It started in a tooth.

In my right canine, it began with a twitch. The pain reverberated from the tip, like a vampire craving a fix, I can still feel the desire. It shook my gums until my whole mouth was in pain, aching for a taste.

It filtered into my dreams.

I woke in the middle of the night, startled by what wasn’t there, worried another would take it from me.

There were rumors in the garden, it wasn’t without validation. In the country you deal with deer, in the City you deal with neighbors– and a rampant squirrel.

It became necessary for me to attend to the garden daily. Really just to survey, not to harvest. To ensure it was still there, huddled at the base of the corn stalk, lightly shaded by the beans on its new bed of straw; Lil’ Red, a Sugar Baby watermelon.

A few days later Red’s friend, Goldy (a Gold Baby watermelon, of course), disappeared. Snatched at dusk, the last of her kind, we never had a chance to taste– Goldy’s sister was attacked one night by the above rampant squirrel when just a child, we do not talk of the day’s discovery. We were told a neighborhood trio came into the garden, helped themselves to a bag of tomatoes, and as they made their way out, spotted our Goldy and stole her away. I can forgive tomatoes, but not the disappearance of Goldy.

The cantaloupes, all but two (our mystery melons that must have sprouted from our compost), are all eaten by us or attacked, again by the rampant squirrel, who has found a liking to the sweet muskmelon’s odor and tears them apart unforgivingly. Thankfully, D and I finished off the sweetest of the bunch, the Sleeping Beauty melons, our favorite, before the Squirrel realized his good fortune. So now down to only two watermelons (and two mystery melons), we covered them from the eyes of thieves and squirrels with a bundle of straw, only making their presence more obvious it seemed. We came, every night, to ensure their safety and existence.

But I couldn’t take it anymore and I think it got to D.

We pulled Lil’ Red last week. Up from his plush straw surrounds at the base of the corn where we had attended him for so many months. We photographed him in our arms, as good parents do, and gave him a gentle washing.

Then… we cut and devoured him. So quickly, he didn’t feel a thing, honest. We raised each slice above our heads, cheering our good fortune, allowing his pink juices to dribble down our arms. Lil’ Red’s crisp sweet pulp filled our mouths as we happily chewed. He was delicious.

I know, I know, all the controversy over foie gras. It’s so over, right? I’m staying out of politics with this one because I’ve heard pretty good arguments on both sides. (Honestly though, it’s not like I’m buying the stuff all the time.)

But I like the stuff. Actually, I think I may love the stuff (in small doses from time to time, of course). You know what else? I can get it more local than my mangosteens. Hudson Valley in fact, which is pretty much New York City’s backyard. A little more food for thought: With Chicago lifting the ban in May, are we a little closer to acceptance? (Obviously, not in California where the ban is in effect until 2012.)

Back in December D received a beautiful gift of foie gras and miraculously, some still exists tucked in the freezer, sliced and ready to go, wrapped in wax paper and excessive amounts of plastic wrap to fend off freezer burn. Still there because, simply, I don’t think about foie gras every day and because D practices what I like to call “boy searches,” whenever he looks for something. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about: Man opens drawer or cabinet and without moving declares an item not present because it is not face level, front row, with a neon sign screaming I’m what you’re looking for! My reply is something along the lines of, Yes it is. Bottom shelf, left side, behind the x. This doesn’t just happen in the kitchen.

A few months back we broke into the stash and took a handful of slices to a local wine bar and let the chef do what he may. Three amazing dishes were presented to us, wines to match, shared equally between us, my friend DR, the owner and chef.

But now while D is away, as cruel as it may be, the mice do play!

Oh… just a little crumb, he’ll never even notice– until of course he returns and reads this post. By which point it will be happily digested.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t thinking about foie at all when I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to eat some. I was writing away on a lonely Friday night thinking about peaches (I don’t always think about food, I was writing about peaches, okay). For some strange reason, foie gras popped in, blocking my peach receptors. The urge was so strong that I vowed my brain I would make foie gras the following day for a little snack if it would so kindly return to peaches.

