Health

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 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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Here comes the fall equinox. It's actually slated for the 22nd this year. The harvest moon rose high in the sky last night, an enormous silver orb, the coin of the realm. (Listening to Neil Young right this very minute.) There's a snap in the air and the mornings are dark and cold. It's soooo tempting to roll over, hunker down into the luxurious warmth of the linen sheets and go back to sleep for another hour or two, isn't it? I love my cup of warm milk in the mornings now. I usually steep roasted soba tea in it, or warming chai spices. I use low-heat-pasteurized whole milk from our local dairy, but I'm thinking it may be time to pop over the border to Pennsylvania where raw milk is legal and available. 

I love this time of year. The change is so palpable. The earth seems to exhale a long sigh as it gives over to the new season, slowly relinquishing the bounty and beauty of summer, the leaves burning bright, the waning light. Take it all in. Walk outside. Feel the last of that yellow sun on your face. Make some soup. Get your boots out.
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So many people say they feel better in the summer—the fresh air, the sunshine, the long days. I get it, I really do, but fall will forever be my favorite season. We're not quite there yet, though as I write this I am sitting in front of our first fire of the season. Yes, it was that chilly this morning. G and I did the switcheroo, where we move the dining table to the far side of the room and the couch back in front of the fireplace. Kitten is having a long bath in front of the blazing hearth and I am warming my toes from a safe distance.

Another harbinger of fall is the Romano bean, a long meaty pole bean that arrives along with the last of the summer tomatoes (of which we have multiple trays lining the kitchen counter). River Brook Farm, where we supplement our own crops, grows these green ones and also a lovely pale yellow variety called Marvel of Venice. These are Italian beans in the grandest tradition and they are so easy to prepare in the simple Tuscan style. I make a meal of them and, if you eat crusty bread, a big rustic slab would be the ideal complement.
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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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Inspired by this lovely post and remembering my own successful version from years past, I decided that a dozen small, fragrant yellow peaches gently poached in white wine with Thai basil would be the perfect finish to a meal of this grilled chicken. Nothing could be simpler. Or more coolly satisfying on a sweltering summer night. Or more seductive, slipping down your throat with a little sweet syrup. Drop in a few fresh raspberries and top with a dollop of whipped cream, though this comes dangerously close to gilding the lily.
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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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I love eating out because creative chefs often inspire me to try new things at home. I think most home cooks feel the same way as you can see  by a feature of Melissa Clark's column on the Times' blog called Restaurant Takeaway, and something similar in Bon Appétit, known as The Takeaway. Who doesn't want to recreate those bold, compelling dishes that haunt us after we've dined out somewhere special? And when it's a relatively simple technique or combination of flavors you can copy, so much the better. That's the case with this mouthwatering fresh salad that pops up as a special at ABC Kitchen in Manhattan, where chef Dan Kruger is known for healthy seasonal cooking that drives people wild.

Don't worry about having to slavishly copy every last detail of a recipe. Here, it's the combination of fresh herbs, toasted pistachios and savory green olives in the dressing that makes this salad so addictive. At the restaurant, they lavish this mix on a whole gorgeous head of butter lettuce, but anything crisp and green will do.
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The home pickling, brewing, baking and preserving rage that has swept the country (or at least Brooklyn) in recent years has brought a new appreciation for kimchi, a spicy tangle of fermented vegetables that appears on the table at every meal in Korea, where kimchi is almost a religion. Its complex pungency comes from a colorful mix of garlic, chile, salted shrimp, fish sauce, ginger and scallions—and from an aging process that leaves the components tender yet crunchy. Brined and then fermented, the vegetables' sugars convert into lactic and acetic acids and carbon dioxide. The result is magical and, ultimately, can be as stinky and rich as a ripe cheese.

To learn more about the process of fermentation, I highly recommend one (or both) of Sandor Katz's books: The Art of Fermentation and Wild Fermentation. To learn more about the age-old art of making kimchi, read on.
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