In season

One thing I love about New England is its four seasons. In Austin, seasons went something like this: summer, super summer, and fallwinterspring. So for me, this is a profound shift in the way we live. The rhythms of our days are now so influenced by the seasons. The freeform, barefoot summer turns to brisk fall with neverending leaf-raking. The dark, too-short days of winter are for skiing and sledding and shoveling snow. And for huddling under a throw with some tea and a book.

Now that it's full-fledged spring, we're swept up in springtime activities. Sunday afternoon featured the Newton Community Farm seedling sale and Bike Newton's 3rd annual Rally & Ride.

I feel so fortunate to have a working farm nearby, especially in a town that's so close to Boston.



Throngs of people milled about tables laden with seedlings. The crowds thrummed with happy anticipation. Perhaps they were thinking of this summer's muskmelons or fresh pesto. The farm folks were very organized, and had plenty of people to help and answer questions about varieties.



Purple mizuna. Isn't it lovely? Our yard has very few beds (if any) that get full sun so we concentrated on lettuces. Mmmm...spring mix from our garden. What a concept!



A bounty of beautiful heirloom tomatoes. I did say we don't have full sun, right? But we bought tomatoes anyway. We live in hope.



The world's tiniest oregano. My son insisted. Our children also insisted on a popcorn plant. I'm not even sure what you do with fresh popcorn. I'll figure it out if it actually produces something.



There was even a play area for the children with toys and a tree swing. On the way out, children could plant seedlings if they wanted.



Afterwards, we went to the Bike Newton event. Food, live music, booths, and a three-mile bicycle ride with Newton Mayor Setti Warren. What a fantastic turnout of enthusiastic cyclists...young and old on bicycles of all shapes, colors, and sizes, including a tandem bike, recumbent, bike trailers, and trail-a-bikes. Spring fun in New England.

An old dog

A perfect afternoon for a nap.



Breezes and birdsong flow through my open windows. Such a beautiful spring day. It invites you to lie on the soft, springy grass and pick out fantastical cloud-shapes floating above. Inside, the wind stirs my hair, and I can hear the susurration of the breeze in the leaves. A kind of rhythmic ocean sound.

As I sit writing, this is what I see out my window.





And at my feet sleeps Siren. She turned fourteen last month. Her eyes are clouded, and her fur has returned to the cottony state of puppyhood. She is sometimes confused, but she is as loving and brave as ever.

Siren is indomitable. As a puppy, she had a severe heart murmur. She almost died on the operating table. Soon afterwards, she damaged a growth plate on her leg leaping joyfully off a table. One bone stopped growing, contorting her front leg. A specialist recommended surgically breaking that bone to straighten the leg. Another painful surgery. The leg never did straighten. Now on many days, her leg hurts too much to bear weight. You'll never hear her complain. My stoic, sleepy old girl.

Locavore in Beantown

Sounds like a low-budget creature flick on a cable channel, doesn't it? Plot summary: mutant locavores escape their lab and run amuck in Harvard Square. Despite its predatory sound, "locavore" just refers to someone who tries to eat foods that are locally sourced. And it was the Oxford American Dictionary's 2007 Word of the Year. Fantastic the things you can learn while Googling.

Inspired by a friend's bountiful vegetable garden last summer, I thought it would be fun to grow some veggies this season. What's more locally sourced than one's own yard? A couple of days ago, my enthusiastic helpers and I bought the beginnings of a vegetable garden at Russo's. Heirloom tomatoes (Pink Girl and Green Zebra) and strawberries and bell peppers and basil and cucumbers and romaine. Even a pumpkin seedling! (We're getting mighty ambitious). Will they grow well here? Beats me, but we're going to try.



We're also planning to attend the Newton Community Farm's seedling sale which runs this Sunday, May 16, from noon to four. I'm so excited about more seedlings for our garden. Think of the perfect summer tomato salad with basil and mozzarella...tomato and basil still warm from the sun. Okay. Considering my brownish thumb, that may be a fantasy. There's always farmers markets and pick-your-own farms.

