Last year I had the great pleasure of working with a supremely talented illustrator, Sasha Prood (represented by my dear friend Stephanie Pesakoff at Illustration Division), who created a custom alphabet and set of numbers for Glutton for Life. When I had the blog redesigned last spring, we included the new alphabet in the "About" section under Glutton A-Z, but that's a bit of a secret so I thought I'd share a few of the illustrations here. I'm featuring the ones most reminiscent of spring, now that the days are getting longer and the earth is waking up. I'm considering screening some of these beautiful drawings on linen kitchen towels and/or burlap tote bags, so do let me know which ones you like best. At the bottom is the full collection, including numbers. Note there are two Ts (so there would be no redundancy in spelling out "glutton") and two Us, because some people were confused by the stack of bowls.
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Ah, August. A month whose name alludes to its impressive stature. It looms large, shimmering in the heat, revered as the last great beacon of summer. It's over now and September stretches ahead in the golden light, the first leaves smoldering red, the school bell ringing in the distance. Summer is so fleeting but I'll hold tight to my memories of Cape Cod, a place that with its salty air and sun-bleached shingles seems to encapsulate this season better than any other. A few days with dear friends in their beautiful home near the beach in Truro left us relaxed and rejuvenated, determined to go barefoot more often. We strolled, swam, cooked, lingered in the screened-in porch and slept soundly, dreaming of childhood.
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Back to earth, quite literally. I spent 5 hours weeding yesterday. Before we left for Venice, I had noticed a new kind of weed proliferating throughout the garden. I ignored these slim stalks for a few days and they took advantage by inviting all their kinfolk to the party. By the time we returned from our trip, the whole enormous crop of them had dried up, turning most of our beds into brittle, grassy fields. The kicker? When you pull them up, they literally spit their seeds into your face, showering them everywhere. So we are assured of a nice big crop next year. Mother Nature sure is clever. On the flip side, she has rewarded us with so many other signs of gloriously burgeoning life. The chipmunks are back, fat and sassy, chasing each other around the yard. Woodpeckers syncopate the goings-on. The cherry tree and the lilacs are in bloom, and their sultry perfume never fails to remind me that life is sweet.
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I still haven't found any ramps, but it has begun to rain at long last and this is a promising sign for foragers. The forecast includes some nights in the 20s this week, though, and with everything in full bud, I fear for some of the less hardy plants. It was a strange winter and is shaping up to be a very strange spring indeed. Still, for some people it's ramp business as usual, as you can see by the bunches I brought home from the local farmers market. Here are some ideas for how to use them if you, too, have access. Green garlic or slim scallions would also work with these recipes.
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We've scarcely had any rain up here in the hinterlands. I've even considered doing some sort of little dance in an effort to placate the gods. A winter without snow means no melts to form the vernal pools where frogs and salamanders spawn, and it can also lead to precious few mushrooms. (And this was to be my year of tracking down morels!) But driving home late the other night, we came across a yearly event that would seem to indicate that things are mostly proceeding according to plan: smashed frogs on the road. Yes, every year they make the trek from the ponds behind our house to the ones across the way. I know not why as it seems like a dangerous endeavor. A good number give up their precious lives along the journey to greener pastures. Out in the woods, we found other signs of spring, too.
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Our annual combined celebration of Easter and Passover came and went in a frenzy of cooking and eating, as usual. I was in charge of the bulk of the menu this time but, as always, our 15 friends brought traditional treats and specialties that really pushed things over the top. I'm going to spread out the telling of this event over the week, posting a different recipe each day, or else it will be too overwhelming for both of us. As you can see from the photo, above, we gathered at Beaver Dam, the gorgeous upstate home of a very chic French gallerist I am lucky to call my bosom friend. Big dogwood branches, hyacinths and other spring blooms came from the city, as most plants are still dormant up here. The sun was shining, the air was cool and fresh, and we had a roaring fire going. Spirits were high as the advent of spring always brings a rush of renewed energy.

Home again, home again. As much as I love to travel, sometimes I think coming home is the best part. Especially when the transition from balmy Hawaii to balmy New York is so smooth. (Minus the jet lag, of course.) Our trip to the Big Island was extraordinary, and I plan to tell you all about it, but I hit the ground running and have not yet had a chance to sort through all the photos, much less my thoughts. So that's for next week. For now, a few glimpses of spring's first signs—it's arrived fast and furious in these parts—and links to some of my latest discoveries. I'm chomping at the bit to start foraging and have a long list of wild edibles I'm determined to find this season. By the way, I've missed you madly and realize all over again what a wonderful creative and social outlet this blog is for me.
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We came. We cocktailed. We conquered. I feel hungover this morning, but not from drinking. Last night's event was both energizing and exhausting, and I think we can say it was an unqualified success. More than 200 people turned up at Warby Parker's Holiday Spectacle Bazaar to visit Best Made Company's pop-up shop and sip Glutton for Life cocktails made with foraged ingredients and Stranahan's Colorado whiskey. Although I think of myself as a bit of a grumpy misanthrope at times, I was deeply happy interacting with all the lovely people (old friends and new) that stopped by my little makeshift bar to sample the evening's three specialties: The Nutty Professor, Pining for You and Drunken Indian Lemonade. The mood was very festive and everyone really seemed to be having a good time, especially after a cup of the Johnny Appleseed Punch.
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Oh yes, more mushrooms! And it's raining like the devil in these parts, so probably more yet to come. I'm still not complaining. G found a brilliant orange chicken mushroom growing on the split trunk of the oak tree that crashed through our back fence during Irene and it went right into a pot of soup. I have so much maitake (aka hen-of-the-woods or grifola frondosa) in my freezer—and dried, too—that I'm set for hot pots for the rest of the winter. All this bounty has led me to invent a delicious soup: wild mushroom made with wild mushroom stock. The only other wild thing I had on hand (other than my imagination, of course) was some wild rice, so I threw that in, too. It turned out wildly earthy, nutty, chewy—more of a stew, really. Perfect for these days of incipient fall, and for October 1st which is World Vegetarian Day. In fact, I think I read somewhere that October is Vegetarian Awareness month. Meaning that we're supposed to notice they exist? Whatever, it seems like a good excuse to whip up lots of vegetable-centric dishes. Hey, flavor them with bacon, I don't care. But let's explore a few we may not cook on a regular basis: kohlrabi, parsnips, mung bean sprouts, jerusalem artichokes, turnips, puntarelle. It's a wild world but somebody's got to eat it.
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Enough with the mushrooms! Or is it? I have felt myself becoming obsessed this past week. Any free moment I have, I'm stealing into the woods to search for black trumpets, chanterelles, hen-of-the-woods and chicken mushrooms. And I've been richly rewarded! We're supposed to get more rain this week, and I think by Friday a new crop may be sending out its siren song. I found so many maitakes that I gave half of them to my friend Tomo, who is connected to many of NYC's best Japanese chefs. Apparently they're all excited to cook with them! (I'll try to parlay this into an interview, or at least an interesting new mushroom recipe.) By now we've eaten mushrooms on toast, mushroom risotto, mushroom tempura and mushroom soup. I've frozen and dried enough to see me through the winter, but I still fantasize about what might be around the next tree! What's wrong with me??
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