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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Last night was another magical Thursday summer salon at Fairy-Tale Farm in Santa Cruz,

and the crafts table was soon crowded with feather artists and those skilled in the ways of pink fur.

Margaret’s daughter Zsa Zsa (wearing a pink dress that matched her zebra jacket) showed us her flower clip creation,

and I noticed the wonderful sticker affixed to the front of the rickshaw that is a new addition to Fairy-Tale Farm (what a great Santa Cruz organization name).

And then, as the Old Spice Man, who owned the Internet this Wednesday, might say, I’m on a rickshaw.

And then my friend Mike was on the Fairy-Tale Farm rickshaw (and later, so was the open source coder, angling her guitar to play from the cart).

The farm market continues to be part of the salons, and I was happy to have fresh strawberries and butter lettuce,

as well as Aslan’s wild nettle pesto and raw goat’s milk cheese with herbes de Provence and lavender. I always trust people with fantastic millinery and retro apron skirts, and Aslan also makes olallieberry mead, so I hope her lovely wares will be at the farm market again.

Hosts Debora and Karsten made great rice with pine nuts and almonds along with vegetables and the plum pie was warm,

drawing all of us toward the table near a large basket of plums.

Later, another plum pie, this one with a lattice crust, emerged from the farm kitchen and I cut a slice of that one, catching up with Margaret and Mike on all the Bastille Day antics in town.

Throughout, Madeline revealed herself to be the Chicken Whisperer, holding one, and then another, the new white, and two at once, persuading everyone to walk around with a chicken tucked under an arm.

Margaret pointed out grapes growing on a trellis near the roof, and I knew that Debora and Karsten would continue to surprise as organic curators of this weekly event and their space,

just as Margaret’s son Roman would continue to surprise with his joy at new toys and accessories.

Back in my kitchen, I took my collected treasures from the farm and made a fairy tale of a salad,

breaking the soft lettuce into smaller pieces, tossing the leaves with a little of Sciabica’s olive oil Kassandra thoughtfully brought me from the Embarcadero market last weekend, cutting in strawberries and crumbling in the herbed chèvre,

using the rest of the strawberries this morning on hot biscuits (Mica, this picture is to remedy the regrettable lack of biscuit documentation in the last post),

Both times, while eating the strawberries, I closed my eyes like the crafters last night and reveled in summer…

Related posts:

1. bargaining for potatoes
2. a summer salon at fairy-tale farm
3. artichokes, breaded and trimmed

Just inside the gate at Fairy-Tale Farm last night, the first summertime salon was commencing,

with beautiful glass jewelry and buttons,

treats and a bright, slightly herbal punch,

and jams and produce for the urban farm market part of the event—all in keeping with the organizers’ wishes: “Our intention is to grow a farmer’s market for the DIY community who doesn’t make enough to sell at the Farmer’s Market.”

Karsten showed my wonderful friend Margaret and me the rest of Fairy-Tale Farm,

and as we were about to venture beyond the fruit trees and the hives,

Karsten’s lovely wife Debbie, wearing a dress I covet, serenaded us and asked that he let the chickens out,

and so Karsten did, explaining about the laying cycles of late in this coop, fronted with a repurposed circus board,

as the ladies went scurrying into the yard,

and gently, he lifted one who likes to stay in the coop out.

There were a few new beautiful blue eggs,

and more of the farm to see—some new things growing where tables for underground dinners used to be set up,

and you will find you are surrounded by circles, the most special being the circular area in the center of the garden, just large enough for one table (what you can’t see in the photo are the girls sitting in that circle, perhaps holding forth in their own club, surrounded by string runners for peas and tall, swaying plants).

Heading back to the salon behind these two noted open source software advocates, I noticed the table set up for collage work with seats of orange pillows on hay,

and smiled at these two in the foreground, clearly intrigued by something (capturing a chicken?) off to the right as the food table busied,

laden with cauliflower of a Madhur Jaffrey recipe to go with basmati rice,

near pan bread with lemon cheese and apricot chutney, two sizes of biscuits, butter, and jam.

