car snack 4 (or, the banana oat bar)

Last week, I visited the middle school classroom at the Montessori school where Joey teaches and the girls learn. The middle school is in its second year, and the small group of brave (isn't it just brave to wake up and move through the world at that age?) tweens and teens have been busy planning out the year ahead. One of the projects they started last year was a snack program where they purchase snacks and sell them to the rest of the students several times a week. The money they raise through the snack program helps to fund trips and other exciting activities, and the kids get to have the experience of running what is essentially a small business.


Julie Haagenson runs the middle school program, and in the end of the summer, she asked me if I would be willing to come in and do some cooking with the kids. She thought they might be interested in making some snacks instead of buying them, and she was hoping to give them some tools as they moved into the discussion.


 The whole program is small- maybe 8 kids if that, and when I walked in last week, they were sitting around a U-shaped table. They had invited me to come for four sessions over the course of the Fall, and this was to be our brainstorming session about what we might like to make together. I started with the snacks that they already offer, and we talked about some alternatives. Popcorn from a bag? Why don't we use an air popper? The result will be far less expensive and taste a whole lot better. Everyone loves the days when the kids offer goldfish as a snack--I asked if they were interested in learning how to make their own cheese crackers.


As savvy business people, those kids wanted to provide a product that all the other kids in the school would be interested in buying. And as they considered whether they should start making food from scratch, the question arose as to whether kids would want snacks that were "more healthy".  Right now, there are healthy snack days (cucumber slices, oranges) and there are the other days (goldfish, bagel and cream cheese).  If goldfish were replaced by homemade cheese crackers, would that be a healthier choice? Or would it be perceived as one?


"Whoa, hold on a minute there!" I couldn't help but jump in. "Who said anything about making healthy food?"

I was raised on health food. I have always been able to list the seven ancient grains, and I know the difference between white and red miso. I've turned many people on to sprinkling their popcorn with nutritional yeast. But I don't think the health label is helping anyone. Honestly, I think it's just confusing. Because whether something is healthy really depends on who you ask and what their definition of the term is. Are they concerned about their weight? Then they think whole milk is unhealthy. Sugar? Then maybe diet coke is healthy. Really, I have no idea what the term means.

So what if we choose a word that is in full acceptance of that it means different things to different people? How about if the goal is good food?


I continue to cling stubbornly to the idea that taste will lead us to the right place. All summer, I worked with kids in the kitchen at food camp, and they supported this idea with every meal. There were all sorts of ideas about what was healthy and what their parents wanted them to eat, but in the end, what inspired them and made them sparkle was the first bite. So many kids went home and cooked for their parents--they left the camp kitchen saying, "I can't wait for my dad to try this. He's not going to believe how good it is!"

I'm no nutritionist. I can't even begin to sort through the constantly changing information about food and health. I start to wade through some of the mess that we're in around food safety, and I feel like the system is broken, and I'm not sure how to navigate through it. But I keep coming back to this idea of good food, and of always going towards food that tastes good to us. It seems simple, I know, but it's the best I've got. And if there's a possibility of raising a new generation of people who actually pay attention to what they put in their mouths, and who even can have a sense of whether it feels good or bad in their bodies? This could be nothing short of a revolution.

And with that, we move to the car snack. Oh yes, old friend, we've returned.
The short story is that the car snack is the granola bar, the energy bar, the bag of goldfish, the fruit leather, or whatever else you pack for your kids to ease the panicked hunger of 3:00. Of course, it's for grownups too, and you can eat it in whatever vehicle you choose. I wrote about car snacks 1 and 2 a ways back, and car snack 3 joins them in the book. But all three involve a fair amount of butter and varying amounts of refined sugar, and I've gotten a bunch of requests for a healthier car snack.

And so I bring you...the banana oat bar. No white flour, no refined sugar (except the wee bit of chocolate), and no butter or oil either. It comes together quickly, holds together well for the car, and (need I say it?) tastes really really good.

