Using a ratio of 1:1:1 of flour to whole milk to egg, I whisked an egg (with a dash of vanilla) into a cup of milk then both into a cup of flour, adding a little salt, then poured the mixture into a buttered saucier, sprinkled with berries, and placed in the oven for about an hour at 350 degrees (begin a little warmer and then take the temperature down to 350 ten minutes in). Serve warm.

On this festival day, have your colors—purple (berries), gold (crunchy, buttered crust), and green (snip chives on top when cooling, along with a little goat cheese), to celebrate this last day before a more austere diet for the rest of the season—well, something like that…

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My good friend Solana was in Brooklyn for a few days between her travels from Puerto Rico and to Berlin, so I made a salad of mache, chevre, and blood orange to start, cassoulet to follow, and we cut a Galette du Rois at a dinner to introduce friends.

We were too engrossed in the cassoulet and the cutting of the cake for me to take proper pictures of Solana, Daryn, Eva, and Dean, but they were as charming as the laughter that filled the apartment, and you will see all of them here, I hope, many times this year.

A few hours after Solana and I finished washing the dishes (and she left to ready for her flight), my friend Laura arrived as part of a surprise weekend to celebrate Nina’s birthday. Cassoulet only improves the next day, so we scrambled eggs on top and then she was on her way into the city as Nina and Tim boarded a train in D.C. headed toward New York—

That night, all four of us went the Underground Food Collective (UFC) dinner held in the Sweet Deliverance kitchen, following a handwritten sign instructing us to climb the stairs,

to a bright room where cava and concord grape juice were waiting, along with the full complement of UFC cooks and guests that began to pile their coats near the doors.

Cured pork livers with kumquat preserves are always a good way to start (the kumquats were marvelous here, cutting the richness without being too sweet).

Nina opened the menu,

and Nina, Laura, Tim, and I watched the prep for the first courses begin.

We snuck crisp sweet potato chips from a counter,

watched as the plates were garnished,

tasted the lemon in the rillettes,

that we spread on bread and topped with black radishes, mushrooms, and homemade pickles.

Duck tartare was next, in lettuce leaves that matched the ruby meat,

then sprouts with pork in a “spicy brown” salad with head cheese (so delicious!) alongside those sweet potato chips.

The plates landed on tables in quick succession,

beets and citrus with pistachios and an avocado dressing beginning the second series of plates.

After beets, a beautiful smoked ricotta appeared as the centerpoint of a salad with pears and a raw salad of salsify and sunchokes:

And the different kinds of vegetables proved the point of this dinner from a dedicated group of cooks, artisans, and troublemakers from Madison, Wisconsin—that inspired cooking with a diversity of preparation is possible, even at this time of year. (“We’re from Madison, Wisconsin,” they told us; “we know something about winter.”)

This is the ham they’ve been curing for two years, topped with diced Pleasant Ridge Reserve cheese—from Wisconsin, of course, as the woman who arrived with our plate told us with obvious pride.

The pork pot pies we had watched being etched with pigs on the crust followed,

filled with potatoes and carrots under the buttery crust.

The pot pie was matched with a beer “from our friend Larry,” we learned, glancing over to see the natural camaraderie that marks the style of cooking and serving at UFC events.

Snug Haven spinach was dressed, making us smile too, (Garin, at left, greeted me earlier in the evening, saying, “the last time I saw you, you were dressed as a strawberry.”)

and the strong flavor of the spinach stood up to the creamy dressing and closed the third series of plates.

Jonny came by to check in on our table (Tim, seated at left, and Shamus, seated at right are former members of the Collective);

then, the Collective introduced themselves (this is just an excerpt) to sincere applause.

Shamus congratulated other Collective members as they passed by our table,

and we almost couldn’t finish the Meyer lemon cake,

smiling and sipping tea with lemon verbena and rosebuds. The tables stayed seated, laughing, and talking, everyone reluctant to leave the space.

Wherever the Collective cooks next, I’m planning to attend.

The next morning, Laura and Nina examined the wonder that is Bark‘s grits with an egg fried on the outside,

before we headed to the Grand Army Plaza greenmarket, deciding on a brunch menu for the following day, and helping Tim collect some additional supplies (greens, mushrooms) for the UFC’s Sunday dinner.

