powder on the mount

One of the popular courses of discussion at my work, besides food of course, is the weather. That probably goes without saying at many a workplace. Especially with such a snowy winter as we have had. And what I've noticed from these kinds of conversations is that you can immediately detect the skiers and riders from everyone else. They're the ones that, when April 1 rolls around and the weather service puts out a winter storm warning predicting 6-8 inches of snow, are crossing their fingers for powder. Whereas everyone else just gets depressed. I belong to the former group.

So yesterday at work, when the only wet coming from the sky was a cold, damp rain, and some anti-snowy colleagues began to gloat, "I knew that forecast couldn't be true," I found myself slightly annoyed. "I'll show them!" I thought to myself and set my alarm clock for 6:45 a.m. this morning (Saturday). I dragged myself out of bed and called the Stowe line. They had 6" of fresh snow! With Colin on the other side of the world and my snowboarding friends out of town, I packed up my stuff and went to Stowe solo.

I found a quiet untouched corner and had powdery trails all to myself. "Where is everyone?" I wondered. I guessed they were probably back at home cleaning up their yards for spring. Or taking a run in the mud and puddles. Not me though, I was enjoying full-on winter up there.

I took some pics with my phone and texted them to Col. "Pow! Wishing you were here." He was just about to have dinner in Hong Kong. "Having pre dinner drinks overlooking HK," he texted back. (That text'll cost $0.25). I was about to ride a trail that's only open when there's lots of snow, because of all the rocks and drops. First time I tried it was with Col during the epic March snowstorm. Second time was now, by myself. So I sent another pic to prove I was doing it. He wrote back, "Wow... that's unfair! Shred the pow pow!" (Another $0.25, but so worth it: I miss my boy and having that little conversation was the next best thing to having him there with me.)

I wish I could say I stayed there all day, but after a couple of hours I was tired and ready to go home. And by that point, the snow was getting chunky and wet and slow. No, didn't last long, but it was long enough to get outside and enjoy this beautiful paradise we live in.

As I drove back to Burlington, the snow began to recede. It was a totally different world and climate less than an hour away. I walked up to my back door and noticed that the huge pile of snow that had accumulated on top of our garden is almost totally melted. I picked up a couple of stray papers that had blown around onto the yard and underneath one of them I found fresh green 2" shoots sprouting out of the dead chive patch from last year. My chives are up!

Winter at the mount, spring in the valley. I can live with that. It's the best of both worlds.

the radish

It's been a while. So let's ease back into things with something simple. A photo perhaps. Here's one of a watermelon radish I picked up at the farmers' market. I always thought I hated radishes. Maybe it was one bad radish that ruined the lot. Maybe it was because growing up "do you want the radish" meant "you're on thin ice." It was a warning more than it was a root vegetable. Any-who.

Now I've discovered I actually love them and I especially love watermelon radishes, which have a gorgeous hot pink inner core. They're peppery, which makes salt the obvious condiment. (Hannah and Richard got me hooked on this snack.) Here I've sprinkled slices with smoked sea salt that I bought in Kauai last year. It's the last of the lot. This is one bite that makes my mouth water!

the year of tarragon

I tend a small kitchen herb garden by the back entrance of our home and every year it flourishes. My lavender especially. By whim, this year, I decided to plant some French tarragon. It's pretty and I thought maybe I could use it in some recipes (even though until now I hadn't used it very much at all).

Over the summer, I became obsessed with its sweet licorice flavor and started snipping it into everything from fresh green salads and dressings to lemony pasta and mussels steamed in white wine.

My other herbs got the cold shoulder this year, but I believe they've have their fair share of time in the sun. This year is the year for tarragon.

And it's still flourishing—even amidst frosts and snow flurries.

