Friday, November 22, 2013
This is a difficult fact for me, because I still geek and gush over things like washi tape.
Nevertheless, in my near decade as an adult Bostonian, this is the most brilliant fall I can honestly remember.
Colorful. Leafy. Crisp. Nostalgic.
If summer is a time for expansive adventures, fall is a time to be still, to go inward. A time to appreciate the smaller, quieter moments. . .
Favorite socks. Soft scarves. Morning oatmeal. Afternoon tea. Reading in bed. A lit candle. Toasted squash seeds.
It is, after all, the tiniest pleasures that create our richest memories.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The weekends edition of Kinfolk
The idea of a digital detox
Black tea with almond milk
Split pea soup
All things tortoise shell
The Farmer's Lunch at City Feed
I'm a pretty big vegetable nerd. (You know this.) But I think, aesthetically speaking, the radish just wins.
So pink. So plump. So effortlessly lovely.
Such a sweet and spicy little creature from the dirt the radish is. Pulling something oh so pink up and out of the ground almost makes it alright that our coveted tomato season is fading into memory now.
Radish instructions : Plant seeds in late summer. Water. Wait. Weed. Pluck. Slice thinly. Sprinkle atop everything. Next year, plant more radishes.
Friday, September 6, 2013
We still have stone fruits and late summer greens to chat about.
But. Well. Post Labor Day summer brings about a lot of talk of reorganizing, restarting and resetting. Usually, or always, I resist this wholeheartedly.
It seems, though, that this year I could use a bit of a reset myself. And so I say, let's give this last month of summer its due time. And, let's get ourselves together.
To that end, I bring you, the sweet beet. She's a lovely, almost summery shade of magenta. And by starting our day with beets, raw honey and other earthy treats, we can extend an apology to our cells for those things we wish we didn't eat, drink and do in July and August.
Here's to a sweet, slow moving, healthful last month of summer.
- 1/3 cup red beet (cubed)
- 1/2 red grapefruit
- 1 cup raspberries (frozen)
- 1 banana
- 2 teaspoons raw honey
- 1 Tablespoon hemp seeds
- 1/2 cup cold water
Wash, peel and cube raw beet. Measure out 1/3 cup. Halve grapefruit, remove outer peel and any seeds (as they are extremely bitter.) Measure remaining ingredients. Place everything into a high-speed blender. Begin blending on low, gradually increase speed to the highest setting. Blend just until smooth.
For a conventional blender: finely chop or shred the beets, and blend them with the 1/2 cup cold water as the first step. Once a juice-like consistency is reached, add remaining ingredients and blend until smooth.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Obvious exceptions included: tuna fish sandwiches, ketchup, and tomato sauce. (No exceptions on quiche. I had a legitimate phobia of it's loose innards.)
Back then, tomatoes always seemed to be cut into cold, hard, clumsy wedges. And, most often, they accompanied a form of iceberg lettuce.
With all of that squishy seediness to boot, I simply could not understand tomato eaters (or tomato juice drinkers for that matter). Tomatoes were just a constant inconvenience in my preadolescent life.
Now that I spend my early summer mornings watering fourteen most treasured tomato plants, of nearly as many varieties, I wonder what all that fuss was about. And when exactly did I go from abhorring to adoring this beautiful fruit?
We are nearing peak tomato season, which means that tomorrow is the highly anticipated Tomato Festival at Red Fire Farm in Granby, MA.
I will be there, basking in all things tomato (as long as fish and quiche stay out of it).
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
This means I spend a small part of every day worrying about a 6' x 6' piece of land in the middle of my neighborhood.
I worry about getting over to water it. I worry about losing my battle with with the weeds. I wonder why my tomatoes are flowering but not fruiting.
This also means that I get to arrive at friends' homes with a small something that I grew. An oversized pickling cucumber. Leafy greens punctured with tiny holes from garden fleas. A small handful of sungold cherry tomatoes.
Nobody seems quite as excited about my unwashed offerings as I am. And I'm okay with that.
August also means the most special meal of summer. My first (ever) entirely homegrown dinner. Cucumber salad, sautéed kale with smoked tofu, and spaghetti with garlic, basil and cherry tomatoes.
People grow food all of the time. I know this. I have known gardeners and farmers my entire life.
And yet, there are few words that can describe sitting down to a meal in which yours are the only hands that have touched what's in front of you. Not a farmer. Not a packager. Not a stocker. Not a cashier. Not a bagger. Not a baker. Not a candlestick maker.
Just one single set of hands, from seed to plate.