Hudson Valley Strawberry Picking + A Lesson in Strawberry Propagation

{early bloomers, 'florence' cultivar}

I’ll be the first to admit I still have a lot to learn about gardening. It would help to read up on the truths learned from the gardeners that have gone before me, but it's much more fun (and memorable) to learn as I go, successes and failures alike well-earned.

My first garden trials began around the age of 6. That was the year that the strawberry plants that crept up under the fence from our neighbor's yard stopped producing fruit. It was one of the great tragedies of my childhood.

I had no idea what caused this misfortune to my budding farmstead, but this I knew, we would have strawberries again. One truth guided me: each fruit has a seed from which it came. So, I started collecting the tiny strawberry seeds from our Saturday shortcakes and planting them —  plus whole berries and bitten off caps for good measure—all over the yard. I guess I was never destined to uncover the great mysteries of science. When they never grew, I cut my losses and started planting peach pits instead.

~

Last weekend, when I admired our neighbors Cal and Mary's new hanging strawberry plants, they offered us their runners. I accepted enthusiastically. Though, it dawned on me, I still didn’t really know a lick about propagating strawberries. You don't buy strawberry seeds in the stores like radishes and carrots. I did know that once you have an established plant, growing strawberries is pretty easy. One plant quickly sends out runners and multiplies into three or four, proved by my hearty patch of fragaria vesca (alpine strawberries) in our city plot that started with just two tiny plants several years ago. So creating our own prolific patch from a few runners upstate, I assumed, was easy as easy as strawberry pie. Throw those babies into some soil and poof, fresh berries all summer long. 

Before I had a chance to read up on my latest agricultural theory, Cal brought over 10 leggy runners.
I habitually put herb cuttings from my garden, like basil, and chocolate mint, in big Ball jars of water on the counter until they grow roots, then give them or replant the rooted offspring in the soil to great success. I assumed the strawberry runners would work the same way. They looked healthy and robust, so I tossed them into an enamel tub with water to soak while I did some reading.

Imaging my disappointment when I read (on the BBC Gardening Guide, a trusted source) that to propagate a strawberry plant, you must first plant the runners in a pot or the ground while still attached to the mother plant. Then, when the offspring have hearty roots and new growth, cut them from the mother and transplant.

Oops.

Undeterred, I left the runners in their tub with water over the week while we headed back to the city. When we returned, the runners all had 1/2 to 1-inch roots growing into the water and new, healthy leaves. There's hope for them yet. We planted them in the soil that day, and I promise to report my findings back here (and to the BBC).

Since we won't expect them to fruit until next summer, we were thrilled when G's friend Ruby and her parents invited us to go strawberry picking at Kelder's Farm, part way between our house and theirs.

{josh + ruby, kelder's farm, route 209}

There's plenty of u-pick farms in Duchess and Ulster counties, a perfectly drivable distance from the city for folks who want to taste strawberries straight from the vine. And I highly recommend you do. This four quart bushel below, picked by our budding homesteader (with lots of help from mamma) was mostly gone in a day, piled on top of whole wheat waffles for breakfast, stirred into Greek yogurt with a sprinkling of brown sugar for dessert and eaten up by the handful every hour in between.

{greta, kelder's farm, route 209}

Don't miss out. Go forth, and pick. Here's where: 

Kelder's Farm

Route 209

Kerhonkson, NY 12446

(845) 626-7137

Farm market, U-pick Produce

Saunderskill Farms

5100 Rt. 209

Accord, NY 12404

Apple Grower, Roadside Stand, Cider


Oh, and by the way. strawberry plants only produce fruit for about 5 years. If yours stop producing fruit one day, don't go planting peach pits (that doesn't work either). Let those runners run and give new life to your patch.

you say tomato, i say to-ma-to

{photo by john kernick}

In most parts of the country, there's still time to plant tomatoes. just a little. you could beat the probability of paying three dollars a pound for your summer stash by just a tiny, thin little hair if you put in some seedlings in your soil today. or maybe even tomorrow. need some inspiration? check out this photo of the wonderous world of heirloom tomatoes by photographer john kernick. the full photo accompanies Andrea Reusing's musing on the beloved tomato sandwich in her new book,  Cooking in The Moment, one of this season's very best. 

