tagliatelle with fresh tomatoes and balsamic vinegar

It's raining again today. We had a few days of summer this week, complete with dark and heavy humidity, but the storms keep coming, and it seems that there are more emergency weather announcements on the radio than anything else that NPR has to offer. That strange radiohead-ish animated voice that comes on gives me a swirly feeling in my stomach, perhaps because the announcements are filled with morbid catch phrases every time- "lightning is a killer!" or "most flash flood deaths occur in cars. Don't drown! Turn Around!"
Yes, I'm particularly stirred by violent weather, but it just seems to be the tone of the week.
I got news the other day that a really wonderful man I know has had his brain overtaken by a tumor. He is such an evolved, wise and kind person, and father to three young boys. The doctors are going in there next week to try to get the tumor out, and the best case scenario will be that he'll lose some sort of brain function. In the same hour, I found out that another mother that I know has breast cancer. Another one. This summer has been especially stormy. Joey's best friend lost his father, the most gentle aging rocker you would ever meet, to cancer earlier in the season. It's hard to take all this in, and to explain it to the girls when we have to. To tell them that we won't go away and that we will stay healthy. Sadie has gotten to the point where she hears the word cancer and starts with her death questions again.
There are good stories too, though. My dear and lovely friend Denise, who kicked cancer's ass this year, and is back in a world that missed her so much while she was sick. She's recovering from this year, and palpably glowing with optimism.
I know that we have a lot less death around us on a daily basis than people on some other parts of the planet. But maybe because illness and premature death are so blessedly rare, it seems that my first reaction is often fear. Narcissistic as it may be, my empathy turns into something else, the lines start to feel blurred, and one friend's mortality is my own as well, or my child's. But there's a strong value to the awareness of mortality in that, cliche as it may sound, life is too damn short to choose unhappiness. And more importantly, best not to take for granted the lovely things that happen every day, don't you think?
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the early tomatoes coming from Al and Elizabeth's miraculous greenhouse. They grow the first tomatoes of the season around here, and those greenhouse tomatoes carry us through, maybe one or two per week, until the tomatoes start to pour out of the farm and our own gardens like water. Whatever my own garden doesn't produce, I buy from the farm in cheap 20 lb. boxes, slaving through the night to make sauce and slow roast those beauties for the freezer. As I spoke of last week, this perfect tomato cycle is one arch of desire that is essential to the experience of August around here.
But last week at the farm, the endless tomato plants in the fields waiting to take over when the greenhouse had finished its turn caught the dreaded late blight. This is the big-box store bred special blight (big surprise). It is the same fungus that caused the great potato famine in Ireland, and tomatoes are dying all over the Northeast. A few days after the blight hit the farm, my tomato plants started to yellow, and Joey and I took every blighted leaf we could see at 9:30 at night and bagged them up. I'm still not sure if my tomatoes have just regular late blight or scary nightmare walmart blight, but I don't have high hopes. But as Elizabeth stoically announced to all of the CSA families that there would be no boxes of tomatoes this year, I thought about all of her work in creating those tomatoes, and how much they depend on that crop, and blight became a dirty, stomach churning word this week.
I know, blight equals cancer? Feel free to rail on me for that. But I'm not creating an equality here, I'm just thinking about how much I appreciated my two greenhouse tomatoes this week. And how truly wonderful and worth their weight in gold they were. Really good food can give such an opportunity for the thought, "I might never eat something this good again." And the last tomato you'll ever eat should be savored, enjoyed, and celebrated, I think.
So I'm hoping to make a few of my favorite tomato recipes with these perfect and rare tomatoes. I think that this one might be at the top of my list.

Tagliatelle with Fresh Tomatoes and Balsamic Vinegar
adapted from Lynne Rossetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

This recipe is truly perfect when made with fresh pasta, but if you've only got 15 minutes, dried is fine too.

1/4 cup good quality balsamic vinegar
4 cloves garlic, minced (note: right now, if you're lucky, you can get fresh garlic that has just been pulled. Use it here)
1 medium red onion, cut into 1/2 inch dice
2-3 fabulous and wonderful tomatoes, cored and cut into bite-size pieces
2/3 cup tightly packed fresh basil, minced
generous amount of freshly ground pepper
1 recipe fresh tagliatelle, or 1 lb dried (see recipe below)
salt to taste
1 1/4 cups parmesan, shaved with a vegetable peeler
1/4 cup olive oil

Measure the vinegar into a medium-size glass bowl or large measuring cup. Add the garlic and onion. Marinate about 15 minutes. Set a large pot of salted water to boil. Fold the tomatoes, basil, and black pepper into the vinegar mixture and let stand for another 10 or 15 minutes. Cook the pasta to just barely done. If it is fresh, this will take 1-2 minutes, dried will take longer. Drain, toss with the olive oil, then gently toss with the tomato mixture. Top with the shaved cheese and more pepper.

