TheKitchenSinkRecipes.com

Can you feel it?  We’re teetering on the edge.  Summer is about to bust wide open, flooding us with easy warmth and languid sunsets and, best of all, a bounty of produce.  The blueberries and raspberries at the market this weekend were the harbingers, I think—so tiny and juicy and tart.  They are the first trickling signs of the fruits of summer that will soon gather speed, rushing in with a deluge of corn and tomatoes and summer squashes and melons and peaches.  Heck, the Fourth of July is in less than a week, somehow.  If that’s not real-deal, in-the-thick-of-it summer, then I don’t know what is.

As we snaked our way through our neighborhood market—a smaller affair, less than a dozen stalls hugging a path that cuts an s-curve through Wicker Park—I nearly squealed when I saw the blueberries and raspberries.  Strawberries are still exciting, but by now a few weeks on the scene.  It was the inky blue and magenta berries that really sent my heart fluttering.

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For the last three years—2005, 2006 and 2007—December has meant one thing to me.  Law School Finals.  Not decking the halls.  No holly jolly.  Not a trace of yuletide cheer.  And absolutely no cookie baking.   Nope, just flashcards, anxiety, and exhaustion. So, when December crept up this year, I decided to make up for lost time, especially in the cookie department.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the kitchen, surrounded by a cloud of sugar and flour, apron  cinched around my waist, spatula firmly in my palm.  I’ve also been making room in the freezer (no easy task) as the batches mount.  But, perhaps best of all, I’ve been poring over recipes.

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Still too full to talk. And here’s why:

The barbecue, ready for the dry-brined turkey:

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Hello! I’ve got things to bake and cook and eat and drink, but I wanted to take a quick second to say hi, Happy Thanksgiving, safe travels, and all that. I hope you’re enjoying the holiday preparations as much as I am! What stage are you at? Baking? Shopping? Still planning the menu? Closing your eyes tight and hoping it will all just go away? Here’s a little glimpse of Thanksgiving Eve where I’m at:

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Well, friends: it’s over. The Bar Exam is over. And I just have to thank you all for putting up with my yammering on about it for two months—even on a daily basis recently. And more than that, thanks for all your well wishes. Each one was a little glimmer of happy in what was otherwise a not-so-fun few days. But after you’ve been so patient, so thoughtful, so all-together wonderful, I have just one more favor to ask of you.

Do you remember how I’ve been saying for the last two days that we’d return to our “regularly scheduled” programming today? And do you know how said programming involves some photos, a story and always, always, a recipe? Well, I’m hoping if I ask nicely, you’ll permit me just one more non-recipe post? Pretty please?

(Click “more” for the rest of the non-recipe—sigh—post.)

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These are the items on the menu for Day Two of the Bar Exam.

Sadly.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow. Tomorrow!

I found this photo of a wee-sized me at a Kitchen Sink (get it?) of yesteryear. I’ve been meaning to share it here for a while and I think Day One of the Bar Exam is a perfect time. How great is that kitchen? Not to mention what must have been my mom’s very stylish handbag to the right of me. And then there’s me. I look like a real hoot, if I do say so myself.

We will return to our regularly-scheduled programming on Thursday, when my post-exam life begins.

When it comes to grocery shopping and meal planning, I’m a wee bit crazy. I usually lay out the menu for the week on Saturday or Sunday and do all the shopping then. If we make changes here or there, we can run to the great little market down the street, but most nights, we’re all set. Last week, we had—gasp—a change in plans that left us with a menu-less night. We tossed a couple ideas back and forth before Kevin came back with the winner. He got tickets to Wednesday night’s Cubs-Brewers game at Wrigley. How did I feel about hot dogs and beer for our menu-less night, he wondered.

Well, let me tell you: I felt pretty, pretty great about it. We snapped up the tickets, pretended like it wasn’t 40 degrees outside and made our way over to the Friendly Confines. We got there early to snap a couple photos of what has to be the prettiest ball park on earth.

(Click more for the rest of the story and more photos.)

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Clearly, I’m atoning for Saturday’s seasonally-disfunctional post (stuffed bell peppers, in April!). Between yesterday’s favas beans, asparagus and peas and today’s ramps (RAMPS!!!), I’d like to think my errant eating has been absolved. So, about these ramps: I was beyond excited to find them at the market. They were tucked haphazardly among the chiles, unmarked (probably the only reason I was able to score some) and unpriced (ominous, for sure). I gathered up a bunch and sort of lost myself for a second, marveling at how simultaneously humble and stunning they looked. I spotted a nearby employee and asked him, wide-eyed and awestruck, “Are these ramps?” He smiled knowingly at me and assured me that they were indeed. Clearly, he understood. As I returned to my handful of the beauties, he mentioned: “$11.99 a pound, by the way.” I snapped out of my reverie, promptly returned half-a-handful of the ramps and began scheming about how I’d put the remaining ones to use.

Well, let me just tell you that the Internets were surprisingly unhelpful. There were not a ton of ramp recipes out there. As I was just about to abandon recipes altogether and go freestyle (probably a little reckless, seeing as though I’d never actually tasted ramps before), I found a recipe at Food & Wine’s site for a white cheese pizza with ramps.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

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Last weekend, Kevin—bless his heart—agreed to do the grocery shopping. We had a really busy weekend, so I jumped at the offer. I also made a ridiculously detailed grocery list. I knew I had a couple things on the list that might be difficult to find, so I included some locational information. But, for some reason, I failed to do so when I listed “fava beans”—treating them more like plain old (easy-to-find) eggs or milk, rather than the spring delicacy that they are. He had no idea whether they were fresh, canned or frozen. No idea what they looked like. No idea that he might have to fight off other foodies at the store who’d also been waiting patiently for favas to make their brief spring appearance.

To Kevin’s immense credit, he found the favas. And he scooped up a big handful and proudly presented them to me when I got home. My heart swelled with pride. And, man, was I excited to finally try out this new-to-me ingredient. Well, um, what I didn’t realize is that an entire pound of fava pods yields a mere cup of beans. So the handful (five, maybe six pods) Kevin had previously proudly brandished resulted in a scant tablespoon or two of pods. And that was after the double-shucking (first, split open the pods and extract the beans; second, plunge the beans briefly into boiling water, drain and rub off the outer skins—see the top two rows of photos, above) that they require. Apparently, favas not only like to play hard-to-get, but they’re high maintenance too. Quite the divas.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

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