0 ITEMS IN CART 
ADA'S MUSINGS ON FOOD, FAMILY, AND FARM
09/14/18 — Farm
By: Ada Broussard
Why do we work here?
The hours? For our staff in the fields, they can be brutal. We don’t work at JBG for the hours. We were not drawn here for the farmer’s salary nor the glamorous conditions. The Texas summers are hot, and on a farm our size, the vast majority of our harvesting is done by hand. Have you been to our office? It’s a trailer. I took a cue from Brenton and call it a “mobile home” when giving directions to a new visitor, who I’m worried may or may not mistakenly arrive in heels. The hole under my chair is patched by an old piece of tin, and we’ve got rocks borrowed from the parking lot in the back of our printer trays to keep tension on the paper. There are piles of ancient Edible Austins, collections of seed catalogs, and old and made-to-look-old posters from farm events adorning our walls. The spiderwebs in the corners are the least of our worries because van 6 broke down on North Lamar and we’re missing a part for the green-bean sorter. There are always vegetables sitting on someone’s desk. Currently, I’ve got the innards of red and green bell peppers sitting next to me (mid-morning snack), and there is a spaghetti squash with sharpie faces drawn all over it on Casey’s desk.
Would I dare to have spent the past four (or five?) years working anywhere else? Hell no. I’ll happily travel east every morning, against the flow of Austin traffic, to the welcoming sound of barking dogs and Jerry Garcia blaring from the barn. The bend in the Colorado River southeast of downtown looks like a Labrador Retriever’s head, and I was delighted after working here for a while when Brenton told me that many folks actually refer to parcel of land, our Hergotz property, as the Doghead. We spend a lot of time at our jobs, often more time with co-workers than we do with our families, and on most days, this has been a delightful Doghead trailer to come home to.
When you work in the office of a farm, vegetables are your job. How we grow, pick, pack, and distribute vegetables are the equations that fill our days. The moments in between, at least at the Hergotz office, are often filled with discussions (and tastings) of what we do with the vegetables we grow, back at home in our kitchens. One eggplant, many recipes: Lucas’s baba ganoush versus Krishna’s Baingan Bharta. How do you eat like a farmer? There are at least as many different answers as there are full time employees here – about 100.
Brenton, Mike Mo and I all hail from Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, respectively. I see the biggest similarity in our food traditions. We all know the ins and outs of how to make a succotash, or a casual potato salad, or some pickled squash. We are all well-versed in Southern gas-station delicacies. Brenton grew up eating boiled peanuts from roadside stands, Mike Mo gawked at Koolickles, and a bag of cracklin was my car-ride snack when visiting grandparents 10 minutes west of my hometown. The unprompted, intense, and veracious fried chicken craving is a real force that Mike Mo and I both know, deeply. Are we pregnant? No, we’re just southern. I only buy pasture raised chicken, usually organic, ideally from a farmers’ market, except when I sneak away to Popeye’s… usually about four times a year, always around Mardi Gras or any other bout of homesickness. (Before you judge me, know that I’m not the only one who has an affinity for the occasional Popeye’s run.)
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I hit the jackpot when it comes to family food traditions. My mom prioritized sit-down, home-cooked dinners, every night. As kids, milk or water was our liquid of choice. On a special occasion, we might be offered “red juice”, and on a very very special occasion, we might even be allowed a can of Coke. Somehow her limited grocery budget always included fresh flowers for the table. She recognized the opportunity for connection and healthy habits that could blossom around the supper table. My love of meals comes from my mom. My love of food and flavor comes from my dad, whose Cajun rice and gravy rivals any grandmaw’s from across Acadiana. (And to be clear, the gravy I’m talking about is different from the white, flour-based gravy that goes with biscuits, and is more of a sauce made from the prized bits leftover after browning a meat of some kind. Sandra seems to know what she’s talking about, if you’re looking for a recipe.) A very finely chopped holy trinity gets cooked down low(ish) and slow, until it’s an unrecognizable pulp, propelling a savory mouth-experience like no other. Cajun food under our roof included the classics that probably come to mind like gumbo and étouffée , but other, everyday dishes got the same attention to seasoning and the resulting depth of flavor: lima beans and rice, corn maque choux, stuffed mirlitons (often called a choyote squash here in Texas) or a big pot of split pea soup. When my dad cooks these, they are inherently “Cajun” food, and inherently good food, the kind that makes me want to cry.
