Chicken soup has long been recognized as a balm for troubled tummies, a warm and healthful food for cold, turbulent times and a delicious way to stretch one last meal out of nothing more than the leftovers from a roasted chicken and a few kitchen staples. My kids have loved it unquestioningly since they were babies and I still enjoy it myself.
This is another tweeted recipe from @CHOW. I made it for lunch with Eatwell Farm's radishes, romaine, parsley and chickpeas, but it could be for dinner, maybe with black beans instead. Recipes that take up 140 characters or less are extra nice for people like me who don't particularly enjoy following directions. The fewer there are the happier I am.
My kids love blood oranges because they are a little bit disgusting. “Mommy! Get some really bloody ones!” By this late date in winter they are no longer interested in eating plain old oranges: only the red variety or fresh squeezed juice of the orange one will do.
In California citrus grows all winter long. Here in San Francisco backyard lemon and lime trees reliably produce good fruit and require very little care. All year long I dress salads with olive oil and lemon juice from our tree. On cold days we eat soup with our salad, and on warm days we make lemonade and drink it out back while the grill heats for fish, to eat with our salad.
Winter is ending and so is my family's enjoyment of celery root and leeks. It happens predictably and without fail, this tiring of seasonal produce, every season, every year. We crave something new as the temperature shifts, our ability to be satisfied adapting with the weather. Only a stellar recipe can prevent much of the CSA box from going into the compost bin during these transitional times.
Yes, the Super Bowl is today and our home team is playing! So of course we have to bring something to the party. This one is really quick, really unhealthy and really delicious. Best of all, the recipe is short enough to fit into a tweet, which I received from @CHOW last week.
Toast isn't something I usually associate with gardens, but at the Wild Flour Bakery in Sonoma, the two go hand in hand. For my husband, this bakery is a regular refueling stop along one of his lengthier bicycling routes. For me, it is a beautiful place to visit for a meal, some time in the sun and botanical inspiration.
Late this summer, my family and I pitched a tent at Eatwell Farm, where most of the produce we eat is grown. Farmer Nigel Walker and his partner, Lorraine, had invited CSA members out to the farm for an event called "Do Nothing Weekend". We spent our days swimming and canoeing in the pond, drinking lots of house-made soda, counting feral cats and generally lounging around.
There are days when I wish I didn't live here. Overzealous parents are rallying at my daughter's elementary school to oust the new principal, my husband and I commute in opposite directions and rely on the slowest transit network in the nation, and I just received another $65 parking ticket because I forgot to put a quarter in the meter. Really?
I remember clearly the first time my mother introduced Kohlrabi to my brother, sister and me. She stood in the kitchen holding a strange, alien form from our garden. It was not purple then, as it often is now, but a pale greeny white, as though it might taste minty or sweet like a honeydew melon.
Summer has finally arrived in San Francisco: it's been in the high seventies for the past four days. With a little luck, this heat wave will continue through the weekend. If that's also the case in your town, then I have got the weekend BBQ dinner for you!
If you know me at all you have probably heard that I do not like eggplant. These are strong words, because with adequate salt, I really honestly do enjoy almost all food. But having nearly no taste of its own and the texture of either a stiff sponge or a gooey mess, depending on how it is cooked, eggplant does not win me over.