What's up, field-grown tomatoes?

If you live in the northeastern United States, you've probably noticed the lack of field-grown tomatoes at your local market. You may also have heard that this lack is the result of a particularly bad spell of late blight, a strain of the same potato- and tomato-targeting fungus that caused Ireland's famine in the mid-19th century.

Dan Barber (chef & owner at Blue Hill and Blue Hill at Stone Barns) had a great op-ed piece in Sunday's New York Times explaining the origin of this year's particularly nasty case of late blight. Turns out the summer of 2009 has been a sort of perfect storm of nature, economics, culture, agriculture and good intentions, providing perfect conditions for late blight to flourish like crazy.

First of all, late blight loves cool, wet weather. This summer has been remarkably moderate in temperature and generous with water, so it's no surprise that late blight has made itself at home. Next, you have the economy and current food culture, both of which are encouraging people to grow more of their own food. This is a great trend - food you grow at home is indeed far cheaper, and often better than what you can get in the store.

But since so many people buy their tomato plants from large chains like Home Depot, rather than from small, local nurseries, they're increasing the chance late blight has to hop from plant to plant before making the journey to the home garden. Plants raised in smaller batches can be more closely observed for blight before sale, and have less chance of spreading the disease amongst themselves.

I highly recommend you take a look at Barber's piece, which goes on to suggest some improvements to agricultural training and awareness for professional and amateur farmers alike. In no way does he encourage us to walk back from the current trend for home cultivation, but he does remind us that engaging in agriculture means we should learn a bit about the larger ecosystem in which we're now participating.

Up close and personal, the full arsenal.

I think I've exhausted my trip to Stone Barns in terms of blogging material, but there's still more to see, if you're game.

So, if you're feeling the need to look at a few more pictures of adorable lambs, or to see the cows lazing about in their gorgeous pasture, have a gander at the full set of photos, right here. And enjoy!

Up close and personal, part three.

The greenhouses at Stone Barns sit at the foot of a hill, spreading out below the titular stone barns and outbuildings, fanning down toward the bluffs that line the banks of the Hudson. In a landscape dominated by natural materials, flora and fauna, their glass, plastic and steel silhouettes seem a bit out of place, an invading force overtaking a rural idyll.

That is, of course, until you venture inside.

Filled with lettuce, carrots, seedlings, and two rabbits, the greenhouses are row after row of fun - walking along the neatly-spaced plantings, you find greens you never even knew existed, and, in Cristin's case, see your first ever still-in-the-ground carrot.

Deer tongue lettuce is in abundance, as is a rainbow of chard. Among the seedlings, we saw arugula, oregano, and thyme - labeled "Summa Thyme," for your chuckling enjoyment. As someone who has only recently begun to grow her own herbs (and one persnickety Meyer lemon tree), the sheer plenty of it all was fantastically inspiring. Yet another reason for my first home purchase to be a place upstate, where I can renovate, garden and entertain to my heart's content.

And, yes, of course you're all invited.

Up close and personal, part two.

During our visit to Stone Barns, Cristin and I managed to cover a lot of ground. Walking to and fro across a hilly farm helps you work up an appetite, so after a visit to the lambs, ducks, geese, pigs and greenhouses, we headed to the (very, very crowded) cafe for some lunch.

After a good fifteen minutes in line (which gave us lots of time to browse the preserves, baked goods and for me to pick out my new, giant coffee mug), we made it up to the counter. We ordered salads (parsnip and beet), sandwiches (beet and bologna) and dessert (macarons) and headed for a picnic table outside.

We settled down in the shade to enjoy our booty. For me, an open-faced sandwich made with house-made bologna, pickled vegetables, and a generous slice of house-baked focaccia. The bread was spread with a rich, grainy mustard, which, together with the pickled cauliflower and carrots, contrasted gorgeously with the rich, meaty meat and the buttery bread.

On the side, I had a little of the beet salad (dressed with dill), and we both tried the cold curried parsnips - Cristin liked those more than I did, but I have to admit they were really, really interesting. Sweet and cool, but not crunchy - toothy, you might call them.

Cristin's sandwich was a winner - the same focaccia, topped with creamy goat cheese, thinly sliced beets, sauteed ramps, and a lemon vinaigrette. Stinky and pungent, thanks to the ramps, and sweet and cool, thanks to the beets. All in all, a major, major win.

For dessert, we each tried two macarons: one raspberry with chocolate filling, and one parsnip. The raspberry was a bit too sweet for either of us, and the parsnip was just kind of...there. The macarons themselves were really well done, with the perfect chewy-crunchy texture, and a beautiful sheen on them. Maybe I've just been too spoiled by Bouchon's masterpieces?

All in all, a pretty fantastic lunch. And my new coffee mug? It holds the equivalent of two normal cups of coffee, which of course means I love it. All hail the gods of caffeine!

Up close and personal, part one.

On Saturday, the last day of my staycation not devoted to laundry and checking work emails, Cristin and I piled into the car and headed up to Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a working farm (and restaurant, and cafe, and educational center) located on the old Rockefeller estate in Pocantico Hills.

The last time I visited, back in October, the chickens were out to pasture, and the leaves were turning. Life on the farm was quiet, everyone hunkering down for a long winter of root vegetables. On this visit, on the first warm day of spring, the farm was abuzz with energy and excitement, lettuces were blooming in the greenhouses, and...