Fresh Pasta

14 oz. flour
4 eggs
pinch of salt

Put the flour directly on the counter in the shape of a volcano. Break the eggs into a bowl, add the salt, and then slowly pour the eggs into the center of the volcano with a bench knife ready in your other hand. As the eggs spill out of the volcano, push them back in with the bench knife, mixing the egg and the flour with a chopping motion. Chaos will ensue, but it's okay. Keep chopping with the bench knife until the eggs are incorporated into the flour. Then knead the dough with the palms of your hands for ten minutes. The dough will be fairly stiff, so this is a good moment to get some aggression out, if you happen to have any. Then cut the dough into 5 equal balls, cover the whole thing with plastic wrap, and let it rest for 20-30 minutes. Then you can put the dough through your pasta maker, or roll it out and cut it if you have all day and no pasta maker. Hang to dry on a drying rack for a few minutes before it goes into the water.

swiss chard with parmesan

I love swiss chard. I love the way it tastes, the way it grows, and I love all the different things I can do with it. I love how every time we have swiss chard when someone is over, Joey tells the story about how when we went over to our favorite professor couple's house for dinner in college and she served chard, he asked, "charred what?" But most of all, I love how it looks. Everytime I harvest a bunch from the garden I think about how someone needs to carry it as a wedding bouquet, maybe with a few garlic scapes thrown in. I secretly pretend to hold it as a bouquet from the garden to the kitchen every time. I went out in the rain to get my bouquet today, and Joey almost caught me in the act, but got my arm down just in time.


Today I might have convinced Eilen to do it for real when she gets married next year. "But mixed with some flowers, right?" she asked. I guess, but I think there is nothing so beautiful as the stems of red chard- I can't think of a flower to outdo it.
For people who are into greens, chard is easy. Tender, good in everything, the stem is good- it's not a hard sell. But this recipe is for people who are not into greens. In this case, the chard is used as a vessel for butter and parmesan, so it will turn even a green-hater.

Swiss Chard with Parmesan
adapted from Alice Waters, The Art of Simple Food

2-3 supermarket bunches of swiss chard, or 15 to 20 stems.
4 T butter
salt
parmesan cheese

Remove the stems from the chard. Save them for another use- they're really good- you're just not using them in this dish. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and drop the chard in, letting it cook for 3-4 minutes. Drain the chard and squeeze out the excess water. Let it cool for a few minutes, and then chop it finely. In a separate pan, melt the butter. Add the chard and salt to taste. Heat until warm, and serve generously sprinkled with grated parmesan.

daring to make cookies you buy at the store

So this month, it is cookies. The challenge was to create two store bought favorites, Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies, and Mallows. We could do both, or choose one. Since half-assed cooking experiences seem to be my specialty these days, I chose one. Not so daring, I know. But the tomatoes have blight, and Sadie has hives, and there's a homesick nephew moping around and I know, I know, true daring bakers don't make excuses, but there they are.
The choice was easy. During my picky years, my single mamma opted to just give me what I wanted for lunch every day. I think that it is entirely possible that for five or more years, I got a bagel and cream cheese, two mint milano cookies, and maybe some sort of fruit of vegetable that I have blocked out because I probably didn't eat it. So as you can imagine, milano cookies are pretty near and dear to my heart, although I don't think that I have had one in a really really long time. And there they are, happy and wonderful little milanos, made in my very own kitchen.

Yeah, right.
You knew it wouldn't be that easy. Warning sign one: late night baking (never works out well for me). Warning sign two: I have to use a piping bag. Warning sign three: the directions are perplexing to me. I mean, how does such a tiny line of batter turn into a cookie?

Turns out that it doesn't.

Yes, I think that we would call that cookie FAIL. Although I must admit that peeled off the parchement, these made a good late night binge for us.
But luckily, Joey stepped in with his little artistic hands. He piped much bigger and more even circles, counter to the instructions. Piping is now officially his job. I spread the chocolate, put them together, and they were lovely. But really chewy. Which kind of worked actually. Except I just might have forgetten that although I put two sticks of butter on the counter to soften, I was only supposed to use one and a half. Which I might have realized in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was my inconsistency with the recipe, but these were in no way milanos. Milanos are very shortbready thick cookies. These cookies that we made were in fact, if I remember correctly, what Pepperidge Farm named Brussels. Thin, bubbly and sweet. Did anyone else have this experience?
Well there you have it. Another slightly daring baking experience over here. Here's how you follow in my footsteps...

The July Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Nicole at Sweet Tooth. She chose Chocolate Covered Marshmallow Cookies and Milan Cookies from pastry chef Gale Gand of the Food Network.

Milan Cookies
Recipe courtesy Gale Gand, from Food Network website

Prep Time: 20 min
Inactive Prep Time: 0 min
Cook Time: 1 hr 0 min
Serves: about 3 dozen cookies

• 12 tablespoons (170grams/ 6 oz) unsalted butter, softened
• 2 1/2 cups (312.5 grams/ 11.02 oz) powdered sugar
• 7/8 cup egg whites (from about 6 eggs)
• 2 tablespoons vanilla extract
• 2 tablespoons lemon extract
• 1 1/2 cups (187.5grams/ 6.61 oz) all purpose flour
• Cookie filling, recipe follows

Cookie filling:
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 8 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 1 orange, zested

1. In a mixer with paddle attachment cream the butter and the sugar.
2. Add the egg whites gradually and then mix in the vanilla and lemon extracts.
3. Add the flour and mix until just well mixed.
4. With a small (1/4-inch) plain tip, pipe 1-inch sections of batter onto a parchment-lined sheet pan, spacing them 2 inches apart as they spread.
5. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 10 minutes or until light golden brown around the edges. Let cool on the pan.
6. While waiting for the cookies to cool, in a small saucepan over medium flame, scald cream.
7. Pour hot cream over chocolate in a bowl, whisk to melt chocolate, add zest and blend well.
8. Set aside to cool (the mixture will thicken as it cools).
9. Spread a thin amount of the filling onto the flat side of a cookie while the filling is still soft and press the flat side of a second cookie on top.
10. Repeat with the remainder of the cookies.

