Spring fever has hit me hard this year, and I’ve been spending whole days outside, digging out and fertilizing gardens, putting plants in my container gardens, and doing yard cleanup after a brutal winter. I’m hoping to avoid the produce section of my local grocery store as much as possible this summer by participating in our CSA, as well as growing a significant amount of food, including lettuces, kale, swiss chard, spinach, and green beans. Our first home-grown harvest should be ready in a few weeks … that is, if the damned groundhogs don’t get to harvesting first!

As for health and weight loss, both continue to improve. I’m free of any PA symptoms – woo hoo! – and I’m down 22.5 lbs. since January. Yesterday my mother came up from Connecticut and was teasing me about my butt crack — yep, my size 8 boy-cut Levi jeans are falling off my hips. And now people I see every day are starting to notice … mostly it was just friends and family who hadn’t seen me in awhile. It’s really nice because it’s not, “Wow, you’ve lost weight” but “You look great! Tell me what you’re doing …” People really seem interested, and I’m always happy to evangelize about good, wholesome food.

OK, recipes. I said I’d start posting them, and here’s something you soy-eating vegetarians will like. Last year, I became addicted to the golden sesame tofu in Whole Foods’ prepared foods case. These rectangular slices of tofu are fried until they’re golden, then covered in toasted sesame seeds and glazed with a slightly sweet/salty sauce with just a hint of heat from hot red pepper flakes. They’re also kind of expensive — something like $7.99 a pound. Since tofu’s cheap — and so am I — I decided to replicate the recipe at home. It took a few tries, but I think I’ve nailed it.

I’m pretty sure the Whole Foods’ folks fry their tofu in lots of oil, because all six sides are crisp/chewy. I just use a little oil and fry on two sides. I’ve also used a silcone basting brush to lightly coat each side of the tofu with oil, then cooked them on a grill pan. Yum, but it doesn’t give the tofu that chewy coating I like. If you’re watching your fat intake, you can skip the cornstarch dusting and bake the tofu in a 350 degree F oven for 20 to 25 minutes with the sauce, turning the tofu every 10 minutes or so, checking that the sauce isn’t burning (add water if it’s getting too dark). The tofu will have no chew at all, and the sauce will get thick and sticky, but it’s still yum.

Instead of stuffing these slices of tofu in my mouth like I do when I’m at Whole Foods, I pack them in a plastic container and store them in my fridge for lunches. I cut them up into tiny cubes to add flavor interest to salads — when I put them on top of a potluck salad at Easter, tasters asked me about the delicious croutons … umm, I didn’t have the heart to tell them. This wasn’t a tofu-loving crowd. They also make great sandwich stuffers.

Golden Sesame Tofu
Yield: 4 servings

The Whole Foods version has scallions in it. I’m not a huge fan of scallions, so I skip them. The secret here is the cornstarch … it gives the tofu its chewy coating, but you have to sprinkle it over the tofu evenly and with a light hand; otherwise it’ll get gloppy. Since I make this recipe a lot, I put cornstarch in a fine-mesh shaker; it gives me excellent control when I’m coating the tofu. You’ll find toasted sesame oil and mirin in the Asian sections of well-stocked supermarkets.

1/4 cup raw sesame seeds
14-oz. extra firm tofu
1/4 cup cornstarch
Canola or peanut oil, for frying

For sauce:
2 tbsp. agave nectar (for vegans) or honey
3 tbsp. soy sauce
2 tsp. minced fresh ginger root
2 tsp. toasted sesame oil
2 tbsp. mirin (Japanese sweet cooking wine)
2 garlic cloves, minced
Dusting of crushed red chili flakes, to taste

Heat a fry pan over medium-high heat. Add sesame seeds and toast until golden and fragrant, stirring frequently. Remove pan from heat and place sesame seeds in small bowl to cool.