confessions of a weed grower

{greta, two coves community garden}

I have a confession to make. My garden is a stage 4 disaster zone. Somewhere between writing this article for Mothering Magazine about gardening with babes, and picking our first radish, Greta outgrew the Moby wrap, started exerting her desire to be on the constant move, adamantly opposing any activity relating to riding against my chest while I pulled weeds. She's riding the fine line between barely sitting and crawling, a girl almost on the move with no time anymore for the sweet sway of my movements lulling her to sleep. 

Earlier, when she was, I eagerly planted rows of strawberries, lettuces and kale, spinach, radishes, and for good measure, a haphazard sprinkling of of Save the Bees flower mix. That was fairly easy, with 5-month-old Greta in her pouch, her arms yet too small and tucked into my chest to cause a wake.

Recently, we were away from the garden for almost two weeks and when we returned and I saw the mess that had become of it, my heart sank. That night Andras saw sadness in my eyes that I couldn't explain. This place of peace and perfection in my former life was now overgrown with weeds. I felt like I was looking upon a home I had built with my own two hands, now abandoned. 

In that moment in the garden, I learned two of life's harder parenting lessons. First, as a mamma, you have less time, which at times makes it imperative to weed out the unnecessary. Maybe its too much to run a business, rebuild a house, cook our meals from scratch and grow our own food in cultivated rows. Maybe instead of growing eight varieties of tomatoes and seven kinds of lettuces, one or two would do.

Second, this is the beginning of me learning to live with imperfection, in the garden and elsewhere. To embrace the chaos, and watch this garden become an environment for Greta's enjoyment and learning, not mine. 

Now that she's sitting and crawling, I can sit curious Greta amongst the wild flowers (indistinguishable from either the edibles or weeds) and let her pull and touch whatever she wishes. It's not perfect, but our girl knows the smell of fresh mint and lavender. She knows the taste of a strawberry we grew ourselves, and of carrot puree made from scratch (even if it took a near-epic excavation to find those carrots beneath it all!)

We won't have a tremendous amount of food from our garden this year. It's is no longer a place of accomplishment, but humility. Of forgiveness. Of letting go. It's a place for a new kind of peace--probably a more lasting one --the peace of excepting life just as it is, and seeing the beauty in every imperfect detail. 

the gardener of invention

{kristen + pocket the chicken, kerhonkson, ny}

By their very nature, gardeners tend to a resourceful bunch. I love that about them. And urban or rural, if you've got the itch to grow, you'll likely find any place possible to house your seed and soil. Most recycled wood containers—think milk crates, old sand boxes or a bookshelf turned on its side (above)—make pretty good starter raised beds (and chicken playgrounds), and will save you bunches on building costs. With a little creativity, you can grow wide, grow tall, or even grow up a wall (check out Apartment Therapy's great post on vertical gardens). Just grow. Grow any way at all.

A Dose of Authenticity

{parade, Hurley, NY}

If life always went as planned, we would have spent last weekend on a little island off of Seattle, celebrating the marriage of two of our dearest friends. It was to be our first real (much needed) family vacation since baby Greta was born, and a long overdue visit to the West Coast which always brings us both a sense of breath and space to handle all this busy city throws our way.

Every time I passed the wedding save the date magnet on the fridge, I imagined walking through quiet streets hand in hand with András (something that happens less now that our hands seem always occupied with the tiny one), Greta tucked against my chest, exploring and inviting the authentic.

The night we were to leave, we spent 6 hours on the tarmac at JFK with Greta in our laps. She ate dinner and fell asleep in our arms and slept like a dream until the captain declared our flight cancelled (don’t ask!). Then she smiled the whole way home in the cab at 1 AM as if we had all just had a very grand adventure. When we woke up the next morning in our own beds, we spent a couple minutes feeling sorry for ourselves and then headed north to a little house in Hurley, NY.