A lazy Saturday, we walked to the Brooklyn Flea, vintage shops on Brooklyn’s 5th Avenue (Odd Twin is my favorite), the Barn for a drink, and Franny’s for dinner; later we headed into Manhattan for adventures that impaired our ability to wake early the next day to prepare our own abbreviated collection of plates.

Tim’s mad knife skills carried the morning as he deftly peeled parsnips and chopped herbs (the UFC membership was evident), and Laura assembled a banana cake with walnuts that was cooling as my friend Josh arrived with homemade pickles (those are juniper berries).

Winnie (pictured here), Matt, and Joyce rang the doorbell next, then friends of Nina’s, then my friend Dean, and we all circled the table in the kitchen,

for cake, croissant pudding, roasted baby potatoes, parsnips, butternut squash, and brussels sprouts with Tomme Fleur Verte, Evolutionary Organics greens that Laura tossed thin slices of Braeburn apple and baby fennel into, and warm biscuits with homemade butter, to go with a Bloody Mary base we made with fresh horseradish and cava mixed with a mystery syrup Winnie brought (she is mysterious).

In the afternoon, suitcases were packed, and everyone headed out into the rainy Sunday except Winnie and Dean, who stayed to talk of the future of online content about food.

As I cleared the table, I kept the beautiful honey Nina brought from D.C. (from a friend who “runs with beekeepers”) in the center.

Honey, I have learned, lasts forever, which is about as long as I would like to have the people who stayed in my apartment this weekend as my close friends.

Happy, happy birthday, Nina. I’m so glad we could all celebrate it with you—

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2. a saturday brunch
3. sweet beets and food of record

Imagining orange and purple cauliflower I found at Union Square Greenmarket swirling in a soup, I then found crosnes—small, white tubers from the mint family—that resemble tiny Michelin men. Sneaking one at the stand, I decided these were the crisp surprise topping for a salad.

Before the sun rose on Thursday, with one oven to work with, I prepped dishes on the stove while rotating pans in an out of the oven.

Grateful to an oven that hummed away at a consistent temperature, my proudest moment came stirring homemade buttermilk and homemade butter into smashed Adirondack potatoes from Evolutionary Organics, their blue and dark pink skins tingeing the bowl.

With the kitchen smelling of spices, I set the table, placing vintage glasses around the kale centerpiece from the Prospect Park market and carefully lining up my great-great grandmother’s silver.

The amazing Solana arrived to apply her ninja skills to peeling carrots and final prep, then Jessica brought her incredible energy and her boyfriend Matthew (he’s lovely) into the apartment, and a little later, Jenne carried fabulous in with a chocolate mousse cake and killer bangs.

(I should also mention that Solana has a gift for texting—see our text exchange that morning below.)

Solana: I’m going to dress like a pilgrim today. Or an Indian.

me: AWESOME.

S: That means you have to dress like a turkey because there are no other characters left.

me: I promise to wear feathers.

S: Ooh feathers.

Solana did indeed rock Pilgrimesque style, competing with the quince on the table for Most Traditional Dress.

Toasting with cava, we started in the kitchen with silver lusterware bowls; Jessica bravely poured orange at the same time I poured purple, and filling the bowls from both sides, we used the oven thermometer as a wand to swirl the recipient’s initials into each vessel of cauliflower (next year, crunch from croutons of some sort will return).

Next, all of the salad in a large white bowl made me happy as I set it on the table—those tiny lettuces and radishes from my expedition to Rooftop Farms mixed with Patches of Star’s goat cheese (she sells at Union Square Greenmarket) and the strange and wonderful crosnes.

One of the nicest parts of Thanksgiving with friends is the casual way you can set out the many bowls and pans of carrots with a pesto of their tops, smashed potatoes, mustardy peas and pearl onions, and roasted brussel sprouts and fennel.

We all agreed that Matthew did an admirable carving of the DiPaolo turkey (I highly recommend them—they are a fixture at the Prospect Park Farmers’ Market on Saturdays), but the real focus was Thomas Keller’s leek bread pudding (I subbed a fennel-parmesan loaf from Brooklyn Larder in for brioche).

And we went back for second plates,

and I felt grateful for these friends to celebrate with as the afternoon light filtered in.

