Hitting the Books Again

Tea: Gunpowder.

Music: Holly Cole, "Onion Girl"

Time: Night.

I used to go out to eat (alone and with others, both family and friends) a lot -- and by "a lot," I mean "way too often for the bank account's health."

True, money was steadier then than it is now, but the pattern wasn't a good one.

Nothing in the fridge or the pantry speaking to me? Got a bit extra from an overtime check? Nobody felt like cooking? Off we went.

Money's tighter now. It's the 27th of October, and (not counting a couple of church dinners, a couple of pregame media meals and the Friday night arts refreshments) I've been out to eat twice this month.

I've enjoyed both times, but I've also enjoyed rediscovering my cookbook collection.

I never gave up cooking entirely, but I'd gotten into a frittata/carbonara/chili/throw something on the grill rut. (No, not all at once. That'd be ... uh, no thanks.)

I'm not giving up the old favorites, but it's fun to see what's on hand and start scouring the shelves for recipes. Who knows? Maybe the next turn of the page will produce another tradition.

Okay, that was reaching. I'm tired and rambly ... but you know I'm going to break out a couple of cookbooks and check out sweet potato recipes before I turn in.

Your bedtime wordgift from me: Jack London, "Local Color"

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"