This morning, I discovered a new sweeter side of tarragon and my taste buds were just blown away. I was making myself a breakfast parfait with a chopped honeycrisp apple, some banana, plain whole milk yogurt, a touch of maple syrup and some granola on top. I wanted to snip some basil in, but the basil in my garden has gone by and there's no mint either. But tarragon? Yes, there's still tons. And I thought to myself, "This might be crazy, but I'm willing to give it a try!"

And you know what? It was really quite wonderful.

Now I'm sitting here typing and nibbling on some fresh tarragon leaves—tastes just like candy!—and I felt the need to share my obsession.

back to the berry farm

Bluebug season is in full swing, so we went back to the berry farm bright and early this morning before the clouds burned off to pick a few pounds. We went with Emi, Kevin and Sapphie. Our friend Mindy is staying with them for the weekend and she came too. Then we met up with Michelle and G-boy when when we got there. It was a fun little party!

The blueberries were so prolific that all you had to do was cup your hand under a bunch, jiggle your fingers a bit and catch the harvest that tumbled down. Colin developed his own technique for this and gave me a lesson. We picked 8 pounds in less than an hour.

When the parents were cashing out, I hung out with kiddos by the Imagine boat. Then we all booked it back to Burlington to hit up the Farmer's Market and get to the Plum Lady before she sold out. It was actually the Plum Man this time. And his son whose job it is to cut off bits of plum for people to sample. I always take a bite even though I know I'm going to get some. Some of them are still a little tart, but soo0 good...

in the herb garden

They say you shouldn't plant your garden till after Memorial Day, but we live in Vermont's banana belt for heaven's sake and I just couldn't resist picking up a few things at the garden shop this weekend when it was SO nice outside. I had to extend the garden in order to fit all of the new goodies (rosemary, French tarragon, salvia and pineapple sage—that was Colin's pick) and am quite pleased with the result.

Colin helped me excavate some rocks from the back hill (he worked on the stone border while I worked on the plantings). I even found some forget-me-nots literally growing on top of the gravel in the parking lot. So I transplanted them to a delicious new home in my garden with lots of compost, dirt and pine mulch. And a good dose of water too. There, all pretty now!

fruit finds

I made quite the little food discovery at the farmers' market yesterday. Have you ever heard of a ground cherry? The Arethusa farm stand had a few pints of small cherry tomato-like fruit in papery husks—the kind you would see on a tomatillo. I asked the man there if they were gooseberries and he said no, but some people call them gooseberries. They're actually called ground cherries and they're delightful. He let me try one and they were so delicious and unusual I just had to buy a pint. And then Emi and Kevin tried one and they just had to buy a pint too.

When you unwrap the husk, you find a small orange fruit that looks like a little berry. They are firm and when you bite in, the insides are juicy. The fruit is sweet and the flavor is a cross between a cherry tomato and pineapple. Each one is different, sometimes the berries even have a vanilla undertone. We had some in our salad last night and now I'm thinking they would make a wonderful topping for homemade ice cream. Plum ice cream...


I think I will try making ice cream using these plums that I also got from farmers' market yesterday—from the woman in Charlotte. I love Vermont in August...

blueberries, finally

Just down the road from where I work is the Charlotte Berry Farm. It's a fabulous place with rows upon rows of beautiful berries—strawberries, raspberries, blueberries—and a very friendly family who runs it. Pick-your-own blueberries are just $2 a pound! When 1/2 pints are running upwards of $5 a piece at the local market, that's a steal!

But even though I love berry picking and I love the berry farm and it's just a couple minutes away, I've been meaning to get over there since June. I completely missed strawberry season. Boo! So I was determined to get over there before all of the berries are gone completely. I planned on going today after work.

It poured all day. But I was determined to go there rain or shine after work. And go I did.

The rain turned out to be a blessing, because it kept all the people (and bugs!) away. I practically had the place to myself. It was completely healing after such a stressful and crazy week, to spend some time alone in the berry bushes.

With every cluster of plump berries I plucked came a delicate shower of water too. It washed away the tension in my mind little by little. It was just what I needed. I was there for an hour and at the end had picked 3 1/2 pounds all by myself. All those berries and all that therapy for just $7!

