Edible San Juan Mountains

edibleTraversing the San Juans to bring you the story of local food, season by season. No. 10 Late Summer/Fall 2012

san juanmountains

GOING PALEOSMOKING SALMON (on the stovetop) HIGH COUNTRY GRAPE PEOPLE

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Recommended byBon AppetitSunset MagazineThe New York Times“Best Food” Award, Taste of Durango

4EDIBLE RADIO

On The Air at KSJDby Laura Thomas

10BREWING UP

A STORMA Gold Medal on Lawson Hill

by D. Dion

7CANNING

WITHOUT SUGARIt's easier than you think

by Rachel Turiel

12COOKING DOES

MATTEROur Readers Write

by Erin Jolley

9AGAINST GARDENING

Call Me Crazyby Danielle Desruisseaux

5WANT TO BE A FARMER?

This May Be Your Chanceby Chris Brussat

14STEWARDS OF THE HIGH

COUNTRY GRAPEFrost + Mountain Lions = Good Grapes

by Rick Scibelli, Jr.

18THE OLDEST NEW DIET

ON THE PLANETEating Paleo-style

by Rachel Turiel

21SUCCESS WITH

THE EXCESSMushrooms, Elk and Salmon

by Anna Riling

24FARM TO BOTTLEA Veterinarian And His Still

by Patrick Alan Coleman

27PROPS TO THE PUMPKINPumpkin Cheesecake and Pumpkin Crisp

(chunky style)by Lauren Slaff

29FIELD OF DREAMS

On Permaculture, Patience and Timeby Laura Thomas

2PUBLISHER'S LETTER

PUBLISHER’S LETTER

Rick Scibelli, Jr., Edible San Juan Mountains

Here is a peek into Oz. It is June, the early summer issue is on the stands. We have managed to not misspell anything on the cover. Work immediately begins on the next issue. Writers pitch stories. The subject is local people producing local food and, most importantly, the writing should be interesting. Just because a possible subject owns an organic farm and rides his bike to his second job doesn’t guarantee a good story. Unless the bike’s a unicycle. And his second job is with the circus.

Stories are discussed (sometimes with the wall, the dog, the writer. But writers tend to not like to be told what to do). Deadlines are made. Deadlines are ignored. Pictures are considered. Just how do you illustrate a story on the Paleo diet (page 18)? Take a picture of a person on the Paleo diet? As riveting as that may prove ... it would most likely prove vague, at best. What does a person on the Paleo diet look like that would distinguish them from non-Paleo people? An enlarged brow bone?

Content is gathered. Content is edited. Ads are finalized. Layout and design begin. This takes approximately 50 hours in front of a computer. Ten of which are spent surfing the internet. Five of which are spent making trips to the kitchen because I have decided I’m thirsty. Or hungry. Of the 50, one full hour is spent adjusting my chair. Another three or four are spent staring at the wall wondering how people sit at computers day in and day out (considering I can’t feel my right arm) or if I would have made for a good dolphin trainer (and if it is too late), or if people who live in Kauai are as happy as I’m convinced they are.

Eleventh-hour dilemmas always arise. Allow me to pull back the curtain.

“So sorry to bother you during the lunch rush, but I called you be-cause I just realized your ad does not have a high enough resolution.”

“What does that mean?”“Um ... well ... good question, it means that it will look bad. It

needs to have more pixels.”“But our designer is backpacking for three weeks and I’m not sure

where these pixels might be.” "Fair enough, fair enough, I will call my designer and see if we

can't rebuild it for you.”And I can tell you, that phone call never goes well. Designer: "When do you need it?"Me: "What time is it now?"Designer: "Are you kidding?"Me: "Unfortunately, no."Designer: "How can you not know these things before the last

minute?" Me: "I have been asking myself that question my entire life."The magazine is finished and uploaded to the printer. Hours later

it is inevitably uploaded again when we decide on a change. I am convinced that proofing a publication (be it a magazine, brochure or a book report) is like trying to get beach sand out of your hotel bed. You can brush and brush and shake and shake ... and you still have some sand. Two days later a third and final version of the magazine is uploaded.

The magazine is shipped, the magazine is distributed. And then it starts all over again.

Obviously we produce this magazine with a bare-bones but passionate staff. So when people ask if we are a franchise, and they understandably do, I wince (yes, the previous diatribe was all a setup for the real issue on my mind).

Yes there are other Edibles across the country (including Aspen and Santa Fe), but each one is individually owned, produced, edited and designed. No two are the same with the exception of the word “Edible,” the font in which it is written (Garamond), the feel of the paper and the subject we cover: local food. We operate under a licensing agreement. But Edible San Juan Mountains has complete autonomy. Every story is chosen and written by us. Period. There is no review board (except the dogs, our writers and editors, and the readers, being you). So please trust that the magazine and its content is free of any mandates or oversights whatsoever. The magazine is local through and through.

Since our inception, we have felt it important to stay above the fray. Polemics can ruin the appetite. Yet this can leave us a little on the safe side. In this issue, we have started a readers’ opinion page (Food For Thought, page 12) to allow you to be more tangi-bly involved. The idea is: you write it, we will print it (the ground rules being: be interesting, don’t be vulgar, make it food related). We are hoping this will generate letters to the editor (really, any and all letters are welcome, and with permission, we would love to publish them). The idea is to create a small community forum that is dictated by the readers, and not by the staff. Our first opinion piece comes from Erin Jolley, Southwest Coordinator for Cooking Matters, whose mission is to teach families to make healthy and affordable meals.

I am currently in the phase of the magazine where I’m sitting at the computer. It is about hour six. I have drunk a pitcher of iced tea all the while staring at the six-pack of Mexican Logger that I swear is winking at me. I have had breakfast and lunch. I have eaten four million almonds (I read the Paleo story). And I have spent at least 45 minutes staring at our parakeets – contemplating their happiness.

2 edible SAN JUAN MOUNTAINS FALL 2012

ON THE COVER:Jesus and Sonia Castillo (right,

drying squash on the family's tram-poline) and their daughter, Nayzeth, 10, live in McElmo Canyon in a house they built. Their front yard is liter-ally a vineyard. The family grows for Sutcliffe Vineyards next door.

Jesus and Sonia moved to the states from Chihuahua in the '80s. "We come from the same neighborhood," Jesus said. "In Mexico, life is hard. We came here to make a better life but we didn't speak the language. We grew corn and beans [they still do] now we grow vines."

Jesus, who up and down McElmo Canyon is known as Pancho, has been working for Sutcliffe Vineyards since its inception. He didn't like wine before getting in the business. "John [Sutcliffe] kept saying, try it, try it. Now I like it." – Rick Scibelli, Jr.

EDITOR AND PUBLISHERRick Scibelli, Jr.

[email protected]

COPY EDITORChris Brussat

WRITERSLauren Slaff

Rachel TurielPatrick Alan ColemanDanielle Desruisseaux

D. DionAnna Riling

Laura Thomas

PHOTOGRAPHY AND DESIGNRick Scibelli, Jr.

FOOD STYLISTLauren Slaff

MARKETING DIRECTOR

Laura Thomas 970-946-7475

CONTACT US

[email protected]

edible San Juan Mountains361 Camino del Rio

Suite 127Durango, CO 81303

To send a letter to the editor, email us at [email protected]. For home delivery of Edible San Juan Mountains, email

[email protected]; the rate is $32 per year.

Edible San Juan Mountains is published quarterly by Sunny Boy Publications. All rights reserved. Distribution is throughout southwest Colorado

and nationally by subscription.

No part of this publication may be used without written permission of the publisher. © 2012.

Every effort is made to avoid errors, misspellings and omissions. If, however, an error comes to

your attention, please accept our sincere apolo-gies and do notify us. Thank you.

edibles a n j u a n m o u n ta i n s

[email protected]

3

EDIBLE STORIES Coming to a Radio Near You

If you’re reading this, you know that magazines are not dead. Video failed to kill the radio, and the internet hasn’t killed print. Instead, magazines are bringing their voices into new media. Some of you already follow us on Facebook, where we post about the events, people, and issues in local food that are too time-sensitive to make it into our quarterly print edi-tions. Go ahead and “like” us today at www.facebook.com/ediblesanjuanmountains.

Now you can listen to more stories about local food through a project that we’re launching this month with KSJD, Southwest Colorado’s community radio station. “Edible Stories” will air occa-

Laura Thomas

Now locally owned and operated.Proprietors chef Chris Crowl and

manager James Allred

Proprietor chef Chad Scothorn

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sionally during the 8-9 a.m. hour, right after the national news. KSJD is a great match for Edible San Juan Moun-tains: we share a passion for telling local stories, and we are built from the efforts of local people. If you miss an episode, you can visit www.ksjd.org to stream at your lei-sure. These five-minute pro-files of our region’s farmers, ranchers, chefs, and other food contributors are like

tasty little snacks to hold you over until our next issue, after you’ve devoured the one currently on the stands. We hope you enjoy listen-ing as much as we enjoy creating Edible Stories! – Laura Thomas


IN THE COUNTY

WANT TO BE A FARMER ?This is your opportunity

Aspiring farmers who hope to turn their “wannabe” into re-ality will soon be presented with that opportunity at the Old Fort in Hesperus. After four years of planning, grant writing, clearing, establishing an irrigation system and raising fences, the Old Fort is ready to offer market farm incubator plots for the 2013 growing sea-son to a limited number of candidates who wish to start their own agricultural enterprises. The program – a grant-funded partnership between Fort Lewis College, LaBoca Center for Sustainability and Colorado Department of Agriculture specialty crop program – offers technical training, financial incentives, business development and market support to enrollees.

