Eating

Seeds. Water. Light. Life! That's all it takes. Just shy of 5 days, and hardy little shoots are springing out, so vibrant and crisp. A reminder of how eager cells are to divide, and how little they require to thrive. The pea shoots are tender and crunchy, full of vivid pea flavor. The broccoli sprouts are smaller and more tender, with a delicate but recognizable taste. They are ready to eat now: stirred into soups, tossed in salads, layered in sandwiches, simply dressed with a little lemon juice and sesame oil, blended in juice.
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OK, I'm going to say it: I'm OVER winter. Jeez. More snow? Is this really what we need? And still no working sink or shower in our bathroom. So where's the motherfucking silver lining? (Wow. In real life I have a mouth like a truck driver, but on the blog I rarely stoop so low.) But wait. Yesterday I made marmalade, and today there are five gorgeous jars of the stuff glowing on the kitchen counter. Canning doesn't have to be such a big deal, you know. It's not imperative that you slave over a hot stove for hours and hours, putting up jar after jar of whatever it is. You can simply look in your fridge and see that you have an enormous bowl of malingering kishu mandarins left over from the 10 pounds you ordered on a lark in January—plus the odd Meyer lemon and pink grapefruit—and decide that you're going to make a discreet quantity of marmalade, just for yourself and the occasional very lucky friend.
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Would it surprise you to hear that last night we busted out the barbecue and grilled up some pork, and awoke this morning to the first day of spring covered in snow? During a stroll around our yard yesterday, I was so thrilled to spy the first signs of life: snowdrops, rhubarb, mint (photos tomorrow). The chipmunks were dashing about, shaking off the winter doldrums and nibbling on green shoots. All just a tease. We'll be out snowshoeing again tomorrow. Not sure if I'm complaining, but I think I am.Anyway, we were lucky enough to get in our first grilled dinner—steaks, but featuring the other white meat. Whoever heard of a pork steak? At Dickson's, where we get our meat in the city, they frequently have interesting new cuts. If I'm not mistaken, this has to do with the fact that they are buying the whole animal. They like to find appealing ways to showcase parts that don't often show up in the butcher case. It's also why they can sell things like homemade suet, stocks, patés and terrines. So when G spied these pork "sirloins," he had to give them a try.
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For those of you not lucky enough to be eating your own corned beef tonight, here's a quick peek at how mine turned out. Overall, I'm quite satisfied. The meat was just the right balance of tender but firm. It was a gorgeous pink, perfumed by the spices and very buttery from that extra layer of fat that my butcher did not remove. (Thanks, Jake!) I let the vegetables get a tad soft perhaps, but they have a melt-in-your-mouth quality that is irresistible. It makes me realize that I do not eat enough velvety cooked cabbage. Both the sauces—coarse-grained mustard with shallots and a dash of stout, and creme fraiche with horseradish and chives—are addictive and the perfect pungent, spicy counterpoint to the rich meat. The one surprise was the broth: copious amounts of it (so much so that I'll be using it to make beans), and delicious poured over the whole dish. Served in a broad pasta bowl, everything can run together into one delectable hot mess. Would love to hear how anyone else's turned out.If you thought we were done with root vegetables—not so fast! After all the squash soups and mashed parsnips and potato-leek gratins and beet salads, I came across a root previously unknown to me: parsley root. Have you encountered it? Apparently it's big with Eastern Europeans and Jewish grandmothers.

