Garden

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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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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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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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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Is it really Friday again? I've been up to my ears in work and trying to get on top of things before we leave for our trip to Venice. We're going for the black-tie 50th birthday celebration of a dear friend, and have rented a charming little garden apartment in Dorsoduro for the first week of May. To say I'm looking forward to the time away would be the understatement of the century. But I'm also praying for rain at home (it's been bone-dry here) and hotly anticipating a summer of gardening and foraging (more on the latter next week), both of which are off to a pretty good start. I want to share with you a few of the early beauties that announce spring, as well as a bunch of links I've been saving up for things to eat, do, ponder and buy.
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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.

I was hell-bent on eating poi during my Hawaiian vacation. You know me, always determined to have that authentic experience. Guess what? No luck. The restaurant scene on the Big Island is kind of bleak. The place voted the island's best was resoundingly mediocre. Lilikoi (that's passionfruit) is ubiquitous, except it wasn't in season and overly-sweetened concentrate was being used for everything from cocktails to custards. Just not the same. And why not serve the amazing guavas, mangoes and strawberries that were colossally fresh and delicious? Well, because many Hawaiians, like their fellow mainlanders, have let go of much of their traditional, locally grown food and now rely on processed crap. Poi, a starchy paste made from fermented taro (or sometimes breadfruit), and traditionally eaten with fish was not on any restaurant menu. I didn't see it at any of the markets we visited, either. Foiled! We ended up cooking at home quite a bit since our rentals were equipped with pretty good kitchens and we ate well, mostly thanks to the beautiful farmers market in Hilo.
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Hawaii's Big Island was full of impressively lush vistas like this one. For the first part of our stay, we were on a wonderful private ranch at the island's northern tip, near Hawi. Horses, chickens and a sweet dog roamed the property where our group of six inhabited two separate bungalows. Ours had a hot tub and a resident spider (see below). There were avocado, mango, macadamia, guava and papaya trees and an organic vegetable garden. From our high bed we could look out over blooming violet jacarandas and golden-green meadows to the ocean in the distance. It was heavenly.
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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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