What’s provided? Access to land (available in 1/8-acre incre-ments) and irrigation water (overhead sprinklers or flood using gated pipe), small-scale equipment (BCS tractor and tiller, hand tools, weed eaters), and basic land prep in spring. Training sessions include

crop planning, marketing, irrigation, equipment and recordkeeping, and will be conducted during winter and spring (about 8-12 hours per month). Applicants will be expected to develop a basic business plan.

This opportunity is for serious applicants only. “It’s for those who want to take their skills to the next level,” says Mike Nolan, who along with Gabe Eggers and Beth LaShell, is spearheading the pro-gram. “We’d like to see them start incurring liabilities.” Nolan will be the main on-site mentor at the Old Fort. Nolan, along with Eggers, LaShell and Darrin Parmenter of CSU Extension, will present the classes this winter. – Chris Brussat

Interested future farmers should contact Beth LaShell for applica-tion information at 970-247-7189 or 970-385-4574, or by e-mail at [email protected]. Applications will be due around mid-October.

Mike Nolan's fertile fields at the Old Fort.

Photo of coltTawa at the

owners’ Seven Meadows Farm, by Deste Relyea

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CANNING WITHOUT SUGAR

BY RACHEL TURIEL

The first thing I ever “put up” for winter was applesauce. I was new to Durango, and being just sprung from college, quite frankly, new to my own life. It was the dawn of October: golden aspens, green chile perfume, and apples glowing like lights on every street.

While other people my age were groaning up switchbacks on their mountain bikes, I roamed around town stuffing my backpack with apples like some crone from the old country who didn’t really under-stand about supermarkets.

Seventeen years later, with my children as accomplices, we cruise the town’s alleyways like a family of hungry raccoons. We’re not too shy to knock on a stranger’s door and ask about the tree creaking under the weight of pears. We tote apples and plums home in our bike trailer feeling like we’ve just mined a load of diamonds. And I can’t quite explain it, the giddiness, the feeling of wealth at picking 50 pounds of free fruit. Steven Hopp, Barbara Kingsolver’s husband, says in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, “the original human vocation is finding food on the ground.” I would add, “and in the trees.”

If all the forces of the natural world converge perfectly – warm spring nights, ample summer rain, abundant pollinators – the fruit trees of the Southwest will produce bountifully. First cherries, then apricots, peaches, plums, apples and finally, pears. If you’re the lucky recipient of several boxes of fruit that are all ripe precisely now, you may turn to your favorite canning book only to find that the only thing more frightening than the risk of botulism is the large amounts of sugar called for in most jam and jelly recipes.

Fruit is naturally sweet and many fruits have enough pectin to

“set” into a spreadable form much like traditional jams and jellies. And, although sugar is a preservative, canned sugarless fruit sauces will last up to one year in the pantry; twice as long in the freezer.

Fruit sauce: Pit, chop and simmer fruit for 30 minutes to 1 hour. Stir frequently. Much of the water will evaporate, leaving a fruit sauce that can be dolloped on pancakes or slathered across bread.

Fruit butter: Pit, chop and simmer for 2-3 hours on very low heat. Watch your pot carefully and stir frequently to prevent burning. More water evaporates, leaving a thicker, more spreadable and even sweeter fruit product.

Dehydrating: Thanks to the aridity and abundant sunshine of the San Juans, drying fruit outside is another option for preservation. Slice fruit thin (1/2 - 1/4 inch thick) and lay on clean window screens covered with hardware cloth or screen to protect from insects. In a sunny stretch, fruit will often dry within a day or two. Dried pears are especially divine.

Freezing raw: Freezing fruit raw preserves most of the enzymes. Raw fruit can be popped into smoothies, thawed and topped on ice cream, yogurt, or simply eaten as is. To freeze, pit and cut into usable sizes. Lay fruit on a cookie sheet to prevent fruit from clumping to-gether, and place in freezer. Once frozen, transfer to a sealable plastic bag or glass jar.

All the local, above-mentioned fruit has enough acid to safely can without sugar (some books will suggest adding lemon). Check canning resources for specific information.

Dried (sugar-free) apricots

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AGAINST GARDENING


Idon’t want a garden. Ever. There, I said it. In a place where most of the women I know run, row, bike,

bake bread, and can peaches, all the while growing enough vegeta-bles to survive the Apocalypse, that’s a bit of an anomaly. It’s not that I don’t love veggies—oh, I do. I love just about anything you can eat with extra-virgin olive oil and yes, I’ll happily take that extra sack of zucchini off your hands. Spring spinach is a beautiful thing; cabbage, I’ve discovered, is delicious; and homegrown tomatoes are a world of wonderful all by themselves. But I don’t want to plant them, or weed them, or water them, or worry about them, and I don’t want to feel guilty about it. I just want to eat them.

A friend offered me a cherry tomato seedling recently. I started to sweat. “What would I do with it?” I asked, thinking that maybe it could be an educational experience for the children. She paused, then gently answered, “Well, you could plant it.”

“In a pot,” she added, helpfully. “And, you’d have to water it.”Hmmm. I have exactly one house plant, and my husband wa-

ters that. What if I forgot to water little Cherry? I’d give my kids a complex: My mother the tomato killer. Oh, dear. Despite admiring my friend’s raised beds, well-toned biceps, and well-stocked pantry, I’m completely immune to the gardening bug. I definitely don’t want my own chickens; heck, I don’t even want a plot of potatoes. Call me crazy.

Do I think, as I look at my flat, boring square of a yard (currently covered in brown cheatgrass), “Now, that there would be a great spot for a garden”? No, sir. Instead, I’m gratefully blanching snow peas, from another supermom’s garden which sustains a family of five, and tossing them with sesame oil and sliced scallions. Out my kitchen window I watch a neighbor working her little garden plot. Emphasis on the word “working.” She’s always stomping on a shovel, or on her hands and knees tossing rocks to the side, or pulling sheets over the whole getup and then pulling the sheets back again, or doing some other task that requires either a hand tool or a bent back, or both. I sample my snow peas (yes!) and turn away.

Please don’t think I disrespect her labor. Quite the opposite. Gar-dening is just too hard for me. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I’d worry constantly. I’d have to start watching weather reports. I’d lose sleep wondering if my carrots were cold. Then I’d fly awake: Gasp! I forgot to water the garlic! Sigh. Who needs it?

I fear you think I’m lazy. I’m not, at least not above-average American lazy. Or maybe you think I’m prissy. I’m not that, either. I just don’t want a garden.

I love a good farmer’s market, and we’ve got darn good ones. At the market, I see folks who live right down the road, and trade some of my hard-earned cash for their hard-earned produce. I try to visit everyone, getting greens here, some onions there, jalapeños at the next booth and maybe a dozen eggs or some salsa on the way out. It’s fun, social, and I didn’t have to—I don’t want to—grow it myself. I ask you, is that so wrong?

AGAINST GARDENINGBY DANIELLE DESRUISSEAUX

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BREWING UP A STORMTelluride Brewing Taps into National Market

A lot of college kids buy home brewing kits, but most of them don’t end up with much more than a few batches of bad beer and a semester or two of low grades. Not Chris Fish. Fish found that his passion for craft brewing was a natural complement to his degree in hydrology, and when it was time to pursue graduate stud-ies, he went back to school in a different kind of laboratory: an artisan brewery in Boulder. He fell in love with brewing and went on to become brewmaster at a few small Colorado restaurant/brewpubs. “I wanted to dabble in it, do something fun. I didn’t think it would end up being a career.”

Fish found more than just a career – craft brewing was his calling. Just a few months after Fish and his partners opened Telluride Brewing, he was accepting a gold medal at the World Beer Cup, the most prestigious craft-brewing event that exists. Fish’s concoction, Face Down Brown Ale, took the award for best American-style brown ale, competing against hundreds of recipes from bigger, more established companies. The fledgling brewery had effectively joined the ranks of the best-loved and most highly regarded names in the business, and distributors started courting Telluride Brewing immediately.

Fish explains, “That was our first beer competition we’d gone to, and it happened to be the biggest one in the world. I knew I was making good beer but I wasn’t prepared to go into a competition like that and win! Still, it is great to get confirmation from your peers. Recognition like that really puts you on the map, and we’ve had people calling us from all over the country. Sales basically quadrupled.”

Despite their overnight success, Telluride Brewing has resolved to keep it simple. They are adding an auto-matic canner to keep up with the demand, but they’re not going industrial with their operation just yet. Fish still wears the tall galoshes of his trade, and sits at a cramped desk in between pallets of cans piled to the ceiling in the small office loft that overlooks the operation. He points to each of the spotlessly clean, giant steel tanks and explains how each one operates at its exact temperature and in its precise way to produce the various types of beer: pale ale, porter, pilsner, stout, red ale, brown ale, wheat and IPA (India Pale Ale), each with its unique recipe.

It is the quality of the ingredients that makes the beer special, says Fish. He uses an exclusive, signature strain of yeast created just for Telluride Brewing, malts from Belgium, Germany and Patagonia, a special blend-ing of 15 different varieties of hops, mostly from Yakima Valley in Washington, and the water that melts from the San Juan Mountains surrounding Telluride. The water is where Fish’s hydrology background plays a key role. “We remove any chlorine, add gypsum and a few other salts to help bring out the flavor. Water chemistry gave me a great understanding of what minerals and salts do in the process, and biology was huge in my under-standing of fermentation.”

