Ah, spring! Yesterday it was warm and sunny, with gentle zephyr breezes, and drifts of swirling white dogwood petals. Luke the wonder dog and I sunned ourselves on the back porch, placidly watching as the crazy robins bobbed and weaved at the birdbath, while the territorial mockingbirds and the alarmist wrens shouted from the sidelines. Today it is raining, with spewing wind gusts, and the new, minute chartreuse leaves on the pecan trees are whipping back and forth in the wet. Not a good day for walking a dog who does not like to get his feet wet, but an excellent day for the nascent basil farm we planted this weekend.

Mr. Sanders and I generally keep a basil plant on the windowsill by the kitchen sink. One of us will remember to water it, usually. I like to take cuttings and root them in small clear glass bottles alongside the mothership basil plant, just to give the cuttings a clear, aspirational example of what we expect from them. That way we will always have a bounty of basil for our insatiable summer pesto appetites. This weekend I planted a batch of rooted cuttings in the new planter we made by the front door. The basil leaves are already adding bright green to the re-purposed copper fire bowl that we filled with Martha-approved dirt, and planted with candy tuft, alyssum, pink petunias, nasturtium seeds, some trailing variegated vincas and electric blue lobelia. Beautiful, and practical: our own tiny victory garden. Maybe this weekend we will get around to planting some tomatoes in the raised bed out back, though first I need to redistribute the tulip and daffodil bulbs, now that they have blazed through their springtime beauty.

Mr. Sanders introduced me to pesto back in our courting days. He was so sophisticated, with a knotty pine shelf of spiral-bound Time/Life Foods of the World cookbooks. Obviously, I was easily impressed. We still have the Italian cookbook – the other books have been lost over time, and this is the recipe that we continue to follow.

Pesto alla Genovese

Makes about 1-1/2 to 2 cups

2 cups fresh basil leaves, stripped from their stems, coarsely chopped and tightly packed
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 to 2 teaspoons finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons finely chopped pine nuts or walnuts
1 to 1-1/2 cups olive oil
1/2 cup freshly grated imported sardo, romano, or Parmesan cheese

Combine the coarsely chopped fresh basil, salt, pepper, garlic, nuts, and 1 cup of olive oil in the blender jar. Blend them at high speed until the ingredients are smooth, stopping the blender every 5 or 6 seconds to push the herbs down with a rubber spatula.

The sauce should be thin enough to run off the spatula easily. If it seems too thick, blend in as much as 1/2 cup more olive oil. Transfer the sauce to a bowl and stir in the grated cheese.

Nowadays they are many variations on the pesto theme. You can stick with the traditional basil pesto (and the mortar and pestle, although now we use a small food processor) or branch out to spinach pesto, even kale, or parsley, or arugula. Sometimes we skip the pine nuts, which can be expensive. But we never skimp on the garlic. Ever.

Non-Basil Pestos

Pesto Variations

When you get your bumper harvest and make huge batch of pesto sauce one evening, pour the rest in a jar, and stick it in the fridge for emergencies. You can add it to your Friday night pizza, or spread some on leftover bread with Monday night pasta. It even makes a deelish baked potato topping.

It might be a damp and rainy day today, but the basil is enjoying the rain, which means we can look forward to the first joyful summer meal. And then some.

“To share a table with someone is to share everything.”
― Paul Krueger

Spring has sprung, and one of the first harbingers of the joyous season of renewal is the deliciousness that is asparagus. Maybe you are the hardy sort who plants it, or you are like the rest of us, and you are a very loyal consumer. Either way, it’s time. Get out there and plant, or go out and buy a big, verdant bunch of super fresh asparagus.

Just to let you know what sort of household I live in – my children thought that pickles were green, leafy vegetables. It was difficult to get them to eat anything exotic (read: healthy) from the produce section. I have never been a big fan of stinky, cooked vegetables either, so they must come by it naturally. It wasn’t until I went to college that I finally ate a cooked pea. Mostly because there was no one in the dining hall who would accommodate my eating peccadillos. I drew the line at stewed Brussels sprouts that were served; talk about stinky!