Margaret and I agreed that the biscuits were made with a great starter (Margaret has expertise on biscuits and the deep level of commitment it takes to start and build communities, the same way bread requires proofing),

and the maker of the excellent jams encouraged sampling,

as someone left, smiling, with his arms full of basil,

and the grower of the basil, her hands full of sweet peas,

let me try one of her alpine strawberries (these are also known as fraises des bois and they are magic).

Margaret and I found a little bench tucked away behind the collage table to catch up from our travels,

and as we left this wonderful place full of the sort of people that make Santa Cruz exactly where I want to be this summer, a maker of pastel marshmallows appeared,

reminding me of the colored marshmallows at the markets in Nice last week (more on those adventures tomorrow) and of how makers and markets all over love to share why they make what they make…

Update: July 2, 2010: Karsten posted on the urban market, explaining the concept and detailing the makers and musicians who came with clear passion. He also said some really nice things about this post (thanks, Karsten!) For more on Fairy-Tale Farm, follow their site.

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2. bargaining for potatoes
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On our way to Belfast, Maine for brunch at Chase’s Daily, we stopped at Keryn’s friend Ladleah’s house, and she showed us how her gardens are beginning.

Ladleah has that certain sense of when to plant, the farmer’s way of intuiting the season ahead for her own gardens and those at Salt Water Farm, and she introduced me to her chickens that lay beautiful eggs, as I was to discover at dinner that night.

With a stop at Keryn and Mike’s house later that afternoon to pick up the rest of the wine for dinner (for that part, you bring your own), we headed over to the farm, following the sign,

and walking down to the greenhouse with quite the view,

we found Ladleah and gracious Chef Annemarie Ahearn picking sprouts with pink stems,

that they brought back to the open kitchen, where the table was set,

the chalkboard announced the night’s event,

and the menus detailed the courses ahead.

On a side table, spring onions, chickens, and custards were prepped, waiting, as the guests began to arrive.

Then the largest oysters I’ve ever seen, local Pemaquids, were opened, and Annemarie placed a classic Mignonette next to them.

The kitchen mirror highlighted the guests (Keryn always radiates, especially so here) as they talked, admired the food, sipped a special cocktail Ladleah concocted,

and pretended to reach casually (but really, very deliberately) for another lamb sausage.

As we took our seats, brushed bread was grilled for the first course,

a roasted bone marrow salad,

the marrow perfect as it melted, spread on the crispy bread.

Then, grits with greens, pork hock, and pecorino,

while Ladleah turned the lovely chickens,

that were served on big platters Annemarie explained as she placed on the table, and the room grew quiet as we happily served ourselves potatoes and parsnips, grilled spring onions that played against the chicken, aioli bright with yolks from Ladleah’s chickens, and famous local pickles from Morse’s Sauerkraut.

To finish, cups of custard (with more of those beautiful eggs from Ladleah’s ladies) drizzled with honey and a simple syrup of lavender arrived in jars.

No one wanted to leave this space helmed by two women strong in their vision for what a meal can be and what this special summer kitchen can become…

More on the Salt Water Farm Sunday Suppers and monthly Moon Suppers here; they share their current inspirations, experiments, and travel on their blog.

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2. the sparkle of the salt
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Reassured the weekend in the Berkshires wasn’t all a lovely dream, I scrambled a few eggs slowly and thought about how extraordinarily lucky I am that Emily’s father—who seems in the middle of all sorts of useful projects, like working on bringing Internet access to more of the town—found this blog, forwarded the url to Emily, who wrote me a kind and intriguing note about the life she has created with her family in Southfield, Massachusetts, inviting me to visit Barking Dog Farm (I’ll share their new site address soon).

In the large yard behind the house, flowers grow tall,

(I especially like these, that look to me like firefly orbs)

and wild arugula grows between beds of the vegetable garden with borage,

squash blossoms (I learned from a CSA farmer at dinner that the blooms attached to the squash are female)

tomatoes still green,

baby lettuces that made a soft salad,

blueberries that will darken,

and serious rhubarb plants.