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Mike Mo and Brenton know a thing or two about Louisiana cooking (Brenton makes a mean red beans and rice!), but they might be prone to throw in some tomatoes to their jambalaya, gumbo, or étouffée. And though I’ve had perfectly fine jambalaya that included tomatoes, such an acidic addition would be considered blasphemy in my traditionally Cajun (versus Creole) house.
Casey is a pescatarian, and while I’m not sure that she’ll ever be able to relish in the first bowl of chicken and sausage gumbo of the season, her plate still overflowith. Casey arrives at Hergotz every morning with a perfectly prepared lunch, always made by her sweet husband, Brian. Whatever is on the menu for the day is packed in the cutest and most ergonomic of containers, almost always with a perfectly portioned nut cup for snacking. While the rest of us occasionally show up to work under prepared, using clipboards for cutting boards and relying our pantry staples of oil, vinegar, and salt to concoct something consumable with whatever vegetable is lying closest, Casey’s lunch is always there, because Brian is steadfast, and if that’s not an expression of love through food, I don’t know what is.
I’m not sure what Andrew eats. Less by design and more by circumstance, he seems to always be intermittently fasting (a diet which seems to be having a moment right now). Andrew is on his feet, hustling, beginning at about 6:45 every morning. CSA boxes are carefully packed Tuesday-Friday because of his efforts. I think he waits to eat the majority of his calories when he leaves the farm, and though the caretaker in me worries about his energy levels, he’s often the happiest guy in the barn.
Though technically he doesn’t work at Hergotz anymore, I can always count on Matt during tomato season. After the first tomatoes of the season start to arrive in volume, like clockwork, there will be a large stainless bowl of freshly-made salsa in the breakroom… plus a few bags of El Milagro chips. For those that work in the barn, snagging a couple chip-dips is as easy as filling your water bottle. But for us office folks, we have to concoct far more elaborate excuses to be in the breakroom, having a snack attack, in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Speaking of past employees whose lunchtime habits have left a lasting impression on me – thank you, Nellie, for teaching me the art of the desk-salad (aka, add goat cheese). Sarah, your miso dressing turns any boring roasted vegetable or grain bowl into an actual meal, balanced with flavor and full of umami. Her recipe, in its original form, is included here for your enjoyment.
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And Krishna! Where to begin with his food traditions!? Krishna grew up in Chennai, and cooks like the gracious Indian uncle you never had. If pointedly asked, Krishna will always bring a large tray full of an authentically-Krishna rice dish for lunch. The crowd favorite is his yogurt rice, served with what he calls a “tomato pickle“ and what I would describe as a boldly-spiced tomato paste. His “Yellow Rice” is chocked full of turmeric, toasted mustard seeds and coriander, sometimes cashews, and plenty of peppers – the sweet ones are sautéed, and a few serranos are fried until burnt and crispy. I’m sure I’m forgetting ingredients, but until I say farewell to JBG I’ll never actually need to know how to make this dish, and really just need to perfect how to ask for this dish. No matter what dish Krishna brings in to share, you can always assume that he was up at 5 am that morning, cooking it. If his 80-something year old, spunky, jet-ski operating mom is visiting from India, there’s a good chance she’s up early in the morning helping Krishna with the vegetable prep to feed the farmers she’s never met.
We're all scavengers – seeking out and sharing bounty when it hits. Tracy is our barn manger, and also the leader of these calorie-seeking expeditions. I know I’m not the only person at Hergotz who will occasionally bring extra food to make sure our valiant and gracious leader is fed. Someone made a huge pot of beans last night? Bean and veggie tacos for all. Spoils from weekend farmers' markets often include delicious loafs of bread from Texas French Bread, and when someone is especially unprepared for lunch there's always a jar of mayonnaise in the fridge and (literal) tons of vegetables in the cooler. If you've never had a mayo, cucumber, arugula, pepper, tomato, onion, squash, basil, zucchini sandwich then you're really missing out.