For the mallow recipe, as well as links to all of the other fabulous daring bakers's creations, go check out the daring kitchen site. Thanks so much to Nicole for hosting this challenge, and I apologize to her for botching such a nice recipe. Luckily, butter and chocolate can't be messed beyond repair.

tangy frozen greek yogurt

I made pies on Friday. There were friends coming, and I was in the mood to make pie. I made two pies. The first was a peach creme fraiche pie that smitten kitchen wrote about last week. This is a pie you should make.

The second was blueberry rhubarb. The filling was so good, tangy and wonderful.

I've had some experiences with pie crust. To the dismay of my frozen pie crust loving mother, I made my first pie crust a few years ago. It was for a quiche, and it was perfect. A week later, cocky, I made a strawberry rhubarb double crusted pie. I've never eaten a cardboard box, but I think with a few strawberries tucked inside, it would taste better than that pie. I'm still feeling the need to apologize to my guests that night for that one. Thom and Meg, I think it was, and Meagan and Ben. I'm so sorry.
I've been through cuisinarts that have then gone and died on me, pastry cutters, knives and fingers that rub the fat in. And I have to say, about three quarters of the time, I make a pretty good pie crust.
Unfortunately, Friday was not one of those times. I have to admit, I was rushing. There was a lot going on. I had to get to a mid-day eleven year olds singing showtunes concert, and I was waiting for a work call from Spain. I was forcing the situation a bit.
I'm not sure what happened. I didn't overwork it- I didn't have the time. But that crust could break a tooth.
I'm so glad that I had gotten that personal email from Ruth Reichl earlier in the week. I don't know how it happened- I checked some box on the Gourmet website, and now I get these cute little personal emails from Ruth. I mean, I know I'm special, but what service! How she knows that I make my own Greek yogurt, I don't know! Perhaps she's reading this very blog, gaining inspiration for the next issue?
Anyway, thank god Ruth thought to send me this one. Because I must say, although it is not overwhelmingly yummy on its own, it is the most perfect accompaniment to blueberry pie I have maybe ever experienced. And my blueberry pie really needed a good accompaniment.

Tangy Frozen Greek Yogurt
from Gourmet, August 2009
(this is slightly adapted- the original version uses corn syrup, but I'll give you my version with honey)

makes about a quart

1 cup sugar
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup water
1/8 tsp salt
2 cups plain whole-milk Greek-style yogurt
1 cup well shaken buttermilk
5 tsp fresh lemon juice

Warm sugar, honey, water and salt in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Transfer to a large bowl and cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally.
Whisk in yogurt, buttermilk and lemon juice and chill until very cold, 3 to 6 hours. Freeze yogurt in an ice cream maker. Transfer to an airtight container and put in the freezer to firm up.
Keeps in the freezer for up to one week.

who's getting new panties?

Today I went back to my old camp to pick up my nephew from his week there. I sat there, almost palpably surrounded by memories of being fifteen. I liked being there with my kids and those memories at the same time, sitting on the stage in the rec hall with Rosie, telling her about when I took a trust fall off that stage in some trust building hippy Unitarian exercise and Dan Stillman didn't catch me and so I sprained my neck and had a hard time trusting for a while.
"But it was OK, right mom? Did you break it, or you were just OK?"
"I was OK."
Had to save that one. Might have busted Rosie's chances of ever wanted to go to camp.
But I have to admit, through the whole experience, I was distracted. There was a very pressing question on my mind.
Who was going to win the undies?
After that, we went to a nearby idyllic town and had cold beverages. We walked around on the idyllic summer day while all three children did all or some of the following activities: whined, cried, complained, sulked, limped from Mommy's poor choice of shoes, dropped their dress in the toilet, and demanded irrational things. But still, I was distracted.
Long drive home with napping children except Sadie who was not so happy to have her cousin's dreadlocked head sleeping in her shoulder (only because it's a pretty big head and a very tiny shoulder). There was a growing headache, a small and healthy dose of marital tension. There was an entire loaf of bread. But still, yes, so distracted.
Quick swimming of children at the lake while I made dinner, which was saved by the addition of almonds into the brown rice, goofy children really into taking their clothes off at dinner, so much rice under the table, books, wet clothes on the floor, kisses and waterbottles, closed doors. And then, it was time to choose the winner, a job that we had already committed Sadie to. Quick, names written and in a hat, Joey runs into their room. They're both reading in their respective bunks. (Well, Sadie's reading and Rosie's "reading").
"Here Sadie. Choose!"
"Why don't I get to choose? I want to choose!"
"No, Sadie's choosing. It's her job tonight."
"I WANT TO CHOOSE!"
"Quick Sadie, choose!"
And she does. And so does Rose. But because it's Sadie's job, it's Sadie who chose the winner.
Ana's getting some new panties. Let's talk on email about the details.
Thanks to all of you who entered. I've got to say, your comments were so great, I wish you were all getting new panties. But hooray for Ana!

the southfield store

I'm back again. The underwear giveaway doesn't end until tomorrow night... you still have a chance to enter. I just wanted to tell you about something.