On the other side of the yard, their two dozen happy chickens were roaming,

and I followed Emily and Jeremy back to their chicken house.

They have all different kinds of chickens,

that lay in a house with one wall panel from boxes of grapes they bought and pressed last year,

and then there’s Handsome the Rooster, who can be testy.

Fortunately, they have an impressive (and suitably intimidating) pitchfork to keep Handsome in line, that also happens to be useful for digging fingerling potatoes,

that were cooked and tossed with herbs and butter and joined by baby zucchini from the garden,

and then there was the best chard I’ve ever tasted (Jeremy explains below) and a fish stew with clams, mussels, and Red Striper. Jeremy is a chef and the owner of Fire Roasted Catering, so there was an intense and consistent level of really excellent cooking all weekend.

Emily began the plum tatin before dinner,

and unmolded it perfectly a bit later—

The night ended with tastings of dandelion wine and Jeremy’s tart hard cider and smooth apple brandy, and the next morning I woke up to find Emily making crumpets in her handmade Italian tins formed for that purpose:

And the crumpets were the base for eggs Benedict with a Prosecco hollandaise sauce—

this is how yellow hollandaise becomes with fresh eggs and yes, those are the orangest yolks I’ve seen.

There was a pressed cream spread Emily made topped with jam,

and then we were off to visit Blue Hill farm (this is the real one), where one of Jeremy’s brothers farms.

Thistle abounds,

and the farm goes on and on,

to mobile chicken coops (these are neat),

beautiful pigs of a heirloom breed that make you smile, near the cows (the goats were hiding),

all on a farm that truly looks like this.

We went for ice cream and cheese (at Rubiner’s) in the town of Great Barrington and walked through gardens with friends of theirs, and I really didn’t want to leave.

Emily and Jeremy sent me back to Brooklyn with bottles of Jeremy’s good cider, raw milk (you know how I consider this a necessity), and a dozen of those beautiful eggs.

The best part is that not only do I now consider them friends (they have a place to stay in Brooklyn), but I can support them in their new venture—a local butcher shop in Great Barrington.

In late August (the 22nd, to be exact), the two will host a fundraising dinner for the shop at their farm with a menu that includes, among other things, rooster ravioli, a rhubarb cocktail, and their own salami.

How nice to think we can, all of us, nurture small businesses into being; let me know in the comments or by email if you would like to go to the dinner too, and I’ll make sure you have all the details.

I imagine that, like me, you’ll find Southfield and the hosts charming and the area very difficult to leave…

Related posts:

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2. America Day II: Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through
3. the shore, the yolks, and the brightness

UM looks slightly different from the environs of the University of Virginia, especially at this time of year, and I found myself thinking how nice it must be to hold classes outside under trees and surrounded by flowers hidden under archways.

That night, my fabulous friend Jenne and I were ushered into Tap Tap in South Beach by a nice man in a grey hat, who turns out to be the owner of this vivacious Haitian restaurant (that’s 2/2 weekends meeting the restaurant owner if you’re keeping count) with bright paint on the walls, the tables, and the food.

We’ll return with Jess (she was dancing at talented local musician Rachel Goodrich‘s concert and then a performance that involved glow sticks) to explore the menu further; this time we liked the fried malanka, pork chunks, and their famous mojitos.

The next morning, I found a yellow canistel in the CSA farm box; the fruit splits when ripe and has the texture of a boiled egg yolk (it’s also called eggfruit)—and was hidden beneath lettuces, tomatoes, and zucchini. How strange and wonderful to open the box each week and find a fruit I’ve never heard of.

This morning, Jenne, Jess, and I explored the Pinecrest market that has just opened for the season; Redland Organics (they are part of the farm collective that make up the CSA farm boxes) displayed more canistel along with black sapote and starfruit.

