If this past month was any indication of what the summer has in store for me, I’m doomed.  No, I don’t mean Boston’s wonky June weather; I mean my inability to get around to using my CSA vegetables as soon as possible because I’ve been too damn busy. First a chunk of my family arrives in town, insisting on taking us out for multiple meals and monopolizing my time; then Marcella comes to visit for a week of shopping, rainstorms and restaurant explorations.  When’s a girl supposed to find time to put her produce to use during all of that?

So, as with weeks two and three of my CSA, I’m combining weeks five and six into one post.  I did manage to take a photograph of week five’s haul, as I normally do, but I’ve decided the time has come yet again for me to instead snap shots of items on their own.  The boxes’ contents haven’t yet gotten so huge that they can’t all squish together into the frame, but I’ve gotten so eager to get everything out and washed and sorted that I honestly forget most of the time, and then have to toss the vegetables back together at the last minute for their line-up, which leaves me feeling stressed for neglecting to remember in the first place.

Here’s the list of five and six’s harvest:

• Baby beets
• Cabbage
• Carrots (both weeks)
• Cilantro
• Dill
• Garlic scapes
• Kohlrabi
• Lettuce
• Napa cabbage
• New potatoes
• Red giant mustard greens
• Salad mix with arugula
• Scallions
• Summer squash

These lovely little potatoes were part of week six’s booty; it’s never a challenge to figure out what to do with a potato, isn’t it?  You can jazz up a mash by turning it into colcannon, bake thin slices of potato onto a cheesy pizza, comfort yourself with a bowl of soup.  Then, of course, here’s countless frittatas to make and frites to fry, and there’s nothing easier than sticking a foil-wrapped one into the oven to bake. The potato is really an incredibly versatile ingredient.

Last night, I decided to boil the potatoes and make a warm salad to go alongside the lamb chops I was planning to broil for our dinner.  These little guys were so tender and delicate that some of their skins had rubbed off when I washed them clean of dirt and grit, so I knew that I could just toss them as is into a pot of water to boil.

Like I said, the potato — charming and lovable as it is — is easy.  Almost no thought at all is required when it comes to preparing a few.  The rest of my vegetables were another story.

I found myself wondering, Would it be chickening out a bit to turn most of what I received into stock, rather than figuring out what to do with my highly-intimidating kohlrabi? After debating with my self for a good while, I convinced myself that there was nothing wrong with throwing some of my more complicated produce into my stockpot with several cups of water, some seasoning and some herbs.  (For a more detailed and specific recipe, look at this.)  You always need vegetable stock, I reasoned, not to mention store-bought is basically salted vegetable-esque water…  which is why I now have something like eighteen cups of stock in Ziploc bags stacked in my fridge.

Maybe it was cheating, making stock.  Then again, it’ll be a while before my flavorful frozen supply runs out, so I’m happy.

Warm Potato Salad with(out) Crème Fraîche, from Chez Panisse Vegetables by Alice  Waters
Makes six portions

1 ½ pounds new potatoes (Alice says to use Bintje)
2 shallots
¾ cup cream (I used milk; it was what I had on hand)
salt and pepper
½ cup crème fraîche (which I omitted, since I didn’t have any on hand, and replaced with Greek yogurt, which is far healthier anyway)
sherry vinegar

1. Boil the potatoes in their skins until tender; drain.  When they are cool enough to handle, cut them into ¼-inch slices.
2. Peel and dice the shallots fine, and put them in a small pan with the cream.  Season with salt and pepper and warm gently; the trick here is to slowly soften the shallots without reducing the cream.  When the shallots have softened, then take them off the heat and stir in the crème fraîche.
3. When you are ready to serve the salad, put the potatoes in the cream mixture, add a splash or two of sherry vinegar to taste, and warm again gently.  Correct the seasoning and serve garnished with freshly ground black pepper.

When it comes down to it, I think I’m a cross between a thirteen-year-old boy and a sixty-something woman.  Here’s why:

• I read comics;
• I quilt;
• I like zombies;
• I own tons of moisturizers and creams;
• I watch action movies;
• I love BBC America and costume dramas.