Science may be an intrinsic part of brewing, but there is also a creative aspect to it. Without his discriminat-ing palate, Fish and his friends at the brewery would not have culled such favor with beer connoisseurs. He said it can take several trial runs to perfect a recipe. Telluride Brewing’s ultra-popular Bridal Veil Rye Pale Ale went through four different takes before Fish called it keg-ready. “Number five finally nailed my vision,” he says. On the other hand, Face Down Brown, which took home the gold, was ready on the first brew. The batch that won was only the second batch.

Fish says he’s lucky that he was able not just to please the beer judges, but also to win over so many beer drinkers in Telluride. You can’t walk down the street without seeing someone sporting a Telluride Brewing hat or T-shirt, and it seems like everyone who shows up at a party has a growler of Tempter IPA or a six-pack of Bridal Veil Rye Pale Ale. “The reception we’ve gotten from locals is incredible. We are really feeling the local love and that is what will enable us to grow.”

BY D. DION

IN THE BREWERY

It’s chow time. I’m nine years old. With a high-pitched whistle, Mom rounds up the troops. One by one, the family files in until all eight of us are seated around the table. Dad blesses the food. I scan the spread: chicken submerged in cream of mushroom soup; a color-ful bowl of lima beans, carrots and corn; a faint-green iceberg salad with Mom’s extra-creamy ranch dressing; Jell-O with cottage cheese, walnuts and fruit cocktail suspended in a pink sea of jiggly goodness (I help myself to two generous scoops).

Twenty years later, I realize I was fortunate to have a mom who stayed home and a dad with a secure job who provided our large family with the nourishment we needed. We are all healthy, well-adjusted lovers of good food (all six of us are certifiable food snobs).

These days, I spend most of my time talking to people about their dinnertime experiences. It’s actually my job. I am the south-west coordinator for Cooking Matters Colorado, a program of the national anti-hunger nonprofit Share Our Strength. We provide free, hands-on cooking courses to low-income families, kids, teens and adults to help them develop skills to prepare healthy, delicious and affordable meals. Chefs and nutrition educators volunteer to lead our six-week courses.

For many parents, providing nourishing food for their kids is a real struggle. The barriers to healthy eating vary from family to fam-ily, but the one universal truth shared by every parent is they want what’s best for their children. So what is standing in their way? Why aren’t more of them cooking healthier meals?

Rather than make assumptions about these barriers, we decided to find out exactly what is happening in kitchens across the country. At the end of last year, Share Our Strength surveyed 1,500 low-to-middle-income families about their eating, shopping and cooking habits. The study was eye-opening.

We found that some of the common myths about healthy eating

really don’t hold true. First of all, low-income parents know the value of eating healthy and want to make healthy choices. Eighty-five per-cent of the families surveyed rated eating healthy meals as important.

There’s also a common misperception that low-income families eat a lot of fast food. In fact, they’re cooking at home almost daily. Eight in ten families make dinner at home at least five times a week.In a typical week, a low-income family eats fast food for dinner one night a week.

But while families are cooking, they’re struggling to make healthy meals. Three in four families agree that cooking healthy meals at home is realistic, but only about half of those we surveyed are meet-ing that goal most nights of the week. That’s far too many families whose healthy eating aspirations aren’t matching up to their realities. When asked what was preventing them from preparing nutritious meals, cost was the most commonly cited barrier. Wholesome items like fruits, vegetables, lean protein and whole grains are key to a bal-anced diet, but they are seen as out of reach for low-income families.

However, planning meals, writing grocery lists and budgeting bring healthy meals within reach. These are skills that can be taught – and it works. I see it among Cooking Matters graduates.

The voices of these families are clear – eating healthy is important. To help them realize this goal, education is the key. Having the right skills maximizes a person’s food resources, whether they come from the farmer’s market or the food bank.

I see this firsthand all the time. In a course for families earlier this year, the volunteer instructors and I took four families on a grocery store tour in Pagosa Springs to learn how to get healthy food for less money. I explained that each family would receive a $10 gift card to purchase ingredients for a balanced family meal of their choice. One young woman seemed confused. “But that won’t be enough for fruits AND vegetables,” she commented. By the next class, the family was proud to report that they had not only created a delicious, healthy meal together for $10, including fruits and vegetables, but they had change to spare.

We all want to eat better. It is possible, but regardless of income level, it takes some skill. If you like the idea of empowering people with those skills, join me and our growing army of volunteers. We rely on the passionate people of the culinary and nutrition communi-ties to support our efforts. A chef can change the way a family cooks by sharing basic knife skills or tips about spice combinations. With a few simple activities, a nutrition educator can affect the food choices a child makes in the school lunch line.

As I learned from my childhood meals, and from the families I serve in Southwest Colorado every day, cooking really does matter.

COOKING DOES MATTERBY ERIN JOLLEY

Southwest coordinator for Cooking Matters Colorado

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

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STEWARDS OF THE HIGH-COUNTRY GRAPE

Joe Buckel, winemaker for Sutcliffe Vineyards


IN THE VINEYARD

I have never been sure why wine doesn’t taste exactly like grapes. It is one of those facts I assume is obvious and known to everybody ... so I have elected to remain quietly in the dark. I can see it. A din-ner party full of oenophiles. I ask, “Why does this wine not taste like grapes?” The table goes silent for a beat, then breaks into maniacal laughter. But why, if wine is made of only grapes, does it take on other characteristics? Cherry. Fig. Hints of leather. From where do these un-grape-like flavors originate? A winemaker with a bag of Jolly Ranchers, a Fig Newton, and the sole of a shoe?

“Wine is made out of grapes. Period.” said Joe Buckel, the former Midwestern chemist turned award-winning Sonoma winemaker. For the past four years, Buckel has been making his mark in McElmo Canyon where he has been methodically putting Sutcliffe Vineyards on the international map.

To put it simply, the chemical structures that exist in strawber-ries, cherries and plums (to name a few) all reside in the skin of a grape. While a cherry will taste like a cherry and a fig like a fig, locked into a grape’s invisible makeup is the potential for all of these flavors and more. Other non-fruit characteristics like, well, leather (see old shoe), oak, or chocolate are inherited from the aging process. That process is a combination of the barrel in which it is aged, the yeast the winemaker chooses – there are over 2000 options, including relying solely on the yeast that occurs naturally – and the soil.

Buckel has a penchant for molecules, math and specific gravity. Of course, a degree in chemistry doesn’t hurt. He is the rare guy who can pepper his conversations with references to organic compounds or nods to the periodic table, and maintain your interest. He is a geek on paper. He is cool in person. He is a high-end winemaker (with his own award-winning California-based label, Taj, a Wine Spectator editors’ choice) with his boots firmly planted in the dirt. With the help of his right-hand-man and former oil field worker Jesus Castillo, a Mexican who immigrated to Colorado in the 1980s, the two grow the grapes (Castillo also grows grapes for Sutcliffe on his adjacent property), pick the grapes, crush the grapes, ferment the grapes, barrel age the juice, unpack the bottles, clean, fill and cork the bottles, and put them back into the cases for shipping.

STEWARDS OF THE HIGH-COUNTRY GRAPE

STORY AND PHOTOS BY RICK SCIBELLI, JR.

McElmo doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as elegantly as, say, Napa, Russian River or Sonoma, but Buckel will tell you he saw po-tential.

The mineral-rich soil in the canyon outside of Cortez, Colorado, has a history of producing award-winning fruit. As is well known, a peach from the canyon took a gold medal in 1904 at the St. Louis World’s Fair. No small feat. Especially considering I can’t get a peach home from the farmers market in my air-conditioned vehicle without inflicting at least one mysterious thumb-sized mushy bruise.

The weather, on the other hand, is another story. In McElmo Canyon, four miles of road can mean several degrees difference. This explains why grape growers and winemakers have varying degrees of success year over year as well as strained looks on their faces. While Buckel and his boss, former cowboy, newspaper writer and restaura-teur John Sutcliffe, can lose an entire acre to frost, five miles away, Bob Shuster (a non-drinking plumber) and his son, Dan (who has never tasted “a drop of alcohol in my life”) can grow kiwis. And grapes which, according to Buckel, are as good as anything coming out of the West Coast. “I just do what Joe [Buckel] tells me to do,” says Dan, whose Canyon of the Ancients Vineyard grows for Sutcliffe. No doubt Bob takes the craft seriously and is good at it, but down at Central Casting he would clearly land the part of Joe the Plumber long before being considered for the part of Robert Mondavi. “Appar-ently this piece of land is perfect for growing grapes. Who would fig-ure?” Bob says, referring to his high-altitude plot whose convex shape sends cold air flowing on its way to lower elevations.

THE PIONEERGuy Drew, a pioneer of McElmo wine making and a former spe-

cialist in the world of industrial equipment, operates near the mouth of the canyon, some 10 miles to the east of Sutcliffe. There, he battles vine-killing temperatures that, after 15 years in the business, have him tinkering with the makeup of his vineyard. Drew will tell you that cold air sinks and that this is a canyon. It is inferred what he means. Drew could beat me in a poker game. It is apparent that wine makes him think (while his dog, Mike, an elderly and affectionate Catahoula mix, makes him smile). Drew and his wife, Ruth, cultivate

Above, Jesus “Pancho” Castillo. Next page, clockwise from top right, John Sutcliffe; Dan and Bob Schuster and Bob’s grandson, William Schuster, 17; Guy Drew; Elizabeth O’Hara Bleak.