If you're at the sale, say "hi." I'll be the one looking befuddled with three kidlings romping about.


Room for something full sun and sprawling?

Fiddleheads sauteed with garlic and bacon

Ferns are edible. Or at least, parts of them are. Who knew? I'd never heard of eating fiddleheads in Texas. From guajillos to fiddleheads. Quite a move.



According to the University of Maine, fiddleheads are the "young coiled leaves of the ostrich fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris)." They're considered a delicacy in northern New England. After we bought fiddleheads at Russo's yesterday, the little girls marched into the kitchen to announce that we had fiddleheads in our very own backyard. We could just pick them wild! Well, apparently not. Most ferns have fiddleheads, but the ostrich fern is distinguished by its papery brown covering. Good to know.

The University of Maine page also warns that the Centers for Disease Control have examined food-borne illness associated with fiddleheads. Although a toxin has not been isolated, it is advised that you should cook fiddleheads thoroughly before consuming them. Again, good to know. We really are walking on the wild side. Next week: preparing fugu sushi at home. (Just kidding.)



My eldest, Mr. Picky, proclaimed, "It looks disgusting, but it's delicious!" And promptly scarfed down two servings. Of course, you could argue that anything cooked with garlic and bacon is delicious. To which my smart boy countered, "What about sea cucumber?" Game. Set. Match. Mr. Picky.

Fiddleheads sauteed with garlic and bacon
(Adapted from a hodgepodge of online sources)

3 cups fiddleheads
1 tsp plus 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 strips bacon
2 Tbsp butter
1 garlic clove

Wash fiddleheads thoroughly, washing off the brown papery covering. Trim off brown ends.

Bring 1 quart of water to boil in a pot. Add 1 tsp of salt to water. Blanch fiddleheads in boiling water 5 to 7 minutes, until tender.

Meanwhile cook the two strips of bacon in a skillet until crispy. Move to a paper towel to drain. When the fiddleheads are tender, remove from the boiling water. Melt butter in the skillet and add the garlic, fiddleheads, 1/2 tsp salt, and pepper. Saute over medium heat for about five minutes. Crumble the bacon into the pan, stir together, and move to a bowl to serve.



Fiddlehead Ferns

Leek confit

I'm stepping outside my cookery comfort zone this week. Leeks are in season right now, so...without further ado.



Leek confit
(Adapted from epicurious.com)

1/8 cup (1/4 stick) unsalted butter
1/8 cup olive oil
4 large leeks (white and pale green parts only), halved lengthwise, cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-thick slices (about 5 cups)
2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon salt

Melt butter in large pot over medium-low heat. Add leeks; stir to coat. Stir in water and salt. Cover pot; reduce heat to low. Cook until leeks are tender, stirring often, about 25 minutes. Uncover and cook to evaporate excess water, 2 to 3 minutes. Serve warm. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 week ahead. Keep chilled. Rewarm before using.

You may have noticed that the word "crosswise" is emphasized. Why? Let me explain. (This also explains the absence of finished food photos.)

You see...as I was prepping the leeks, I noticed my son had set up his skateboard ramp on the sidewalk and was flying off the ramp into the street. So I stuck my head out the door and yelled that he needed to practice elsewhere. Like on the driveway. Did he say, "Okay, mom. I know you're just trying to keep me alive til middle school"? Of course not. Mother's Day was yesterday. He sulked. And whined. And complained.

And thus distracted, I didn't slice my leeks crosswise. I sliced them lengthwise. Thinking all the while that this was going to make one weird looking comfit. It was only after I'd sliced all four leeks (cursing under my breath because slicing them thinly lengthwise was quite difficult) that I discovered my error. So I scooped them out to reslice them. Can I say that slicing half-cooked, buttery, floppy leeks isn't easy?

So the finished product wasn't pretty. It wasn't really a confit. More like the misbegotten offspring of a confit and a slaw. But it was yummy.

We ate it with a baguette and a fresh goat cheese from Russo's. And saved some to have with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon some future evening.