I know what you’re thinking.

["She misspelled the title of this post. Should I tell her?"]

I meant to put ‘gournet’ in the title–and not because this post concerns the fish of the family Triglidae (though there are fish. Shiny ones.)

A few weeks ago, my friend Dan and I galloped off to Chinatown to see his noodle dealer. I can’t show you the noodle dealer, of course, but perhaps you can ferret out the location with the background clues.

We bought five packets of beautiful, fresh noodles.

Then, a new vegetable enthusiast friend (who sets up shop on the street) gleefully packed mounds of long Chinese greens and baby bok choy for us in lucky red bags, throwing in extra handfuls for good measure–so many that the bags weighed us down as we made our way toward the fish.

I like shiny things. So unsurprisingly, the fish that caught my eye were pink and shimmery.

Scaled and gutted, the pink fish still sparkled in my kitchen a few hours later;

while Dan stirred his wonderful black bean sauce into the noodles, and we sautéed the greens, I whipped egg whites and salt to create a crust that baked around the fish.

By then, our guests had started to arrive: Dan’s sister, who lives in the neighborhood, and then my friends LJ, Sarah, Tricia, David (who lives in Mexico City), Mario, Revaz, and Dean.

Dan, who is a gluten-free chef, made sizzling parsnip cakes with Chinese sausage as everyone shed coats and boots, and we began to celebrate The Year of the Rabbit together.

Looking at our birth years on the Chinese calendar, we read the Engrish predictions for our year ahead as I portioned out pieces of the whole fish.

In years past, my favorite part of Chinese New Year parties has been making fortune cookies with my friend Mica, but this year I decided to finally make tea eggs.

Boiled hard, the eggshells are cracked and the eggs simmered with 5-spice powder and tea bags, then cure for up to a few days, chilled.

Just after the eggs were Dan’s lovely individual chocolate cakes (recipe), Tricia’s pistachio macarons from Michael Allen, and raucous revelry, but before that, the kitchen went silent for a few minutes, as we unpeeled the marbled eggs and considered the possibilities in the months ahead…

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2. cooking for communitp
3. tuna roll noodles

This fall, I was fortunate to be able to have a class of smart graduate students at NYU’s ITP think through community interactions during our fourteen weeks together. (You can see our syllabus for “communitp” and go through our blog archive and Twitter account for more details.)

At the conclusion of class, I invited them over for dinner (to be precise, they asked, and I was delighted to cook for all of us).

Thinking about appropriate holiday food, I asked for dietary restrictions and allergies, so as to honor those, and was reminded that one of the students is vegan.

What often surprises me is how cooks feel they need to craft entirely separate menus for those with specific food preferences.

I found myself thinking about foods that are green and warming—and I formed a menu around inclusion, starting with the simple roasted tomatillo salsa (roast skinned, chopped tomatillos for 20 minutes at 425 degrees F) that I served with chips and traditional guacamole when they arrived.

I had roasted sliced fractal cauliflower (we discussed the science behind communities in class),

in between stirring crushed red pepper and minced garlic into chopped parsley for a chimichurri sauce.

Nothing builds happy communities at the table like garlic, I’ve found in intensive research.

And I roasted coins of purple carrots and halved brussels sprouts while the roasted green spelt (freekeh) bubbled and softened on top of the stove.

Everything was vegan (good oil is all you need to roast veg and stir into drained grains), except the seared pork shoulder that I had let burnish slowly for six hours during the day before pulling it apart and setting it aside.

When we could all be persuaded to pause just long enough to claim seats around the table, those of us who eat meat stirred little bits into the freekeh with roasted veg and chimichurri. In 2011, consider making meat optional and a condiment—you’ll find it liberating. For those of you worried about protein, whole grains like freekeh and quinoa are excellent choices.

We were too busy toasting and talking about the upcoming ITP Winter Show (which was great) for me to take pictures,

but we agreed it was a lovely way to finish the semester over dessert: my homemade brandied prune plums spooned over bourbon gelato, vanilla ice cream, and ginger sorbet.

Thank you again to the seven who made it to dinner, and to all fourteen of you who inspired me to think and work on community in new ways. I miss our class meetings already…

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2. coworking in bushwick
3. the woman in the yellow hat

I made my usual early start (5 a.m.) to cook down the list, pausing for a moment before I made the smashed potatoes in early afternoon.

