Along with asparagus, spicy greens, eggs and purple scallions I got a jar of lovely green buttermilk, spinach salad dressing.

The dressing is a lovely shade of green and is made with local, organic buttermilk, sunflower oil, apple cider vinegar, honey, spinach, garlic, parsley, basil, oregano, salt and pepper.

Full disclosure – I added chive blossoms are from my garden for a little hit of color in the photo.

Asparagus is a low calorie, high vitamin food and the perfect vehicle for transporting buttery sauce from plate to mouth.

In 1922, Emily Post, in her book Etiquette, gave permission to eat asparagus with one’s fingers so long as one does not “… squeeze the stalks, or hold one’s hand below the end and let the juice rundown one’s arm.”  The choice is yours.

I have experimented with a variety of cooking methods since that first success and found that I prefer the flavor and texture of roasted or grilled asparagus.   Traditional hollandaise comes to mind but in celebration of spring I made an orange hollandaise that was sublime. Here’s how I did it:

… read more

I was delighted to see the lovely green asparagus tips poking out of my CSA bag this week. A member of the lily family, and a relative of onions, leeks and garlic, these stalks were harvested just a few miles from my kitchen.

The three-year old asparagus bed will continue to produce for at least fifteen more years. The Greeks believed that asparagus had medicinal qualities and that it could cure toothaches and prevent bee stings. Each spring there are festivals in Italy to celebrate white asparagus season.

I wasn’t always so happy to see asparagus.  As a child, I was certain that the gray-green, mushy cylinders, ridiculously called spears, must have been some of the original crop cultivated 2500 years ago by the Greeks.  When I was served asparagus, I took evasive action. I buried them in mashed potatoes, masked them in gravy or hid them under a crust of bread rather than eating them. It was Euell Gibbons’ book, Stalking the Wild Asparagus, that encouraged me to give asparagus a second look. I decided to buy a bundle of firm, fresh, green stalks to try to figure out why he was tramping across fields and climbing irrigation ditches to gather wild asparagus.

Although, Euell Gibbons described how to “stalk” and harvest wild asparagus, there were no recipes for cooking them. I had to turn to my two food consultants – Irma Rombauer between the covers of The Joy of Cooking and Julia Child in the Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Except for learning that when a Roman wanted something done quickly he said “Do it in less time than it takes to cook asparagus,” The Joy of Cooking asparagus section was not inspiring. On the other hand, Julia wrote about choosing, preparing and serving asparagus and included six possible sauces to serve with then.  Her directions were that asparagus should be tender, not limp and most importantly a fresh, beautiful green. I put The Joy of Cooking back on the shelf and got started. My goal was fresh, beautiful green asparagus. Here’s how I did it: … read more

This weeks bag had eggs, radishes, spicy greens, spinach, granola and asparagus.

Fresh radishes mean radish sandwiches. Here’s a link to the post.

Friday, we celebrated homecomings – our return from Sicily and the return of two other couples from Australia. We were all delighted to be back and decided to share a meal. I offered to bring roasted pork tenderloin and asked if I could cook it in my friend’s oven while we enjoyed appetizers and shared travel stories.

When tenderloins were on sale, I stocked up. I prepared them for roasting by removing the silver skin, a shiny membrane that is attached on one side. I slipped the tip of a sharp paring knife under the silver skin and removed it in long strips. If it is not removed, the silver skin shrinks, becomes tough and makes the tenderloin curl when it is cooked. It took less time to do than to describe and the reward is succulent roast pork without a tough piece of silver skin attached to each slice. I put the trimmed tenderloins into individual re-sealable plastic bags.

The next step was the preparation of the marinade. A marinade is a liquid, similar to a salad dressing, used to flavor and tenderize meat. It is a mixture of an acid – citrus juice, vinegar, or wine; an oil – olive, grape seed, or vegetable; flavorings – herbs, spices, citrus zest, flavored oils; something sweet – brown sugar, honey or maple syrup; something spicy – garlic, ginger, chili, mustard, or horseradish; and, something savory – soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, or fish sauce. A marinade can be as simple as vinegar, oil, salt and pepper or a complex mixture of many flavors. Measurements need not be precise. Generally I use half as much oil as acid, and no more than two tablespoons of sugar or honey for each 1 cup/240 ml  of liquid. Creating a marinade is fun and an opportunity to experiment. I taste as I go and keep notes, the possibilities are endless. I’ve found that it takes about 1/3 cup/80 ml of marinade for 1 pound/500 gr of meat.

