the meadow

"No voice calls me to order as I enter a dream of meadow, kneel to earth and, moving east to west, second the motion only of the sun…. Clouds form, dissolve, withhold or promise rain. In time, outside of time, the unkempt afternoons fill up with flowers."

"Planting the Meadow" by Mary Makofske

Dame's rocket (Hesperis matronalis) is a biennial wildflower that is often confused with phlox. The most obvious distinction is that phlox blooms later in the season and the flowers have five petals whereas Hesperis has only four.

Because of its tendencies to self seed and escape cultivation, it's considered an invasive species in parts of the country where it has crowded out native species. In my state of Connecticut, it is illegal to move, sell, purchase, transplant or distribute Hesperis. And, because I always follow the law [ahem], I resist the temptation to transplant them to a more conspicuous part of the garden. For now, they live on an unmown patch of earth that I call "the meadow", where they happily coexist with sumac, asters, mullein and goldenrod.

Dame's rocket belongs to the Brassicaceae family of plants that include cabbage and mustard.

The flowers throw off a sultry vanilla scent that intensifies as the sun goes down (Hesperis means evening in Greek) and has a two-part flavor that starts as honeyed pears and ends with a mild sting of mustard.

This dish, built on a foundation of peanut butter ganache and peanut brittle-enrobed roasted banana, covered with elderflower and green tea whip displays an intriguing juxtaposition of harmonious flavors.

It looks a bit wild and unkempt. Just like the meadow.

Download recipe: The meadow

spruce rhubarb cooler

The new growth on the spruce trees is worlds apart from the mature needles that I worked with last winter. These are so tender and brightly flavored that they might as well have come from a different plant. As with the peach leaves, this serves as a reminder to taste and enjoy plants at different stages of growth.

Now that the peach leaf beer is nearly gone, I thought I would give spruce beer a try.

Spruce beer is nothing new–it's an old-timey beverage enjoyed by past generations in the northern US and Canada. The recipes that I found called for adding spruce to malted barley and hops or for sweetening with molasses, which I was sure would distract from the fresh flavor that I was trying to preserve, so I stuck with the sugar, citrus, yeast and infused water method. Again, the results were more like a dry soda than a malty beer and strangely reminiscent of gin and tonic. Actually, not so strange–juniper and spruce share piney terpenes.

Revisiting spruce in the spring calls for an entirely new palette–one that's as fresh and crisp as the feathery young tips. Rhubarb rose to the occasion.

The first spring after we moved onto our property, I was delighted to find a patch of rhubarb growing in the deep shade under a Catalpa tree. I held out for a big harvest, imagining a procession of pies, crisps, and cobblers, but the stalks never reached more than a foot in height or grew any thicker than a pencil. I knew that they were stunted by lack of light and thought about transplanting them, but I've come to love the unique tender snap of these slender whips that are not too puckery–even when raw.

I've always thought that the secret to a good cocktail is balance. That's not to say that I haven't had my share of cloy drinks– I have. They served their purpose but when I want something more than an alcohol buzz, I turn to luminous flavors.

Rhubarb, with its citrus-like tartness, cooked with a judicious amount of sugar, makes a balanced syrup that when combined with gin and spruce beer produces an agreeable and refreshing cocktail. The colors may look like they belong to a winter holiday, but it tastes like the threshold of summer.

Notes:

When harvesting spruce tips, keep in mind that essentially you are pruning the plant and encouraging branching. Prune evenly, around all sides of the plant, to maintain symmetry.

Rhubarb leaves contain toxins and should not be consumed.

Download recipe: Spruce rhubarb cooler

peachleaf rum baba

I had a request for baba au rhum recently and it triggered a memory of serving them with peaches and mascarpone. It's a lovely memory and with peach leaf on my mind, it's a likely pairing.

The progeny of kugelhopf and ancestor of the savarin, babas are a type of yeast cake. They have the flavor and richness of brioche but the more refined texture of genoise. Like genoise, the baked cakes are soaked with alcohol-spiked syrup, though babas are typically flavored with rum.

These cakes were a good vehicle to test the flavor of peach leaf in a baked good. The flavor was introduced into the batter with peach leaf beer and milk making up the moisture. Chopped peach leaves were folded in before baking and the flavor was further reinforced with a soaking in peach leaf syrup and dark rum.

This dish relates like a family reunion. Peaches are represented in various stages: the crystallized peach buds with their green almond crunch, the butterflied slices of ripe fruit, the creamy curd made from peach juice, and the benzaldehyde-flavored leaves. From the same family, almonds make up the crunchy praline along with burnt sugar, whose caramel flavor is echoed by the dark rum-soaked baba. The tangy creme fraiche is the friend who was invited to keep things interesting.

Download recipe: Peachleaf rum babas

peachleaf sangria

With work kicking into full gear, I'm left scrambling to get the garden ready for planting. As if my plate wasn't already overflowing, there's the added distraction of all the things that are blooming that I'm itching to play with.

The creeping phlox (Phlox subulata) were glorious this year. I had something special planned for them but an unrelenting schedule and three days of rain have left them in a pitiful state of mush.

Ditto for the lilacs.

Oh, well…there's always next year (the gardener's mantra).

I was, however, able to harvest some of the tender young peach leaves.

Last year I learned that there is a short window– from the time that the blossoms drop until the fruit begins to set– that the flavor of the leaves is the least bitter and most almond-like.

I was able to harvest enough leaves to make a few liters of peach leaf beer, using a recipe for ginger beer. It's really more like a soda: light, crisp, barely-sweet, with refreshing effervescence from the addition of yeast.

After a gratifying day of weeding and tilling, a small celebration was in order. There was a bottle of Vinho Verde calling my name. And the peach leaf beer was ready.

