

Greg explained that “food safety is a critical issue” for a family-owned operation like Kitchen Pride.  They prevent health threats with proper sanitation, procedures, and washing equipment. They rarely, if ever, use pesticides, and they steam all of the compost at 160 degrees to purify it.

So why buy Kitchen Pride mushrooms? They’re the freshest you can buy in Texas because the customer usually gets them a day or two after picking. Greg explained “if you ship them two or three days away, you’ve already lots 2/7th of your shelf life” of one week. I’m embarrassed to admit that I thoroughly tested this theory after returning home with a few flats of mushrooms. I won’t say how long they were in the fridge, but they were still in great condition for cooking.

But the true significance of this innovative family business became clear as I drove home through decrepit old Texas towns. Agriculture has changed immensely during the past fifty years and most jobs are now in the cities. The endless parade of decaying buildings contrasted sharply with the bustle inside the Kitchen Pride facility. It takes an army of local people to grow, pack, and distribute this high quality product for our enjoyment throughout Texas.

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