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…

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and nearby were two curiosities: refreshing Mexican Sour Gherkins—a type of heirloom cucumber that sours later, but these have a sweet pop to them now,

and for something slightly different, corn shoots sprouted from popcorn kernels at Windfall Farms have a lingering sweetness at the end, the better to begin this Wednesday morning…

Now I’ll need to devise ways to incorporate both in summer menus—

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Panzanella, the cheerful name for an Italian leftover bread salad, sounds like the deliberate toss of ingredients at the height of summer, and with this year’s tomato blight, the dish is especially dear.

I tore the bread in pieces, cut an equal amount of very ripe tomato in similar sizes, minced a tablespoon of shallot, salted liberally (this draws the juice from the tomato) and left the flavors to marry in a bowl for half an hour. With a brisk stir, I added in the crumbled bacon and scissored baby leek on top, squeezing in a little lemon.

The transformed bread pillows taste of tomato and rounded shallot, pair well with an icy glass of Sancerre, and make for a meal that quietly rejoices in these flavors. (If you find a lemon cucumber at market, that’s a lovely addition.)

On Saturday, Evolutionary Organics at the Prospect Park Farmers’ Market had a table full of tomatoes in darker hues,

and another stand featured green gauge plums,

still another speckled squash,

and just outside the market, the Treats Truck (@thetreatstruck on Twitter) held wonderful Mexican chocolate brownies—this is a truck to seek out—that preceded a sweeter wafel with spekuloos,

as I explained to the Waffle Truck that the flowers in my market bag were for my talented work colleague Fil,

who was Golden Girl Dorothy that night in the Brooklyn Columbia Waterfront district. Here’s the first part of the pilot episode (the rest of the performance starts here):

And that preceded Calexico’s pork belly torta (waving is my boss Andrew, who is eating with his wife Jenni and baby Emilia, who was an excellent audience member and as in awe of Fil as we were)

and a Sunday of adventures that included dim sum, gastropods I couldn’t identify, a bit of drama at the Tenement Museum, long stretches of walking with a wonderful conversationalist, applied knowledge of appliances, and salted caramel ice cream in Fort Greene…

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And so, yesterday in the rain, I had sunny squash in a pasta that’s friendly to additions—while farfalle cooked (the shape matches all those bow ties at summer weddings), I sautéed sliced squash (2 baby squash per person) over medium-high heat until blistered, then halved and added the cherry tomatoes still left (a handful), taking the pan off the heat.

Stir the al dente pasta into the mix, add pesto if you like (1 cup packed basil leaves, 1/3 cup pine nuts, 1/3 cup Parmesan, 1 clove garlic in a food processor, drizzling in 4 tablespoons of olive oil), and sneak in flaked tuna in olive oil to up the umami, if you like (I do).

The tomatoes will burst like water balloons in your mouth, and the pasta holds nicely into the afternoon should the clouds be swept away and a neighborhood block party beckon…

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Catching up on her recent travels (she journeys to places like Bangkok and Taipei), we spent a long time talking about the state of translation online, and this was after I was able to turn a tricky ingredient into something palatable.

Solana bravely tried the sautéed baby chanterelles and decided she does, sometimes, like mushrooms. We also stirred in baby leeks more slender than scallions (that have a flavor less sweet than ramps and closer to lemon) and corn browned in the pan along with a bit of butter and Parmesan.

As favorite dinner guests do, she soaped the dishes while we let chopped rhubarb simmer with sugar and I whipped cream to dollop on top. Solana told me we had made red porridge, inadvertently borrowing from her Danish culinary traditions, but it all seemed to make sense in this new kitchen where I am making new traditions…

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gazed at sprays of elderberry flowers,

admired the graceful lines of whole heads of baby lettuce,

the excessive curlicues on a sign for beautiful cheese,

the bright lilies opening on another table,

near rainbow beet reminders of the double rainbows Brooklyn has glimpsed lately,

and tart currants that I will embrace another time—too tart for the sweetness of a holiday weekend ahead…

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Fresh from a walk through a rollicking street fair in Carroll Gardens where the entire band accompanied the drummer on air bongos (this is what you might call the “Rock Band Effect”),

we walked through the DUMBO Farmers’ Market toward the Flea,

which is, as advertised, held under the Brooklyn Bridge.

and met up with my friend Eudie from high school, who I ran into the other day in Park Slope.