Knowing I am mostly finished by that point, I always feel comforted. The clabbered milk (add a squeeze of lemon to whole milk and let it sit for five minutes to create buttermilk) I poured from a Mason jar went in before the butter to finish the dish.

My friend Tricia took some wonderful shots of the side dishes after she arrived with Kenyatta–

Image by Tricia Wang

and I’m relying on her images as our guest list grew from six the day before to fourteen an hour before (someone sat on a camping chair and some of us ate on palm leaf plates!), so I was slightly distracted.

There were roasted butternut squash and local apples with pepitas for crunch and sage:

Image by Tricia Wang

Also roasted brussel sprouts and pears with ginger and lemon zest–I’m very interested in combining fruits and veg with a dominant spice or herb in side dishes lately:

Image by Tricia Wang

If memory serves, a carrot-top pesto went on roasted cauliflower, I improvised a chard-quinoa dish, the usual cranberry-orange sauce was chilled, and everyone raved over the Thomas Keller leek bread pudding.

The turkey I did remember to document, as I want to remember this seventeen-pound beaut from Di Paolo at the Grand Army Farmers’ Market. This is a salt brine, oil rub, and little else that took about three hours in the oven:

For the dramatic dessert presentations, Kevin’s mother unmolded her tiramisu,

that we shared responsibility for whipping heavy cream for that she spread on top and sprinkled with chocolate chips before slicing.

And Francis, who is my good friend Solana’s cousin and a fabulous cook (it runs in their family),

cut into her two derby pies. I had a very hard time deciding whether I liked the traditional or the chocolate, and insisted on keeping the tiny remainder of one pie. We completed the bourbon theme with small-batch versions of bourbon vanilla gelato and of the spirit itself.

I looked around the crowded table at friends (I like this shot of Bre and Kio) and extended family,

laughing and learning about living in New York and I took notes from Linda on standing your ground as a feminist.

But the biggest lesson I learned this year (and I think it was Solana who articulated it best) is this: it takes generations eating together to make it truly feel like Thanksgiving.

For all recipes, see my Thanksgiving primer post.

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2. the leftovers that keep on giving
3. first food adventures in flushing

When I discovered on Wednesday that my friends Jonas and Dave were both in town, it seemed such a good occasion for having friends over for brunch on Saturday (above: Chrysanthe, Dave, Alex, Jonas, Winnie). Tricia, Audrey, Kenyatta, Kevin, Chris, Tarikh also filled the kitchen, and we celebrated the turn toward winter with warming foods:

Clockwise from left: roasted brussel sprouts (roast at 425 degrees for twenty minutes tossed with 1 tbsp olive oil, stir in a little harissa), baby kale salad (cut off very ends of kale stems, massage leaves with salt, add sherry vinegar), croissant pudding, roasted fingerling potatoes from Evolutionary Organics (halve and roast at 425 degrees for thirty minutes) with homemade aioli, and crab-fennel-cauliflower salad.

I also made chicken pot pie and a white bean-tomato-kale soup, and Chrysanthe brought a lovely pear-apple crisp.

And with this sort of food on our side and wonderful friends like these, perhaps we shall weather these colder temperatures after all…

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2. cassoulet, brunch, and the underground food collective in brooklyn
3. my secret soup to stave off a cold

On Thursday, to celebrate the last warm day of the season, I convinced Tricia, Dan, and Tarikh to picnic with me in Brooklyn’s Ft. Greene Park.

Tricia sparkled with her wonderful energy as we walked through the crunching leaves,

and met Dan at the monument, where he was waiting with his usual delicious food—

this time, veg sushi with a brilliant dipping sauce (that I sneaked extra spoonfuls of).

Tarikh biked off to find a corkscrew, and we unwrapped my picnic supplies for the occasion: quinoa with squash and harissa, rice noodles with pea shoots and mung bean sprouts tossed with the Momofuku ginger-scallion sauce, which shared plate space next to Dan’s hand-rolled sushi.

It was a day to savor and to wrest the final dregs of summer sunshine, but also a day to embrace new skills—

I am happy to note that all of our picnic was gluten-free (gfree, in common parlance) food, a personal goal for me since I met Dan this spring and learned about his impressive food that is within these parameters.