I still don’t like vegetables that have been stewed beyond recognition. (As I also resist kale on principal. Along with tofu, veal, offal and tripe.) Aren’t we lucky there are so many ways to enjoy asparagus? Lightly roasted, gently steamed, broiled, wrapped with bacon, folded into pasta, trembling on the edge of ancestral china, lightly dusted with grated egg yolks, rolled in sesame seeds, on top of pizza, in a quiche… Asparagus might not be quite as versatile as the potato, but you can bake it, grill it, stir fry it, roast it, steam it, or toss it into a salad.

How about some tasty asparagus tips in your eggs on Sunday morning? Don’t feel like a big dinner production? Get out a baking sheet and fire up the broiler. In a few minutes, with a judicious drizzling of olive oil, a fistful of salt, and a quick squeeze of lemon, you have an elegant dish that you can eat with your fingers out on the back porch as you count the first fireflies of the season.

The Crown and Saltburn gave us glimpses of the posh life in Britain. Did you know that unless the asparagus is served with sauce, it is only polite to eat it with your fingers? Even King Charles eats it that way. According to the Times and Debrett’s: “Asparagus is always eaten with the left hand and never with a knife and fork.” It is a fun fact to know just when you are getting ready for the first picnic of the season. The Times on Asparagus

This might be too messy to eat with your fingers, but it is worth a try: Asparagus, Goat Cheese and Tarragon Tart I love the fact that there is no shame in using a store-bought puff pastry – life is short and pastry can be tricky.

Look at this lovely asparagus salad! It is a vision of springtime with radishes, peas, asparagus, spring onions, and mint leaves. Asparagus Salad

Here are three different ways to cook asparagus

Mass quantities of farm-fresh spring fruits and vegetables are ready for you to gobble up: The farmers’ market has been a delight! (The St. Michaels Farmers Market opens for the season next week: SMFM )

Have you seen the heaps of asparagus at the grocery store? Holy smokes. We need to have a spargelfest like they do in Germany. Spargelfest It sounds more crowded than visiting tulips in Holland, or braving the beer-loving folks in Germany at Oktoberfest.

Enjoy springtime!

“Are you casting asparagus on my cooking?”
– Curly Howard

Last week I regaled you with tales of our family’s predilection for chocolate desserts. We find almost every occasion is perfect for celebration with a confection that is both sweet and chocolate-y. Converserly, in a parallel universe, we also find garlic the consummate accompaniment when eating savoury foods. As I type this I am thinking fondly of the garlic bread we had with dinner last night. (I walked through a cloud of garlic when I come in the front door a couple of hours ago – a good 14 hours after dinner.) At lunch today I will have a nice fat kosher dill pickle, that is redolent with garlic. There is fresh garlic in our salad dressing. Mr. Sanders rubs garlic on Saturday night steaks. Garlic is infused in many of our non-chocolate foodstuffs.

Years ago, when our children were young, I would be hard pressed to find an activity to occupy our younger child, while the elder was busily occupied at preschool for the morning. By the time we returned home from the pre-school drop-off run it would almost be time to turn around for the pre-school pick-up. So some bright sunny days we would drive into the little historic downtown to look for adventure. It was early enough in the day that the shops hadn’t opened, so we walked and explored, visiting favorite cat-sighting sites, looking into alleys, poking our noses around corners. We would visit the bakery, where Kim and Jim would delight us with warm loafs of fresh epi bread, and stickers from the flour sacks. The couple of restaurants would be prepping for dinner; the tiny French bistro and the neighborhood pizza joint (known primarily for its garlic knots), and we could smell browning onions and garlic, as we strolled to the riverwalk and a bench where we could watch the river traffic. We would hope for the exciting action of a railroad train slowly journeying past, à la Thomas the Tank Engine, his most current obsession. We sat in the sun, gnawing on warm, crusty bread, smelling garlic, kicking our heels against the hollow metal legs of the bench. We weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere. It was a slow morning of good smells, friendly folks, and the bright sun reflecting on the choppy river.

I find that much of my cooking experience is trying to recapture happy meals. Sometimes we try to reconstruct the taste of a childhood meal. Sometimes it is to copy a restaurant meal from a carefree vacation. We like the succor of the familiar. I will never get it just right, but every time I make a spaghetti sauce I am trying to recreate my mother’s – and my mother was not a fancy cook; she was trying to get food on the table every night, economically, using up leftovers, foregoing ultra-processed store-bought jar sauces, just like us. We are busy and harried and worn to a frazzle. Having a little time to make garlic bread, to release a cloud of garlic-y, homey aroma, is a small blessing.