I create marinades with combinations of ingredients that suggest particular cuisines. I have used white wine, olive oil, thyme and parsley when I wanted something that tasted French. When I was wishing I were in Morocco, I mixed pomegranate molasses, orange juice, cinnamon and grape seed oil. Vietnam came to mind when I used lemon grass, fish sauce, lime juice and green chilies. The tenderloin I took to the party had been seasoned with a bold, spicy Korean marinade. Here’s how I made it: … read more

As our airplane circled Mount Etna and descended into the airport at Catania, groves of dark green citrus trees came into view. We were landing in Sicily, an island that we would call home for two months. We had left four feet of snow and sweet Rosie, our golden retriever, in Virginia with our son Noah and his family. I was looking forward to learning new ways of cooking familiar and unfamiliar food. I had traveled to Europe but never lived there. Living in Sicily meant that we would not be tourists.

We looked out to the sea from the two balconies in the upper left corner of the creamy yellow building

We had rented a flat in Ortigia, a small island attached by a bridge to the city of Siracusa and surrounded by a sea wall built in the fourth century BC by the Greeks.

We spend part of each day getting lost. It wasn’t difficult, the narrow lanes, many impassable except on foot or scooter, twist and turn. There are ancient ruins, medieval, art noveau, art deco, and Mussolini era buildings. Each time I thought I was hopelessly lost, one of two things happened. Either I saw the sea or turned onto the via Roma. Since our apartment faced the sea and we were on an island, I knew I would get home eventually if I didn’t cross a bridge. If I found via Roma, I knew that it led to the Piazza Duomo, a sacred space with a cathedral that was originally a Greek Temple, and also the location of the best gelato shop in Ortigia.

A view of the Piazza Duomo from via Roma

The ruins of the Greek temple to Apollo, near the Archimedes Fountain and the market, were where Charles and I met so that we could go to the market together after he had spent the morning writing at the library.

Along with heaps of lemons, blood oranges, and mandarins, there tomatoes and peppers that are grown in Sicilian versions of hoop houses, olives of all sorts, and local wines in recycled, two liter plastic bottles. There was also a wide variety of fish and seafood from the Ionian Sea.

I went to the market every day and just as my first friends in Vermont were the vendors at the Norwich Farmers’ Market, my first friend is Sicily were the vendors at the Ortigia market. . Click here to see the  vendors at the Ortigia market.

I met Angelo Cappucho who like his father and grandfather before him sold all kinds of fish including swordfish, tuna, cuttlefish, squid, eels, and shrimp. When a genuine troubadour appeared in the market, all of the men at Cappucho’s joined in singing Sicilian folk songs with him. For a glorious hour, we were part of a Sicilian opera. Angelo and his son Marco insisted that all of the nearby vendors put food into a large bag as payment for the music.

A traditional Sicilian ricotta basket.

Click here to read about making cheese with Andrea.

It was Andrea Borderi who stole my heart. Andrea made fresh ricotta and mozzarella each morning. The cheese was the best I’ve ever tasted, but even more astounding than the cheese was his generosity. He fed people. Andrea’s knife had a twenty-inch blade that was in constant motion. He cut cheese and offered samples on the tip of his knife to passers by. He made sandwiches and insisted that shoppers sample them. He fed cannoli to giggling students and serious Nonna’s. He never stopped smiling, and his blue eyes matched his blue satin necktie.

Our lives were quite simple in Ortigia. We had a small apartment, a tiny kitchen and no car. We watched the sea, had small dinner parties, ate gelato every afternoon after a walk around the island, read and wrote each day.

The day before we left, I went to the market and said goodbye to Giuseppe who sold the best olives, Mario with the small plum tomatoes I liked best for pasta, Joseph who offered grilled peppers and artichokes, Francesco who sold traditional chocolate from Modica and of course the musical Cappucho fishermen. It wasn’t easy, but I managed until I saw Andrea. He smiled and offered me a piece of cheese. I began to cry. He put down his knife, kissed my hand, and I wept as we said arriverderci.