July 1, 2015
There is nothing out of the ordinary about this breakfast, but for the fact I ate it at my house on a Wednesday, which is not a day I generally cook a big breakfast. But I had a house guest last night, so I figured I’d feed her a good breakfast before she headed back home.
That would be after a pretty good dinner last night, which was after I’d gone to the farmers’ market, which made up for not going to the farmers’ market on Saturday because I wasn’t here. And there were watermelons and cantaloupes, both quite excellent; there were the first purple hulled peas of the season (so I gave Kate the two bags of frozen ones I had left); there was lots of sweet corn. So we had a veggie dinner of sweet corn, purple hulled peas with tomato relish, zucchini fritters, sliced tomatoes, canteloupe and watermelon. With a blackberry cobbler for dessert. And no pictures, because by the time I’d cooked we were starving and I did not take time.
Have I mentioned that I love this time of year?
If I could just get Kentucky Wonder pole beans and Silver Queen white sweet corn. Oh, well, I have not yet given up on either one, and there’s a good bit of summer left.
June 30, 2015
Have you MISSED me?
I’ve been out of pocket — in fact, out of town, in Nashville, celebrating my birthday with Child B, Son-in-law 1, and Amazing Grandchildren 1 and 3. Now I’m home for a week before hitting the road again next week, and then there’ll be a fair amount of here-and-gone for the remainder of the summer.
But the Nashville trip was particularly pleasant because it involved celebrating my birthday — my 60th birthday — and hearing some great music. And because it involved visiting a bar I’ve wanted to go to ever since it opened six years ago.
June 24, 2015
In the realm of food, there are things that are just tremendously simple, but that just never occurred to me to put together and call it a meal or a snack.
Radishes and butter are one of those.
I mean, radishes go in salads. Or get eaten out of hand, the satisfying crunch and the peppery taste a peculiarly pleasant sensation. Slice them up and put them on a cracker smeared with butter? How…odd.
I’d seen posts about mentioning radishes and butter as a particularly delightful treat since the little jewels started coming in a few weeks ago. On my own for dinner last night, in the midst of the first real heat wave of the summer, I decided to see what the shouting was about.
June 22, 2015
For years, I never knew vegetables came in anything but the 10-gallon buckets we filled up with them in the garden. Same for fruit out of the orchard. And beef and pork? Those came in pickup truck loads, back from the slaughterhouse, wrapped tightly in white butcher paper with the contents stencilled on the outside.
But when I got out on my own and commenced my own grocery shopping, I bought in manageable quantities, meal-sized batches of veggies and meat, maybe stocking up occasionally when something was on sale.
And now, kids grown and mostly gone, I’m back to buying in bulk again. Go figger.
June 20, 2015
It is, I believe, no accident that my birthday falls a few days past the summer solstice. That way, I can feel like the peak of summer vegetable and fruit goodness, which hits in this part of the world between the solstice and the Fourth of July, is all in honor of me.
And even if it’s not, that’s OK. Because the bounty of veggies and fruit that are flooding the farmers markets and roadside stands and you-pick-it places are about the best birthday present I could have.
June 19, 2015
Lives there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said,
“Oh, Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, it’s a blackberry cobbler!”
(With apologies to Sir Walter Scott….)
I know you’ve read this on these posts before, but….
It just don’t get no better’n this!
“This” is a blackberry cobbler. It is the be-all and end-all of desserts. It is a small piece of heaven come down to earth to rest in your dessert dish, topped, if you are fortunate, with a scoop of Yarnell’s French Vanilla ice cream.
June 18, 2015
Back several years ago, and I think I blogged about it, I went with a couple of friends to the allegedly second-oldest same-family-run pizza joint in the country, Papa’s Tomato Pies in Trenton, NJ. Dinner the other night kinda reminded me of it.
No, I couldn’t get my crust that impossibly crispy. My oven doesn’t go to 800 degrees, after all. I didn’t even put any herbs on it, as I was focusing on the ripe tomato goodness. But pair the lusciousness of an early summer tomato with the salty richness of parmigiano, the bite and bloom of some garlic confit and its oil, and a smooth bite here and there of fresh mozzarella, and put that all on top of a thin, chewy crust, and it ain’t no half bad pizza.