May 2012

The only thing better than seeing the first asparagus at the farmer's market? Finding a patch of wild asparagus. It can be hard to get to before the deer. When you spy those leggy green stalks swaying in the breeze, it really hits home that it's a sort of grass. This herbaceous vegetable has been enjoyed throughout history, from the time of the ancient Greeks and Egyptians. Madame de Pompadour enjoyed asparagus' delicate points d'amour ("love tips"). I didn't find enough in the wild to make a whole dish, just enough to garnish a platter of raw asparagus ribbons from the farmers marker, punctuated with the onion pungency of purple chive blossoms. This salad is actually a riff on this one, and is similarly adorned with thin shavings of parmesan, toasted pine nuts and a light dressing of olive oil and lemon juice. That's your recipe.
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Britt Browne has a mad case of the blues: she’s in love with indigo. Her affair with this magical plant has her dreaming of a utopian art farm and she’s on her way to making it a reality. She has studied printmaking in Vermont, fashion in Paris and typography in NYC, and worked as an art director at places like W magazine, Abercrombie & Fitch and Ann Taylor. As an artist, she works primarily in prints, though she made her first short film, El Niño Encantado, last year. Britt lives in LA and has many interesting collaborations brewing, including design work for a new restaurant venture affiliated with the wonderful Echo Park green grocer Cookbook, where she has also held crafting workshops. And now she has founded Growing Indigo, an art and agriculture concept project currently the subject of an exhibit, Growing Indigo: A Hydroponic Installation and Superfine Prints, at the Standard Hotel in Los Angeles, through June 9th. 
Along with hydroponically-grown indigo plants (nurtured by magenta LED lights), the exhibit features a stunning collection of Britt’s vibrant indigo-ink prints that are also for sale at Stampa, our favorite online gallery.
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This is kind of a random post, but it does end with a couple of recipes, since I feel I owe you. Have you been cooking? Are you ready for a summer of fresh salads, grilling and frozen treats? I sure am!Before attending the Brooklyn Food Conference a couple of weeks ago, G and I hit the Fort Greene Flea. I was instantly transported back to the days when Saturdays always included a stroll around the now-defunct 26th Street flea market in Manhattan. I have to say, though, the food in Brooklyn takes it to a whole other level. It's such a testament to the explosion of artisanal craft that's going on in this once-humble borough. Sadly, I was on a juice fast, but G ate his way through the place. I had to be content with snapping a few photos with my iphone. That's fragrant roasted porchetta, above, which they were hand-slicing to go on chewy ciabatta rolls for deliciously rustic sandwiches.
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I've lured you here today with this picture of mouthwatering chocolate meringues but it's just a ruse to make you sit still for a bit of a rant. A number of things converged in the past couple of weeks and I've really got to share this stuff with you. I had the opportunity to attend the Brooklyn Food Conference in Fort Greene and sit on a panel to discuss "women's place at the table." Frankly, I was a bit miscast as this conference is heavily oriented toward policy and the other panelists were talking about single mothers, the struggling poor and disenfranchised immigrants (and me, with my penchant for expensive ingredients!), but I was able to chime in a bit about the importance of gardening. I remembered this article, about a single mother of three who had to go back to the land to feed her family—in Brooklyn!—and wound up eating better than ever before for much less money. The idea of community gardens—even a few raised beds for growing vegetables—could help change the lives of people eating in food deserts. Then I read about Seattle's new project, creating a 7-acre "edible forest" of fruit-bearing trees and plants as part of an effort to rehabilitate their local ecosystem, and I began to have some hope for the future.
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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've had fun all over again this week, going through the many photos from our vacation. I've showed you some highlights, but I haven't really shared the impetus for this trip. It all began with an invitation to celebrate the 50th birthday of my beloved college roommate in a palazzo on the Grand Canal. Who could refuse? Sixty lucky souls turned up at the Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore for a black-tie fête on the night of the super moon. It truly felt like the most special once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I hope we'll all end up back there when she turns 75. The palazzo was everything you might imagine: vast, lavishly furnished (including ornate Murano glass chandeliers) and complete with its own mustachioed butler. You could ride up to the palazzo in your water taxi, leap gracefully onto the small wooden dock and pass through the iron gate to the ground floor's echoing marble hall. What a life!
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I was tempted to title this post "The Girl Who Ate Venice." I think I mentioned to you that I went on a juice fast the second we touched down at JFK. I wouldn't say we grossly overindulged, but you know that restaurant food is just that much richer, and I can't say we really denied ourselves much. Everywhere you go in Venice, people are eating gelato, and the flavors are irresistible: the deepest, most fragrant coffee; nutty pistachio; fior di latte (flower of milk) that tastes of the purest cream; fig and walnut; fresh strawberry...who could resist? I was armed with 6 pages of restaurant recommendations, culled from friends, the internet and a long-hoarded issue of Departures magazine devoted to Venice, and I feel like we barely made a dent. We didn't make it to either Da Fiore or Alle Testiere, two much-touted restaurants on everyone's lists, but we had many wonderful meals.You may have noticed that most of the Venice photos were taken by G. Despite my best intentions, I find that I get caught up in the moment when we're traveling, and have a hard time remembering to shoot. Also, when you're in a cozy little trattoria surrounded by locals, you don't really want to pull out your honking Nikon (or even your iphone) and start snapping away. That said, there's plenty of eye candy coming up.
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We hit the ground running in Venice, dropping our bags at the sweet garden apartment we rented in the Dorsoduro neighborhood (more on that another day), and hoofed it right up to Canareggio in the northern part of the city to visit Gianni Basso Stampatore. G had brought me to this dark sliver of a shop on Calle del Fumo last time we were in Venice, but it was closed on that cold day in early January and I vowed to return. The window was tantalizingly full of gorgeous calling cards created for an eclectic roster of luminaries, including names as diverse as Hugh Grant, Pierre Bergé and Gael Greene. Gianni himself mans the shop (though his son now works with him, too) and I was thrilled to spend some time with this genial Venetian who is responsible for such beautiful letterpress creations.
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Venice is truly transporting. The magic of the place is hard to describe. It's a convergence of so many things: beautiful muted colors, lovely gardens, a culture of art, rich history, outdoor cafés, unique topography, no cars, the patina of age. It's arguably the world's most beautiful city, and definitely one you must visit in this lifetime. It's hard to say what is my favorite aspect but, if pressed, I might name the Rialto market. All and sundry turn up here on a daily basis to shop for seafood, fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as meats and cheeses. Elegant Venetian matrons pulling their trolleys, gawking tourists with cameras, young couples in love and mothers with strollers rub shoulders in front of amazing displays of the Veneto's finest. It's here you get a sense of the unique riches this region has to offer. As everywhere in Venice, there are little cafés surrounding the market, my favorite of which is Al Mercà, really no more than a kiosk where you can get fantastic wines and the very best little sandwiches.
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Venice was perfection. I'm so excited to tell you all about it, but I'm still organizing photos and sifting through my impressions. Please check back next week to read about the restaurants, the markets, the parties and the romance of one of the world's most glorious cities. We returned home to a word in full flower. I had been hoping to see some black locust trees in bloom this year, as I have read about the wonderfully fragrant edible flowers, and suddenly there they were by the dozens as we drove through Paramus, New Jersey, en route from the airport. Serendipity!
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