Spring

The kitchen sink – epicenter of the kitchen and the house. We wash, prepare, cook, and serve from this spot, spending many an hour at this oasis. I love to keep little mementoes of my garden forays at the sink, reminding me of what’s blooming just outside my door. Making arrangements for my house at the sink gives me leftover blossoms, buds, and leaves to stick in my cache of containers awaiting a fresh floral look. And since the sink is such a personal, and well used piece of the home, my collection of “specials” is a close hand reminder of dear ones.

Mema’s silver tray, Aunt Irene’s mother-of-pearl salt and pepper shakers, a bud vase I stole from Mimi, a sprinkling of blue and white, a favorite Mason’s ware platter and a various and a sundry assortment of soaps stand guard as stylish and nostalgic items.

The seasons change but my assortment doesn’t too much. These items are neutral enough – silver, Depression glass, transferware or blue and white – to withstand the changing times and uphold the blooms of the current season. Red berries at Christmas, greens in the winter, spring buds and summer herbs, and autumnal hued leaves all find their place at my sink-side sanctuary.

People say we don’t have seasons in LA.  Oh but we do my friends, we do.  For example, now is Artichoke Season, a time when (if you’re lucky) you can find a farmer harvesting huge heavy artichokes with a long stem still attached.  The artichoke head that we eat is the bud stage of a giant gorgeous purple flower.  As the artichoke ages the “leaves” of the bud open ultimately revealing the choke which turns deep lavender.  For eating you want the bud pretty tightly closed.  And look for heavy artichokes.  Heaviness means freshness.  When the artichoke is freshly cut it’s cells are full of water.  As time goes by the water transpires and evaporates leaving the vegetable light and dry.

You can use the artichoke heads as you wish:  boiled, steamed, stuffed, trimmed and braised, hearts only.  But don’t throw away the stems.  If I’m feeling selfish I simply peel away the fibrous outer portion and munch the tender, crunchy, sweet and nutty inner stem.  If I want to impress then I make this artichoke stem salad.  You get one small portion for each stem.  So it’s fun to have a two course meal.  First, a pretty plated salad, then one big beautiful artichoke each to pluck, dip then scrape with your teeth.

Gazpacho, how much do I love you? This cold, raw tomato soup hails from Andalusia, Spain and if I don’t get my butt to España soon I will be forever cranky.  I could easily dedicate an entire blog about the country of Spain, it’s one of my favorite places on the planet that I would gladly pack up and move to tomorrow if I had my druthers.

The only problem is that a) I am an American so there’s that pesky paperwork problem and b) I’d fall asleep at the dinner table each and every night. Oh who am I kidding? I would have been in bed for 2 hours by the time everyone assembles for dinner. Old man, me.

These two recipes for gazpacho come from Chef José Andrés. Whenever I think of him I get warm and tingly and I am thankful that he has chosen to live here in the US. I believe it makes this a better place, for sure.

One of the first signs that spring has arrived is the availability of bright green vegetables, like asparagus. There is something special about an asparagus spear emerging from the ground. Right now asparagus is available at the Union square Greenmarket. In the supermarket it's available all-year round, but the best time to get pencil-thin asparagus is during springtime. It's at its most tender and succulent. Steamed for a few minutes, roasted, or grilled, asparagus is a delightful vegetable prepared in any which way. Its color becomes vivid green after cooking and for me that represents the essence of spring.

I enjoy eating asparagus in many forms, but I like it most in quiche, one of the favorite brunch foods here in the States. Though the French even eat it for lunch or dinner. Quiche was originally meant just for breakfast in the French province of Lorraine, from where it originated. Surprisingly the tradition of quiche-making comes from a time when Lorraine belonged to Germany. The dish used to be called kuchen, which is German for cake, and instead of a pie crust, it was made with bread dough—basically a pizza. Once the region changed rule, the German name was eventually transliterated into French and the recipe changed too. The most well-known recipe is Quiche Lorraine, filled with just bacon.