Go berry picking.

pretty peas please

When the wind blows before a storm, it's hot and heavy. Basking in heat wind, you want to close your eyes and listen: because the trees are talking back. They moan at the force—they feel tired from the hot July sun, too tired and loose to stand strong—they bend to and fro. They say, "Leave me alooooone, I want to rest... grooooan." And if, with eyes closed, you listen, the leaves sound like a rushing stream, breaking and falling.

Really the best thing to do when everything about you is stirring and rushing—and you're feeling quite unsettled—is to sit and be as still as you possibly can.

Oh what a way to spend the afternoon: to sit out on the porch during such a rushing wind with a glass of white Bordeaux and a basket of peas in your lap. I sat there just now and shelled my peas as quietly as I could. Sometimes I closed my eyes. Soon the sun came out, but I know it won't last for long. Not with such a hot and heavy and foreboding wind...

The peas, we'll have for dinner. They'll go quite nicely with Hannah's roast chicken and corn on the cob. The plump peas are from my parents' garden, where we've been for the last couple of days. As are these beautiful flowers that I plucked just as we headed back home. They're quite pretty, aren't they?

our greywater project

As conscientious as we try to be about recycling, composting, buying local, and being enviro-friendly, I must admit that I have a major vice: my water usage. I use a lot of water. I'm not proud of it. Au contraire, I'm often ashamed at the length of my hot showers or the inefficient way I wash dishes. I think I take my water for granted, because it's so plentiful and cheap here in Vermont. Plus I love how it feels on my skin!

On top of that, we have to run a dehumidifier nonstop in the basement or else things start to get moldy. The machine, which is energy star rated, by the way, produces between 1 and 2 gallons of water a day during the summer months. 1 to 2 gallons every day! Out of thin air! Until now, we've been dumping that perfectly good water down the drain. But I'm trying to change my way of thinking.

The other day Colin suggested that we collect the water and use it to water our plants and garden. The same thing had been on my mind too, since I've been hearing lots of news reports lately about how people are recycling their greywater (washwater from showers and laundry) in creative ways. We're also enamoured by the neat little waste water recycling system at the Vermont Welcome Center in Sharon, Vermont.

I did a little research on some online discussion forums to see what other people do. Some think the water is toxic, but I don't believe it (it's not even grey!). Others say they've been doing it for years and the plants thrive. Laura from work suggested contacting the UVM extension office just to be sure, which I plan to do, especially if I want to use the water on my edible garden. But in the meantime, I've bought a nice little watering can and every time the dehumidifer needs emptying, we empty the water into the watering can. It's enough to drench our little garden without ever turning on the hose!

rhubard & custard, kippers & knickers

I got some mixed reaction to the blowout business. My friend Isaac mentioned that mine is a food blog and some people coming to the site looking for recipes might be put off. While I was not aware that this was solely a foodie blog (I rarely post recipes, except for today), I am sorry if I did in fact put any one off. I thought it was funny! And I want to remember that moment forever.

Any-who. Back to the subject at hand. And this one IS about food.

When we were kids, any time we'd go over a covered bridge (or was it any bridge? I can't quite remember) we would roll down the windows and yell at the top of our lungs, "Rhubarb and custard! Kippers and knickers!" I'm pretty sure it was my mom's idea. Where else would we come up with such rubbish? You should try it some time; it's really liberating.

Well, despite how silly it sounds, rhubarb and custard is indeed one of the best things in the world. They seem an unlikely combination: tart and grassy; sweet and creamy. But when they get together there are just fireworks happening.