155 acres of vines, including Syrah, Cabarnet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Drew’s favorite, Riesling. They are also nurturing a few new acres of Baco Noir, a cold-resistant vine that can produce surpris-ingly complex wines (and may carry notes of caramel and black fruits. Again, it’s the skin).

THE GUNSLINGERElizabeth O'Hara Bleak and her husband, Alan Bleak, of Pleas-

ant View Vineyards, maybe foreseeing the challenges, elected to avoid McElmo altogether. Their pristine seven-acre vineyard of Merlot, Cabarnet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir and Chardonnay rests on a gently sloping island of fertile reddish soil in an ocean of thick scrappy pine in Pleasant View, two miles from the Canyon of the Ancients. And

while frost is rarely an issue, and the soil is impressive, it is the moun-tain lions that are the trade off. Elizabeth doesn’t leave the house without a fully-loaded Dan Wesson 38 revolver strapped to her waist (on a wide tooled-leather belt with an arsenal of shiny .357 slugs, "be-cause they will knock a bear down better than 38s.” Elizabeth admits, “We never imagined that we would be making commercial wine. We had been making wine at home year after year and thought, hey, this isn’t bad.” They landed their commercial license last year.

A plumber, a chemist and his former Polo-playing boss, a con-struction manager, an immigrant oil field worker and the former fork lift specialist – all starting to shake up the wine world.


17

I like to imagine the food rules of Paleolithic people. They might have gone something like this: if it runs, swims, flies, burrows, jumps, hatches, slithers, vines, roots, fruits, flowers, or wriggles its larval self inside a rotting log and didn’t kill Grandma, eat it.

It’s a rare time in human history, these modern days when people can select their diet from the vending machine of gustatory possi-bilities: vegan, vegetarian, locavore, gluten-free, Atkins, macrobiotic, blood type diet, raw foods. And if you’re holy enough to exist on breath alone, you can become a breatharian, though not recommend-ed, as it has led, shockingly, to death.

Ironically, or perhaps not, modern followers of the increasingly popular Paleo diet, have taken the all-inclusive paleolithic food rules and edged out an entire food group that indeed roots, flowers and fruits. Those amber waves of grain, which some say contributed to the staying power of humans, are believed by followers of the Paleo diet to be a major cause of modern disease.

WHAT IS THE PALEO DIET?The Paleo diet is based on the premise that genetically, modern

humans haven’t changed much since before the dawn of agriculture. Yet, our diet contains these new-fangled grains, appearing in the last blink of human history, approximately 10,000 years ago when, in addition to mastodons going extinct, hunter-gatherer societies began domesticating wild plants and animals.

Followers of the Paleo diet, whose numbers are on the rise (The Paleo Solution by Robb Wolf was a 2011 New York Times bestseller, and in August, Harvard hosted the 2nd annual “Ancestral Health

BY RACHEL TURIEL

Eating Paleo Style

Symposium”), cite numerous health benefits to ditching grains, sugar, pasteurized dairy, legumes, processed vegetable oils and any other food groups unavailable during the last 99% of human history.

If you think eating Paleo harkens back to the steak days of Atkins, simply skipping the bun on your Big Mac won’t cut it. Nasha Win-ters, Durango naturopath and owner of Namaste Health Center, has eaten Paleo for two years. Winters is a red-headed bullet of energy, information and enthusiasm for how the Paleo diet has improved her clients’ health. She advises “starting with a huge base camp of veg-etables: leafy greens, cruciferous, and colorful veggies. Next, good-quality fats like nuts, seeds, avocados, pastured butter, olive and co-conut oil. Some high-quality raw dairy is fine for a lot of people. And finally, pastured eggs, wild fish and grass-fed meat.”

Though high-quality fats are encouraged (avocados are the poster child of Paleo snack food), many people lose weight on the Paleo diet. The fat-phobia of the 1980s is out with the big hair: Vitamins A, E, D and K, important for reproductive, thyroid, skin, and immune health, are all fat soluble. Some people eating Paleo have shucked their cho-lesterol-lowering statin drugs while enjoying eggs and butter.

In the world of Paleo eating, creativity and plenty of almonds are required (I’d wager that anyone eating Paleo has a baggie of almonds stashed on their person). Mark Little, a Durango massage therapist whose high blood pressure, cholesterol and blood sugar were tamed by going Paleo, explains the Paleo sandwich. “Wrap avocado slices, bell pepper and lettuce in a few turkey slices. Your hands get sticky, but the sandwich travels well.”

Julia Fisher, Durango acupuncturist, tried a 30-day Paleo cleanse. “I’ve never eaten so many eggs in my life,” she recalls. “The best part was my renewed appreciation for fresh and simple flavors, and seeing the shift in energy and attitude in my 5-year-old.”

There will be no corn, people; it is officially a grain. Even my 7-year-old son states, “but the Anasazi ate corn!” True, son, but as Winters points out, that corn, an early domesticated cousin to the wild progenitor teosinte, was a scrappy little ear of starchy seeds, blue and red with antioxidants, as opposed to today’s corn: yellow fire-works of sugar exploding in your mouth, 86% of which, if grown in

A WORD ON GRASSFED BEEF

Ruminants such as cows, sheep, and goats have stomachs de-signed for grasses. When they eat grasses, as opposed to the corn and soybeans fed to feedlot cows, their meat and milk contain up to 300% more Omega 3s, 400% more vitamin E, and 500% more conjugated linoleic acid, all of which have been shown to protect against cancer, diabetes and heart disease. “We are what we eat; but also what they eat,” says Nasha Winters, Durango naturopath. – Rachel Turiel

THE OLDEST NEW DIET

ON THE PLANET


the U.S., is genetically modified.FOOD AS MEDICINEWhat if Hippocrates was right, when he famously said 2,400

years ago, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food”? Dr. Terry Wahls, clinical professor of medicine at the University

of Iowa Carver College of Medicine, created a stir in 2009 after post-ing a video on You Tube detailing how the Paleo diet ameliorated her steadily worsening multiple sclerosis. Wahls designed a grain- and sugar-free diet, not based on fads (she doesn’t even call it “Paleo”), but on hours of decoding medical research on optimal brain nutrition. Within one year of eating Paleo, she was out of her wheelchair and riding her bike.

By switching her clients to the Paleo diet, Nasha Winters has suc-cessfully treated rheumatoid arthritis, multiple sclerosis, Hashimoto's disease, Type 1 and 2 diabetes, obesity, polycystic ovarian syndrome, hormonal imbalances, eczema and psoriasis, depression, anxiety, high blood pressure, high cholesterol and asthma.

Heather Drake, mother of three in Bayfield, Colorado, lost 35 pounds, sugar cravings, and a nagging feeling of depression after giving up grains, sugar and dairy one year ago. Steve Ottersberg, a Durango chemist and teacher, notes that the greatest benefit from eating Paleo “is stabilization of blood sugar and mood. I live with pretty heavy-duty ADD, which has become easier to manage on a Paleo diet.” Jojo Dideles, a woodworker in Bayfield, who always ate a vegetable-rich diet, no longer struggles with digestive pain and feels better than he has in years after giving up grains.

THE TROUBLE WITH GRAINS“It’s not that grains are inherently bad,” Winters explains, “it’s

the volume and nature of the modern grains we eat.” According to Winters, grains have 75% more gluten today than during World War II, and in this same time period, celiac disease (a severe gluten intoler-ance) has quadrupled in the U.S.

Remember when the very essence of health was a bell-bottomed mother spooning wheat germ on her homemade yogurt? She likely didn’t know that the seeds of grains (and legumes) contain biological defenses designed to both pro-tect them from predators and prevent them from sponta-neously germinating under sub-optimal conditions. Phytic acid, found in the bran of all grain, is a mineral blocker that prevents absorption of calcium, iron, magnesium, cop-per and zinc. And according to research published by The National Institute of Health, lectins, found in all grains (abundantly in wheat) stimulate histamine production, alter and weaken gut flora, and bind to both the human intestinal lining and insulin receptors. (Some doctors are suggesting that the benefits of glucosamine are due to lec-tins binding to the glucosamine rather than joint tissue.) And then there’s gluten, a protein found in wheat, barley and rye, linked to intestinal and auto-immune disorders.

Dr. Weston A. Price, a Cleveland dentist who traveled the globe in the early 1900s studying primitive cultures eat-

ing traditional diets, discovered people with cavity-free teeth and few modern diseases. While the bulk of their diet was animal protein, fat, fruits, vegetables, nuts and raw dairy, Price noticed that when grains were eaten, they were sprouted, soaked and/or fermented, which re-duces phytic acid and lectins.

THE CARBOHYDRATE CYCLELike every system of the human body, the conversion of food to

energy is an efficient convergence of science, art and miracle. We eat a carbohydrate – sweet potato, donut, or a plate of brown rice – and those sugars become glucose in our blood. Then insulin, the hero of the pancreas, is released to usher glucose (also known as “blood sugar”) into every cell. A resounding cheer is heard and we have the energy to think, reproduce and procure our next meal.

Every human cell requires glucose to function properly, most no-tably those in our brains. It’s no wonder humans crave carbohydrates; clearly the snack food industry has caught on to this.

