I missed two Saturdays of the farmer’s market while in Montana and my, how things changed! The last of the strawberries are now out, but are being replaced with favorites I’ve been longing for. Namely, garlic scapes and kohlrabi.
You might recall that I got a little obsessed with garlic scapes last year, and ended up making carbonara with them three times before perfecting the dish. To the point that I had carbonara out the other night and thought, “mine’s better.” (This rarely happens.) This go-around, I may even get a little crazy and toss in the fresh English peas I found today.
My niece Leah and I have been waiting patiently for kohlrabi to come into season, although she wasn’t as excited as I thought she would be when I called her this morning from the farmer’s market and woke her after I found it. Some people eat kohlrabi raw, but I prefer it peeled, tossed in olive oil, and roasted.
I also filled my farmer’s market bag with beets (more on this experiment later), three types of summer squash and sweet Michigan cherries.
For the first time, I ran out of room in my bag before I ran out of cash. Now that’s a good day at the market.
I fully planned to continue my blogging streak on vacation. But until now, we had spotty to no Internet access, so were forced to only admire this view for four days. The other good news is that you were saved from a bunch of “look what I had for dinner” posts. The epitome of a win-win, no?
I have eaten as regionally as possible, in the spirit of research — bison filet, loose meat elk burger, huckleberry ice cream, Montana trout and flathead cherries. And my goal is to find a Montana cookbook before I leave.
Mike’s on his way home, but I’m now off to a writer’s retreat. The fare for the next four days will be strictly vegan, aside from what I hide in my room. I’m honestly more daunted than I was at the prospect of loose elk meat. If I have a chance, I’ll report in.
I have one issue with asparagus — it’s too tall.
If I stand up the stalks in a glass with a little water, like you’re supposed to, it really only fits in the door of the refrigerator. And the door is definitely my blind spot.
I glimpsed the bunch of asparagus I bought during my farmer’s market trip last Saturday as I was shutting the fridge yesterday afternoon.
We didn’t eat at home last night or tonight, so it’s still there. Just hanging out with the soy and worcestershire sauces and a bottle of Mike’s Hard Smashed Apple Cider from last summer. Going bad. (I’m sure the Mike’s is a poor influence …)
I guess I should take a peak in the crisper, too. Although given that the asparagus was technically in plain site, I’m a little afraid to look.
Jen’s go-to Pimm’s cup
What happens when two people in one book club love the same British liquor only prepared differently?
Why they have a Pimm’s off, of course.
I’ve written about Pimm’s before, the quintessential summer English drink I fell in love with during a summer in London. I’ve long prepared it the way pubs there serve a Pimm’s cup (or a jug of Pimm’s, with friends): with lemonade, strawberries, cucumbers and mint.
But book club Jen takes a much simpler — perhaps, Americanized — approach: with ginger ale and lemonade.
We tried my version first. “You win,” Jen quickly declared.
But Jen’s, Sandhya noted, was “more Pimm’s-y.”
(And mixed much stronger, I might add.)
Really, is there a wrong way to drink Pimm’s on a summer’s night? Personally, I think not, especially when it’s paired with good friends and a good book.
If these muffins look delicious, it’s because they’re chock-full of fresh Michigan strawberries and rhubarb.
I used this recipe for Jumbo Strawberry-and-Rhubarb Muffins from Food & Wine. The only thing I changed is the size — I’m not a huge fan of muffins as big as your head. So I used a standard-size muffin tin and ended up with 18 muffins instead of six. (Seriously, how jumbo were these muffins?)
Of course, I adjusted the baking time, too. I still cooked them at 375 degrees, but began checking them in five-minute increments after 25 minutes. At 35 minutes, they passed the toothpick test.
These muffins are super moist, likely thanks to the juicy strawberries. A perfect summer muffin — and breakfast.
Not every meal can be a home run.
We grilled chicken tonight. At the last minute, I thought, Why not toss the carrots on there, too? What’s the worst that could happen?
The answer, in Mike’s words: “Warm, burnt carrots.”
“With a squeeze of lemon,” my niece Leah added.
They were edible, at least.
Perhaps I didn’t grill them long enough. When I noticed they weren’t cooking as quickly as the chicken, I covered them with a lid and prayed for steam.
Perhaps they didn’t need a squeeze of lemon. But I’d zested a lemon for strawberry-rhubarb muffins, and it was just lying there naked on the counter. Seemed meant to be.
Perhaps, just perhaps, carrots aren’t meant to be grilled.
My cousin Ellen texted me this photo earlier, with the simple message: “Thinking of you today. Raspberry jam. :)”
I couldn’t help but smile. I love homemade jam, and hers especially is a sweet combination of berries, sugar and happiness.
I grew up with jam as a breakfast table staple. My mother made freezer jam every summer as soon as Michigan strawberries debuted. She always used the tried-and-true Sure-Jell recipe, which usually gave us enough jars to keep us through to the next June. (Occasionally, the fail-proof recipe did indeed fail, leaving us with a stockpile of thin strawberry ice cream topping. Still a win, in my book.)
Of course, now I’d like to get my hands on some of Ellen’s raspberry jam. Considering she lives five hours away, that probably won’t happen anytime soon. Perhaps it’s time to dust off my own canning jars …