I’ve been so good lately it’s a reward really. As I said, D is away and I have three times the amount of vegetables to cope with than normal. Not only is there a full Community Supported Agriculture share booming with summer harvest (seriously, 10 zucchini!?), there is also the garden shoving zucchini and basil down my throat. Perhaps like a future foie you could say.

While I methodically remove one item from the summer repertoire each night (a quart of pesto, frozen zucchini), I turned vegetarian eating through the non-preservable, refusing to purchase more food for the overflowing fridge.

Possibly this is where the overwhelming urge for foie gras came from: My own rejection of meat protein this past week lured me into the most forbidden meat of all: foie gras. I will continue to swear by it though: It was the peach’s fault! And how delicious they are together.

A closer look at the picture reveals I picked the worst of the foie (if there is such a thing)– The little scrappy lobe bits that weren’t real slices. And while I’m admitting things, I will also state that when the foie gras was finished from my plate, I licked the remaining fat clean off.

Seared Foie Gras and Peaches
Serving Size= 1
1 one-inch thick slice of foie gras
salt/ pepper
1/2 peach, sliced into 4 wedges
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon sugar
pine nuts
2 or 3 leaves of fresh chopped mint
1 tablespoon heavy cream (optional)

Method:  Warm a small skillet to medium-high heat. Sprinkle foie gras with salt and pepper on both sides. Mix the coriander, cinnamon and sugar and sprinkle over peach wedges, both sides. Sear peaches on both sides, until blackened, set aside. Sear foie gras on both sides, until blackened. Do not overcook the foie gras. The longer it cooks the less foie you get as it melts to fat! Place foie gras on a a plate, layer on peaches, sprinkle with a few pine nuts, mint and drizzle with cream. Serve with a mild cracker or melba toast.
NOTE: Heavy cream is optional in this dish. Already so creamy on it’s own, it doesn’t need it, but, well, peaches n’ cream.

Dare I say I’ve gone strawberry crazy?

I am quite happy to inform folks that I have bushels of strawberries in my possession. I excitedly contemplated all the delicious things to make: wine, jam, ice cream, scones, lemonade… As I thought, I realized I was quickly eating through my stash. So sweet in their natural state, I started thinking, Applying them to a dish would be sacrilegious! (They do much better in my belly unadulterated.)

The more sensible part of me methodically began pulling stems and lining the berries on a baking sheet to freeze, then bag for a future use (as there was no way all could be eaten before spoiling). As I lined a cookie sheet with strawberries I realized how nicely uniform so many of them were. In fact, they appeared to be a perfect little army dressed for strawberry battle in some distant fruit land– perhaps protecting Strawberry Shortcake (the cartoon or the dessert)? Each berry was outfitted with a gnome-like cap. (How adorable.)

As I admired my infantry, the Giant of Terror in the Land of Berries approached. Oooo, strawberries! D exclaimed as his colossal hand reached into my helpless army patch and snatched up soldiers. One after another he ate my freshly stemmed friends. “Stop eating my strawberry army!”

“Uhhhh… Your what?”

“Nothing… They’re just my strawberry army. You can’t eat them, eat these.” I shoved over the random piling of discarded strawberries sprawled on the counter, not perfect enough to join my forces.

So now sits a bag of berries marked “not for giants” awaiting recipes in the freezer. If I can rein myself in they will be saved for a blistery day in late December. While I ponder future berry times I’ll whip up an occasional strawberry smoothie: 2 parts frozen berries, 1 part heavy cream. It is the purest and sweetest milk shake I ever had.

Strawberry Smoothie
Serves 2
1.5 cups fresh frozen strawberries
3/4 cup heavy cream (or whole milk)

Method: Place ll ingredients in a blender and blitz until smooth. Add more heavy cream to thin out if necessary.

If you can still find some fresh berries this late in the season a favorite application was in salad. You may add or subtract from any of these ingredients.