I could go on and on, but regardless of my proclivities, my point is that in between reading “grown-up books,” I’ve been binging on adolescent fiction.  I can’t think of a better word than binging, because I do crave reading young adult books; once I read one, I hungrily reach for more.

My most recent YA spree started with The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick.  It’s the story of twelve-year-old orphan Hugo, who lives in 1930s Paris.  Actually, to be more specific, Hugo lives in Gare Montparnasse, one of the city’s busiest train stations.  There Hugo secretly works as the keeper of the clocks, a position that technically belongs to his uncle and guardian, who has gone missing.  Hugo has no other relatives with whom he can live — his father died in a fire — and because he is scared of being sent away, he continues his uncle’s work within the station walls.  After he’s caught stealing from the cart of a toy vendor, Hugo finds himself in the middle of a mystery that will change his life.

I can’t say much more without giving everything within the book away, but I will say these two things: The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a must-read for lovers of film history, as well as anyone who appreciates detailed pencil drawings.  See, Selznick tells his tale in a somewhat unconventional manner, alternating between illustrations, text and photographs; by doing so, he facilitates a reader-friendly introduction to one of film’s most influential innovators.

After The Invention of Hugo Cabret, my picks in adolescent fiction definitely veered towards the dark and depressing, particularly with Suzanne Collins’s novel The Hunger Games — which I immediately re-read upon completion, so engrossed by it was I.  It’s impossible not to get hooked by Collins’s absorbing writing style and likable protagonist, not to mention the story’s incredibly captivating plot.

The Hunger Games takes place in the future, one in which North America no longer exists.  The remaining pockets of civilization has been divided into districts serving a wealthier, more powerful capitol who each year reminds and punishes its chattel of their lower standing and previous rebellion by coercing one boy and one girl from each district to participate in a televised survival game.  The novel’s main character Katniss is from District 12, the poorest of the bunch; when her twelve-year-old sister is selected to take part in the Hunger Games, Katniss quickly takes her place as the district’s tribute.  Soon Katniss and Peeta, the male tribute from District 12, on are their way to the Capitol for makeovers, interviews and training before literately fighting for their lives in the bloody, gruesome games.

A few final notes:  The Hunger Games is book one of a trilogy; part two, Catching Fire, is set for a September first release.  While the plot is indeed fascinating, as is its social commentary, it is also very graphic.  Children, after all, are not only being killed, but they are also killing each other in extremely explicit ways.  I’m interested to see how the novel’s brutality will translate to the screen; Collins is adapting her book to film .

Even after The Hunger Games, I was still in the mood for something on the bleak side — who wants to read only happy stories?  I want the characters I’m investing in to work for their happiness, as opposed to having it just handed it to them.

I thought Jay Asher’s Thirteen Reasons Why would fit my sad little bill perfectly; after all, it’s about a girl who, before committing suicide, records her reasons why on a series of cassette tapes, which she organizes to have sent around to her classmates after her death.  One of the recipients of the box of tapes also happens to have harbored a secret, not-acted-upon love for the girl.  Doesn’t this all sound riveting?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.  Our suicidal narrator Hannah has a strong voice, and yet she is utterly unbelievable as a character.  What she relates via cassette tape is tragic… but ultimately so very contrived.  The boys in her school rank her ass on a widely-circulated list, for example, a scene taken right out of an episode of My So-Called Life*.  Lamentably, Asher tackles way too much, and the end result is confusing, frustrating and all over the place.

Since Thirteen Reasons Why didn’t satisfy my craving for sad story, I turned to If I Stay by Gayle Forman to push me over the edge.  It definitely did the trick — I kept on pushing the book off my lap distressfully, only to pull it back on again.  You try reading about Mia’s close-knit family without getting torn up.  It won’t happen.

Raised in Oregon by punky, unconventional parents, Mia rebels in her own way by choosing to play classical cello.  Her skill is so great, she’s had a successful Julliard audition and is awaiting to hear if she’ll be New York bound in the fall when she goes for a ride with her parents and young brother.  Their car is hit by another vehicle; Mia’s parents are killed upon impact, her brother is gravely injured and Mia, surprisingly, finds herself outside her own critically wounded body.  As she follows herself through surgeries and intensive care, Mia looks back on her life and must decide what she wants to do, live or die.

