Good morning, good morning! I feel like I should insert a little tune here. Mornings are really all over the place for me. Sometimes an early rise, like being at the Park Slope Food Coop for a 5am receiving shift the other day (the farmers from upstate were already there so just imagine how early they got up…) to waking up at 2pm on a Sunday afternoon, and then wondering at 7pm where the day has gone. When time permits, mornings mean breakfast. Good, slow, effort filled breakfasts. Growing up we had pancakes every Saturday morning for as long as I could remember. My brother and I would watch Saturday morning cartoons (which apparently don’t really exist anymore) and wait for our mom to prepare breakfast. Sometimes we’d help but more often not. If it was a really special day, our pancakes would be in the shape of hearts, stars or even a Mickey Mouse face.
My biggest take away from blogging is the sense of community I’ve discovered. Or, really communities. I don’t live under a rock. A simple Google search for marinara sauce will show you there are infinite food bloggers out there. From the well established ones like Smitten Kitchen, to smaller WordPress blogs like my own. When I launched my blog, I sent my thoughts and recipes out to join the infinite other recipes and bloggers out there. I hoped people beyond my friends and family would take a look and maybe even comment. But when I launched my blog I found a world of other bloggers. Here in Brooklyn, across the country and across the world. And through potlucks and penpal programs I’ve connected with people beyond the keyboard.
This month I was welcomed into the Secret (Shh!!) Recipe Club. Two years ago April over at Angels Homestead and Amanda at Amanda’s Cookin’ thought it would be fun to cook something off a friend’s blog and share the results, but make it bigger with a few friends. The program expanded as a way to meet other bloggers, cook and share, thus the Secret Recipe Club was born. I learned about SRC about a year ago. Once I met the requirements of having at least 100 original recipes and a recipe index, I applied for their long waiting list. Fast forward to a few weeks ago when April welcomed me into the club!
The cooler weather has had me thinking about fall. Whether we want to admit it or not, August is almost a third of the way through and Labor Day is just around the corner. I like the summer, minus the July heat wave, but fall has always been my favorite season. Produce is at its peak, leaves change, and just enough chill enters the air. Too warm for a winter coat, but just perfect enough for a brightly colored scarf or light blanket. To me, fall is the perfect time for a stroll or hike in the woods, apple picking, or a long train ride to take in the foliage.
Considering the recent surge of strawberry recipes you probably assume I’m a strawberry fiend. Not true. Strawberries are a sign of spring, summer and harvest to come. I coo over them not because of love, but because what they represent and what will soon follow. Cherries are my true love. It pains me to see out of season cherries. Occasionally I’ll succumb to the pressure of deep red foreign cherries, toying with my eyes and stomach. My gluttony is rewarded with sourness and lack of flavor. Cherries are only good when ripe. Fresh and ripe. Off the farm ripe, not early picked and intended to ripen over the 3000 mile journey from California ripe.
Somehow I never tire of strawberries and rhubarb. Every trip to the greenmarket means at least 2 quarts of strawberries and a few pieces of rhubarb. This week alone we ate 4 quarts (ATE not canned), and the week isn’t over yet. Remember there’s only two of us. I make sure I get some of the first strawberries I can find and probably end up with some of the last. For at least a month, when strawberries are bountiful, it’s like no other food exists.