Laughing, we put an embarrassment of rich desserts on the den floor and opened more red wine (everyone pictured here has excellent taste in wine—Matthew’s “Carpe Diem” was my favorite label),

Jenne’s chocolate mousse cake, Jessica and Matthew’s pecan pie, pumpkin bread in the center with Patches of Star goat yogurt, chocolate squares with pistachios and prunes, and croissant pudding made for lazy conversation as we sat in a circle and talked and ate and talked.

Yesterday afternoon, I made a tall sandwich with the leftovers that keep on giving,

and the fennel-parmesan bread slices spread with chicken liver pâté on one side and carrot top pesto on the other, with turkey, skin, cranberry sauce, and roasted fennel between stood as a reminder of how very fortunate I am to have these friends in my life, these ingredients where I live, and small remaining portions of each dish still in the refrigerator…

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Soon, slender purple kale stems slicked with olive oil rested on top of strands laced with minced raw garlic from purplish paper shells, roasted cauliflower, and Italian tuna packed in oil from an oblong tin, a treasure from the cupboard.

This particular purple kick can be traced to a fish taco on Saturday at the Brooklyn Flea, where purple cabbage was a vehicle for tomatillo and crema sauces—I consider the fish taco my lucky flea market charm that led to a handmade vintage dress in a piscine pattern (I’ll point it out in a future post).

Heading into Manhattan, I watched as words floated in the rain as this artist set up mobiles in Union Square, the adjectives attaching themselves fleetingly to tourists as they ducked past, and I walked into the wholly wonderful new film about fantastic foxes that felt as vintage as that dress.

On Sunday, I stepped past Sweetgums in their frantic final burst of color,

marveling at the difference a side makes (I tend to like the B side of leaves),

and the fruit that I have never understood.

In DUMBO in Brooklyn, still suffering from lobster withdrawal from my stay in Maine, I yielded to lobster grits at the Red Hook Lobster Pound stand.

And looking at this order much like the red and yellow sides of leaves, I saved the lobster pieces for last, eating the golden grits around them bound with butter and Parmesan.

Now I sit and mull the Thanksgiving menu for next week here in Brooklyn, sorting complementary colors for the full spectrum of food cravings I expect to arrive for a holiday focused on food, the family we inherit, and the family we choose…

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And so began five food-filled days in Southern California as I relaxed into the sound of the ocean you can hear softly from Laura’s apartment. We both look for food preparations to adapt to a home kitchen, and this Turkish squash had a beautiful savory hit of rosemary and crunch of salt.

We headed from our early lunch into the AFI DigiFest in Los Angeles to see public and private media collaborate on mobile applications, low-budget production, and short content. And later that night, I presented to the estimable Dr. Ben Bateman’s class at Cal State LA on online identity, representation, and asymmetry.

The next day, Laura and I walked the Venice boardwalk, watching the skaters and those aspiring to be skaters,

spying someone who might be part of the nearby Cirque show practicing on the rings,

on our way to tapas and the shops of Santa Monica. With very different orders at Bar Pintxo, I ordered classic wrapped dates, pine nuts in wilted spinach, and crab ringed in salmon and roe,

while Laura started with a pumpkin-apple soup,

and then a tossed Niçoise salad (that we’ll both recreate, as I find composed salads tedious and this clever version piqued my interest).

On the way back, we passed the Santa Monica Community Garden (more on that next time I visit),

just in time for the sunset.

(Later, we went with Laura’s friend (and now mine) LJ to The Foundry on Melrose, where they serve extraordinarily large scallops on the tasting menu.)

….

The Venice Farmers’ Market makes for a nice Friday tradition, with the sprouts you expect,

the Asian date called jujube fruit, you do not,

and then, the baby bok choy that inspired dinner for seven,

that combined with beautiful mushrooms from an inspiring and civically-engaged forager for a rice dish made perfect by Dr. Bateman’s (it’s too much fun not to include the title, Ben) punctilious rice technique and by conversation in the kitchen spanning wigs, karaoke, and terrible dancers before the dinner party progressed through Venice’s First Friday galleries.

Before all of that, though, there was a bouquet with eucalyptus,

and a surprise tour of secret Venice. Laura explains:

A tour complete with wildlife and speckled flowers, of course.

On to hipster Silverlake, we spotted Chloë Sevigny in hush puppies (yes, we groaned) while engrossed with burgers at The Local—this is their pork burger and special sauce of roasted chiles.