Sitting in the shade of a peach tree.

Ice-cold peach leaf sangria in hand.

Life is good.

Download recipe: Peach leaf sangria

tulip

the thing about moms

regardless of how grownupold you thinkfeel you are

in her mindhearteyes

you are

forever5

bathed in sunlight

running towards her

with a tulip in your hand

rhubarb sorbet

lemongrass ganache

cream cheese pound cake

rhubarb glass

angelique tulip petals

sakura

People who have the means and leisure to travel at whim often do so in pursuit of a passion. Some follow the sun, others follow food, music, art, or sports. Romantics follow their hearts.

Me, I would follow flowers.

At the top of my itinerary would be Japan in March. There you would find me, in a cherry blossom-induced delirium, standing like Julie Andrews on top of that mountain– eyes up, arms outstretched; twirling like a dervish–reveling in a blizzard of cherry-pink petals.

The Japanese are serious about cherry blossoms (sakura) and the ancient custom of flower-viewing (hanami). The cherry-blooming forecasts (sakura zensen) are watched fervently and the occasion is observed with reverence and enthusiasm.

Cherries belong to the plant genus Prunus, and are a member of the large family Rosaceae, which includes other aromatic fruits such as almonds, peaches, plums, apricots, apples, pears, quince, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, loquats, and roses.

The flavor of cherries are defined by benzaldehyde (sour cherry, bitter almond) and coumarin (vanilla, sweet grass, hay).

black sesame ganache

cherry yogurt panna cotta

rose-mahleb semifreddo

raspberry meringue

pink peppercorn crisp

sour cherry glass

maraschino almonds

cherry petals

cherry leaf

Download recipe: Sakura

daffodil

There's a place just up the road from me that I make a point to visit at this time of year.

It's the kind of spot that embodies the bucolic scenery of rural New England.

There are pastoral rolling hills…

…moss-patinaed stone walls…

…ancient gnarled trees…

…steep stone steps…

…and a lake with tiny islands.

It's a magical place at any time of year, but for a few weeks in April it becomes an enchanted land of earth, water, stone, and daffodils.

Daffodils have an alluring aroma with sweet notes of honey, citrus, warm spice, and exotic fruit. However, they contain the alkaloids galanthamine and lycorine that render them highly toxic if consumed. Even deer won't touch them.

mango

whipped honey

passionfruit souffle cake

orange blossom ice cream

pandan glass

ginger honey crystals

calendula buds

Download recipe: Daffodil

chocolate violet carrot

Occasionally, I find fallen nests when cleaning the hedgerows. They are irresistible to me, these vestigial homes; fragile and singular as snowflakes.

I find colonies of violets in the hedgerows, too. Their cheerful pale blue flowers and heart-shaped leaves look content in the cool, moist environment. Unfortunately, these are the common dog variety (Viola canina) and are not graced with the perfume of the sweet violet (Viola odorata)

Although sweet violets have been widely used in the fragrance industry for centuries, they have no significant culinary tradition aside from the Victorians, who were fond of garnishing sweets with the crystallized flower. Their symbolic connection to spring and haunting aroma have been venerated and romanticized throughout history by artists, poets, monarchs, and even Gods.

Napoleon shared a devotion to violets with the Empress Josephine. During his exile at Elba, he promised his followers that he would return in the spring with the violets. This set off a loyalist obsession with the flower, immortalizing the violet as the emblem of the Imperial party, and earning him the nickname "Corporal Violette". He is said to have been buried with a lock of Josephine's hair and violets in a locket.

In Greek Mythology, Zeus ordered the Earth to create the most beautiful of flowers in tribute to his love, Io. The result was the violet.

Ion, the Greek word for violet, lends its name to the terpene Ionone, the defining aroma compound in violets. Ionone is a megastigmane, or a degradation of beta-carotene. Not surprisingly, carrots contain a fair amount of ionone, as do raspberries, tobacco, roses, and black tea.

chocolate nest

violet ice cream

carrot filaments

blackberries

johnny-jump-ups (Viola cornuta)

calendula

violet dust

Download Recipe: Violet nest

love letters

read them and eat.

sour cherry gel

almond panna cotta with mahleb

rose water glass with rose petals

gossamer vanilla bean whipped crisp

ras el hanout film envelope

birch wintergreen black currant banana

wintergreen, black currant, and banana nougat with birch syrup glass

I finally received my package of birch syrup. It was a long wait as it had to come from Alaska. You would think that with all of the birch trees in the northeast, that someone around here would be producing it. If they are, they're keeping it for themselves…I can't blame them.

Like maple syrup, Birch syrup is made by concentrating and evaporating tree sap into a syrup. But that's where the similarity ends. It takes 100 gallons of birch sap to make 1 gallon of syrup. With maple syrup, its about 40:1. Birch syrup is less sweet than maple and is predominantly low-glycemic fructose as opposed to maple, which is mainly sucrose.

Birch syrup has a deep, spicy, woody flavor that is tinged with methyl salicylate.

Methyl salicylate is an ester commonly known as oil of wintergreen or betula oil. Esters are a class of aromatic organic compounds that are widely found in nature and are usually described as "fruity". Esters follow a general formula (alcohol + carboxylic acid = ester), therefore (methyl alcohol + salicylic acid = methyl salicylate). Names of esters always end in -ate.

Methyl salicylate is found in high concentrations in the berries and leaves of wintergreen (Gaultheria) and birch (Betula)and in lesser degrees in black currants, cherries, tomatoes, licorice root, fig leaf, pansies and dianthus. It is the prominent flavor of root beer and birch beer.

The primary ester in banana is isoamyl acetate, but bananas also share other esters with black currants: ethyl caproate and ethyl benzoate, which is described as fruity, sweet, wintergreen.