However, we’re not as active as we once were, while eating consid-erably more carbohydrates than ever. Americans get more than 70% of their total daily calories from grains, alcohol and refined sugars. All this excess blood sugar, if not burned off by exercise, turns to fat in the body. A study by the University of California at San Francisco showed that just a 10-day switch to the Paleo diet improved glucose tolerance and decreased insulin secretion.

In the last 100 years, individual American sugar consumption has risen from 5 pounds per year to 100 pounds per year. This includes honey, high fructose sugar, molasses, etc. Also on the rise is obesity, diabetes, celiac disease, autism, asthma, food allergies, cancer, high cholesterol, heart disease and auto immune disorders, many of which have no effective treatment or known cause. What is the connection?

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nity College. She believes that because so much has changed in the past 100 years (increased carbon emissions; longer lifespans; the use of pesticides, many of which disrupt hormone production; and in-creasingly sedentary lifestyles), that it’s impossible to correlate the increased consumption of grains with the increase in disease unless studies are designed to tease out a wide variety of other factors that have changed during that time.

Mikel Love, a Durango nutritionist, is concerned that the rigid, rule-heavy paradigm of the Paleo diet has the potential to create an unhealthy relationship with food, or even just take the fun out of eating. “The occasional donut will not give you diabetes or heart dis-ease,” Love states. She also wonders if the health benefits reaped from eating Paleo come simply from increased vegetable consumption.

On the Venn Diagram of diets, from Atkins to vegan and every-thing between, the overlap is undoubtedly vegetables, perhaps the sin-gle food group never disparaged by anyone. Well, except my children.

Even Jojo Dideles, the Bayfield woodworker who feels better without grains, notes the inherent complications in going grain-free: financial expense, social eating and the time-consuming nature of cooking and eating enough vegetables to replace the easy calories of grains.

As my friend Rowan says, “it’s tiring staying on top of food trends. It’s like following fashion.” I too wonder, “where is the middle ground?” It may lie with someone like Steve Pease, Durango financial planner and ski instructor, who, despite running marathons, had cho-lesterol levels just a wink below “dangerously high.” Pease has been

eating Paleo for a year and credits the diet with better sleep, energy and healthy cholesterol levels. But Pease isn’t 100% Paleo. He con-sumes about three beers a week, an occasional baguette and, because his girlfriend loves it, “we eat ice cream together.”

EPILOGUEI was vegetarian in college. I spent three months last spring eating

gluten free. I once gave up sugar for six months. I ate only raw foods for a weekend. It’s not too far-fetched to go Paleo. My husband hunts elk and deer, and with our greenhouse, cold frames, root cellar and large summer garden, there is always something homegrown available, even if from December through February it looks a lot like chard. As far as I’m concerned, wild meat and local vegetables are the best foods on the planet. But, I have a high metabolism and am quick to get low blood sugar – jitters, irritability and the inability to focus until I fill my belly, and it’s grains that seem to satisfy my hunger longest. Be-cause I’m a well-fed American with my own pocket stash of almonds, this is rarely a problem.

But I asked two knowledgeable friends about this condition. One friend, a scientist, explained that my glycogen (glucose stored in the liver), gets used up quickly for no known or significant reason, sending urgent pleas to my brain for more calories. Another friend, an alterna-tive health care practitioner, postulated that perhaps I wasn’t absorb-ing nutrients in my food, due to leaky gut syndrome; or maybe a B-12 deficiency. But there was this diet she thought would be helpful. You just give up grains and sugar....


SUCCESS WITH THE EXCESSBY ANNA RILING

Let’s be honest, apart from the indomitable butternuts in the root cellar and the leftover apricot jam that couldn’t all be pawned off, the ruthless first frost date in the San Juans does not leave much to excess. You have a greener thumb than I if you are still pulling cab-bage out of an exceptionally well-managed hoophouse in November. If you subscribe to my gardening style, come fall, you have washed your hands of your precious soil, simultaneously filled with misty-eyed rue at the loss of life and a profound sense of relief that the yearly battle with the earwigs is over.

It’s time to focus on all those autumnal wonders; a high country ablaze in color, the beginning of boot season, actually eating dinner before nine. Think of all these darkening days as justification for spending more time in the kitchen indulging your culinary curiosity. In this season that is so lean on greens, success lies in preparation, foresight, and a thirty-aught-six.

IT’S GAME TIMEWe had been sitting at the base of a pine

tree for an hour, my husband and I, and it wasn’t even light yet. A thin dusting of snow covered everything around us. For my first elk hunt, I had come prepared: long johns, jeans, hoodie, beanie, boots, and Carhartt bibs and jacket. Allen said this was the first time he had seen me look “frumpy.” I opened a bar, the wrapper crackling through the woods in the still dawn. Allen gave me a look, then turned back to the valley his eyes had been trained on since five in the morning. I asked him how long we would be sitting here. He gave me another look. I was bored. I was cold. I was frumpy.

I wanted hunting to be all bent blades of grass and steam rising off piles of poop, the cracking of sticks in the distance and eating of livers. This was more like taking a nap in a very pretty freezer. In the end, we did get up, and we even tracked an elk, for which I was treated to a Carhartt sauna. We walked for the rest of the day and never saw a single animal.

This is not a story of excess, you may note. Well, lucky for us folks in the San Juans, hunting is kind of a big deal here, right up there with mountain bikes and microbreweries. Our fair state is blessed with the biggest elk population in the country. This year, the Colo-rado Division of Wildlife issued over 130,000 elk hunting licenses, and almost 80,000 deer licenses. If you didn’t draw a tag, I bet you know someone who did.

It’s true, venison and elk can be tougher than beef or pork. But throw a roast in the crock pot before you go to work, and by the time you come home it’ll be as tender as Bambi.

If, as a hunter, you find yourself frumpy and unsuccessful, dust off that apricot jam and trade up for some game.

THE MUSHROOM KINGIf I had known last summer what I know now about King Bolete

mushrooms, I would have treated them with more reverence. Traips-ing across the springy duff of a dewy post-monsoonal forest, huck-ing the meaty morsels into a plastic shopping bag, I was unknowingly depriving them of an heir to the line. In Europe they do it right, of course, and with requisite flair, collecting the prized mushrooms in an open basket to ensure the escape of spores. With an espresso in hand, no doubt.

The King Bolete mushroom is found the world over, including Europe, India, China, and North America, affecting as many names as Jason Bourne. In Italy, it is the porcini, or “piglet;” in Austria, the herrenpilz, or “gentle-man’s mushroom;” in Mexico, the panza, or “belly.” The mushroom’s nutty flavor, smooth texture, and firm meat have amassed an esteem bordering on holy. It is prized fresh, but when

reconstituted after being dried, it takes on an even more robust flavor.It just so happens that this fungal celebrity is one of the most com-

mon wild edible mushrooms in Colorado. In the San Juans, they can be found right in our backyard, at high elevations, hiding in the moist surrounds of spruce and fir trees. Easily identified, it is a mushroom’s mushroom. Handsome and trustworthy, its fat, stout stalk is capped with a chunky auburn umbrella which is sticky to the touch.

Assuming you have made good use of the waning summer days, you have piled high your spore-friendly basket and then hung the stalks to dry around the kitchen, like popcorn strings on a Christ-mas tree. In the cold heart of winter, those plump piglets of the forest, those spongy spirits of summer can be resurrected from their mummi-fied form to make a meal fit for a king.

TEA-SMOKED SALMONImagine hosting a dinner party and announcing that the gorgeous

pink salmon filet you are serving was wild caught. In Vallecito Lake. It’s no myth, urban or otherwise; salmon prowl the frigid depths of our reservoirs. Kokanee, or “koks,” are a landlocked breed of sockeye salmon originating in the Pacific Northwest. First stocked in Colorado in the 1950s, they are now a favorite sport fish managed by the Colo-rado Division of Wildlife.

Every fall, following some fishy, primeval trigger, they decide that five years or so of plankton is quite enough, thank you, and commence a spawning run out of the lake and upriver. During the run, both sexes

IN THE KITCHEN

blush a deep crimson in the last throes of life. When their suicide run is at its peak, the skinny autumn waters of Vallecito, the Dolores and Florida have been known to pulse red with the roiling bodies of a fatalistic fish orgy.

For a great photo op, by all means throw a streamer in the middle of that mess and pull up one of the hook-jawed, hump-backed, blood-red beasts. But if you’re more interested in a filet than a photo, it’s best to get to them in early fall, before they spawn.

Back to that dinner party: next imagine telling your guests, now duly impressed, that you smoked said salmon yourself – with tea.

There is more than one way to smoke a fish, and all require a smoker, time, and constant diligence – none of which I possess in ample supply. Tea-smoking is a quick and easy way to impart the un-rivaled flavor of the smokehouse using a stovetop instead.