The requisite celebrity sighting complete, we traced the Silverlake Fallen Fruit Map to find oranges, limes,

a golden couch on the side of the street,

and a pomegranate tree that wowed us.

I had no idea that pomegranates begin like Dr. Seuss blossoms.

….

Recovering from Friday’s adventures, we began Saturday with a hearty brunch (steak was appropriate as Laura is soon to vacation in Argentina),

and we wandered the Venice vintage troves (ask me about trying on a diaper dress sometime), then took in the Pacific Coast Highway on our way to Malibu’s Sip, the wine tasting room for Cielo Vineyards:

Meeting new people from old places we have lived, we sat around the fire pit as the sun sank,

and decided fried seafood at Neptune’s Net biker bar was in order (listen to what our research uncovered their chowder is as good as) before discovering why men stare at goats:

I walked more slowly to the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market on Sunday morning as if to prolong my last day in Southern California, and just past the circling ponies,

there were persimmons, pomegranates, and dragon fruit,

bundles of herbs,

carrots and parsnips,

dried plums,

and yielding Halawy dates that I am portioning out, a few a day. We resisted the large pancakes,

to order savory crêpes from a line with fascinating rhythm,

and I boarded the plane that afternoon, shaking the sand out of my shoes, wondering what the next adventure with Laura will hold…

More pictures of our adventures in the Flickr set.

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Just before I left for Linz a few weeks ago, my wonderful friend Mike of RoadTrip Nation was in town, and since Roadtrip Nation puts college students on the road to meet their heroes, I thought it appropriate we swing by the mobile @waffletruck (Mike’s naturally infectious energy was heightened by the sugar and the possibilities of the food truck movement) on our way to a house party on an actual back patio in Manhattan (seems they do exist).

Now Virginia homesteaders, Jay and Ryanne of Ryan Is Hungry have been leading lights in videoblogging for years, and they invited interesting fellow videobloggers (it was so nice to finally meet food vlogger Grace Piper of Fearless Cooking) and other friends over to the house they were sitting for the week.

Dean Jansen of Miro, the open-source video and podast player you should certainly download for watching (ahem) video blogs, brought his friend Winnie Yang, who casually mentioned when we were introduced that she works on The Art of Eating, the watchword in publications for serious food geeks (and my favorite food magazine since I discovered it seven years ago).

Winnie is Managing Editor of AoE, besides blogging and running the film-and-supper club Choice Cuts with Matt Pendleton (who paid this blog a lovely compliment to be shared in a future post). Last night was this year’s BLT party, a genius event idea where guests can truly bring useful gifts and contribute to the table.

Assembling quite a team, Winnie was, seemingly, everywhere while Matt took pictures, Tim cut bacon (this was cured by the Char No. 4 chef, a restaurant I really like in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn),

someone talented associated with Momofuku mixed bacon-infused bourbon into Old Fashioneds,

near the bread station and table with juicy tomatoes piled high, homemade mayonnaise in plain, basil, garlic, and olive-anchovy flavors, bowls of gleaming lettuces Tim tore into pieces just the right size for sandwiches with the star ingredient—Benton’s, of course, but many local curings from New York farms,

that Winnie directed in cooking, placing, and labeling—she moved too quickly to catch here (but with any luck, she’ll appear in many upcoming posts).

As I left this party full of fascinating people (including food blogger Ganda) and smoked beer, trays of bacon continued to emerge from the kitchen, and the beautiful bacon haze followed me back down the stairs it had lured me up.

The end of a lovely day that began with salted radishes with butter on bread while proofing the loaf I brought to the party,

and Sancerre with salmon cakes, aioli, and allium flowers,

I walked down the stairs last night thinking the best description of the BLT party’s food, guests, and especially the hosts is the language at the bottom of this sign at Evolutionary Organics yesterday morning at the Prospect Park Market—”seriously, they are awesome.”

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3. sweet beets and food of record

In curating the symposium, David Sasaki also created “An Outsider’s Guide to Linz.” This post is an extension of his excellent guide with video and a heavy emphasis on food. (You can also find places David marked in Dopplr’s Social Atlas for Linz with geocoordinates.)

My Linz trip began with a burger in Cafe Walker that David didn’t mention would arrive with hidden corn kernels,

and later that night, through the drizzle as I walked out of the Haufplatz (the main square), I spotted my friend Seth Hunter.