![]()
The seasonal pulse of this place can be exhausting and stressful at times, and for the majority of our employees, this job is supremely physical. Lunchtime is a retreat from the sun, and a chance to take a breather. Here at Hergotz, our tiny breakroom and the food shared there is part of the fun of this job, and for me, is one of the reasons why I work here. Or wait, is it the people? They all blend together to me at this point, all well-seasoned. And I’d love to think that this is by design, a part of my comprehensive employee-wellness plan, but really, this is just what happens when you have a bunch of hungry farmers with access to quality ingredients under one barn roof. Cooking food for my family and friends is an expression of love that comes very easily to me. All of this is simply to say that I feel enormously grateful that my love of community, family, and food has found a home within the walls of our Hergotz trailer…..err mobile home.
![]()
Feral Hog Friday Carnitas
As some of you may know, wild hogs are an intermittent pest at JBG, as well as at many other farms across the state. So tonight, I’m going to cook up some of this sustainable, healthy, and delicious protein for the Hergotz barn crew. Friday is for feasting. The gigantic frozen block of mystery-cuts is currently defrosting in my fridge, and by this evening it will be ready for a slow roast in the oven. Thank you Temo and Vicente for the meat.
*This is less of a recipe, and more of a plan of action.
Ingredients:
Plan of attack:
Chop up a couple of onions, and maybe some peppers if you have a plethora, and put them at the bottom of dutch oven. I’ll be using my magnalite. Toss with a scant amount of neutral oil. Cut up your pork into 2 or 3-inch cubes, and season well with salt, cumin, oregano and maybe a bit of cinnamon or chili powder if you’re feeling wild. Nestle this on top of your onions. Squeeze the juice of a couple of limes or one orange on top of your pork and onion nest, and cook, covered, in a 275 degree oven for about 3 or 3 ½ hours, or until fork tender. Consider removing your llid for the last 45 or so minutes of cooking. *If there isn’t much fat on your cuts of pork, you may need to add a bit of braising liquid to your pot or a quick glug of oil. Basically, you just want to make sure your meat doesn’t burn before its own fat renders.
Gather friends, and eat.
![]()
Why do we work here?
The hours? For our staff in the fields, they can be brutal. We don’t work at JBG for the hours. We were not drawn here for the farmer’s salary nor the glamorous conditions. The Texas summers are hot, and on a farm our size, the vast majority of our harvesting is done by hand. Have you been to our office? It’s a trailer. I took a cue from Brenton and call it a “mobile home” when giving directions to a new visitor, who I’m worried may or may not mistakenly arrive in heels. The hole under my chair is patched by an old piece of tin, and we’ve got rocks borrowed from the parking lot in the back of our printer trays to keep tension on the paper. There are piles of ancient Edible Austins, collections of seed catalogs, and old and made-to-look-old posters from farm events adorning our walls. The spiderwebs in the corners are the least of our worries because van 6 broke down on North Lamar and we’re missing a part for the green-bean sorter. There are always vegetables sitting on someone’s desk. Currently, I’ve got the innards of red and green bell peppers sitting next to me (mid-morning snack), and there is a spaghetti squash with sharpie faces drawn all over it on Casey’s desk.
Would I dare to have spent the past four (or five?) years working anywhere else? Hell no. I’ll happily travel east every morning, against the flow of Austin traffic, to the welcoming sound of barking dogs and Jerry Garcia blaring from the barn. The bend in the Colorado River southeast of downtown looks like a Labrador Retriever’s head, and I was delighted after working here for a while when Brenton told me that many folks actually refer to parcel of land, our Hergotz property, as the Doghead. We spend a lot of time at our jobs, often more time with co-workers than we do with our families, and on most days, this has been a delightful Doghead trailer to come home to.
