Remember when I planted some last minute seeds? Well, all the rain we've had in the last couple of days has made all of those seeds sprout up and double in size. With any luck, I'll have a nice Fall harvest of baby bok choy, salad greens, cabbage and leeks. I don't know about beans, though I do have a few bean pods on the oldest plant. If nothing eats the pods before they're ready, I'll have eight beans. I'll always have kale. Always.
This Saturday I decided to let the Farmer's Market dictate my weekly menu. I still have squash and zucchini in the fridge for pasta with pesto so I tried real hard not to be lured in by the bounty of squashes at the market. I wanted Brussel's sprouts, but instead found cabbage sprouts. I've never even heard of such a thing but as the farmer talked about their sweet tender goodness, I was sold. I'll turn them into a stir-fry with tofu. I also wanted black-eyed peas. The crispness in the air gave me a craving for stewed tomatoes and okra and black-eyed peas. I found purple hulled peas which I suspect are really black-eyed peas.
When I was really little, we had a huge garden. I just remember it being so big. I remember the hours of weeding, shucking corn (I hate corn worms!), and shelling peas. We would sit on the tailgate of my dad's old blue Ford pick-up truck and shell peas until our fingers were purple and raw. All of that flooded back to me as I sat shelling peas yesterday. I remember how I hated it, would whine and complain. Now I was doing it willingly, without complaint because I know now that nothing tastes better then fresh shelled peas. That stuff that comes in a can? That stuff tastes like dirt. I suppose I should thank my parents for teaching me these things.