Remove tofu from package and drain. Press the tofu gently between the palms of your hands to squeeze out water, then wrap the tofu in paper towels, place it on a plate, then put a another plate on top of it. Place a 28-oz. can of tomatoes or a cast iron fry pan on the plate. This will press out any remaining water from the tofu. Let sit for 20 minutes or so.

Unwrap the tofu and slice into eight rectangular slices. To make even slices, I slice the block of tofu in half, then half each half, and then half each quarter. Make sense? Then dust the slices with tofu evenly with cornstarch on all sides.

Heat about 2 tbsp. of oil in your fry pan over medium high heat. Add the tofu slices, but don’t crowd the pan. You might have to fry in batches. Fry until the tofu is a light golden color, approximately 2 minutes, then turn the tofu over to cook another 2 minutes on the other side. Remove to drain on paper towels. If frying in batches, add more oil to the pan. Note: it is normal for the tofu to splatter, so wear an apron if you don’t want to ruin your clothes.

While the tofu is frying, stir together the agave nectar/honey, soy sauce, gingerroot, sesame oil, mirin and garlic together in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium heat and cook until slightly syrupy, about 5 minutes or so. Remove from heat and set aside.

Place tofu in glass container to hold. Pour sauce over tofu and turn to coat. Dust tofu with toasted sesame seeds and turn again to coat. Season with crushed red chili flakes. Can be served warm or chilled. Will keep for about 5 days refrigerated.

Well, it’s a long story (so I’ll save the super-duper long version for the book … no, really!) but for now I’ll give you the long version.

I’ve been having problems with sore feet for the past couple years — blamed it on aging, wearing the wrong shoes, etc., etc.) — but then early this winter, I noticed my 2nd and 4th toes were swollen, red, and itching like hell around the toenails. I assured myself it probably had something to do with my regular pedicures at the salon, so I ditched those, but the swelling and itching got worse. Down deep, I knew what the problem was. It was the family curse.

You see, my maternal grandfather, in his late 40s/early 50s, was diagnosed with psoriasis, an autoimmune disorder that attacks the skin. He had one of the worst cases doctors had ever seen. A lot of psoriasis patients only get patches of psoriasis, and they can be covered by shirts or pants. Not my grandfather. He had it everywhere — not only on his trunk, but his hands, feet, scalp, and arms. You couldn’t not notice it, and believe me, everyone noticed it. By the time I was old enough to realize what was wrong with him, he’d become immune to the stares, the whispers, the withdrawn handshakes. Not I. I used to get angry when people did these things. When I was eight, I remember someone snidely offering that my grandfather had leprosy. I went ape on them, then ran into the house, crying. He suffered for over 20 years with this horrible, disfiguring disease, basically becoming a human pincushion for every skin and immune disorder specialist in New England. In his mid-70s, he finally died of septicemia, a result of infection getting into his body through the open lesions on his skin.

Then ten years ago, my mother was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, also an autoimmune disorder. Let me just say that this was one of the cruelest diagnoses for her to get because before she got sick, she was a total shoe-a-holic. Imelda was an amateur next to this woman. The rheumatoid attacked her feet, and today she has to order special shoes — not Jimmy Choos, but these ugly clodhoppers from medical supply companies. Years of taking all the new advanced drugs for rheumatoid haven’t alleviated the symptoms of the disease, never mind “cured” it. (Rheumatoid, along with psoriasis, are “incurable” according to medical specialists.) On top of this, she also has the psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis.

And that’s what I have, the psoriatic arthritis. Or I should say, “had.” I’m one of the rare folks who only had the arthritic symptoms, not the skin lesions (although I’ve been assured by the medical community it’s only a matter of time). What choices did I have to control the swelling and itching? A drug that would mean a blood test every six months to see if it was destroying my liver.