Joining him and his fellow MIT artist Noah, we were off to fetch their bags from their installations, then to Italian restaurant Bigoli in nearby OK Platz (order the gnocchi), where Seth taught us how to make origami butterflies and we talked about the food of the future:

Back in the Haufplatz, young dancers in white unitards tucked glow sticks into their hair,

and then the lights went off, darkening the entire square, the better to see the glowing dancers move glowing balls to the other side of the street.

Friday morning, the market bustled in the same square (so much speck!),

and I bought a superlative cream-filled pastry with a hidden meringue layer,

thinking about food photography as I prepped for my talk (video) at the Ars Electronica: Cloud Intelligence Symposium the following day.

While the rain continued, I went to see the Ars exhibits for inspiration. A few of my favorites (also see my friend Ethan’s favorites):

a typewriter of images:

open sailing, a project about a floating community that models sustainability,

an LED abacus,

a skeeball marimba installation,

Arthur Ganson’s piece with scraps of paper winging their way,

and my very favorite, the geotextile mesh “Hylozoic Grove” by Philip Beesley,

that sensitively moved as you entered its translucent, shimmering space, brushing against branches.

Later that night, artists shrinkwrapped themselves as part of the Ars Gala,

and David toasted to the following “arscloud” symposium in classic style,

I had a wonderful tagliatelle at Cafe Lentos (highly recommend) with local chanterelles soaked in butter with steak and crunchy bits of sea salt, while Ethan had a Sicilian pasta with a large sardine,

and outside, the Ars Center pulsed with light patterns into the night.

In the clear morning, I could see rooftops and the Danube sparkling,

before I meandered around the organic grocery to find yogurt and granola to fly through last-minute revisions;

as part of the day’s proceedings at Ars on cloud intelligence, we asked all the “arscloud” symposium participants to hack their lunch (using fancy fast food as a model), and the winner made a CloudWurst (he explains):

After a full day, I opened my window to watch people mingle next to the river,

happy and tired from a long day of thinking about clouds and intelligence with this smart group,

and I stopped by a few sweets vendors on the way to group dinner,

purchasing a tangy yogurt cream pastry,

before traditional Austrian food (I had a black seafood risotto) at Alte Welt,

and then fireworks

and fire works (listen for Juliana’s take on this particular pile of flames).

The next morning, I wandered Linz, peering through open doorframes,

and admiring the fineness of the pale architecture (that almost has an icy tone to it, heavy on the glass),

watching those walking,

under crosses,

and past buildings with glittering, embedded religious mosaics,

on my way to the park,

and the buildings beyond,

On my way back, I found door handles shaped like pretzels,

more traditional Austrian for lunch,

and traditional dress to complete the lesson.

Before a trip up the mountain for dinner, I had gelato with David (hear what he discovers his favorite flavor is),

then it was time to meet gnomes,

follow them on signs,

to this restaurant,

where we all liked the pumpkin seed cheese best,

until the first course at the castle arrived,

consuming all our attention until (at least for me), this table sat down,

and there was birthday fire.

The next morning held pastries with Ethan and David,

this last is David’s favorite, and he felt it would power a longer morning run in the Austrian hills with Teddy of Project Diaspora (a former Ugandan Olympic hopeful in the decathlon),

and asking slightly less of other pastry, I purchased the Brandl Bakery version of the famous Linzer torte for the office, heading off to discover shaggy pastel marshmallows,

glistening jellies,

and an exhibition of recovered mosaic pieces from places of worship,

that included twinkling ships.

From the mosaiced currents, I opted for a fish sandwich a few doors down,

and wandering further, like a siren song, organ chords drew me into an old cathedral,

where I watched sunlight fill more and more of the pews as an unseen organist played on into the afternoon, sounds I carried with me back to Brooklyn…

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3. first Miami food exploration of the new year

About a month ago, I drove up to meet Emily and Jeremy Stanton of Barking Dog Farm,

had an incredible weekend learning about the strong network of local producers in the Berkshires they are part of,

and as we stood in the kitchen looking out over the chickens and orchard, they told me about the local butcher shop they plan to open in the spring—and an upcoming fund-raising dinner to that end.

So last Saturday afternoon, I pulled out a long dress with flowers as bright as those in Emily’s garden, adjusted the three strands of a vintage necklace from the Brooklyn Flea, and drove with determination through four hours of rain to the inaugural dinner of the Meat Market.

