On the stove at the moment is a clam chowder. Potatoes and frozen green beans from last summer’s harvest, fresh pulled leeks and carrots, and a can of clams. I even have a few leggy fronds of parsley from the kitchen window pot to add right before serving so it keeps it’s “somewhere-over-the-rainbow color” as I put it in one book or another.

All in all, not bad for the eve of winter solstice when it’s all we can to do keep the home fires burning.

Warm salads are another favorite of mine. Here I rely on garden spaghetti squash that’s keeps all winter in the basement or even in right in the kitchen–and is easy to bake. Then some freshly picked kale, flash cooked with garlic and red chile flakes. Dress with olive oil, fresh lemon juice, and coarse salt. Garnish with ruby pomegranates jewels and a polite chop of walnuts.

Pretty tasty no matter what carb and protein you pair it with. And it even works for the vegans in the crowd. Merry Howdy!

Flash cooking is the heart of my kitchen scene. It nets me plenty of fresh seasonal vegetables in short order–warm salad style. I’ve talked about it many times here on the blog, but people resonate with the idea so, that we did a video. It’s a 6 minute clip from chopping the onion to chowing down. There’s also a section devoted to it in Hippie Kitchen: 43-45. Think stir fry without the oil, Asian vegetables, or Asian flavors.

One secret of this take on tabbouleh is making it the way they do in the Levant–where as my friend Rula Awaad-Rafferty observes, “it’s about the green, not the grain.”

The other secret is to go with what’s seasonal. No fresh tomatoes in spring, so a grand riot of greens held the day. Just ask Angela and Lenore who live next door. This salad is a hit for mommas and young’uns alike.

On Herbal Trips to the Spring Garden—

Even in the spring trips to the garden net different offerings from day to day. On this venture, who called out along with the parsley, mint, and thyme but some young onions, a couple small spinaches that wintered over, a few tarragon fronds, and a totally luscious hyacinth that went into a vase to keep the cook happy.

Historically, of course, my affair with blended things began with smoothies in the Sixties–the old faithful banana-yogurt-honey-wheat germ routine. Given such a sagacious history, it hasn’t been too much a leap to start riffing around on Cucumber Melon Soup.

I’ve got a recipe for Mango Mint Ice coming out in Hippie Kitchenand at the moment I’m playing with a Strawberry Mint Ice that most likely will make the pages of the third in the measurefree trilogy, Grow Your Own: From the Garden to the Table But Grow Your Own won’t be out until next year, and it’s strawberry season right now. So here’s the skinny.

That’s it except for the Spicy Watermelon Ices I’ll be sampling out for Fourth of July down at Whole Foods in The Pearl. I could spell out my approach to this number as well, but I’m thinking that if it gets hot and you’re in the mood, you’ll come up with something pretty cool on your ownsome. Yes?

In Soupy’s company, I found fascination too. Fascination for the feel of the warm bowl in my hands. Fascination for the smell of the broth wafting upwards on slender tendrils of steam. And deep appreciation for the wintry favors that melded together in this pale shade of spring offering.

Finally, for those of you who’ve not seen Soupy immortalized in Beyond Measure, here she is.

And really, finally–here’s a version of Soupy Soup I made, April 2010. It’s not soup at all since I didn’t use that much water. Principle’s the same though–and the parsley sings like it always does.

Who says tabbouleh must always be made with Bulgar wheat and the requisite parsley and mint. Surely not a creative cook who understands grain salads. Ditto for Spring Salad on a Theme of Radishes and  Jicama from Cooking Beyond Measure. No need to start with spaghetti squash if there’s a pot of quinoa all cooked up and just waiting to be chosen in the fridge.

That’s what I did at two cooking demonstrations hosted by the Multnomah County Library recently. Paired quinoa with all manner of fresh spring vegetables plus a few surprises. The dish earned rave reviews at each event, and everyday cooks in attendance said they were inspired to try Spring Salad at home. I hope you are as well. It’s easy. It’s delicious. It’s very polite to our bodies and the planet.

Aside from this soup tasting great and being so healthy I was able to make it to a book signing, it’s a pleasure to make as well. Your chopping board starts looking like a still life. It helps, of course, to have a menagerie of wooden animals hanging about in your kitchen. As you can see, on this occasion the resident bird, Persia, was overseeing operations even as her flat back made for a handy place to put the garlic.

A restorative spring cuppa. Nothing more than fresh mint leaves. Let them steep a few minutes in boiling water and you’ll have a lovely, invigorating drink.

Mint’s everywhere now. A single bunch will make some tea, go minced into a dish of spring peas, or make whatever whole grain salad you’re pulling together fairly breathe of refreshment and new life.

If you don’t have a patch of mint growing by your kitchen door, try to find some that’s organic. Farmers that grow mint with chemicals have to use such extraordinary amounts that the USDA is trying to help them figure out how to taper off.

Another consideration with mint if you plan to plant some, is the type. The dark green mint pictured in my cup is peppermint. I find it tastes vastly superior to brighter green spearmint.

A minty cuppa. Such a righteous way to welcome in the spring and cruise right on through the summer. Indeed, I save a ton of money on bottled drinks by making my own mint tea all summer long. It’s great chilled down in the fridge, and I can fill my own reusable bottle if I want to tote it along where I’m going.

If you’ve got a clump of chives by your back door, you’ll know that it’s chive season. Perfect green spearlets of mild, oniony flavor. None of the yellow tips that appear later in the season when the plants grow thirsty.

Sour cream and chives on nice bakers, of course, and are what are mothers and aunts did way back when. For good reason, too. This dish is some serious yum.

White Noise hd

But chives go beyond that. Indeed, one of the offerings they served at Elizabeth David’s memorial (the renowned British food writer who passed on in May 1992) was baby beets (they referred to them as ”beetroots”) and chives.

If you start snipping chives into tiny pieces–easy to do with your kitchen scissors–you’ll undoubtedly find yourself decorating all kinds of things with them. Eggs, fish, lentils, tofu, squashes. There’s nothing much, really, that won’t rise a cut above–fresh oysters included–when you do a little shucking and chiving.

At least I think there was a dance called the savoy shuffle back in the Roaring Twenties. At any rate, savoy cabbage is a whole lot more fun that regular old plain cabbage. If you find some of this crinkly, almost psychedelic cabbage there’s no end to what you can do with it.

There’s good old corned beef and cabbage for those that get into the St. Paddies Day thing. Or there’s slaw.

In the case of this particular savoy cabbage, I started out aiming for a warm salad and sliced half the cabbage thinly, giving it a quick chop so the pieces weren’t too long. Then I piled the fetching savoy into my cast iron wok on high heat with a little water, sliced onion, and grated carrot. Flash cooked veggies were mine pronto. Ready and waiting.

I dressed the works with fish sauce (easy does it on this salty, umami brew), crushed red chiles, a chopped pear or two for sweet, and fresh lemon juice for sour (wishing I’d had a lime on hand). Then I found a can of coconut milk in the cupboard and decided to heck with the salad. In went the coconut milk along with pinches of coriander and turmeric, and a fresh chop of cilantro at the end when I tossed in cooked prawns.

Some serious yum, this flash cooked, ten-minute meal was–and it all started from the humble cabbage. (True, I used the fancy Savoy because it’s so gorgeous my artist’s soul can’t resist it, but I could have just as easily made do with regular cabbage.)