Sassy Radish

For many of us Memorial Day signifies the official start of Summer. And while our calendars tell us that Summer doesn’t really kick off for another few weeks, in my mind it has already arrived. Strawberries have arrived at the farmers’ market.

I look to strawberries to signal Summer’s approach, and as soon as they appear at the farm stand, I proclaim it to be summer and proceed with all kinds of strawberry shenanigans. Last year they were added to a blueberry pie (technically making it strawberry blueberry pie), were introduced to buttermilk granita, and folded into a dimply buttermilk cake. The year before, they played a leading role in a shortcake production.

Continue reading strawberry basil sorbet.

Poor Caesar salad. For the remainder of Spring and all of Summer it’s filed away, not once remembered. We think of it only when the weather turns on us – cold rain becomes an everyday thing, sweaters and scarves emerge, and we put away iced coffee and leave home clutching our thermal mug full of the hot stuff.

I, for one, lament this unceremonious Caesar salad dismissal. I miss the emulsion of lemon, garlic, Parmesan, anchovy, and olive oil, and could eat it practically every day. I’ve been known to make this slurry and slather it on a thick piece of country bread. It’s so good, so potent, so unapologetically bold – it’s not some small-time vinaigrette, delicately coating your salad leaves.

Continue reading asparagus caesar salad.

To think that this strawberry-banana bread was a result of an injury – might seem a bit far-fetched, but it is absolutely true. An injury that occurred almost one year ago, from which I’m still sporting a bone bruise, and what is probably permanent ankle swelling from the trauma. But I say that’s a small price to pay for a recipe idea that’s going into my regular rotation. I’ll take asymmetric ankles any day, even if that means favoring pants in lieu of dresses to hide the unsightly thing.

How did I get myself into this pickle? This was a classic case of wrong place, wrong time. A woman slammed a door on my foot while I was trying to get a strawberry-banana smoothie. There, now you know the origin. As for those other questions you might have, like “Why would she slam a door on your foot?” or “How hard must one slam a door to inflict what seems to be permanent damages?” – I’ll answer briefly. The woman didn’t do it intentionally, which doesn’t make her actions any less wrong – she was simply not paying attention to me and was yelling at her toddler twins who were strapped into one of those twin strollers. In a fit of exasperation, she slammed the door – and my foot just happened to be there (ouch!). As for the second question – well, she was angry. I yelped in pain, she apologized profusely, but I could barely pay attention to her – my foot immediately turned myriad different colors; there was even a trickle of blood.

Continue reading strawberry rhubarb banana bread.

These days, if you find yourself at the green market, you’ll hardly remember the cold days that are not-so-long behind us. Gone are the Saturdays when our only options were tubers and root vegetables. Suddenly the market is alive! There is plenty of green, new scents, new stalls. The overwintered leeks, the delicate new salad greens, asparagus, ramps! In no time we will see (and smell!) the first of the strawberries – these will be truly magical weeks when you’ll be tempted to eat your berries before you get home from your weekly trip.

But favorite spring moment at the greenmarket isn’t when I spy the first strawberries of the season, or the first green spears of asparagus. It’s when I find rhubarb, green with hot pink hues, firm and sturdy, piled high. Most people grab a few stalks satisfied with their bounty, but me – I get several pounds at a time, greedily stuffing my bags with the tart fruit.

Continue reading roasted rhubarb with vanilla and rose syrup.

A few weeks ago, I was catching up with my parents on the phone. The conversation went a little bit like this, “So, I just got back from the market and ramps are back in season!”

Silence.

I tried again. “So, like I said, I picked up some eggs and milk and potatoes, and also ramps are back, and I’m going to pickle them, so I’m excited about that.”

My mother spoke up, “What are ramps?” she asked me in Russian. My dad piped in, “Never heard of ramps. How do you say in Russian?”

Continue reading pickled ramps.

