Even folks who never complain about the weather in our corner of the country are grumbling. The weathermen are saying this is one of the wettest Mays ever, with over four inches of rain.

But I’m not one of those people who never complain about the rain. I grouse plenty. I kvetch. I fret. I gripe and sigh. I’m one of those people who delay errands for another day, standing at the window like the kids in The Cat in the Hat, saying to myself: I don’t really need to run to the grocery store, I’ll pull something from the freezer or scavenge through the pantry to create a meal. I’ll find something fun to do inside and leave the soggy, bone-chilling, guaranteed-bad-hair day to everyone else.

This is a good climate to be a writer! During these stretches, I get my sunshine from the bright light of my big Apple monitor. I may gaze out my study window and see raindrops, gray skies, and puddles, but when I turn back to my keyboard, my screensaver treats me to images of my children mugging for the camera on a crisp, sunny day in Istanbul. I see that sunshine and imagine the possibilities – and then I write.

My editor and I were discussing recently how little TV we each watch. He is busy reading and I’m busy cooking and writing. As a freelance writer I dictate my own hours, and they are odd. I try to have a rhythm but it is hard to capture and quantify. What about always. What I do isn’t really a job, (though I get paid for it). It is a passion. And when you are passionate about something, you live it, breathe it, discuss it, eat it, and for me, cook and write about it.

My husband and I were just in New York City for our daughter’s college graduation. I was planning and booking our dinner reservations and thinking about where we would have lunch. She begged me not to plan the entire trip around food. Really? Why not? We’ll find plenty of great activities to do between meals, but good meals are not to be missed. Can you imagine wasting calories on mediocre food?

It was warm and gloriously sunny in New York, a welcome respite from Portland’s weather – until the day of the big graduation ceremony. And then it rained. For nearly three hours we sat outside in the cold rain, tucked under an umbrella, part of the canopy of umbrellas that surrounded us. We could hear, but not really see, the graduation ceremony.

Waiting for the ceremony to start, I was busy writing. I texted my daughter to say: We are in row five under the big black umbrella. See us? I wrote a memo with tasting notes about the previous night’s dinner, and then I e-mailed a friend back home, grumbling about the soggy weather—just can’t escape it this time of year.

I just returned from a week of teaching cooking classes at Rancho la Puerta in Tecate, Mexico. What a wonderful opportunity to teach healthy cooking techniques using just-picked produce from the huge organic garden steps from the cooking school door. It’s one thing to shop at a farmers’ market and another to harvest vegetables and have them plated and ready to eat in less than an hour from being pulled from the soil. I can’t replicate that at home, except for fresh herbs and arugula, however I can dream about my week away and relish the daily rhythm of the Ranch.

Bourbon Brown Sugar Crusted Ham

My Featured Recipe this week, Bourbon and Brown Sugar-Crusted Ham, anticipates Easter and the tradition of serving this showy main course as the centerpiece of the meal. My Featured Video provides the step-by-step techniques for preparing and baking the ham. Finally, more daylight and a sense that spring is really in the air.

I’ve seen some glimmerings of early spring produce on restaurant menus—sorrel pesto with pan-roasted halibut, green garlic with braised lamb, panna cotta with rhubarb compote, stinging nettle risotto, and roast chicken with baby carrots and dill. It all makes me hungry in a lighter sort of way. It’s the buds, the shoots, and tender greens—all delicate and fresh—ready to wake up the palate for spring flavors.

Stepping out the kitchen door to check my container garden, I see it still in a barren state with a few hearty survivors. The rosemary, thyme, and chives are managing to grow without any attention on my part. But, shockingly, there were three-inch tall shoots of tarragon—the one herb I was told was a wimp at wintering over.

I don’t want to get too over eager, I know we will have more cold nights and more drenching rains, but I’m motivated to buy seeds and plant starts. Maybe some early arugula, parsley, and radishes would work. Without a cold frame or green house it is hard to do more and, besides, I’m a better cook than gardener.

However, this coming week, I have the pleasure of cooking from a large organic garden in Tecate, Mexico. I’ll be the guest chef at Rancho la Puerta, teaching three, healthy cooking classes while fully taking advantage of all the fitness regimens. I’ll do my best to inspire the students and get inspired. I’m told the large garden is full of vegetables and fruits, ready for spur-of-the moment menu changes. I’ll pluck, pick, and snip to fill my garden basket and dream about warm, sunny days and the anticipation of spring…up north.

Diane

http://www.cookingbythebook.com/blog/recipes/turkey-enchiladas-creamy-tomatillo-sauce/

What seems passé is the meat-focused plate. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good steak or chop. A shared rack of lamb would suit me just fine. But there is nothing inherently romantic in the cooking process. It’s February, after all. In most parts of the country it is cold, even blustery, with loads of snow. The diehards might light the grill, but who wants to be touched with ice-cold hands and smooched with a red, runny nose? There is nothing, absolutely nothing, romantic about broiling, and that leaves stove-top searing as the solution to a perfectly cooked steak. A mess to be left ‘til morning?

