Condimental

If, as Clifton Fadiman so memorably phrased it, cheese is milk’s leap toward immortality, then yogurt must be its first tentative step in that general direction. How milk got culture is actually a bit of a mystery. Most likely, the earliest yogurts were spontaneously fermented by the wild bacteria that proliferated in the goatskin bags where milk was stored. (Yo, Urg, get a whiff of this!) Wherever it took place, the result— particularly when eaten with honey—has been known as food of the gods since ancient times. And, like all godly things, down here on earth it's been widely corrupted. Perhaps you read about the recent debacle with Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand that has been giving Fage a run for its money? They recalled a ton of their product after reports that "moldy" and "fizzing" yogurt in "bloated" containers was making consumers "violently ill." There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don't even know where to begin, so I'll just say that virtually everything seems to suffer from being produced in enormous quantities. Which is why you might want to consider springing for small-batch artisanal yogurt or, better yet, making your own. It's all about quality control and maximum flavor. And health.

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It's not cliché to serve Blood Marys at brunch when they have been elevated by the likes of Lior Lev Sercarz and Jim Meehan. The former is a master of all things related to spices—he recently launched a spice-infused beer with Brooklyn Brewery and a divinely spiced hot chocolate blend—and the latter is a highly original mixologist and owner of PDT (Please Don't Tell), a unique cocktail den in New York City. (Check out his greatest hits in The PDTCocktail Book.) These two put their heads together to reinvent the classic Bloody Mary with a judicious use of spices and clever combinations of fresh ingredients, spirits and aromatics. The result is 4 complex spice blends accompanied by 4 distinctive recipes for delicious tomato juice-based drinks that aren't just for brunch.  Not a drinker? You can also use the spice blends to make very nice virgin versions. Try the classic B-Mary, with vodka, smoked paprika, celery seeds and black pepper; the B-Marion, a Scandinavian version with aquavit, caraway, anise and orange; the B-Marlene, with gin, juniper, coriander and cardamom; and the one I made yesterday, the B-María, with tequila, green chile, cilantro and chipotle. It's spicy, piquant, highly flavored and truly addictive—perfect for entertaining, even if you're all alone.
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It's been that kind of week. Wrestling with my demons practically non-stop. The Nikon came back from being repaired in the exact same state as when we sent it in. And had to go back again. A new client who owes me $20k for work that was received with great praise has not paid me after nearly 4 months and is giving me the runaround. And, on top of everything, an ancient spill on my computer has suddenly reared its ugly head and the S and W keys are spitting out all kinds of nonsense. (Like this: ƒ©˙∆˚¬adfs∆˚¬) I have figured out some workarounds, but I'll try to avoid those letters for now (yeah, right), though the laptop is clearly destined for the repair shop, too, and that is about as convenient as cutting off my left hand. #^%$#^%! (No, that was me cursing.)

I've felt alternately bitter, frightened, vulnerable, defiant and beaten down. But here I am. Pity party notwithstanding, one thing I didn't do was lose sight of my commitment to my health. I still went hiking several times this week and looked at the beautiful changing foliage. I did my daily body scan meditation for my MBSR class. I went to yoga twice. I stayed with my regimen of supplements and ate pretty well. And I credit all this with helping me keep it together instead of collapsing into a black funk or throwing a tantrum (well, more than one). So, while I wasted a fair amount of time fuming and worrying, I'm still giving myself some credit for not sliding headlong into total despair or a tub of dulce de leche ice cream.
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By the end of tomato season, I am so OVER tomatoes that I have to continually remind myself I won't feel the same come February. The green ones, rescued from the garden before the first frost hits, provide an acceptable respite from the red and the onslaught of tomato soup (both hot and cold), tomato sauce, tomato paste, tomato jam, tomato juice, tomato water, tomato powder and tomato fruit leather. Green tomatoes offer a crisp tartness that demands a totally different approach in the kitchen. I love them fried, their firm texture standing up to a deliciously crunchy coating of buttermilk and cornmeal. And green tomato chutney is a useful condiment, equally able to perk up a cheese sandwich or a plate of papadums and rice. But I'm fickle and always looking for something new—for me and for you, too. Got to stay frosty.
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I'm almost to the point of never wanting to see another tomato. I can scarcely believe that I will ever pine for one again. (But talk to me in March.) We were supposed to get our first freeze last night, so the house is piled high with delicate herbs and tomatoes, both ripe and not, snatched before Jack Frost could claim them. I have made countless batches of sauce to freeze; I have dried cherry tomatoes to store in oil; I have dehdyrated and ground slices into a powder for seasoning salt and butter; there is a giant stash of spicy tomato fruit leather, and two dozen jars of spicy tomato jam aka nectar of the gods. There is such an over-abundance of food in the house at this moment, and it occurs to me I haven't really been sharing with you much about what I've been cooking. (I document some of it on Instagram; come visit @laurasilverman)