Strawberry Salad
Serves 4-6
1 head romaine, or similar crisp lettuce, washed and separated
1 handful arugula, washed
1 bulb kohlrabi*, sliced into matchstick size cuttings
1 bunch fresh herbs (thyme, basil, parsley work well), loosely chopped
1 cup sugar snap peas, washed and stemmed
4 ounces goat cheese or fresh ricotta, crumbled
1/2 cup strawberries, sliced
1/4 cup walnuts, chopped
mustard vinaigrette (recipe follows)

Method: Toss all prepped ingredients and serve with dressing on the side.
*Kohlrabi is an odd looking vegetable, but worth a try (it’s very high in vitamin C). The flavor is similar to cabbage, but crossed with the crispness of a perfect apple. It is a great addition raw to coleslaw or salad. Just cut off the stalk and slice (I don’t even peel mine).

Mustard Vinaigrette
This dressing will keep so make enough and store in a small glass container. Season to preferred acidic taste.
1 part whole grain mustard (Dijon makes an excellent one)
1 part lemon juice
1 part olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cumin

Method: Add all ingredients to a jar and shake just before applying to salad. (This dressing is great over fish like halibut or salmon.)

NOTE: This strawberry salad recipe was entered into Healthy Cooking’s recipe event, because hey, what’s more healthy than fresh ingredients? No substitutes needed!

My fondest memories of holidays were spent at my grandmother’s house, packed with relatives and friends, and tables piled high with Latvian sauerkraut, kielbasa, honey ham, savory meat-filled pancakes and Jell-o. Thinking back, these were probably the best holidays because they meant toys and candy were soon to come my way. I’ll believe in anything imaginary as long as I get my basket of jelly beans!

Easter always involved a production, which is why I loved it so much. My family arrived at my grandmother’s house early in the morning. My grandmother, cooking since 6 AM, would be studding her massive loaves of saffron raisin bread before they went in the oven. A few dozen eggs boiled away in onion peels on the stove and set up on the kitchen table were the “children’s eggs,” store-bought kits for us to dye eggs. (Thinking back, I now realize these eggs were the “throw aways” for us kids to hide, break and maybe find, while my grandmother’s natural eggs were the table’s centerpiece and center of conversation.)

With eggs dyed and breakfast consumed, the adults hid eggs. We used to stay in-house, but the year after the still discussed “disappearing egg” was found rotting behind a book a few months after Easter, all egg activities were moved outside. My brothers and I followed the adults, baskets in hand, destroying the house then digging up the garden, searching for eggs. We were rewarded with an early dinner and a basket of sugar.

But always, through the years, my grandmother’s eggs stuck with me. She dyed eggs a vibrant marbled amber with a handful of onion peels and some vinegar. I worked with this, and a few other colors for an upcoming article. Above are my results.

The onion peel eggs are at top, the lighter marbled egg was wrapped in peels, secured with rubber bands and boiled for 15 minutes. The darker one was boiled loose in the peels for about 25 minutes. Top right, the striped one was wrapped in rubber bands and dyed in beet juice (who knew that beet juice, which turns everything magenta would turn eggs a dull grey-green). The speckled egg next to that was boiled for 15 min in spinach then left overnight to soak. Blueberries are the indigo eggs (1 cup frozen blueberries, 2 cups water, 1 tsp vinegar, boiled 15 min). The one in the middle had star-shaped stickers adhered before dying (just make sure the egg is totally dry before removing stickers or they will run– I lost a dinosaur with running dye!). At left, my favorite surprise, are turmeric dyed eggs. These were left about 15 minutes in 3 cups water, 1 teaspoon vinegar and 1 tablespoon turmeric. They are true golden eggs. I dripped blue crayon on the one at left to produce the polka dots.

I thought of mixing blueberries with turmeric to get a vibrant green. I bet it would be fantastic. And I’ve heard red cabbage, boiled 15 minutes with 1 teaspoon vinegar and left overnight produces a fabulous teal. I heard soaking in pomegranate juice produces red, but mine turned out a putrid brown.

Natural egg dyes turn Easter into a fun guessing game and a fabulous science experiment. They are also safer than store-bought dye kits which, though they are “food safe,” processed food dyes are mostly coal tar-based (and many of them are banned in the EU).