It’s been quite a busy week and with all the time I’ve been putting in the kitchen, I’m going to keep this post short. No long stories to regale you with, just a quick reminder that Mother’s Day is upon us – and I, for one, wish that Andrew’s and my moms were close by this weekend so we could make them a lovely brunch in celebration of the most important job they’ve ever had – taking care of their kids.

But we’re here in Brooklyn and our moms are in Boston. So it’s kind of an IOU to both of them. Moms – we love you and miss you and just want to say thanks on the interwebs!

Continue reading orange poppyseed scones.

Well, you guys are really just swell, you know that? A girl gets gushy and you leap in there with her and get gushy right back! Thanks! And in case you were wondering, it’s making me grin from ear to ear. I feel a gigantic internet hug coming on, do you?

This salad isn’t just any salad, so by pushing the post back, I’m sure I’ve bruised its feelings somewhat. By now it’s probably off in the corner somewhere skulking and pouting. It was all ready for prime time and then, unceremoniously and without warning, it was pushed aside.

Continue reading cucumber radish salad.

I was going to write about salad tonight. But it’ll have to wait until another day – because this here today needs its own place, and not be an afterthought to a recipe. And because I have a habit of really burying the lede, I didn’t want to be guilty of that today. This is important – it’s a biggie.

I don’t quite know how to write this any differently, so I’m just going to come out and say it – two nights ago, Andrew and I got engaged. There, I said it. I’m engaged!

Engaged to a lovely, incredible man, who makes me swoon when I see his face early in the morning and who makes my heart swell with love when we fall asleep. In the year we’ve been together (almost a year!) he’s made my life richer and brighter than I could ever imagine. He inspired me to take that career altering leap – he believed and continues to believe in me. An editor, a taster, a sous-chef, dishwashing helper, avid eater of desserts (particularly of the apple persuasion) – he is my best friend, my cheer leader, my partner-in-crime. And here’s the best part, he doesn’t just come alone – he comes with the most amazing family a girl can hope for. I feel like I won the family lottery – which is the best kind of lottery there is, right?

Life is kind of funny sometimes – and what a difference a year can make!

A year ago, to the day, I broke up with someone who, while is probably a very nice person, wasn’t a very nice boyfriend. Or rather he wasn’t a very nice boyfriend (for whatever reasons) to me. And so I ended it. The day after my birthday. And to make it even more official, since I was in a mood to celebrate the putting-my-foot-down event, I tweeted something to the extent of what I was looking forward to eating with my next boyfriend: cheese, butter, sour cream, pulled pork sandwiches, pizza, and bacon. Three days later, Andrew walked into my life (or rather re-walked, but that’s a story for another day). A few whirlwind weeks of dating (and keeping our relationship secret from everyone) cemented our relationship. Then after a trip to Florida in June, we pretty much were inseparable, living in two apartments, taking our duffels with us every few days. In January, we moved in together – Andrew traded his midtown digs for Brooklyn. And last Saturday night, after a daylong walk in the city, a stop for bahn mi, some chocolate along the way, a stunning meal at ABC Kitchen, and hours before I turned 33, Andrew, in the privacy and solitude of our apartment, proposed – and I accepted.

It was a quiet and low-key proposal, just the two of us sitting on our couch. I cried, and, according to Andrew, I made up words amidst all the excitement. Can you blame me?

And I always said that the right person for you will always make you feel like the superhero version of yourself. And that’s how I feel around Andrew. On days when my superhero cape needs mending, and my confidence is shaken, he renews my faith in myself. I’m floored every time with how much he believes in me.

They say that when you know, you know. I never thought I’d be the girl that knew. I was always careful and doubtful. I never had that feeling of certainty until Andrew. But I knew very early on with him. And it’s impossible to explain how I knew. It just felt like the most right thing in the world. Everything, suddenly, made sense. I felt grounded and certain and calm. Finally, I wasn’t a beat behind the world – I was in sync with it. I still pinch myself every morning and every night I count my blessings.

And so – a new chapter begins. I’m marrying my best friend. And I’m so glad I can share these good news with all of you.