Fleur-de-ATaleofTwo

Side by Side

This is a tale of two seedlings. It was the best of climes, it was the worst of climes. I’m having a dickens of a time trying to understand my newest plants.

I started with a packet of seeds from John Scheepers Kitchen Garden Seeds. Purple Bells, the catalog called the vine.   Rhodochiton atrosanguineum, a botanist would say.  The drawing on the seed packet shows heart-shaped green leaves with flowers that look like dangling pink fairies buzzing with bees. Something new for me, I decided to give it a try.

The seeds are smaller than grains of salt—and I don’t mean sea salt. I sprinkled them on the surface of the soil in a green pot.  There might have been a dozen or so seeds—no more.  I watered them and covered the pot with plastic wrap.  This was the end of March or beginning of April, and the green pot sat on the tile floor of my mother’s sunroom, basking in the warmth of a heated home with two skylights above.

Well, the little specks of seeds germinated and became seedlings. They were scattered about haphazardly, so I dug out three for one white hanging pot, three for another, and left three in the green pot.

Probably around Memorial Day I put the green pot in a tall planter at the front door of the house. I kept the other two in the atrium, protected from the vagaries of weather, hanging one near a patio door, the other at the kitchen pass-through.

The seed packet said to plant in full to partial sunlight.  I worried that the entrance door area might be too shaded—but I needed something for the plant stand—and the green pot was perfect.  The two containers of purple bells in the atrium are in indirect, but bright sun.

About two weeks ago, the plants in the green pot were dripping with maroon bell-shaped calyces (sepals of a flower forming a protective whorl around the flower) and almost black trumpet-like corollas (flower petals).  The leaves are mottled purple and green and gorgeous.  I looked at the two pampered hanging baskets inside—they look like stunted, anemic wimps.  Not a flower bud in sight.

Transplant shock, I told myself. But now I’m not so sure.

When my sister came to visit, I temporarily put the two groups of purple bells side by side.

Can you believe these are the same plants?

Well, two weeks later, not much has changed.  See for yourselves.  I know the seeds all came from the same packet, and the seedlings were just randomly chosen to be in one location or the other, but what’s up?

Purple Bells

I need to find out more about the Purple Bells Vine.  The plant is native to southern Mexico, in the densely forested areas of the Oaxaca region—sounds like shade to me.  Mexican Purple Bells didn’t come north of the Rio Grande until 1833.  It is not an annual, as the seed packet claims, but a tender perennial.  Here is a Curtis illustration of the Purple Bells Vine I found on the Kew Gardens (a botanical garden in southwest London) website.

We will see what the rest of the summer brings. In fall, the flowering vine with maroon leaves will move into the atrium with its kin. Then what?  I’ll either find wisdom or will feel downright foolish.  Until then, any ideas?  Laurie Lynch

Written on Slate: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only” –Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities, 1859

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fleur-de-PlayingWithFood

Grill Christening

Richard was about 13, in middle school, when I got a call from the principal.

Mr. Smith explained that Richard and his best buds were caught playing with food in the lunchroom. Not a food fight. More like an anatomy lesson using a banana and tangerines as props.

I can’t remember if I burst out laughing on the phone or was polite enough to wait until Mr. Smith hung up. I doubt it was the latter.

Richard is twice that age now and still playing with food. He is on a first-name basis with his favorite growers and merchants at the local farmers markets. He gets ginger kombucha from Reuben, eggs from Mike, and turmeric, harvested in Belize and ground by Eric in Warriors Mark.  He thinks nothing of whipping up a jar of salad dressing, blending a smoothie, or shaking a blend of spices into his steaming rice.

From his year in Brazil, grilling or “churrasco” is one of his favorite methods of cooking, and I gladly leave it to him. His three-legged, rusted-out charcoal camping grill made its last supper of bleu cheese bison burgers a few weekends ago.  It was replaced with a “real” barbecue—rain cover and all—that became the mystery object on the patio.

Nonna had endless questions about “What’s that brown thing out there?”

Orderly Chef

“Is it a statue?”

“Is it a bicycle?”

“Is it a machine?”

Anything new in Nonna’s environment is a source of endless curiosity.

Finally the day came when the cover came off.

Richard lifted up the lid. And there was the face.

Yes, that’s another thing about Richard’s Nonna. She sees faces everywhere: in the swirl of cream in her hazelnut latte, in the taillights of the cars on Route 80, in the petals of an amaryllis. When she looked at the lid of the barbecue, she said, “Oh, look at that face.”