So have fun, use your imagination with regular household items, have a wonderful holiday, and enjoy your egg salad! I’ll link to my story once it is out.

We all have our vices.

I can live without coffee, tea is just fine. Dare I say I could live without chocolate? Okay, I won’t go there just yet. But the mangosteen… The sweetest and most velvety of fruits I cannot live without. I decided this in 2005 when I had my first, and what I thought until recently, last taste.

Many have never heard of a mangosteen. The fruit looks like a freakishly juicy garlic in a tough, thick plum exterior. The taste is unbelievable. The flavor is a cross between tangerine, mango and papaya with a texture that is soft butter. It is the caviar of the fruit world. And you will pay near-caviar prices if you can find it outside the tropics.

I met the mangosteen in Shanghai, late August, 2005. I had just turned off Nanjing Road, a main shopping district, “booya-ing” my way through the crowd. (I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I was told “bu” was a form of “no” and “boo-ya” was essentially, “no thank you” or “I don’t want.” As men approached offering to escort me to factories to purchase designer bags and DVDs, I simply droned a continuous stream of “booya” from my lips. I still think it sounds like I was having a plethora of “ah-ha” moments: Ah, booya! That’s what I thought.)

I turned off the main road and saw a man carrying a large basket of what I thought were plums over his shoulders. As he approached, I readied my booya when I noticed these were not plums at all. The fruit had cute little green caps and appeared to be garlic inside. For an unknown reason, I decided to buy the strange fruit. A few steps away I broke it open, frozen as this new sweetness filtered through my senses. I returned to where I had found the fruit vendor, looking to buy more, but he was gone. I returned the next day, and every day until I left, hoping he would return. I searched fruit markets and soon decided it must have all been an illusion. I would never find this fruit again. It did not exist.

Over breakfast one day I discussed this hallucination to some locals. Ah, the mangosteen, they knowingly smiled. But that was all. It was hard to find, I was lucky to find one. I left China with only a hint at this fruit never to find it again. I was lucky to have the name.

When I returned to New York, I scoured the internet seeking outlets for the fruit in my area. Surely, I thought, with such a large local Chinese population I could once again find this fruit smuggled through the lines. I printed a picture of the mangosteen and took to Chinatown, both Manhattan and Queens, on foot at different times of the year, hoping I could turn up the slightest lead or acknowledgment. Nothing. I thought surely I had lost this taste of paradise, only to be had should I return to Asia.

A recent trip to the Queens Chinatown for wonton wrappers turned into an unexpected surprise.

There is a supermarket in this neighborhood I visit that can leave me wandering aisles for hours. I can purchase anything from a wok to fish balls, to full, uncut oxtails to every imaginable ginger candy. It is a day’s excursion into the supermarket. My favorite aisle is the produce section. With a fresh seaweed bar, young ginger, purple potatoes, and more Asian pears than I knew existed, I can always find something fun. I picked up my wonton wrappers, some kimchee, hot bean sauce and rounded into the produce aisle.

I saw them right away. I cannot believe it! I said to my friend, A. There they were, tucked into a corner, 5 nylon sacks, each containing a few purplish orbs. I had found the mangosteen without actually seeking it out. (Although we could argue that all my trips into Chinatown are forever in search of the mangosteen.)

Most often, the best produce at this supermarket is fought over violently. I have been in the middle of a ruckus of senior citizens literally shoving me over for kumquats. Where were the crowds for the mangosteen? Were these people crazy to pass this sacred fruit? As I grabbed my bag, holding it close to my chest expecting a tackle, I noticed the price: $12.99 per pound.

I had to have them. I was an addict awaiting my fix. I waited 3 years for this moment and was not going to let this fruit depart my side.

What is it? A Jewish mango? A asked. Silly man! None for you! I turned wild eyed and raced to checkout.

Just over 2 pounds of my fruit came to $30 for 9 fruit, or $3 per fruit. Priced over a 3 year wait, I paid mere pennies per day for my future moments of joy. What a steal!

Sadly, I just finished my last mangosteen. Already shaking for more, I’m already contemplating going back to buy the remaining bags. Can I really wait another 3 years?

