Inconstant Gardener (or Life Lessons I’ve Learned from Gardening)

First official day of fall today, although we had our first hard frost a few nights ago, always a more definitive marker for the end of summer than a date on the calendar. It’s felt like fall for a few weeks now, though, with Isabel back at college and Faye absorbed in her busy high school life. Chris is back to teaching, and I’m trying to buckle down to a more productive work schedule myself. At the same time, September weather is usually the best of the year, with clear skies, crisp air, and a gentle sun. It drifts through the skylight above my desk, pulling me away from my computer and outside for a hike, bike, kayak or, so I can reassure myself I’m still being productive, to the garden.

Bizarro McDonald's

Very few American cities can claim to not have a McDonald’s within their limits, but Burlington, Vermont, is one of them. A while back a Golden Arches did exist downtown, but in an unusual turn of events, it quietly closed its doors. After an inspired renovation, The Farmhouse Tap & Grill opened up four years ago in its place to fanfare that hasn’t stopped since.

Mmmmmorocco

In celebration of my fiftieth birthday, Chris and I recently went on a long-awaited trip to Morocco. Morocco is a country that’s intrigued me ever since I read the novel The Sheltering Sky, one of my Top Ten, over twenty years ago. I had never been to Africa before, nor to an Islamic country, and it proved to be no less fascinating and enchanting and bewildering than I had anticipated.

Comfort Me with Apples...and Fettuccine Alfredo

Poor, gray November. For a lot of people, it’s their least favorite month of the year. Gone are the brilliant leaves and blue skies of October, at least here in the Northeast, and instead a bleak chill settles in over the bare landscape.

Falling In Love Over Gazpacho

It’s rare for a place to exceed my expectations. Usually when I travel, I’ve spent the previous few months reading about and planning for my visit, so that when I arrive at my destination it already feels familiar, and sometimes slightly disappointing. Every now and then, though, I come upon a place that blows me away. It’s kind of like falling in love. Granada was like this.

Progressive Dinner Party

I can’t remember exactly when it started—maybe around ten years ago—but a group of friends, all of whom live within a few blocks of each other in Bristol, started having a progressive dinner party on a mostly annual basis. A few of us have been involved from the beginning: Chris and I, Porter and Dave, and Pete and Katie. Other couples have joined along the way. You’re probably familiar with the idea—you rove from one house to the next, eating a different course at each home prepared with the host’s own creative flair.  

La Bella Italia

Next to France, my favorite country to visit, in large part for the food, is Italy. Granted, many countries I’ve not yet traveled to may rise to the top of this list in the future, but for now Italy takes second place. I can honestly say that everything that passed my lips in the birthplace of the Slow Food movement was delicious, a claim I can’t even make for France (not a big fan of kidneys, glands, or brain). And if you’re interested in art, architecture, history, and design like I am, then Italy is a dream destination. Not to mention the wine.

The Complexities of Being an Omnivore

I’m in the process of writing an article for Edible Green Mountains about Icelandic lamb. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this primitive breed (I had never eaten it before now), it’s a premium lamb that’s highly sought after for its incomparable flavor and lean quality. In the interest of research, I of course had to taste some. The lamb is raised at Stark Hollow Farm, a small sustainable farm in Huntington run by Vanessa Riva and Laura Smith. They ship their lamb all over the country, with some customers paying more for the shipping than for the lamb itself.

I had visited Stark Hollow Farm already and seen their happy sheep grazing on a hillside (they’re 100 percent grass-fed), but I hadn’t bought any lamb that day. 

Blue Hawaii

Much as I love the charms of a Vermont winter, at about this time of year I like to get away to warmer climes. As I write, we’re in the midst of Winter Storm Nemo, but I’m still glowing from a recent trip to Hawaii with Chris. He had the good fortune to need to do some research on Oahu, so I went along and we added on a few days on Kauai. We had never been to these two islands before, just to Maui and the Big Island, but with Kauai we saved the best for last. It’s the Vermont of Hawaii, with stunning scenery, a low-key vibe, and an eclectic mix of people.

Après Ski

Some days I wonder why we live in Vermont. “Remind me why again,” I’ll say to Chris when the temperature drops below zero, causing cars to stall and pipes to freeze. Even when wearing appropriate high tech apparel, my fingers and toes still go numb. “It keeps the population down,” Chris will respond cheerfully. Callie our dog even seems to wonder why we live here as she dashes outside to do her business and then turns right around to come back in the house, lifting her paws high off the cold ground. I pack our wood stove with logs to try to combat the draftiness of our old house and drink mug after mug of hot tea.

