burlington farmer's market

I know I haven't posted in a while. Here's my attempt to get back on track! Nourishment is: having Colin home on a Saturday, seeing lots of beautiful things at the market, nesting.

strength and beauty in sweetpeas and life

By Sally A. I. Wall


This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.

It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.

In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.

café expres, a perfect date

One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.

Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).

Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.

I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.

I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?

just what the doctor ordered

I came home from work tonight and found a neat little note sitting on my kitchen counter. It was from Hannah (she left this morning) and I hope she doesn't mind, but I'm writing it here, just so I can have it for always.

Dear Soupy ~

I'm so glad that we got to hang out this weekend, it really was lovely, just perfect. Thanks for having me at your sweet little home, with your cute little kitties who I adore. Can't wait for the next time to see you... in CA? Or VT? Or NY? We'll see...

Love you love you love you. Just what the Dr. Ordered—a weekend with my sistawrs...

Hannah Poopy

rhubarb & custard

I grew up thinking that rhubarb and custard was some gross mush that mummy's used to make their children eat for breakfast. Rhubarb sounded gross and custard sounded even grosser.

It wasn't until many years later that I realized custard is the wonderful creamy goodness that makes many of my favorite foods happen: homemade ice cream, creme brulee, yummy quiche. And it wasn't until very recently (this year in fact) that I tasted rhubarb for the first time in years and was reminded how much I do love it. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia with every bite.

Rhubarb and cream were meant for each other. The buttery sweetness is the perfect balance to rhubarb's tangy, mouth-puckering flavor. I'm determined to experiment and come up with as many riffs on the classic combo as I can.

On our recent trip to England, my Aunt Carrie served a delicious rhubarb fool (that is cooked, sweetened rhubarb folded into whipped cream). I was hooked. Now that it's rhubarb season in Vermont, I just can't get enough of it. I made my own variation on the fool this past weekend by cooking rhubarb with some lemon and orange zest and a little sugar. Then I folded it into maple syrup-sweetened plain yogurt. Divine!

Tonight, I'm really pushing the limits of ultimate creamy tart flavor: strawberry rhubarb ice cream. Strawberries & cream meets rhubarb & custard. And the result is soooo good. The secret is in the lemon juice. You wouldn't think that rhubarb would need any more acid but it really does help bring out the flavor against all that creamy custard.

What's next? Tomorrow, I'm having rhubarb in my yogurt for breakfast. I hope I don't get a stomach ache!