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Individual Rhubarb Crumbles

Rhubarb Crumble

Signs of Spring

“At three o’clock in the afternoon Lee was sitting at his desk, turning over the pages of a seed catalog.The pictures of sweet peas were in color. Now these would look nice on the back fence. They’d screen off the slough. I wonder if there is enough sun.”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Inspiration

I am a hap-hazard gardener. Happy to try new plants and ideas every spring and falling into the trap of over-planting and failing to give the plants everything they need. It’s a hazard. Last spring we bought a rhubarb plant. I was optimistic, but wondered if the plant would survive the winter. We planted it next to garage near the lemon verbena and sage. To my amazement, it flourished, and last fall I was ready to harvest. Thankfully I investigated how to harvest rhubarb before I tore into the plant. Rhubarb needs a year to get established before the first harvest. It’s healthier for the plant if the stalks are gently tugged from the outside edges of the plant, rather than cutting them. The rhubarb was beginning to outgrow its spot (the leaves are huge) and when the outer stalks began to lay on the ground and pull away from the center of the plant I began dreaming about fresh rhubarb. It was a sure sign of spring on the central coast. READ MORE . . .

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Magpie Bakery’s Pear Chocolate Pie

Chocolate Pear Pie

Three Things

“If you say it’s her, it’s her, said Joe, and he pushed a twenty and a five across the table. Hal rolled the bills like a cigarette and put them in his vest pocket. He cut a triangle of meat from the rib steak and put it in his mouth. It was her, he said. Want a piece of pie?”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Inspiration

Life in the kitchen is always changing, moving. Make a meal, clean up, try a new recipe, more cleaning, shop, then stock the pantry and refrigerator, more eating, repeat in random order. So many variables, just like traffic. The joy of flying down the freeway, the pause to refuel, the frustration of stop and go, the cozy feeling of coming home at the end of a long day and yes, the insane amount of time we spend in our cars. A working kitchen can be a traffic jam on Highway 68 or a sweet and sassy ride down the coast of California. READ MORE . . .

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Kiwi Lime Tart with a Pretzel Crust

Kiwi Lime Tart with Pretzel Crust

A Winter Kiwi Harvest

“They don’t have any winter in California,” he said. It’s just like spring all the time.”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Inspiration

There is something astonishing about being able to pick fruit in the middle of winter. On a bright sunny California day it’s easy to forget it’s January. We went to pick kiwi and the winter sunshine was so warm that no jacket was needed. The last time we picked kiwi I made a cake. This time I made a tart. There is an explosion of flavor in this voluptuous dessert. Tucked under a canopy of kiwi is a pretzel crust loaded with lime curd. Each component is marvelous. A buttery and salty pretzel crust that is easy to make. It supports the velvety lime curd with a solid foundation of crunch. Then lots of kiwi with their big green color and bright floral flavor top off this marvelous dessert. READ MORE . . .

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Apple Butter Ginger Hand Pies

Rolling out dough for hand pies

A Trip to the Orchard

“Look, Samuel, I mean to make a garden of my land. Remember my name is Adam. So far I’ve no Eden, let alone been driven out.” It’s the best reason I ever heard for making a garden, “ Samuel exclaimed. He chuckled. “Where will the orchard be?” Adam said, “I won’t plant apples. That would be looking for accidents.” “What does Eve say to that? She has a say, remember. And Eves delight in apples.”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Inspiration

Autumn arrived. We felt it ease into our days. The bright late afternoon sun gave way to crisp nights and mornings. By the first week in November, the Indian summer was gone. A longing for apples, pumpkins, pears, and all manner of things warm and comforting replaced our sandals and juicy ripe tomatoes. Hazy thoughts of apple pie came into focus. Childhood memories of trips to the orchards of Pajaro Valley mingled with the remembered scent of ripe apples and the warmth of cinnamon. As a young child a bushel of apples seemed daunting to me. I knew I would be standing on a stool and peeling, until the box was empty! READ MORE . . .