We’ve had a string of these sub-zero days recently, with the only consolation being the bright sun and the snow on the ground. When the temperature nudges up, it’s crucial to get outside and enjoy winter. I’ve learned that it’s the only way to survive the longest season in Vermont. My preferred outdoor activity? Cross country skiing. 

When My Man Cooks

I do most of the cooking in our household, which is fine by me, but every now and then Chris will prepare a meal. Usually it’s meat on the grill or “diner food.” You know, grilled cheese, omelets, pancakes and the like. He’s much better at making this type of food than I am, thanks to lots of practice during his single years. When we were first dating, though, I was under the impression that he enjoys cooking more than he does. Candlelit meals of halibut baked in parchment and bouillabaisse were not unusual but, to be fair, I have to admit that I led him to believe I like backpacking more than I actually do.

On December 29th, we celebrated our 22^nd wedding anniversary. How much or how little Chris likes to cook really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. We’re fortunate to share a happy, fulfilling marriage. To toast the occasion, Chris offered to make dinner: a lamb stew with Indian spices, perfect for a wintry evening.  

To Market, To Market

The second best thing to a summer farmers market is a winter farmers market. In fact, it’s sometimes even more of a treat because it’s a less common occurrence. Plus the vision of fresh, local vegetables piled high when you step in from the cold is even better than holiday sugarplums.

Soup, Glorious Soup

During this season of overly rich foods, soup offers a healthy alternative meal when we’re not indulging in holiday excess (not that I mind a little indulgence every now and again). Soup leaves me feeling satisfied, but it’s light at the same time—unless it’s a cream based soup, in which case it qualifies as more of an indulgence. But hey, ‘tis the season.

Giving Thanks

Now that the cooking extravaganza has passed and the relatives have gone home, I have some time to reflect on what makes Thanksgiving one of my favorite holidays. There’s the food, of course—traditional dishes that I only make or eat at this time of year.

But much more important than the food are the people you share it with. When I was growing up and continuing well into my twenties, my mom usually made the meal for our extended family. Some of my best memories are from around that table. In more recent years, my own family’s Thanksgivings have been less predictable, but no less memorable.

In Praise of Brussels Sprouts

I’ve never met a vegetable that I didn’t like. Even the lowliest of peasant fare. In fact, one of my favorites is the much maligned Brussels sprout. With the first hint of fall, I crave this humble vegetable. Maybe it has something to do with my own peasant roots on my father’s Irish side of the family, often in conflict with the Polish nobility on my mother’s side. According to family lore, we're descendents of Napoleon and his Polish mistress the Countess Marie Walewska, and the son they had together (hence my affinity for France and my taste for haute cuisine perhaps?). 

Marie Walewska

The Ultimate Comfort Food

During this month of endless political polls, I’m conducting my own survey—on The Ultimate Comfort Food. What’s yours? Many of you prefer to email me directly instead of leaving a comment, so feel free to do either, although other readers may find your choices interesting and inspiring. One of the best parts of fall in my opinion is the shift to cozy, heartier foods. What foods do you choose to make or eat to warm your soul?

Ten Reasons I Love My Food Co-op

Not only has the UN declared 2012 to be the International Year of Cooperatives, but the month of October has also been deemed National Co-op Month. So what better time is there to celebrate my favorite cooperative, Middlebury Natural Foods Co-op (affectionately known as MNFC or the Co-op)? Here are ten reasons to show your local co-op some love:

Halibut Cove, Alaska

A family of grizzly bears foraging berries by the side of the road, bald eagles soaring overhead, breathtaking glaciers cutting through ancient rock, Mount McKinley’s majestic peak bright white against an immense blue sky—Alaska inspires awe and wonder in its many drop-jawed visitors. And then there’s the fish. Salmon and halibut like you’ve never tasted before, so fresh that it was swimming in the icy waters hours before your meal. A common t-shirt slogan reads "Some people come to Alaska just for the fish," and I believe it.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Profuse weeds, tendonitis, and tainted compost—the garden has presented more than its usual share of challenges this year. Weeds are nothing new, but with the record-breaking warm weather they’ve been more out of control than ever. Keeping up with the weeds brought on a flair-up of tendonitis in my elbow, something I’ve dealt with before but this time it’s been particularly tenacious. And then there was the contaminated compost, a mysterious occurrence that has devastated hundreds of Vermont gardeners who thought they were buying organic compost, only to find out that it was polluted with two herbicides that are banned in the state. Not the best gardening season by a long shot.

Despite the setbacks, the garden has had its rewards. Early crops of French breakfast radishes,

Heaven Is a Farmers Market

You can tell a lot about a town from its farmers market. Who the vendors are and what they’re selling—and who the consumers are and what they’re buying—are both accurate indicators, I’ve found in my casual, ongoing research, of the health and vitality of a community.