Picture this: a small, snow-covered island with a few dozen inhabitants off the coast of Maine in the middle of February. A frozen photographer with a cart full of props on a mailboat. An editor with a vision for a unique and luscious cookbook. An industrious couple who have discovered the secret to sustaining themselves on this island. The secret being chocolate. Lots of it. Combine all these things and you have a large part of the story behind the beautiful new Down East cookbook Desserted: Recipes and Tales from an Island Chocolatier, by Kate Shaffer of Black Dinah Chocolatiers.

Have props, will travel.

I spent two-and-a-half fabulous chocolate-filled days on Isle au Haut taking photos for this book last winter, and, okay, I’ll admit it, tasting every manner of chocolate-based dish put in front of me. I did this only to ensure that the recipes were perfect, though! And let me tell you, they are. I’ve made several since then, and each one is heavenly. Whether you want to learn the painstaking art of making hazelnut coffee truffles or are content with making your own Maine mint chip ice cream (me!) and flourless peanut butter chocolate chip blondies (me again!), you’ll find plenty to love in this book. Kate’s humorous and heart-felt stories of island life are sure to have you poring over the pages long after your desserts have been prepared.

Not such a bad place to be in the middle of a snowstorm, especially when you're surrounded by chocolate!

Dotty, the 83-year-old post mistress, presides over the island's postage-stamp-size post office.

It’s not often that I get to work collaboratively with people on creating photos. More often than not I get my marching orders and off I go, solo. Mostly I’m entrusted to just “do my thing.” There are advantages to this, of course, like doing things the way you want to do them without distracting, and possibly irritating, input. But if you have a team of like-minded people working together on something they enjoy, nothing beats the feeling of a successful collaborative project. Ideally, ideas complement each other or when one person is stuck another comes up with a brilliant solution, and the end result is something everyone is super satisfied with. Well, I’m happy to say this is how things went down with Desserted. I couldn’t have asked for a more good-natured, supportive and creative team than that of Kathleen Fleury and Mirik Jurek, the editor and designer, respectively, of the book at Down East, and Kate and Steve at Black Dinah.

I arrived on the island with a shot list and ideas for props and set ups, but despite my organization, was a bit terrified of having to shoot island landscapes, the chocolate making process, portraits of Kate, and 13 finished recipes all in two-and-a-half days. Thanks to Kate’s late-night and early morning prep work and her innate culinary talent, Steve’s coffee-making skills and good humor, and Kathleen’s schedule keeping and decisiveness, all went smoothly. There were certainly no opportunities to spend hours fine-tuning one shot, but sometimes that’s better I think. Often it seems the best shots are taken without too much fuss and over thinking. Some wonderful collaborative moments occurred when, pressed for time, a slew of spontaneous ideas from all those present concerning props, angles and lighting were combined to form winning shots. Other times, I would be struck by the beauty of totally unstyled moments, such as these three below.

An off-the-cuff shot of some parchment on which Kate had demonstrated how she decorates truffles was transformed into an elegant design that appears on the chapter title pages.

I couldn't resist capturing the residue of the elderberry glaze that topped an equally vibrant pumpkin cheesecake.

Filo cigars fresh out of the fry pan draining on paper towels also caught my eye.

There are two shots that stick out in my mind as ones that we particularly celebrated at the time. The first was the Black Dinah tiramisu, a thing of utter beauty. I was dubious when Kate had encouraged us to shoot this recipe as I envisioned a gloppy, off-white blob. Kate’s take on this Italian classic, though, is unique and visually arresting (not to mention delicious!). I did some eye-level shots, two of which appear in the book, and then Kathleen suggested an overhead shot. I was initially skeptical, but all of us oohed and aahed when we saw it pop up on my laptop screen. Its graphic appeal won us over. The other shots were more stylistically in keeping with the rest of the book, however, so it makes sense that this one didn’t make it into print.