It sounds so terribly hokey, doesn’t it?  Trust me when I say If I Stay is not.  Forman could so easily succumb to schmaltz and sentimentality, but she doesn’t.  Instead, she allows Mia to grieve first her parents’ deaths, then her younger brother Teddy’s, without any sense of melodrama.  Forman essentially trusts the reader with a heartbreaking story — something, unfortunately, that not all writers are able to do.

So is this the end of my adolescent fiction fever?  That’s highly doubtful.  Even though I’m currently reading  an “adult” book, I’ve got a list of my next-reads at the ready.  Some of them might even be somewhat cheerful.

Then again, they might not.

* Episode 5, “The Zit.”

Keith gets a new TV, I bake.

Clockwise, from muffins:

Banana Muffins, from Catherine Robertson at Cat Can Cook
Makes twelve muffins

3 or 4 large bananas, mashed (I had three; I used three.)
½ cup white sugar
1 slightly beaten egg
1/3 cup melted margarine or butter
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups flour

Mix the mashed banana, sugar, egg and margarine together. Set aside. In a separate bowl, mix together baking soda, baking powder, salt and flour. Mix wet and dry ingredients all together, being careful not to over-stir! Pour into greased muffin tins, and bake in 350° oven for approximately 20 minutes.

Note: I added something like ¾ cup flour-dusted chopped walnuts, mainly because I had them.

Chocolate-Chip Brownie Double-Deckers, from The Weekend Baker by Abigail Johnson Dodge
Makes two dozen two-inch double-deckers

for the chocolate chip layer:
12 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon table salt
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

for the brownie layer:
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into equal pieces
¾ cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder, sifted if lumpy
1 ½ cups granulated sugar
¼ teaspoon table salt
2 large eggs
1 ½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract
¾ cup all-purpose flour

1. Position oven rack on the middle rung.  Heat oven to 325°.  Lightly grease a 9-by-13 inch baking pan.
2. Begin making the chocolate chip layer by melting 12 tablespoons of butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat.  Stir occasionally until butter is melted.  Remove from heat and add brown sugar; whisk until no lumps remain.  Set aside to cool.
3. While chocolate chip layer is cooling, make brownie layer by melting remaining 12 tablespoons of butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat.  Remove from heat and add cocoa powder; whisk until smooth.  Add sugar and salt; whisk until blended.  Add eggs one at a time, whisking in between eggs until just blended.  Whisk in vanilla with the second egg.  Sprinkle flour over chocolate mixture; stir with a spatula until just blended.  Scrape batter into prepared baking dish and spread evenly.  Set aside to finish chocolate chip layer.
4. In a small bowl, combine flour, baking soda and salt; whisk until well-blended.  Once butter mixture has cooled, add to it the egg and vanilla; whisk until combined.  Pour in flour mixture and stir with a spatula until blended.  Stir in chocolate chips.  Drop cookie dough over brownie batter in large clumps; spread evenly and carefully with a spatula.
5. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with small, gooey clumps of brownie sticking to it, about 40 minutes.  Do not overbake, or brownies will not be fudgy.  Transfer baking pan to a rack to cool completely.
6. Once cooled, cut into small squares measuring about 2 inches each.  The cooler the double-deckers are, the cleaner the cutting will be.  Regardless, the cutting knife will get covered with sticky crumbs.

Note: Even though I spent a good portion of the day baking, I’m still a little lazy — which is why I poured the melted butter combo from step 2 into a separate heat-proof bowl before whisking in the brown sugar and reused the saucepan without washing for step 3.