Well, now it's rhubarb season. (Did you know that rhubarb has fiber, vitamin C and potassium and is good for your heart too?) I got some at the market last week. I had some girlfriends coming over last night for dinner and one of them was bringing vanilla ice cream, so I decided to make a rhubarb sauce to pour on top. At first the gals were hesitant at the idea and made me put the sauce on the side. But once they tried it, they just couldn't get enough! This sauce goes so well on top of vanilla ice cream, mixed into plain yogurt or as a fruit base for rhubarb ice cream. It's so easy to make! I like to add lemon, cause it brings out the flavor. Start with about this much rhubarb:



Rhubarb Sauce
About 4 cups of diced rhubarb stems (don't eat the leaves)
Juice of about 1/2 or 1 lemon (if you really like it tart like I do, otherwise you could just skip the lemon and just use less sugar)
About 1/2 cup to 1 cup of sugar
Vanilla is optional

Cook the rhubarb, lemon and sugar for about 10 minutes on medium low till the rhubarb starts to break down. Turn heat to low and cook for another 10 or so minutes till some of the liquid has evaporated and the sugar has turned a little syrupy. Remove from heat. At this point you can add vanilla, but you don't need it. Serve hot over vanilla ice cream or cold mixed into yogurt. Yum!

twigs & herbs

Last weekend, I went to the first summer farmers' markets in Burlington. It was a gorgeous spring morning and I couldn't believe all of the produce that was already available on the first day (isn't it usually just seedlings and prepared food?)—there was asparagus, rhubarb, spring onions, spinach, greens, bok choy, fiddleheads, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, mushrooms, cheese, eggs, meat, bread, pastries, maple syrup, honey and SO MUCH MORE!

Since it was just me in the house, I only allowed myself a few perishable items: a pound of rhubarb, a bunch of asparagus and some shallots. Then I also bought several herb seedlings for my garden. I took my purchases home and made a spring risotto right away. It was so good! I still haven't done anything with the rhubarb yet, but I think I might make a tart or rhubarb ice cream (that was a favorite last year).

As soon as I started working on the garden it started pouring and didn't let up all day. But that didn't stop me. I dug up a spot for my herb garden and transplanted some shrubs to make room. Then I planted everything. It took all day and then some on Sunday too. It looks lovely! Next we might try and build a stone patio next to it, but who knows when that will happen.

Being in the gardening spirit, I've also started thinking about flowers for our wedding. Because it will be in winter, I've been so overwhelmed by the whole idea of planning the bouquets & arrangements. But now I'm getting really inspired by new life all around me and pictures of colorful twigs—red & yellow dogwood branches are gorgeous! Maybe even some herbs will make it in there. We'll see...

orchids

I've been watering my friend Lauren's plants while she's away. Tonight, when I went over to her apartment, I found two buds on her orchid plant. I think it might flower. Isn't that wonderful?

I always had the impression that orchid flowers require a lot of tender care. Mama Sonia was a whiz at growing orchids, wasn't she? They were her favorite. She had a special area for all her orchid pots and there was a little spray bottle sitting next to them that she would use to mist their pretty faces. I always pictured her garden in Puerto Rico just dripping with the floral beauties in all shapes and colors, some of them spotted like exotic sea creatures.

At her mass, there was a bundle of orchids tucked in with the rest of her bouquet, and I thought she would have loved that. I haven't seen an orchid flower since. And so I think, it will be nice if Lauren's plant blooms again, won't it?

These pretty pink orchids I snapped at the Winterpark Farmers' Market in Florida a couple of years ago:

Blog Action Day: Nourishment doesn't have to cost a lot

It’s Blog Action Day today. That means that thousands of bloggers around the world will discuss a single issue to use the power of the web to “raise awareness, initiate action and to shake the web.” This year’s topic is: poverty.

I think about poverty a lot. Growing up, our family didn’t have a lot of money. But my parents found ways to make the situation seem less dire. We always had a big garden, so we had plenty to eat in the summer months. And it was so exciting as a little girl to watch those cucumbers grow before my very eyes into something that was nourishing and tasted good. We didn’t always have the latest fad toys our friends had, but we did have soaring imaginations and so instead of playing with dolls, we built forts and moss fairy houses in the woods. One luxury we did have was the wide-open landscape of Vermont and Coastal Maine. So much exploring to do! Another luxury we had was our parents' unwavering love. We always ate dinner together, no matter what was on the table. That's a luxury I will never take for granted.