Car Snack 4 (the banana oat bar)

Makes 20 bars (about 2 1/2 x 3 inches)

3/4 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups rolled oats
1 1/2 cups puffed rice cereal
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 very ripe bananas, peeled and mashed
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup peanut or almond butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9x13 baking pan with parchment, leaving enough hanging over on the edges so you can pull out the finished product.
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, oats, rice cereal, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon, stirring well to combine. In a second large bowl, combine the banana, honey, yogurt, nut butter, and vanilla. Stir until the mixture is fairly uniform.
3. Pour the dry ingredients into the wet ones and stir until they come together into one uniform mixture. Gently stir in the chocolate chips. Transfer to the prepared pan and flatten down with a spatula. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until just starting to brown on top. Remove from the oven and let cool for at least 1 hour before removing from the pan and cutting into squares.

the fall festival circuit

It's finally Fall festival time.
I went to my first Fall festival 9 years ago. At least, that was the first fall festival that I remember. It seems that they should be part of my childhood memories growing up around here, but I'm not sure that I ever got to one before I was a grownup.
Joey and I had just graduated from college, and we had recently migrated to the Berkshires to be nearer to my family. We were 23, and I was pregnant. It was one of those in-between times--we were living at my parents, planning our wedding, and trying to figure out where we would live and what our life would look like. We took my sister Maia to the Apple Squeeze festival in Lenox, and Joey walked through the sidewalks lined with cider donuts and crafts of varied quality with wide eyes. Maia was four, still small enough that we could play family and try out the feel of parenthood. The next weekend was the Harvest Festival at Berkshire Botanical gardens, and the weather was in cahoots with the perfect bratwurst and the fantastic book sale. They all worked together, somewhere in the midst of that sparkly day, Joey said that he thought we should just stick around and move to the Berkshires for good.



A year later, we were at the Apple Squeeze again, this time with new friends. We had all met in birth class the previous winter, and one late pregnancy double date (greasy Chinese food works!) set off both of our labors in April. Sadie and Willow were born 12 hours apart, and at that point, sitting at the table on the sidewalk drinking cider, we could only fantasize about the girl's future together. Meagan and Todd were thinking about moving to Tennessee to start a Montessori school, and we were trying to keep our heartbreak quiet. But that day, while the girls played in our laps, they said that they were thinking they might actually stay here and start a school, crazy as it all sounded.

Yesterday, those girls ran around the Apple Squeeze festival, their little sisters running behind them, totally independent. I sat in the Montessori School information booth at the festival with Joey, and he talked about how new the school was--only in its sixth year.

I love these festivals most, because for me, they mark the passage of the time. More than any holiday, they are fixed in the girls memories, and they know everything they have eaten or made at every festival. We always eat too many sweets, and we come home exhausted. But these festivals always make us so happy to be here, and to be here right now.



 This weekend, we packed it in. Saturday, we went to the Harvest Festival at Hancock Shaker Village.  A friend had asked me if I would be willing to judge the food vendor competition, and I was excited to get to this festival for the first time. It was Apple Squeeze weekend too, but really- that's what we have a 2 day weekend for, right?



I wandered through the vendors, sampling shortbread and smelling lavender sachets. And Joey and the girls stayed put in the food tent, following along with the pie contest.

Each pie went to the judges first, and then slices went out for 2 bucks a pop. Joey bought every kind he could get to, and the girls sat like baby birds in the nest, waiting for bites.

They all agreed the apple was the best, and in the end, it won.

Next week is the Harvest Festival at the Botanical gardens.  That one is pony rides, and music, and pumpkins, and more bratwurst. I admit that I love it the most. But all through these weeks there are Fall Festivals all over this part of the world, and so I thought I might compile something of a list. If the Fall Festival is new to you, it is so worth your weekend. They take all different forms, but there is always cider, and people playing music, and the air tends to smell especially fantastic. I'll list a few that I know about here, but if you've got one where you are, pipe in and let us know.

