picking blackberries down on the canal

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming black honey of summer into my mouth – Mary Oliver

mustard mint potato and green bean salad

When I was a little girl, I equated certain foods with my different sets of grandparents. I could count on my Grandma Jeffress to have things like Chuck Wagon casserole and pigs-in-a-blanket made with Vienna sausages or tacos with the lettuce wilted in the sauce and heaped with shreds of cheddar cheese.

green, grassy sparrowgrass aka asparagus

My rebelliousness went so deep that, faced with a can of asparagus that instructed me to open at this end, I always, stubbornly, opened it at the other.

– Dorothy Gilman

hot chocolate day!

National fill-in-the-blank Food Day is a thing. Being a food geek, but not a snob, I know stuff like this. For instance, yesterday was all about croissants. A beautiful celebration of flaky, laminated dough bathed in butter – oh, my. And, gloriously today happens to be equally epicurean; it’s National Hot Chocolate Day!

mushroom and wild rice soup with kale

I’ve been waiting for “real” soup weather to arrive. You know the type: cold wind howling, trees rustling branches against the windows and inches of rain or snow. All of this iconic soup weather hadn’t happened yet, but that hasn’t stopped me from soup making.

travelling the fruit loop for apples and pears

“It is in my view, the duty of an apple to be crisp and crunchable, but a pear should have such a texture as leads to quiet consumption,” poetic words for  common fruit.  Thanks, Edward Bunyard for penning this description in “The Anatomy of Dessert.”

what about the leftover pickle juice?

The jar was empty. Well, mostly empty as the pickles sweet and amply spicy were gone. I don’t know about you, but I do feel somewhat guilty each time I pour the leftover juice down the drain. There’s flavor, bits of garlic, mustard seeds and brick red chilies in the liquid that’s gurgling to parts unknown.

fried egg sammies

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I know, corny, clique, unanswered question that gets batted around at so-called intellectual cocktail parties. Eggs come from chickens, but wait chickens come from eggs. Who knows? The way I see it this confab is not going to change the world or solve crime, but it does make you wonder.

hoods, get ’em while they’re fresh

I’m giddy. You know why? Because the first “Hood Strawberry” signs have started popping up. Heck, I’ve even received emails heralding their celebrated, sweet arrival, which means local berry season has arrived.

jury duty, so i’ll write about rosemary french toast

I’m sitting, waiting to be called in for jury duty. The room is pretty quiet, except for Flea Market Flip droning on the big screen TV at the front of the room. Some people are watching aimlessly, others reading books or skimming random stuff on their phones, at least until we have to turn them off.