Brenton, Mike Mo and I all hail from Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, respectively. I see the biggest similarity in our food traditions. We all know the ins and outs of how to make a succotash, or a casual potato salad, or some pickled squash. We are all well-versed in Southern gas-station delicacies. Brenton grew up eating boiled peanuts from roadside stands, Mike Mo gawked at Koolickles, and a bag of cracklin was my car-ride snack when visiting grandparents 10 minutes west of my hometown. The unprompted, intense, and veracious fried chicken craving is a real force that Mike Mo and I both know, deeply. Are we pregnant? No, we’re just southern. I only buy pasture raised chicken, usually organic, ideally from a farmers’ market, except when I sneak away to Popeye’s… usually about four times a year, always around Mardi Gras or any other bout of homesickness. (Before you judge me, know that I’m not the only one who has an affinity for the occasional Popeye’s run.)
I hit the jackpot when it comes to family food traditions. My mom prioritized sit-down, home-cooked dinners, every night. As kids, milk or water was our liquid of choice. On a special occasion, we might be offered “red juice”, and on a very very special occasion, we might even be allowed a can of Coke. Somehow her limited grocery budget always included fresh flowers for the table. She recognized the opportunity for connection and healthy habits that could blossom around the supper table. My love of meals comes from my mom. My love of food and flavor comes from my dad, whose Cajun rice and gravy rivals any grandmaw’s from across Acadiana. (And to be clear, the gravy I’m talking about is different from the white, flour-based gravy that goes with biscuits, and is more of a sauce made from the prized bits leftover after browning a meat of some kind. Sandra seems to know what she’s talking about, if you’re looking for a recipe.) A very finely chopped holy trinity gets cooked down low(ish) and slow, until it’s an unrecognizable pulp, propelling a savory mouth-experience like no other. Cajun food under our roof included the classics that probably come to mind like gumbo and étouffée , but other, everyday dishes got the same attention to seasoning and the resulting depth of flavor: lima beans and rice, corn maque choux, stuffed mirlitons (often called a choyote squash here in Texas) or a big pot of split pea soup. When my dad cooks these, they are inherently “Cajun” food, and inherently good food, the kind that makes me want to cry.
Mike Mo and Brenton know a thing or two about Louisiana cooking (Brenton makes a mean red beans and rice!), but they might be prone to throw in some tomatoes to their jambalaya, gumbo, or étouffée. And though I’ve had perfectly fine jambalaya that included tomatoes, such an acidic addition would be considered blasphemy in my traditionally Cajun (versus Creole) house.
Casey is a pescatarian, and while I’m not sure that she’ll ever be able to relish in the first bowl of chicken and sausage gumbo of the season, her plate still overflowith. Casey arrives at Hergotz every morning with a perfectly prepared lunch, always made by her sweet husband, Brian. Whatever is on the menu for the day is packed in the cutest and most ergonomic of containers, almost always with a perfectly portioned nut cup for snacking. While the rest of us occasionally show up to work under prepared, using clipboards for cutting boards and relying our pantry staples of oil, vinegar, and salt to concoct something consumable with whatever vegetable is lying closest, Casey’s lunch is always there, because Brian is steadfast, and if that’s not an expression of love through food, I don’t know what is.
I’m not sure what Andrew eats. Less by design and more by circumstance, he seems to always be intermittently fasting (a diet which seems to be having a moment right now). Andrew is on his feet, hustling, beginning at about 6:45 every morning. CSA boxes are carefully packed Tuesday-Friday because of his efforts. I think he waits to eat the majority of his calories when he leaves the farm, and though the caretaker in me worries about his energy levels, he’s often the happiest guy in the barn.
Though technically he doesn’t work at Hergotz anymore, I can always count on Matt during tomato season. After the first tomatoes of the season start to arrive in volume, like clockwork, there will be a large stainless bowl of freshly-made salsa in the breakroom… plus a few bags of El Milagro chips. For those that work in the barn, snagging a couple chip-dips is as easy as filling your water bottle. But for us office folks, we have to concoct far more elaborate excuses to be in the breakroom, having a snack attack, in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Speaking of past employees whose lunchtime habits have left a lasting impression on me – thank you, Nellie, for teaching me the art of the desk-salad (aka, add goat cheese). Sarah, your miso dressing turns any boring roasted vegetable or grain bowl into an actual meal, balanced with flavor and full of umami. Her recipe, in its original form, is included here for your enjoyment.
