A Midweek Roundup

(Step away from the news for a minute and make yourself the pasta recipe.)

Photo by Kelsy Gagnebin on Unsplash

This week, I am having my second major shoulder surgery in six months, and if you have not had this particular kind of body snatching— and I pray you haven’t — I’m here to tell you: it’s not fun. It’s my second go-round because my first shoulder surgery, the day after my mother’s early November funeral, was botched by an incredibly handsome, sockless-Gucci-loafer-wearing orthopedic surgeon whose claim to fame was performing his very first spinal tap on Robert Penn Warren.

Having been here before, I’m gearing up for a few days in an ugly brown vinyl medical recliner surrounded by books, the television remote, my computer, and a twenty-five pound black cat called Arthur, who will be asleep on top of me for hours at a time. In preparation, I’ve compiled a list of things that will be the wind in my sails as I move to the other side of this second body invasion. But you don’t have to be having surgery to find something to like (or even love) here.

In My Kitchen

I first met Aran Goyoaga in the days pre-Covid, while we were both having lunch at Via Carota in Manhattan. Aran is possibly the best — the very best — gluten free baker I have ever encountered, hailing from a family of pastry professionals in the Basque region of Spain. She is here on Substack, at long last, and even if you don’t have a sweet tooth, you will want to make her GF Double Chocolate Hazelnut cookies. Then you will want to buy her books. Then you will want to gut your kitchen, and redesign it to look like hers. Everything this woman makes is delicious and stunning, and whether or not you’re gluten free, you will love her recipes.

Instant Spring.

It’s simple, I crave it all spring and summer, and there’s no link to a recipe. because I wing it every time: Find the very best ravioli you can (or, similarly, tortelloni), simmer in salted water asparagus sliced into two inch long pieces for a few minutes until just tender and then add the peas until they go bright green, plunge them into ice water to stop their cooking, gently cook the ravioli in the vegetable water until they float to the surface, drain, toss with the vegetables, a small handful of chopped dill, a good grating of fresh lemon zest, a crumble of excellent feta, and a drizzle of olive oil. In my case, the ravioli were stuffed with spinach and ricotta. Alternatively: slowly cook rounds of fresh zucchini in warm olive oil until they melt, add cooked peas, cooked asparagus (never enough green spring veg), short twisty pasta like gemelli or fusilli cooked al dente, lemon zest, dill, and feta. Drizzle with more olive oil. No salt needed because feta. The end.

(In other kitchen news: I incinerated an expensive, fennel pollen-rubbed local pork butt on the grill the other night — it literally burst into flame — and Susan wrote our CIA-trained chef friend Simón de Swaan a note in carbonized russet potato.)

In My Garden

The new garden, from Earthways.

I am bereft: After fourteen years, the garden that many of you have seen in photos and stories here is being dismantled. With six (8 by 3 foot) boxes and a 35 foot long perennial bed, it has gotten to be far too much for us. It feels witheringly sad, but we have decided that it’d be better to have a smaller, more manageable garden than one that is a complete, catastrophic mess. This week, while I am stoned in my medical recliner, we will be taking possession of a U-shaped, cedar, raised-bed situation in which we will be planting the things that we do well with (greens, beans, cucumber, summer squash, radishes, kale, and chard). Herbs will go into an assortment of clay pots.

Farewell, lovely mess.

While I’m recuperating, I will continue down the rabbit hole that is the gardening community on Substack, with my favorites: Horticulturalish, Six Burner Sue, Jo Thompson, and Mark Diacono's Abundance. Off Substack, I’m reading Emma Mitchell’s The Wild Remedy, Stanley Kunitz’s The Wild Braid, and Victoria Bennett’s The Apothecary by the Sea.