The next morning, my beautiful sister Kassandra woke early to breakfeast with me the Flying Biscuit—where the grits really are dreamy and an order of eggs and love cakes (black bean cakes with tomatillo salsa, feta, and sour cream) will lift you on the way back to the road.

I also admired my mother’s tomatoes,

lavender,

calla lilies,

Kassandra’s eyes,

and the gardenias that my mother has coaxed into a significant mass—a few traveled with me, perfuming the car as I drove on to Carrboro, North Carolina,

the wonderful town within Chapel Hill, where I sat on the lawn with local peach ice cream and the Weaver Street Market circular detailing local farm produce being featured this week at the co-op.

That night, I laughed with Ben, Jeremy, Seve, and Kyle and their friends at Enoteca in Charlottesville, waking with the sun to wander the farmers’ market that begins here at 7 a.m. on Saturdays, filled with tempting pie cherries this time of year.

My favorite market vendors hugged me and advised I take 81 for a more scenic drive (good advice that I took),

and this is their beautiful jewelry—when at the Charlottesville Market, do stop by and tell them I’ve sent you,

I miss the lettuce from Radical Roots with edible flowers on top of the lettuces and bought some for the road,

stopping by the Goat Cheese Man’s stand with its radishes,

and cheese donations, buying green garlic,

noting these baby carrots as I strode toward the car, keys at the ready for the final stretch to Brooklyn,

into this new apartment, a new job, and a new chapter…

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and reviving plants I watched wilting earlier in the week.

Here’s to a few days framed with sun, as we turn toward restorative summer—

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Last Wednesday, my friend Dianna showed me the community garden in South Beach. With retro signs (community gardens are quietly beginning to be called Victory Gardens again across the United States) and a convenient location in the South of Fifth section, the garden boasts a waiting list years long and acts as a quiet hub for energetic locals.

An ideal way to find people who share your concern for thoughtful food,

in a way that Dianna’s Mr. Cecil approves.

Thursday night I flew toward another community garden in Portland, Oregon.

After Friday morning pastries from Boulangerie in the Northwest section (skip the croissants and tend toward the more complicated offerings), I unwrapped a pork belly banh mi off the Bunk Sandwiches board—

with perfectly toasted bread, melting pork belly, the right sort of red sauce, cilantro, and julienned carrots, perhaps the best sandwich of my life.

And so I fell silent for part of the Friday drive with my beautiful sister Kat to the Erath and Ponzi vineyards near to Portland,

where even Erath’s Pinot flight (the Reserve Pinot Gris that is only sold at the winery is lovely) was no match for Kat’s homemade cherry kombucha, and we headed out the next morning for other healthful local food at the Portland Farmers’ Market with Reid and their friend Nathania,

to marvel at incredible morels,

unusual snow morels (that almost look sculpted),

music all around,

prepared market food like asparagus pesto and bacon on a bagel, and breakfast burritos wrapped in fresh, thin tortillas.

Full of families visiting, eating, laughing, the Pickelopolis stand awed younger market shoppers,

baskets of rhubarb waited to be stewed, roasted, and baked into crumbles and pies, jams,

and Ranoculus and purple flowers carried the day.

Close to purple flowers, bundles of purple asparagus waited,

though we opted for local fried asparagus from Burgerville, the In-n-Out chain of the Pacific Northwest, (pick off the batter and dip the spears in the included aioli,)

and crossing the St. John bridge, we picked lettuces and onions from Kat and Reid’s plot in the community garden (I resisted picking dandelions).

The two explain what they’ve planted:

and we peered closer at the potato plants,

peas on a trellis Reid has devised,

soft lettuces glowing in the sun that hits parts of their plot,

and then Reid appreciated the smell of the freshly-dug onions in the backseat all the way to the Oregon coast, where even toddlers skate,

and the trees stand tall,

covered with moss,

and we waded over to the side where smaller waves washed into the shore,

and held forth with a picnic of crusty market bread, herbed chevre, wine, olives, and strawberries,

before returning to Kat and Reid’s apartment in Portland to simmer those morels in cream, sauté fiddlehead ferns and nettles with their onions, and roast parsnips, delighting in the way foods from this moment in the season play off each other.