It’s so nice to meet up with people years later and discover they are even more fabulous now than they were then.

As the lobster roll line snaked around most of the vendor stalls (next time!), we opted to try raw chocolate ice cream on dry ice (you can choose between cashew and coconut bases) and wander the flea.

Before leaving, we found sparkly slippers to keep easing on down the road (that Laura and I began Saturday night at a midnight showing of “The Wiz” at BAM punctuated with wild applause for MJ as the sweet Scarecrow)…

And before that screening, I admired the emerald trees as I walked through Prospect Park to the Farmers’ Market at Grand Army Plaza on Saturday morning,

charmed by the flowering lemon thyme

and sage.

Heading out with my friend Matt (a fellow member of the Park Slope Food Coop), we admired the glass seltzer bottles in Ronny’s Seltzer truck (a Brooklyn delivery tradition),

before hopping the ferry to Governors Island to see the PLOT09 art exhibition,

where everyone seemed pulled toward giant chimes,

that we could still hear faintly as we opened apple chips from the market and sipped strawberry cider (actually very good) along with “Womanchego” cheese.

I looked up at the trees,

and listened to the sounds of families playing games, this little girl toying with a bike.

Old-fashioned music awaited near a reception for the PLOT09 opening,

and children were similarly smiling and happy on a beautiful wooden play structure (I like the exposed dowel ends below) and the nearby miniature golf course on another part of the island.

My favorite piece in the show was Edgar Arceneaux’s installation (Edgar is one of the Knight Pulse/GOOD L.A. Community Leaders tapped a few months back) of a machine that transmitted eerie sounds at low frequencies from a closet in one of the old houses with flaking drywall that ring the island.

For many years, Edgar has been working on the Watts House Project (“a collaborative artwork in the shape of neighborhood redevelopment”), and so it was especially appropriate for him to suggest disquiet in such a way that could be reversed, or at least removed at the end of the exhibit.

Is it the sounds without and within that bring comfort in a house, that ease the mind? I listen to my new Brooklyn neighbors laughing, steel drums, and the thum-thum of the train as I fall asleep lately…

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And clear orb-like containers protect the small cakes as you bring them with you into whatever weather outside (here, Alice and Jess smile at the cupcake box that did almost glow as we carried it back to the Games for Change conference).

When the drizzle disappeared, the sun shone on produce at the Union Square and Prospect Park farmers’ markets Saturday morning,

on foraged ramps,

the ends of rhubarb,

tulips, dahlias, hydrangeas,

and edible purple in garlic chive flowers (my favorite) and radishes,

while bundled asparagus stood near a merry band of musicians,

where my friend Eric met me, and then we walked Park Slope, finding another festival called Local Produce that included a rather tall individual and hula hoops,

before heading over to Red Hook for a pickle party.

I met my new friend Colin (he’s lovely), who keeps chickens in his backyard near the lettuces of his garden,

a choice I think Eric should imitate when he moves to Philadelphia (and, ultimately, the Philadelphia suburbs).

Partnering with Eric’s friend Zed (yes, that’s his real name), we created a traditional Chicago dog base to showcase the homemade pickles,

as Korean barbecue production began outside—I thought the marinade was perfect, though it is, apparently, still being tweaked:

Much later, squid caught by a late arrival to the party cooked in a cumin marinade and was scissored, all of us pulling it apart in the light of a headlamp (as though spelunking new grilling territory),

and then Eric and Zed directed our path toward Williamsburg, where we discovered the Green Balloon Experiment,

and less cryptically, equally artistically, the next morning, I discovered the incredible detail work at beautiful old houses in Prospect Lefferts Gardens (PLG), a historic area of Brooklyn, on their neighborhood tour with proud owners describing restoration processes and their pride in these streets of brownstones, and limestones,

and so many roses…

More images from the trip in the Flickr set.

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Two weeks without my CSA farm box (today’s box is heavy on the squash), and I was ready for Florida citrus, beans and tomatoes in season, and chard.

Go early enough and you’ll see the light play off the vegetables,

find orchids in conversation,

and fractal cauliflower and their leaves that my favorite farmer is anxious for locals to cook like collards.