Something snapped. It was a long-time coming, a moment when I could see every health problem in my past rushing up to me, screaming out for attention. I remembered a childhood filled with hives and eczema, my teen years with my parents spending thousands of dollars on dermatologists to help control the seborrheic dermatitis in my hair and eyebrows, and on my fingers and lips. And even in adulthood, the strange rashes would come and go,  I got asthma attacks throughout my 30s, and then flattened by pain and lethargy in my early 40s.

Something had to change, and I wasn’t going to take drugs to fix it. I’ve seen what these drugs can do first-hand. Basically, nothing beneficial. Since I know my family has a history of autoimmune diseases, and I know that autoimmune disorders are relatively recent diseases (meaning they didn’t exist until the early 1800s or so — industrialization folks?), I suspected that my environment was triggering a predisposition in my genes. And dammit, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I spent weeks doing research, focusing on diet. The medical community generally agrees that autoimmune disorders cannot be influenced by diet. However, there are some doctors who do believe diet has a huge affect on them, namely Joel Furhman, MD (who is now something of a hero to me). When I read Eat to Live, more lightbulbs went on in my head. I’ve always been a totally dairy girl — hey, I grew up in Vermont! And then I read that fruits/veggies from the nightshade family and citrus fruits can trigger some anti-immune responses. The hair on my arms stood up when I found that out — I’ve always broken out into terrible rashes eating tomatoes … eggplant makes my mouth itch … and citrus, well, I won’t tell you what a glass of orange juice does to my digestive system. It’s not pretty.

So I designed my own diet, but took it slow. First, I weaned myself off artificial sweeteners. That meant drinking my six morning coffees without Splenda. No problem. I substituted with agave nectar. Then came the day to unhook myself from caffeine. Again, I went slowly, weaning myself down to one cup of coffee a day, then finally switching to tea. Then I went cold. I did have some caffeine withdrawal symptoms, weirdly enough, weeks after I stopped the tea. But then I realized I’d become so caffeine sensitive that the occasional tablespoon of cacao chips I slipped into my morning smoothie were messing with my system, so out went the cacao.

Then came the elimination of white sugar, white flour/wheat, dairy, and processed foods. This wasn’t so hard because by now, I was starting to feel a lot better. (This was maybe two weeks in.) My feet weren’t hurting, the swelling had gone down in my toes, and they didn’t itch as much. Plus, I’m not much of a junk food junkie, detest fast food, and dislike soda, sweetened or diet. At the same time, I started drinking smoothies for breakfast, filled with fruits and veggies like kale, spinach, mango, bananas, and hemp seed, and eating monstrously huge green salads, topped with beans or seasoned tofu and drizzled with delicious dressings I’d been developing in my kitchen. I’d replaced the morning coffee with dandelion tea topped with a splash of Rice Dream. (Seriously, I’m writing this thinking, “Di, are you mad? A year ago you would have laughed at these dreadful concoctions.” But when you feel like your back’s up to the wall, you can get used to anything.)

I used to be a vegetarian in my 20s. Over the last year, I’d been toying with going back to it, but figured it would be too difficult living with two rapacious carnivores. Finally, I made the decision to cut out meat, as well as eggs. Hell, I thought — I’m going to go whole hog here, pardon the pun, and go vegan! Upon which declaration at a family dinner, my younger brother David insisted that PETA had finally robbed me of my brain.

On top of this, I don’t drink alcohol.

So basically I’m a teetotaling gluten-free vegan(ish) eat who avoids citrus and plants from the nightshade family — tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, and potatoes. I say “ish” because I’m not sure I could pass up a small taste of wild Alaskan salmon at some point. I joke with people that I’m on the Gorilla Diet because sometimes I feel like I’m eating what the zookeepers toss into the primate cage.

And I’m here to tell you over the last few months, I’ve been eating some of the best meals of my life, which I’m going to start sharing with you on this blog. I’ve been having a blast trying to make the most of the bounty before me — and it is a bounty! — and I hope you’ll stick around for the new Diana Cooks.