There was a glorious little morning this week when Joey didn't have to get to work until later in the morning. I had the day off, so after Sadie hopped on the bus to camp, we took Rosie over to the Southfield Store.
This place is really out there- I mean, Southfield is one of those towns where people have summer houses, but when they try to live there in the winter, they get very very sad.
But right now, in this wettest of summers, it is green and perfect.
The Southfield Store has gone through some major incarnations, different people buy it and make it their own, but the space remains the same, luckily.

It was recently bought by the Old Inn On The Green, a fancy shmancy restaurant nearby. They have a very good pastry chef, and in addition to selling very expensive granola on her own, she makes all of the goodies at the Southfield Store.

What I love about this place, I mean really deeply love, is the sense of luxury that is so attainable for so little there. Parking on the little road, you become part of an entirely different moment than the one that you left. Drinking your coffee, eating a warm chocolate croissant, the morning becomes slow. And to slow down time, that might be the ultimate luxury.

undies giveaway!

Well, we've done it. Not only did we just have a little anniversary, but here we are at the (I'm teary just thinking about it) 100th post. Can you believe it? All the crazy meals we've been through together and we're still here.
As a token of my appreciation, I wanted to offer a little something to you. I've been searching for the right offering- I thought maybe I could get Joey to make you a little artistic thing, but you might be waiting for a while, and what I really want is to bake you a pie, but those don't send well. Then it came to me. My dear and fabulous friends Molly and Aurel are moho designs, and in their artistic and startlingly hip way that can only come from the collaboration between a cute Jewish textile genius with a penchant for work with middle eastern deaf orphans and a french graphic designer who can turn anything into something better, they have started a line of homegrown underwear. They also sell lots of other enticing items of clothing, but I have to say, right now, I am very excited about this underwear.


I think that these two might be my favorite, but there are a few more here. And yes, Molly and Aurel have so generously agreed to donate two pairs to the lucky winner (maybe you!).
So here's what you do. Go look at all the designs, and tell me your two favorites in a comment. On Saturday, July 25 at 8:00 pm EST (give or take a few minutes), I will randomly choose the winner. I'll announce it here, and then you'll have to email me to give me your info and size and everything.
Best of luck to you all....

endearing

The girls are bringing me to tears more than usual lately. Not good tears, either. I actually find myself holding my ears with my hands to block out the demands coming from both sides. It's funny though, in other moments, I'm thinking I've never loved them more.

I can't even hold on to anger for too long because the whole mood changes so quickly, and someone's saying, "Mom, sit there, I'd like to give you a snuggle."
I mean, what's the deal? Can't they be purely unloveable, once in a while? Sometimes they're so horrid, and they whine and beg for movies and sweets (I swear the existence of these two things is nearly impossible to bear sometimes). The get mad, and they hit me and yell and run away. And I think, "how did these monsters come out of my body?" But then they go out for ice cream on a summer night with their friend, and they say, "Mom, this is so good, want a lick?" Sometimes it's nice just to give them exactly what they want. Especially when there's ice cream for me in the deal.

fried green tomatoes with leeks and goat cheese

Sometimes when I'm really lucky, there is an excess of something left from the market, and when I'm even luckier, it's a combination of ingredients that helps me to think of exciting things.
Yesterday, buried under the perfect red tomatoes Elizabeth had brought from the greenhouse, there were a few green, I mean brilliant pea green tomatoes. No one at the market was interested in these beauties, and I must admit I've never made them. I don't have a remotely southern bone in my body, and I've never had enough tomatoes to pick any before they were ready.
But yesterday, the green tomatoes went home with me, along with the most beautiful bunch of baby leeks. And so, because I wasn't patient enough to wait to cook either of my treasures, I put them together. The sourness of the tomatoes and the sweetness of the leeks- oh lucky lucky me.
I have to admit, this morning everyone is a mess. No one wants their smoothie, the bagels are the wrong flavor. The eggs that are omelets should have been scrambled- there are tearful demands flying everywhere. So I'm sneaking away from the table with my coffee to remember dinner last night, when everyone quietly and contentedly asked for one more tomato, please.