He helped me set up a shot with the chard, cauliflower greens, purple haze carrots, purple spring onions, and beets that spilled out of my market bag (and sent me off with an extra tomato for good measure),

and I ran into my colleague Marika with her twins (one who has mastered Downward Dog, it seems) as I left the market headed for yoga and an afternoon of positioning local vegetables…

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The narrator’s words in Mrs. Dalloway (“How fresh like frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays the roses looked,”) fit perfectly at the Pinecrest market this weekend—my friend Jessica turned to these frilled orchids and grabbed my arm.

Nearby, these alluring orchids looked as if sultry insects had tracked across the petals.

Succulents of all sizes waited in wicker baskets,

beans were in their purplish glory,

new vocabulary was introduced,

and Jessica and her father (they let me tag along to their family breakfast at the Muffin Tin earlier) considered the many pasta flavors.

The Lettuce Farm from Homestead, Florida unmasked me as a blogger to a fellow shopper (their lettuce is excellent),

and Redland Organics impressed me further with the sign detailing food miles for everything on their tables.

First week of the heirloom tomatoes,

and I hope more will be in my CSA box soon (Redland Organics also runs the CSA):

Not with linen, nor with frills, wicker trays held tart carambola, the starry fruit that grows on trees here…

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As bizarre as it is to be in the prime of a growing season while the rest of the country’s green slumbers under snow, I find the lettuces in the CSA box and at market help me adjust to the subtle seasonal markers here in Miami. The dried heirloom tomato chips from Redland Organics help too (this is what I imagine Sun Chips literally taste like),

and springy leaves with roasted chioggia slices connect the Wonka to the food wonk.

The beets are from a wonderful vendor at the Coral Gables Farmers’ Market who insisted I try everything (I bought most of it—beets, three kinds of radishes, something akin to bok choy with a bite) at the opening day of that market, where I arrived to hear the tail end of a cooking demonstration on why to temper:

The palmiers will be tested for crunch next time;

the fleeting honeybell season gives these citrus priority.

I learned about pumellos and the ripe colors of delicate starfruit varieties,

and smiled at a small girl eying the vendors as I did, willing them to prove their commitment to truly local food.

The market finds piled atop the CSA box full of more greens, tomatoes, and starfruit this week:

And visiting Redland Organics at Sunday’s Pinecrest market, I found gandules (pidgeon peas), part of Puerto Rico’s national dish, “Arroz con Gandules.” It is a dish for celebrations, I have discovered, and this is a week for celebrating—

What’s your favorite salad? Anyone need a little citrus sent their way from this warm clime?

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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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It was too difficult to choose between the tomatoes

that stretched out in breathtaking rows at Waterpenny Farms and Radical Roots.

I reluctantly left this place of thoughtful people and food, and drove to the District, where I came upon a group of women drumming.

Very inspired by these drummers, I thought about my friend Amanda’s recent post pondering the possibilities for the future of art communities in this area.

For a late lunch, I think there’s quite a bit of artistry in the food here, beginning with a perfectly spiced chili that tops “half-smokes” and hot dogs at Ben’s Chili Bowl on U street.

An unexpected hit of spice and the very finely diced onions recommend a vanilla milkshake,

which paled in comparison, though, to a later concoction with a tender crumb emerging from my friend Laura’s kitchen–a cake glazed with white chocolate that she decorated artfully:

The cake joined an incredible variety of dishes brought by the eleven dinner party guests who arrived at our friend Kevin’s house, including insalata caprese, homemade spring rolls, and fig bruschetta.

Remember when Rachel explained on July 4th how the fig trees behind her house wouldn’t ripen? Now they have (and make lovely bruschetta toppings):

Then, the eternal question: cake or pie?

Fueled by both, Laura and I made our way (via a bar that played exclusively Madonna tracks while we were there) to an art gallery in a hidden alley with skate ramps inside and outside, to see our friend Chris Bishop‘s new art and celebrate his birthday.

My friends Cameron, Morgan, and Nina were worth a rather interesting exploration of the area to find the gallery space itself,

and the dashing Cameron took this picture of Laura, Morgan, Nina (with a rad unicorn necklace), and me as we sat and caught up as the skaters whizzed by behind us.

Perhaps, like the figs Rachel resourcefully ripened, it is only a matter of time until the many pockets of underground art buzzing around the District come to fruition…

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