I don’t think I’ve told you all about this yet.

Smack in the middle of writing my book and waiting for baby, we bought a tiny 1930s house in Hurley, New York. Yes, we are gluttons for chaos. It wasn’t so much the house we fell in love with as much as it was the 200-year-old barn.  We imagined turning it into a summer kitchen (for me) and woodworking shop (for András) and a giant grown up playroom in the lofty second level, a project that now seems light years away.

We’ve spent a good few dozen weekends up there, between deadlines and monumental occasions (Greta’s birth) and family visits and birthday parties, tearing down walls and ceilings, painting and priming (and by we, I mean mostly András). We are inching toward our version of country chic, looking out the kitchen window at the empty barn that brought us there.

Usually our weekends there are sweet but storied, full of unexpected obstacles. We eat off of paper plates (gasp, not very green of us, but we reuse them when we can!) and cook every single solitary meal on the little grill I bought András last year. We laugh. At ourselves and each other.  At the absurdity of it all. At Greta bouncing up and down in her Johnny Jump up, her little feet landing over and over on the one small patch of clean, polished wood floor among the mess and mishap we’ve accepted as home.

There is a checklist for this house. There is a deadline. But we don’t live by it. Especially not on a weekend when we’re broken hearted to not to stand by as two people we love make the biggest commitment of their life.  Instead, we gave ourselves a vacation in our own house.

{plant sale, Co Rd 7}

That weekend, I washed freshly picked asparagus in our brand new farm sink. We went to opening day of the Kingston Farmer's Market, and chanced upon a roadside plant stand selling raspberry plants for five dollars. 

{vintage tub, From the Grapevine antiques, Hurley, NY}

We gave our baby girl her first outdoor tubby in an old enamel tub, a gift from our neighbor’s antique shop. We ate the season’s first strawberries and planted our raspberries and walked around barefoot. 

{cucina, woodstock}

We let Greta explore every inch of dirt and grass on her hands and knees and sit in her papa’s lap and eat off his plate at his birthday dinner at Cucina, in Woodstock. 

{lunch: pretzels, Twisted Food, radishes, Migorelli farm, goat's milk ricotta, Acorn Hill Farm}

We cheered for the local Memorial Day parade. We took afternoon naps all together and ate our meals directly from the cutting board on a table made of 2 X 4s. We held hands and let our arms swing up and down between Greta’s singing “Thank you for the world so sweet, thank you for the food we eat…”

We traveled back in time. 

~ 

If you and the ones you love find yourself in the Hudson Valley instead of Seattle or somewhere further off, consider yourself lucky. Here are some places you can get yourself a dose of authenticity.

The Kingston Farmer’s Market

Kingston, NY

The finest of small town farmer’s markets. Get everything from cassis to freshly baked breads, strudels and pies, radishes and greens, wild mushrooms and game and not to be missed sweet, goat's milk ricotta from Acorn Hill Farm. And while you’re there, drop a dollar in the hat for The Queen’s Galley, the organization responsible for feeding all the Hudson Valley’s hungry.

Migorelli Farm Stand

Route 199 and Route 9, Rhinebeck, NY

This 80-year-old fruit and vegetable farm grows over 130 different varieties of fruits and vegetables. They are a regular fixture at both our local market on 14^th street in Astoria and the Union Square Green Market, but it's twice as fun to buy direct from the stands that flank their fields. 

Twisted Foods Pretzel Roll Factory

Rosendale, NY

Bring your tie-died T's and drive slow as you pull into sleepy Rosendale. If you blink, you’ll pass right by Twisted Foods. This place isn’t fancy; they save the fancy for their four types of pretzel rolls -- Chewy, polished poofs of salted dough shiny from their baking soda bath, with an addictive chew and substance.

Gills Farm Stand

Route 209, New York

Somehow, I don’t entirely mind paying the steep prices to keep a 6^th generation family farm in business. The Gills own most of the land around Hurley, and sell their seasonal goods by the handful and bunch. Right now you’ll find the last of their asparagus and spinach, season’s first strawberries and the best selection of starter plants from white aubergine to green striped tomatoes that a gardener could wish for.