Blueberry and Nectarine Buckle, from Gourmet’s Sweets: Desserts for Every Occasion
Makes eight portions

for the topping:
½ stick cold unsalted butter
¼ cup sugar, plus one tablespoon (the original recipe calls for ½ cup, but I find that amount a bit too sweet)
1/3 all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon fleshly grated nutmeg

for the batter:
1 ½ sticks unsalted butter, softened
¾ cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon baking powder
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3 large eggs
2 cups picked-over blueberries
2 nectarines, pitted and cut into 1-inch wedges

for an accompaniment:
2 scoops vanilla ice cream

1. Make topping.  Cut butter into bits.  In a small bowl with your fingertips or a pastry blender blend together butter, sugar, flour and spices until mixture resembles coarse meal.  Chill topping while making batter.
2. Preheat oven to 350°.  Butter a ten-inch round cake pan or a two-quart baking pan.
3. Make batter.  Pit nectarines and cut into one-inch wedges.  In a large bowl with an electric mixer beat together butter and sugar, then beat in vanilla.  In a second bowl, stir together flour, salt and baking powder.  Beat flour mixture into butter mixture alternately with eggs, one at a time.  Beat well after each addition, and then fold in blueberries and nectarines.
4. Spread batter in the pan and distribute topping evenly over the top.  Bake buckle in the middle of the oven for forty-five to fifty minutes, or until a tester comes out clean and topping is crisp and golden.  Serve with ice cream.

Note:  Of course, you can eat this without ice cream.  But why would you want to?

I’m scared to step on the scale now, after having had two flavorful and filling party meals, but I think that can easily be postponed for a while.  Waiting for the right time to check my weight is an activity I’ve gotten quite good at, I must say.

As for the weekend itself…  I had a fantastic time.  Food is something I clearly enjoy in all forms and at all venues, but I honestly do think it tastes better in the company of friends, under the warm blanket of good conversation and with a cool drink within close reach.  So this is my summertime resolution — eat well, with more.

It’s so nice to get something in the mail that isn’t a circular or a bill, which is why a few weeks ago I was so excited to find, amongst many circulars and bills, an invitation from Amanda to dinner at Small Farm in Stow.

Small Farm is owned by Barbara and Dwight Sipler… who also happen to be Amanda’s parents’ cousins, so my friend has had the enviable pleasure of visiting, working on and reaping the benefits of the farm for most of her life.  In fact, after everyone arrived and mingled a bit late Sunday afternoon, Amanda herded us into a circle and spoke briefly about her Small Farm memories; she then asked Barbara and Dwight to talk about their history as farmers.

The farm, Barbara told us, started out as a hobby.  “So be careful of your hobbies,” she said gravely, looking each one of us in the eye.  She then informed us that, over the years, she and Dwight have come to think of the farm as “a ministry,” which I found utterly fascinating.  What a wonderful way to describe something you love, don’t you think?

Dwight provided us with a few interesting facts.  There are, for example, over 3000 other small farms in Massachusetts, meaning they fit the USDA’s definition of such based on their gross sales below $250,000. Middlesex County is is ranked first in the state for direct sales of farm produce to consumers, a tidbit that made me feel very fancy and important.  Something else that made me feel fancy and important was the fact that Keith and I didn’t get lost on the way to the farm (even though I was navigating), a feat I proudly announced when Amanda asked us each to share something that we were grateful for.

While many people rightfully said that they were thankful to be at the farm that day, I’ve got to confess I agreed the most with Chris’s statement: “I’m grateful for tomatoes.”

Small Farm grows a ridiculous amount of tomato varietals, many of which are planted in a “maze garden.”  Types include the Sun Cherry and the Wapsipinicon Peach, the name of which we all had to ask Dwight to repeat several times before we could manage it ourselves.  I love tomatoes — one summer, Darlington gifted me with thumbnail-sized orange tomatoes that she had picked from the farm; after one taste, I immediately ate them all.  They were like tomato-flavored candy.

It was a bit too early in the season for tomatoes to make an appearance on either our dinner menu or the vine, but it didn’t stop many of us from traipsing through the still-growing maze.  Sure, we could all see over the tops of the leaves and stakes, but it was easy to imagine what the plants will look like in a few weeks’ time.  Even if the tomatoes don’t grow to be six feet tall, it doesn’t matter; the maze is geared towards young children — who, I’m told, are shorter than me.  They’ll do just fine in the maze (though Heather did suggest I shuffle through on my knees for a more authentic maze experience).