By the way, the Nikon was having some issues and had to be sent back to the manufacturer (now the only place allowed to do repairs!) so I apologize for the less-than-adequate iphone photos which will persist for god knows how long. I trust you will bear with me in my quest to defy perfectionism and simply soldier on...
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September has arrived and with it that bittersweet feeling full of nostalgia for the sweetness of summer, charged with anticipation for the fresh start that is fall. How I've missed you! This post will probably be a bit longer than usual because, in my month off, I have stored up so much to tell you.

I had many plans for the month of August, a long list of projects and goals. I wanted to make natural dyes. I was going to send out a survey to my readers. I had every intention of uploading all the content for the launch of my redesigned professional website. And guess what I did? None of that. Instead, I coped with having 5 herpes outbreaks in 6 weeks: a glaring sign from my body that all is not right. But your life is so perfect! you say. Country living, fresh food, walks in the woods—what could possibly be wrong? Actually, I am grateful for this wakeup call. I have clearly been pushing myself too hard, not taking the time to nurture myself and not really listening to my inner voice. You know the one. It tells us when we have reached our limit, when it is time for change.
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As I prepare to leave you for a month (my last post until after Labor Day will be on Friday), I realize I have shared very little of this summer's garden. I've spent so many back-breaking hours weeding it, and almost as much time picking off the great variety of insect predators that seem to be assigned to each tender vegetable and herb, that I haven't had much occasion to just wander through with my camera. It's bigger and more bodacious than ever. My favorite thing is to take friends on a smelling tour: lovage, anise hyssop, four kinds of mint, wild bergamot, sage, lavender, roses, chamomile, lemon verbena...it massages the senses. But wait. That might be my second favorite. Because what I like best is eating our bounty straight from the ground, still cool from the earth and vibrating with sunshine. And doing things to it first in my kitchen.
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In the midst of all the glories of summer—the deliciously cool mornings, the lingering evening light, the sound of the crickets, the smell of crushed tomato leaves, the feel of bare toes in prickly grass—life continues to have its challenges. For me, that means too much work tethering me to my desk and a wrenching sense of always feeling caught between what I want to do and what I have to do. Sometimes, those two things overlap but I often feel like there are simply not enough hours in the day. August is just around the corner though and that means a break from my blog. (I'll miss you!!) This year, I'm going to experiment with going dark on Facebook for the month as well.

I'm also trying something else that's new: when I wake up, instead of immediately obsessing about everything I have to get done that day, I take a little time to just lie there and review everything for which I can be grateful. Yes, I count my blessings. Inevitably, it begins with the man asleep a few inches away, whose love and support never fail me. Sometimes, I let my mind roam into the scary places and, even there, if I stay anchored, I can tap into the strength and the resolve to push through. I am no Pollyanna, believe me, but this little ritual really helps me start the day with optimism and joy in my heart. As for how I reward myself at the end of the day, the photo above should give you a clue.
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It's Friday and I promised you a cocktail. But in rebooting my computer, my last two weeks' worth of photos somehow disappeared, so I can't tell you about the wildberry gin I have been infusing. Long exhale. Mopping of brow. It's too hot to despair. The perfect solution? Exhorting you to make one of my all-time favorite summer cocktails: the Lovage You Long Time. You can do it! You can do it!

Don't got no lovage? Try infusing the simple syrup with a combination of celery leaves and stalks instead. The rest is just fresh lemon juice, Hendrick's gin, celery bitters and plenty of ice. A couple of these and the living will, indeed, be easy.
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Last year, we took some wild garlic plants from a friend's land and planted them in our garden. They emerged, thrived and grew tall this season, producing those elegant, winding scapes that are the flower stalks of hardneck garlic plants. Instead of actually producing flowers, they eventually form small bulblets that can be planted to grow more garlic—or eaten as is, or used to infuse vinegar. That's what I did today, tossing a generous handful into a jar of organic white vinegar. I'll let it cool its heels in the pantry for a few weeks, then strain out and discard the garlic and use the vinegar for salad dressing. No vampires in this house.
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