Fried Green Tomatoes with Leeks and Goat Cheese
serves 4-6

6 medium green tomatoes, cut into 1 1/2 inch slices
2 eggs, beaten
2 cups bread crumbs, fresh if you can do it
1 cup chopped flat leaf parsley
1/2 cup chopped basil
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. chili powder
4-6 baby leeks, all the white, most of the greens, chopped
4 oz. goat cheese
salt and pepper
canola oil, for frying the tomatoes
olive oil, for the leeks

In a wide bowl, combine the bread crumbs, salt, chili powder, parsley and basil. Cover the base of a large skillet with canola oil and heat until almost smoking. Dip each tomato slice in the egg, then the bread crumb mixture, and lay it gently in the skillet. Do not crowd the pan. Cook the tomatoes a couple of minutes on each side, or until they are golden. Drain on a paper towel. In a separate skillet or sautee pan, heat the olive oil. Cook the leeks over medium heat until they start to caramelize, about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Lay the fried tomatoes on a platter. Heap the leeks on top, and finish with the crumbled goat cheese. If needed, sprinkle additional salt. Then add lots of fresh ground pepper.

things that are growing

A year ago today, I started this blog. A few days earlier, driving in the car with Joey, I had had a revelation. After two or three years of a frustrating lack of clarity, I finally figured out what it is I really like to do. I looked at him, probably with a very confused look on my face, and said, "I like to talk about food".
You see, I've tried out a lot of different identities in the last few years. I've taught all sorts of things, from dance to classical geometry. I've taken classes in sustainable design and worked for my stepfather the architect. I've worked in publishing and right now I'm working in film. But paralyzed by my mellow obsession with personal greatness, I haven't been able to find it, and at times that has nagged at me in some painful ways.

I'm glad that I went to a college that forced me to try to learn everything there is, because although I didn't come out of there with a focus (unless you count Joey and the then tiny Sadie in my belly), I graduated with a sense of the possibility of everything. I wasn't quite sure where I was going, but I knew that I could be a doctor or a writer or an engineer or a mother and all these things were possible.
And so, when I realized that out of all of the things that happen in a week, I feel most alive when I'm telling someone how to cook a turnip at the farmer's market, it seemed that there might be something to that. I work at the market as part of my CSA share, and I glow through the whole thing. And when I was having a drink with my friend Naomi a couple of days after my revelation in the car, I shared it with her too. "Start a blog," she said. "You can talk all you want about food." And I went home that night and I did.

I certainly haven't figured it out in this last year, but as long as I check in here pretty often, the nagging has stopped paining me so much. At some point, hopefully soon, I'll figure out where I'm going with all this. But in the meantime, happy anniversary to us all, and thanks for sticking around. And here's to doing what we love, even if it takes a little while to figure out how to make it happen.

leek and sorrel custards

Spent. Totally spent. I came into the house tonight after a day at work that involved my hands moving really fast for many hours while my brain moved even faster, after waiting at the bus stop for a bus that I thought would never come, after giving nearly everything I made this week to the babysitter, and I stepped over all of the debris that has collected on the floor over the week. Holding my nose as I passed the pee-scented laundry, I added seven things to my to-do list, poured myself a really big drink, and ate a big hunk of local sheep camembert.
I made something with some things in the fridge, and we ended up with goat cheese polenta with veggies in pesto cream sauce. Luckily, Joey picked up some chocolate ice cream. Our nephew Zion is visiting from Colorado, and now we have three kids motivated to work their way through their dinner.


I'm feeling a little bit better.
But every day, I think about how I haven't given you this recipe. This is the only recipe that I haven't recorded of the courses from my dinner party, even though I think it might have been my favorite.
And leeks are slowly appearing at the market now, although if you don't have a sorrel plant of your own, you might have to search some out.

Leek and Sorrel Custards
from Deborah Madison, Local Flavors
makes 4 1/2 cup custards

4 to 6 thin leeks
2 1/2 T unsalted butter
4 oz. bunch sorrel
1 tsp sea salt
1 cup half and half or whole milk
3 eggs
freshly ground pepper
2 oz. fresh goat cheese

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Thinly slice, and the chop the leeks, using all of the white and about half of the green. You should have about 1 cup. Rinse them well. Melt the butter in a skillet. Use some of it to brush four ramekins, then add the leeks to the skillet. Add 1/4 cup water or white wine and cook gently over medium heat until softened, about 12 minutes.
Strip the sorrel leaves off the stems; wash and finely chop them. Add them to the pan with the leeks, sprinkle with salt, and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes. Add the half and half and heat until warm but not boiling.
Beat the eggs well, then stir in the sorrel mixture. Season with pepper and then crumble in the cheese. Puree the whole mixture in a blender or food processor. Don't overmix.
Divide among the ramekins; place in a baking pan and surround with hot water. Bake until custards are set and a knife inserted comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes.
Serve warm or cool, and top with a drizzle of creme fraiche.

3, 4, 5, 6

It's crazy over here today, in a good way. We have a few friends joining us at Camp Rosie today. We walked in to town, got some chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, and hiked back up the hill, motivated by the thought of the pitiful sprinkler waiting for us at home. Now the house is turned upside down, there are muddy footprints everywhere, and for some inexplicable reason, I'm baking. The crew, however, is working pretty well together. My friend Jen and I always joke that our kids are the funny ages that could be siblings in a closely spaced family, and days like today, it's, um, interesting (and terrifying!) to imagine that reality.

3 is volleying between extreme sanity and chaos. After flailing herself down the hill, she quietly observed on the way back up that "The way down is easy, but I think it is harder going up." Sad, but true.

