Breakfast at LaGuardia Airport

I'm sorry. This isn't food. Isn't eggs and bread and cheese. Never mind taste -- rubber, plastic, and salt encased in hardened petroleum ( nonrecyclable PS #6).

Excuse my creeping tone of sarcasm -- I'm an American, after all. I've had my share of fast food. But I'm taken aback by this precooked offering that has "literally" been thrown together in a commercial microwave.

My airport is the entry and exit point of access to loved ones and destinations, opportunities and cultures, discoveries and environments that our agrarian ancestors could only dream about as they gathered eggs, kneaded dough, and tended the cheese -- all with sky and clouds perpetually above their heads. And I'm grateful for that access and innovation.

But my airport is also an epicenter of petroleum culture, petroleum use, petroleum products, petroleum advertising, petroleum furniture ... petroleum breakfasts. And I envision those eggs and bread and cheese of long ago.

My ancestors dreamed of flight -- of soaring through cloud and sky. My dream, at the point of departure, is real food on a plate.

from Squash Blossom to the Sublime

Arriving late to Farm Girl Farm for our Tuesday pickup yielded us unanticipated treasure. Vivian had separated the blossoms from the fresh zucchini, laid them on the table, and invited me to help myself to some of the delicate beauties, just beginning to wilt in the early evening heat. These exquisite jewels of summer are rare and not to be passed if offered. I cradled the gems on top of the mesclun and arugula and drove home in the dusky light.

I'd never actually tried making stuffed squash blossoms, though I'd twice tasted them and remembered the first bite of sweet creamy lushness that broke through the lightly crispy exterior. The color of summer, these tender flowers gleamed on my kitchen counter. The gentlest of baths removed the tiny specks of dirt. While drying, I mixed together a few tablespoons of our local Monterey goat cheese; some small pieces of fresh mozzarella; a twist of black pepper; and finely cut up chives from the garden. In the skillet heating, two tablespoons of olive oil and two of clarified butter (to prevent burning.) For the coating, a plate of flour and a flat bowl of whisked milk and egg. Carefully stuff about a teaspoon of the cheesy paste into each blossom. Pan ready, gently coat with flour, dip in egg mixture, lay in the pan. Turn gently when lightly brown to crisp up all sides. With continuing gentleness, remove and drain and cool for a minute. . .

or maybe two -- until you can't wait another second. . . We ate them standing by the stove, with our fingers, and a cool glass of Riesling. Sublime.

Today an Apron

Today is sunlight in my kitchen. Banana bread cooling on the counter. And a hot kettle.

Today is the first day back (after a long hiatus) -- not to cooking, and certainly not to eating -- but to writing. The photo and this little text is, for me, a way of capturing the essence of the act of baking. In the same way that the finished loaf captures the fragrance, flavor, and texture of its ingredients -- bananas, eggs, flour, soda, sugar, vanilla, walnuts. It is a humble and edible artifact, yet so much more than a sum of its parts. Nutritious inspiration, it is a fresh-baked tribute to life, and good health, and friendship, and love.

And to picking up where I left off.