After we all expressed what we were appreciative of (seasons, friendship, sunny days, film), Amanda quickly described what it was we would be eating for dinner.  As the meal was meant to be a celebration of the summer ahead of us, she had picked numerous pints of strawberries — which I personally consider to be the summeriest of summer berries — and turned it all into a sweet chilled soup, into which she directed us to drop a dollop of sour cream.*  We also had several different kinds of salads, (one of which also featured strawberries).  Most of the greens came from Small Farm’s lettuce beds, though I can’t say the same about the two  delicious and colorful pasta salads, or the hearty salmon/asparagus/peapod salad Amanda provided for additional protein.

Oh, and you can’t tell from the photos here, but my plate was much fuller than it seems.  I didn’t think to take a shot from the side.  Had I thought of it, the picture would have looked like a veritable mountain of edible green.  It’s taller than it appears.

Our dessert was equally strawberry-centric; Amanda had set aside a large bowl of berries for us to spoon atop vanilla ice cream from Erikson’s Dairy up the road.  For our huge group, I think we had something like ten gallons.  I may be overestimating here, but I honestly doubt it.  Regardless, most of it — if not all — was eaten.

Aside from the strawberries and (ice) cream, there were also chocolate treats: two different kinds of cookies** and the densest, richest, most perfect little brownies I have ever eaten.  I went for seconds, which means that one of Amanda’s other guests probably missed out because of my gluttony.

I should take a moment here to note that this would have been a bad photo for the side-view angle; my bowl was extremely shallow, so anything would have appeared monstrous from the side.

That may or may not be a cover-up for my ravenousness.

Prior to our eating, Barbara explained that the day before the dinner had been Small Farm’s 2009 opening day, which was why the crops “still look so pretty.”  She then kindly said to us all, “Today, Small Farm is yours,” and encouraged us to pick flowers, fruit and vegetables to take home.

While I wanted to make a run for the fields, I showed restraint and held back; Keith and I have a weekly CSA box, after all, and besides, I’m looking forward to returning to the farm as a paying customer.  I’ve got to do my part as a Middlesex County resident, haven’t I?

I instead ambled towards the assorted herbs, plants and vegetables, brushing my hands in the thyme creeping along the ground and fingering the downy fuzz of as many sage leaves I could.  I thought about stretching out under the morning glory teepee but worried about mudstains and impropriety; instead I pointed out to Keith where the amaranth would come in, in time, and where the blackberry patch was, brambles and bees and all.

At one point, we debated over this funny little figure living in the middle of the cherry tomato maze.  I think it’s a hippo; Keith and Melissa think it’s a polar bear.  I’ll take a gander and say that no matter its species, it’s pretty damn cute.

Small Farm is now open for the 2009 growing and harvesting season.  While the farm does not offer a CSA program, it does have a farmstand; hours are from ten in the morning until six in the evening.  There you can purchase whatever produce Dwight and Barbara have chosen to grow, as well as pick your own flowers.

Like many of the nation’s other small farms, Small Farm is an uncertified organic farm; this means that while Barbara and Dwight have always followed organic farming practices as defined by the USDA’s National Organic Program, they have opted not to apply for certification.  To do so would mean to pay a not-insignificant series of fees, which would result not only in a certificate from the NOP but also in an equally not-insignificant increase in prices for the consumer… something Small Farm isn’t interested in.  Should you have any questions about Small Farm’s method of growing their produce, feel free to email them here.

Certification or no, take my advice: make the trip out to Stow and stop by the Siplers’ farm.  You’re bound to love it.

Need more convincing?  Check out the photographs I’ve taken during my visits at Small Farm here, and some far more impressive photographs Dwight has snapped over the years here, including of the party itself.

Small Farm
184 Gleasondale Road
Route 62
Stow, Massachusetts 01775
978.897.5996
small-farm.org

* Amanda doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to give me the recipe.
** One of which I baked.  I hate going to parties empty-handed.

It had been a while since the supper club group had gotten together, so Stephanie and I decided to take the initiative and rally the cooking troups.  It’s hard, finding a night that eight people can meet up for dinner, but it so happened that this past Saturday night worked… so we all gathered at my house for an evening of German(ish) food.