4 is a sassafras (pain in my ass). She's a little bit in love with 5, and likes to show off how sassy she can be.
5 is helping out, and making sure everyone stops before they cross the street. He is also telling us what time it is, and is playing with the square root button on his calculator.

And 6 gets home from camp and takes it all in. She gets over everyone playing with her toys. And she eats a peach.

early tomatoes

The farm always has the first tomatoes of the summer. Elizabeth starts them early, and grows them in the ground in the greenhouse. People are so excited to see them at the farmer's market. Tomatoes? This early? You didn't grow them, did you? they ask. What do they think, that she bought them at Big Y and carted them over? Sometimes I feel like I should have a t-shirt that says, yes, grown in the greenhouse, and let that be that. Once they believe us, they pay a hefty price for them, bitching the whole way. But the thing is, tomatoes have it figured out. They inspire a love that never dies, and people will give their first born for a good early tomato. These early July tomatoes are worth their weight in gold, and we eat them one slice at a time, putting the cut side down on a plate on the counter to take another slice when we're ready. In a few weeks, there will be more tomatoes, and then we'll start with dishes that require a whole tomato, or maybe two, and then there will be tomatoes everywhere, and we'll be trying to give them away, and we'll turn them into sauce.
This summer, there is more mystery to the love affair. We seem to have been transplanted to the Northwest, and it is cold and rainy. The peas and the kale are thrilled, but the tomatoes might never come. The other night it was 40 degrees, and the sun just doesn't come out enough to warm the ground. And to top it all off, there's some crazy blight spreading around that came from Walmart. I don't really know what blight is, but it sounds scary, especially when it comes from Walmart.
So I'm trying to enjoy the tomatoes, which is not so hard. The other night I stayed up way too late making pesto out of basil, parsley and garlic scapes, and I almost killed my blender. The next morning I had a bagel with pesto, cream cheese and tomato, which might be the best combination in the world. This week, I'm conquering it all, and a breakfast so beautiful is really helpful. That, and a couple extra cups of coffee.

frisee salad with bacon and egg

Joey would like to go on record as saying that frisee is just wrong. He says the texture is not made for eating, that when you put it in your mouth, it feels like a cat hanging on as it pushes it's way down your throat.
I disagree.
Frisee, or "frizzy" as people say at the market, is a wonderful leafy bitter green. Most often, you will see it mixed in with other lettuces in a salad, but like escarole, it can also be sauteed. Many people seem to be frightened of frisee- perhaps it is the distant meowing that Joey seems to hear.
There is a salad, which I learned as a particularly French way of eating frisee. I don't know if this is the truth, but when I cook up this salad for myself (or force it on Joey) I feel French, and that's all that matters.

Frisee Salad with Bacon and Egg
for salad as a main dish for two

1 Head frisee
3 oz. slab bacon or thickly cut bacon, cut into 1/2 inch strips
1 T white vinegar
2 large eggs
2 T red wine vinegar
salt and pepper

Break the frisee into bite sized pieces. Wash and dry it. Put into a large bowl and set aside. In a cast iron skillet, fry the bacon until very crispy. When it is done, add the red wine vinegar, and let it boil together just for a moment. Then pour the whole thing over the frisee, and toss well.
Fill a small sautee pan with water. Add the vinegar. Bring it to a low simmer. Crack the eggs into two small cups or ramekins- then slide them gently into the water. Let them cook for 3 minutes.
Split the frisee between two large bowls. Gently remove the poached eggs from the water, and place on top of the dressed frisee. Add lots of salt and freshly ground pepper.

mid-summer pasta

Tonight- a secret for you.
There are two things that will help anything taste really good. I'm really really serious about this.
High quality olive oil.
Good parmesan.
These things are magical.
I'm lucky, I know. There's this store near me, like two minutes away, run by a very nice French man. He has all sorts of things- cornichons, french mustard, foie gras. But most importantly, he has bulk olive oil in beautiful shiny containers, and one of them is organic, and it's so good- it's like fairy dust. Cheap too, if you bring your own container. On your way out, while you're trying not to buy nutella, you pick up some parmesan, and there you go. Now you make good food.
So when you go to the farmer's market, or you pick up your CSA share, or your garden is practically spitting things at you, what do you do?
You make pasta.
I have been asked how I know what to put together over pasta. I don't. It doesn't matter. Good olive oil, parmesan, you can chop up an old shoe and some paper towel and it will be delicious over pasta.
But in case you need a little direction, here's what we had the other night.

Mid- Summer pasta
1 lb spaghetti
3 summer squash, preferably different varieties (I used zucchini, crookneck, and pattypan), cut into thin semi-circles
the greens from 5 garlic scapes
1-2 cups (or as many as you can get) freshly shelled peas
1 cup parsley, roughly chopped
a large handful of basil leaves, roughly chopped
olive oil
parmesan
salt and pepper

Cook the pasta in a large pot of salted water. When it's done, drain and set aside. In a large sautee pan, put a few glugs of olive oil and warm over medium heat. Add the garlic scapes and sautee for a minute. Then add the summer squash and cook, stirring occasionally, until it's reduced in size and a bit golden, about ten minutes. Add the peas and cook for another minute. Then add the parsley and basil, cook for 30 seconds, and remove from heat. Put the pasta into a large bowl and lightly toss in olive oil. Add the vegetables on top. Then a bit more olive oil, a healthy amount of parmesan shavings, and salt and pepper.

dessert

Okay, get ready for an opinion here- I think I'm finally ready to weigh in on this one...