Sunday, I visited Kat working at Cacao (where she introduced me to a fabulous new chocolate bar that tastes of blood oranges) and sipped drinking chocolate,

and after she closed the shop, we shared a spicy avocado sandwich with bread that did taste alive along with a bowl of beans, quinoa, and kale at Blossoming Lotus.

As yoga practitioners emerged from class in the adjoining studio, we joined them in breathing deeply as sisters and even closer friends…

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Another red custard apple for the road—to eat in a few days, as these become very soft when they ripen (the beautiful inside):

and I looked up at the branch above my car at these fruit-like objects of interest.

Driving quickly, lest tree roots grow over my wheels as they had overtaken fences,

white flowers on parts of the stretch made me pull over,

and then my friend Jess and her friend Maya arrived at the cottage with cupcakes. Influenced by icing, we took Jean Marc’s good advice and headed over to Cinco de MiMo, a celebration of that area of Miami.

Recognizing him by his twirling umbrella, we greeted Gene Kelly,

toasted with Tiki punch to local designers in the Upper Eastside Garden:

and to fun modified vintage,

and mainly, to mini golf within the garden:

Then, we wandered to nearby Divine Trash and found same,

secured a vintage getaway vehicle,

to fill with new treasures,

and Jess kept the flower from the garden tucked behind her ear,

as she contemplated a new furniture project,

and baked goods.

Across the street, we took in Vagabond Market

forgoing Indian cuisine inside

to walk past pink flowers,

pass Elvis on stilts,

and sit outside at the Buena Vista Bistro with identical orders of spinach, declaring our intentions to explore other new areas of south Florida as the thermometer goes ever higher…

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At lunch at Michael’s Genuine today, the fried egg on top of crumbled duck terrine and toasted bread spread liberally with homemade Dijon was a good order (it’s next to impossible to order badly here);

Dennis ordered what reminded me of a warm Andalusian gazpacho,

and we were both happy to be at this restaurant run by Michael Schwartz,

who stopped by the table and is up for the James Beard award for Best Southern Chef (the nominee list) next week (as Michael mentions, this is an example Dennis’ work with Plum TV as a culture correspondent).

Before we left, Michael confirmed when Dennis asked if he was celebrating Grilled Cheese Month (as we have here on kthread) that every month at Michael’s Genuine is Grilled Cheese Month. Fellow Miamians, rejoice! (And everyone else, come visit. More grilled cheese in just a bit…)

And while we were in the Design District, we stopped by the Wynwood gallery Dennis owns with his wife Debra, World Class Boxing, where the current Mitzi Pederson exhibit, “I Think I Was Looking at That Before” has thin, shaped wood sculptures like bows of painted silver leaf that are strung not for arrows, but hang high on walls and around blocks on the gallery floor reminding me of simplified Aeolian harps.

And in the untitled piece Pederson refers to as a “ground drawing,” cinder blocks glitter playfully as you move about them, winking back as you accept a clever invitation to circle the piece, subtly engaged in this gallery in a city of unironic sequins…

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SFM Leader Donna Reno introduced her daughter Hunter Reno, who explained the edible herb arrangement made for the occasion (the word ‘GROW’ formed the middle).

Then, the group moved toward the Compost Treasure Map (I love this),

and Hunter explained that compost needs a balance of brown (leaves, etc.) and green, moisture, and turning:

Moving from the wasabi microgreens to edible pansies, savory, and lemon verbena, with irresistible enthusiasm, Hunter encouraged us to pull off leaves of chocolate mint and reminded us to take a small pot of herbs with us after dinner.

The tiny kitchen charged through the first three courses with volunteer chefs helping to plate the shrimp with avocado ice cream (with La Spinetta Langhe Bianco) and tempura capers that I found hard not to pick up,

and capers continued in the livornese sauce around the yellowtail snapper with fingerlings and my favorite part of the menu, the E. Pira Barbera d’Alba (all the wines were donated by Indigenous Selections).