That flavor is all about the tea. You don’t want to just throw

TEA-SMOKED SALMONINGREDIENTS

For the marinade:

¼ cup soy sauce

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 teaspoon zest from one orange

¼ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

3 six-ounce center cut, skin-on salmon filets, pin bones removed

For the tea-smoked salmon:

¼ cup Green Pu-erh or Lapsang Souchong tea

¼ cup jasmine rice

¼ cup light brown sugar

8 whole star anise

3 crushed cinnamon sticks

Vegetable oil

¼ cup thinly sliced scallions

1 teaspoon toasted black and white sesame seeds

METHOD

In a small baking dish, whisk the soy sauce, sugar, orange zest, and red pepper flakes. Place salmon in dish and turn to coat. Cover and refrigerate for one hour.In a small bowl, toss together the tea, rice, brown sugar, anise, and crushed cinnamon.Line a wok with four layers of aluminum foil, overlapping the edges of the wok slightly. Place the tea mixture in the bottom of the wok. Oil a small rack and place in wok about 2-3 inches above the mixture. Fit lid on tightly.Heat on low until mixture begins to smoke.*Place salmon on rack skin side down and replace lid.Smoke on low heat for 5-10 minutes, being careful not to overcook. Fattier cuts may require more smoking time.Serve garnished with scallions and toasted sesame seeds.*You might want to open a window – Anna Riling

some Lipton packets in there. Michael Thunder, owner of the White Dragon Good Feelings Tearoom and Gallery in Durango, is only too happy to talk tea. His suggestion for tea-smoking is a Green Pu-erh. It hails from the fabled Tea Horse Road in western China, a 1,400-mile trade route which, for centuries, hosted the thriving trade of Chinese tea for Tibetan horses. The Pu-erh’s tanned, twisted leaves are hand-picked from an 800-year-old tree, and have been aged for almost 20 years. They smell of tobacco, and then a barn, and then a forest.

Another of the tea master’s favorites for smoking is Lapsang Souchong, also a China native, grown on the slopes of tropical Mount Wuyi in the Fujian province on the east coast. This distinctive black tea is itself smoked over a pine bough, giving it a flavor reminiscent of a campfire.

Put the cedar plank away. It’s tea time.


BUCATINI ALLA CARRETTIERAINGREDIENTS

2 ounces dried porcini mushrooms

½ pound guanciale or pancetta, cut into lardons

½ cup extra virgin olive oil

4 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped

1 28-ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, crushed by hand

Salt and pepper to taste

1 pound dried bucatini

¼ cup grated parmesan (optional)

METHOD

Soak the dried mushrooms in warm water for an hour. Remove and squeeze out extra liquid. Finely chop and set aside.In a medium-to-large skillet, cook the guanciale over medium heat until the fat has been rendered. Drain off half the fat into a container.

To the pan, add olive oil, garlic, and mushrooms and cook overmedium- high heat until garlic begins to turn slightly yellow. Add the crushed tomatoes and juice and cook over medium heat for 20-30 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.While sauce is simmering, boil pasta to al dente. Drain and place back in pot. Pour sauce over pasta in pot and toss well over high heat for one minute.Sprinkle with parmesan if desired and serve immediately.

What the heck is a lardon?Bucatini: A thick spaghetti-style pasta with a hole running through the center. Carrettiera: Italian for “cart-driver;” a traditional sauce from central Italy.Guanciale: Unsmoked pig jowls cured with salt, sugar, and spices.Lardon: A small strip or cube of pork fat.Rendering fat: Melting the fat from a cut of meat.

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SPICY PULLED ELKINGREDIENTS

Venison or elk roast*

Salt and pepper

Olive oil

5 cloves garlic, peeled and pressed

1 red onion, thinly sliced

1 tablespoon chili powder

2 teaspoon each coriander and cumin

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

1½ cup water

1 14½-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes

2 medium green chilies, diced

2 bay leaves

¼ cup molasses

METHOD

Season meat generously with salt and pepper. In a skillet, brown in oil on both sides over medium heat for 5-10 minutes on each side. Place meat in crock pot.To the pan, add garlic, onion, and spices and stir until fragrant, about one minute.Add vinegar and boil until almost gone, scraping the pan with a wooden spoon. Stir in water and pour mixture over meat.Crush the tomatoes with your fingers into crock pot. Add tomato juice, chilies, bay leaves, and molasses.Cover crock pot, set on low and cook for eight hours. Remove meat and shred with fork. Strain solids from juice, then pour juice over meat. Save the solids for topping.Serve on buns with coleslaw or chutney.*Ryan Huggins, a decidedly un-frumpy hunter, generously donated the roast for this recipe. In return for a pint of apricot jam.– Anna Riling

Dr. Joseph Alaimo samples his latest batch of whiskey at his Ridgway distillery

FARM TO BOTTLE

Dr. Joseph Alaimo steps out of a squat corrugated corn silo and brushes dry yellow kernels from his athletic socks. The doctor’s striking resemblance to a certain silver screen superstar makes it look as if a shoeless Robert De Niro were emerging from the darkness into the bright daylight of Olathe, Colorado. But this man isn’t a movie star, he’s just your average veterinarian/whiskey distiller visiting his grain.

Alaimo, or “Dr. Joe” as he prefers, slips on sneakers, squints into the sun and remarks thoughtfully, “You know, some people suggest the corn is in charge; that it’s manipulated us into continuing its culti-vation.” He slams the silo door, cheerfully suggesting we have a snack. The ominous theory of cognizant corn is left hanging in the hot after-noon air.

The idea isn’t particularly far fetched. The properties of the corn we harvest make us crave, and plant, enormous quantities for an array of beguiling products – including delicious alcohol. Clearly the stocky, avuncular Dr. Joe is in collusion with the plant. Thirty-seven miles to the south, in Ridgway, he’ll turn his maize into the highly potent, highly regional, Coyote light whiskey.

Dr. Joe runs the 875-square-foot Trail Town Still, located off highway 550 in digs resembling what might result if Deadwood mated with a stripmall. There, with a focus on local ingredients, the Dr. pro-duces a variety of spirits, from vodka to rum, in a space he notes is “smaller than my bedroom.”

If you were a grain bent on world domination, you could do worse than becoming Trail Town’s Coyote. It’s an anesthetizing cross be-tween a sweet Irish whiskey and a Kentucky moonshine barn-burner.

BY PATRICK ALAN COLEMAN

As a tiny stalk, you might wish for a man like Dr. Joe to find your true potential: to be passed across the bar in Trail Town’s nuevo-sa-loon tasting room and make another ally.

The good doctor closed his veterinary practice and opened his dis-tillery in October 2011, not as veiled corn-propaganda operation, but as a way to spend more time with his business partner and fiancée. Dr. Joe plays down the difficulties of moving from bulldogs to booze with an attitude some might mistake for arrogance. “I already had the science background as a veterinarian,” he says. “It took me maybe a month of reading before I felt competent [distilling]. It’s not ‘rocket surgery,’ as they say. If it was hard, guys in Missouri couldn’t do it in the middle of the woods.”

But Dr. Joe’s happy to admit he has much in common with back-woods distillers. Inspired by enterprising bootleggers, he created his operation relying on a bare minimum of soldering, plumbing, and construction skills to build the network of copper tubing and plas-tic hoses that allow his rotund alembic still (characterized by a bul-bous onion-like top), and a tall, uninteresting-looking column still, to work.

More importantly, hillbilly tradition dictated what would go into his bottles. “Just like those distillers, we looked around to see what we had to work with,” Dr. Joe says. “And it’s not beets, not barley, not rye. Corn is what we have here. That’s how I’m a purist.”

Sprawled beside an unassuming farmhouse, and serenaded by a flock of mourning doves perched in the trees, the intoxicating Coyote begins its life as eight acres of Olathe “field corn.” The sweet stuff, oddly, doesn’t produce enough sweetness. This patch is grown just for Trail Town.

It’s July when Dr. Joe and I visit the field, and it appears to be thriving despite the dry weather – knee high by the fourth of July. “Depends on your knees, I guess,” Joe says as he squats beside a plant, petting its leaves.

He muses about the thing that’s given him the most trouble as a new

distiller: the art. For instance, after the corn is cut in autumn, it’s siloed to dry. Then, it’s cracked into smaller bits. But the type of crack is hugely important to how efficient it is at producing alcohol. “It’s not like sewing up a suture,” he affirms.

The first time we met, leaning against the bar in his distillery, he confided, “The art is work... I’m still way learning the art. I’m like a kindergartner in the art.”

Luckily, he gets plenty of practice. Every three weeks, Dr Joe re-moves three quarters of a ton of dried corn from the silo, carting it to a nearby co-op to be cracked. From there, it’s stored in a rubber barrel in the distillery until it’s time to be put to work in a mash – the first

step in becoming something that could make you start slurring the word “mash.”

A mixture of enzymes, pH balancers, and 75 gallons of the purest municipal water help the corn become appealing enough for yeast, which produce alcohol. It’s a 12-hour process.

After that time, and some stirring with what looks like a kayak paddle riddled with holes, the mixture is pumped into fermentation tanks. The corn has given the best of itself; what’s left is donated to a local farmer for cattle feed.

A week after one such mash-making, I find Dr. Joe with his ear to a fermentation tank. I ask what he’s listening to. “It’s the yeast danc-ing because they’re so happy,” he deadpans, describing the sound of bubbling carbon dioxide. It’s almost time to distill.

Up to this point, the mixture could become any spirit in Trail Town’s arsenal. To become whiskey, the alcoholic slurry is distilled first in the onion-topped alembic and then the column still until it’s a confidence-boosting 80% to 90% alcohol. But there’s one final ingre-dient to make Coyote a uniquely regional whiskey: scrub oak.

Which is why I find myself in Dr. Joe’s home kitchen, watching him spread thumb-sized bits of scrub oak chips on a cookie sheet. He has set his oven to 375 degrees, the optimal temperature, he’s discov-ered, for toasting wood.

About now, your average whiskey snob might ask, “Why not use a barrel?” Because the only oak that grows locally is scrub oak, and no cooperage in the world is going to turn it into a barrel. But whis-key needs hints of wood and smoke, which is why we sit in Dr. Joe’s kitchen as the air fills with the smell of a sun-warmed deck and white cake and almond and vanilla. Pleasant and totally unique.