Bolts holding on the thermostat—eyes and nose.  Side-vent wheels—ears of course.  The upper grill rack—a broad, toothy mouth.  She talks about each facial feature, and we see it too.

Richard christened the grill with marinated flank steak, rack of lamb, halloumi, portabella mushrooms, and our own asparagus, green garlic, and shallots.  Needless to say, we had leftovers.  Lots of leftovers.

After a second dinner of leftovers, Richard’s creative juices began to flow. He was still hungry but needed a change.  Spinach flatbread was his canvas and inspiration. That, and his Nonna.

He began by placing two rounds of provolone on the flatbread, then came the grilled portabella eyeballs, button mushroom nose, asparagus smile, beef tongue, chard and spinach hair, and leaf lettuce ears.

“Oh, look at that face,” my mother said, delighted. Laurie Lynch

Miles of Smiles:  While this blog was percolating in my mind, we went to Café Lemont for lunch.  I ordered chicken salad. The bowl that came to the table had a ruffle of lettuce around the mound of chicken salad. Then, on top of the salad were two cucumber slice eyes, a carrot nose, and a green bean mouth smiling at me. Faces everywhere…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fleur-de-Verrine

An advert from Subarashii Kudamono arrived in my email mentioning their Asian Pear Spread as a perfect ingredient for a Wild Rice and Corn Verrine.  What, I asked myself, is a verrine?

Then I consulted Google. Verrine is French meaning “protective glass”.  But, as with many things French, the word is linked to food.  Verrine in that sense is an appetizer or dessert served in a clear glass so you can see the colorful, artistic layers of an edible masterpiece.

Two days later, I got a notice for a vegan cooking class at a local farm.  The word verrine was missing, but there was this beautiful photograph:

A spring vegetable verrine.

My mind goes zooming back to the 1970s.  For those of you who were around in the 1970s, verrines remind me of the larger scale Layered Salads of that era. Iceberg lettuce (remember that?), sour cream, bacon bits, guacamole, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, bottled Ranch Dressing.)

Verrines are personal layered salads, if you will, adapted to the tastes of the 21^stcentury.

My mind goes skipping back to earlier this year when my friend Terese sent a bagged lunch for Richard when I was on my way to pick him up at Newark International Airport in the midst of a snowstorm. Inside were assorted goodies, as well as a layered fruit trifle in a jar…

My mind goes flipping forward. No need to buy verrine glasses, although they keep popping up on my computer screen. I’ve got bags of Bonne Maman jars in the basement just waiting to be transformed into verrines a la red-and-white checkered lids. Perfect for picnics at Lemont Village Green Friday night concerts or lid-less verrines for at-home noshing.

Verrines are the do-it-yourself cook’s dream.  They can be hot or cold, cooked or raw, sweet or savory. You can puree avocado and cucumber, blend cooked red beets with a touch of plain Greek yogurt, or make a strawberry coulis Then you chop, dice, slice, or  shred accompanying fruits or vegetables, maybe add cubed cake or crunchy granola or whipped cream or a swirl of nuts, and layer everything beautifully in a clear glass tumbler.  To make it look professional, repeat the same process times the number of people you plan to serve.

For those of you who need a little guidance, I asked Terese if she had a recipe for the fruit dessert she sent for Richard—or if it was something she just threw together.

It was an “intentional” throw together, she replied. Here are her instructions:

1. Mother-in-law Marion’s pound cake (cubed in about 1-1/2-2” cubes).  I add 1-1/2 teaspoons of almond extract to any basic pound cake recipe. Allow cake to cool.

2. Vanilla pudding. Two or maybe three “stovetop cooked” boxes. Reduce the milk slightly.

3. Any berries — red raspberry, blackberry, blueberry, strawberry and in combination.

4. Almonds (California) and Marcona — chopped coarsely.

5. High quality raspberry jam

Layer like a lasagna … cake, then berry jam (dabs here and there like you would with ricotta), then pudding, then berries, then almonds. Repeat.  Top with fresh whipped cream. Do NOT count the calories for this one.

Don’t worry, Terese.  I won’t.  Laurie Lynch

Written on Slate:  “I ate pound cake today, but I gained two.”  Jarod Chintz

BTW:  You are not seeing double. This Terese is the same Terese I mentioned in the last blog who dropped off two crates of slates. She’s a generous soul.

Memorial Day Snow:  It was snowing fragrant black locust blossoms on Memorial Day.  The week was filled with trees and shrubs in full-blown bloom—heavenly days.