I guess this needs a title...? How about (the wildly uncreative): List #1

Listen, I know I already posted earlier today, but, seeing as I'm up in the country, in between deadlines, it's in the 40s outside (the 40s! It was 90 here two weeks ago!), Trouble is off at work (and, honestly, I don't quite have enough to do with myself these days. I can only check on the chicks so many times before they start following me around and getting underfoot). So I thought I'd take a few minutes to write a list. A list, that is, of the fabulous springy things I've been eating recently. I mean, allegedly, this is something of a food blog. At least I think it should be, given that food-- reading about it, writing about it, studying it, thinking about it, interviewing people around it, cooking it, selling it, eating it-- takes up the vast majority of my waking hours.

Ramps got their own shout out, but other than that, I've been sorely neglecting the early bounty of the Northeast. So, in no particular order, a list of 10 memorable eats of late (some local, some not so much so).

1. The ramps. Oh, the ramps. First, I had them up here at our friends' house (see the ramps post). Then there was a simple dinner at my friend's house in Millerton, New York, for which I made a lovely side of simple Asian mushrooms (I didn't think to look at the name on the packages, but they're the kind that are sold in clumps, the ones that look like, excuse me but it can't be helped, tiny penises) sautéed over high heat, with a handful of ramp leaves thrown in at the last minute and a few drops of tamari. Yum!
2. Maybe it doesn't count as a gourmet meal, but I've been making green smoothies with early spring kale, yogurt, fruit and honey every morning. Kale is soooo sweet this time of year, especially if you buy it when the leaves are still small and tender.
3. We had a beautiful meal with our friends Tim and Caroline of The Kitchen Garden Farm, along with a few other food and farm pals. Tim, a pretty extraordinary self-trained cook, made a riff on green papaya salad by subbing green cabbage for the papaya, and grilled up perfectly spicy chicken thighs. I remember chiles and lemongrass and fish sauce... the rest is lost with the rest of the rosé-blurred memories. 
4. I've been consuming insane quantities of a particularly beautiful red-veined spinach that our friend Kristin grows up here in Western MA. Simply wilted down over a pan full of garlic lightly browned in a few glugs of olive oil-- yum!
5. Tons of granola from Trouble's bakery, El Jardin, in South Deerfield. I keep a bag in the car for the schlep between Brooklyn and The Valley
6. When the weather turned cold again this week, I started craving heartier fare rather than light salads and slaws. Like Trouble's frijoles magicos (well, that's what I dubbed them). They're simple-- black beans that have been pureed, cooked down with a bit of manteca (that's lard for you vegetarians and vegans-- BEWARE!... that you're missing out on something really, really delicious), lots of garlic, a whole chili or two and (the secret ingredient) singed avocado leaves. They changed my world the first time he served them to me. They have, since, become my happy food.
7. Asparagus. Need I say more? Grilled, roasted, steamed, eaten raw right off the stalk... I mean, come on.
8. Red ale (do I get to count beer?). The medium body and only so-so hoppiness seems just right for this mercurial weather-- big enough for chilly evenings, but refreshing enough to take edge off after a hot early spring afternoon of gardening.
9. This morning, when hunger struck before the lunch hour, I used a few tender young hakurei turnips to scoop up garlicky homemade hummus from...
10. ... another amazing meal with the Kitchen Garden folks-- their spring lamb roast farm dinner. Oh god, it was so good. A spread of olives (that I toted up from Titan Foods in Astoria-- another "falling back in love with New York" experience early this past Saturday morning), Greek spreads, hard boiled eggs, wild greens dandelions and ramps, spanikopita made with a whole mess of greens  (my favorite of which was the stinging nettles), and a delectable spit-roasted whole lamb. Tons of crisp white and mellow red added a warm continuity to the evening, and we capped it all off with a delicious baklava made by my enormously talented best friend/college housemate, Anna Feldman (who I desperately wish had a website so I could link it here!)

When I think about the fact that it's only the second day of May, and the eating's already this good, I shudder with pleasure thinking about May, June and July. The glory of Indian summer and October (my favorite eating month)? Don't even get me started!

Spring Delights: Ramps, good friends, and a boy called Trouble

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that an unusually warm spring will follow an unusually warm winter. And yet, these past couple of weeks, as the Northeast has been softened by temperatures in the mid-70s, I still wake dumfounded to find the ground warming and the leaves peering out from their buds.

After two weeks straight of non-stop IACP (International Association of Culinary Professionals) conference attendance, writing, and schlepping back and forth to Midtown for meetings, I finally hopped in the car last Wednesday and headed up to the Valley to see the guy who got me into this city/country split, so entrancing me with his boyish, playful, troublemaker charm that I began living with each foot in a different place (as I'm sure you can already tell, though, he didn't have to pull my leg particularly hard).