I, little Miss Middle Class me, used to feel sad for the royal family, because the Queen would not allow garlic to be served at any meal. She was conscious of the lingering after-effect of garlic, and feared breathing odoriferous second-hand garlic into the faces of the many folks who came to meet her. So sad. My manners aren’t that good. If I shook your hand today you would know about my garlic consumption. Be warned!

The love of garlic might have by-passed the current King’s table, but Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, who married the Queen’s grandson, Prince Harry, is monetizing garlic. She has just announced a new brand she is launching: American Rivieria Orchards. One of the products she is rumored to be marketing is a prepared “garlic-based spread.” Take a page out of my mother’s book: save money – make memories! Meghan Debuts New Brand, American Riviera Orchard, Amid Royal Family Drama

We always look to our friends at Food52: Crispy Garlic Dip

If you want a garlic-y dip for your perfect pommes frites try Aioli

This is a good one to make in bulk and keep on hand for all sorts of garlic needs: Garlic Butter

PBS weighs in on Garlic Bread

Roasted Garlic Spread

In case you hunger for even more garlic, feel free to try:
Julia Child’s Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic

Or:37 Garlic Recipes for Those Who Think One Clove Is Never Enough

And you don’t need to take my word for it:

“Garlic is divine. Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic.”
― Anthony Bourdain

“Disclaimer: there will be copious amounts of garlic in the sauces and dressings, and you will leave whiffy and unsnoggable.”
–Grace Dent, The Guardian

Our family loves chocolate desserts. Birthdays call out for Boston cream pie. Christmas requires a flourless chocolate cake. Road trip? We need to bake a couple of batches of chocolate chip cookies. Naturally. As one does. New neighbors? Brownies. Having a hard day? Here is a plate or Oreos and a glass of milk.

Last weekend Mr. Sanders was looking for a rainy day project, so he flipped through Dorie Greenspan’s Dorie’s Cookies book and found the most involved, multi-step, chill-overnight kind of cookie to bake, and it kept him occupied for two whole days. And yes, they are very very delicious: chocolate-y and crunchy. They contain oatmeal, so they are practically health food. Dorie Greenspan’s Chocolate Oatmeal Biscoff Cookies (He made an ice cream sandwich with 2 of the cookies – I can’t begin to imagine how divine that tasted!)

While other families are preparing corned beef and cabbage (which I think stinks to high heaven) for St. Patrick’s Day, we will be digging through our cookbooks for another chocolate stout cake recipe. We will honor the blessed saint, the foe of snakes, in our own sweet way: with chocolate stout cupcakes.

I love a good cupcake – perfectly proportioned with a maximum icing to cake ratio. Food52’s Chocolate Stout Cupcakes

If you’d rather have cake, be my guest. Please, just save us a couple of slices.
Chocolate Stout Cake

Cake
• 2 cups stout (such as Guinness)
• 2 cups (4 sticks) unsalted butter
• 1 1/2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch-process)
• 4 cups all purpose flour
• 4 cups sugar
• 1 tablespoon baking soda
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 4 large eggs
• 1 1/3 cups sour cream

Icing
• 2 cups whipping cream
• 1 pound bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped

For cake:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter three 8-inch round cake pans with 2-inch-high sides. Line with parchment paper. Butter paper. Bring 2 cups stout and 2 cups butter to simmer in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until mixture is smooth. Cool slightly.
Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and 1 1/2 teaspoons salt in large bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sour cream in another large bowl to blend. Add stout-chocolate mixture to egg mixture and beat just to combine. Add flour mixture and beat briefly on slow speed. Using rubber spatula, fold batter until completely combined. Divide batter equally among prepared pans. Bake cakes until tester inserted into center of cakes comes out clean, about 35 minutes. Transfer cakes to rack; cool 10 minutes. Turn cakes out onto rack and cool completely.

For icing:
Bring cream to simmer in heavy medium saucepan. Remove from heat. Add chopped chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Refrigerate until icing is spreadable, stirring frequently, about 2 hours. 
Place 1 cake layer on plate. Spread 2/3 cup icing over. Top with second cake layer. Spread 2/3 cup icing over. Top with third cake layer. Spread remaining icing over top and sides of cake.