Black Dinah tiramisu

The other shot that had us saying “Cool!” was appropriately enough, ice cream. I had never shot ice cream before this cookbook and knew it was the stuff of food photographers’ nightmares, to the point where some use substitutes for the real thing. I never shoot artificial “food” so I knew I would have to work fast. I got the set ready and we took a couple quick test shots of the two sorbets and one ice cream unadorned. Then when Kate went to drizzle the black pepper sauce on the strawberry balsamic sorbet for the final shot, I instinctively snapped this photo. Unfortunately, it did not make it into the book either, probably because of the placement of the element that made it cool in the first place; the photo ran as a spread and the drip would have disappeared right into the book’s gutter. Just goes to show you sometimes the best shots won’t work for publication purposes!

Mexican chocolate sorbet, strawberry balsamic sorbet with chocolate black pepper sauce and Maine mint chip ice cream

If you want to get your fill of the photos that make Sandy Oliver “want to lick the page” and read all of Kate’s magical recipes and stories, comment on this post for a chance to win your very own copy of Desserted. As a special holiday treat, I’m giving away one copy of the book to a randomly selected person who leaves a comment. If you don’t win, rush right out to your local Maine bookstore to purchase copies for all your Maine-island-loving, chocolate-adoring friends and family members, or order here!

Gorgeous organic specimens: Black Oxfords and Golden Russet

A few weeks ago, shortly after that late October storm pummeled parts of the Northeast, I headed northwest across the state and into the mountains of New Hampshire to take photos for this piece on organic apple growing that recently ran in The New York Times. I always love seeing parts of the state that I’ve never been in. Since much of my work takes me up and down the coast, I don’t get inland very often. The drive was so lovely that the three hours actually went by quite quickly. The thick fog melding with a light layer of snow and punctuated by the occasional tree still dressed in its fall colors soon gave way to a bright, sunny day. It was mid-morning by the time I reached Groveton, N.H., home of Michael Phillips’ Lost Nation Orchard, and luckily, most of the snow in the orchard had melted. Phillips is well known and respected among organic growers (at least based on my random sampling of those here in Maine). His new book, The Holistic Orchard, which will be published in December, will no doubt add to his acclaim in this field.

Organic-apple-growing guru Michael Phillips

Only a few trees in the orchard still had apples on them at this late date, including this lovely GoldRush variety.

Growing fruit organically is still rare enough that a sign seen recently at my local farmers’ market next to a bin of sad, beat-up looking apples read “as close to organic as you’re going to get.” Well, it turns out, this is not the case! There are organic apples out there and they are not only gorgeous, but out-of-this-world delicious (and I mean so tasty that you can easily envision being totally satisfied having one for dessert). However, you have to work hard to find them. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if this was not the case? Apples routinely top the list of pesticide-tainted fruits and vegetables, and while most apples tested are below the EPA’s levels of concern, call me crazy, but I have a hard time imagining that consuming trace amounts of pesticides is good for you (not to mention what they do to the environment). You can help encourage more orchards to grow organically with your purchasing power. Seek out organically grown apples whenever possible. (There’s a good list of orchards who emphasize health in their farming practices here). Trust me, you won’t be sorry.

As part of the process of organically nourishing his apple trees, Michael Phillips lightly spreads a compost of manure and deciduous wood chips under the drip line of the tree (the circular area at the outer ends of the branches) each fall.

I had the pleasure of seeing the loving care Phillips puts into his trees, as well as tasting a selection of the more than 80 varieties of organic apples he grows. I have honestly never tasted such incredible apples. They all had such distinctive flavors, but my favorite on this day was also possibly the most beautiful one—the Black Oxford. At once sweet and tart, this dramatic purpley-black fruit is satisfyingly crisp. As if that weren’t enough to make it my new favorite apple, I then learned it originated in West Paris, Maine, in the late 1700s! Oh, if only I had a stockpile of these for the winter, I’d be one happy organic apple convert.

Among the 80 varieties of organic apples that Michael Phillips grows are (clockwise from upper left) Golden Russet, Erwin Bauer, Rhode Island Greening, Cox's Orange Pippin, and Black Oxford.

GoldRush apples are considered a great holiday dessert and cider apple because of their high sugar content.

I usually wait until I’m sure the last of the warmish days are gone to really embrace fall produce. It’s not that I don’t love apples, squash, parsnips, beets and other rooty things that store well, but I know I’ll burn out on them come February! I’ve done a good job of putting them off this year as it’s been quite warm and veggies like fennel, cauliflower, broccoli and collard greens are still relatively plentiful at the farmers’ markets. Despite the unseasonal warmth, I recently gave in and started cooking with the late fall goodies. Here are some photos of them in all their glory and some of the treats they get turned into.

