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.

And rhubarb, too

Piled high next to the asparagus -- never to be mistaken for celery -- is the tart, perky treat known as rhubarb. It likes heat -- boiled down with sugar it's a nearly instant marmalade. Jamie Oliver has a tantalizing recipe for "hot and sour rhubarb and crispy pork with noodles." It can be spritzed up into any number of beverages and cocktails. And, of course, there's rhubarb crumble, crisp, and fool.

But there's only one dish made with this long stout spear that fills me with childhood memories. My father's all-time favorite pie -- strawberry rhubarb. I can still taste that first forkful he held out to me. Such a shock -- my astonished taste buds jumped at the rhubarb's tartness tempered by the bright sweetness of my beloved strawberries. And the color -- ohhh, that "pink", the unequivocal delight of a five year old girl. Imagine, a foodstuff made of pinkness -- wrapped in pastry crust and served with whipped cream. I don't know whose smile was wider, his or mine.

-- Mixing the tart with the sweet -- it was a lesson in happiness, a lesson, from my father, for life.

-- A bite of pie. Love comes in small packages.

Asparagus

It's here.

"Samascott's got asparagus!" It was the cry heard round the Columbia Greenmarket. The announcement came by way of the kind folk at Stannard Farm. Theirs wasn't in yet (another week or two) but they took joyful pride and excitement in the fact that the East Coast's food harbinger of Spring was finally in residence. As I approached the Orchard's tent, a large table, laden with the tall and lanky bundles nearly made me cry out with delight. So much -- such abundance -- of green, rich forest green deepening to purple.

Visions of asparagus dishes dance in my head -- steamed and slathered with butter and salt; boiled and cooled with vinaigrette; folded into an omelette with creme fraiche; served with poached egg and parmesan curls; or fresh scallops; risotto...

Apples...Say "hello" to the ramps

I'm a little behind... the first bunch of ramps actually appeared in the market about 2 weeks ago. So eager was I to taste Spring, I chomped into one, raw and unwashed. How to explain the flavor of earth and garlic and green!

Lunch that day was a slice of bread with Pennsylvania cheddar and a sprinkling of ramp, diced from stem to leaf tip. The first crunchy green I've had on a sandwich since last Fall. Yes, we've really been sticking with eating seasonally -- lettuce disappeared from our sandwiches when lettuce disappeared from the garden (sometime toward the end of 2009.)

And now, it's officially Spring, 2010. Let the crunching begin.

Still Eating Apples

The daffodils have arrived in small pots at the Greenmarket, cheery little markers of Spring. They sit in front of the wooden crates still filled with the seemingly endless supply of coldstorage apples we've been eating all winter. So many apple pies, apple muffins, baked apples, applesauce. So much tart/sweet crunching, with Pennsylvania cheddar or Berkshire Blue. So many savory apple slices, sauteed in butter and salt and ladled over chops.

I have to admit, that, along with my favorite pair of jeans, last Autumn's taste sensation is wearing a little thin.

In a moment of weakness earlier this week, with the sun bearing down like a counterfeit July, I was tempted, sorely tempted at the outdoor bins of Garden of Eden. I reached for ... asparagus, a small grouping wrapped in rubber bands. Seconds later, I noticed the wrinkles, the dry looking tips, the off-color green. These asparagus were weary travelers, far from their California home; depleted, stressed out, jet-lagged. I'm going to wait for the first local crop at the farmers market; no doubt, it will be a surprise and a delight. Until then, just a few more apples.

Yogurt for breakfast

Arrived too late to last Sunday's Greenmarket. Alas, no more milk at Ruby's Milk Thistle farm stand. All sold out. But turning disappointment into opportunity, she proffered a large milk bottle filled, uncharacteristically, with yogurt. "Try it", she suggested while pouring a thick creamy swig into a little paper tasting cup. I tried it.

This was no ordinary yogurt. This was Switzerland in a bottle. The delicately tart confection was the perfect semi-liquid consistency I've come to prefer over the gelatinous corporate guk that comes in nonrecyclable plastic pots in the grocery store. Not a yogurt "drink", yet she poured it easily from the bottle. And the taste, so clean and surprisingly sweet -- not a candy kind of sugariness, but something else, more discreet, like the flavor equivalent of a pink carnation.

This morning, a little glassful with a small squeeze of Stannard Farm's pure honey and I was transported to our friend Jane's kitchen in Flims, a small Alpine village. A kitchen where a Spring day greets you with the scent of cow meadows and geraniums mingled with tea and freshbaked bread. The kitchen where I learned firsthand how to marry the practice of thrift and simplicity to a spirit of generosity and deliciousness. Thank you, Jane. And pass the muesli.

Breakfast

Hudson Valley eggs, cheese, mushrooms, and butter. 'nuf said.