pesto

“Pesto only tastes good when my friends are here!”

That’s what my daughter said one night when she turned up her nose at a plate of pesto spaghetti -- the same food she and her friend each ate two helpings of the night before. Our visiting friends had just left, and while I argued that the pesto still tasted good, I couldn’t argue with the feeling behind my daughter’s words.

Before I moved to Northeast Minneapolis, The Wedge was my co-op. Every Saturday, I'd walk into produce area and ask the staff what they recommended. One memorable August day, in response to my question, one employee threw up his hands and exclaimed, "It's all good this week!" Since then, I've believed there's a brief moment in August when all local produce is at its peak. Judging by last week's CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farmshare box, that moment is now.

This past week, my vegetable bin contained leeks, potatoes, tomatoes, basil, corn, cucumber, green and yellow summer squash, purple kale, and garlic. I flirted with the idea of creating a kitchen-sink soup, but I decided to highlight each item's individual strengths instead. I also wanted to play fast and loose with recipes and not fret too much about amounts.

You know that feeling, when you’ve been with someone a long time and you feel like you know every thing about them. You know every story, every place they lived, every band they loved, but then out of the blue, maybe at a party, maybe while you’re weeding the garden or drinking coffee, you hear a story you’ve never heard before. And in that split second, your eyes open wide and you feel ever so slight a sensation of frisson at the novelty, the mystery, the possibility.

Well, I’ve been with vegetables a long time – ever since I can remember, really. At this point, I thought I had tried every one, every which way. I thought I knew all of their seasons, all of their stories. But I was wrong. Oh, was I ever wrong. Last week at the Kingfield Farmers Market, I came upon a basket of bright green tangles that stopped me in my tracks.