I’ll also mention I understand the huge burden on the environment when we chose imported fruits over local. Anyone who reads this blog regularly should know my stand in the debate. I do not purchase imported fruits on a regular basis, and as I said, this one mangosteen is a vice.

When I was younger, I eagerly hacked up pumpkins for Halloween. If I took knife to flesh too early and the dear thing rotted, I would whittle away again. Those pumpkins would remain on our front porch until they deflated into sad puddles of mush (or the raccoons ate them).

Lately, I cannot bring myself to carve pumpkins. Shortly after I began this blog I found the most perfect of pumpkins. Enormous and ideally symmetrical, it sat on our dining room table for months. I could not bare to throw it out. Finally, no joke, in June, I decided it was no longer seasonal to host the pumpkin.

This year, I am proud to say I sliced and diced that little orange globe sooner than I thought I would be able to.

I eyed my little pumpkin, barely larger than a softball for a few weeks contemplating its end. I knew this little guy would only last a few servings. Whatever I made, it had to be good. Because the chill has finally hit the air, I had a craving for soup.

It is no secret I love soup. I like to make it in big batches and store it in single serving containers for a cold day. Soup, yes, that was easy, what flavors will marry pumpkin in a unique and delicious taste? Coconut!

I know, it’s sort of a bizarre jump to make. I was thinking roasted pumpkin and toasted rhymes and well, what is best toasted? Coconut. Naturally. It is also easier to make this jump knowing a can of coconut milk has been sitting idle in the cabinets.

The coconut in this soup is subtle, yet adds that certain unknown that baffles eaters. Just what is it? And why is there cilantro in this soup?! It would make the perfect addition to the Thanksgiving party and best of all it is super easy to make– and fast.

Coconut Pumpkin Soup
Serving size= 6. Active time= 10 minutes. Cook time= 15 minutes.
1 medium cooking pumpkin (other winter squash would work too: acorn, butternut)
1/2 yellow onion
2 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1/2 teaspoon curry powder (optional)
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1-15oz can coconut milk
salt/ pepper to taste
cilantro for garnish

1) Ready a food processor with a grater attachment. Slice the pumpkin into 1/4s, remove ends. Remove pulp, set aside to toast for a garnish. Use a vegetable peeler to remove skin and grate in food processor. Grate onion and garlic.
2) Heat butter or olive oil in a sauce pot over medium high heat. Once warm, add pumpkin, onion and garlic. Saute 5-7 minutes, until onions sweat and pumpkin darkens in color, stir occasionally. Add curry powder (if using) and salt.*
3) Add chicken or vegetable broth and coconut milk. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer about 5 minutes. Using a blender, immersion or standing, puree the soup until a smooth, even texture is reached.
4) Salt and pepper to taste. Add chopped cilantro and toasted pumpkin seeds as garnish.
*Note: While onions, garlic and pumpkin are warming, rinse and dry pumpkin seeds. Sprinkle w/ salt and shredded coconut (optional). Toast on medium-high two times in a toaster oven, until slightly browned.

Here’s an absurdly simple salad. So perfect it deserves an equally petite post so as not to obscure it. I became dangerously addicted to it the other week, tucking my knees up, with bowl between, to block D’s attempts at getting any. Was it the the honey-like tomato jewels? The seemingly familiar flavor combination that begs for another bite? The rich nuttiness of the olive oil?

You will have to judge for yourself.

Make this before tomato season leaves us for the summer. (I have already wallowed in fears of the fleeting tomatoes to D, don’t get me started.)

It is a play on the classic tomato-mozzarella-basil combination we are too familiar and tired of. This salad has a bit more Mediterranean tang to it (the tang lies in the cheese). I dream of making it with the raw milk ricotta I had in Indiana this summer…

Tomato Ricotta Salad
Serving Size= 2. Active time= 5 minutes.
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup crumbled ricotta salata (ricotta salata is the firmer, dried and salted ricotta)
1 teaspoon dried mint (2 springs fresh mint, leaves only, may also be used)
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
salt/ pepper to taste

1) Place tomatoes in serving bowl. Top with ricotta, mint, olive oil, salt and pepper. Serve.