Upon entering the house, this charming bartender (I’m told he makes a mean cup of coffee at Rubiner’s, the local cheesemonger you should certainly visit) mixed a vodka cocktail for me with a homemade rhubarb concoction Chef Jeremy created from the large plants in their backyard,

and everyone clustered around a long table of charcuterie and then bread that Emily baked, sipping as the rain fell outside.

Then we all began to move down toward the tent, passing the fire pit and peach tree with branches hanging heavy with fruit.

Entering the tent, I met Emily and Jeremy’s neighbor Ken, who divides his year between the Berkshires and Miami—you will likely see him on kthread again, as we are old friends although we’ve just met. (Linked photos throughout this post are by Kit Latham, a photographer who shot for Martha Stewart, which explains their beauty.)

Finding my placecard at one of the three long tables, I sat quietly at first, knowing only the hosts.

As she sat down next to me, Kathleen, owner of a cloth-screening business in Southfield that made the beautiful tablecloths printed with chickens (image at the bottom of the post), began to illuminate the fabric of the group beginning to settle into chairs.

Image copyright Kit Latham (borrowed for this post).

After that, it was all delight.

Orbs of yellow hovered above the tables until clipped, and mushrooms, scissored off, landed softly in soup bowls below; a beefy onion broth poured underneath lifted them. We all turned to each other and lifted our spoons.

Next, Jeremy’s famous ravioli filled with rooster (yes, rooster) on top of lettuces and baby rainbow chard dressed with a citrus – a clever combination of courses and unusual presentation appropriate for summer.

Jeremy thanked all the farmers sitting among us (there were many) and introduced the next course of sausage, pickled beets, more of Emily’s good bread, and braised cabbage.

We served each other, passing plates, the rain continuing as a part of the evening’s show,

and I remembered Master Chef Gerhard Schmidt, who carved a little later, asking me how I had stayed so dry with the rain,

as the table was prepared for the Murray Grey beef that had been turned for hours on a welded device of Jeremy’s fashioning,

and we marveled over the beef, the tomatoes, and incredible roasted corn as Dominic Palumbo stood and made an impassioned argument that a local butcher shop represents a significant step for this community of local producers. He tapped all dinner guests as co-producers:

Shortbread cookies in a basil crème anglaise with eggs from the chickens half a dozen yards away and a peach from the nearby tree accompanied by eau de vie and dandelion wine ended the meal, and guests lingered in the tent lit with tea candles between sunflower bouquets.

The next morning, the special tablecloths had withstood the night of revelry and looked ready for their next event,

as the flowers leaned from the rain,

the lilies heralded the evening’s success,

and all the way back to this borough I hold dear, I thought about how a community celebrates its own.

Heading to a neighborhood full of pizza places ranked competitively with long lines for tables, I sat down on the asphalt with other Flea Marketers to the finest white pie I’ve tasted, cooked at 900 degrees in an oven that travels on the back of the Pizza Moto truck.

The pepperoni made this pizza sing, but then so did the others sitting around me, crunching their crusts, breaking the slices apart—superior products still need serious, supportive demand.

Best of luck to Emily, Jeremy, all involved with the Meat Market, and all of the lovely people I met at the dinner. For more wonderful images of the night, see Kit Latham’s Flickr collection, and for a comprehensive, detailed review in a source I now read compulsively, bookmark Dan Shaw’s articles on Rural Intelligence (here’s the one on the dinner).

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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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and some of the bouquets looked like the season ahead,

some like the height of summer,

near the beautiful berries of Berried Treasures that were profiled in the Serious Eats video on Mountain Sweet Berry Farm this week.

My favorite booth, Evolutionary Organics, had Peruvian sprouting broccoli,

zebra tomatoes with zags, stripes, and pinwheel patterns in their skins,

and a little further down, donut peaches and plums piled up (and I finally bought currants, more on that in a future post).

A few hours later, the Cravings Truck (@nyccravings) pulled up close to where I work, and with Dan, Coco, and Ellen (she’s off to the right of this picture), I hoped this truck full of Taiwanese fried chicken with secret pork sauce would stop by again soon,

(they are accepting donations for Taiwan’s recent typhoon and donating net proceeds to relief efforts).