See, supper club was Stephanie’s brainchild; the general idea is that we would have a themed dinner at someone’s house every month or so*.  Themes could be something as silly as “things made with flour” or as simple as a chosen country’s cuisine.  Once the theme was set, we’d then all brainstorm courses or dishes to bring to dinner, as well as beverages to share.

So, after a little caucus, Saturday night’s dinner was made up of with Käsespätzle (a sort of macaroni and cheese with bits of fried onions), potato salad, a lot of obscene-looking bratwursts**, Zwiebelkuchen (an onion, bacon and cheese tart) and a green salad.  We also made a bunch of radlers — which, while delicious, would have been much more refreshing if the weather actually began acting like June…

I’m getting off topic.

My contribution to our communal table was dessert, something that made me a little nervous.  On my trips in Germany, all we ate after dinner was gelato, of all things, and the only other possibilities I could think of was  either a Black Forest cake or an apple strudel… neither of which got me overly excited.  Luckily, I found a recipe for a Gugelhupf, a traditional marble cake; I’ve always loved a marble cake — there’s something about the swirly cross-section that I find so endearing.  This cake had not only lovely whorls of chocolate and vanilla, but also fantastic flavors and a nice texture.  I served it along with some berries and mint sugar (two parts mint leaves to one part sugar, blitzed in the blender) and schlag, which is German for whipped cream.  Doesn’t everything taste better with schlag, after all?

Oh, and not to toot my own horn — toot toot — but I’m quite pleased with my invitation-making handiwork.  The photo from Keith and my trip to Bavaria a few years ago; it’s of the Neues Rathaus in Munich’s Marienplatz, the square in the city center.

Tschüss…

Gugelhupf (Marble Cake), from German Pastry Baking
Makes twelve portions.

for the batter
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1¾ cups sugar
4 eggs
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups sifted flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/3 cup whole milk (though I used cream)

for the chocolate batter
3 tablespoons cocoa
3 tablespoons dark rum

1. Preheat oven to 375°F.  Butter and flour a 9-inch bundt cake mold.
2. Cream butter, sugar and eggs.  Add vanilla.  Fold in half of the flour and baking powder.  Add the milk.  Mix in the remainder of flour, stirring gently but thoroughly.
3. Stir cocoa and rum together in a separate bowl until smooth.  Remove one-third of the batter and fold gently into the cocoa mixture.
4. Pour half of the remaining vanilla batter into the prepared pan, smoothing it with a spatula.  Add the chocolate batter to the pan, followed by the rest of the vanilla batter.  If you wish, run a knife blade through the batter to marble it further.  (I wished, and did.  Just be careful not to actually mix the batters together, just to swirl them.)
5. Bake on the lowest rack of a preheated 375°F oven for 55 to 60 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean.  Cool in the pan for 10 minutes before unmolding onto a cake rack to cool thoroughly.  Dust with confectioners’ sugar before serving.

* Disregard the fact that we haven’t had a dinner since January.
** Really obscene-looking.

I’m not the kind of person who jams a lot of activities into her schedule, but sometimes things don’t go as planned.  This weekend is going to be a very busy one — for my stomach.  First up is a supper club get-together on Saturday night, followed by a dinner at Small Farm in Stow.  I’ll be writing about both meals soon, so check back to read about them…

There’s a saying, I think, about the people you know or knowing the right people.  There may be more to it than simply that, not that it matters; I’m terrible at idioms and I don’t really have a lot of so-called connections — except at the relocated L’Espalier, which shares kitchen-space with the newest Sel de la Terre, where my cousin Niki works, which means she gets a healthy employee discount at both restaurants…

I hope you can see where I’m going here, since I’m dangerously close to confusing myself with my own addled sentences.  What I’m trying to get at is this: it helps to know people, and because then you sometimes get to eat meals like this.

