What's Cooking This (Art Fair) Week

Art Fair begins today, the annual four-day extravaganza during which more than 400,000 people will attempt to navigate our maze of one-way streets through a town that is so inadequately developed for transportation that even the most congenial and good-natured of its 100,000 residents are brought to a snarl trying to run the must routine of errands.

All roads through the center of town are closed; every possible parking lot or structure is entailed for art fair vendors only; if you can find a parking space, it probably goes for $20 or more. Not too bad if you intend to exhaust yourself with a day at the fair, but on the pricey side for a quick run to one of your favorite markets or bookstores. Wise residents flee for the calm of lakefront properties. The rest of us stock of up on provisions early in the week, then stay home and avoid the chaos.

Today, though, also happened to be the day I'm scheduled to pick up our farm share from the Farmer's Market. The downtown Farmer's Market. The one where, even on a normal market day, parking can be hard to find. Definitely a day to arrive early.

Which explains why, at 7 a.m. today, instead of being comfortably ensconced on our sofa, gently coaxing myself out of drowsiness with a pot of excellent Italian roast coffee, I was already showered and dressed, racing along with the rest of rush hour traffic, on my way into town.

Was it worth it? Well, I did find a parking place. And I was so early I didn't even have to pay for it. That fact alone has me re-thinking my morning routine.

Then, there was this -- the cornucopia of our share box:



That's the entire share, a quantity of produce I usually split with my friend Jen, who happens to be on vacation this week. It is a lot of food. Another reason I was glad to find a parking space close to market.

There's spring onions and basil, yellow crookneck squash, a quart of new potatos, green beans, a cucumber, rosemary, garlic, carrots, beets, peas, swiss chard, a full head of romaine, a head of red-leaf lettuce, and a large bunch of arugula that looks suspiciously similar to the basil it is unfortunately placed next to in the photo. Not shown: the kohlrabi I neglected to get because I still have two from the previous weeks lurking in my vegetable crisper, nor the broccoli, which when I unpacked it from the box looked frankly anemic and unappealing, better suited to the compost pile than a dinner plate.

The rest, though, is glorious, inspiring even. And what it's inspiring me to think is thoughts like these:

1) Pesto! Of course. I even bought extra basil. Because, as several of you pointed out on my last post, there can never be too much pesto.

2) A frittata made from chard, carmelized onions, boiled new potatos, maybe chopped chorizo or bacon, and possibly a handful of cheese.

3) Roasted beets cut in thick dices, dressed with walnut oil and served with toasted walnuts, crumbled bleu cheese and a bit of chopped dill (from our garden).

4) Borscht made with the beets from our share, a cup or two of raspberries from own garden, some finely grated onion, lots of lemon juice, and a splash or two of balsamic vinegar.

5)Minted carrots.

6) Pasta with peas, bacon, and fried sage; finished with grated parmesan.

7) Lots of salads: The house salad around here is mixed greens topped with grated beets and grated carrots, some toasted pine nuts, and dried cherries, but arugula with thinly sliced pears, slivered red onion, chopped smoked almonds and bleu cheese is another favorite. That cucumber is probably destined to be doused in sour cream, chives, and dill, but the green beans I might just serve steamed with a little salt.

8) As for the crookneck squash, who knows what I'll do with them. These, like zucchini, always seem like little more than water and a bit of fiber, an excuse to bread and deepfry and consume a bunch of empty calories that I can ill afford. If anybody has some favorite recipes, I'd be thrilled to hear about them. It looks like there might be a lot of summer squash in our future.

So that's what I plan to be cooking this week. First thing, though: something chocolate. Our chocolate situation, I have been notified, is desperate. Time to make some chocolate sorbet.

Sunday Scribblings: Indulge (a News & Notes production)

Another cooktop bit the dust again early last week, went out with a sudden pop and a curl of smoke, a rank of error codes. Took five days to get a repair technician out here who looked at it, said (basically), "it's broke," and ordered every possible replacement board for the thing; said he'd be back next week.

We'll see how this goes. Last guy who tried that tactic ended up frying the new boards as well, decided he'd be better off just giving us a new cooktop. Might happen this time, too. Sometimes I wish for more reliable appliances like this or this, but in lieu of such foresight, I'm glad we've been getting the five-year warranty. Also, that we bought a relatively high powered burner plate so we can boil water for coffee in the morning; and finally, that it's summer, a good time to use the grill.