Since arriving last week, the weather has been perfect-- warm, breezy, sunny. And so, we've been cramming in the spring activities as fast as we can-- beers on our friends' farm porch at sunset, walking in the woods, hikes, runs and being barefoot on the lawn.

On Sunday, intent on enjoying an off-the-grid day, we headed southwest for the Berkshires. We planned on summiting Mt. Greylock, the tallest peak in Massachusetts (at only 3,491 ft. at its highest point, MA is a pretty pathetically low-lying state). Alas, the park wasn't officially open yet, and so we had to start from the very base rather than the summit trail, halfway up the mountain.

We had gone maybe four miles or so, and had just started back downhill through the woods when a patch of green spears caught my eye amid the browns of dead leaves and tree trunks in the not-yet-awakened woods.

"Those are..." I exclaimed excitedly, crouching down to be sure I was seeing what I hoped I was seeing. The thin purplish vein up the back of the elegant oval leaves confirmed my suspicions.
"Ramps!" I said.
Trouble (as we shall call him-- due to his wily nature and the fact that, at the beginning, I would say to him, "I'm in trouble" every time I felt myself swooning-- until/unless I come up with a better name) didn't seem particularly thrilled. "I know, I spotted them earlier," he said flatly.
"Why didn't you say something?" I asked, tugging one of the leaves gently between two fingers to ensure that what I had found was the allium relative and not an imposter.
One whiff of that earthy oniony verdant scent on my fingers, and I was down on my hands and knees, brushing aside dead leaves in search of the bulbs.


Trouble followed quickly, finding a stick to dig with. While he pulled clumps of the beautiful ramps from the vast patch (I've never seen anything like this-- there were thousands of them), I sat on an overgrown stone wall, peeling off the outermost layer from around the slender stalks and bulbs to remove some of the damp spring earth.

It's an amazing sensation, to be in cool of the woods with the heady scent of soil and leaf litter underfoot, becoming more pungent with each ramp you rustle up from the undisturbed ground. We stumbled upon these wild, beautiful things offering themselves up for human enjoyment. Their season is so brief, their whereabouts so quietly guarded, I felt almost guilty having spotted a field with so many. But guilt didn't phase me from wrapping them up and bringing them home for dinner by the fistful.

I was giddy, and dinner plans had begun percolating. So we headed down the rest of the way, I with a spring in my my hiking booted-step.

Our Plan A for dinner failed (our friend Anna had a babysitting obligation), but luckily, our wonderful and enormously talented friends Jonathan and Cheryl of Hungry Ghost Bread have a standing Sunday supper invitation open to their friends. We stopped briefly at home after driving back East on Route 2 (as we were feeling especially jazzed about the food world from having seen Jiro Dreams of Sushi the night before, I read to Trouble from The Story of Sushi as we wound through farms, wetlands and old country towns), grabbed a few half-finished bottles of wine, rinsed off the ramps, and headed to our friends' house.

A perfect spring evening ensued. Jonathan, excited to have me at their home for the first time, gave me the full tour, replete with the outdoor reading futon facing the Holyoke range, the treehouse he built that serves as the summer sleeping spot/saxophone playing room/Cheryl's art studio/yoga porch, the sauna, and the new greenhouse. All pretty ingenious, if you ask me. We sat and enjoyed the view for a bit, then set to the task of dinner.

Jonathan opened some red, and we gathered in the kitchen. Cheryl, an Italian-American cook with incredible ease in the kitchen, whipped up a pot of lentils, then topped them with a dozen raw eggs and a layer of cheese and breadcrumbs, then set it all under the broiler to brown.

I washed and peeled the ramps a second time, then dressed them lightly with olive oil and a healthy sprinkling of coarse sea salt.

Trouble manned the grill, throwing on a few steaks he brought and charring the ramps.

Seven of us sat to table in the yard with a basket of Jonathan and Cheryl's bread and a ramekin of softened butter. The wine flowed freely, and talk ranged from a hysterical marital error recounted on "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!" to the Stein family exhibit at the Met. The sun set over the mountains, with even the mosquitoes-- still mostly dormant-- leaving us to our hedonistic feast.

We came home full, rosy-cheeked and happy.  The next morning, Trouble and I woke rested and jonesing for more. The weatherman was calling for 90 degree (!) temperatures that afternoon, and there were spring chores abounding. We set to tilling the garden in shorts and boots, grinning goofily at each other with the sensation of fresh air on our bare legs. In the afternoon, we made a run to Home Depot for plywood and hinges for our chicken coop, and picked up 50 meat bird chicks from a friend in the hill towns

(the little ones are out back now, peeping up a storm and nibbling at stale leftover bread from Trouble's bakery as I write this. But that's more for another time).

We've been falling asleep physically exhausted and exhilarated by fresh air and sunshine. It's plain as the nose on your face-- spring has sprung. And I couldn't be more pleased.