Cucina

Woodstock, New York

Cucina is a restaurant with a menu and décor so fine it belongs in any big city, but thankfully it sits on a quiet perch in a rambling restored farmhouse just outside Woodstock.  Minutes from the arresting Ashokan Reservoir (where we city folk get our water), it is sleek by country standards, or any standards. But the food is fresh and fantastic. Service is gracious (even accommodating messy little fingers) and the whole experience is altogether inviting.

chopped

{a fifteen minute lunch} to make, chop the contents of your CSA box or veggie drawer. peppers, green beans, spring onions. add hard boiled eggs. torn mozzarella. salt. pepper. olive oil. enjoy.

Eggs So Pretty {An Easter Story}

I love everything about eggs. Their golden yolks that nurture with fat and flavor, their silky whites that transform into luscious meringues, their fragile shells in pale blues and greens, tans and browns. I love the way the shells crumble into a million pieces, how they look sitting up tall and proud in an egg cup, or poached and perched, yolks oozing over a frisee salad. But in our big world of bold colors and flavors, the egg is still a fairly humble ingredient.

So at Easter time, I always find it remarkable how magnificent they can look painted. These painted eggs got their beauty in the patient and talented hands of my friend George McKirdy, owner and pastry chef of Astor Bake Shop, our favorite neighborhood haunt. Years ago I worked for George in the pastry kitchen of Café Boulud, and was thrilled when he turned up again down the street behind the big, open windows on the corner.

I've learned so many things from George {how to make the world's best coconut macaroon, to forever love the combination of passion fruit and chocolate, and that a financier never, ever goes out of vogue} but in a sense this is my favorite ~ that with a little tender care, the humble, everyday egg can become something spectacular, something that glimmers with alarming beauty.

That is the message of Easter. That something bare and unadorned ~ an egg, a life, a soul ~ can be transformed by the gifts of patience, grace, and love.

{Happy Earth Day!}

{photos by Dasha Wright and Robert Jacobs}

Up north, we wait a long time for garden season, but this year the wait seemed even longer. Last summer, as my belly grew round with the babe, I spent hours and hours tending our small community garden plot, laughing with wonder as the little one inside me kicked and squirmed. When I finally met our giggly girl, Greta, I couldn't wait to take her back there to see our garden with her own blue eyes. 

She was born in November, and the garden sat under a pile of snow for months on end. We'd walk by often during these long winter days, checking for peeks of green, but still the snow fell. 

Finally, five months to the day after Greta was born, we got a rare April day so warm that we headed outside with her hands and feet bare. As she is everywhere in life, she was eager, engaged, reaching out for everything with her curious hands, delighting in the textures and colors of the world around her.  I was thrilled that this place I love seemed just as full as wonder and discovery for her, with more curiosities to offer her than anything she'd seen inside four walls.

We spent that day at the house of our friends Robert and Dasha,  both photographers, who captured Greta's first earth day on film in their own sprawling gardens ~  those first moments as her bare feet touched the soil, her tiny hands reaching for the green shoots of spring onions, and even the I'm pooped mamma tears that ended our garden play-date before I wiped her muddy toes and tucked her into the corner of their plush couch for her afternoon nap. 

It's a rare child who doesn't delight in the texture of warm, damp earth between their toes, the dance of poppies nodding in the wind, and the close attention of their parents sitting side by side with them in the soil.  I wrote about how and why to make your garden a special place for your babes in Mothering Magazine, but in case you missed it, here are my favorite three tips for gardening with a child of any age:

Schedule Garden Time
kids thrive on schedules and predictability.  Schedule a time each day or week to spend in the garden with your child.  Your little one will recognize it as a special bonding time and place where you work as a team to grow healthy foods together.

Build a Food Vocabulary
Babies and young children love the sound of their mother’s voice.  Talk to them while you garden; explain what you are doing and give names to the tools you use and veggies you grow, helping them build their nutrition and food vocabulary season by season.