And we all embraced taking a few hours away from work in the afternoon, to laugh and talk about what the rest of the year might bring… (prediction: likely some wonderful things for these talented three friends of mine…)

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So, I know this recipe is a little weird—I have hesitated writing about it for years.

It is a standard in my kitchen, though, the ingredients are usually easy to find, and, going into the weekend, perhaps musings on what a tuna roll might be as a noodle dish will amuse you the way it delights me.

Tuna Roll Noodles For 2 (make extra)

Ingredients: box soba noodles, 2 baby bok choy, ripe avocado, jar excellent tuna, sheet of nori, 1 tbsp oil

Boil half a box of soba noodles in water (~4 min). Drain and rinse the noodles (yes, rinse the noodles).

Meanwhile, take two baby bok choy (or pak choy, my newest favorite) or long-stemmed green of your choice and chop coarsely [take the whole choys, rinse, cut into pieces (about an inch long, leaves and stems)] and toss into medium-hot pan with a tablespoon of oil. Stir occasionally as the noodles cook in the other pan.

Open a 5-6 oz. jar of beautiful tuna in olive oil (buy the good stuff). Mince/smush one clove of garlic.

Add the rinsed noodles to the greens, stir, add the tuna and its oil, flaking it in the pan (it will disappear into the noodles). Add the garlic. Stir.

Ladle into bowls (this also works with a miso broth pooling around the noodles, as a variation) and sprinkle avocado pieces (score the halved avocado with a knife in a crosshatch pattern, then press out of skin) over the top.

I add snipped slivers of nori at the end—try waving the nori sheet, just for a moment, over the burner flame. Or use your favorite kitchen tool and mine, a blow torch, to toast the sheet.

Without going into the details, this dish will return your love. It’s made of foods that make you happy and keep you well.

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I am going to give you one of my secret recipes. This is a quick, humble soup ideal for transitioning seasons. It comes together in ten minutes and will serve you well.

Also, as you may not know, I despise soup recipes that call for chicken stock or broth. You can do better. Water is your friend.

kthread’s Secret Sorrel Soup (to stave off a cold)

Makes two servings. Look for sorrel at your local farmers’ markets.

1. Mince two large cloves of garlic. Smush them into paste and let sit on cutting board while you finish prep (this brings out their goodness—no, I’m not making that up).

2. Wash half a head of escarole (or baby kale), dry, chop coarsely (don’t use the tough bottom ribs). Then, pull out half a cup of cooked beans*, a good handful of washed sorrel, a little shredded cooked chicken (if available and you eat chicken), and a small piece of Parmesan rind.

3. Put heat on medium and add 1 tbsp olive oil to the pan, add garlic paste and let sizzle thirty seconds. Add chopped escarole and let wilt 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Tear in sorrel in two-inch pieces, throw in shredded chicken, beans, and Parm rind. Season. Add 3 cups water and turn heat to high. Cover.

4. Let soup bubble for 5 minutes (uncover as necessary so it doesn’t boil over) and turn off heat. Ladle into two bowls, grate a bit of fresh Parmesan on top, and serve with bread to soak up the beautiful broth you’ve made.

Keeps wonderfully for up to a week. My vegan friends might substitute nutritional yeast for the Parmesan.

*Cannellini, black-eyed peas, and yellow-eyed peas work well. I like to cook dry beans and keep them chilled for recipes like this. I also like to roast a chicken some Sunday nights.

Your favorite foods to transition seasons?

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Although I threw a fried green tomato party lately, the post was without fried green tomatoes—mostly because we were all having too much fun by that point, and partly because it was actually my talented friend Dan who worked the pan on the party greens while I circulated with bottles of champagne.

And so this past Friday, I took a last green tomato, sliced it, and fried slices coated in a mix of flour and cornmeal in the renderings of country bacon,

piling them into a favorite sandwich of drizzled buttermilk ranch (homemade aioli, buttermilk, scallions, lemon juice) on top of crisp butter lettuce, squash blossoms, and Broadbent’s Kentucky bacon.

Then yesterday, Dan and I set out on an adventure to the fi:af Farm City Fair at the Invisible Dog Gallery in Brooklyn.

We found fun buttons,

one that later Dan decorated his bag with,

and we were just in time to experience the Asphalt Orchestra (part of Bang on a Can) performance where the musicians really interacted with the crowd,

spreading out, reforming, using megaphones, spinning around themselves when the moment moved them to the great joy of everyone there for the festivities.

