Comfort Foods and Indulgences

Years ago I lived on Aquidneck Island (home to Newport, Rhode Island) and every June we’d head over to Quonset View Farms, high up in the middle of the island where the cold fog off the ocean just kisses the plants and fades away in time for daily sun baths. The soil must be pretty special there, too, as I swear I’ve never tasted strawberries so sweet and juicy. At Quonset View, it was hard to get out of the field without eating most of your berries.

Ever since then, I haven’t really been able to eat much in the way of commercial strawberries, which tend to be hard and white in the middle and short on flavor. I wait 11 months for the real deal. It’s kind of torturous, but pretty blissful when the local berries ripen. I try to pick enough to freeze some for later months, too, but they never last very long.

My longing was made even worse this year by the fact that Rebecca has been selling strawberry plants at the farm stand where my garden is. Every day that I pass by these beauties, another berry ripens on one of the plants, red and juicy and drooping seductively on its green stem, just begging to be eaten.

Have you ever tried to make something once, (twice, three times, with three different recipes from three different cookbooks) and it never quite came out the way it was supposed to. And your husband, who’s a better cook than you are (or at least better at actually following the recipe) tries the same from yet another cookbook and then another (at least we’re persistent) and it never works, never quite tastes the same tender, delicious way it does in practically any Italian restaurant on any corner in any city in the world.

So, you put it in the category of “Don’t try this at home.” Osso Bucco. It’s never quite tender, never quite fall off the bones delicious, Italian, melt in your mouth restaurant perfect!

I know what you're thinking.  Weeknight dinner and  the culinary term reduction are two words that do not go together.  But I double-dare swear that they do.  This recipe is so perfect for any night that is filled with reckless activities caused by our busy and crazy lives.  This recipe will take you back to the simple life you crave.

You cannot get this from a box, you cannot get this from an ox.  You cannot find this here or there, but you can make this in your underwear...or something like that.

I mean are you tired of your pathetic nightly dinners?  Does your family dread the dreaded chicken recipe again?  Have you been wanting your inner-chef-dom-tendencies to shine through without much effort?  This is your lucky day.

This simplistic, tasty, somewhat-savory, somewhat-sweet dinner is for you.  It is by far the most effortless (well, I guess McDonald's would be more effortless) weeknight meal you could possibly throw together.  And it's so good, you could even serve it for Sunday night dinner.  After making this, no one will believe you've running around like a maniac all day.

Every year about this time, Mimi and Granddaddy traipse up through Georgia’s mountains to find some of the Peach State’s greatest fruits–apples! Each autumn, the Peach State yields bushels and bushels of apples and my grandparents seem to always bring many of those bushels back to our now empty peach country. “Whatever will we do with all these apples? “ Mimi always inquires; yet her queries are always quelled once she gets to cooking and baking with the bounty from their mountain travels.

First comes Gingergold, Jonaold, and of course, Gala, with some of this Farmer’s favorites such as Pink Lady and Fuji rounding out the season. This first trip to the North Georgia Mountains brought us the former apple varieties and the apple baking season has commenced! Another trip to Highlands or even further in North Carolina will bring my grand people back with more apples and I know that we’ll be apple-rich for the season. We have already had pies, some applesauce and, with much fanfare and glee, Mimi’s Apple Cake.