October 1, 2
The Harvest Festival, Berkshire Botanical Gardens, Stockbridge, MA
North Quabbin Garlic and Arts Festival, Orange, MA
Conway Festival of the Hills, Conway, MA
Stone Barns Harvest Fest, Pocantico Hills, NY

October 8, 9
Ashfield Fall Festival, Ashfield, MA
Hawthorne Valley Fall Festival (just October 9), Ghent, NY

October 15, 16
Dutchess County Sheep and Wool Festival, Rhinebeck, NY

apple celeriac soup

This is not the first time I have been inspired by a celeriac root.
It wasn't just the soup. It was the day. And although the day was filled with all sorts of other agenda items, this celeriac root was hanging out around my thoughts like a muse. If I am to be entirely honest, I must tell you that it was not one, but two celeriac roots, and I had brought them home from the market on Saturday in the hope of this very inspiration. I didn't know what they would be, but I knew I would love them.

There was also a leek, and an imposing pile of apples in the kitchen. And throughout the day, I thought about these soups of fall made of ingredients that I never have in such abundance save for now. A bunch of leeks in the supermarket in February, and I'll be out five bucks- more if I fall for the organic. Apples are so precious for their place in the lunchbox, and at other times in the year, I would never think of disappearing them into a soup. But right now? It's all abundant. The vegetables that I love and crave and wring my hands over in the supermarket all winter are in my fridge right now. They are all in my fridge. They come from the farm, or the market, or my very own garden. There is no end to the celeriac.


What happened on that day was this: As I got through this and that, and I thought about celeriac through it all, I dreamed about making dinner. Just that dreaming felt like an accomplishment in itself.  Because all too often, even though I love to cook and I love to eat and I love to feed these people I love, I feel heavy when I try to plan it out. I sigh, and I think about the 30 minutes I've got before this meeting, or about how so and so won't want to eat this, or about how I just wish it wasn't my night to cook. I end up cooking fast, with my attention half on the stove and half on everything else. I have created a quick weeknight meal, a meal in 30 minutes! and some of the time, I'll be damned if I even remember what it was a few days later. Quick, weeknight non-memorable meals. Hooray.



But on this day, I set up at 4:30, and I turned on NPR. I poured myself a glass of wine. I did the residual dishes from the day. And then I made dinner.


I'm sure there was chaos involved. It was, after all, the hour before dinner. But I was so happy to be happy cooking. The slowness and luxury of actually feeling the desire to be there made me float through it. It made me pause to do a braid for Rosie's doll without any hesitation.  It made me pause to cut Sadie an apple to tide her over. It made me pause to give Joey that hug that I want to give him at that time of day. A long conversational hug, punctuated by a real kiss.

Do you know the study that a Japanese man did on emotions and water? Someone told me about it when I was nursing the girls, and we were talking about whether the emotions we feel while nursing affect the actual quality of the milk. If you've never heard about it, go take a peek. There's all sorts of controversy over his methods and conclusions, but whatever surrounds it, I think that it holds extreme merit as a philosophical idea. 

Essentially, he says that water responds to the emotions that we put into it. It makes sense, right? And as most of what we are and live with are mostly water, this means more than just talking to a glass of water. It means that the water in my children and it myself will behave differently depending on what emotions I shoot at it. Stay with me here! Because I only bring it up because not only are we and our children made of water, and so much of the world made of water. Let's get to business and get down to what really matters. That's right. I'm talking about your soup.

How many days do I cook dinner in a half panic? It's a rough time of the day, and everyone needs me, and I'm not always my best self. I may not be talking to the soup, but I'm talking around the soup, and at the air.  I move fast and I burn the bottom of the pot, I burn my hand, I break a glass, or all of the above. What that soup gets is a whole lot of profanity. But on these other days, when I love every moment of it, and I am inspired by what goes into that pot? I'll say it. I'm sending love into that pot, and that in itself seems to make a damn fine soup.

I'll leave that one out of the ingredients list. Because if I only cooked when I was calm buddha mom, we wouldn't eat all that much. But even without it, the apple and celeriac might pull you through. And after all, I think it's a soup that's hard not to love.