...the lambs were arriving! Just that morning, three lambs were born on the farm, joining many of their cousins, who arrived earlier in the week. The two and three day old lambs were hanging out with the rest of the sheep, testing their limits with Stella, the giant Italian sheepdog, and generally enjoying themselves. The newborns (by which I mean, born just that morning) were asleep in the birthing pens, exhausted from the morning's efforts, while their mothers hovered protectively.

But happiest of all was this guy (furthest on the right), a full-grown sheep. The sheep snack on hay stored in a wire pen. The pen has a few head-shaped holes in it, and the sheep stick their faces through to get to the good stuff. Somehow, this one managed to get his whole self into the middle of the haystack. He stood there, no doubt warm and cozy, eyes shut, and chomping away. The hay pushed itself into his mouth - he didn't even have to reach out to grab a bite. He looked even happier than the pigs did in their shit.

Visiting the lambs was fun, and they are completely huggable. They're soft and cuddly and goofy and funny. None of which makes them any less delicious. Now, I know - I'm ruining a perfectly adorable post by bringing up the fact that the majority of these lambs are being raised for one reason: food.

But it's visits like this - where I get to see the process from the start, where I see how well cared-for these animals are - that reinforce my decision to eat ethically-raised meat. The idea mass-produced chicken makes me squirm with nausea, but the idea of a meal raised at Stone Barns? That I can do.

Once you go local...

Blue Hill at Stone Barns is, for many New York food-lovers, a place of near-mythic importance. One does not visit; one pays homage, or, at the very list, makes a pilgrimage. Its chef, Dan Barber, is justifiably famous for his pioneering role in the evolution of haute barnyard cuisine, and the food at the restaurant is truly delicious. I first visited last December, and, due to a Christmas season traffic jam, my group arrived too late to take our planned jaunt around the farm. So when Lisa and I were looking for something to do last Saturday afternoon, we decided to get in her car and head across the Tappan Zee to the Stone Barns Center in Tarrytown.

Stone Barns sits on the old Rockefeller estate in the Pocantico Hills section of town. The buildings themselves date from the 1930's, and were first part of a dairy farm, and later the location of Peggy Rockefeller's cattle ranch. In 2004, the Rockefellers invited Dan Barber to open a for-profit restaurant as part of the larger not-for-profit agricultural and educational experiment - a center for learning about environmentally responsible, four-season farming with a restaurant to match.

It's easy to see why the experiment took root so quickly and so deeply. The property itself is stunning - all gentle slopes and rolling hills, with the stately barns rising out of a hollow in the valley. Walking around the pastures and the vegetable fields, you run into all sorts - parents pushing strollers, locals out for a morning jog, and foodies paying homage. In addition to the restaurant, there's a casual cafe open daily that serves strong, hot coffee (a must for keeping warm on long, blustery walks around the farm), sandwiches, salads and pastries. Almost all of the food on offer is grown or raised on the property, which means the menus are exclusively seasonal and change daily.

Lisa and I arrived around 1 o'clock, and started our visit with a quick trip to the gift shop. I know, I know - but, this is a truly excellent shop. I picked up a couple of $6 grocery tote bags - perfect stocking stuffers - and a fantastic (and challenging) trivia game called Foodie Fight. I also spied a truly gorgeous cookbook called Country Cooking of France, which is going on my Christmas list.

Since it was lunchtime, and since we needed fortification for our planned walk, we decided to have lunch next. The line snakes around the tiny cafe in a circle, which gave us ample opportunity to scope out all that was on offer. I grabbed a jar of cucumber pickles from the shelf, and thought seriously about the cow-printed tea towels and teeny coffee cakes. Also available: the decidedly not local but truly delicious Rancho Gordo heirloom beans.

We finally made it up to the counter, where we ordered the bologna sandwich with pickles, zucchini fritatta, caramel apple, apple custard tart, and two big, steaming cups of coffee. We camped out at a picnic table outside and wolfed down our feast.

The homemade bologna was the best bologna I have ever tasted - light in texture, tangy and meaty in flavor, and layered on a fluffy piece of focaccia spread with strong mustard. The apple tart was a bit too sweet, but the cookie crumble crust on the bottom was salty enough to cut the sugar. The caramel apple, served on a twig, was deliciously smoky, if tooth-crackingly tough to bite into. All in all, a good lunch.

Finally, filled with lunchtime goodness, we set off on a walk around the property. We walked past the private dining room, where the staff were setting up for a wedding, arranging flowers and building a chuppah out of twigs and berries from the farm and surrounding park. We saw a fallow vegetable field, walked past the dairy cows relaxing in their pasture, and paid a visit to the chickens, who gathered around our feet, pecking gently at our toes in search of a snack.

Just past the chickens were a flock of pure-white ducks and a few gigantic pigs. These guys had to be at least three hundred pounds each. As we approached, I remembered the bologna sandwich and started feeling a bit, well, guilty. But then I realized how happy the pigs were, rooting around in their trough, enjoying the sunshine, wandering at will, and realized it was not only the best-tasting bologna I'd ever eaten - it was also probably the most ethically sound.

All in all, that was the prevailing lesson of the day. Seeing where your food comes from, spending time with it, smelling the earth out of which it grew, picking your way across the field where it was raised - it makes you that much more appreciative of it, and far more aware of the impact your choices have. The peace of mind you gain by understanding how your food was produced cannot be overstated. Yes, it can be expensive and a bit of a hassle to eat locally and humanely, but if you can afford the little bit of extra money and a little bit more extra time, it truly is worth it.