I think that it's totally fine to use dessert as a bribe.

You still with me here? See, the thing is- I try my hardest to be really low key about food with the girls. I feel in my heart of hearts that they will learn to trust their own bodies- to eat when they're hungry, stop when they're full, and eat food that is pleasing and good to them. I think that these skills will come to them through being left alone when it comes to food and through seeing that I trust that they can make their own decisions. I would never, ever force my kid to eat something that she didn't want to eat.
etc. etc. etc.
It also must be said, however, that I'm not entirely sure how good it is to go three months without eating a vegetable. I don't know if cheese sticks and goldfish are really all one should ever eat, and I really need to get some fiber into that little worried tummy aching girl of mine. So- whenever the inspiration strikes, I jump on it and I make dessert. When there is a dessert waiting in the wings of the kitchen, dinner takes a very different turn. Instead of a meowing child under the table claiming that she isn't hungry, there is a girl eating salad. Instead of a whining girl who spits out her food on her plate, there is a girl who is very enthusiastic about kale.
And it doesn't stop there. Then there are pajamas put on without complaint, there are pees to be had, hands washed. And then, there is dessert. And everyone is happy.
Not bad, I think. Although Alfie Kohn would have my hide.

Today we found a lot of black raspberries in the yard- a joyful huge amount. And we all picked them without eating a single one after I made the promise of a fruit tart.
Here's how it came together:
I used David Lebovitz's fabulous non roll-out tart dough, baked it and let it cool.
Then I threw an 8 oz. block of softened cream cheese into the blender, along with 1/4 cup sour cream, 1/3 cup sugar, and 1 T vanilla extract. That went into the cooled shell, then into the fridge for 30 minutes. Then I arranged the berries and peaches, and topped it with a glaze of about 2 T strawberry jam and 1 tsp kirsch that I had heated up to liquify.
Easy peasy. And an excellent tool for bribery.

yogurt beets

This week is better than last week. This week it's raining once a day, but not all day. This week I harvested broccoli. Joey and I are smiling at each other again. Rosie has convinced someone to take her to the toy store every day. This week I've been drinking more. I had a strange dream about a famous actress who I then saw at the coffee shop the next morning. And tonight after the kids went to sleep, Joey and I made strawberry milkshakes with kirsch. My friend Molly is living down the street this summer. I saw her a lot this week. She taught me about yogurt beets a while back. They are wonderful to eat, and the beauty of the fuschia colored yogurt will just break your heart.

Yogurt Beets

1 large bunch of beets (4-6 beets), peeled and cut into bite sized pieces
6 oz whole milk yogurt
3 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
juice of 1/2 lemon
about 1/8 cup chopped fresh dill, to taste
salt and pepper

Steam the beets for 20-25 minutes, or until tender. Let them cool. In a medium sized bowl, combine the yogurt, lemon, garlic and dill. Add the cooled beets. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve cold or at room temperature.

The Garlic Scape

I must apologize for my flip comment on the garlic scape the other day. I feel like garlic scapes are one of those things like refrigerator pickled veggies or local lard that are getting a lot of attention these days. But as luck would have it, I spent about six hours at the Farmer's Market the other day giving garlic scape demonstrations, and it seems that there is still a need out there. So for all of you who are wondering what this strange thing called a scape might be, as well as what to do with it, I thought I'd give a bit of a general overview.
The scape is the flower of the garlic plant. It grows out of the plant like this.

In order to encourage the garlic bulb to grow, the flower must be snipped off at its base. In large scale garlic growing, the scape is discarded, but here we take our cue from garlic growing cultures around the world who have recognized the worth of the scape.
In a general sense, the garlic scape is very useful before garlic is harvested in the fall. Garlic scapes can be used in place of garlic in most situations, and they actually have some special skills that are not shared by the garlic bulb.
Use garlic scapes everywhere- in sautees, pastas, soups- anything. I think that they are especially wonderful in eggs- a mixed greens and garlic scape frittata is a very special thing. Scapes are great in salad dressing due to their mild greeniness, and the other day at the market, a Korean woman told me that in Korea, they chop the scape, mix it with rice vinegar and red pepper, and use it as a condiment.
There are many uses for the scape which use the entire thing, head and all. They can be grilled, pickled or slow roasted.

For sautees, soups, pastas or any other use, we only use the stem. Often the very bottom is a bit tough, so that comes off.

Then we chop off the flowery head.

Then chop the remaining stem. The pieces can be any size you like- it doesn't have to be small like garlic.
And how does it taste? Garlicky, as you can imagine, but subtler and grassier. I find that it permeates things in a mellow perfume-y sort of way which is lovely.
You won't find garlic scapes at the store, but right around now, they are coming out of the ears of any farmer's market. They're usually cheap, too- farmers are just trying to get rid of them. Buy a whole bunch. They'll keep in the fridge for a long time, and you can always use them in flower arrangements too. You'll be right in there with the agra-hip crowd.