Apple Celeriac Soup

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 medium leeks, washed and sliced (using all of the white and half the green)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 small onion, roughly chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
4 medium apples, peeled, cored, and quartered
2 medium celeriac roots, peeled and roughly cubed
8 cups water
1 cup milk
pepper
optional (but fabulous, if you have it): piment d'espelette, for serving

In a large, heavy bottomed pot over medium heat, melt the butter and olive oil together. Let it brown, just slightly. Add the chopped leeks, garlic, and onion, and cook, stirring often, until the veggies are soft and shiny, about 5 minutes. Add the salt and nutmeg and continue to cook for another few minutes.
Add the celeriac, apples, and water. Cover and raise the heat to high. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until the apples and celeriac start to fall apart, 30 to 40 minutes.
If you have an immersion blender, stick it into the pot and blend until smooth. Otherwise, transfer to an upright blender in batches and return to the pot. Add the milk, and taste to adjust salt and add pepper.
Serve with healthy dusting of piment d'espelette, if you have it.  A nice smoky paprika will also do the trick.

dance with your shadow

When the sun comes through, just so.

 And there it is.

 Screw it. If the shadow wants to dance, might as well go for it.

 Here's a few tunes, if you need 'em.

peach cinnamon butter

 There are just a few things that I'd like to talk about, and then, if you like, we'll make peach butter.

I've been following this pretty beautiful train of thought on twitter, something started by the photographer Penny De Los Santos. I can't say I follow too much on twitter, but I check in and I read along here and there. Penny has just moved to New York, and in support of her journey and new beginning, she has began talking about her "dream big and leap" moments, and asking people to share theirs.

If you ever do look at twitter and you haven't gotten to breathe these moments in, just type in "dreambigandleap" and there you will be.

I was talking to a woman who I know just the littlest bit. I was tired, and after one meeting and before the next, and I had stopped in to buy myself a coffee. I was waiting for it, and there she was, waiting, and we said hello. We shared the kind of conversation that happens when you don't know each other all that well but are plenty happy to be talking, and just like that, she told me that she had just left her job so that she could start making cheese.

I couldn't help it. I clapped my hands. I think I might have even let out a little whoop.



Reading through these moments, I look for patterns. I think I see them. That they are times when we decide not to give over to the fear and whatever else might try to lead.  These are the times when we finally decide to do what we love, to be who we want to be, to get through the day with our own heart leading the way.

Imagine what we could do, if we only believed that we could, right? If only those moments of honesty and bravery could come more often. I guess we should be thankful for their appearance, here and there.

 


And maybe I'm crazy, but I can't help but notice that there are certain things that people seem to dream big and leap towards. Love, of course always love. And art, that's in there too. But food! Is it just me? What is it about food? How many people have left their jobs to work in bakeries, or to start a business based off that delicious thing they make? Let's hear it for the new cheese makers out there!

I get it. Because food is so real. There's no fooling when your creating nourishment, deliciousness, dinner. And it belongs to all of us. Anyone of us can cook for anyone else, and they will say thank you. The power to feed is weighty and mighty and big.

Thank you Penny, for bringing these words into my past week. I'm working on it.



I started thinking about peach butter when I read this, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. And as I chopped and stirred, I was overwhelmed by this memory of being in high school (boarding school! but that's another story) and standing in the breakfast line with my friend, Cea. We're still friends now, and then we were fifteen, and searching for something delicious to eat. It was a difficult task, but someone back there in the dark chasm of the kitchen had decided that instead of just canned peaches, there would be yogurt, and dense swirls of cinnamon. And so on certain days there were these little pitiful green bowls of peach cinnamon yogurt. I think of Cea, because I remember that on those mornings, we would cheer, and we would fill our trays with a few bowls each, as one bowl might have only contained one or two slices of peach.

So as I stirred this lovely bright orange peach butter, I wanted it to be brown, and spicy, and warming. I put so much cinnamon in, and then I put more. I only made enough that night for one jar, but a few days later I found myself enough peaches to make a real batch. I try to stay rational about my canned goods, to keep my wits about me. I can't. I want this on everything.



Peach Cinnamon Butter
inspired by Smitten Kitchen (original recipe here)


makes about 6 cups

5 pounds peaches
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons cinnamon, to taste

Quarter the peaches and remove their pits. Combine the peaches and water in a large pot, cover, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to medium low, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the peaches are tender, about 20 minutes. Send the whole mixture through the food mill. (Alternatively, you can blanch and peel the peaches before you cook them, and then put them in the blender at this point.)