Here is a Guinness Cake from the kitchen goddess herself, Nigella Lawson’s Guinness Cake

I still recoil with horror at the notion of corned beef. The memory of cooked cabbage odor haunts me all these years since I last smelled it, wafting up the stairway from my mother’s kitchen to my lair at the back of the house. I will NEVER cook a cabbage. As always, we will celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with chocolate and Guinness, as God intended.

“Your hand and your mouth agreed many years ago that, as far as chocolate is concerned, there is no need to involve your brain.”
― Dave Barry

This week, between the rain drops, I wandered around the back yard and started thinking about our summer garden. I am ill-equipped for the heavy labor involved in actual gardening – like digging holes – in the sunshine. Heavens to Betsy! That’s why having a modest raised garden bed is enough of a project for me. I can dig small holes, and poke small plants into them. Weeding? Well, maybe this year I will be more responsible when the daily weeding should commence. I am aware of my limits. I should just plant a few tomato plants, and maybe a handful of basil plants, in pots. No staked rows of heirloom tomato plants, with thoughts of burbling pots of fragrant spaghetti sauce. There is no gardening staff to bustle around anticipating my every whim, doing my work for me, however much I would like to will them into being. I’m sure you are familiar with your own shortfalls.

It’s too late, already, to plant peas. I needed to have done that work in a cold frame weeks ago. Peas just seem so springlike and green, as they change colors when cooked: they start off a nice medium Girl Scout uniform green, and after the briefest of moments spent in steam they are suddenly jewel-like, and chartreuse, and irresistible. I will have to wander through the grocery store and hope to stumble over a cache of fresh peas. Or maybe the farmers’ market will have a seasonal surprise for me this weekend!

The rains this week, while excellent for the burgeoning hydrangeas and the thirsty, unfashionable lawn, have flattened the daffodils and threatened the tulips as yet undiscovered by the deer visiting at night. (The deer did find the few tulips nestled among the pansies in the urns on the front porch, and nibbled them to nubbins. You’re welcome.) It feels like everything has bloomed early. Some of the azaleas have begun to pink up, modestly, around the edges. Forsythia bushes have burst into full flame in the hedge next door.

I’m thinking of light spring-y recipes while I am plotting the weeding and mulching. Winter feels finished, and I am longing for lighter, fresher meals. No more meatloaf. No more chicken pot pie. Bring on the pasta primavera, with new peas and garden-fresh farmers’ market tomatoes, please. Lemon Primavera

Our friends at Food52 have a delicious spring salad that is loaded with fresh asparagus as well as peas. This will put a spring in your step and you go out to mulch your raised garden bed: Peas and Asparagus Salad

This is more interesting than a salad plate of wilting iceberg lettuce. It is redolent with springtime: Fresh Peas

This transcendent pea compound butter is good on toast, or spread on cooked meats: Compound Butter
I think this Guac recipe will make for a very nice appetizer on the back porch this weekend as we venture out for our first cocktail hour of the new season. (Don’t forget to Spring Ahead Saturday night!) Something light and crunchy, to go with a small glass of rosé Prosecco.
Green Pea Guacamole

If you feel you must cook peas:

Buttered Green Sugar Snap Peas

1 pound sugar snap peas
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon shredded fresh mint
Pluck off and discard the string from each pea pod.
Bring salted water to boil; there should be enough to cover peas when added. Add peas. When water returns to a boil, cook about 3 minutes. Do not overcook. Drain.
Return peas to saucepan. Add pepper, salt, butter and mint. Stir to blend until the pieces are well coated and hot. Serve immediately.

You should try their sweet deliciousness raw:
7 Ways to Eat Sugar Snap Peas

Sugar Snap Peas

And more Sugar Snap Peas

“They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the peas.”
― E.M. Forster

We are back home from our brief Florida spring break sojourn. We have returned, to grayer skies and cooler temperatures. But we’ve also returned to the welcome sights of budding daffodils, deer-tempting tulips, and the neighbor’s magnolia tree, burgeoning with cascades of lush pink and white blossoms. Give me flowers and breezes that smell of spring over swaying palm fronds any day!