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There are a couple of other reasons it's been good to be able to boil water: for one, with the profusion of basil we've been getting from our farm share, it's been hard to resist the opportunity to over-indulge in pesto. Not that it's necessary, of course, to make pasta for pesto -- stoned wheat crackers work well as an edible scoop for a single person in quest of a convenient and tasty lunch -- but serving it on pasta makes it nicer for a family supper.

For another, we've been getting fava beans. Lots and lots of fava beans. Enough fava beans that I have to blanch and skin them as soon as I return home or there'd be no room for anything else in the refrigerator. That many fava beans.

Personally, I like fresh fava beans so much that I'd be happy eating them blanched & skinned, boiled until just tender (sometimes the blanching is enough to do it), and then lightly dressed with olive oil and a bit of salt: that way they get to be the main event. Makes me happy.

They work just as well, though, in supporting roles; for example, with salmon fillets poached in court boullion. This may be French, but it's certainly not complicated; simply delicious. You start by combining three parts of water to one part dry white wine in a shallow pan (a braising dish or deep skillet is perfect) along with a handful each of thinly sliced onions, carrots, and celery, a sprig or two of parsley and thyme, a teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil, immediately reduce the heat to a gentle simmer, and cook, partially covered, for 20 minutes. In the meantime, prepare an herb butter from 4 tablespoons butter, 1 small finely minced shallot, 1 tablespoon minced dill, 1/2 tablespoon minced chives, a pinch of salt.

After twenty minutes, add four quarter-pound salmon fillets to the broth -- do NOT increase the heat -- and cover the pan. If the fillets are completely covered by the broth, let them cook for five minutes; with a sharp knife, check the center of the thickest fillet to determine when they are done (my preferences here are somewhat heretical: I like overdone fish, and have been known to poach my fillets for as much as seven minutes).

If the fillets are large, and not completely covered by the broth, turn them after three minutes and begin checking to see if they are done after six minutes. To serve, place each fillet in a shallow bowl, top with a tablespoon or more of the herb butter and a handful of blanched and skinned fresh fava beans, and then ladle the broth over the salmon.

Goes with with parker rolls and a simple salad.

Be forewarned: cowboys may make fun of this, but they will like it, I promise they will. But just in case someone is hungry afterward, it might be worth making sure to have some bbq chicken wings stashed in the refrigerator, or a triple layer chocolate cake ready on the counter. Like I said, just in case.

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On the wildlife watch, the coyotes are surprisingly quiet this year; no bears so far. We have, however, seen hummingbirds feeding at our delphiniums and a pair of sandhill cranes strolling together along our trails. The cygnets at the pond at Scio Church Road & Parker are getting larger, losing more of their gray every day. On my way to the farmer's market early one morning last week, a family of raccoons -- mama and four kits -- brazened their way across the road ahead of me. The monarch butterflies have returned and the viceroy, too The fireflies are numerous, one of our evening entertainments.

That's all from around here. What's new in your world?

Sunday Scribblings

First Garden Tomato!

100 Words: Status Report

Blogging is an interactive sport, and the last three weeks of driver's ed have left me feeling anything but: more self-absorbed, dangerously dull.

So it was good to have a day off, time to arrive early to the farmer’s market, meet a friend for coffee, buy a lug of sour cherries. I needed these restorative moments.

What I’ve been reading this last week: The Queen of Babble Gets Hitched, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, Oryx and Crake, The Feast of Love. Next up, thanks to Oh’s review, One Fifth Avenue. So, the fluff goes ‘round, full circle.

100 words

So it has come to this: a banker weighs judgment on my life. In last night's dream, I am interviewing for a tech writing job at a low-rent a2 company. Everyone wears some variant of the navy blue suit, white shirt, red tie. My dress is frayed and my shoes are scuffed. In one of the rooms I see him, the banker, the one who has become one of the single most influential financial figures in western Europe. He turns to me, his Saint-Tropez-tanned face softer -- eyes still piercing green -- and says, “So, this is what you would do?”