My passionate love of beets dates back to my early childhood. I can remember staring delightedly into the toilet as a lovely pink-tinged rinse circled the bowl. Their gorgeous color is a way of signaling how rich they are in minerals and antioxidants. (Beet juice, incidentally, makes a wonderful dye. Stay tuned for the transformation of my new white linen caftan!) The beets we know and eat are descended from the sea beet, Beta vulgaris subsp. maritima, which is native to the coasts of Europe, North Africa and southern Asia. Also known as wild spinach, it's the common ancestor of beetroot, sugar beet and Swiss chard.In my desire to help you squeeze the maximum out of your winter store of root vegetables, I can't forget to mention these wine-colored jewels. We don't eat them much in our house because G is not fond of them—something which is apparently rather common among men. I wonder why? He thinks they taste of dirt, which of course they do, but isn't that the whole point? I love them in all their guises—raw, steamed, roasted and pickled—and will often indulge when the cat's away.
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I'm so tired. After more than a month, the construction on our bathroom has once again ground to a halt. It's too excruciating to even go into the details. Suffice it to say, we have a working toilet. But no shower, no sink and no door on the bathroom. It's been bliss to come home and sleep in our own bed for a couple of nights, but I just don't know how this is going to work. I am beyond tantrum and into fugue state. If you think it's hard to find a good contractor where you live, come up to the sticks and feel my pain. Soup helps. It's soothing and warming. Especially this delicious carrot version that I developed years ago when I was living in Los Angeles. It was originally meant to be eaten cold, but I've found that I also love it hot. It is very brightly flavored with sharp hits of ginger, and richly spiced. I've made it on the chunkier side, but I think I prefer it super-smooth and creamy. A handful of croutons on top are key to give it a bit of satisfying textural contrast. A bowl of this with a salad of roasted beets, mâche and goat cheese on the side, and you're golden.
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I ended my fast a day early—I just felt ready—and have been eating miso soup, a little quinoa and small amounts of cooked vegetables. It feels good to chew again! So in the end, my jeans are a bit looser but, more importantly, I really feel like I hit the reset button. No more sugar cravings. (Did you know that taking probiotics in the morning helps with that by boosting your body's good bacteria?) And I am resolved to be kinder to myself in all ways; not by indulging my every whim, but by stopping to consider what I really want, on every level, and not acting on impulse. Does that make sense?Although I am not eating any animal products yet, I wanted to offer you this easy recipe for chicken legs that I've had up my sleeve. It was very loosely inspired by the cooking of Suzanne Goin, who firmly believes in the benefits of marinating and the addition of chile de árbol to practically everything. It's a simple preparation that's ideal for a quick weeknight dinner, or to make ahead and take with you for a cold lunch.
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You don't have to be Irish to love corned beef. Eastern European Jews are great connoisseurs of all manner of boiled meat, and New York deli is renowned for its sandwiches piled high with thin slices of this pink, juicy meat. But St. Patrick's Day is coming up a week from Thursday, and that gives you plenty of time (you only need about 5 days, which means you should get started by Saturday at the latest), and the perfect reason, to make your own this year. In its original, peasanty guise, this traditional fodder is as much about the vegetables: turnips, rutabagas, carrots, onions, parsnips, cabbage and plenty of spuds, of course. Not to mention delicious mustards and horseradish sauce. It's a dish meant to usher in spring by using up all those roots stored for the winter. The date for celebrating St. Patrick—a 5th-century English missionary who converted a load of pagans to Christianity—fell during the fasting season of Lent, but prohibitions against eating meat were lifted so the Irish could celebrate their patron saint with dancing, drinking and feasting on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage. If you make a big hunk of meat, you can share it with lucky friends, or hoard it to make such delectable offshoots as red flannel hash (with beets) and Reuben sandwiches (with homemade sauerkraut).
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Has the light appeared at the end of the tunnel? The days are definitely getting longer. Daylight savings is right around the corner. And soon, delicate shoots and buds will begin to festoon the skeletal branches of winter. But I've got the blues, baby, and I'm dancing as fast as I can to shake them from my weary bones. On mornings like this, the sun on my face is a balm, a promise of better days to come. I thank my stars for the roof over my head and the love of a good man, but there is a heaviness in my soul that, like a magnet, seems to dredge up all the pain and bitter disappointments I have ever known.

This, too, shall pass. Because everything always does. I have no child upon whose steady growth to mark the passage of time, but the ever-changing seasons tell it all. The snowdrifts out my window will give way to Queen Anne's lace and monkeyweed, Japanese beetles will streak by in a flash of iridescence, and I will crush tomato leaves between my dirty fingers and inhale the smell of summer. In the meantime, I will harness the raw energy of the sun, chewing and swallowing it in the form of life-giving sprouts.
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In my quest to revisit the culinary tropes of winter one last time before the change of season, it's time for braising. There's nothing cozier than a pot of something bubbling gently on the stove (or in the oven) all day long, and it's a good idea to enjoy the warm, tender, hearty results now, as they're a far cry from what we'll be craving when the mercury rises. So before we're on to spring's sweet pea risotto and asparagus soup and pickled ramps, are you sure you've perfected the art of the braise? It's all about low and slow, gentle heat breaking things down and building rich, complex flavors. Turns out it's the perfect way to cook a guinea hen (also known as guineafowl). Never had one? Tastes like chicken. Seriously, this is one gorgeous bird, with its dappled black and white feathers and tiny little head. As you can see, above, its meat is darker than a chicken's but it's nowhere near as assertive in flavor as a pheasant or grouse. It's quite high in protein, but doesn't have much fat, which makes it a great candidate for braising.

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