Add the sugar, lemon, and cinnamon to the peaches.  Increase the heat to medium, and cook, uncovered, stirring often, until the mixture thickens. This will take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the water content of your peaches. Taste, and adjust for sweetness and spice.

To can the peach butter, process in a water bath for 10 minutes for 1/2 cup or 1-cup jars.

the surprise canning tool (and a winner!)

Okay, before we get too deep into this here, we have a winner of my favorite cookbook!
I've got to say, if you haven't read through the comments, do it. The assortment of cookbook favorites is pretty amazing- new, old, quirky, classic- they're all there. But the winner is....
#23, Amanda! She talked about Melissa Clark's new book (on of my favorites too), and Bull Cook and Authentic Historical Recipes which I am officially now looking for. I do need to learn how to skin a badger, Amanda, I really do.  Send me an email via the contact link- and I'll have Rustic Fruit Desserts off to you!

And now, to the day's business.
Although some people can their hearts out all summer, fall canning is my favorite. I make a little jam here and there through the various berry seasons, but the deep contentment of clutching my jar grabber and holding my face over the voluminous canning pot hits me in September. Then it is applesauce and canned pears, and the really good peaches, and then... (dare I name it?) my beloved quince.

So I've been going for it, and on many late nights you'll find me hunched over the food mill (a tool, which incidentally I hate, but I have yet to buy one of these).  There are jars on the counter every day waiting to be taken down to the dusty shelves in the basement, and yes- I'll admit it! I keep the jars on the kitchen counter for a while because every time I look at them, I feel contented, and happy, and just a little bit smug.  That's the magic of the home-filled jar.

Today, I don't want to talk about what goes into the jar, I want to talk about what goes on it. How we label jars is one of those individual choices, and every canner has their own method. Me? For the most part, I'm a top labeler.

I don't use those sweet little labels that comes with the jars because I hate peeling them off when it's time to reuse the jar. Because lids can't be reused anyway, I label the top. And here's the secret part... (ready for it?) I use my favorite surprise canning tool- THE SHARPIE PEN.

Have you seen these? They have a little spring loaded mechanism so that they work like a ball point pen. They have a really thin tip, so you can fit a lot of words on the lid if you're prone to complicated canning recipes (this week- pear-apple star anise butter). I know it's not rocket science, but this pen is amazing. I can label the world!

By the way, Sharpie has no idea that I'm promoting them. They didn't send me any free pens or anything (although Sharpie executive, if you're reading, go ahead! I love these pens so much- I have no shame).

That's all for today, friends. Congrats to Amanda, and happy Tuesday! I'll be back in a day or two with an actual canning recipe, I promise.

stone fruit tea cake, and how you can have my favorite book

Yes!
The girls are back in school, and it won't stop raining, and it is possible that I've never seen as many beautiful peaches as I have seen in the last few weeks. Seen? Let me be more precise, caressed, admired, adored, EATEN.  Things all feel a little buzzed this week in a good way, like there are tingles in the air, and exciting events about to happen. Rosie started first grade, and although she had a hard time finding a place to sit at lunch on the first day (I only cried once, Mommy), she reported that today was much better. She's been multiplying things.


I must admit that on weeks like this, I may be guilty of dropping everything to make a cake.

The cakes come about partly because although I am not a housewife, I always seem to want to be on the first week of school. Because there is something deep and satisfying about feeding the family love through this transition. Joey comes home from his new preschoolers sparkly, and exhausted, and all at once inspired and slightly terrified, I think. He wants cake too.

I have decided that right now if you ask me, my favorite cookbook in the world is a little book called Rustic Fruit Desserts. It's a bit like a love affair that I've been denying all along, because I've written about it many times and sung its praises. It's just that I've been resistant to thinking that such a small book would be my favorite, or a book on such a limited topic. Even more, I don't even like fruit desserts. None of it makes sense.
I love this book so much. When fruit comes into the house, I go directly to its perfect petite binding. I look up the ingredient in the index, and then I usually have to start baking then and there. This makes me feel hungry, and inspired and instantly propelled to bake.