With the third course of this meal led by meat (wherefore beautiful vegetables? I know they are still growing in South Florida), I gave myself over to the veal ossobuco and crisped chips of artichokes, on soft homemade fettucine (La Spinetta II Nero di Casanova),

before more cheese on this appreciation week, Parmigiano Reggiano fonduta with beef filet that Donna explained we spent some food miles on (with Giacomo Borgogno Barolo Classico Riserva 2000),

and two sweet courses to finish with the balanced La Spinetta Moscato Bricco Quaglia: strawberry goat milk ice cream over a lavender infusion near (I think) pepper flecks,

and last, pistachio-vanilla filling inside what I’ve always thought a cannoli should be—a wrapper that shatters like a real croissant in contrast to the smooth inside.

I always find food experiences more intense when I experience them alone, and I sat quietly at a table near the kitchen thinking of all of you last night.

Laura, we will have to make a lavender infusion; David, the pistachio cannoli is the dessert of your dreams. Jean Marc, I missed your company! Holly, I simply couldn’t take out the big camera (the ossobuco claimed me), but I did my best to document as the plates whisked by.

This morning, I slowly stretched and stepped down the spiral staircase at the cottage, smiling at the cheerful little potted herbs,

a good reminder of the event, the SFM group, and my life in the kitchen where I try, like my thoughtful friend Matt, who is on a meditation retreat this week, to move closer to mindful actions. Even though mine might involve magenta sprouts.

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This is how my day begins—with morning webs draped across cacti like necklaces tossed off by flappers, the many strands tangled after a night’s revelry (certainly explains the dew),

or hovering like white noise,

catching stray new light as though a cornet,

and often working from underneath, the spiders tool coded strands,

attentive only to the attached lines, while I am easily distracted by the circular and hexagonal bokeh that imprint the air like softened measures from celestas…

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and progress to the black beans and rice and the sticky plantains, too much by far (especially for seven dollars), but nice to attempt as the cars race down 8th Street in front of you.

Then, in my opinion, you should meet a good friend at a good bookstore and sip bubbly things while you plan for trips to other destinations with decidedly different transportation options and cuisines, leaving holes for chance excursions, literary inspiration, and lazy afternoons.

I firmly believe Sunday afternoons should be sparkly…

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As it keeps, new butter weeps into the parchment paper wrapper—throwing off milk droplets—and it melts gracefully into warm bread with a crispy crust.

Steadying food for a morning after floating through courses at Sra. Martinez in the Miami Design District last night with Jessica, who is one of my favorite people to explore menus with:

Look beyond the cheese plate (Manchego, Valderon, Murcia al Vino) to the crispy artichokes, quartered with their stems and just right with a Lavender Sidecar—a reminder that something fried with a light touch is a good beginning to a series of small plates,

and then there was a salad with dark roasted beets (think how beautiful this would be with Chioggias), purpled apple slices (I imagine, like the Murcia cheese, soaked in wine), a piped star of blue cheese and almonds.

The kitchen sent out spiced corn, a vegetable dish to rival the beets (don’t bother with the brussels or the sweet potatoes on the menu), and then a chocolate cake that, as Jess explains, we saved until most of the yogurt ice cream had melted into the accompanying basil oil and tomato marmalade—that, like Miami at its best, was strangely beautiful and a surprise…

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This morning, I woke hoping to find the purple, diaphanous dress of my dreams (where is that sewing machine?) in the closet to match these Janus-like water hyacinths that bloom in the ponds around the magic cottage in April and August.

Last year, I compared these to a data visualization using the Many Eyes tool; this year, upon closer examination, even the stems seem to sparkle—stunning the closer you lean in (see the larger version here).

From one stem, the petals face in many directions (Janus was the god of doors and beginnings) like the stance scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah takes in the film and his work that the cosmopolitan citizen understands multiple ideologies and ways of sorting the world as equally valid.

And in our continuing coverage of spider web season, here’s a new web for your Saturday—

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The sun lit the strands stretching to anchor the webs—I have begun looking for the fastening points, the fancy work at the edges,

the taut lines apart from a web proper.

Against the deep blue, the whole web starts to shimmer and tries on one color after another,

and small, new points dot the inner, the outer, and above on this day celebrating the Earth…

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While I determined how I would “conduct [my] own experiment,” she tried the house slaw, as brightly colored as South Beach and slightly tangy. Like a house salad or wine, house slaw might be the measure of a sandwich shop.

