Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Real produce, real answers

What do you do about the tiny black bugs in the organic broccoli? asked a foodpickle writer.

I know the answer, but I couldn't bring myself to post it there.

We had these same tiny black bugs in our homegrown cauliflower when I was a kid. I would spend minute after minute at the kitchen sink, plunging the white heads into cold water and inspecting each and every floret.

This sort of effort was fruitless, and my father would tell me so. Then he showed me his way. Like me, he plunged the cauliflower under the water. Unlike me, he left it there and went to the cupboard. He returned to the sink, an open tin in his hand. He shook the tin above the surface of the water, let the cauliflower soak for a time, and then pulled the whole head from the sink before draining the water, grinning.

So to the foodpickle person, I say this: pepper the broccoli. No one will ever know the difference.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Summer is Here!

Dear Bush Beans: 

You are a pain to harvest and process, but I love you. Especially drizzled in olive oil, simply seasoned, and grilled. 

All winter long I pine for this, the beginning of the summer harvest. Our local farmer's market had sweet corn and tomatoes and berries. My husband went with me for the first time, and he described me as practically vibrating.

Things are a little slower in our own garden, graciously housed and cared for by my in-laws. The pepper plants look a little short, the tomato plants seem to be coming up slow, but the beans promise a good yield. Hope your summer produces as well!

Friday, July 8, 2011

Where I've Been

Hiya blog readers. It has been a while. Summer has me in her grips, and she's not letting me go until I out-scarf the hot dog eating champion at Nathan's Famous.

I'll post from time to time this summer. In the meantime, I'd love it if you read my latest piece, a "short imagined monologue", as published at McSweeney's Internet Tendency:

- - - -
The situation was that my second child was going on four and still in diapers. People were starting to talk. I was already “that mom with the biter.” They called my firstborn “The Shark” around the St. Nicholas Daycare. His dental impressions were found on everyone, or so they claimed. I swear one of those kids was biting himself just to get an extra turn on the scooter, but whatever. Eventually they put my boy on the naughty list and kicked him out… hence the employment gap you’ve noted, and The Shark’s complete hatred of Santa Claus.  
Once nursery workers turn on you, you’re under constant surveillance. You pass them in the dairy aisle. They smile sweetly, avoiding eye contact, noting the mismatched socks and the odor of soy sauce as they select their fake butter. ...

Read the full piece here. Fifteen dogs and counting, Laura