And Krishna! Where to begin with his food traditions!? Krishna grew up in Chennai, and cooks like the gracious Indian uncle you never had. If pointedly asked, Krishna will always bring a large tray full of an authentically-Krishna rice dish for lunch. The crowd favorite is his yogurt rice, served with what he calls a “tomato pickle“ and what I would describe as a boldly-spiced tomato paste. His “Yellow Rice” is chocked full of turmeric, toasted mustard seeds and coriander, sometimes cashews, and plenty of peppers – the sweet ones are sautéed, and a few serranos are fried until burnt and crispy. I’m sure I’m forgetting ingredients, but until I say farewell to JBG I’ll never actually need to know how to make this dish, and really just need to perfect how to ask for this dish. No matter what dish Krishna brings in to share, you can always assume that he was up at 5 am that morning, cooking it. If his 80-something year old, spunky, jet-ski operating mom is visiting from India, there’s a good chance she’s up early in the morning helping Krishna with the vegetable prep to feed the farmers she’s never met.
We're all scavengers – seeking out and sharing bounty when it hits. Tracy is our barn manger, and also the leader of these calorie-seeking expeditions. I know I’m not the only person at Hergotz who will occasionally bring extra food to make sure our valiant and gracious leader is fed. Someone made a huge pot of beans last night? Bean and veggie tacos for all. Spoils from weekend farmers' markets often include delicious loafs of bread from Texas French Bread, and when someone is especially unprepared for lunch there's always a jar of mayonnaise in the fridge and (literal) tons of vegetables in the cooler. If you've never had a mayo, cucumber, arugula, pepper, tomato, onion, squash, basil, zucchini sandwich then you're really missing out.
The seasonal pulse of this place can be exhausting and stressful at times, and for the majority of our employees, this job is supremely physical. Lunchtime is a retreat from the sun, and a chance to take a breather. Here at Hergotz, our tiny breakroom and the food shared there is part of the fun of this job, and for me, is one of the reasons why I work here. Or wait, is it the people? They all blend together to me at this point, all well-seasoned. And I’d love to think that this is by design, a part of my comprehensive employee-wellness plan, but really, this is just what happens when you have a bunch of hungry farmers with access to quality ingredients under one barn roof. Cooking food for my family and friends is an expression of love that comes very easily to me. All of this is simply to say that I feel enormously grateful that my love of community, family, and food has found a home within the walls of our Hergotz trailer…..err mobile home.
Feral Hog Friday Carnitas
As some of you may know, wild hogs are an intermittent pest at JBG, as well as at many other farms across the state. So tonight, I’m going to cook up some of this sustainable, healthy, and delicious protein for the Hergotz barn crew. Friday is for feasting. The gigantic frozen block of mystery-cuts is currently defrosting in my fridge, and by this evening it will be ready for a slow roast in the oven. Thank you Temo and Vicente for the meat.
*This is less of a recipe, and more of a plan of action.
Ingredients:
- About 3 lbs of wild hog, or pork shoulder. Lucky (or unlucky…) for us, this hog has been feasting on organic butternut squash, watermelon, onions and beets.
- A couple of yellow or white onions
- If you have sweet peppers, throw those in too
- Cumin, salt, and oregano
- Either 2 limes or 1 orange
Plan of attack:
Chop up a couple of onions, and maybe some peppers if you have a plethora, and put them at the bottom of dutch oven. I’ll be using my magnalite. Toss with a scant amount of neutral oil. Cut up your pork into 2 or 3-inch cubes, and season well with salt, cumin, oregano and maybe a bit of cinnamon or chili powder if you’re feeling wild. Nestle this on top of your onions. Squeeze the juice of a couple of limes or one orange on top of your pork and onion nest, and cook, covered, in a 275 degree oven for about 3 or 3 ½ hours, or until fork tender. Consider removing your llid for the last 45 or so minutes of cooking. *If there isn’t much fat on your cuts of pork, you may need to add a bit of braising liquid to your pot or a quick glug of oil. Basically, you just want to make sure your meat doesn’t burn before its own fat renders.
Gather friends, and eat.