The weather has been erratic and unpredictable this week. Just when we get lulled into thinking it’s cotton sweater weather, when the temperatures rise and the robins cluster drunkenly around the bird bath, a cold wind starts to blow, and we are driven back inside. Suddenly we need warm, soothing comfort food. Again.

I have to admit that I am tired of making hearty winter-y meals. The constant routine of dinner planning and prep can be soul-sucking. Dinner, again? How many times can we have meatloaf, or chicken, or sausage and peppers? If it’s Tuesday, it must be Taco Tuesday. Ugh. It’s my fault. I am tired of the routine I have imposed on myself. I like having a Meatless Monday, and I like having pasta on Mondays – a throwback to making Mac and cheese when our children were little. And every single Monday I stand in the pantry and weigh whether we should have a red sauce, Fettuccine Alfredo, Cacio e Pepe, or Spaghetti with Butter and Garlic à la Shirl*.

When we were on Spring Break last week I enjoyed the novelty of dining out a few times. I had the delightful experience of having to choose side orders: did I want French fries, cole slaw, sweet potato fries, salad, Brussels sprouts, or okra? Whoa! Variety! Did I want healthy delicious food or hot delectable food? It was too much for me – the concept that someone, other than us, was cooking, serving, cleaning up, washing dishes and offering dessert.

At this time of year, before I can foist outdoor cooking responsibilities onto Mr. Sanders’s capable grilling shoulders, I need to be a little more flexible and creative. Thank goodness for the internet – there are always dozens of solutions to everyday problems. Google (and I am sure Bing is, too) a great source. And my friend Alexa (the AI assistant, not another old college pal) can answer questions at the drop of a hat. While I have not stood in the middle of the kitchen to ask Alexa what to have for dinner, I do ask her how many grams are in a tablespoon of “OO” flour, and to convert centigrade to Farenheit for me.

You can just type in “what should I cook for dinner?” into the Google search bar. I haven’t tried that, because it seems to me that it screams of desperation, and I am afraid that Google will tell me to try offal, or tripe, or squid. But I did ask it about sheet pan dinners, and I found a veritable compendium of ideas, which gave me hope. I’d rather tinker with a new recipe, than make meatloaf one more time this season. I find I have to apologize to Mr. Sanders with some regularity – because these dishes don’t always turn out as the recipe writers had intended. At least we are not bored to tears, falling asleep in a pile of bland mashed potatoes. We are enjoying some variety, some serendipity, and some pixie dust.

I love the convenience of sheet pan dinners, where I can artfully toss meat and veggies together on an aluminum foil-covered cookie sheet, throw it all in the oven, disappear to work for an hour, and wander back into a fragrant kitchen to find that dinner awaits. It is magical! It is transformative! It is almost like having Martha’s staff buzzing around in my tiny kitchen. (And the aluminum foil makes clean up a breeze, too; there are no pans to scour or soak!) Here are some of Martha’s recipes: Sheet Pan Suppers

Our friends at Food52, who always have the best ideas, are all over the sheet pan dinner concept:Food52 Sheet Pan Dinner Ideas
We like this recipe, when we are being particularly impetuous, and want to have breakfast for dinner: Huevos Rotos

Spring is just around the corner. Soon we’ll be outside, enjoying the sun and the great open back yard. Happy March!

“When the groundhog casts his shadow
And the small birds sing
And the pussywillows happen
And the sun shines warm
And when the peepers peep
Then it is Spring”
― Margaret Wise Brown

*Spaghetti with butter and garlic a la Shirl: is named for my college chum who invented it one night when were were broke and starving. It is spaghetti, boiled until al dente, tossed with butter (we may have been using margarine, considering that our budget, which could be stretched for beer, but not real food), garlic powder, red pepper flakes and store-brand Parmesan cheese that comes in a cardboard canister. Deelish. I cannot recommend it too highly, although these days I also use a splash of quality olive oil, a crushed clove of actual garlic, and I add a cloud of fresh, grated imported Parmesan cheese. I also have a plate of green salad, and a glass of wine that comes from a bottle with a cork. We have higher standards these days.

Mr. Sanders and I have flown the coop – and gone to Florida for an early Spring Break. This is an updated column from a few years ago, all about our favorite thing to do when winter weather is hanging on, when we are longing for summer. Grab your seed catalogues – time’s a wasting!

