Ben went to pick up the share after we got home on Tuesday, while I lay flat in the air conditioned bedroom and bemoaned the lack of lake outside our apartment. He took these photos, too, and I guess he saw the flower-like gorgeousness of the lettuce and thought a purple pepper would make a nice accent!

-Lettuce
-Bell pepper
-2 ears of corn
-Cucumbers
-Zucchini
-Green beans
-Kale

I still had a bunch of zucchini from the week before, and we are WAY backlogged with eggs, so I decided to make a frittata for dinner and use up some of each. I got rid of my much-hated Oxo mandoline a while ago (HATE HATE HATE) so I just sliced the zucchini thin with a vegetable peeler. (Also Oxo. Not hated.)

Salted the slices a bit to draw out some of the water:

Softened shallots and then sauteed the zucchini briefly:

Added in six eggs, which I’d beaten with salt, pepper and a big handful of grated parmesan.

So to cook a frittata you start by sort of pulling the edges back gently to get the raw egg to run under the cooked. Eventually if you’re my mom you flip it onto a plate (she never splashes egg everywhere doing this, but I always do) and slide it back in the pan to finish cooking, or if you’re less brave and more traditional, you slip it into the over to finish that way. I opted for the oven because I could tell I had some sticking problems.

Before going into the oven:

After (check with a knife in the middle to make sure it has set all the way through):

I also made green beans with shallots:

And steamed the corn from the farm.

The beans were amazing, so fresh and small and delicious. The corn was awful; I took one bite and spit it out. Starchy and mushy and flavorless; I guess it wasn’t really ready to harvest? I don’t know. Blech. I made sandwiches with the leftover frittata; it is delicious cold or at room temp.

Before we left for the lake I used half of a little CSA cabbage and a kohlrabi, plus a non-CSA carrot, to make slaw:

We ate it with burgers so fully loaded you can’t see the burger in the photo!

—
Ah, Squam. Thanks to the many of you who voted for me in the Rockywold-Deephaven Camp‘s contest, we spent the weekend in the wooded/watery bliss of the lake.

The weather was gorgeous:

The lake is always amazing:

I love everything from the rustic rooms (box fans provided plenty of cool air at night, even though it was steamy in the city) to the birch trees.

We were generally blissed-out and water-logged, and both got pretty tan (as evidenced by my freckles). (Tan, for us, is relative.)

Thanks to all of you who voted, and to John and Becky at RDC, for the fantastic visit!

Today’s offering: Sweets

In Dingle, the town in Ireland where we stayed for the first couple nights (and near where my mom’s family came from), we fell for a fantastic local ice cream shop. The staff members had clearly been told to encourage tasting, and they had lots of ideas on fun flavors to combine with each other. Our favorite lady is in the background here, behind the cutest darn cones in history.

My combo was a scoop each of sea salt and caramel. This is not surprising if you know how I feel about last year’s trendiest flavor, salted caramel. I’ve been wolfing those french fleur de sel caramels whenever I could get my mitts on them since I first tried them at 13 or so.

The same shop sold these gorgeous lollipops, which I didn’t buy:

Up in Plockton, in Scotland, at the Plockton Inn (home of the first edamame/pea salad), we had the best sticky toffee pudding I’ve ever tasted. And I’ve tasted them anywhere they are on the menu, which in the UK is everywhere.

This winter I really do need to finally start making that at home.

A block or two down the road in Plockton, the next night, we ate a lovely meal at the Plockton Shores restaurant, and finished it off with rhubarb pie. Wow, we’re hitting all my weak spots! Salted caramel, sticky toffee, rhubarb…

On the left in the photo is whipped double cream. You could have spread it on toast.

In France our sugar came mostly from breakfast pain au chocolat, nutella, jam and fruit. These little palm-sized melons came from Morocco and were forcefully chosen for me by the man in the market stand. (“No! Do not pick by smell! Choose by weight! Heavy is ripe!”)

One after-dinner exception came from a really cool bakery near the town where we were staying, about which I will write more later. In addition to a regional specialty that I’m dying to recreate, they made Parisian-style macarons, and acquitted themselves quite well.