Ume Scallion Dressing

The second post I that I wrote on this blog was called Magical Dressing. It told tale of an enchanted liquid that incites passion and obsession in people, a dressing that can, on its own, bring people all the way to this little town.
There have been some comments, both online and off, that have inspired me to revisit this dressing. You see, back then, when I wrote that second post, I had no camera, and no sense that anyone might actually read what I was writing, and so, most importantly, I had no measurements. And instead of just updating that post, I'm giving this dressing a whole new post, because it's just that good.
I've got a lot of other things to tell you about- honestly the recipes are backing up a little these days, but today I'm telling you about this dressing again because to tell you the truth, it's been a bad week. The summer has hit us like a rough wave in bad storm, and the undertow has got me. And although the good moments are starting to appear here and there, the week culminated, this afternoon in me sitting by myself in packed theater while my children were whisked off to rock out to Dan Zanes by other parents. Yes, today, I attended a kid's music concert by myself. After coming from a birthday party. And for those of you who know me, you know that it doesn't get much worse than that. Except that because I had whittled myself into a grump, it was like I was at a party where everyone was having the time of their lives except me. Because this wasn't Raffi or anything- this was Dan Zanes, one of the only cool kid's musicians there is. It was a full- on party. And I was paralyzed, and teary, and feeling that special feeling that can only be described as what you feel when your feeling sad and grumpy and someone is trying to get you to get up and dance. Old as the hills, that feeling. Am I right or am I right?
Anyway, the dressing. The reason that I feel the need to talk about it today is that this dressing makes me feel good about myself. People's eyes light up when they eat it, and they want more, and they want the recipe and they want to bathe in it. Joey even put it on a hotdog yesterday, and that worked too. So here is the recipe, with measurements.

Ume Scallion Dressing

This makes a lot of dressing, which is good, because if you give some away, people will be really happy with you.

One big farmer's market bunch of scallions, or two regular- trimmed of the stringy part of the root and the very top of the green. Really you can use almost all of the scallion. You should have about 8 oz.

4 oz. watercress, stems and leaves

3 cup canola oil

2- 3 T umeboshi vinegar, to taste

1 T salt

Put it all in a blender. Blend.


Eat on anything. Stays good for about 5 days in the fridge.

invited to dinner

Yes, I'm having dinner at my house. Would you like to come? Joey will make you a place card that looks like this, only with your name.

I promise that I will stress for weeks over what I will cook for you and how many forks I need. My menu will be revised over and over. I will borrow many glasses so that I can give you a separate glass for your hibiscus vodka cocktail, your water, your wine, and your fresh mint tea.

I will finally settle on a menu. I will set the table, and everyone will have a fork, and more. I will pick every flower that is growing in my yard.

And then I will put my entire family to work, even the children. Rosie makes a mean fresh noodle.

The noodles will be carefully hung, waiting for your arrival.
And as I scramble the last few courses together, you will arrive, greeted in the orchard by Joey. He will pour you a cocktail, and you will meet the other guests, amazed that although you live in the same small town, you've never met!

And while you talk and drink and comment on the charm of the chain link fence, I will be burning the toasts for the broccoli raab crostini. I will be hyperventilating. I will be cursing my insistence to push my own limits in order help myself grow as a person. I will be very sweaty, and not in an attractive way.


And when I make it outside, you will eat the broccoli raab crostini, and it will be good.

But wait, Joey is ushering you inside. The sun is setting, you're already drunk, and we've missed the good light for the photos. No! Don't take your time, enjoying the evening. I need photos! And the sun is setting. Oh well. Sun's down. Okay, go ahead and enjoy yourself, I guess. Damn.

So first, there will be Sorrel Leek Custards with goat cheese. They will be warm, and I will drizzle creme fraiche on them for you. You will be excited about this, because they are really really good.

Then, there will be Turnip with Turnip Greens Soup. It might make you feel oddly aroused, as turnips are wont to do. You'll feel uncomfortable for a moment because you are sitting next to someone you don't know, but then you'll have more wine and you will feel better.

Then I will disappear, and so will Joey. There will be a lot of steam coming from the kitchen, and you might see a few fresh noodles flying through the air. I will be working very hard, as apparently I let the noodles dry a bit too long and it takes a bit of an effort to give them a palatable texture. Joey will be very supportive, which is good, because at this moment there is a chance that this might not go too well.

Good thing we've had a bit too much to drink.


And in the end, it will be alright, although not quite as good as your previous courses. But the shrimp is nice and garlicky, and who can argue with fresh pasta, right?


Then, when you are all full of noodles, I will bring you salad. It will be really fresh lettuce, and there will be goat cheese and pea shoots (of course!) and roasted pecans and a mustardy vinaigrette. We eat salad after the entree around here- I don't know why. Tonight, you'll do that too.

And Luckily, there's fresh strawberry ice cream with rosewater whipped cream for dessert. I will mash up the strawberries and freeze them in a way that will bring you contentment, at least I hope so. If I succeed, you will sit, late into the night, drinking your fresh mint tisane, talking to your new friends and making me feel happy.

Anyone got a story for me? Tell it in a comment, or email me photos and I will gleefully post them. The next challenge will be up August 1. Who will come to dinner, I wonder?