Out here in the west, while it is still in the low 80′s most of the week, we are still graced by the somewhat turning of trees and the winter flowers that are starting to bloom. The Jacaranda trees, that line the city streets, are being wrapped in Christmas lights by the city for the special day that Santa arrives. So, with fall underway and the holiday decorations up reminding us of the season,
Now some people would have a problem with the idea of broccoli being called tasty. I adore broccoli. I adored it as a child until one momentous day. My mom had grown broccoli in her garden and proudly placed a big bowl on the table. I dug in with relish, and then I spotted them…
It’s been a cool and damp summer here in Galena. Someone said to me, “it’s not even been warm enough to enjoy a good salad!” I don’t know about you, but I always enjoy a good salad, be it a breezy 70 degrees or 110 in the shade. When asked by a customer to make some Asian dishes for her family party, I was reminded of how good these were, and especially on a hot summer day.
This big juicy fruit was one of my grandfather’s favorite foods. He always planted a huge patch on his farm and loved it icy cold. The story goes that he was heading to town for a quick drink and wanted it chilled by the time he got home. He stuck it in the freezer. My grandfather loved to party…so that one quick drink turned into a few, and by the time he got home the watermelon was frozen solid. He woke up the household in the middle of the night hacking away at the melon trying to get a slice.
Somewhere between food and a dream. It’s really very easy–just takes some attention to detail; eggs at room temperature, careful folding, hot oven, and eager and ready guests.
This “puffed up” egg creation was developed in the French kitchen in the late 18th century. It starts with a base. For savory editions, usually a béchamel sauce to which you add the flavors: vegetables, ham, cheese, or whatever suits your fancy.
The first time I had spinach served this way was at Rose Pistola’s in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco. I was amazed at how sensational spinach could taste. It was spring, and the leaves were the freshest possible, lightly sautéed with fruity olive oil, garlic, and finished with a squeeze of lemon. So simple and yet so amazing.
I had lived my life hating spinach. Crazy…isn’t it? The big problem was grade school. Almost weekly we were greeted with “that smell” as the lunch ladies opened giant cans of overly cooked slime that they passed off as being good for us…just like Popeye ate. My mom didn’t even try to get us to eat it. I suspect she didn’t much like canned spinach either.
At the market today the asparagus looked fabulous. It pops up over night, seemingly. Many people around here go on asparagus hunts, much like the morel search. It survives in ditches and fence lines. The thing is, you have to know where to look. The tiny spears creep up in the midst of weeds and grasses and you have to look close, even when you know where it is. When left to grow it produces tall feathery stalks and eventually in the fall, red berries. Memory of the location is key.