It doesn’t get much easier or more delicious than that.

D and I have received, dare I say, too many tomatoes from our local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). Don’t get me wrong, they are probably the best tomatoes I have ever had. And no joke, every time one is sliced into D makes some comment about how amazing they are– like I didn’t hear it the first 30 tomatoes we sliced into the deep sweet skins. They really are amazing, but it’s too much for two people to eat.

The first week was fabulous. 10 tomatoes, all over 2 pounds. I gave one to my father who made some comment about the “pumpkin” I had given him a few days later. I brought a batch of gazpacho over to a party of 12 people (where everyone made some comment about how sweet it was), but 2 pound tomatoes go pretty far and I was still left with 7 tomatoes (that’s 14 pounds!). But we trucked on through leaving only 2 tomatoes over for the next week…

…When we received another 8, plus a pint of cherry tomatoes. That brought our tomatoes back to 10. Tomato salads galore: tomato with basil, tomato with mozzerella and basil, tomato with riccata, fresh tomato sauce, pizza with thinly sliced tomato, guacomole, sandwiches, tomato fritattas. We still had 1 left when we received our next shipment…

7 more plus 2 quarts of cherry tomatoes (total now 8 plus 2 quarts). I gave 2 to my brother’s girlfriend. She was going on and on about how horrible tomatoes were in New York City. Well, you’re not buying from the greenmarket, huh? She told me she missed the tomatoes her parents grew in Saint Louis. I gave her 2 tomatoes. She said she hadn’t smelled anything so good since her childhood.

It’s amazing an amazing feeling when you can give a gift so simple like tomatoes and have people calling you for days telling you how fabulous they were. We must really be neglected in New York City.

The dish above celebrates the sweet powerhouse of this summer’s tomatoes. I was looking for a dish to use those slightly past due tomatoes. You know the ones, a little too soft to eat, but you don’t want to throw them out. It was a hit, and took minutes, perfect for these days that are fading fast (with plenty of heat). I think of this dish as a Middle Eastern-Italian-South American fusion, but all summer.

Note: Quinoa (keen-wa) is a grain that is high in protein (surprise) and of course, fiber. It is originally from South America. It’s flavor is close to couscous, but a little wheatier in flavor (though it is gluten-free). It comes in light brown and red.

Quinoa w/ Summer Vegetables
Serving Size= 2. Active Time= 5 minutes. Inactive Time= 10 min.
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
4 shallots, skinned and quartered
1 ear corn, sliced from stalk
1 cup quinoa
1/4 cup fresh basil, tightly packed and loosely chopped
olive oil
Parmesan cheese to taste
salt/ pepper to taste

1) Bring a sauce pot to a boil. Cook quinoa according to package directions (usually 2 parts water, 1 part grain). Quinoa takes about 10 minutes to cook. (While water is coming to a boil prepare veggies.)
2) Turn on oven’s broiler. In an oven safe pan, put tomatoes, corn and shallots. Toss with 2 tablespoons olive oil, salt and pepper. Place under broiler for about 10 min. Check after 5 minutes, stir. Vegetables should be blackened once done.
3) Once done, mix vegetables with quinoa. Stir in basil and top with Parmesan.

Note: Add chicken or beef to this dish to make it a main course! This dish is great warm or cold.

What do you do when you realize you have ordered 20 pounds of Roma tomatoes to drop in one bountiful bulk shipment?

If you’re me, you work on cleaning out the freezer: Remove frozen soups from last year, remove lobster stock, chicken stock, bones awaiting stockage, eat through ice cream, make a plethora of Caipirinhas with that leftover bag of ice… breath.

And realize everything being done is unnecessary as long as one thing holds true: you learn how to can.

When I sat in a planning meeting with our potential farmers for my local Community Supported Agriculture Program in January (I’m not only a client, I’m also the president) a fair blond woman spoke up: “I want canning tomatoes– bulk! Can you give us that?” When the farmers responded with a “why not,” the deal was sealed and the season was underway. I walked away thinking the fair blond crazy, but bulk tomatoes did sound fun, think of all that roasted tomato soup I could make.