Sunday Scribblings: Toys (a ramble, and a rough draft at that)

No tabula rasa
From the beginning
some toys appeal
others don't

For me,
no matchbox cars, Lincoln Logs,
or fantasy fashion creations
No glitter
No sequins
I never did like masks
not much a fan of Barbie

That skyblue piano, though,
all of two octaves long,
with color coded keys
or the EasyBake oven
and ceramic tea set
The fake alligator-print
pleather-covered
diary -- locked with a key --
purchased at the Anne Frank house
Every book
All of these have found their
grown-up counterpart:
matured from toys to tools
to sometimes toil.
Each absolutely essential.

Then there are the
momentary passions --
the linoleum blocks and
tubes of Speedball ink,
sable brushes,
cotton batiks intended
to become swirling skirts,
the chess board,
without which any home feels incomplete,
badminton rackets
and croquet hoops
the ping pong table, now in pieces
in the rafters of our garage,
the dusty bicycle
I really intend to ride
as soon as our roads are graded
and the weather clears

--all of it carried from state to state,
from one house to another
never used
never relinquished
always relegated to "someday..."
memories from a future life

Maybe Thoreau would say
Beware of all enterprises
that require new toys.
Or something like that,
And caution me against
skis or skates or
kayaks or canoes
weaving looms and paper presses
Every expensive habit or
any time-consuming recreation

Wise advice, I'm sure.
But not for anyone who
ever wants to change.
Children, for example.
And grown-ups who aren't yet dead.

So that explains my recent purchases:
This orange paper with the gold stars
The volumes of poetry I continue to buy and never quite read
The box-making supplies
the alpaca wool that maybe could be felted into a hat
(if I could felt! if I could make a hat!)
the chinese checkers tin (with a checkerboard on the back)
the pocket harmonica
and the kaleidoscope
the coral bells and Johnson geraniums, lily of the valley
and tiger lilies, too
Wild hopes for someday.
That's me,
Still hoping that someday
someday comes.

Sunday Scribblings

The week in review

It is suddenly summer here. That's how it happens: one day it's 62 degrees, threatening a nightfall frost, and the next it's 85 and so humid the air feels like a heavy curtain that makes walking from your front door to the mailbox a major chore. Growing things go wild. The sage is in flower and the arugula decides to bolt; the tomatos are getting fat on the vine; and everywhere we are surrounded by such an orgy of lush, ripe, rampant green, that it is tempting to surrender to its soft, intoxicating invitation, to at least consider spending a day doing nothing more than reading a book, sipping iced tea, staring off into the sky.

Of course, we do nothing of the kind. We are midwesterners, and we know that summer is all too brief; while it is here, there is work to be done. If it isn't raining, we must weed or paint or mow; there are potato bugs to kill, more raised beds to build; hoop houses to construct. We talk about framing materials, the merits of fabric over film; the expense of plexiglass and the difficulty of working with it vs. its ability to not flap noisily in the wind. We check our trees, talk about buying more blueberry bushes, watch deer wading through the neighbor's overgrown fields. These are our coffee conversations.

Then, there is driver's ed, a peculiar kind of misery that has severed my day into nearly unusable two-hour periods from 9 a.m. until nearly 5 p.m. as I chauffeur my daughter from class to driving practice and then back home again. If there is some kind of irony there, I fail to appreciate it; let's just say that the schedule is nearly as demanding as the feeding schedule for a Zingerman's sourdough starter, and it goes far toward explaining why I feel like I am running a bus service these days, why I'd rather read than write after my return home, why we seem to be going through bottles of pinot noir at an unprecedented rate.

(For the record, it's a crummy schedule for m. as well, who though she bears it with far less grumbling than do I, seems relieved when we can finally return to home.)

Currently reading: An American Wife. Sittenfield's approach to her characters always feels a little stiff, more than a little clinical, which puts them at odds with the juicy Jackie Collins ambitions for this heavily fictionalized and completely unauthorized account of Laura Bush's life. Still, it's easy to read a few pages at a time; a good beach read. Next up, The Forever War by Dexter Filkins, more serious fare.

Currently watching: Dances with Wolves. It may be hard to forgive Kevin Costner his leaden delivery, but this one is better than I remembered. Longer, too. And I'm worried about some of my favorite characters: looks like some of them may not going to make it to the final credits.

Just finished: Geometry! Next up: writing a syllabus.

That's my week. And yours? How has your week been?