Tea: Blueberry
Music: House of Pain, "Jump Around"
Time: Night.
The Chinese New Year has arrived -- the Year of the Ox -- and I haven't done anything auspicious yet.
I can't afford new chopsticks, and nothing I bought at the grocery store today was red (unless the Roma tomato counted, and that might have been offset by the four jars of peanut butter.) Four is an inauspicious number, you see -- but at 45 cents a jar, after the coupon, I can live with that.
I haven't eaten turnips -- but wait. I have some left over turnip bisque in the freezer, and no supper plans tomorrow.
Better late than never, I suppose.
Showing posts with label turnips. Show all posts
Showing posts with label turnips. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Seasoned with Change
Tea: Jasmine Vanilla.
Music: UK, "Night After Night"
Time: Night.
The farmer's market nearest me is shutting down for the season. Today was the final Saturday, although there's one more session on Wednesday. It seems too early for that, but there it is.
We bought a few late tastes of summer -- eggplants and bell peppers -- but mostly stocked up on hardy foods that should last well into the cold months.
There are sweet potatoes, still in their coats of dirt (they keep better that way.) There are turnips, which I used to loathe -- but now seek out as soon as I feel a fall chill. There are winter squash, awaiting loving treatment with sweetness and spice.
Eating seasonally was once the norm. We've gotten spoiled as a culture, though. Want strawberries in January or asparagus with Christmas Dinner? You can get them -- but at what cost?
The cost, I'm coming to think, of connection with the rhythms of the places where we live, and appreciation for what each season brings us.
I've had Molly O'Neill's cookbook The Well-Seasoned Palate (which is as desirable for the essays as for the recipes) for years. This may be the year I finally internalize it.
At the very least, I'm going to get outside some Turnip Bisque ere long ...
Tonight's story: Frederick Stuart Greene, "The Black Pool"
Music: UK, "Night After Night"
Time: Night.
The farmer's market nearest me is shutting down for the season. Today was the final Saturday, although there's one more session on Wednesday. It seems too early for that, but there it is.
We bought a few late tastes of summer -- eggplants and bell peppers -- but mostly stocked up on hardy foods that should last well into the cold months.
There are sweet potatoes, still in their coats of dirt (they keep better that way.) There are turnips, which I used to loathe -- but now seek out as soon as I feel a fall chill. There are winter squash, awaiting loving treatment with sweetness and spice.
Eating seasonally was once the norm. We've gotten spoiled as a culture, though. Want strawberries in January or asparagus with Christmas Dinner? You can get them -- but at what cost?
The cost, I'm coming to think, of connection with the rhythms of the places where we live, and appreciation for what each season brings us.
I've had Molly O'Neill's cookbook The Well-Seasoned Palate (which is as desirable for the essays as for the recipes) for years. This may be the year I finally internalize it.
At the very least, I'm going to get outside some Turnip Bisque ere long ...
Tonight's story: Frederick Stuart Greene, "The Black Pool"
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