Oh yeah, the psoriatic arthritis. It’s gone. My feet look (and feel) completely normal. Back in February I went to Texas and showed my mother-in-law the last little bit of redness on my toe, and  here it is April, and there’s not red spot anywhere on my body, tootsies included. My skin glows. I’ve lost 16.5 18.5 lbs. since January, and continue to lose about 1/2 to 1 lb. per week. I eat three hearty meals a day and I’m never hungry. On top of all this, I FEEL AMAZING. For the first time in years, I feel like I can think clearly and focus on projects. I have tons of energy. I notice that I’m much more calm and mellow (I’m a redhead — I flare up easily!). My monthly bouts of PMS and cramps? Gone. Friends who haven’t seen me in awhile are looking at me and saying, “Wow, what did you do? You look great!” (That’s always motivating!) One of my doctors suggested that I start walking a mile a day. That was in January … now I’m walking/running 3 to 4 miles a day, and this week, I started at-home weight training. (I dumped the gym membership — my new motto is keep it simple.) And cheap. Our food budget has been slashed. Beans, brown rice, fresh vegetables, and fruit just don’t cost as much as processed food, meat, and dairy. And drumroll … my seven-year-old son now wants to be a vegetarian. I didn’t push him into it. He went there on his own. He’s finding his own way and we’re experimenting with a lot of different flavors and dishes, but I’m really excited about this. Even my meat-loving man has started asking me about stuff like agar-agar and date sugar.

Ok, so that’s the story. In a few days I’ll start posting recipes — maybe even some video!

I was reading CNN.com this a.m. when an article about five ways to keep Alzheimer’s at bay grabbed my attention. Here’s one line that made me rub my eyes:

“Small, who’s 57, says that as he gets older, he might also try eating more foods with curry in them.”

Hello? Did anyone copyedit this story? Curry isn’t an ingredient; it refers to a spicy sauced dish. I can only assume they mean “curry powder,” a blend of turmeric, cinnamon, cumin, and other spices, since I doubt they were talking about the “curry leaf,” a distinctive lemony herb common to southern Indian cuisine. Here, it would be helpful (and more accurate) to point out the exact spices and herbs used in the research study. My guess is that turmeric with its anti-inflammatory properties is the hero of the day.

My gosh, if I could add “curry” to my foods, I’d be dumping it on everything.

Earlier this summer my husband and I drove into Cambridge on a Saturday afternoon to catch a film. Afterwards, we were vaguely hungry, but not knowing for what, we prowled the neighborhood. We found ourselves in Inman Square at East Coast Grill, where we were told there’d be a half-hour wait. No thanks. So we stepped out onto Cambridge Street and there was Christina’s and suddenly I had to have an ice cream. My husband wasn’t too hungry, so he said to go ahead (he doesn’t eat ice cream … yeah, can you believe it?) and he’d wait to get something at home.

I got a small dish of mango ice cream. It was perfect. Creamy, a pale chiffony yellow, and the right balance of sweet and tropical. In the late afternoon heat, we wandered down Cambridge Street past the Brazilian churrascarias and Portuguese social clubs, then turned toward MIT and Kendall Square when I was done scraping out my bowl. “I have to make mango ice cream when I get home,” I said. My husband smiled. He’s heard this all before.

It took me a couple months, but here it is. Not quite like Christina’s, but damn good — even if only got around to it after the summer weather turned.

Mango Ice Cream
Yield: 1 quart

The flavor of mango here is subtle, tantalizing — your guests may even find it difficult to place the flavor. If you’re looking for more mango flavor, try a mango sorbet. Here, because of the cream and vanilla, you just get a whisper of the tropical fruit. Of course you can use fresh fruit — it’s just that good frozen mango is easier for me to source.

