Ever since I was in grade school, St. Patrick's' Day has been a day when I wish I was at least a little bit Irish. The teachers at my school instructed their Irish students to wear something green on St. Patrick's Day. The rest of us – orange. So, while many of my friends came to school wrapped in green sweaters, donning fuzzy green shamrocks on their shirt, or wearing green socks, I would come with an orange headband in my hair. I would have preferred green.

As a young baker, though, I made sure our family had shamrock-shaped sugar cookies frosted in green on St. Patrick's Day. I never told my teachers. To this day, I don't wear a bit of green on St. Patrick's Day – my teachers taught me well. But, I don't wear orange, either. I just sneak a little bit of Irish into the foods I eat on that special day.

This year, I developed a pie with a fudge brownie crust, filled with Irish Cream pudding and topped with Irish Cream-spiked whipped cream.  I discovered the brownie crust batter can be dropped onto baking sheets to create chocolatey rich cookies.

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Ever since I was in grade school, St. Patrick's' Day has been a day when I wish I was at least a little bit Irish. The teachers at my school instructed their Irish students to wear something green on St. Patrick's Day. The rest of us – orange. So, while many of my friends came to school wrapped in green sweaters, donning fuzzy green shamrocks on their shirt, or wearing green socks, I would come with an orange headband in my hair. I would have preferred green.

As a young baker, though, I made sure our family had shamrock-shaped sugar cookies frosted in green on St. Patrick's Day. I never told my teachers. To this day, I don't wear a bit of green on St. Patrick's Day – my teachers taught me well. But, I don't wear orange, either. I just sneak a little bit of Irish into the foods I eat on that special day.

Sometimes it’s the tiny little things in life that bring the most joy.

I always get so excited when my trees start waking up from months of dormancy. Even though our orange tree (known forever as "Granny’s
 orange tree") never really loses its deep green leaves, it has its own way of letting you know that it’s kicking into high gear.  Every year
 around this time buds begin to appear, and within a day or two these creamy, supple pods begin to open up into beautiful little flowers. And
 even if you were inclined to bury your head in the sand and ignore the
 seasonal shift, orange trees let you know their intentions by perfuming 
the entire yard with a heady, intoxicating fragrance of orange 
blossoms.

It’s literally the most soothing and luxurious smell I can
 think of and far from the tart, acidy flavor of the fruit (if I’m 
comparing smells and tastes, mind you). It’s much closer to honeysuckle 
than orange. And if the scent drives me crazy in the best of ways, I
 can only wonder what it does to bees!

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Sometimes it’s the tiny little things in life that bring the most joy.

I always get so excited when my trees start waking up from months of dormancy. Even though our orange tree (known forever as "Granny’s
 orange tree") never really loses its deep green leaves, it has its own way of letting you know that it’s kicking into high gear.  Every year
 around this time buds begin to appear, and within a day or two these creamy, supple pods begin to open up into beautiful little flowers. And
 even if you were inclined to bury your head in the sand and ignore the
 seasonal shift, orange trees let you know their intentions by perfuming 
the entire yard with a heady, intoxicating fragrance of orange 
blossoms.

It’s literally the most soothing and luxurious smell I can
 think of and far from the tart, acidy flavor of the fruit (if I’m 
comparing smells and tastes, mind you). It’s much closer to honeysuckle 
than orange. And if the scent drives me crazy in the best of ways, I
 can only wonder what it does to bees!

Fresh Grapefruit Juice
Fresh Orange Juice
Fresh Lemonade

Cowboy Cornbread
Huevos alla Amy Sherman
Huevos Rancheros

Fresh Berries and Yogurt

Lattes, Espressos and Green Teas

From the L.A. Times

Long before "Twilight" and "True Blood" and the Modern Age of Vampires, garlic was used as a talisman: a panacea against bad spirits in the Middle Ages and against illness during the Crusades. Even those of us who happily load our soups and stews with dozens of the pale cloves can tell why it was hung across doorways to prevent entrance. Mature garlic can be overwhelming, even relentless; a single raw clove minced on a board is capable of determining the course of an entire meal, whether you want it to or not.

But imagine garlic without its bite, the autocracy of its properties calmed, even made subtle. You don't need a spell for this one, just a farmer.

Green garlic, also called young garlic, is exactly what it sounds like: the green shoots of immature garlic bulbs that have been picked early. Farmers have historically picked green garlic to thin out their crop, bringing baskets of the early greens to market to sell as a secondary crop, a kind of seasonal teaser for what's to come. A pile of the delicate stalks discovered on a market stand in the early weeks of spring can seem like a sudden gift, a dirt-clad promise of fava beans and English peas and the approaching burst of full-on spring produce.

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