I trusted this maker to with his choice of provolone for my experiment, and he told us how his grandmother’s fork always circles his wrist:

Not needing forks after the slaw, Holly and I talked of serious food connections as we picked up our sandwiches—renegade dairy rumors, the current focus of Miami food scenesters, and how to construct a life in this tropical place with artistry and intention.

And last night, the experimentation continued at the cottage, as I spread all the vegetables on the kitchen counter as possibilities:

Deciding against twisting utensils into jewelry, I ordered the materials and began adding colors to the pan.

First, the green and white of chopped leeks, then the brown and beige of thick Maitake slices; next, green and yellow squash semicircles, stems of rainbow chard and their leafy tops, kale, crimson tomatoes, and, finally, garlic chives joined the quodlibet.

Crowned with crisp, crenellated edges of Maitake (appropriately, as the mushroom may fortify the body and prevent disease) and a few drops of Tamari, the plate proved the hypothesis that local vegetables grown together need only a gentle stir and medium heat to combine into a dinner (like yesterday’s lunch) that bears repeating—

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Planning earlier in the day left me time to sit outside and ponder the many directions, like the Queen Anne’s Lace from the market, Miami has taken me to and from in the past twelve months.

When I was younger, I would press Queen Anne’s Lace and similar flowering plants between sheets of wax paper and then laminate the pressings, using them for bookmarks. Now when I discover an inflorescence (like the umbels below), I know they are marking a moment in my life (this wandering day was the last moment).

Also at the market yesterday morning were Maitake, named so because they are dancing mushrooms, balancing and healing when eaten—waiting on the kitchen counter, intriguing and velvety, like a brown crushed velvet coat that I will sauté and stir into the remaining carrot-fennel confit tonight, perhaps with noodles I haven’t made in a while.

The confit went with everything and with the cottage full of laughing, beautiful people (and Jessica’s beautiful madeleines),

and as I tried to take a picture of the confit left in the bowl, I realized that I needed the rest of the carrots circling the softened vegetable slivers

to show what has grown in the past year: the understanding of the growing season in Miami, connection to a network of other South Floridians who care about local food and each other,

and to include the green tops that indicate how the carrot was treated, what is seen from above of the growth below. These together surrounding circumstance—carrots are also umbels.

And then I turned back to the other bunch of stems banded together, watching as the light played off certain pedicels that will, in the year head, resolve into focus and start to glow…

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Running through the woods, finding significance in the small collection of things on a leaf, knowing that your costume will protect you and that imagination makes you invincible—

these freedoms I remember as I watch a tropical forest grow around and into my mischievous magic cottage at night.

This afternoon, I took a walk in my neighborhood to meet the trees and leaves,

who seemed as friendly as the bees nipping at the kalanchoe,

and then I heard silvery leaves rustling in the wind.

found strange fruit,

distracting flowering plant sirens,

and flowers hidden in the trees.

Bands around some trees shone as if you could twist them,

and reveal another tree beneath.

I raced to swing on the Banyan tree vines,

(note: Banyan trees begin as figs)

and with their aerial prop roots

leading up into the sky,

it was instead a blue-freckled trunk

that fronted adventures if I stepped beyond—

as it happened, I wandered back to the cottage, past a sidewalk that reminded me to dream,

and when I returned, supper ideas were still warm…

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I liked the center of the photo with the red salt heart against the leaves, so I drew the lens closer for less plate in the shot below.

The greens looked alive, but almost too green, so I turned the plate for more purplishness and less light bouncing from the left side.

Then, I moved back to reconsider the shot, kneeling to capture the height against a blur of the backyard behind,

and finally, the salt started the sparkle—not in the center, but (geek out with me for a moment) at a bottom corner of the center quadrant using the Rule of Thirds.

Only the best I can manage for you, delightful kthread readers, as I explore the complicated world of shutter speeds and sunlight.

To make this, sauté one clove chopped garlic in a tablespoon of oil or other fat; add chopped stems of one bunch of baby chard and one head of bok choy. Cook, stirring, for three minutes over medium-high heat. Add the chopped leafy parts, stir one minute longer. Season with finishing salt or Tamari.

Or wander over to the Magic Cottage and join me for a very belated lunch…

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