1 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup sugar
1 whole vanilla pod, split, seeds scraped out and reserved
16-oz. frozen mango cubes, slightly thawed
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
6 egg yolks

In a medium saucepan set over medium heat, heat milk, cream, and sugar until just about to boil. This will take about 5 or 6 minutes. Remove pan from heat and add scraped-out vanilla pods and seeds. Let sit for 10 minutes to steep.

In a heavy-duty blender or food processor, puree the slightly thawed mango until perfectly smooth. Stir in the lemon juice and set fruit aside.

In a small bowl, stir the egg yolks together. Then take about a cup of the hot milk/cream and stir it into the eggs quickly. This tempers them so that when you add the yolks to the cream/milk on the stove, they don’t curdle. Ok, now slowly stir the tempered eggs into the hot cream mixture.

Turn the heat under the saucepan to medium and stir the mixture until it starts to coat the back of your spoon (or spatula). Do not stop stirring, or else you chance your ice cream base turning into scrambled mango-flavored eggs. If you’re unsure of what the base should look like on your spoon, attach a digital thermometer to the side of the pan, and stir/cook until the mixture hits 160 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove the pan from the heat and allow to cool for 10 minutes or so, stirring occasionally. Stir in the mango mixture.

Place a fine-mesh strainer over a clean bowl and pour the base into the strainer. This will get rid of any stray bits of cooked egg or mango fiber. Pick out the vanilla pod from the strainer and when cool enough to handle, rinse and set aside to dry. Stick the used pod in some sugar to make vanilla sugar; or cut it up and add it to a bottle of vanilla.

If you’re meticulous about food safety, chill the ice cream base in an ice bath. I’m not religious about this, so what I usually do is cover the surface of the ice cream base with plastic wrap and stick the bowl in the bottom half of the fridge overnight. I haven’t lost anyone yet, knock wood.

Process the mixture according to your ice cream maker’s directions.

This afternoon my mother-in-law and I took a cooking class down here in Houston. Since we don’t have such great Mexican or Tex-Mex food in Boston, I’m all about eating as much as I can of it while I’m here. This class focused on Mexican breakfasts, a meal I don’t normally associate with Mexican food. (That said, one of my favorite egg dishes is huevos rancheros and I pour hot sauce on my scrambled eggs. Huh.)

We took the class at Sylvia’s Enchilada Kitchen, just south of my in-law’s home. Sylvia Casares is in her 50s, although she looks more like 40. Hailing from Brownsville, Texas, down on the U.S./Mexico border, Casares learned to cook from her mother and grandmother.

I was curious to learn the difference between Mexican and Tex-Mex cuisine. As I suspected, I’m more of a fan of Mexican food than I am of Tex-Mex, after I learned Tex-Mex includes more beef, flour tortillas, and yellow cheese. (Mexican food is generally more pork, corn tortillas, and white cheese.)

Casares made a half-dozen breakfast recipes for our group: atole, which is like Cream-of-Wheat made with corn flour and flavored with cinnamon (yum!); flour and corn tortillas; gorditas, which were absolutely delicious on their own, but are typically filled with beans; salsa ranchera; quick refried beans; a tomatillo-based salsa; and migas con huevo. At the end of the demonstration, students could practice their tortilla-making. I’d not planned on doing this, but when I could see students eating their practice tortillas, I went for it. Afterwards we were served a delicious lunch that included some of the dishes “we” created, along with some potent margaritas. (I had to take a nap when I came home — I can’t hold my tequila like I used to!)

Here I am, rolling out a flour tortilla.

It was a fun afternoon, and it rekindled my interest in cooking more Mexican dishes. I’ve been reading Discover Your Inner Economist, and one of the things I agreed with is that one should learn to cook a cuisine that’s not readily available in one’s neighborhood. His example is LA — it would be best to learn to cook German or Scandinavian cuisine if you lived there, since great Asian and Mexican foods are readily available. Thus in Boston, learning to cook fabulous Mexican food is a good investment of my time. Hey, I’m game!