Now that I work in the foodie world, I think a lot about nourishment and how it relates to money. The fact is, good food costs a lot of money. But I don't think lack of money should ever be an excuse for living a life without nourishment. Here I'll tell you why. I found this piece that I wrote last year. I like it because though we didn’t have much growing up, it never felt like we were ever in need of nourishment. With a little imagination and resourcefulness, we were the richest and best-fed kids around:

What does real nourishment taste like?

Does it taste like an expensive meal? Does it taste of discovery or love or nutrients? Does it taste like a childhood story?

There was a crucial moment a few years back when I learned that nourishment has many manifestations. Nourishment for the body, for instance, tastes and satisfies in a very different way than nourishment for the soul. A meal that fills the tummy can in other ways leave you feeling very empty.

During that particular time in my life, I was eating very, very well. I was in good company. I was in a constant mode of discovery. But emotionally speaking, I did not feel nourished. And for that reason, my stomach was in constant turmoil.

Nourishment for the soul and nourishment for the body go hand in hand.

Nourishment does not necessarily mean an expensive full-course meal at a nice restaurant. On the contrary, the best and most memorable meals are the ones you scrape together with what you already have in your fridge and your garden (if you’re lucky). Perhaps because there’s an even greater summit to reach, the taste is that much sweeter.

Growing up, we never had much money, so we had to be very resourceful. If I wanted cookies or cake, I would make them from scratch. That’s how I learned to bake. It’s also how I learned to be experimental in the kitchen—mixing unusual flavors and ingredients to make something tasty.
I’ll never forget running out to the garden patch and plucking a cucumber from the vine. We would eat them skin and all—still warm from the sun—dipped in vinegar and salt. A poor man’s salad to be sure. But nourishing to the core.

Great pumpkin Charlie Brown!

We snapped this photo at the gas station today:

rhubarb & custard

I grew up thinking that rhubarb and custard was some gross mush that mummy's used to make their children eat for breakfast. Rhubarb sounded gross and custard sounded even grosser.

It wasn't until many years later that I realized custard is the wonderful creamy goodness that makes many of my favorite foods happen: homemade ice cream, creme brulee, yummy quiche. And it wasn't until very recently (this year in fact) that I tasted rhubarb for the first time in years and was reminded how much I do love it. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia with every bite.

Rhubarb and cream were meant for each other. The buttery sweetness is the perfect balance to rhubarb's tangy, mouth-puckering flavor. I'm determined to experiment and come up with as many riffs on the classic combo as I can.

On our recent trip to England, my Aunt Carrie served a delicious rhubarb fool (that is cooked, sweetened rhubarb folded into whipped cream). I was hooked. Now that it's rhubarb season in Vermont, I just can't get enough of it. I made my own variation on the fool this past weekend by cooking rhubarb with some lemon and orange zest and a little sugar. Then I folded it into maple syrup-sweetened plain yogurt. Divine!

Tonight, I'm really pushing the limits of ultimate creamy tart flavor: strawberry rhubarb ice cream. Strawberries & cream meets rhubarb & custard. And the result is soooo good. The secret is in the lemon juice. You wouldn't think that rhubarb would need any more acid but it really does help bring out the flavor against all that creamy custard.

What's next? Tomorrow, I'm having rhubarb in my yogurt for breakfast. I hope I don't get a stomach ache!

first market & mother's day

The first farmer's market in Burlington is always abuzz with energy. And who could blame us? We've been stifled in our winter roosts for far too long. The fresh flowers, plants and spring veggies have us dreaming of Sunday brunches and garden parties.

Burlington's farmer's market always opens Mother's Day weekend and it couldn't be better that way. I've made it a tradition to buy my Mum a new plant every year for her herb garden. Usually, it's still a bit too early in the growing season to buy her a big bag of local produce.