I also feel compelled to give this book away. I've bought copies for friends, and I've lent my copy out. I get that way with books--I think Joey's worn off on me that way. Come in and have a conversation with Joey about graphic novels, and you will walk out of here with a stack of books up to your chin.

I can't help it. It's that kind of week. You guys are just too fantastic. I'm giving this book away.
I know another copy will come my way someday.  I'll be ready. But this one? I'm sending it to you.
Despite it's constant use, it is in surprisingly good condition. There might be a few butter stains here and there, and yes, I've made a few notes. I write in pencil, so I'll let you erase them if you don't agree. I think slightly marked up cookbook is better than a new one any day, wouldn't you agree? This cookbook has lived a life.

So let's do it like this, shall we? If I were to ask you today, at this moment, what your favorite cookbook is, what would you say? I'd love some new recommendations. I'll keep it open until Monday night, the 12th. Then I'll choose a winner, and the book is on it's way to you. It will be right in time for apple season! Remember that apple rhubarb pandowdy? Page 16.

And if you aren't the lucky winner, you can still have cake.  This might be one of my favorites from the book yet. The dough is simple and shortbready, the method is deeply satisfying, and it will work with any stone fruit that you have rolling around where you are. And then, of course, you have an excuse to invite a friend for tea.

Stone Fruit Tea Cake
adapted from Corey Schreiber and Julie Richardson, Rustic Fruit Desserts

makes one 10-inch cake

3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter at room temperature
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 cup granulated sugar
3 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups coarsely chopped stone fruit (can be frozen)
1 tablespoon turbinado sugar (or you can use granulated sugar, if you like)

Whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt together.
Cream 3/4 cup of the butter with the sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer or with an electric beater. You want the mixture to be extremely light and fluffy, and this will take 3 to 4 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the mixture from the sides of the bowl after each addition. Stir in the vanilla.
Add the flour mixture and combine with a few strokes of a spoon just until a dough forms. Turn the dough out onto a piece of plastic wrap, and wrap it tightly. Put it in the freezer for 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Use the remaining tablespoon of butter to grease a ten inch cake or tart pan. Divide the dough into two equal portions, and pat one of them into the bottom of the prepared pan. You don't have to be fussy about getting the dough to the edges--if there are some gaps, the dough will expand in the oven.
Spread the cut fruit evenly over the dough. Then, break up the second half of the dough into tablespoon-size pieces, and spread them evenly over the fruit. Sprinkle with turbinado (or regular) sugar. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until golden. Cool before serving.

corn and nectarine salad with basil

So I've written a book!

A couple of years ago, when I thought about the possibility of writing a book, I thought of it more as an exercise than a reality. I was absolutely sure that it would never go anywhere, but I thought it would be good for me to follow through and see what I could make of it. At the very least, I'd have the experience of writing a book proposal, and even that seemed glamorous and exciting and fulfilling. Even more, I was realizing how much I loved the process of writing, torturous as it was, and as someone who has always put great stock in real, bound books made of paper and glue, I did feel like I'd love to try to create one. 

For a few years before I started working on the book, I was a personal assistant to a filmmaker. She is a pretty remarkable woman, and she and I had a conversation once that helped all of this along.  I had just picked her up from the airport, and we were somewhere on the Taconic Parkway.  She was telling me about her trip and her meetings and then she changed the subject.

"When are you going to stop working for me and start doing what you love?"

Now the real truth of it was that there were parts of that job that I really did love, and it was actually in those few years that I had the chance to eat some of the most remarkable meals of my life.  This inspired me to no end, as did the interactions that I had with actors and filmmakers who had made so much out of nothing, and who continued to be humbled and surprised by their success.

