Clearly, this was a banner year for winter squash. We planted a single plant and in return reaped this one mini Blue Hubbard in the foreground, above. But at Riverbrook Farm, they've been harvesting them by the barrel. In the back is a Cinderella pumpkin, a beautiful French heirloom also known as Rouge Vif d'Etampes. It first became available in the U.S. in 1883. The bumpy one at left is called Marina di Chioggia, another heirloom, this one with roots in the Italian coastal town for which it's named. The rich sweet flesh is deep yellow-orange and especially prized for making gnocchi. (Stay tuned later this week!) The other greyish one is an Australian variety—can't remember what it's called. They had at least a dozen varieties at the farm and I was a bit overwhelmed by the choices. Resting on top is the lovely striped Delicata. I would imagine it got its name from its thinner skin, or possibly from the fine-textured golden flesh that has a sweet, nutty flavor. I roasted mine and stirred chunks of it, along with flecks of smoked ham and fresh sage, into a risotto made with brown carnaroli rice.
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There is archaeological evidence to show that humans have been eating apples since 6,500 BC. And why not? They're sweet, crunchy, juicy and, as every man since Adam knows, incredibly tantalizing. This is their season, and the farmers markets are full of crates bursting with different varieties and the cider made from them. I remember the first time I ever had dinner at the original Bouley in Manhattan. You stepped into a little vestibule before entering the restaurant and it was piled floor-to-ceiling with crates of apples. Their winey perfume was intoxicating, so evocative and transporting. Eating a crisp, cold apple out of hand is a primal experience—it's just you and the fruit. Some people go all the way and even eat the core, but I enjoy tossing it out into the field. Dust to dust. Apples are also delicious cooked. Did you make this recipe last year? I really enjoy a simple apple cake. Slightly rustic and not too sweet. The one below is adapted from 101 Cookbooks. It's easy to throw together and you can use any apples you like. Something quite firm and sweet-tart is always preferable for baking, I think.
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Squash and gourds have arrived! I'm planning to really load up when I visit the farm next weekend as Alice has so many gorgeous heirloom varieties. For now I just grabbed a green kabocha and a gorgeous brilliant orange mini Hubbard. Hubbards are my favorite variety, and we actually managed to produce a blue one ourselves in this year's garden. They have a wonderfully sweet and rather dry flesh that roasts up beautifully. Last fall, I invented this very easy and delicious way to stuff any whole squash; I find that roundish ones work best. Small ones are ideal for one or two people, or you could do a great big one for a dinner party. The presentation is lovely and rather dramatic. I use whatever vegetables I have on hand, and it's an ideal way to use up leftovers, because rice, stale bread, bits of ham—anything, really (dried fruit, seeds, tofu)—can go in there. A little cheese is always nice, so now that G is back on dairy (sad to report that 2 months without it, plus a whole slew of tinctures and Chinese herbs, did nothing for his chronic gut pain) I mixed in some fresh mozzarella from our local dairy. This is a very cozy and hearty dish, economical and full of nutrition.

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The tomatoes just keep on coming. Every morning, G goes out to the garden to poke around, and inevitably returns with a handful of cherry tomatoes, some kale, maybe a squash, and lately the big yellow beefhearts. This week I made an Indian dal with lentil-flour flatbreads and a tomato chutney spiced with curry leaves and black mustard seeds. Tomorrow, I'm planning to serve icy cold bloody marys made with fresh tomato juice and spiked with celery bitters and horseradish. What do you make when you have a surplus of tomatoes? It's been raining for about 24 hours straight at this point, so a pot of soup is really a no-brainer. I think this creamy, dairy-free version is just what the doctor ordered. 
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The last of the tomatillos came off the vine this week. You know they're ripe when the papery husk grows tight. I love how these are tinged with lavender. They're a different kind than the smaller, all-green ones we harvested last year, though they have the same vegetal yet citrusy flavor. I whipped up a large batch of sauce—a slight variation on my usual recipe—some of which I'll use for enchiladas, and the rest will be frozen. The light, tangy sauce is chunky with bits of onion and pepitas (green pumpkin seeds) and is beautifully spiced with jalapeño, garlic, cumin and coriander.