Finally, in Dublin, we followed the strong advice of my friend Laura and visited the famed Queen of Tarts café for lunch one day. Oh yum.

We shared a sandwich and salad, plus a pot of tea, and then in a fit of gluttony each got a dessert.

Ben got a sticky and enormous chocolate cake:

And I, sucked in by a lifetime of reading English novels and salivating over desserts I’d never seen, finally got to try a slice of Victoria Sponge. In this case it was filled with strawberries and cream. It was luscious and I was glad I didn’t have to share.

I know this is kind of a mean set of photos to post, especially in the late afternoon. I know I’m going to go attempt to eat a healthy snack instead of rifling through the pantry for something sweet!

One lucky thing about this pregnancy is that it hasn’t changed my vegetable obsession, it’s just made me a bit lazier about cooking things myself. Salads, especially those that don’t rely too heavily on lettuce, make me very, very happy these days, and we ran into a brilliant combination several times on the Scotland leg of the trip: Peas, edamame, some sort of greens and a bit of cheese.

The first (and best) encounter was in the charming town of Plockton, near the Isle of Skye, which despite a tiny population is blessed with a handful of very good restaurants. At the Plockton Inn (needs redecorating but the food was excellent), we ordered the pea/edamame/asparagus salad as a starter, and then I tried to eat as much of it as I could without Ben noticing. Sadly, I’d already divided it between two plates before realizing how great it was.

Super, super simple, but incredibly tasty. The sweet English peas and earthier edamame are a great pairing.

Later, in a random pub in Edinburgh, we ordered something similar, this time with rocket (arugula) as the green, no asparagus, and with the addition of chunks of feta. This photo is truly terrible, but it was very dark and the one light was coming straight over my shoulder, making big shadows!

When we got to France, I was still thinking about those salads, so on our first night in the house we’d rented I made my own version, using little fava beans instead of edamame.

Market spoils:

We just don’t have local produce like this here yet. It was luxurious.

Ben had never prepped fava beans before. He was taken aback by the layers of steps, but was an instant pro, especially at getting the pods open in one fell swoop. He cut the prep time by well more than half.

I popped a steamer basket in a pan of boiling water so I could use the same water to blanch the favas and the peas separately. Then I used it to steam the asparagus.

Such a tiny number of favas. I ALWAYS forget that you have to buy them by the kilo to have enough.

I mixed the blanched/cooled vegetables (I shocked everything in the coldest water I could get after cooking; I didn’t have any ice!) together with a mustard vinaigrette. That was a mistake; the mustard overwhelmed the little fava beans. But it was nice with the peas and asparagus.

Quiche for me, pizza for Ben, and bread, to go with the salad.

Last night I went for it again, this time using frozen shelled edamame from Trader Joe’s, and a handful of rather elderly-looking English peas from Whole Foods (via god knows where; LOCAL VEGETABLES, PLEASE ARRIVE).

Once again, I cooked the vegetables separately (the peas need 30 seconds, max, and the frozen edamame closer to 5 minutes), then shocked them in ice water to stop the cooking.

This time I just dressed them with lemon juice and good olive oil, salt and pepper (same for the salad greens, in a different bowl):

When Ben got home, I topped the greens with the peas/beans, to which I had added a bit of marinated feta from the WF antipasto bar.

And we ate on the porch—hurray!

With a handful of cherries for dessert:

I hope Ben doesn’t get sick of this anytime soon, because I’m planning on making a million versions of it this summer. Slightly mashed and spread on bruschetta! Served with buffalo mozzarella! On top of fish!

—

P.S. Vote for Renee‘s community garden grant proposal! Vote here.

I’m seriously working on how we could arrange to move here and run a small inn or something. We’re staying here, and I never want to leave. Don’t you think it would be wholesome to raise the baby by the sea?

To win I need to get the most votes between noon on April 28 and noon on May 4. And I need your help, big time: I’m going to be out of the country for more than half of the voting, so it will be harder for me to spread the word towards the end.

