Dirt Balls -- A Sweet Reward at the End of Mud Season

The thaw arrived in earnest. The snow began going at the rate of two inches a day under the warmer sun and by Friday the lawn at the south side of the house was bare and patches of brown were showing in the open fields and the muddy season was visibly committing. Mud season in Vermont is the price of admission to the rest of the year and is, by tradition and by law, not to be complained about. I track the mud through the back porch and onto the entryway mat which I beat out daily and that produces a small dry pile of Vermont topsoil in the gravel by the back step, the kind of small accumulation that confirms the season is doing what it is supposed to do.

The first sap-related blog post of the year went up Tuesday — a long piece about the boiling, with photographs that David had taken when he was up to help bottle, the steam in the cupola and the firebox glowing and the canning jars cooling on the rack. I write about syrup every spring and every spring I assume the post will be of marginal interest because it is the same post I have written for ten years now, but every spring the comments come in by the dozens, men and women writing in to say they remembered their grandfathers tapping or their fathers carrying buckets or that they themselves had a half-dozen taps in their backyard maples. Maple sugaring, it turns out, is one of the things people read about even when they do not do it, perhaps especially when they do not do it. The smell of a sugarhouse is not transmittable in a blog post but the description of it lets people who knew the smell remember it, which is most of what writing for an aging audience is for.

Made an Irish stew Saturday for St. Patrick's Day — lamb shoulder, potatoes, carrots, onions, a bay leaf, water, three hours at a low simmer. The stew is plain almost to the point of austerity — no wine, no garlic, no herbs beyond the bay — and the result is a clean honest dish that depends entirely on the quality of the lamb and the patience of the cook. Helen's mother was Irish (Larson on the father's side, but the mother was a Fitzgerald from County Cork) and the stew came down to me through Helen and through Helen's mother's instructions, and the recipe card is the briefest of all the recipe cards in the box, four lines, no measurements, the kind of recipe that assumes the cook already knows what to do.

James called Sunday afternoon. He and Sam are getting a dog — a rescue from a Burlington shelter, half-Labrador and half-something, a year old, named Otis. He wanted to know what I thought about the proper dog name protocol. I said: a dog with a name from the previous owner gets to keep the name. He said: that's what I thought. He said Otis has anxiety and is on a slow integration into the apartment, and Sam has been doing most of the management because Sam is the more naturally dog-savvy of the two of them. I told him that a dog who has been at a shelter for a year is a dog who has had a long uncertain time and who deserves the slow careful integration, and that James's instinct to defer to Sam was the correct instinct. James said: I figured. We talked for fifteen minutes about Otis and about the dog-shaped life that James and Sam are quietly assembling in their Burlington apartment, and when we hung up I told Frost, who was at my feet, that there was now a third Bergstrom-adjacent dog in the family. Frost did not appear concerned.

The Irish stew had done its work — clean, honest, unhurried — and the weekend still had an hour left in it after James and I got off the phone. Mud season rewards the cook who keeps things simple, and these Dirt Balls have always felt like the right dessert for a Vermont March: no oven, no fuss, a name that earns itself honestly given the small pile of topsoil accumulating by the back step. Helen’s mother would have had thoughts about chocolate and oats appearing on the same St. Patrick’s Day table, but I suspect she would have eaten two.

Dirt Balls

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min (plus 30 min chilling) | Servings: 24 balls

Ingredients

• 2 cups rolled oats (old-fashioned)
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 2 cups granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup shredded sweetened coconut (optional, for rolling)

Instructions

1. Combine dry base. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the rolled oats, cocoa powder, and salt. Set aside.
2. Cook the sugar mixture. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar, milk, and butter. Stir frequently and bring to a full rolling boil. Let boil for exactly 1 minute, stirring constantly, then remove from heat immediately.
3. Add peanut butter and vanilla. Working quickly, stir the peanut butter and vanilla extract into the hot sugar mixture until the peanut butter is fully melted and smooth.
4. Combine with oats. Pour the hot mixture over the oat-cocoa mixture and stir until everything is evenly coated. Let stand for 3–4 minutes until cool enough to handle but still pliable.
5. Form the balls. Using a tablespoon or small cookie scoop, portion the mixture and roll each portion between your palms into a rough ball about 1 inch in diameter. If rolling in coconut, spread the coconut on a plate and roll each ball to coat.
6. Chill. Place the balls on a parchment-lined baking sheet or plate and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes until firm. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 148 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 48mg