Seed packets are so beautiful. On the front there is an idealized illustration of a freakishly perfect tomato; it is round and radiates sun-warmth. This is so unlike the soggy cardboard tomatoes we have been buying all winter. On the back there are instructions about sowing the seeds after all danger of frost has passed. Hmmm. It’s not even mid-February and I am ready to hang up the snow shovel and start planting summer salads.

I wandered past the seed section of the garden department at the hardware store last weekend. Mr. Friday thought we were going in to buy windshield wiper fluid and light bulbs. Such charming naïveté! Instead, we walked out with wiper fluid, light bulbs and three seed starting kits, a handful of flower seed packets and a boatload of potting soil. I might talk a good tomato game, but I am longing to have hollyhocks and zinnias and armfuls of coreopsis. I am going to run through a Technicolor meadow of pollinating cutting flowers this year. Oh, and have a nice little vegetable garden, too.

I have been waiting all winter for this – I admit it. I have been thumbing through seed catalogues and imagining my new and improved raised garden bed, spilling over with cukes, beans, and tomatoes. I have been thinking about all those tender herbs that I will manage to coax along this year. I have pictured the extra little flourish and the modest bow I will take when I humbly present our salad greens at the Fourth of July picnic. Envisioning how I will please, delight, and amaze Mr. Friday when I whip out a fresh, homegrown shallot for the homemade salad dressing. I will embrace weeding.

Last year we over-estimated the number of tomato plants that two people actually need. We started with a dozen small plants, but were completely clueless about how big they would get. It got Tokyo-subway-crowded in that tiny little garden. There is science to be applied, and a lot of math, too, according to The Old Farmer’s Almanac: Planting Space 
Resolve: fewer tomato plants in 2024.

We also planted the basil farm, which is our favorite ingredient, second only to garlic. We had half a dozen basil plants, which were well-tended and yielded a hefty amount of basil through the spring and summer. The plants were all pretty leggy by September, but I managed to fill a gallon-sized Baggie with fragrant basil leaves to tide us over the long winter months. You can never have too much basil.


Resolve: more basil in 2024.

The row of nasturtiums was shiny and bright with color for a few weeks. The plants did not self-sow, which was a disappointment to my lazy soul, because I never remembered to plant any more nasturtium seeds. My neighbor had mentioned once that she just loved nasturtiums, so I really should be concerned with her view of the neighborhood.

Resolve: be a better neighbor, and plant more nasturtiums.

I like to have slicer tomatoes sunning on the kitchen windowsill. I can always make a happy lunch of a tomato sandwich, Pepperidge Farm white bread and a thick schmear of mayonnaise. With some potato chips, please. There is nothing better than a home-grown sun-warmed tomato. But Mr. Friday is fond of some cherry tomatoes, which he likes to sear under the broiler, and serve with burrata, basil and good olive oil. He might prefer growing some Sungold or Sweet Million cherry tomatoes.

If you do not feel not up to the responsibilities of growing your own vegetable garden from seed this season, now that the snow has paused (Thank you, Punxsutawney Phil!), and the daffodils are popping up every where, please think about supporting your local farmers at farmers’ markets and farm stands and CSAs. They were cool long before Brooklyn with all of its mustachioed, plaid-sporting, artisan, organic, heirloom, microcosmically hip farmers, butchers, chicken farmers, bakers and baristas. We like locally grown and all the virtues associated with it.

I was appalled to see that the cheater’s way of buying lettuce at the grocery store has gotten so expensive – $4.49 today for a single puny bag of pre-washed mixed spring greens! I have had enough! Enough of the madness! I am fighting back. I have just spent $5.95 for 500 lettuce seeds. Let’s see what my actual return on the dollar is, at roughly 1.2¢ a seed…

Here is Burpee’s perky and un-intimidating video for growing lettuce. How to Grow Lettuce If I only harvest two heads of lettuce I will be slightly ahead.

While I was earnestly researching lettuce seeds I was diverted by the fantasy that I am able to grow hydrangeas, which are my favorite flowers (after violets, daffodils and lily of the valley) but which I can never seem to grow well. Maybe this year I’ll be lucky. I have finally determined where the wet areas are in the back yard, perfect for hydrangeas. I have ordered another Nikko Blue Hydrangea, as well as the lettuce seeds. I am crossing my soon-to-be-muddy fingers, and am hoping for an early jump on our summer salads.