This year, however, it seems the first market was abundant in full force. I went early this morning to get the best selection and found lovely fresh asparagus, spinach, rhubarb, scallions, and local shitake mushrooms. No sign of fiddleheads or ramps or scapes. I guess they've gone by already, which seems early to me.

I also found a little purple sage plant for my Mum. I think I'll take my plant and my big bag of veggies up to Newport and make her the best spring quiche ever!

Ch-ch-ch-chia!

Over at EatingWell headquarters, we've got a little inter-office competition going on: who can grow the best Chiapet? The champion (Chiapet) will have the glory of being photographed for an upcoming issue of EatingWell. There's a pet in every department, and wouldn't you know it, the interactive team (that's us) got stuck with the dog with the gimp leg. Er, make that missing leg.

Now, if you know anything about Chiapets, you know this is a problem. You see, Chiapets are hollow and you're supposed to fill the things to keep them watered from the inside out. With a broken leg, the water just pours out the bottom.

Paula & Paul, my co-workers tried to make a prosthesis using a sandwich bag. That didn't work. Now the dog's just sitting in a bowl soaking up the water from his feet. That means he's getting more water on the bottom half. So I imagine, after all's said and done, he'll end up looking more like one of those show-dogs with short hair on top and long hair on the bottom. Maybe that's too creepy for a photo shoot?

We do have one advantage: our office has a green house on one side and it's been sunny and warm the last few days. So that's where Chia sits for the time being. Here's what he looks like so far:

8 ways to spring up

1. Bring your Christmas tree to the compost.
2. Get rid of old clothes in your closet; Host a clothing swap.
   
3. Plant seeds in your window box.
4. Buy yourself some fake tanner.
5. Make a brunch date with someone special.
   
6. Bake Queen Elizabeth's favorite quiche.
7. Don a springtime bonnet.
   
8. Smile at the sunshine.
   

in the details, nature

I found much inspiration in the English country side. The endless combinations of textures and colors drew my attention as much to close surfaces as it did to the broad landscapes. Once I got all my photos off my camera, I noticed that I had taken many close-up pictures of interesting compositions. I did it somewhat without realizing it, but looking at them now, I find myself drawn to them again and again.

I keep discovering new things about them. Like, for one, a recurring church theme. Also, most of them seem to portray something human or manmade deteriorating—over-run by nature. By age or weather. I love the vibrant green algae on the wooden fences and clapboard siding. It's from, I imagine, the damp weather there. We don't get that kind of wear and tear in Vermont. It's too cold. Or too dry. So for me, it's beautiful. For others, it might be a nuisance.

Here are some of my favorite detail images. I like to think of them as "vignettes." They're evocative. They tell a story. I'll give a little clue. You can make up the rest...


Wheels, in a church yard in Dorchester, Dorset.


Exposed brick from what's left of a building in the deserted village of Tyneham, which was evacuated during World War II.


Lichen on a gravestone in the Tyneham church cemetery, Dorset.


Slate walk-way in a Dorchester church yard.


A window railing in Dorchester.


Beautiful poisonous berries in a hedgerow.


On a public foot path in Whitecombe, Dorset.


Garden shed behind Uncle Richard and Aunt Carrie's house.


A tiled floor at the Sherborne Abbey in Sherborne, Dorset.


Wooden doors at the church in Marston Magna, Somerset, where Mummy was born and where Gaffa and Granny now rest in peace together.

more picking

It's becoming cliché for us, the picking of fruit on weekends (this time it was apples). But no matter how much I anticipate or think about it—the real magic occurs with that first juicy bite of autumn fruit. With glimpses of foliage in the distant fields. Candy apples. Cider donuts. Honey bees. Hay bales and tree houses. It's magic. Year after year, it's still magic. If that's cliché, then I'm a total victim. This weekend—apple crumble!