Scared you, didn't I? You thought this was going to be about some weird condiment made with offal. This chutney is definitely assertive in its own right, but it is strictly vegetarian. It is, however, from the original nose-to-tail chef, Fergus Henderson of St. John in London. I've never met Fergus, nor have I eaten in any of his restaurants, but I love the man. His seminal cookbook, Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking, is a window into his wonderfully warm, witty and ultimately quite sensible approach to food and life. (Did I mention he has Parkinsons?) You've never seen a less fussy cookbook. He doesn't get all bothered about quantities or times, but rather helps you to be an intuitive cook. Some choice phrases: "Do not be afraid of cooking, as your ingredients will know and misbehave." (As though an onion was a young horse feeling its oats!) Eating aoli "should be an emotional experience." And, with regard to this chutney, "There is nothing finer, after having a good stock up your sleeve, than having a reserve of chutney." I believe we've conquered the stock thing, and so are ready to proceed to this very British, quite rustic and highly addictive chutney.
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I finally made the tomato aspic! I found the perfect mold the other day at a local antiques shop that sells lots of great kitchen paraphernalia. (They also had some wonderful lidded earthenware crocks that will be perfect for pickles.) And with our many heirloom tomatoes crying out to be used the time was—dare I say?—ripe. The whole process could not have been easier, and I am already fantasizing about delicious desserts that will not hover forever about my waistline. Concord grape jello? Hello? I'll be playing around with honey and agave nectar as sweeteners, and seeing what happens when I substitute agar agar for the gelatin. Savory aspics are divine in their own right. A slice of cucumber aspic with tiny poached shrimp, perhaps. Beet aspic with creamy goat cheese and walnuts? Gorgeous! But let me tell you about the tomato aspic and how it plopped out perfectly, with a gentle wiggle and a color like the blush in a virgin's cheek.
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For much of the year, we follow a regular Saturday schedule: the dump; the farmers market in Barryville; Riverbrook Farm, Silver Heights Nursery and the dairy farm in Cochecton. It's an intense session of locavore foraging and so deeply satisfying. Whatever produce we're not getting from our own garden we get from Riverbrook Farm (along with fresh eggs and some goat and lamb meat), but they don't grow fruit, so we've been lucky to have a steady stream from some lovely people at the Barryville farmers market. We've had red currants, gooseberries, strawberries, apricots, blackberries, at least 8 varieties of raspberries, all kinds of plums (golden, red, sugar, black, Italian), delectable peaches (white and yellow) and now crisp, flavorful apples have begun to make an appearance. My pantry shelves hold jars of plum preserves. Tucked away in my freezer, along with the tomato sauce, are liter freezer bags filled with blackberries, raspberries and peaches. The trick to freezing berries is to spread them first on parchment-lined cookie sheets. Then, once frozen, slide the little nuggets into ziploc freezer bags or other airtight containers. This way, all year long you can have sorbet, ice cream, smoothies and even pie that taste of sweet summer. Speaking of sorbet, I made one with blackberries that was so divine, I can't resist making it again right away.
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The fruits of one's own garden just seem to taste sweeter. Our first patty pan squash, Japanese eggplants and scallions went on the grill, along with red carrots and sweet onions from the farm. With a radicchio salad in a creamy dressing, that was all we needed for dinner the other night. I made a dipping sauce for the vegetables with an earthy red miso and it truly was perfection. A grill can really change the way you eat, especially if you live in LA or some other temperate climate. As irresistible as that charred flavor can be, I want you to be aware that too much blackened food is not good for you. Burning food produces a group of substances (polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons) that are associated with cancer, cardiovascular toxicity and immune system suppression, among other adverse effects. So avoid extreme charring of your food, and don't eat from the grill every day. Moderation really is the key. (Except when it comes to exercise, of course.) But don't despair! You can use you grill to cook in a number of ways that don't involve charring but still infuse your food with that delicious smoky flavor. Low and slow, as in our pulled pork for instance, or indirect cooking, which really is the best way to do chicken or other foods that tend to burn quickly.
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Having already waxed poetic about peaches, I feel I must give these luscious apricots their due. Seldom have I seen such perfect specimens, firm yet yielding, their golden hue tinged with a pink blush. I find that so often apricots can be mealy and tasteless, but these are a revelation: sweet-tart, juicy, with a delicate perfume all their own. I came away from the farmstand with 7 quarts and every intention of replicating the vanilla-scented jam my mother-in-law so enjoyed 2 years ago. If you've never made jam, let me just warn you that most recipes call for what seems like an obscene amount of sugar, but there is another way. This time I decided to make a batch using some powdered pectin and relatively small amounts of sugar and honey. Sadly, I wasn't totally thrilled with the results. I found the jam to be less crystalline; it seemed to have a slightly cloudy and over-gelled quality. I probably need to experiment a bit more, with quantities and timing, but I just haven't had the extra time lately. So for now, I'm going to put these up the old-fashioned, and use organic sugar. It's not like jam is something that gets eaten by the cupful anyway...
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