But the months passed and the bulk date loomed on the horizon. Was I crazy?! I planned to turn my oven on in some of the hottest days of the year. So I did the only other sensible thing and petitioned the fair blond to teach me to can:

“Well, it’s really easy, you don’t need me to teach you.”

“But I’ve only made apple sauce. That was in the third grade at school with my teacher we used to call ‘Nature Freak’ because JJ stepped on an ant and was yelled at for killing a living creature. I just need some hand holding the first time.”

So as cucumbers stacked up to 10 a week for 3 weeks (and there are only so many cucumber salads a person can happily eat) the fair blond, who will now be referred to as L, and I gathered our cucumbers for a wholesome day of pickling. This to become my re-entry into the world of glass jars beyond my grandmother’s jams.

The pickling went smooth enough, despite the burning vinegar smell that lingered in the air. I was warned a shelf time of at least three weeks and sent home with my 5 jars of pickles. Like any good student, when I returned home I gathered the remainder of the zucchini in my refrigerator and continued to pickle the night away (what else is there to do on a Saturday night in NYC afterall?).

The days were slowly checked off my calendar and I bragged to all my friends about my pickling adventures, promising all tastes of my sure success. Finally time came to pop a jar and I must admit my pickles were delicious. Adding red pepper flakes for a slight bite and coriander seeds for a twist paid off. Soon D and I were having pickle appetizers before every meal. When pickle jar one vanished in less than one week, zucchini jar one was opened as burgers cooked away.

But now is tomato season. After my pickle triumph I was ready to take on the non-pickling world of tomatoes. I found my recipe and plodded on the other night as temperatures dropped, securing the services of D, now known as the great Tomato Skin Peeler.

It is simple really. The hardest part is that the jars must remain submerged in boiling water for 85 minutes, easily avoided if you retreat to another room for a movie. The jars come out and as the night continues each “pop” of a lid brings a smile to your face, knowing you have another quart safe for the winter ahead when you will truly appreciate that reminder of summer.

At the end of the night, just for fun, I pickled 3 small jars of green beans. Afterall, with all those tomatoes a good Bloody Mary is in order as reward… in three weeks.

Canning Tomatoes
Active Time= 1 hour. Inactive Time= 1 hour 30 minutes
Roma Tomatoes
2 tablespoons lemon juice per quart jar
Jars and new canning lids

1) Fill a large stock pot with enough water to ensure quart jars standing upright will be totally submerged, bring to a boil.
2) Bring a smaller pot of water to a boil, sterilize all jars and lids in boiling water for 5 minutes. Remove and turn upside down to dry.
3) As equipment is drying, keep boil going (use same pot for next step). Prepare an ice bath and ready tomatoes and jars. Put 2 tablespoons lemon juice in each jar.
4) Blanch tomatoes (submerge in the boiling water) for 1 minute then transfer immediately to ice bath. Once in ice bath, skins should slip off tomatoes easily. Remove skins, core, and any visible bruises from tomatoes. Fill the jars with the tomatoes as you skin and core them. Push down on tomatoes to stuff in as many as possible, making sure to leave a 1/2 inch space at the top of the jar.
5) When all jars are filled, wipe the jar lips clean and cap, securing to finger-tight.
6) Submerge jars in water, standing. Boil for 85 minutes.
7) Carefully remove from water, set on racks to cool overnight. Any jars that do not pop tight should be transfered to the fridge and eaten. You cannot store these jars for long term.

NOTE: There are plenty of books and recipes online for canning if you do not like this one. Compare what is available, have fun and enjoy your reminders of summer all winter long!

D and I have returned from an August whirlwind of driving. It all started in upstate NY near the Vermont border with a music gig and a tour of the farm that supplies our grass-fed beef. We had a lovely, though all too short, stay in the country where $2.50 milkshakes could be had nightly at the local ice cream shop! (We thought this to be a great bargain what with the manual labor that goes into milkshakes.) Off to Niagara Falls where we got sprayed by mist and then high-tailed it to Indianapolis for the remainder of our vacation.