Designate a Bed In the Garden
No matter how young your little gardener is, pick a patch of soil just for them where the rules and rows of gardening don’t apply. Throw caution to the wind and let your littles dig and experiment at their whim, giving them a sense of independence and pride in what they grow.

There's never been a better time to get started gardening as a family than on Earth Day. You don't need a sprawling garden or any fancy gardening gear, just a few seeds, and a pot, and a little one you love. For more tips on getting started, here's my post on five gardening basics {click here} to grow on. 

Happy Earth Day!

* Special thanks to Robert and Dasha for sharing their little oasis and beautiful photographs with us. *

Earth Day ~ For the Love of the Soil

{photo by Robert Jacobs}

There's something magical that happens the first time a little one touches the earth. A connection is made that sparks a lifetime of respect and understanding, one that is cultivated every time their little hands meet the soil. It starts small, like a tiny seed, and only takes a little nurturing from you to help it grow and grow. Tomorrow's Earth Day, the perfect day to get outside with your wee ones and get your hands in the soil together. It doesn't matter what you grow ~ Save the Bee's flowers, carrots or a sunny patch of strawberries ~ spending time in the soil with your sweet babes will teach them how and why to value our precious planet.

For tips and ideas for getting started gardening with your kids {no matter how young}, read my recent article for Mothering Magazine {here}. And come back tomorrow and all summer long for more photos and ideas for going green with your tiny soil mates.

Happy Earth Day!

have your cake...

{styling by Doris Josovitz. photos by Joshua Farley}

Life has been whizzing by. Our baby girl is already 4 months old, quick to smile and giggle, testing her voice at every decibel and trying with all her might to sit up. While we often wish {and even pray} for a full night's sleep, there's a part of us who never wants to see the day when she doesn't need our voices or arms to sooth her.

At this pace, we have to constantly remind ourselves to stop and take it all in, to enjoy every second because before we blink she'll be a big girl like her friend Ruby, born to our friends Josh and Doris one year ago.

To celebrate, Ruby's parents packed their Brooklyn loft chock full of friends, family and babes of all ages who crawled and climbed all over each other while we grown-ups drank a round of Ruby brew. Ruby romped around a rapid one-year-old speed in her yellow vintage dress, complete with puffed sleeves and a pom-pom sash, queen for a day. She sat still in her mamma's lap just long enough to hear her very first rendition of Happy Birthday and attempt to blow out the candles on the cupcakes that lined two pedestal stands. Moment's later, Ruby rocked her first chocolate cupcake like the party girl she is, rubbing more into her dress than ever reached her mouth.

I love a girl who knows how to handle her cake. When you think about it, if you're going to eat cake {and you should, occasionally}, you might as well enjoy it to the fullest because no matter where you are in life, it's going to keep on whizzing by.

And besides, it's not a good party until somebody ruins a dress.

Soil Mates {A Valentine's Day Gift}

Research shows that steady relationships, like lifelong friendships or marriage, are good for our health. And people aren't the only living creatures that benefit from companionship. Many animals mate for life, and even veggies benefit from planting in pairs. Yes, your tomatoes need love too.

Vegetables planted together share health benefits like soil enrichment and natural pest control which translates to more flavor on your plate. Like human love, it's complicated. Enter Soil Mates, a design-savvy garden guide to what to plant together and why. Consider it the match.com for your garden, and the perfect gift for a gardener you love.

Sugar and Spice and Cocoa, so nice

Sure, I shop at the farmer's market and grow my own food. But since ingredients like sugar, cocoa and vanilla don't grow anywhere near our home, I don't feel guilty buying them at Costco, where the prices keep me in high-quality baking supplies even in the leanest times. I wouldn't buy just any old ingredient at a mega-discount store, but their fair-trade organic sugar, Dutch process cocoa and plump Madagascar vanilla beans won my approval this summer when I was developing recipes for my cookbook. They now command a prime spot on our pantry. With Valentine's Day just around the corner, they deserve a spot in yours too. Here's the scoop:

Wholesome Sweeteners Fair Trade Organic Sugar: It's not very often you can find "certified fair trade" and "organic" in the same product. Made from canes in South America, this is my all-purpose baking and sweetening sugar. Replace your refined white sugar one for one in cookies, cakes, icings and on top of your morning latte.