I’ll also take this opportunity to announce that a selection of my stock food images, including this brussel sprouts image and the pie image below, are now available for licensing via StockFood. You can find my portfolio, which includes many images of food and dishes from my own garden and kitchen, here. Images will be added regularly. Come on, I know you’re in desperate need of a high-resolution photo of black radishes for your company’s annual report! Seriously though, knowing that someone somewhere may be able to make use of my food photos has been further incentive to keep making compelling images of the incredible local food we have available to us. I mean, really, how can you resist all this beauty? Buy local. Eat local.

Don't go anywhere without your basket; you never know when you might need it!

I’ve written about foraging before, and my interest in it has heightened this year. It’s hard to describe the satisfaction of stumbling upon a bevy of beautiful blackberries, a carpet of brilliant orangey-red chanterelles popping out of brown leaf litter or a miniature forest of almost-camouflaged, apricot-scented black trumpets. While finding edible treasures is easily more than half the fun, the resulting culinary creations are all the more satisfying for having found the ingredients yourself for FREE in the WILD! Foraging is also an excuse to be outside paying close attention to nature in all its glory and learning more about the myriad plant life around us. Plus, eating foraged food is apparently all the rage now, as demonstrated by the international acclaim bestowed upon the Scandinavian restaurants Noma and Faviken, which have become trend setters in serving dishes centered on food found in their backyards. Further proof of the interest in this trend appears in an article in the October issue of Outside magazine profiling the Maine forager who supplies restaurants such as Momofuku.

When I tell people I’ve gotten into foraging, the response is either “Cool!” or, more often, “Aren’t you afraid of getting poisoned?” The short answer is “no.” I’m extremely careful. If I have any uncertainty, I either don’t eat the specimen or run it by people I consider to be experts. Of the seven or so edible mushrooms I feel totally comfortable in identifying now, even someone with a small amount of experience can, with a bit of close inspection, rule out whether they could possibly be something toxic. And none of them resemble any type that would be life-threatening.

Plump for the pickin'!

A friend recently said she even feels a little weird eating wild blackberries for fear they’ll somehow make her sick. I find this mindset ironic, but understandable. We’re so conditioned to buy our food in the seemingly sanitary environment of a grocery store, where it’s contained within a neat box sealed in plastic. And yet the chances of getting sick from cultivated food is so much higher than from the same food found in the wild where it hasn’t been sprayed with chemicals or touched by germ-ridden hands. In much of Europe, particularly Eastern Europe, foraging, and mushrooming in particular, doesn’t have this culture of fear associated with it. It’s been a family activity for centuries, with knowledge passed down from generation to generation. In his informative and entertaining book Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares, Maine mycologist Greg Marley talks about the myths associated with mushroom hunting and counters those myths with useful facts like “there are more edible mushrooms than poisonous ones, and more still that are non-edible but not poisonous,” “handling a toxic mushroom will not make you sick” and “the vast majority of toxic species cause symptoms that are, while unpleasant, not life-threatening.” And perhaps most tellingly, “On average, one or two people die of mushroom poisoning in the U.S. each year.”

One of the most surprisingly wonderful things about black trumpets is that they smell distinctly of apricots.

This isn’t to say that you should go about foraging without a care in the world. If you’re thinking about mushroom hunting get several books (I find it useful to consult a variety of guides as the information and pictures they provide vary), study specimens carefully before even thinking about eating them and seek someone with mushrooming experience to take you on a guided walk. As Marley says, “Nothing can boost confidence better than seeing a mushroom in the hands of a knowledgeable person.” Starting with one or two easy-to-identify varieties is a good idea and then, if you like, you can try to expand your list each year.

Red chanterelles, a rare find in Maine, were a gleeful discovery this summer.

