All posts filed under: beverages

Making the most of berry season, on A Raisin & A Porpoise

in the mix

There’s a lot to consider. What we did this summer and what we didn’t. Where we went and where we didn’t. Packing, sorting and organizing That Which Was Never Entirely Unpacked, so one child can head back to college; clambering over piles and heaps to set another one up for the start-of-school camping trip; hunting through closets, dressers and storage bags to see if there is anything the young sprout can wear to the first week of his new school. But summer! Summer! I want more of it. I want to do it better, to have done it better, to have slurped all the juice right out of it. As it slips into its misty conclusion I find myself doubly committed to jumping in every river or lake, saying yes to every hike. It is blackberry season. All this yes-to-rivers, on top of the rush of other commitments, makes it hard to stop and address them via the canning pot.  But on they ripen, heedless of my schedule. My husband’s morning ritual includes a wrestle …

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chocolate rose mousse, from a raisin & a porpoise

I rose up

Summer shifted. Even though I have yet to feel like it has really begun, this morning when I woke up the heavy mist that signals impending August and its determined slide into September was hanging over everything. By mid-morning, the sun burned through and now we’re getting more of that crazy gorgeous big blue sky we’ve been treated to all season. But I know what I saw. In a regular summer, I find it a little difficult to write about cooking. There is a lot of everything green, and not a lot of time. We can eat handsomely without much effort, and more often than not we eat in the dark. We eat a giant salad or we eat—as we have lately, almost every night, in this not-very-regular summer—some variation on greens and rice. Stir-fried greens with rice. Curried greens with rice. Fried rice, with…greens! Greens on noodles for a little excitement! Handful of green beans, handful of chard, kale, spinach, some of whatever weed is in the yard, all hastily gathered into the apron …

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spa day for roosters

One Fourth

Been a while.  For one thing, we’ve been, as my father likes to say, busier than one-armed paper-hangers.  (When I was 16, I actually met a one-armed paper-hanger, which added a whole extra nuance to that expression of my dad’s.  He was, in truth, a busy fellow.)  For another, it is hot and muggy and has rained enough to make me think more about building an ark than a menu.  For a third thing, the mosquitos around here are like terrorist zombie invaders, and big and numerous enough to carry off what’s left of my brain. My most note-worthy activity of the week, other than stumbling across this and being reassured that there are far loonier people in the world than me, has surely been tending to the swollen foot of our eldest rooster, Duane, who will probably hear from someone (it won’t be me) that he was already lucky not to be coq au vin at his age, and especially after this week.  But because he knows nothing of French food, when we offered …

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