My son and I are flying to Houston in a couple days, so I’ve been trying to empty out the fridge before we go. This weekend I made several quarts of chicken stock with the assorted chicken necks, backs, and gnawed over bones in our freezer. This also got rid of a 5-lb. bag of organic carrots, a bag of ramp trimmings, and assorted onions. Then I had to figure out how to preserve two weeks of CSA veggies. I turned the broccoli, red onions, and kale into soups and will shred zucchini and kohlrabi for vegetable fritters. We have about three pounds of beets in the veggie bin: if I have time, I’ll turn those into beet jerky. (Don’t knock it — I can put away a pound of beets this way in about ten minutes, flat.)

Tonight I served up a humble meal. We had a pound of grass-fed beef in the fridge, which I mixed up with a pre-made seasoning mix for tacos (my 6-year-old’s favorite meal). These were served with shredded lettuce (from CSA), chopped beefsteak tomatoes (ditto), and shredded Mexican-style cheese (Trader Joe’s — cheese needs to disappear by Wednesday!). I boiled up four ears of corn (today’s CSA basket), and sliced up chilled watermelon and Asian melon, both from last week’s basket.

It was a simple meal, but delicious. The melons were sweet and juicy, the corn flavorful, and the tacos, well, what can I say, were beautiful because I didn’t have to slave over a hot stove for too long.

Sorry I haven’t posted much — I got another case of nasty strep, my third infection this year, and am only recently starting to feel back to my energetic self. My mother-in-law has some food-related sites mapped out for us while we’re in Texas, so I plan to blog during our trip.

I alluded that we get a lot of greens in our CSA pickup each week, especially at the beginning of the season. And yes, being that I’m in New England, mid-July is still considered early season. Over the next few weeks, the composition of our basket will become less green, and more red and yellow.

And although I love greens, even the bitter ones, it does become tiresome eating them the same old way, which around here is sauteed in either olive oil and garlic, or bacon and onions. So Sunday night I flipped through one of my favorite recent cookbook acquisitions, Alice Waters’ The Art of Simple Food, and settled on a kale and potato soup. It was perfect because it also happened to use up some pantry items. My walk-in pantry and chest freezer are heaving with food and I really must empty both out this summer to make room for the winter.

Have I mentioned how much I love Alice Waters? I know it’s fashionable in some quarters to make fun of her. Like, “Oh, who do you think you are, Miss Fresh, Local & In Season … Alice Waters?” Screw those folks. Alice rocks. Her recipes are simple, and as long as you use fabulous ingredients — not hard to do in the summer — you’ll be rewarded with a dish that’s flavorful, good, nourishing, and totally non-pretentious, so I don’t know where these anti-Alice people get their ideas.

Alice’s kale and potato soup is one of those recipes. It’s so hearty, a meat lover would enjoy it, and although it contains few ingredients, its taste is complex — definitely more than a sum of its parts. I happened to have two quarts of fantastic homemade chicken stock in my freezer, which elevated the soup flavorwise. It would be just as tasty with a homemade vegetable stock — barring homemade, a good quality packaged chicken or vegetable stock would make a decent base. The other winning flavor component is the real Parmesan Reggiano cheese garnishing the soup. It has a nutty, salty flavor that lacks in domestically produced Parmesans. Were I not to have the $15/lb. cheese on hand, I’d probably skip it and garnish with bread chunks fried in garlic oil.

This soup makes the perfect Sunday night supper, even in July.

Kale and Potato Soup
Adapted from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 onions, sliced thin
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 bunch of kale, tough center stem removed and leaves sliced into thin shreds
1 lb. Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced into 1/4″ rounds
2 quarts homemade chicken broth
Kosher salt, to taste
Fresh nutmeg, to taste (optional)
Shaved Parmesan Reggiano cheese, for garnish

1. In a heavy soup pot or enamel cast iron Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onions, stir to coat with oil, and cook for 10 to 12 minutes, until soft and just starting to caramelize. Stir in garlic and cook for another minute. Add kale and potatoes, and stir to coat with oil. Cook for a couple minutes, then add broth. Bring broth to a simmer, reduce heat and cook for 30 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked through.