Dr. Joe keeps checking the oven, waiting for a greyish-brown col-or to develop on the chips. Once he’s caught it, he removes the baking sheet, smiling like some too-pleased Betty Crocker.

All that’s left is for the chips to be added to the hooch for a day in a pony keg, creating a light caramel color and buttery, toasty wood flavors. The entire process has taken about a week from silo to glass.

Taking that glass in your hand there on Trail Town’s deck is like holding the corn harvest in your hand. It’s easy to believe that eight acres of cognizant corn has made sure it will be sown again. At least for one more season.


For most of us, the humble pumpkin makes its appearance just twice a year. Each autumn, Jack O’Lanterns are cleverly carved and set aglow for Halloween and the ubiquitous pumpkin pie is served on Thanksgiving.

But I must confess, that is just not enough for me. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin soup, stew, smash, salad…you name it and I’ll devour it.

So when Warren Smith, the culinary grand poobah of Durango’s Manna Soup Kitchen, called me inquiring, “Can you please come take some organic pumpkins? At least 10, but if you could take more…” you can only imagine my glee.

It seems local finance dude/organic pumpkin farmer (go figure, it’s Durango) Sean O’Kane had arrived moments earlier, hauling in not one, but three truckloads of the orange orbs. Though there re-ally is no such thing as being too generous, it was literally more than Manna could handle.

When I arrived to collect my booty, chef Warren, in his signature robust style, offered me a forkful of his latest creation, a sweet and savory pumpkin crisp warm from the oven and fragrant with East Indian spices. But instead of the expected puree or custard we see in most popular pumpkin desserts, Warren used whole chunks of pump-kin in the same manner you would apples, creating amazing texture.

I had already planned to pull out my “new” Springform pan (that had lain dormant after I bought it a couple years ago, due to my underlying fear of preparing pastries) to attempt my first pump-kin cheesecake. Since I’d never tried it before, I thought, why not mess around with an already somewhat complicated recipe to further celebrate my love affair with pumpkin? So I took Warren’s lead and

BY LAUREN SLAFF

PROPS TO THE PUMPKIN

INDIAN SPICED PUMPKIN CRISP(adapted from Warren Smith’s “recipe”)

INGREDIENTS

(WARREN’S FABULOUS FILLING)

1 large pumpkin, peeled, seeded and cubed

½ cup brown sugar

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1 teaspoon ground star anise (or ground fennel seed)

½ cup unsalted butter, melted

(LAUREN’S GO-TO CRISP TOPPING)

1 cup all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

½ cup brown sugar

¼ cup crystallized ginger, coarsely chopped

½ teaspoon ground cardamom

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

decided to sprinkle tender cubes of roasted pumpkin onto the ginger snap-pecan crust before pouring in the molten filling for baking. The results were gorgeous. Even after a gluttonous turkey dinner with all the bells and whistles, guests were meticulously cleaning their dessert plates.

With one down and a garage Metro-shelf full of the robust beau-ties to go, I had my work cut out for me. I fixed platefuls of pump-kin risotto, bowls of Moroccan lamb and pumpkin Tagine, sides of creamy pumpkin polenta, pots of curried veggie soup loaded with hunks of sweet tender pumpkin, Southwestern roast pumpkin salad, and the list went on.

I do admit that at one point I kinda maxed out. I knew I’d be revisiting soon, but heck, what’s the big rush anyway? Pumpkins, like other gourds and winter squashes, are a perfect off-season food stor-age item. If stored in a cool, dry place, they can last nearly a year. Wanna get a jump on things? Peel, seed, roast, puree and freeze in airtight containers to pull out on the fly.

So don’t be shy. With a comparable flavor and texture, the pump-kin can do anything an ordinary sweet potato can do only better. Ac-cording to nutritiondata.self.com, a cup of cooked and mashed sweet potato weighs in at a whopping 249 calories compared with pump-kin’s mere 41. Much lower in carbohydrates as well as sodium, plus loaded with the same amount of vitamins A and C and antioxidants as the sweet potato, the locally plentiful pumpkin not only tastes great, but is packed with virtue. Not to mention they come complete with an easy-to-fix crunchy snack right inside as a bonus.

So ask not what your pumpkin can do for you, ask what you can do for your pumpkin!

27

CREAMY, CRUNCHY & LUSCIOUSLY LUMPY

PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE

INGREDIENTS

1 pound pumpkin, peeled, seeded and cubed

1 tablespoon brown sugar

12 tablespoons (1 ½ sticks) unsalted butter, melted

2 ½ cups ginger snap cookie crumbs

½ cup toasted pecans, chopped

2 ½ cups sugar

1 teaspoon plus one pinch salt

2 pounds cream cheese at room temperature

¼ cup sour cream

6 large eggs at room temperature, lightly beaten

1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

2 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

½ teaspoon ground cardamom

2 cups sweetened whipped cream

METHOD

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees F.Toss pumpkin cubes with brown sugar. Spread evenly on baking sheet and roast for 45 minutes to 1 hour until they are tender and caramel-ized. Set aside 1 cup of roasted pumpkin. Pulse remaining pumpkin in a food processor until pureed and smooth. Let cool. Brush a 10-inch springform pan with some of the butter. Mix the remaining butter with the gingersnap cookie crumbs, pecans and a pinch of salt in a bowl. Press the crumb mixture into the bottom and up the sides of the pan, packing it tightly and evenly. Bake 15 to 20 minutes until golden brown.

Cool on a rack. Wrap the outside of the springform pan with foil and place in a roasting pan.Distribute the 1 cup reserved roasted pumpkin cubes evenly over bot-tom of cooled crust.Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Meanwhile, beat the cream cheese with a mixer until smooth. Add the remaining 2 ½ cups sugar and beat until just light, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Beat in the sour cream, then the pumpkin, eggs, vanilla, 1 teaspoon salt and the spices and beat until just combined. Pour over roasted pumpkin into crust.Gently place the roasting pan in the oven (don't pull out the rack) and pour the boiling water into the roasting pan until it comes about halfway up the side of the springform pan. Bake until the outside of the cheesecake sets but the center is still loose, about 1 hour 45 minutes. Turn off the oven and open the door briefly to let out some heat. Close oven door and leave the cheesecake in the oven for 1 more hour, then carefully remove from the roasting pan and cool on a rack. Run a knife around the edges, cover and refrigerate at least 8 hours or overnight.Bring the cheesecake to room temperature 30 minutes before serving. Unlock and remove the springform ring. Slice ‘er up and serve with a blop of whipped cream.

–Lauren Slaff

FreshLocal

CommunitySustainableEducation

on College & 8th(close to downtown Durango)

Visit:Open Daily 8am-9pm

www.DurangoNaturalFoods.coop

1 teaspoon almond extract

¼ teaspoon salt

1 stick (4 oz) cold unsalted butter, cut in slices

½ cup chopped nuts such as pecans, walnuts, or almonds, optional

METHOD

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. In a large mixing bowl, toss pumpkin with all ingredients for filling. In a food processor, pulse flour, sugars, ginger and cardamom until ginger is incorporated but still visible.Add COLD butter and extracts and pulse until mixture comes together and

starts to clump. Do not overprocess. If using nuts, pulse in gently now to incorporate.In a buttered or non-stick sprayed baking dish, pour pumpkin mixture, distributing evenly.Take handfuls of the crisp topping and squeeze into large clumps, like you are making a snowball. Then break into coarse crumbles and distribute evenly over top of pumpkin.Bake for about 40-45 minutes or until fragrant and crisp topping is gently browned.Serve with ice cream, whipped cream, Greek yogurt, or whatever you like. –Lauren Slaff


FIELD OF DREAMSOn Permaculture, Patience and Time

In the 1970s, Australian scientists Bill Mollison and David Holmgren made the audacious proposal that most land can become productive if we pay enough attention to its conditions, work with them to build the soil and capture the water, and create communities of plants that will work with one another to produce what we want: food, shade, beauty. They believe this could be accomplished not by reshaping the identities of the plants and the land, but by giving plants and land mutually benefi-cial arrangements that allow each organism to be at its best.

My introduction to perma-culture came when a half acre of delicate grassland was decimated around the footprint of a house I had built. The irony will escape no one that it was a straw bale, adobe-clad, passive solar house. Still. Its creation made a nasty scar on the land. An environ-mentally-minded friend lent me a book which she said would in-spire me: Gaia’s Garden: A Guide to Home-Scale Permaculture by Toby Hemenway. She was right; the first story, about a two-acre parcel that was “a moonscape of sand and anthills” in northern New Mexico re-ally lit my fire. The “after” pictures, taken just three years into the owners’ application of permaculture principles, depict a lush, Edenic paradise of fruit trees, shade, and flowers.

So I collected cardboard to sheet-mulch large areas around my house: building the soil and penetrating the hard-pan ground with layers of organic material to prepare it for planting in the spring. I wanted my parents to be excited too – they are avid gardeners. But they will resort to Round-Up when weeds offend their orderly sen-sibilities. The fraying cardboard and manure piles moldering around my “hippie” house did not impress until we started to dig through the layers in May. The hard-pan had gone soft, dark, and welcoming. The perennials flourished, though I only know that because I see them if I happen to drive by the property. It wasn’t in the cards for me to stay and turn it into an Eden of my own.