Rodelle Dutch Process Cocoa: Dutch process cocoa {think Valhrona} is deeper and darker than
natural cocoa {think Hershey's} which gives it what I like to call a grown-up cocoa flavor. Sourced "responsibly" {according to Rodelle's website} from West Africa,  this is my go-to deep-flavored cocoa, perfect for anything you want an intense chocolate flavor to shine in, like cakes, pudding and of course, hot cocoa. Be sure to check recipes that include leaveners {like baking soda or baking powder}.
Dutch process cocoa reacts differently than natural in these recipes {read more here}, so follow those recipes to a T.

Rodelle Vanilla Beans: Vanilla beans or pods come from an orchid plant indigenous to South Eastern Mexico, and later migrated to Madagascar where today's best beans are grown. These plump pods pack enough vanillin to scrape into sweets and stir into frostings for a vanilla flecked flavor that extracts rarely achieve. You can sometimes find vanilla beans in the baking aisle of the grocery store, but they are
often thin and dry and not worth the pretty penny they cost. {Sorry McCormick, your vanilla beans having nothing on these chubsters}.  If you've never used a vanilla bean before, check out Rodelle's how-to-video for how to split and scrape a bean {here}. Be sure to save your leftover beans to dry and store in a jar of sugar for DIY vanilla sugar.

Since not everyone {sorry mom!} has a Costco, I also found these goodies on Amazon for a
not-quite-Costco-cheap-but-fair price too. Here's a shortcut for you: sugar {click here} cocoa {click here} and vanilla beans {click here}.

No excuses now, time to bake something sweet for the one you love.

When Life Gives you Lemons

                                                                  ...have a citrus celebration.

We’ve been snowed in for weeks in New York. Not that we mind. We’re snow people, and a good tromp in the snow is just about our favorite form of exercise. But it does call for boning up on extra Vitamin C, which besides being a powerful antioxidant, helps in the production of connective tissues to keep your bones and body in good form. Now that it's peak citrus season, its easy to get. Keep a big bowl of clementines on the countertop for snacking, squeeze a hunk of lemon or lime into your bubbly water {or beer, for grown-ups} and toss segments of orange or grapefruit with avocado and serve over mesclan greens with olive oil, sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Since citrus has been known to lift the spirits, why not surround yourself with it while the winter wares on?  Here are four more fun ways to get your daily dose. 1) Put out a stack of paper and a pack of Clementine Soy Crayons, so safe your kiddos could almost eat them. 2) Cozy up to a bright, happy book about an orange's journey to the grocery store shelf   3) Layer up your babe in this darling lime onesie {from etsy} 4) Have your littles help you turn a citrus stamp into your family letterhead or a custom wrapping paper {also, etsy}.

If all else fails, close your eyes and think of all the shiny, happy people in the orange groves of California and fill your home with lemons, limes and laughter while you wait for warmer weather.  

Happy Meals ~ {and baby makes three}

Recently, our two became a three and suddenly, we are family. It’s a word that brings with it multitude of joy, challenge, delight and stuff. It also brings a new opportunity to celebrate mealtime and make it a family affair, right from the very beginning. Here are a few of our favorite things for making family meals happy meals. 

(1) Bright, striped primary colored Bibs to Go by Sami and the pretty and pale version by Dwell Studio aren’t for every day {if you live by the mantra reduce, reuse and recycle} but they are brilliant for outings.

(2) You’ll love these bamboo baby spoons when it comes time for spoon-feeding, and in the meantime, they are safe for baby’s curious fingers to grab off the table when they’re sitting on your lap at mealtime.

(3) While we’re still a long way from solid food, mammas and papas have to eat too, so we love these melamine papa bear plates by Jane Jenni. Soon we’ll add the little piglet and sweet pea versions for our baby bean’s place at the table.

