Garden

My husband has a green thumb. It turns out that, in addition to gorgeous, generous and good (and George, of course), G stands for gardener. Not only has he built three new enclosed raised bed areas to add to the two we already had, but he has planted them with a chef's dream of choice vegetables and herbs. Last night I picked succulent fresh mustard greens and tender young garlic, sauteed them up with little chunks of chorizo and tossed it all with some brown rice pasta. Dinner happens in an instant when it comes from your backyard. At first I was a little cranky that I have been working too hard to be involved in the planting this year, but now I just feel spoiled. But enough about me. How are you spending this first holiday weekend of the season? If you've got any free time, check out some of these interesting ideas and resources I have been collecting for you this month.
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I wish you were here. I would lead you down the garden path. Pause with you under the redbud so you could hear the gentle drone of the bees as they gorge on sweet nectar. Guide you through the gauntlet of green, tender shoots brushing your legs as you pass. I would crouch down with you and show you how to crush the fronds of chamomile between your fingers to release the strong scent of tart apples. I would take you to the cool woodland corner where trillums bloom and ferns unfurl. I would remind you to look at every leaf and blade, every bud and sprig, every flower and sprout and in this way, with the sun on your face and the breeze in your hair, you would feel so alive. Walk with me.
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I have a confession: I've never found a ramp in the wild. Embarrassing but true. Over the years, my foraging has turned up many prized mushrooms and choice plants, but the wild leek has remained elusive (as has the much-coveted morel). I am determined that this will be the year. In future, though, I won't have to leave it to chance. Because my crafty husband planted masses of Allium tricoccum in a shady cornder of our garden! The first patch, planted last year, came up successfully, so we planted another one last week. You're supposed to leave them mostly undisturbed for several years, allowing them to get established and really proliferate. But I've already taken a single leaf here or there. I've also bought ramps at the farmers market, where ramp frenzy is in full swing. Quite a few vendors are now selling only the leaves, because ramps have been over-harvested in many areas due to unsustainable practices. The trick is to leave at least as many bulbs behind as you take.
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I watched a wonderful film this weekend, Which Way Is The Front Line From Here? It's an HBO documentary made by Sebastian Junger about photojournalist Tim Hetherington who was killed on the job in Libya a couple of years ago. Junger and Hetherington collaborated on an another stunning film, Restrepo, about a group of American soldiers in Afghanistan. Hetherington was clearly an extraordinary human being. The compelling photographs he took and humanitarian work he did in war-torn countries reveal the soul of a poet and the heart of a lion. Cut down by mortar shrapnel in Libya, he bled out from a wound to his femoral artery. Junger made the film as a tribute to his friend and colleague, and also started RISC (Reporters Instructed in Saving Colleagues), a free intensive training in basic combat medicine for freelance journalists headed for the front line. Listen to Terry Gross' moving interview with Sebastian Junger here. In it he refers to the way in which we continually "re-traumatize" ourselves by watching the same distressing news footage over and over. It reminded me of the coverage of the tragedy in Boston this past week and the relentless replaying of the same gruesome images. I question the value of this.

And now, on to brunch. Somehow trivial in light of these terrible events, and yet necessary to celebrate any given Sunday.
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We are officially beekeepers! Our friend Claire procured 3 pounds of highly adaptable Italian honey bees (Apis mellifera ligustica) for us and we picked them up this weekend. They are now ensconced on our rooftop (out of the reach of bears!) in the hive that was my Christmas present to G. He did much of the research for this project and I am now doing my reading to catch up. Bees are a big responsibility and I want to make sure we give them all the TLC they need. After all, with any luck, next year they'll be giving us some delicious honey.

Another incentive for starting a hive is the desire to support the severely challenged bee population. I'm sure you've heard of the frightening widespread colony collapse. (This is a great piece on the latest conclusions.) I find it fascinating that Rudolph Steiner, the German founder of biodynamic agriculture and a precursor of the modern organic movement, predicted in 1923 that artificial industrial techniques used to breed honey bees would lead to the species' collapse within a hundred years. The bee is yet another tragic victim of monoculture industrial agriculture and its rampant use of pesticides and GMOs.

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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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Hope is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,


And never stops—at all,



 

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard,


And sore must be the storm


That could abash the little bird


That kept so many warm,



 

I've heard it in the chillest land—


And on the strangest sea;


Yet, never, in extremity,


It asked a crumb—of me.

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You may have noticed my total disregard of the upcoming holiday. Perhaps this is because we are going to a friend's home for Thanksgiving this year and I will not be in the kitchen. Or maybe it's just that I am weary to the bone of online discussions about the best way to cook a turkey and the incessant chatter about "sides." Upon receiving my latest issue of Lucky Peach, I was especially delighted to see that there was no burnished bird or puffy harvest casserole on the cover. (It's actually the Chinatown issue and, yet again, it's jam-packed with some of the most engaging and entertaining long-form food writing out there.) In fact, if I never hear anything more about quinoa, delicata squash or cranberry compote it will be too soon. Yet we must eat, and most of us will be sitting down to a major chowdown on Thursday, so I felt this was the perfect opportunity to continue the conversation about green sauces.
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A recent visit to our friends' farm up near the Vermont border yielded several delightful items from their bountiful garden, including a curvaceous butternut squash and a great big, beautiful sunflower head. Birds (or mice?) had already had their way with some of the purplish seeds but there were still plenty left. I lopped the yellow-fringed head off the tall, top-heavy plant, ferried it home and left it to dry in the porch for a few days. Then I turned it upside down, banged and clawed all the seeds out and looked into the proper roasting technique.
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The seemingly endless zucchini jokes reached their zenith about a month ago. (When do country folks lock their car doors? In August, for fear someone might slip a bag of zucchini in there.) Gardens were overrun with the stuff and guests wielded big lumpy specimens the size of baseball bats as "hostess gifts." Talk abounded of zucchini bread, zucchini carpaccio, zucchini gazpacho, zucchini pickles, fried zucchini sticks...you get the idea. This chatter has died down, and yet I have only just pulled the last few summer squash from my garden. If you, too, are still searching for quick and delicious ways to dispense with a surfeit of this green goodness, look no further than these crispy, gooey, mint-spiked fritters. Bonus: they can even be frozen for future enjoyment, when summer is just a twinkle in your eye.
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