“From December to March,
there are for many of us three gardens:
the garden outdoors,
the garden of pots and bowls in the house,
and the garden of the mind’s eye.”
– Katharine S. White

Sometimes you need to let your imagination wander aimlessly. What would I do if I won the lottery? Do I take it as a lump sum, or would I like the comfort of an annual chunk of money dropping into my checking account? Would it be fun to go to the Academy Awards, in a tight dress? Celebrity-wise, would I sit with Meryl Streep, who has been fêted so many times she might feel bored or jaded, attending this glittery event, or would I be more comfortable exchanging wry comments with Paul Giamatti, a seemingly unpretentious, un-precious journeyman actor, who buys second hand books, or so I am led to believe by the facile press releases I swallow, hook, line and sinker.

Which star-spangled president would I enjoy having a beer with? Or, more to our point on Presidents’ Day Weekend, if I had to have supper with one of our 46 presidents, with whom would I rather dine? What kinds of foods have been served in the White House, and would I like any of them? In honor of the upcoming Presidents’ Day, I have wandered through the White House kitchens, looking for historical clues to the appetites of our past presidents. I think we should be happy that time has marched on.

Of course, George Washington did not live in the White House, which hadn’t been built yet. He ate (and slept) at various executive residences in New York and Pennsylvania, and at Mount Vernon in Virginia. Popular legend says that George’s favorite food was hoecakes “swimming in butter,” which does sound yummy, but not my preferred dinner fare. Perhaps South Carolina Hoppin’ John for Many People, which is currently served in the Mount Vernon restaurant.

We trot along the presidential time line, past John Adams (hard cider), Thomas Jefferson (macaroni and cheese), James Madison (ice cream), James Monroe (spoon bread), John Quincy Adams (fresh fruit) to Andrew Jackson and his leather britches. Leather Britches were green beans, cooked with bacon, an accompaniment to a main dish such as roasted wild duck or wild goose, these were meals served in the White House, with French wines, with pomp and fine linens.

Briskly moving along, we drop in on Martin van Buren, who shares an icy dish of oysters with us. He was also fond of boar’s head. I’ll keep walking on to our next presidential dinner host, William Henry Harrison who spoons up a couple of bowls of his favorite, Squirrel Burgoo! Luke the wonder dog will feel right at home in this era of the White House. He might even help out with the hunting.

Time traveling past John Tyler’s Indian Pudding, John Polk’s Corn Bread, Zachary Taylor’s Calas (beignet adjacent sweet fried dough), Millard Fillmore’s plain old soup, Franklin Pierce’s Fried Clams, dancing past James Buchanan’s favorite Cabbage, and just stopping in for a nibble of Abraham Lincoln’s favorite: Bacon.

Andrew Johnson was comforted by Hoppin’ John, Ulysses S. Grant was fond of Rice Pudding, Rutherford B. Hayes liked Cornmeal Pancakes, and yet another Commander in Chief, James Garfield, endorsed the notion of squirrel as a necessary protein in his Squirrel Soup. The recipe calls for “three or four good sized squirrels”. The fried toast garnish probably helps dispel any vision of Rocket J. Flying Squirrel.

As we near the 20th century, the favorite foods of the presidents seem a little less pioneer-y and bizarre. Theodore Roosevelt liked a good steak, as did William Taft. Woodrow Wilson was fond of Chicken Salad and Warren G. Harding opted for Chicken Pie. FDR was a big fan of Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, beloved of picky American children everywhere. Remember, he also served the King and Queen of England hot dogs for luncheon, so don’t expect patrician fare if you stop by Pennsylvania Avenue during the War.

Harry Truman was another steak man, but he preferred his Well-done. Make a note: “only coyotes and predatory animals eat raw beef.” Well-done Steak

JFK liked creamy New England Clam Chowder. He preferred soup, with a sandwich, for lunch. . At a special State Dinner for the President of Pakistan held at George Washington’s Mount Vernon, the guests dined on whipped avocado and crabmeat mimosa, poulet chasseur (hunter-style chicken), and raspberries with whipped cream.