There were hydroponics on display from the Boswyck group in Bushwick,

and the scene was really around the distributor of balloons,

as you might imagine.

Wonderful local food vendors were serving foods about to disappear with the end of summer, and Marlow and Sons delivered with a beautiful fried corn that shone with butter, perfectly warmed pear tomatoes, and mint.

Dan and I were also there to learn about wheatgrass artistry from Mathilde Roussel-Giraudy—this piece is a stomach,

and these figures took a week to grow (you are to be impressed at this).

Out in the garden there was a colorful compost pile,

and inside were demonstrations, my favorite being the one from BK Honey,

where combs were sliced and the honey extracted, sparkling as it was released from its cells.

As we left, Dan and I met a vocal “expert” composter with impressive newsprint millinery,

and had a lovely long walk back past painted murals (Dan took this one of me),

robots that we couldn’t help falling for (and I adore Dan, by the way, we had such fun),

and after I hugged him goodbye, the rain started to fall in the neighborhood.

I decided to make gazpacho andaluz,

while I roasted new potatoes and a chicken.

As usual, I think the simplest recipe best, so to make gazpacho andaluz for two on a rainy Sunday afternoon at the end of tomato season,

take four large ripe tomatoes (for this, choose classic red tomatoes grown with care instead of heirlooms). Chop one tomato with the skin and set aside in a bowl.

With the food processor running, drop in two cloves of skinned garlic, then three spring onions (green and white parts), then the three quartered, cored tomatoes. Let one slice of pullman loaf soak up the juice on the cutting board from the tomatoes and then add it to the processor. Add 1 tbsp good sherry vinegar and 4 tbsp olive oil as it spins. Season and spice it as you like; many serve chopped peppers and onions as condiments alongside.

If you have time, chill the soup (you might set the serving bowls over ice for a few minutes), then ladle it into bowls, topping with the chopped tomato and any garnishes. I’m happy to report my taster enjoyed his without garnishes and ate part of my bowl too.

For more on the City Farm Fair, please watch Dan’s excellent and hilarious video and read his Renegade Kitchen post about our magical day:

Farm City Fair from Renegade Kitchen on Vimeo.

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2. kthread cooks: fried green tomatoes
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As summer gives way to autumn, the foods transition too—lately, I’ve roasted portobellos with tomatoes and cauliflower, adding grainy mustard and arugula to the toasted brioche bun (now that we’re more likely to turn the oven on).

And this recipe for a grape cake finds use for the Concord grapes now at the Grand Army Plaza and Union Square greenmarkets, also yielding a grape syrup I find lovely for stirring into a glass of cava.

For a little party on Sunday that celebrated fried green tomatoes, I also made a peach pie, filling the crust with spiced yellow peaches,

making pimento cheese (a classic sandwich spread in the U.S. South),

and an hour later, pulled a bubbling pie out of the oven, proudly smiling at the lattice crust that Kevin helped fold (seems art school prepares you for working with all sorts of textiles).

On Labor Day, we all walked through costumed marchers in the West Indian Day Parade as it dispersed around Grand Army Plaza,

feeling a bit like the bright figures might be apocalyptic messengers or heralds that belong atop Grand Army’s triumphant arch,

and Kevin and Nora trailed behind, talking,

as Elle dragged Baratunde ahead of the group,

until Baratunde considered starting a relationship with Nora’s purse.

Almost at our destination: Sweet Revenge, for a holiday pig roast, Kenyatta convened us on a stoop.

Tricia introduced us all to the gracious Ricardo, who owns Pilar (the nearby Cuban “eatery”) with his wife, and who was in charge of the pigs being roasted.

Kevin’s friend Michael was the hand model for these empanadas with chorizo and potato that we ate while counting the hours,

as Tricia and Baratunde danced in the sand,

(and Tricia danced joyously throughout, really,)

interrupted only by the tending of the coals and finally, the delicious meat was portioned out and served in a wonderful swirl of people and Mojitos and toasts to a memorable summer behind us.

