On Saturday morning, red leaves of Park Slope streets filtered the sun,

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.

Easter weekend cooking began with Thursday night linguine, an alfredo sauce that gave a sheen to peppery smoked Maine salmon my friend Keryn brought when she visited, peas, pearl onions, and a grating of nutmeg,

and on Friday, sun filled the patio of Song Thai, where Kevin, Nika, Liza and I toasted to spring holidays (to be clear, Nika was celebrating with pineapple juice) with a daunting amount of lunch specials,

and all the neighborhood trees opened into full bloom as the church bells rang through the weekend,

carrying me toward the farmers’ market on Saturday morning in Grand Army Plaza,

where I found chicharrones from Flying Pigs Farm,

shiny on the inside,

and that secret wild emblem of spring, ramps, that I sautéed into orzo with flowering kale and a poached egg for brunch with LJ and Solana.

On Sunday, Daryn and Marcy opened the garden and created a wonderful Easter table as we sat in the afternoon sun (my delightful new friend Sam took this and the next image),

and we only rose from the table to take calls from our families on the green grass (I’m wearing a vintage dress with lilies from around World War II thrifted at the Brooklyn Flea)

Marcy (who has a lovely food blog) made biscuits to be spread with local fruit preserves,

and a garden frittata filled with greens along with asparagus, “peanut” potatoes from Union Square Greenmarket, and roast lamb studded with garlic.

As since it was a perfect Easter brunch, we experimented with dyes on eggs, of course, creating purple from red and blue,

and instigating a Peeps War,

but these two were lovers, not fighters, and wouldn’t impale the other with their matchstick swords.

Solana created an especially religious egg,

and smiled at the places Sunday adventures have taken us,

and I had to leave to create chilled pea soup (recipe) topped with guanciale, garlic cream, and a chicharrone in my kitchen,

followed by roast lamb on a risotto with ramps and carrots.

This morning, with the sunrise, I stacked latkes under ramp greens and eggshells filled with scrambled eggs and glowing salmon roe, thinking about baskets and the sweetness of warmer weather, and how we cannot possibly contain the possibilities of spring…

The lovely calla lilies Solana brought the other night glowed yesterday morning as the sun appeared.

The folds in the lilies curved and swooped as I spun the vase on the table,

just as I spun the bowl of white beans last night that I simmered with the rest of the diced tomatoes from the sugo I made on Monday, some chopped lacinato kale, garlic, diced sausage, and Parmesan.

One glorious winter a few years ago, my then-roommate Ben elevated our humble crockpot to a position of honor by creating soup after soup that we would eat throughout a given week.

I miss him, his careful attention to that parade of soups, and that crockpot; this simple soup (still full of flavor without the sausage and Parmesan, in a vegan iteration) reminds me of the many different kinds and colors of good things swirling around me in New York…

Before this week, I didn’t know my friend Margaret was not only a talented academic researcher in poetics, but also a poet. A real one, who can make words work in ways that made a small, interested group in the basement of Unnameable Books smile and clap in true appreciation on Tuesday night.

I convinced Margaret and her friend Joel, who teaches photography at the University of Buffalo, to stay a few extra days, and when the opera was sold out last night, we decided to have a celebratory dinner at my apartment instead. (I will link to pictures of these two lovely people later as those live on other cameras and in other places.)

We began with Long Island Blue Point oysters,

and I worked on my shucking skills to contain all the oyster liquor,

Then: crispy blinis with smoked salmon, local crème fraîche, and salmon roe while cooking leisurely and talking about students, motivation, and art.

I am extraordinarily lucky to know Galen Zamarra, Executive Chef of Mas (farmhouse) in Manhattan, and asked him how to cook fresh slices of foie gras. His answer (was perfect, of course):

in the pan you sear the foie in, fry thinly sliced shallots in fat until crispy. set them aside. then brown some poached pear…deglaze the pear with aged sherry vinegar. Make a sort of vinaigrette w/ foie fat, pear jus and vinegar to dress mache + shallots…make sure the dressing is cooled before you put it on salad or it will wilt.

Frisée was the best choice for underneath, as I was unable to find mache; I’m proud of this dish, and grateful to Chef Galen for the advice.

Then, I seared flank steak (it looked better than the skirt steak) and stirred wilted escarole with garlic into nutty kernels of farro,

and the earthiness of this dish (simplified from this month’s F&W recipe) helped ground us as we prepped for a party invite that had arrived, like the morning snow, as a gift that afternoon.

Rosie and Faris are really delightful and as much fun as Margaret and Joel, so it was good to be all in the same place as we counted down the seconds. I hope to spend more time in 2010 with all four of them.

The other gift of the day was this dress I happened upon in a store a few blocks away; I do think sequins are appropriate for ringing in a decade,

with blue vintage earrings for a blue moon under my vintage hat from the Brooklyn Flea.

Spending today quietly, I’ve been looking at the beautiful tulips Margaret and Joel brought with them along with their creative energy,

and even in its newness, I can feel how important the year ahead will be for all of us…

As part of the faculty for the PopTech Social Innovation Fellows program (they are an incredible group) that is brought together before the PopTech conference, I am staying a little above Camden, Maine, near Lincolnville Beach.

In the morning, it is quiet around our wooded cabins and quiet on the beach.

Yesterday I drove to the Camden Farmers’ Market, noticing the paint wearing away on the road, and smiling as I approached the murmur that always accompanies local food vendors setting up;

next week marks the penultimate market for the season, and wonderful local goods were on offer—I almost hugged this seller for obvious reasons (I am a calcium fiend), and the milk itself is the yellowish color and thickness of fresh cream.

My friend and colleague Keryn arrived and introduced me to the smell of Sweet Jenny,

and in her wonderfully energetic way, began to talk warmly about the dedicated sellers and local festivals—all reasons I’d like to be in Camden more often.

At Peacemeal Farm, I bought tiny brussel sprouts and listened while locals

debated which type of potato was the right choice for specific fish,

near jugs of cider,

papery bouquets,

and tables selling vegetables and wool.

Impossible to pick one of the many colored scarves,

soon dancing began, the music competing with a wandering flutist.

I was more interested in the charcuterie, considering this soppressata and deciding to try the salami with orange peel,

as reaching into the cooler with the beautiful bacon, after making the seller laugh that I had eaten a pig ear sandwich once (he was selling them to feed to dogs).

On the way out, there were baskets perfect for filling with market produce,

and dried arrangements with milkweed,

hard squash and soft pumpkins,

and lovely mushrooms still joined in the large mass they grow in on trees.

Out of the pastries at Atlantic Baking Company,

I picked a swirl that held apples and spices in its crispy layers, and spreading it with local raw butter,

sipping that beautiful raw milk, I headed back to sit and listen to the waves…