My childhood home was located in a sort of shallow geographical bowl, where the neighborhood streets circled up and out from ours — a twisty terrace of bland suburban houses — in all directions.
One of the benefits of this layout — second only to the uninterrupted maze of downward sloping streets, perfect for coasting one’s bright pink, banana seat Huffy all the way home (hands-free, of course. Sorry, Mom!) — was the way that sound carried from all directions and swooped down our street, clear and bright. Lifeguards’ whistles from the swim club to the west. Fire engines pealing to the north. School bus brakes squeaking and squealing to the south. Shouts from a front-yard pick up game to the east.
And best of all, the tinny, calliope music of the blue and white Mr. Softee ice cream truck beginning its slow, winding descent to our street.
Strawberries are here!
I’ve been plucking strawberries off of my new strawberry tower, one at a time — I can’t resist them long enough to build up any kind of quantity — they’re sweet and delicious. (And, the King of Chipmunks, the ruler of my yard, curiously still hasn’t thought to look “up” for berry treats. But, he’s enacted his revenge for no strawberries this year by decimating my peas: no pea plant got taller than 2″. Sigh.)
And happily, strawberries have also landed in the farmers’ market, and that means it’s time for my now annual tradition of strawberry cake.
I can’t believe it’s mid-May already. Spring weather has been weird and chilly, but still much to do for the garden, both inside and out. My summer tomatoes, peppers, and basil are huddled under the skylight in my attic, tall and too leggy, waiting for a break in the weather (we had yet another frost just yesterday).
But spring crops are doing a-okay, and my yard is coming alive in blooms, including my lovely lilac tree (above). Spring veggies have been plentiful — crisp and sweet.
The cookbook lover in me has been more than thrilled at the selections coming out of publishing lately. Truly unique and useful tomes by cooking pros that will stand the test of time — books that I’ll actually cook from with dependable recipes that don’t need tweaks to correct flavor imbalances or, worse, outright repairs.
Notably, Jerusalem: A Cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi, and Roots by Diane Morgan. Both are a gardener and vegetable lover’s dream.
But the book that has totally captured my cooking heart is Deborah Madison’s Vegetable Literacy. I’ve cooked extensively from this book, and it rarely makes it back to the bookshelf, finding a long-term space on my kitchen counter. Part vegetable reference, part cookbook, I enjoy flipping through it randomly, reading up on artichokes or kale while planning weekend meals. (For a thorough review of the book, see my other blog, leafandgrain.com.)
Ms. Madison is a well-known, highly respected authority on vegetarian cooking and, as it turns out, she’s no slouch in the garden. As we universally turn a critical eye on the disaster that has become our over-processed food system, we need more books like Vegetable Literacy to help guide us back to food. Real food.
I admit it: I stalked skeptically around the concept of this soup for several weeks before finally taking a deep breath and diving in.
Peanut butter? In soup?
Skeptical.
I love nut butters as much as the next girl, but, honestly. Peanut butter … and tomatoes. My culinary senses were reeling.
At last, the days are lengthening, and I no longer feel the need to curl up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and clutching the TV remote, at the young hour of 7pm. The bears have it right: winter is for hibernating.
And the approach of spring finds me backing away from the stove, as well. Long, languorously stewed dishes fade in favor of snappy meals. If it’s more than a half hour from pan to table, it’s probably not going to be made.
Eggs often take center stage in my meals. It was last summer when I first cracked an egg over a quesadilla and ever since, it’s been a staple, fit for any meal of the day.
Like clockwork, every March brings the craving for bread. And not just any ole bread, but soda bread: a hearty peasant loaf perfected in all its simple goodness by the Irish. Soda bread is the bread lover’s miracle loaf. Minimal kneading, no proofing (no yeast) and a mere hour later — two, if you can bear to allow the loaf to properly cool, which I never can — a fresh, hearty slice of savory goodness, topped with cultured butter, is yours for the taking.
I’m not a trendy-trend kind of girl, which you’ve probably noticed if you’ve followed this blog at all — I’m always horribly out of foodie fashion.
Bacon in desserts? No, thank you. Oreo stuffed in a chocolate chip cookie stuffed in a brownie stuffed in cheesecake? Yeah, never understood the appeal of that one. Sous vide? ‘Evs.
And when I am accidentally trendy, it’s me jumping on the bandwagon with flags waving … just as the trend is winding down {wah-wah-waahh}.
That’s the way it was with sriracha. I was late to the party, but now I’m all <woot!> about it.
I’ve had to restrain myself from posting too many sriracha-starring recipes, but if I have to let one slip out, I’m happy that it’s these sweet potato hash browns.
When doing my all-too-infrequent freezer clean-out last month, I came across a bag of little chocolate nuggets that made me pause, searching my memory for what the heck these could be.
I took one out of the bag and inspected it more closely — black with dark chocolate, coated heavily in bright sugar crystals, they were adorable, button-sized, and unblemished by freezer frost.
Finally, in that weird, mysterious way the mind works to retrieve long forgotten info — the round-about word association game … starts with … sounds like … followed by the sudden burst of memory — I remembered: starry starry night cookies, delectable little freezer-friendly chocolate-chocolate, almond flour cookies.
I had no idea how long they had been in there, as they had worked their way to the back wall of the freezer, but it was worth a shot, baking them up to see what happened.
This has been a lentil kind of winter so far. I’m completely in love with the little bright red lentil — it goes in everything: pasta salads, green salads, soups (and even raw as sprouts — they’re delicious!).
So, when an accident in the kitchen occurred — tomato sauce spilled into a dish of lentils — an “ah HA!” moment occurred (kind of a “you got your chocolate in my peanut butter” situation).
A quick trip to the store, and the potential became reality. A little smoked paprika — which I just adore with lentils — makes for a rich, scrumptious pasta sauce that’s particularly warming on sub-freezing January nights.
Karen xo
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Hello, and welcome to SoupAddict, my little corner of the foodie world on the Interwebs. I'm Karen, and it's true, I'm addicted to soup. The seasons guide my cooking and eating, and when I'm not behind the stove — or the keyboard: I'm a writer by trade — you can find me in my vegetable garden. 