Eating the last of the strawberries this morning, I am musing on where I may be this weekend—wherever I am, I’ll be cooking…

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You emerge from the subway into flowers,

and this morning, into the Italian broccoli kin, spigariello.

Ruby crescents gleamed (not sure what I’ll do with these yet),

and I wanted to share this wonderful Evolutionary Organics sign opining the origins of toraziroh.

The white currants I’m still (inexplicably) resisting, but I did buy blackberries for the office from this vendor,

who keeps the leaves in the cherries, which makes me smile.

This afternoon, I met Kushal of Vittana (one of the PopTech 2008 Social Innovation Fellows) for a video on the microfinancing-student-loans-for-the-developing-world company that we’ll post today on the PopTech blog (part of my job is to hang out with amazing social entrepreneurs).

And heading back toward Brooklyn, I found a mobile food vendor, @StreetSweets, I’ve been tracking. The lovely woman inside the cart handed me a card for return visits, saying, “you’re local, right?” (Sweet words for me as I wrap myself in this New York minute.)

A clever cupcake collar kept the vanilla frosting peaks intact as I walked (their frosting is great),

and it didn’t spoil my late dinner of simmered spigariello (simmer 1/2 cup of the stems in stock for ten minutes on med-high, then add the leaves, 1 tablespoon of oil and 1 chopped clove of garlic and stir for about a minute), eggs, and toast.

I closed my eyes, imagined I was in a kitchen in Italy (just outside Urbino, perhaps?), and remembered the first dessert of today—a Ronnybrook Farms’s sample of panna cotta, the firm vanilla custard that is my favorite way to begin or end a summer day…

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3. heirloom cucumber and shoots of corn

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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1. kthread cooks: tomato pesto
2. stinging nettles and strangled priests
3. kthread cooks: pepita pesto and roasted squash

You can skip my Julia monologuing, and begin by making mayonnaise by processing one egg for ten seconds, then slowly drizzling in 1 cup of vegetable oil while the machine is running. Add 1 teaspoon lemon juice and season to taste; it will keep for a week chilled. Then, dice mushrooms (I use black trumpet here) and cook with 1 teaspoon of oil on med-high heat until they release their juices—about 5 minutes. Remove from pan, turn heat to medium and add two eggs, whisked (reserve one eggshell), and a tablespoon of heavy cream; gently fold eggs until softly scrambled—2-3 minutes. Spoon eggs back into eggshell and then around it on the plate; serve with mayonnaise and with potatoes, if you like (I sautéed baby potatoes and amaranth leaves with garlic).

Bon appétit!

reading recommendation: My Life in France, Julia Child with Alex Prud’homme

listening recommendation: the snappy “French Chef” opening theme

dance recommendation: waltz for Julia and Paul

eggs for Julia wallpaper on Flickr

drink pairing: beer, your choice

salt recommendation: Fleur de sel, of course (kosher in a pinch)

Your Julia memories?

More kthread cooks episodes on this page and on the Vimeo channel.

Related posts:

1. kthread cooks: whatever provençal
2. kthread cooks: latkes
3. kthread cooks: granola

Even better, I thought. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the Schnitzel Truck (@schnitzeltruck) in DUMBO, the area of Brooklyn where I work. A bit more subdued than the @waffletruck, and parked around the corner today from the @RickshawTruck (ah, decisions), the Schnitzel Truck boasts a fairly long menu of schnitzel, condiment, and sides.

I tried the pork platter (there is also a sandwich option) with lentil salad, beets with chevre, and pesto mayo.

While the amount of schnitzel is slightly overwhelming, mostly I want to try more of the sides (beets were excellent). And panna cotta seems an unusual dessert for schnitzel, but I have much to learn about the ways of the Schnitzel Truck—let’s hope it continues through this neighborhood on a regular basis.

Expanding the number of lunch options with mobile food carts creates an invisible network known only to those actually walking/living/working in a given area, as I realized when I walked the same street yesterday with a diet book ghostwriter (blog post from this weekend soon) who remarked on the lack of restaurants when she worked here a year ago.

I blinked, seeing the street as though the carts might, at any moment, appear…

Related posts:

1. sweetgum, floating words, eating by color
2. the secret life of foodpaths (my ars electronica presentation)
3. sparkly morning at the greenmarket

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…

Related posts:

1. and dessert will be simple
2. while my butter gently weeps
3. pppsst: spsp (summer pesto squash pasta)