Winter Fare

Ah, it is the 2nd of March. And the Philadelphia area is getting slammed with snow. How foolish. I'm ready for spring (though, perhaps this is good practice for me, considering that I am contemplating a move to northern climes).

But maybe the snow is also a good thing--because it affords me more chance to consume roast sausages.

Now, I really hate the word sausage. I think it sounds strange--not at all something that I would like to eat. But I do love it. I adore sausages in most of their forms--right down to that stalwart staple of my daily breakfast, the veggie sausage.

But in its roasted form, sausage assuaged deep, deep cravings that I'd been having. All winter, I've been wanting hearty, rich foods--stews, beef dishes, things that stick to your ribs and warm you from the inside out. I mostly tried to assuage this desire with pizza and soups, but I knew that I could something else when I two small but beautiful parsnips called my name at the farm market last weekend. Sliced, joined by potatos, organic onion, and a gorgeous organic carrot, I roasted them in the oven until they were tender and their outsides were approaching crispy. In a separate dish, I placed 2 browned spicy italian sausages in olive oil and slid them into the oven.

I can't really describe why I like roasted sausages so much. They taste the same. But somehow they seemed heartier, more wholesome. Delicious, when accompanied by roasted vegetables. I even made a kind of a lunch casserole for the next day, slicing up the remaining sausage and mixing it with the leftover veggies and scattering a layer of parmesan and mozzerella cheese on top.

True. Winter. Fare.

Breakfast from Heaven

Well, as I said, September is moving month. I’ve been in my new apartment for about a week now, and I’m still getting used to it. As I wrote to myself in my journal last night, it takes me a long time to get used to new places. I remember being much more adaptable when I was younger. On the whole, though, the apartment is working out. My roommate is very kind and considerate (though cluttered!) and certainly a better cook than I am. My room is wide and white, with a bay window and a startling resemblance to my much beloved senior year dorm room. The ceilings are high. The floors are creaky. The neighborhood is quiet enough to sleep with my windows open. The oven is new. The kitchen counter is one long block of wood.

One of my first acts was to rearrange the kitchen to accommodate my dishes and pots and pans and glasses, etc. My roommate, who had been napping, said it was like “I fell asleep and Martha Stewart visited the apartment!” Now, I’m certainly no Martha Stewart—and I’m certain that, say, Courtney could rearrange this place better than I did—but its nice praise nonetheless. There’s certainly more space in the kitchen and it’s feels like a real kitchen, instead of the “kitchen side” of the studio apartment.

In addition to high ceilings and low rent, there is at least one other distinct advantage: right next door to Clark Park, home of my favorite farmer’s market in the city (to be fair, I haven’t been to the ones on the eastern side of the city, except for Reading Terminal. Any suggestions, readers?) On Saturday morning, my darling GF and I ambled over in search of fresh vegetables and eggs and perhaps something for breakfast. For a total cost of about $15, we got: 5 late season peaches, 2 late tomatoes, 3 peppers of various size and colors, 1 dozen fresh organic eggs, a loaf of fresh baked baguette bread, and a quarter pound of organic arugula.

By this time, I had been awake for at least 3 hours, and was jittery from hunger and one too many cups of strong tea. We looked at our bounty and decided that we should probably take advantage of it then and there. Out came a handful of arugula, four eggs, and four slices of that soft, fresh bread. The bread, laden with slices of sharp cheddar cheese, went into the toaster, while the eggs got broken and then fried in the skillet. Then we layered: the arugula, with pepper and salt, over the cheese, then an egg on top of both slices, to make an open-faced breakfast sandwich.

Maybe it was hunger—more likely it was the peppery bite of the arugula mixed with the smooth sublimity of truly fresh eggs atop bread that was obviously made by the gods for the gods as an accompaniment for their ambrosia. This was the best breakfast sandwich that I have ever had.

September is moving month

I am apoligizing in advance for what will probably be a rather sparse September. I am moving--yet again--and its taking up a bit of my time. I don't feel very inspired to make special or exciting things (I am So. Tired. of my tiny-ass kitchen)and I don't really have the money to be eating out at all the fancy places I'd like to try. I'm also slowly packing up all my belongings and that includes my cooking gear. So, until the 13th at the earliest, there might not be much going on here.

Look forward, however, to posts about the Clark Park (my new next-door neighbor!) farmer's market and fall produce, as well as my roommate's culinary talents, in the near future