This was the vacation of the farm.

I found a great raw milk dairy and farm just outside Indianapolis that offers bi-monthly courses on cheese making, milling grains, breads, jams, canning and more. Our stay happened to fall upon a cheese-making course. D, his family and I sampled a range of fantastically hay-scented cheeses, creams

and spreads while we learned how to make ricotta, sour cream, buttermilk, creme fraiche and more. The farm has a cow share program, offering its raw milk to shareholders. We weren’t able to take home the milk, but we made due with some raw (not for human consumption) butter, fresh eggs (the darkest yolks I have ever seen), grass-fed beef, and fantastically rich chocolate milk from a nearby minimally pasteurized dairy.

The Indiana State Fair, as always, was the highlight. Correction: the Dairy Barn at the Indiana State Fair was the highlight. Double Correction: Pioneer Village is always the highlight, but how can you resist 25 cent milk refills?

I took my share of photos containing signs tooting deep fried edibles (Pepsi being the strangest) and we chatted about how the Fair was now frying in non-hydrogenated oils (recently featured in the NYTimes along with a piece about raw milk a few days after I wrote about it). This year’s Fair was “The Year of

Corn” evident from the Agribusiness-touting signs in front of corn stalks all around the Fairgrounds. There was also a room displaying about 30 (even though there are thousands) products chock full of corn. All hail for mono-cultures…

D and I also decided that we would call our country’s other great monoculture, soy, edamame at the Fair, asking folks what they thought about our nation’s great edamame boom. Unfortunately, “The Year of C

orn” had very little edamame praise around. Maybe next year.

The next day, D and his mother made a purchase of a beautiful blue grill that his mother proceeded to call the “Colt Grill” (after the football team). Later that night we apparently made “Colt burgers” though I

noted we probably don’t want to call everything we make on the grill “Colt X.” Other than the “Colt burgers,” which were really beef steaks. D’s mother also mentioned that she had a fabulously memorable salad at a new restaurant in town that contained peaches. That night, we grilled up some peaches to create our own version of the salad.

The salad was truly the highlight of the meal. It was colorful and full of texture and flavors. From the sour crumble of the blue cheese, the sweet syrupy nature of the peaches to the crisp freshness of the

cucumbers. A hit that will be made again before the summer comes to an end.

The next day we witnessed cow milking and some real free-range chickens at a farm that was part agri-tainment. We headed to the farmer’s market on-site where D’s mother proclaimed we needed some meat to make our Colt burgers for the night.

“Uhhh… she’s talking about the football team, we’ll just take some pork chops.”

“You guys must really like football.”

We headed home and relaxed for our last night together, grilling up the last of the season’s “Colt burgers.”

Grilled Peach Salad
Serving Size= 4. Active Time= 15 minutes.
2 ripe peaches (or nectarines)
1 medium-sized head red leaf lettuce (or other lettuce)
1/2 cucumber
1 ripe Hass avocado
1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese (or like cheese)
1/4 cup mixed (or Kalamata olives) optional
juice of 1 lemon
3 tablespoons plus 2 tablespoons olive oil
salt/ pepper to taste

1) Ready gas or charcoal grill. While grill is warming, prepare salad:
2) Slice peaches into 8 segments. Carefully pull apart each segment and brush all sides with the 2 tablespoons olive oil, set aside.
3) Wash and drain the lettuce, add it to the salad bowl. Slice the cucumber, avocado, crumble the blue cheese and add them to the lettuce. Top with olives, sprinkle lemon juice and remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil over salad. Add salt and pepper to taste.
4) Grill the two meat sides of the peaches until blackened, about 3 minutes each side. Careful when transporting peaches to the salad bowl as they will be juicy and can easily fall apart. The sugars will have caramelized adding a fabulous color and scent to the peaches.
Note: No grill? Mimic the grill in your broiler! Broil your fruit about 3 minutes each side, until blackened for a similar great taste!