We had gone to L’Espalier for the set-price lunch, but once we placed our orders the extra courses began to arrive.  Actually, now that I think of it, before we placed our orders,  first the complimentary glasses of L’Espalier’s reserve sparkling wine arrived.  The week before, some of my visiting Filipino relatives, Keith and I received similar treatment at Sel de la Terre — otherwise, we wouldn’t have been prepared for the utterly absurd amount of food we were served over what became a two-and-a-half hour lunch.  This oyster with caviar was just the beginning.

(I should note that prepared or not, I couldn’t keep up with our server’s detailed descriptions of the gifted courses.  The oyster, for example, came topped with a foam and rested on a gelée, but what type of foam and what flavor gelée?  I don’t know.)

Our second freebie (not counting the wine) was by far the table’s favorite, but let me take a minute here to state how this actual bowl was my favorite; I love Royal Copenhagen, and while I participate in the “white plate” school of thought — food looks best on a plain white plate — I would happily expel myself for just one place setting of this design.  I would, obviously, be even happier if that place setting included not only this bowl but this bowl of soup: cream of Vidalia onion over ham, fava beans and a seared diver scallop.  Honestly, if you think the bowl is pretty, you have no idea what the word means unless you’ve tasted this soup.  It was smooth and complex, and if I were forced to eat exclusively this for the rest of my life, I’d die a very contented woman.  (If you want to judge for yourself, know that the soup is currently a part of the dinner service prix-fixe.)

After our oyster amuse-bouche and precursor  course, our ordered starters arrived.  I had chosen the black pudding with chanterelles, spicy mayonnaise and a fried egg, prioritizing my love of black pudding above my dislike of spicy food and condiments.  You know, I’m so happy that I didn’t chicken out about the mayo, mostly because 1) it wasn’t that spicy after all; and 2) the black pudding was fantastic.  It was deeply flavored and incredibly textured.  I don’t think it’s that clear in the photograph, but the pudding was just barely holding itself together, breaking apart with the slightest pressure of my fork.  It was exceptionally creamy, almost like a pâté — which is one of the foods I like best in the world, so obviously anything that reminds me of it is going to get high praise from me.

At this point, I was already comfortably full.  I had purposely skipped breakfast that morning; the last time I went to L’Espalier, my skin felt stretched beyond its limit, and I really wanted to avoid that uncomfortable gorged sensation.  The folks in the kitchen, apparently, wanted to get me to that point as soon as possible, sending out yet another gratis dish of food.  This time it was a fried soft shell crab glazed with chili and served over a pickled carrot slaw (which is, as I type, now on both the dinner and lunch menus, which do change quite frequently).  If the idea of eating a crab shell and all freaks you out, try it fried, my friends.

I’d never really understood the mechanics of muscle memory before this meal, but somehow I think the arrival of my entrée just made something click in my mind.  My stomach distinctly remembered the way it felt in L’Espalier’s dining room last March.  I mean, if I was on the brink of awesome discomfort prior to the crab’s arrival, my duck confit put me over the edge.  Let’s not even go into the spring succotash or the baby carrot and pea shoot salad.  I can’t even think about the leg’s sweet and crispy skin without groaning a bit, even now.  I was definitely groaning at the table, perhaps a little too audibly.

I managed to keep my moaning on the inside for the cheese plate our server put together — it’s cheese, people — but this predessert was another story altogether, even if it was just a a pretty little scoop of sorbet, a dollop of pineapple essence, a fruit-flavored gel and a strawberry half.  I love a sorbet, so even in my almost-bursting state I managed to chase a spoonful or two around the plate.  The gel, however, stayed exactly where it was minus an exploratory taste, only because I’m a glutton for both punishment and food, it seems.  Interestingly, I wasn’t the only martyr at the table…

See, we had a bit of a time constraint for lunch; Niki had to go to work, and L’Espalier’s generosity already had her behind schedule.  Luckily, her commute from the dining room to the kitchen was a short one, but she had been anxiously checking the time even before the arrival of the cheese plate; regardless, she ended up dashing out during our final dessert after having a bite of pain perdu, a slice of panna cotta and a taste of crème anglaise.  We, of course, were able to stay behind and linger, luxuriating in our plush chairs — though I was preoccupied with not slipping into the deepest “food coma”* ever.