The foraging mindset becomes a bit addictive once you’ve hit a few jackpots. For a few years now, my husband and I have found chicken of the woods mushrooms, usually without even searching for them. They have a way of just bursting out of a tree into your line of vision. This year, I was hoping to expand on our repertoire of known edible fungi. That wish was granted when, in August, my husband, who frequently runs on trails, brought home a delicate, reddish-orange specimen that looked mightily like a red chanterelle as far as I could tell from my handy Peterson guide. We went back and gathered a mother lode of them from that spot and had their identity confirmed by fellow foragers much more knowledgeable than we. Our sources were slightly taken aback as apparently the red chanterelle is uncommon in Maine. Once that happened, we became junkies constantly on the lookout for our next fix. Our craving was satisfied on a mushroom walk with former mushroom exporter and current amazing cheesemaker, Barbara Skapa, organized by the Belgrade Lakes Conservation Alliance in late August. It was here that we learned with certainty what black trumpets, yellow-foot chanterelles, golden chanterelles and lobster mushrooms look like. And once we had the knowledge, they seemed to appear around every corner. Okay, not EVERY corner, but still, we had enough to feed ourselves and several friends many a meal. As of this week, we’ve also added hen of the woods (or maitake) to our “sure of” list.

Rose hip syrup made from the ubiquitous (in Maine anyway) rosa rugosa (or sea rose) is a versatile, Vitamin-C-filled additive.

While I find mushrooms among the most satisfying foraged foods to find given their relative scarcity, more abundant wild edibles like blackberries and rose hips are fun to collect as well. In his fantastic book Wild Garlic, Gooseberries…and Me,  Denis Cotter provides a number of wonderful recipes for foraged foods, including a tasty rose hip syrup that makes a pleasantly fruity base for salad dressing, a soothing, Vitamin-C-filled warm beverage or an earthy-sweet dessert topping. Before the snow falls, I hope to eke out the last of the edible treasures in our midst, but when the season is over, it’ll be that much sweeter for its brief reappearance six months hence.

In the just-published fall issue of the cheese magazine Culture there is an article on Maine creameries. I was the lucky photographer who got to spend two days shooting interesting people, endearing goats and amazing handcrafted cheese in the lovely Belgrade Lakes region of the state for this story. I’ll add a link to this post when the article appears on line, but for now, hurry to Rabelais, Whole Foods, or the Cheese Iron and get your very own hard copy.

My first stop on a drizzle-filled June day was Kennebec Cheesery. Run by New Zealand native Jean Koons, the creamery is located on the farm her husband Pete grew up on in Sidney. I got there in the midst of morning milking of the goat herd, which was quickly and efficiently being handled by Craig Allen. I gave myself an additional assignment to get good portraits during this trip as that is something I haven’t had the opportunity to do much of lately. In my short time with Craig, I felt he embodied the classic Maine personality (if I can, as a non-Maine native, be so bold as to call it that!): hard working, no nonsense, proud, curious and accommodating. I hope those things come across at least a little bit in this photo.

Craig Allen, ace goat milker at Kennebec Cheesery. His pet peeve: goats nibbling on his ear.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity as I documented Jean and her helper making and packaging several varieties of cheese, Jean’s son Ben feeding the adorable kid goats, and other scenes around the farm. You can find Jean at the Portland Farmers’ Market on Wednesdays (set up across from Longfellow Books), or if you miss her there, Aurora Provisions and K. Horton in Portland also carry her tasty creations. I am particularly partial to her feta. Visit the creamery’s web site for more info.

Cheesemaker Jean Koons salting a slab of feta.

Goat cheese rounds awaiting packaging.

Carol Godfrey adds various herbs and spices to olive oil in which goat cheese will be marinated.

Kids (and a lamb at far right) enjoying a liquid breakfast. Don't you just love the udderly clever pail?

In the afternoon, I made my way over to York Hill Farm, tucked away on a scenic dirt road in New Sharon. John and Penny Duncan were at the forefront of the artisanal cheese movement in Maine. They’ve been at it for 27 years and their incredibly organized and tidy operation is a testament to their experience, as is their beautiful cheese. It was here that I learned just how curious and friendly goats are. As soon as I entered their barnyard, every zipper, buckle and strap I had on me was being nibbled and prodded and otherwise explored. It was really quite endearing except when the nibbling was so persistent that it was difficult to press the shutter with a steady hand! They definitely made me laugh out loud though, which is always a good thing on assignment.

The goats at York Hill Farm include Nubian, Alpine and Saanen. The Nubian have the crazy ears that make me think of The Flying Nun.