Our Presidents have liked their sweets, too. Ronald Reagan ate jelly beans while quitting smoking. Then he famously kept a jar of jelly beans on his desk, from which he doled out 3 1/2 tons of the red, white and blue candies to his guests. Wowser. Jelly Beans Abstemious Barack Obama, who can portion out seven chocolate-covered almonds as a snack, is lesson to us all. Seven Almonds. Personally, I do not like coffee, but I will stop in at any Starbucks with you to buy myself an over-priced packet of salted chocolate-covered almonds, all of which I will eat in one sitting. All by myself. I show no signs of Obama-like discipline.

Our current President loves ice cream. I’m all for that. An ice cream cone in every city! Ice Cream At least he doesn’t indulge in Richard Nixon’s favorite Cottage Cheese and Ketchup. Very sad.

We would all probably feel awkward and self conscious at State Dinners, when the food is formal and French; where there are many courses and particular silverware. The favorite foods of the presidents have been varied and curious, just like the men who have held the office. This Presidents’ Day I’ll probably make the usual cherry pie, in honor of the old George Washington legend. But maybe we’ll also have a some hot dogs in honor of FDR. And seven almonds, just for Obama. Cheers!

“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”
― Orson Welles

Happy Year of the Dragon! It is time to celebrate the Lunar New Year, also known as Spring Festival, and we are looking for every sign of spring. Night doesn’t fall quite so early in the afternoon, the the daffodil shoots and the crocuses are beginning to peek through the brown, fallen leaves in the back yard, and there are herds of robins crowding around the bird bath. Thank you, Punxsutawney Phil, for giving us hope!

This is a busy weekend for cooking in the Spy Test Kitchens. We have lots of foods to prepare to celebrate the Lunar New Year properly, and there is also the small matter of the Super Bowl on Sunday, and the looming presence of Valentine’s Day plopped down in the middle of next week.

Don’t you love a holiday that is food-centric? I’d rather be reveling in food than austerely abstaining from it. A Lunar New Year celebration begin should with a lavish celebration of family: with a feast. You should also clean your house from top to bottom, but I will leave that to your discretion.

There were been years where we have relied on take out food, which didn’t feel quite like a family celebration, but was perfect for our situation. Those were the Florida years, when the oleanders were in bloom and the palm trees swayed. When we had packs of neighborhood children running barefoot through the yards on an early evening in February. Surely we must have had a full moon, at least once.

The young ones were looking for the traditional red and gold envelopes hidden in mailboxes, under damp clay pots of root-bound red geraniums and beneath the coir front door mats. They were seeking envelopes that held shiny, gold Sacagawea dollar coins. The children weren’t so interested in the other envelopes, the ones with paper fortunes, because they were looking for treasure, and were greedy, and couldn’t concern themselves with ensuring good luck for a new year. We, the anxiety-prone adults, hid the red envelopes and also strung paper lanterns and lights through the trees. We also enjoyed the sight of child-operated flashlights bobbing in the twilight, while we ate the store-bought egg rolls, dumplings and fried rice that we balanced on our knees on flimsy paper plates.

These days, with no treasure being sought in the front yard, I like to start our celebration with the humble dumpling, which can be customized with a range of tempting ingredients in several styles: steamed, fried, or boiled. With kimchi, tofu, veggies, mushrooms, ground pork, or shrimp fillings. Potstickers are a big favorite around here. Some weekends we get ambitious and make enough to freeze. Here is a handy recipe with a video to show you how easy it is to pleat the wontons, which are bought at the store: Pot Sticker Dumplings

Mr. Sanders likes his dumpling dipping sauce: soy sauce, rice wine vinegar and thinly sliced green onions. Luke the wonder dog has no opinion, though he is a firm believer in the physics of gravity.

There are eight lucky foods to eat for the Lunar New Year: https://www.seriouseats.com/lunar-chinese-new-year-lucky-foods#toc-jiaozi-dumplings You don’t have to stop at dumplings, although this year, I think we will make enough to freeze ahead because they will be appropriate for a spring celebration, to serve for Super Bowl snacking, and to have as leftovers on Valentine’s Day. (I will also have a bag of Doritos for the Super Bowl, too. Just because.)

Happy New Year – san nin faai lok (Cantonese) or xīn nián kuài lè (Mandarin)

“The sun doesn’t just hang on one family’s tree”
― Anchee Min