Regardless of whether you’ve got an in at either L’Espalier or Sel de la Terre, the former has excellent deals on prix fixe lunches.  Even without Niki’s employee markdown, forty dollars for three courses here is a real deal, as is the twenty-four dollar “power lunch.”  We clearly had a stunner of a meal, discount or no, and while chances are incredibly slim that I’ll ever receive so many culinary tokens from a kitchen staff ever again, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t book another L’Espalier lunch and happily pay full price.  I’ll just make sure to wear elastic-waist pants.

L’Espalier
774 Boylston Street
Boston, Massachusetts 02199
617.262.3023
lespalier.com

* This is a phrase I hate, but here it’s unavoidably apt.

Normally I’m not much for clichés but you know what they say: it’s a cliché because it’s true.  Well, you know that one about time flying?  I’ve seen it in action, friends, most recently with my CSA box.

It’s only week four of CSA season, and already I’ve seen a significant increase in the amount of produce Keith has been bringing home from our pick-up spot.  This week we had mostly leafy greens that I’ll be tossing into assorted salads, but soon we’ll be eating peppers, melons, cucumbers, potatoes, onions and eggplants.  I can’t wait, though our haul this week happily was made up of the following:

• Arugula
• Carrots
• Garlic scapes
• Lettuce
• Rainbow chard
• Salad mix with red lettuce, green leaf lettuce and tat soi
• Summer squash

Those green tendrils curling like pigs’ tails in the upper right corner of the box are garlic scapes, something I love.  How could I not, considering that I generally tend to double a recipe’s suggested amount of garlic?  Scapes are much milder than their grown-up siblings (Do you consider garlic to be masculine or feminine?  Or am I the only one out there that anthromorphizes her vegetables?  Excluding speakers, of course, certain languages that have gender-specific nouns. But back to the matter at hand…) so I had no qualms about chopping them fine and then dumping them into my couscous.

The following recipe is perhaps one of the easiest I’ve ever made, and the end results are fantastic, scapes or no.  It’s a perfect dinner for when the warm weather finally hits Boston — if it ever does — as the only hot ingredient you need is water.

Couscous with Chick Peas + Feta Cheese, adapted from The American Heart Association’s Low-Calorie Cookbook
Makes six portions *

2/3 cup uncooked couscous, preferably whole wheat
1 1/3 cups boiling water
juice of 1 medium-sized lemon (though I love lemon, so none of mine are medium-sized)
1 15-ounce can of chick peas, drained
1 large bell pepper (I used red, but any color is fine)
½ cup finely-chopped fresh basil leaves
½ cup finely-chopped fresh parsley leaves
2 garlic cloves, minced (I used my six beautiful scapes, chopped)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon olive oil
¼ cup feta cheese, crumbled

1. Pour the couscous into a large heatproof bowl, then pour the water and lemon juice over the couscous.  Let the mixture sit for about fifteen minutes, then fluff with a fork.
2. Add the chick peas; stir.  Add bell peppers, basil, parsley and garlic.  Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with feta; stir.  Salt and pepper to taste.  May be served at room temperature, or chilled.

* 298 calories per 1 ½ cup serving, in case you were wondering.

A while ago, I mentioned my renewed obsession with making mix CDs, specifically thematic ones.  Well, here’s what I listen to when I need a writing pick-me-up.  Let me know if you want a copy and I’ll drop it in the mail.

1. “Panic” by The Smiths
2. “It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career” by Belle + Sebastian
3. “Out of Gas” by Modest Mouse
4. “No Sleep Tonite” by Slumber Party
5. “Changes” by David Bowie
6. “Freak Scene” by Dinosaur Jr.
7. “Personality Crisis” by New York Dolls
8. “That’s When I Reach For My Revolver” by Mission of Burma
9. “The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism” by The New Pornographers
10. “Wake Me When It’s Over” by Longwave
11. “Lonely Lonely” by Feist
12. “The Trick Is To Keep Breathing” by Garbage
13. “Move On” by The Rentals
14. “Leave Me Alone” by New Order
15. “I See a Darkness” by Bonnie “Prince” Billy
16. “Amateur” by Aimee Mann
17. “Hopeless” by The Wrens