Things of beauty

Most people who dine at my house with any regularity (I'm talking to you, Alex and Scott) know that I love garlic. And when I say love, I mean LOVE.

I can't say I exactly inherited this, although my late grandfather was, in fact, an accomplished garlic connoissuer and garlic festival attendee. His collection of books on garlic growing is incredible - I know, because they were graciously passed down to me by my grandmother (thank you Grandma!). All I can think is that my Grandpa must have known his way around the garlic world. How else does one snag a Bible-sized garlic-growing tome, signed by the author with a greeting of "Merry Christmas, Slim!" (along with the sincere reminder that a clove a day will keep the vampires away)? Or a quirky yet informative read written by an authentic garlic-farming hippie (yes, complete with overgrown hair and beard, and a wife named Watershine - I'm not kidding)?

I know that if he is reading this entry from Heaven's internet connection (I'm sure it's speedy), he'd be smiling from ear-to-ear with pride, and he'd also want to tell me stories about how eating too much garlic will make me grow hair on my chest. I wish he was here to tell me in person, but someday I know I will hear it.

Anyway, this love for garlic must have skipped a generation somehow, because I grew up never having seen an actual head of garlic in my life. "Garlic" was synonymous with garlic powder, or in some cases, garlic salt. I was not even vaguely aware that garlic was a bulb. My only clue was pictures I saw at Halloween.

So, my own affair with garlic started soon after I got married in 2004. There I stood over the kitchen countertop, a newbie chef with zero experience and an armful of garage sale cookbooks. I was mulling over my grand plans for Tortellini Carbonara, ingredients spread before me... cheese-filled tortellini, heavy cream, bacon, parsley, Parmesan, and... several heads of garlic.

The recipe in my book called for "two cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped". Never having seen a garlic bulb in my life, and not knowing that it even possessed "cloves", I assumed that each head of garlic was a clove. Dutifully I peeled and chopped over a dozen "Collosal Garlic" cloves. It took a little over an hour; all the while, I was glancing at the recipe's 20-minute preparation time and cursing the innacuracy of my cookbook.

Amazingly, this story doesn't end in disaster. With neither of us none the wiser, Byron and I dug right into the tortellini once it was done. It was absolutely incredible! The flavor of the garlic, sauteed in olive oil and white Balsamic vinegar, was the crown of the dish. Byron isn't even a huge garlic eater, but he loved it too. The truth only came out later when I complained about the ridiculous prep time. Byron looked at the recipe, and we figured it out. We both got a good laugh, but we have never changed the recipe since then. We serve it for company all the time, and they seem to love it, so that little mistake in the kitchen has turned out to be a blessing many times over.

Nowadays, garlic features prominently in a lot of what I cook. Syrian Hummus is a favorite of mine to prepare, as is Crock-Pot 40-Clove Garlic Chicken (with added Yukon Gold potatoes). So, it only makes sense to try growing my own. This year's varieties include Georgian Fire, Georgian Crystal, and Lorz Italian, all from the excellent heirloom seed company Seed Savers Exchange. I'll also be planting a few cloves of my standby "grocery store" garlic from Trader Joe's. All in all, I hope to have roughly 100 - 125 heads of garlic to harvest next summer, plus all the edible greens in the meantime.

I hope that my Grandpa will be proud. I'll be dedicating the garlic plot to him.