Permaculture demands staying in one place for a significant peri-od of time. As Tom Manzagol of Ridgway’s Shining Mountain Herb Farm says, “It reconnects you not just to the earth, but to the very specific piece of land you are farming. And the process changes your

idea of what you’re doing with your life. It changes your sense and scale of time.” Put another way, permaculture is to agriculture as the Slow Food movement is to eating. Patience is required.

If you get inspired by the lush, productive food-forest that you discover at one of our region’s growing number of permaculture dem-onstration centers, or in an avid practitioner’s garden, you need to know this: harvesting food is the last thing you’re going to be do-

ing. The first is to step back and look at your property. Where does the wind come from? Where are the slopes, and how does the water flow when it rains? How does the prop-erty sit in relation to the sun? There are many questions; these are the basics. Using those observations, you will draw plans for the prop-erty to capture water, build soil, and grow food in the best locations for each of these activities. Figuring out where is complicated, and the techniques are multi-faceted. But

permaculture’s brilliance is in its combination of overarching philoso-phy with minute specificity; all the big questions are answered with meticulous clarity.

Permaculture divides any property into zones that radiate in concentric circles with one’s house at the center. This is possibly its most helpful proposal of all: to develop land in a way that reduces work for people and increases the strength of the land’s ecosystem. For example, instead of erecting a fenced vegetable garden in a field that you trudge out to whenever you need to garden, you could grow your tender annual crops in the flower beds around your house. In the morning, you might totter out in your bathrobe to collect some let-tuce for lunch, snapping the centers to prevent the plants from shoot-ing flowers.

Meanwhile, in the farthest zone from the house, you allow a band of space to go somewhat feral, with the native grasses, trees, and shrubs growing as they like. This band supports the helpful in-sects and birds which will fertilize your soil and compete with the less helpful insects and birds. The intervening bands entail gradually less human work. As you may imagine, it takes effort to get this right. But when it’s right, it’s a proper symphony in which you don’t have to play all the instruments.

BY LAURA THOMAS

Squash wind around the tomatoes while sunflowers attract pollinators

On a lush ridge near Telluride, the currant bushes of Tomten Farm are pushing rain-washed fruit toward the light. I admire the crop, and I ask owner Kris Holstrom how her other crops are doing. “I planted apple trees several years ago,” she says with a prosaic smile, “and now they are about this high.” She gestures to her hip. The farm is located at nearly 9,000 feet. Through a long process of experimentation, she’s discovered the narrow range of perennials, fruit-bearing shrubs and cold-weather annuals that succeed. Holstrom has owned this property since 1985; she is nothing if not an example of patience.

About twenty miles and fifteen-hundred-feet ele-vation down the hill is Ridgway Community Garden. Much more will grow here. Now it its sixth year, the garden expresses the collective will of its membership, with both rental (essentially private) and communal plots, as well as a “permaculture area” at the far end of the lot. Chris Lance is the garden’s organizer and evangelist. As she talks, it’s clear that she’s most excited not by the successful applica-tion of permaculture or any other set of principles, but by the human interactions behind the harvest. “We have some strong personalities here!” she says.

The “permaculture area” is a forest garden: communities of crops that need the same growing conditions, and that benefit one another. There are cherry trees, raspberry bushes, and comfrey. The trees in a forest garden are supposed to provide shelter and beneficial condi-tions to the other plants. But these trees are very young and look as though they might get swallowed by the tangle of weeds and shrubs that clamor around their slender trunks. Lance shows me the area, but she admits, “I don’t really get it. I mean, it’s not producing any food…. Isn’t that the point?”

Maybe more patience is required. The fruits of patience are what I find at Shining Mountain Herb Farm. Its lush crops defy the drought that Ouray County has suffered this summer. That is because the place was developed, nearly fourteen years ago, with permacultural principles. Everything about it is meant to build the soil and retain the water. When the Manzagols’ water rights were “called” (mean-ing that rights were temporarily revoked for use at higher-priority

locations down-ditch, in this case to water-thirsty golf courses in Montrose), the crops survived. They were planted in the right spots and well mulched. This was a good thing, since the Manzagols just deliv-ered their first line of

certified-organic herbal medicines to Whole Foods Markets. In their application of permaculture, there is not only yield, but profit.

Robyn Wilson is the director of the University Centers of the San Miguel, a Telluride-based non-profit that organizes a permaculture

design course every summer here in the San Juans. For her, permaculture is much more than principles for suc-cessful food production. “Food and agriculture are the doors into these ideas, but this is a way of life.” She believes that permaculture can change the world, with theoretical applications ranging from the banking sys-tem to the arts. It’s a hope echoed by many practitio-ners that I visit.

Personally, I am wary of all-encompassing language of any variety; movements that propose to “solve it all” are ideological in nature. I spent too much time study-ing history, which overflows with applications of ide-ologies to matters beyond their scope. But if we leave

aside the airier extrapolations of permaculture’s devotees, and stick with the problems of growing food without chemical cocktails, it makes a critical case for itself. As one becomes more familiar with its myriad practical ideas, it’s hard to understand why permaculture is not in the curriculum in our region’s schools. For the practitioners with the patience and the sheer nerve to stay the course, the proof is in the proverbial pudding, at the harvest. Someday I hope to be rooted enough to see for myself.

Farm Fresh Dinners Late Summer 2012

970 327 4762

BOOKSGaia’s Garden, Second Edition: A Guide to Home-Scale Perma-

culture by Toby Hemenway (Chelsea Green, 2009)Introduction to Permaculture by Bill Mollison (Tagari, 1995-

1997)Permaculture: A Designers’ Manual by Bill Mollison (Tagari,

1988)Sepp Holzer’s Permaculture: A Practical Guide to Small-Scale In-

tegrative Farming and Gardening by Sepp Holzer (Chelsea Green, 2011)

The Permaculture Handbook: Garden Farming for Town and Country by Peter Bane and David Holmgren (New Society Pub-lishers, 2012)

COURSES The Permaculture Institute offers classes throughout the Rocky Mountain west. www.permacultureinstitute.org University Centers of the San Miguel offers Permaculture De-sign Course, for college credit.www.ucsanmiguel.org Willow Way offers the Southwest Colorado Permaculture Design Course. www.willowwaypermaculture.com

Kris Holstrom


Durango Solar Homes, LLC

~ Passive Solar Specialists ~ Design.Build Services

www.DurangoSolarHomes.comSteve Kawell 970~769~3904

Kris Holstrom

outtakes

(clockwise from the top) Kaylyn Buckel waits for her mom to show in the vegetable gardens at Sutcliffe Vineyards. Tommy Thacher loads his truck with a delivery outside of the Telluride Brewery. Steve Pavlick, Ryan Huggins and Anna and Allen Riling enjoy some smoked salmon and some spicy pulled elk. Dr. Joe Alaimo says hello to his business manager and fiancée at his Ridgway distillery. Americorp volunteers, Daylon Peer of Durango, right, and Eliana Langer, of NYC at the Old Fort.

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Restaurants & Cafes

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Health & Wellness

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Gardening Supplies

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Events

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Grocery

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Wineries

SAN JUANMOUNTAINS

1. Cyprus Café 970 385 68842. La Cocina del Luz / Caravan 970 728 93553. The Ore House 970 247 57074. The Farm Bistro 970 565 38346. Zia Taqueria 970 247 33558. Cosmopolitan 970 259 28989. Cosmopolitan (in the Hotel Columbia) 970 728 129210. 221 South Oak 970 728 950711. Over the Moon 970 728 207912. Linda’s Local Food Cafe 970 259 672913. The Argentine Grille 970 967 300014. The Harvest Grill (@ James Ranch 970 385 6858 15. Steamworks 970 259 920016. Indian Ridge Farm and Bakery (Farm Dinners) 970 327 476217. White Dragon Tearoom 970 769 102218. Southwest Midwives 970 247 554319. Namaste Health Center 970 247 204320. Mercy Regional Medical Center 970 247 431122. Telluride Mobile Massage 970 209 261223. Zephyros Farm and Garden 970 527 363624. Pleasant View Vineyards 970 562 4553 (Cortez Farmers Market)25. Stone Free Farm (Durango and Cortez Farmers Markets)26. Animas Valley Farms 970 749 377727. James Ranch 970 385 685828. Indian Ridge Farm and Bakery 970 327 476229. Four Corners Organics & Hydroponics 970 731 168530. Durango Solar Homes LLC 970 769 390431. SolarWorks 970 382 262432. Harvest Beer Festival (Cortez, Sept 8)33. Gwen Lachelt - Candidate for La Plata County Commissioner36. Wagon Wheel Liquors (970 247 1655)37. The Leland House and Rochester Hotel 800 664 192038. Sunnyside Farms Market 970 375 640039. Durango Natural Foods Co-op 970 247 812940. Telluride Farmers Market (Fri. 11-4, Oak St.)41. Durango Farmers Market (Sat. 8-12, 1st National Bank)43. Ska Brewing Company 970 247 579244. Sutcliffe Vineyards45. Pleasant View Vineyards 970 562 4553

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James Ranch: where producing organic, pure, flavorful meats, cheeses, vegetables, and eggs

simply ends up tasting exceptional.

Come taste it!

Shop at our Ranch Market

Visit us: www. jamesranch.net or call our market (970) 385-6858

33846 Hwy 550→Located 10 miles N of Durango, just past Honeyville

and Eat at the

Harvest Grill & Greens Summer Hours:

Mon-Sat 11am-7pm

Winter Hours: Saturdays 11am-5pm

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