But she knew that my heart was in this next step for which I was gathering my courage. And when I asked her how she did that thing, that is to jump in and to know that she could start with a spark and keep working and working until it was something, and then something big, even when the task seemed impossible and the world around her even said as much, she gave me a piece of advice that is with me every day. She told me to think about the next step, and the next step only.  She said that if I looked to the end result, I'd risk getting overwhelmed and losing the whole process, so I should just go step by step. Most importantly, I should believe that the next step was possible, and to put all my work into that. So that's what I've tried to do. I've put all of my energy into envisioning and working on the next step.  I'm one of those people who thinks so big that the results can feel impossible, and so I've had a lot of plans that I've abandoned early on.

So when I thought about writing a book, I thought about the beginning of the process.  I went to talk to a friend who I worked for when Sadie was  just born. She's worked in publishing for a long time, and I asked her where to start. And so on from there. And every accomplished step felt like a milestone, and I kept saying that if I didn't get any further, I'd still feel so good about making it this far. About writing a book proposal. About finding an amazing agent who wanted to work with me. About getting the proposal to the point where it could go to publishers. About selling (!) the book to a publisher. About actually writing (!!) the book, and learning about the process of working with an editor and a team.  About finding a photographer to work with, and working together on creating the images. Every time we get to a point, it feels like the peak of a mountain, and I can't help but jump up and down and holler into the air.

A year ago, it all started to feel real enough to tell you about, and with sweaty palms and a dry mouth, I introduced you to "untitled cookbook." The book is not totally done, and we still have a while until I can put it in your hands, but I wanted to make another introduction, because whereas that book was still a bit of a dream, it's now more of its real self. So, palms even sweatier, heart beating faster than it was a minute ago, I'd be honored if you'd allow me to make the introduction again.

This past week, I saw it all for the first time. Pictures and recipes and stories all designed into real pages of a real book. And I'll share more of it over the coming months, but today, I wanted to show you this page. Because when I saw it, I started to shake and there was a lump in my throat and a lot of other reactions all ran around inside of me. Because I think I've been steadily making my way through each step, and I still don't believe that this could be real. I still don't believe that my girls will be able to have this book about our life and our food and our granola.

The parts of this process that feel big keep surprising me. Months ago, I finished the manuscript and I sent it off, and then I made some dinner and put the girls to bed, and mentioned it to Joey, and he said "What? You did it?" and he let out a cheer. It all surprised me by feeling quiet and orderly. But the other night, Joey confessed that he'd been curious and checked on Amazon. He put the computer in front of me, and I typed my name into the Amazon search box.  There's no cover image, no author page or anything flashy, but there it is,

The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying and Start Making

To be published April 3, 2012, and available for preorder now!  Coming in at #1,960,623 in books, which is pretty good I think, considering it doesn't exist yet.  Yeah!

So here's to envisioning each step, and to the possibility of impossible things. And here's to you, friends, my favorite company in the kitchen.  As nervous as I am (and man am I nervous) about these coming months when I have to keep exercising my sell-myself muscle (advice anyone?), as long as we can keep talking here, I think I can keep a level head. It turns out that it's not the writing that's the scariest for me, it's the asking people to read it. I'll keep working it, but thank you for helping me out with that one.  It's an understatement to say that none of this would be possible without you.

And speaking of you, what are you making for dinner? I've got this salad that I've made over and over this week--I've got to say that it's one the only things I'm interested in eating right now. Maybe it's the combination of summer in a bowl that does it, maybe it's that I'm holding on to the season? I'm not sure why it took me 32 years to eat raw corn, but better late than never. Did you know about this secret? Why didn't anyone tell me?

So this is corn, nectarines, scallions, lime, salt, pepper, and basil. That's it. It's sweet and sour and crunchy and slightly reminiscent of a cocktail that I have yet to try. And it's especially excellent on the potluck picnic table, so if you've got one of those this weekend, maybe it could make an appearance. Or if you've got a suggestion for what I could make when I've had enough of this, I would be eternally grateful.

Corn and Nectarine Salad with Basil

serves 4-6 people, or just me if there is a bowl of it in the fridge all day 

4 ears corn, kernels removed
2 nectarines, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 large scallion, whites and a bit of the green thinly sliced
6 leaves basil, sliced thin
juice of 1 lime
salt
pepper

Combine the ingredients and stir to combine. Taste to adjust for salt, pepper, and lime juice.