2. Taste the broth. Does it need salt? I don’t salt my homemade broths, so here I add a teaspoon or two of salt, tasting as I go. Store-bought broths tend to contain lots of salt, so taste first! Serve soup in large bowls, scrape some fresh nutmeg over each dish, and top with shavings of Parmesan cheese.

Friday is our pickup day at Bear Hill Farm. We’ve been CSA members for three or four years … can’t remember the exact number of years. But I can’t imagine not being members.

The first few weeks are a little slow, which I actually appreciate. It gently acclimates me (and my refrigerator) to the preparation and storage of vegetables. Tender lettuces must be quickly washed and chilled, lest they wilt — not to mention that having washed greens ready to go for my lunchtime salads makes life pleasant. By mid July, harvest time hits and I appreciate having a system in place for all the greens, squash, beets, kohlrabi, beans, tomatoes, corn, and more … so much more.

So this week our share started to look substantial. In my basket there’s a pound of beets (plus their greens), a head of lettuce, a bunch each of rainbow chard and curly kale, 4 summer squash, 3 kohlrabi, and 2 bok choi. Something else, too, but I forget. (ETA: collard greens! How could I forget my beloved collards?)

###

After I finished filling our basket, we noticed a beautiful bird making a loud racket in the field. Anne, who owns the farm with her husband Mike, told us it was a Guinea Hen, a native of Africa. They’re feral and roam the farm at will. This hen had chicks with her. Can you see the one by her leg? “They’re terrible mothers,” Anne said. I guess the mothers kind of wander off, letting their chicks fend for themselves. Already this mother has lost one of her babies. I felt kind of sympathetic toward this hen, because not five minutes earlier, I’d lost track of the Oyster, who’d been sitting quietly at the picnic bench while I dithered about buying some local cheeses available from a local cheesemonger.

On Fridays we clean out our fridge and bring past-due foodstuffs to feed to the pigs, chickens, and goats. This week we didn’t have anything for them. When the animals figured this out, they refused to pose for photos. However this ameraucana hen did deign to pose for us. Ameraucanas are the hens that lay the lovely blue-green eggs I call “Martha Stewart eggs.” I once heard someone at a farmer’s market ask a vendor if the yolks were green. When I spoke to the vendor later, he said he got the question at least once at every market.

When I get home, I sketch a rough plan for our week’s supply of veggies as I wash and bag them. The beet greens were sauteed with garlic for our Friday side dish, and I made a marinated beet salad, which I’ll eat throughout the week. The bunch of kale was earmarked for a kale and potato soup for Sunday night supper. The lettuce — a no-brainer. That’s for my lunch salads. The squash I’d julienne and toss with warm garlic- and rosemary-infused olive oil, a recipe I’d tested from Carol Field’s Italy in Small Bites. The kohlrabi would be shredded and mixed with shredded Yukon gold potatoes for a latke dinner. Still haven’t figured out the swiss chard or bok choi. Any suggestions?

In India earlier this spring, I found myself on the elusive hunt for the perfect masala dhabba, or spice box. I’ve long been fascinated by the dhabbas of my Indian friends, who reverentially carry them to their stoves to work their magic on a meal. Every dhabba is different: some friends keep dried bay leaves and chilis tucked amongst the packed round tins, others keep theirs austere, with a couple tablespoonfuls of each spice in the round tins.

I had no luck finding the dhabba I wanted while in India. My dream was to find a box with some kind of decorative design hammered into the top lid. In Mumbai, our tour guide took me to several kitchen shops, where I was shown small utilitarian tins with see-through tops. Probably perfect for the modern Mumbai housewife, but I wanted something a little more stylish.