(4) And speaking of eating, it is still very possible to eat out with the babe, especially when they are teeny tiny and satisfied to sleep in your lap with a belly full of mother’s milk. Be sure to bring a few pretty distractions in case they wake. Our favorite ~ the ABCs by Charley Harper. 

G is for Grateful {and Baby Girl}

l.i.c, ny ~ January 2011

I've sat down no less than a dozen times to write since November 2, 2010, though most times I get called away to a greater cause. That was the day that beautifully, miraculously changed our world forever. That was the day we welcomed our new baby girl to the world.

There's no story, no recipe, no anecdote grand enough, special enough to say what is simply said like this ~ oh joy, we are a family! Introducing Greta, the most delicious creature I've ever laid eyes on.

Happy New Year. May it bring as much joy, delight and divinity to your world as you can dream possible.

~ Sarah

The Brooklyn Flea

brooklyn, ny

I'm married to a man who has earned the nickname Swiss for his less than astute regard for punctuality.  I admit that I too am habitually 15 minutes late for most things. So it's no surprise that our dear little babe did not arrive yesterday, on due date, nor today. What's there to do in New York while waiting for baby? Why, go to the Brooklyn Flea of course! 

There are a dozen other good reasons to spend a Saturday at the flea in Fort Greene, and ten of them are food related. The eleventh reason is inspiration that comes when good food meets good design. It's like Foodzie meets Etsy, a feast for discerning sensibilities and anyone who appreciates artisan, handmade goods. 

There are all the Brooklyn favorites, like The Good Fork and Pizza Moto, and also several notable newcomers. It was as a sterling fall day to welcome Brooklyn Flea newbie Jessica Binkley, who debuted her small batch vanilla extract and vanilla sugar today under the label binxgoods. Her vanilla extract comes with a plump bean inside, so you can reward your investment by topping the bottle off with good bourbon for an everlasting supply  {a chef's trick she cleverly turned into a business}. Jessica shows off her eye for design with apothecary-style labels, and the hand-knit hats she sells on the side. 

I fell hard for the distinct collection of nibbles from Brooklyn confectioner's Whimsy & Spice , particularly their honey lavender shortbread and the airiest Valrhona chocolate marshmallows imaginable. The confections are crafted by pastry chef Mark Sopchak and packed in the clean designs of his wife, art director Jenna Park, who is also behind their new illustrated poster {above} of kitchen conversions, a chic and practical gift for anyone who fancies their kitchen a gallery or a laboratory of taste. 

For the story and style behind The Good Batch, I'm hooked. Anna Gordon makes soft stacks of handmade stroopwafels, Holland's beloved cookie, out of a yeast-based dough, and layers them into irresistible combinations, like pumpkin cream pies with Maker's Mark frosting and peanut butter & chocolate. Meeting Anna is a treat in itself, but you'll feel plum perky walking away with her sweets tucked into one of her hand-stamped bags. 

If I could have taken one thing home with me, it would be the milky porcelain half-pint bottles by Alyssa Ettinger Design. Swoon. But rumor has it I have a lot more bottles in my future....

Which brings me to the twelfth good reason to head to the Brooklyn Flea  –   insanely good baby watching, good enough to hold me over at least another day. 

{grow baby}

{photo by Robert Jacobs Photography}

l.i.c., ny

All summer long, whenever I go to the garden, the baby wiggles and kicks, as if as delighted as I am to be there. To me, it's a sign of a baby's connectedness with its mother; the happy endorphins I release when I'm in my little patch of green, pulling weeds and cultivating the soil, are instantly translated to the little one. We're both breathing cleaner, richer oxygen, and working in joyful anticipation of the meal that's to follow. It's fitting then, that it is there, yesterday evening when pulling the last of my peppers and sorting through the surprises of my late season strawberry patch, that I had my first contraction. 

It wasn't the real thing, just practice, my body preparing. But it was exciting nonetheless. 

Here I am in one of the rare quiet moments left in our world before the little eggplant {now as big as a watermelon, say the baby books} arrives. I've eaten well, rested, exercised, sang to and stroked the baby in my belly. All there is left to do now is grow.