Here’s my essay, which had to be fewer than 140 words and answer the the question, “What is one of your best moments or memories in nature?”:

I grew up in Oregon during the bitter battle to save the spotted owls from logging, and when I was 10 I was lucky enough to see the owls in the wild. We hiked deep into the forest, an emerald-green cathedral with a carpet of moss and ferns. When we stopped, the leader handed me a live mouse and I clambered to the end of an enormous fallen tree. I stood, holding the mouse out by its tail, and the owl swooped out of nowhere, so silent I barely registered it until the mouse had vanished. I never forgot that golden-green moment, the speckled owl whooshing past, the trees looming up overhead. I’m grateful that the logging trucks of my childhood–each holding one huge tree–have vanished, but that forest and those owls have held on.

—-
Voting is now!! Please share with as many people as you can. Email it around! I am not ashamed to ask for help, here!

Vote here:

PLEASE vote for me, and please ask your friends to vote? We didn’t think we’d make it to the lake this summer because of preparations for the baby, and it would mean so much to either make one last trip before he’s born, or to go up and relax with him at the tail end of the season. Thank you, thank you, and please excuse the re-posts I will be putting up until the contest ends…

And so you understand why I’m so excited, here are some postcards from our weekend at Deephaven Camp last summer:

I use my mother-in-law’s recipe, which she cooks in a pyrex instead of a loaf pan. It makes all the difference in the world. Recipe is here.

We ate it for dinner on one of this week’s final disgusting sopping wet days, when warm food felt just right. Roasted broccoli and mashed rutabaga (yum!!) on the side:

I smugly ate sandwiches for the remainder of the week. The last piece awaits today, but since Ben has the day off of work I might have to fight him for it.

Enjoy the gorgeous weekend if you’re out here on the East Coast! I think we earned it, after all this awful rain. And last time there was that crazy 70-degree Saturday, Ben and I drove up to Dixville Notch, in Northern NH, and went snowshoeing. Oops.

There were some rough bits towards the bottom:

But for the most part, plenty of only-slightly-squishy snow:

I was obsessed with this gorgeous shelf fungi; look at those soft shades of mink brown! (Grace, avert your eyes for two pictures.)

We were told to take a route that would take us past this crazy ice “sculpture,” formed by water spraying out of a pipe punched full of holes, all winter long.

I hope those are the last pictures I post of snow until next January. From my mouth to God’s ears.

Before heading to LI for a family party, I spent much of drizzly Friday with the lovely Amy, who (among her many, many projects) works at Saipua, a gorgeous floral shop in Red Hook. Owner Sarah was kind enough to let me tag along for the morning, and since it was a busy day I got to help out with a bunch of small arrangements. All in all I did four tiny nosegays and four medium arrangements, all while reveling in the luxury of actually having my choice of flowers and filler to work with. Pretty different from my usual “stick a bunch of TJ’s tulips in a vase” approach! If only there were a wholesale flower market in Boston where the public was allowed to shop…

Anyway, in honor of the gorgeous spring sunshine that is finally shining down (my office smells like wet wood from the leaking window catastrophe of this flooded weekend), photos of pretty, pretty flowers:

Literal buckets of flowers to work with:

Two of my nosegays:

One of the medium arrangements:

The day’s work:

Amy made this totally amazing centerpiece (my nosegays were going to accompany it, in awe at their bigger sibling!). You can actually see where it started in the first photo of all the flowers in the shop–it’s built in that silver footed bowl with the floral foam in it! Excuse the iPhone pics.

Front:

Back:

So cool! For contrast, here’s my current home masterpiece, pretty in its own way but awfully simple!

I have to say, I’ve finally gotten fully on board with living in Boston (well, Cambridge!), and when I’m back in NY it feels really dirty and annoyingly difficult to get in and out of. But I sure miss the social side of my life there. I need to make a concerted effort to limit my hermit-like tendencies; I felt like a new person after a few days of seeing old and new friends and wandering around shops. I also have to say how thankful I am for the blog community, which has connected me with awesome people like Amy and Grace. It’s just really amazing to meet like-minded folk, especially those whose paths would never otherwise have crossed mine. It makes me schmoopy.

Ahem. Back to food someday soon. I have thrilling photos of nachos for you.