And one of the enthused crowd from Redland explained how to use black sapote (making “chocolate pudding”) as I panned the small, but important farmers’ market:

Heirloom beans like these ‘rattlesnake pole’ beans are in season,

along with watermelon radishes,

and I want to scribe the cycles of the Miami market season with a pen whittled from a garlic chive—

Knobby carrots were shockingly orange,

fresh epazote (the herb that gives Mexican cuisine its distinctive flavor—there’s really no substitute) disappeared quickly,

and local plants glowed in the sun.

Spices and tea spread across nearby tables and drew shoppers toward one bowl, then another;

all the while, dozens of avocados were being mashed into guacamole.

From the market, Jess led the way to the Muffin Tin, where we started with toasted corn muffins and proceeded to make our way through half of today’s specials:

Then we walked under those new flowers around the magic cottage,

and we settled into making our baking pick for January: the scone. Jess explains:

After she brushed the cherry scone batter with an egg wash, we let the large scones brown in the oven,

to emerge moist and shiny, an excellent first attempt—and notes were taken while we analyzed the crumb, the crust, and the concept.

In between taste tests, we sampled local strawberries that need no alteration,

and as these two friends went off into their days, Jess called to say there was a spider web out in front of the cottage, waiting for me.

So many things ahead for all of us in 2009…here’s to your week—

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She smiled as we heard the sounds of things uncivilized approaching…

and an ATV trio rumbled past in their mudded glory.

We stopped for local fruit on the side of the road (more on that when it ripens),

and continued on to Bee Heaven Farm in Homestead where Jenne gracefully shook the avocados.

We tested the farm’s raw honey (wildflower was my favorite), I procured fresh bee pollen that will keep well in the freezer, and on we drove to the Homestead flea market produce area.

Two girls were taking pony rides together, and shortly, saddled with bags of local vegetables, we two drove back to the magic cottage to toast our adventure into the Miami afternoon…

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In recognition of Captain America’s return to Charlottesville, we deemed this past Saturday America Day II: Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through.

Like last year’s first America Day, we determined to spend the day doing very American things; this time, relating to music.

(Follow the rest of the adventure after the jump–)

Keicy, Jordan, Dana, and I began the day with a visit to Dave Matthews’ farm, Best of What’s Around, for fresh eggs and a lesson about chickens from Matthew and Suzanne Holt.

As the rest of the hipster musicians dragged product through their hair and arrived at America Day HQ, we took a few band pictures on a bridge (no troubled water in sight) and headed off to a small town. (Ben’s parents live in this same small town.)

Delighted, Nina and Laura discovered a bike a fan had left for them in downtown Waynesboro.

Then we all looked for (caffeination and) non-obvious books about music at Stone Soup Books;

Jordan chose Oliver Sacks’ Musicophilia, I chose Puff the Magic Dragon, Laura found a book with scores and woodcuts titled My Pious Friends and Drunken Companions, and Jeremy located a Johnny Cash biography by his wife.

We detoured to Ben’s grandmother’s house to visit and she graciously pressed homemade sweet potato pie on us, fueling our journey to Wright’s Dairy-Rite in historic Staunton.

Nina, owner of alternative label of Hoss Records, evaluated our options on the jukebox before seemingly everyone in the diner surprised me with a chorus of “Happy Birthday.”

Riding milkshake sugar highs, we followed a slightly akimbo Statue of Liberty pointing us back to Charlottesville for American Idol karaoke (after Laura accompanied Dana on the guitar piñata),

And in fantastic leggings, Steph crawled the VIP booth at Escafe and directed us to a party at Kiki Bar’s closing night.

A few hours later, the shimmering continued as we toasted Easter with wild hibiscus flowers opening in flutes of cava,

biscuits with butter and jam, carrot cake, croissant pudding, rainbow chard, roasted lamb, potatoes, aioli, iberico ham,

and eggshells dusted with gold and silver that, peeled back, yielded solid chocolate fillings.

With gold dust on our fingers, and locals in the know, we shall have music this year wher’er we go…

For more pictures, see Laura’s Flickr set, my Flickr set, and see the video in HD on Vimeo.

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3. lobster roll quandary and lemon meringue