Still not quite ready to let it go, a warm afternoon yesterday led me to celebrate the coming cooler days with the crispy crust of homemade fried chicken and think about all the recipes ahead…

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1. a belated post on thanksgiving
2. the savory side of sweet
3. the penultimate summer sunday

Sunday morning began with my sister Kassandra waking early and a trip to the grocer near my apartment for a few brunch things—some housemade sun-dried tomatoes to go with fresh pear tomatoes, arugula, and buffalo mozzarella (that’s the white) on top of a frittata,

and sugar plums from Red Jacket Orchards that exude a glossy syrup when roasted.

Catching up with my friend Solana over brunch (I’m happy she’s back in Brooklyn) filled my kitchen with laughter, and then she was off into her day, followed by Kassandra, who I see all too infrequently, leaving to drive to Philadelphia for her flight (she was in NJ this week setting a choreography and spontaneously rented a car to drive up for the weekend).

In the quiet kitchen, I turned to making a goat cheese cake for Tricia and Kenyatta‘s afternoon picnic, letting it cool by the open window,

before slicing figs across the top and drizzling it with honey from Brooklyn bees.

Arriving at Fort Greene Park, I found a sprawling group of artists, librarians, researchers, and videographers, everyone new to me and—unsurprisingly for friends of Tricia and Kenyatta—fascinating and creative.

The gracious Tricia poured me a mimosa and smiled with Kenyatta, who was in the center of the group, as I found an unoccupied patch of blanket.

The cake went quickly,

with the beautiful Elle waiting patiently, entranced by squirrels, before neatly nabbing the last slice,

and all too soon, it was time to fold the blankets—like Audrey, I wondered why summer Sundays ever have to end—

but then again, how nice it was to have spent the afternoon reveling with this crew…

More fun images and video in Tricia’s Flickr set—

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Shortly before I left for Santa Cruz in May, I invited my friends Sarah and Fil to a grains dinner party at my apartment—and I have missed them during my summer away.

On Wednesday, Sarah, who is an artist as well as a great cook and hostess, invited me over to her apartment for a dinner party that felt summery and full of the best parts of Brooklyn.

Fil and I arrived to find Sarah working on an avocado and tomato salad, while Xavier finished his wonderful garlic chicken (he’s off to the right side above).

It was so nice to sit on Sarah’s floor, open bottles of cava and laugh as we started with Fil’s excellent cheese plate, then filled plates with ripe market tomatoes, buttery avocados, seasoned corn next to the garlic chicken.

All three are talented performers and delightful conversationalists, and we opened bottles of Vinho Verde, lingered over warm brownies Sarah served in pink melamine cups.

You’ll find these friends on kthread again soon; these are just some of the reasons I’m happy to be back in Brooklyn…

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My close friend Karen moved to Brooklyn a little while ago, and she has transformed her apartment into an aerie—and one that hosts frequent dinner parties.

When I was visiting Brooklyn two weekends ago, she threw one of her parties (reason enough to book a flight), and she let me help her prep the food and her beautiful white table that is bathed in sunlight every afternoon.

We spent a fun day zipping to Red Hook’s Fairway in a rented car for groceries, finding wine in long blue bottles in Park Slope, and purchasing baguettes at Brooklyn Larder (some to serve, one to eat during the day). Both of us usually prep for parties by ourselves, so we laughed frequently as we overlapped in our combined forces (isn’t Karen beautiful?)

Fia arrived with her homemade limoncello (Karen had already put the glasses in the freezer) and a beautiful chocolate cake for Arthur’s birthday, and she tested the strawberry-watermelon-vodka blend spun from our friend Francis the Watermelon (we met Francis at Fairway),

and shortly thereafter, friends began to arrive, so we started the two risottos, one with roasted fennel, and the other with shelled spring peas and whole milk ricotta from Salvatore Brooklyn to follow the salad. Karen placed the risottos on the table, and we all served each other, in the style of family, after watching a brilliant sunset.

Much later, the cake was presented and Fia’s wonderful limoncello served (you can see a little glass in Solana’s hand),

and Arthur’s smile as his family looked on was another reminder of how much I miss Brooklyn when I am away, and how much fun it is to celebrate with all the very interesting people of New York, most of whom wouldn’t consider living anywhere else…

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and I walked first (well, first was Milk Thistle, but right after that) to Cayuga Organics, where I bought one of every kind of grain, delighted to find rye berries that they don’t often bring.