I truly, truly hope to get things back on track soon, but meanwhile how about a slice of pie, made by the genius pie fairies at the Agawam Diner in Rowley, MA up on the North Shore:

Oooooh yeah. That’s coconut cream pie, homemade, and the size of my head. Other options included, on Sunday, custard, chocolate cream, chocolate mousse (more like a cake), “squash”, banana cream, apple, strawberry-rhubarb, and enough others that once I’d fixed on coconut cream I sort of tuned out. In the past the crust has been so-so, but this time it was great.

The Agawam Diner is our favorite mid-ramble lunch spot–it’s a classic 50s shiny metal diner with classic diner food (Ben most recently had chicken salad on a buttered and grilled NE-style hot dog bun), service that varies from lovingly gruff to surly, and amazing prices. And pie. Michael Stern reviewed it for Road Food a couple years ago.

Highly recommended.

1. While reading last month’s Real Simple, notice a 1-line “recipe” suggesting a pasta dish with shredded brussels sprouts sautéed in butter and combined with fettucine and bacon.

2. Remember the stalk of brussels sprouts aging in the fridge; think you can probably make things more interesting than just combining the pasta with the sprouts and bacon.

3. Carbonara!

4. Don’t look up a recipe from carbonara, except to see that one online says “beaten eggs” and one in a cookbook says “egg yolks.” Do not read any of the rest of either recipe. Just start cooking, even though the one other time you made carbonara (following a recipe to the letter) you got it wrong and the eggs scrambled.

5. Proceed smugly, shredding the sprouts, cutting bacon into lardons and frying them, cooking the sprouts, separating eggs, cooking spaghetti.

6. Frantically call husband into kitchen to grate parmesan as the pasta finishes cooking; combine sprouts/bacon with pasta; assume the pasta is cooling down too much, dump eggs into pasta in a panic.

7. Pasta and pan are still too hot. Eggs sort of scramble.

8. Fling pot holder on the floor, while cursing.

9. Rip off apron and fling it against a cupboard, while cursing.

10. Storm out of the kitchen in a cursing, flinging fit.

11. Return to kitchen and mumble profanities while seasoning the pasta, meanwhile breaking it into smaller and smaller strands while husband silently pours large glasses of wine.

12. Eat giant mounded bowl of pasta (plus seconds), which looks horrible but tastes pretty damn good. Say a silent thanks for candlelight. Drink wine.

Lessons learned:

– For the LOVE, make sure the pasta is hot enough but not too hot when mixing in the egg.

– Keep in mind that things can only go so badly when the ingredients involved are: Bacon, brussels sprouts, parmesan, garlic, pasta.

—-

I’m in a panic about cocktail party for 40 tomorrow night. It is sleeting and I need to grocery shop but I feel like I don’t have a very solid menu. Wish me luck, please! And if you’re feeling upset by that sad pasta up, let me offer you the following condolence prize:

I visited Bridge in NYC this weekend, and we celebrated her boyfriend Matt’s birthday at the unbelievably awesome Fette Sau (“fat pig”) in Williamsburg. Witness the glory of the Tray Of Meat:

9:29 p.m.

9:55 p.m.

We also drank cider and beer out of half-gallon jugs:

It was a good weekend for food. We ate at Perbacco and had mince-meat-stuffed deep-fried cerignola olives (!!) (Bridge saw them on the menu and just looked at me, all “wow, they know your soft underbelly…”), and we visited my favorite bodega tacqueria on 10th Avenue. We spent an afternoon in my beloved old neighborhood, saw great apartments, and spent a lovely time with friends. Good times and at least a five-pound weight gain, I’m guessing.

I’ve never outgrown my beachcombing urge, and any time I’m on the Ocean I spend as much time as possible staring at the sand, looking for treasures. Every few minutes I stand up straight and gaze out at the ocean, get all dwarfed-feeling thinking about the vastness of it all, and then turn back to the stones and shell shards at my feet.

I have a project in mind, which prompted me to haul an embarrassing heap of big stones back with me. I left the many huge “dinosaur eggs” of granite behind, since I don’t have a yard in which to build a nest. More to come! (And more photos here, if you’re so inclined.)