1. Acquire some goats. (Remember: The cuter the animal, the tastier the meat.)

Meet Winston and Walter, our protagonists today. My husband Colin and I procured these lovely little fellows in May. We live on a small farm in Shoreham, just down the road from Twig Farm in West Cornwall. Cheesemaker Michael Lee makes a mean tomme, and it turns out that one of the biological imperatives of milking goats is ... baby goats. Most cheesemakers face a glut every spring of young male goats, called bucklings. 

We approached the business of raising goats not unlike the way we approached the business of raising cows, and raising a puppy: Acquire the animal, then figure it out. Our delightful friends Lucas Farrell and Louisa Conrad (of Townshend-based Big Picture Farm, purveyors of award-winning goat-milk caramels) convinced us that goats were a piece of cake and no trouble at all and super cute (admittedly, my words, not theirs — although if that blog isn't goat propaganda, I don't know what is). 

So we paid Lee $25 apiece of two mostly weaned wethers (castrated males) and piled Walter and Winston into a large dog crate for the short drive home. 

My favorite part of any fair is checking out the award-winning pies, pickles and oversize gourds. I also have a soft spot for food that comes to life, possibly ignited by the iconic French's Mustard commercials of my youth. So when I dropped in on the Tunbridge World's Fair this weekend, I was pretty blissed out to stumble across an entire wall of pumpkins, squash and apples reanimated by kids. 

Just sharing a cute picture to help you start your day. This is the brand-new label for North Hero farm Savage Gardens' dilly beans, courtesy of farmer Amanda Gervais, who is also a talented designer.

Why the quirky drawing? "Dilly beans are pretty silly," says Gervais.

The Seven Days food writers live to eat, not the other way around. That means that at any given moment, we're probably tasting something we want to recommend — or warn you about. And it's our job to know about new restaurants, dishes, chefs. Through Bite Club, you can get that info as soon as we track it down. In other words, you can get it while it's hot. 

Alice and I are excited to collect all of our food content here on the brand-new Bite Club blog. Our staff blog, Blurt, came to be a rather serious place for pithy posts about food news we've stumbled across, a photo of something amazing we've eaten, a lament for some axed menu item, or a trailer for a new food film. 

On the Bite Club blog, we can roam free. Check in each weekday not only for Alice Eats and Grazing but for Vermont restaurant, foodie entrepreneur and ag news, recipes, and links to the sometimes-strange, sometimes-vital food and drink content we find both locally and on the interwebs. Come and get it!

Discovering the ruby red popcorn at Hurricane Flats Farm was bittersweet. I arrived here, along the White River in South Royalton, after hearing that the farm's organic crops had been wiped out during Irene. I hoped to interview the owners, Geo Honigford and Sharon O'Connor. When I pulled into the driveway, though, no one was in sight, just two horses and acres of battered vegetables in the fields below. The door to the farm store was open.

Inside were bins of gorgeous potatoes, some late-season tomatoes and other veggies, and a wooden box filled with clear, 1.5-pound bags of brick-red popcorn kernels. Each bag was $3. 

Even under the circumstances, it was a thrilling sight. For me, popcorn is crack. I can't resist it, whether I've just downed a seven-course meal or am about to interview beleaguered farmers in the aftermath of a natural disaster. Needless to say, I bought two bags even before I found Sharon O'Connor chilling on her porch after a long day of helping neighbors with flooded homes. She motioned toward the fields with a sense of weariness, and said few words about what had happened that previous Sunday. Clearly, she was exhausted. When I sheepishly mentioned the popcorn, though, she brightened, and, joking, guaranteed it would be the best popcorn I'd ever have, or they'd give my money back. Throwdown! 

Down below us was a flattened stretch of corn, looking as though it was struggling to upright itself. This is the second half of this bittersweet discovery: next year's crop of ruby red popcorn was wiped out by the storm. All that remains is in the bags for sale in the farm store here.