Pausing for carrots (I like knowing I have the carrot tops in case I run out of parsley),

ramps and rhubarb at Wilklow Orchards,

I arranged all the beautiful things from the Grand Army Plaza market on the kitchen table: lilacs and green wheat, carrots, grains, ramps, rhubarb, asparagus, Evolutionary Organics eggs, scallions, and Milk Thistle whole milk, almost everything I needed for a “bowls of grain” party Sunday night.

I peered at the buds of the asparagus,

the different colors of the grains,

and headed out again toward the outdoor Brooklyn Flea at Ft. Greene, where I found green roof trays,

letters to spell all kinds of words,

vintage glass,

and skeletal outdoor furniture.

A little later, I decided upon the yellow dress to be the woman in the yellow hat at a Derby Day party—it makes me happy to see everyone wearing beribboned, rosy hats.

Just before the party, I stopped in to Studiofeast‘s Korean BBQ event,

a nice bookend to a week that began with catching up with my friends Ethan and Catherine at a Korean restaurant,

and Mike was, as usual, competently plating beautiful food (he also cooks in A Razor, A Shiny Knife).

Sunday morning I picked up a croissant, warming it in the oven, making a pocket to spread with homemade butter and place a bit of chocolate inside for a pain au chocolat (I like these better in the classic croissant crescent).

The decorative green wheat on the kitchen table that I had found at Saturday’s market reminded me to begin cooking,

and so I simmered rice for pudding with heady vanilla beans.

Slowly, I created the bowls of whole grains I have been dreaming about: wheat berries simmered for an hour, then stirred with balsamic and sautéed red chard (these do not have to be soaked, ratio is 1:3 grain: water).

Then, green freekeh (roasted spelt) that does not need to soak (1:3 grain: water) simmered for twenty minutes with sautéed carrots and flowering broccoli.

Soaked brown spelt (about two hours, 1:3) simmered for about 45 minutes before meeting roasted spring asparagus and big, snowy pieces of chevre.

Farro’s sweetness (soaked three hours, 1.5:4, simmered 45 minutes) heightened with the slivered dried plums, chopped almonds, and roasted fennel.

Lastly, the rye berries (soaked four hours, 1:3, cooked 45 minutes) took to the ramps and glistened with oil.

Just as I was finishing the rye berries, my friends began to arrive, and Sarah, Fil, Kirstin, Noah, and Karen were all game for the different textures of each grain (the brined pork tenderloin also worked, was passed separately). They are all, by the way, lovelier than this—I was enjoying their company too much to take a proper picture.

For dessert, I spooned poached rhubarb over the rice pudding, and loved how these smart people filled the warm kitchen with their wit and laughter.

This morning, I glanced at the chive flowers in the windowsill, in various stages of bloom,

slipped one into the remainder of the rye berries with scrambled market eggs,

and then ate it (that’s the best sort of flower) and in a playful, warm way, it was all yellow.

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2. the market dressed in spring
3. a path strewn with yellow flowers

and the market on Wednesday offered those gifts we wait for after winter,

spring asparagus,

ramps (the farmers tell me we may have a banner few weeks for this fleeting wild allium),

and at the Bread Alone stand I found beautiful Geneva cakes made with potato flour moistened with an almond syrup.

I walked back through the pink tree canopies of Park Slope,

and a little later, sautéed hirame for roasted new potatoes and asparagus with a ramp chiffonade, preserved lemon butter, and a chive flower from my windowsill.

I had dinner with my friend Karen for the second time on Wednesday night (it’s been a great week), and I woke up on Thursday thinking about my dream of arranging life like Jenga blocks, compared the rosy duck egg to the blue chicken egg,

and decided on the larger duck egg to poach, letting the yolk spill onto mandolined potatoes (my Jenga move) with more of those lovely ramps,

and then with cream from the market, I made homemade butter with bits of ramps and Meyer lemon zest for my friend Keryn who lives in Rockland, Maine.

When I arrived at her beautiful house, she told me how Johnny Jump-Ups (like the one pressed into the butter) are a flower that remind her of finding spring with her grandmother as a child, one of many things I am finding we have in common this weekend in coastal Maine…

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2. a market to begin the weekend
3. the woman in the yellow hat

As I leave another little piece of my heart in San Francisco this weekend (you know, you know I will), there will be a beautiful little jar with ramps, ginger, Tamari, and vinegar waiting for my return to this Brooklyn kitchen,

and the purple blooms of garlic chive flowers that I bought at Saturday’s market will have opened wider…

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