Creamy Risotto with Porcini Mushrooms; perfect romantic meal

So my thoughts turn to risotto. Why risotto? Because the cooking process is like a slow dance—a rhythmic motion that is at once captivating and engaging. A slight sizzle softens the onions and garlic. The tempo changes as the hard grains hit the pan and the rice is briskly slicked with oil. Wine is added and a flash of steam warms the face and scents the air. It’s the beginning of the measured steps. A ladle of broth and a turn of the spoon around the pot. A sip of wine as the broth is absorbed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. For nearly twenty calm, quiet minutes, the ritual continues until the rice is plump, creamy, and tender. The finale is the addition of rich cream, earthy mushrooms, fragrant herbs, a dash of salt, and grind of pepper. Warm bowls are filled, more wine is poured, and the slow dance moves to the table. It’s anticipation and seduction all at once.

Just please bring me a nibble of chocolate for dessert.

Diane

How do I reconcile the desire to eat seasonally and locally with the demand of deadlines? Consider the lead times. Rarely does a magazine give a writer a year’s notice for an article, so I find myself roasting turkey in February, scrambling to find fresh chestnuts, and hoping there are persimmons left in the market. Or, I’m developing recipes for a book and need to re-test my rhubarb compote in December. Hot house rhubarb anyone?

As much as I want recipe development to follow the rhythm of the seasons, it mostly doesn’t. Recently asked to double-check the quantity of liquid in a blackberry sauce, I slinked through my local grocery store on Saturday buying organic blackberries grown in Chile. They were fresh and tasty, but not with a low-carbon footprint. I felt guilty and was hoping the produce manager, who I know, wouldn’t see me since I’m such a vocal supporter of all the local farmers the store buys from. On the one hand, those organic berries are there because “someone” is buying them (oops, that was me) and the produce manager wouldn’t be ordering them if he thought they were going to sit on the counter and rot. On the other hand, with all the marketing materials and signage declaring, “seasonal” and “local,” what are they doing there at all?

Our dynamic Portland farmers’ market closed for the winter and won’t reopen until late March. And even then it is a slow start until the ground warms up and produces spring onions, spinach, and rosy long stems of rhubarb

Chorizo Chile Con Queso perfect for Super Bowl Dip

As I think about winter entertaining and the upcoming opportunity to gather friends to watch the Super Bowl, I’m wondering about the two tomatoes I have in the ingredient list for the Chorizo Chile Con Queso (this week’s Featured Recipe). Hmmm, I could hydrate and dice some sun-dried tomatoes, or I could leave them out altogether, or I could imagine the warm sunshine of Miami and think about the large crop of tomatoes grown in Florida at this time of year and shipped around the nation. My carbon footprint is negligible watching the game at home. Does that negate the impact of the tomatoes transported here? Am I going to be the “someone” buying traveling tomatoes? It’s a dilemma.

Diane

Why does it take a new year to begin resolutions? Does January 1st magically signal our psyche to begin anew? Or is it the debauchery and sugar overindulgence of the holidays that forces this reckoning? Knowing that we can’t keep downing the cocktails and champagne, eating the ham and turkey plus leftovers, and lifting yet one more cookie off the holiday tray puts us in a somber, get-it-together mood once the clock strikes midnight and the New Year begins. OK. Maybe we wait until noon on New Year’s Day to strike this peace accord with ourselves and willingly surrender our excesses.

For me, the reckoning began later. I arrived home on January 6 from a two-week family vacation in Argentina. New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, at Posada Puerto Bemberg near Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, came and went with nary a thought to resolutions. I was having too much fun and it wasn’t going to stop until I arrived home. I didn’t dare step on the bathroom scale until the 9th of January, giving myself plenty of time to lose any water weight I may have retained from the flight home.

The truth hurts, though it could have been worse. An addition of a few pounds on my frame means my clothes are tight and my jeans barely zip. I was sure all that sweating in the northern Argentina jungles was worth a pound or two. Looks like not. I think those thick and juicy Argentinean steaks, along with bottles of Malbec (notice the plural), would require days of jungle trekking, and that we did not do.

So … out comes the big soup pot. This is my diet plan. Using only a couple tablespoons of olive oil, just enough to slick the bottom of the pot, I sweat garlic, leeks, carrots and celery. To that I add low-sodium, fat-free chicken broth along with a large can of peeled, diced tomatoes, including the juice from the can. With the liquid at a simmer, I add one-inch chunks of butternut squash, zucchini, red bell pepper, and green beans. When those are fork tender, I toss in a can of drained and rinsed cannellini beans and a small handful of fresh herbs. After ten minutes of simmering I have a pot full of hearty, nutritious, low-calorie goodness that fills and warms me up, satisfies my taste buds, and keeps me going. It would probably be delightful with a glass of Malbec, but that would require another resolution, and my psyche just isn’t ready for that.

Here is the recipe and how-to video
Holiday Detox Vegetable Soup
Diane