In Flux {san diego}

san diego, ca

This summer I've been in a constant state of flux.  First, I left one dream job {as recipe developer at the Food Network} for another {writing my first cookbook}, and now I'm about to learn what it means to be called Mamma, as we await the arrival of our first little babe.

These sort of transitions leave little time for sitting and reflecting, savoring a cup of hibiscus tea or a perfectly crafted chocolate croissant, which is why it seemed so monumentally important to do so with my sis Jenny on our latest visit.

She lives in San Diego, where the pace is perfect for people watching and soaking in life at her favorite cafe, Influx. There, the croissants are all flakey goodness, and as photogenic as the patient pups who wait outside, poised for their next treat.

{influx cafe ~ 1948 Broadway ~ San Diego, CA 92101} 

Figs & Joy {In the unlikeliest of places}

l.i.c., ny

Far be it from a Midwestern Methodist to be so bold as to make deals with God. It has always been in my nature to believe He was always there, gently guiding and providing. But a few years ago, when I was reading a book on spirituality by a well-known guru, I was struck that the author wrote that she had a pact with God.  Whenever she doubted something in life, she would ask for a little token to remind her He was there.

Ever since then, whenever I see something growing in an unlikely place, particularly something edible {like a fruiting cherry tree growing stubbornly out of cracked concrete on a city block, or purslane pushing wildly out of a neglected flower bed shaded by towering buildings}, it has become a subtle reminder that out of ugliness can come beauty; a simple lesson of seek and ye shall find.

~

A few weeks ago, when we were shooting my cookbook in Queens, there were a thousand details that needed my care.  Some seemed to require monumental effort, and I wasn’t sure how we would get everything we needed gathered in one place. The day before the 6-days of shooting began, Lillian and Lindsay, my food styling assistant duo extraordinaire, ran to the local Greek market several blocks away on my behalf to pick up the remaining produce for the shoot.

I had all the shots laid out in my mind, and though I thought it was still early for figs in New York, I had a vision of a dreamy bowl of them—the quiet stillness of their tear shape with all the surprise and delight of their glimmering goodness hidden inside.

“I know it’s a long shot, but look for beautiful figs,” I called as they ran out the door.

The two came back an hour later, bubbling over a bag of tiny purple figs, some still dewy as if they had just been picked straight from a tree. They nearly exploded with excitement as they told me how they had found them sitting heaped in a big enamel bowl behind a chain link fence just a few blocks down from me. While they poked about, out came a gentleman farmer who sold them several handfuls of his freshly harvested figs for just two dollars.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Two dollars for bag full of ripe, locally grown figs? I had been prepared to pay a small fortune for them, or for the likely event that the figs they found might have come from Chile, or Morocco. How had I lived in this neighborhood for almost three years and not known I could buy fresh figs right down the block? 

In many ways, the figs became the token reminder during that harried week, that there are beautiful and good things always within our reach, sometimes rather easily. And they turned out to be the star of more than one of my favorite shots in the book {which you’ll have to wait to see}. 

~

After the dust of the shoot settled, I met Lindsay for dinner and a date to hunt down the fig man. He was there, just as they had described, behind a chain link fence with his pot of plump purple and green figs just waiting for the curious.

The curious, in this case {me}, turned out to have many questions. How many figs trees did he have? How long did they take to get that big? Where did he learn to grow them? 

While we talked, I learned that our fig man’s name is Antonio, and that he had planted the three sprawling fig trees in the side yard of his row house over the last ten years. Through the fence, he gave us a little tour of his garden and told us of the hard work it takes to keep it all going.

“I’m 88 1/2 years old, you know,” He volunteered.

“Well, I would have guessed 72!” 

“I wish I knew everything I know now when I was 72!”

~

Antonio came from his home near the border of Italy and Croatia to Astoria many moons ago. I’m so glad he did, for he provided me with figs and joy in the unlikeliest of places, and a divine reminder that sometimes, out of nowhere, our needs are met. If only we are looking.