Lifestyle

If I could get across one point today, it would be that people should be putting lemons in blenders.

A radish sends mixed messages. It can look like something designed by Willy Wonka but taste like mustard gas. In perhaps the ultimate bait-and-switch of the vegetable world, eating a radish can feel like leaning in for a kiss and getting slapped. Which I’m not saying is a bad thing. The key is to get as much mileage out of that slap as you can.

Where there are chile peppers, there are sauces made from chile. And where there is chile sauce there is a choice between green and red. Red chile are fully ripened and pack a distinct sweetness along with their heat. Green chile are picked before they ripen and have a slightly bitter, pungent and more complex flavor. 

It’s early March, which means most of us are either complaining about the weather or plotting out St. Patrick’s Day plans. Whether that means cozying up at home with a pot of lamb stew and slice of soda bread or heading out to the bars for green Guinness (please don’t), this late winter holiday offers a slight respite from the stir-crazy nature of the month.

I’m no fan of hominy, but I’d crawl across broken glass for a sip of posole. Both words refer to the same ingredient, but the difference between the two is like the difference between a violin and a fiddle — it boils down to what you do with it.

Of all the things to feel bad for vegetarians over, bone broth is up there with bacon. Making a proper broth without assistance from the animal kingdom is nearly impossible.

Wild rice isn’t actually rice, but the kernel of a large aquatic grass native to the lake country of northern Minnesota and Wisconsin, extending into Canada. Like the people of that northern landscape, it’s rugged and earthy, with more character than its soft, domesticated counterpart. Wild rice has a nutty tea-like flavor, and a texture that pushes back when you chew.

Last year at about this time, I sat down with a stack of seed catalogs, a warm beverage and a pantry full of dreams. I repeat this ritual every year, fully aware that it’s only a game, and that only a token amount of my food will ever come from my garden, regardless of how many seeds I order.

The farmers markets of summer get all the glory, but pound for pound, the winter markets have more guts.

If you consider yourself a garlic enthusiast, you probably insist on using it fresh, rather than chopped in a jar. That’s kind of a low bar, honestly. Especially when there’s one kind of garlic that’s superior to all others, and your time is running out to get it.

Necessity is the mother of invention, and I am the father of two young necessities. That is why, in the foggy hours of a recent morning, I invented pancake French toast.