Penny Duncan with a member of the herd.

The goats at York Hill Farm are fed whey, a by-product of the cheese-making process, daily. Notice the dripping beards; their table manners leave a little something to be desired.

My most jaw-dropping moment at York Hill was entering the cheese cellar where they age their renowned Capriano, a hard dry-aged goat cheese with a beautiful orangey-red rind. As I stood there practically drooling, Penny said something like “What? You’ve never seen a cheese cellar before?” “Well, no,” I stammered,  “actually, I haven’t!” It was just like what I had imagined though: brick-lined walls, dark, rows upon rows of varying size wheels of cheese with rinds in different states of ripeness. In addition to select Portland restaurants and at the farm itself, York Hill cheese can be found at Whole Foods and many specialty food stores in the Northeast. If you’re lucky enough to find their creamy Bucheron or the Capriano, snatch them up without a moment’s hesitation. They’re heavenly.

Goat cheese draining. Lots of it.

Rows of beautiful wheels of Capriano in the aging room.

The finished product: Capriano and Bucheron.

Following an incredibly peaceful night and morning at The Lakeside Loft on (by which I mean practically on top of) picturesque Minnehonk Lake in Mt. Vernon, where gracious proprietors Christine and Wayne made me feel incredibly welcome (an offer of a glass of wine after a 12-hour day is music to the ears, as is a cup of strong coffee the next morning), I took some shots of the quaint “downtown” area of Mt. Vernon.

The Lakeside Loft in Mt. Vernon offers a uniquely picturesque lodging experience.

Next I made my way up the road to Barbara Skapa’s Echo Ridge Organic Cheese. Inspired by her upbringing in France, Barbara makes a variety of French-style cheeses with organic cow’s milk that she gets from a farm just up the hill from her home. Clearly passionate about her second career as a cheesemaker, she delighted in telling me about the process of making and aging her cheese even though she wasn’t making any the day I was there. Her light-filled, big-enough-for-one-person cheese-making room is surrounded by colorful rooms decorated from her past life working in international development, lush gardens, guinea hens and dogs; it is a lovely setting for handcrafting edible works of art. Her washed-rind Reblochon is a wonder to behold visually, as well as on the palate. Its tender saffron-colored rind that forms during two months of aging melds in the mouth with the oozing, pale yellow interior. You too can experience the wonders of Echo Ridge cheese by stopping by the self-serve fridge at Echo Ridge, Aurora Provisions, Rosemont markets, or Fore Street in Portland.

Barbara Skapa in her petite cheese-making room.

Wrapping a pyramid of Valencay.

Selles-sur-Cher, an ashed round cheese aging in the dairy.

Skapa's saffron-colored washed-rind Reblochon reaches perfection during two months of aging.

The self-serve cheese-purchasing area.

It was such a thrill to see the inner workings of three different creameries in the same region, all doing their own thing in their own way with skill, commitment, devotion and joy. It’s clearly incredibly hard work: goats can’t wait a day to be milked if you don’t feel like doing it, stores and restaurants expecting deliveries wouldn’t appreciate it if you called in sick and there are all the challenges of running a small business, but it’s heartening to see more and more people making a go of these cottage industries in our fair state. Many thanks to the gracious cheesemakers at Kennebec Cheesery, York Hill Farm and Echo Ridge Organic Cheese for sharing so much of their time, knowledge and cheese with me.

Before summer really is over, I thought it’d be a good time to post about my latest culinary passion: making ice cream. When I had envisioned people making their own ice cream in the past, I always pictured someone laboriously turning a crank on a wooden barrel filled with ice and rock salt and thought “oh, that seems like way more trouble than it’s worth!” But then came three fabulous food-filled days in February of this year on Isle au Haut, a small island off of Stonington, Maine. Yes, ice cream on a Maine island in February. Sounds enticing doesn’t it?

Well, here’s how it went down. I was on the island for a whirlwind trip (more on this adventure later!) to do the photography for the fantastic forthcoming cookbook Desserted: Recipe and Tales from an Island Chocolatier to be published by Down East this fall. Kate Shaffer, a co-owner, with her husband Steve, of Black Dinah Chocolatiers, has penned a fabulous book full of humorous stories and knock-out chocolate-centric recipes. The book contains four ice cream and sorbet recipes. I saw her making one of them, the Maine mint chocolate chip, and was captivated. She put the mint-infused custard she had made earlier into her cute, little ice cream maker, which to my delight did not have a giant crank or a pile of ice. It had a frozen metal cylinder that is placed into a plastic container with a small plastic handle that she easily spun around a few times every 4 minutes for 20 minutes or so. Then the ice cream was placed in the freezer for several hours to set. Easy as could be. (The only potential stumbling block is planning far enough in advance so that your custard has time to cool thoroughly overnight in the fridge and then the ice cream has time to freeze solidly.) There are also electric ice cream makers that presumably make the process even easier, but I like the low-tech crank method because that’s just the sort of gal I am: one who appreciates things that are less likely to break down, less noisy, involve you more in the process and all that good stuff.

And then I tasted that ice cream. And wow, I was in love. It was better than any ice cream I’d ever purchased anywhere. It was fresh and creamy and had a perfect balance of flavors. I vowed to get my very own cute, little ice cream maker as soon as the temperature rose above freezing. Since May I’ve experimented with several recipes. Among my favorites so far, aside from Kate’s Maine mint chip, which is still at the top of the list (the recipe can be found in Desserted come October), are salt caramel ice cream, strawberry ice cream, blueberry ice cream and sweet corn gelato. I like making ones that feature foods that are in season in Maine because the ice cream tastes that much more fresh and flavorful. Most of the recipes are very simple and involve making a custard from milk and eggs, which means after mastering the basic process it should be fairly easy to make up your own recipes. I haven’t done this yet, but I plan to! There’s also a new book out called Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home that uses a different method, not involving custard. I’ve heard good things about it and am eager to check it out. Let me know if you have any favorite ice cream flavors or recipes you’d like to share, especially before summer is over!

The 2012 Great Maine Food calendar is available as of this week. Published by Down East, it features 12 seasonal food photos of mine with accompanying recipes from various Down East cookbooks. Like the Savoring Maine calendar I published in 2009, there are also fun factoids about each food. Unlike the Savoring Maine calendar, the dates have boxes around them for all you people who like to write your dentist appointments down on your calendars! If you’re in Maine, please purchase them from a local, independent bookstore (such as Rabelais or Longfellow Books if you’re in the Portland area). Out-of-staters can order from the Down East site or Amazon. Get ‘em while they last!

When Down East contacted me about doing a Maine food calendar last summer, I was thrilled. I had hoped to find a financially viable way of reviving the food calendar I’d self-published a few years ago and this was the perfect opportunity. All but the fiddlehead photo were shot over the course of a couple of months late last summer and early fall. It’s fun to see my style evolving since that last calendar when I had first started shooting food. Shots are less tight now and often involve more background and props. I like to think they tell more of a story. My palette has become more muted as well, letting the vibrant food speak for itself. Of course, I’m already thinking about how I’ll do things differently in the future, but that is the nature of being a photographer—there’s always room for growth and change.

Well, things are greening up around these parts given a solid week of wetness, with more of the same in the forecast. The lack of sun is doing little for growth in our garden. I was trying to figure out something to make out of pretty much the only two things we have in abundance right now—spinach and mint.

I decided a spring pesto could be interesting. And it was! The taste is pure spring and the intense green color is enough to cheer up even the dreariest of days. I put it on pasta with fiddleheads and Maine shrimp, but it would be great liberally drizzled on top of a creamy soup or on grilled or roasted veggies. Because the flavor isn’t nearly as intense as a basil pesto, you can use a lot more than you would traditional pesto. This recipes makes about a half cup.

I did this in a food processor because I wanted it to be a uniform, smooth texture (and I was in a rush), but you could also do it the traditional way with mortar and pestle, which takes longer but produces a more intense flavor.

Spring Pesto

4 cups tightly packed spinach
1 large handful mint leaves (about 30)
1 garlic clove, chopped
2 tablespoons pine nuts
1/4 c. good quality extra-virgin olive oil
pinch sea salt
3 tablespoons parmesan

Put all ingredients except cheese in a food processor. Blend until smooth. Stir in cheese at end. If using mortar and pestle, make a paste of all ingredients except oil and then drizzle in oil in a steady stream while constantly stirring.