I found this one at Global Flavors this morning, an Indian grocer just over the New Hampshire border. No, it’s not the stylish box I’d envisioned, but it was well made, only $12, and inside it smelled just like the spice markets I’d visited in Kerala. I was sold. There are actually two lids on the box: an inner one, which you can see on the left, then a larger one that tamps down over the whole tin.

Since I own quite the collection of spices, I debated all morning what to store in here: but then it just made sense to me to store my favorite Indian spices in there. Considering I cook a lot of Indian food, now I have my own spice box to carry reverentially to the stove.

(Starting from the bright ochre powder and moving clockwise: turmeric, coriander seed, cumin seed, black mustard seed, Kerala cinnamon bark, green cardamom, and whole black tellicherry pepper in the center.)

This week begins a season of jamming around here. Local strawberries are finally ready for picking, and through July 4, our kitchen takes on an overwhelming sweet smell from macerating berries or jams boiled and ready for canning.

I’ve been making jams, jellies, and all sorts of canned goodies for many years now. It’s one of those kitchen crafts that either impresses people (“That must take up a lot of time!”) or makes them look all kinds of worried (“Aren’t you concerned about botulism?”). Preserving brings to mind of hours spent in a steaming hot kitchen filled with bushels of produce waiting to be “put up” for a long, brutal winter on the prairie. Modern cooks, however, lean toward small batch preserving, working with one or two quarts of top quality produce, maybe fruits you’ve picked at a local u-pick farm or from your own property. For example, last fall I taught my friend Staycee how to make fig jam from the fruits growing in her southern California backyard. It barely takes up any room, and once you do it a couple times, you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about.

The fuss is, naturally, about food poisoning, specifically food-borne botulism, caused by a nerve toxin that can flourish in improperly canned foods. Back in the “old days,” botulism poisoning was much more common than it is today, and also more deadly, with a 50 percent survival rate. The Centers for Disease Control reports that, on average, 145 cases of botulism are reported each year, and of those cases, 15 percent are from food-borne botulism spores. If you’re one of the unlucky few to contract botulism, you only have a 3 to 5 percent chance of not surviving the experience. You can thank modern canning techniques along with better medical care for these excellent odds of surviving your morning toast and jam.

We know so much more about bacteriology and food safety than our grandparents did, so there’s no need to feel anxious as long as you follow directions. I tell new canners to check out the most recent edition of Ball Blue Book of Preserving, which is up-to-date with safety precautions. Today’s jars and lids have safety checks built in, unlike those old lidded jars you see at antique shops. For example, modern lids, like those from Ball, make a reassuring “pop” when they’re lifted out of their boiling water bath, which tells you they’re properly sealed. Sometimes you miss hearing the “pop,” but no worries — you can also look at the lid and see if it’s dimpled down in the middle. If it is, you can be assured your jar is sealed correctly.

Well, I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that, so back to the strawberries. Here’s my favorite recipe for strawberry jam. This is the sandwich spread my son likes the best. In the middle of January, it’s so much fun to pop a lid of this stuff and let my nose be tickled by the tangy scent of strawberries. I can close my eyes and it’s June again. The berries stay a brilliant crimson red, too — other recipes, I’ve found, wash out the color of the berries. Do not attempt to double or triple this recipe, although you can make separate batches at once.

Summer Strawberry Jam

This recipe works best with freshly picked strawberries – I’m talking you-just-got-back-picking-them-from-the-farm fresh! Sort through them carefully and discard any berries that aren’t perfectly ripe or that have soft spots on them. Don’t be discouraged by the directions – although the process is spread out over a couple days, it’s actually hands-off time, meaning you’ll spend a minimal amount of time stirring hot jam at the stove.

1.25 lbs. stemmed and quartered strawberries
2 cups sugar
1/4 cup lemon juice, freshly squeezed
A candy thermometer or digital thermometer

1. Place the strawberries in a stainless steel pan or ceramic bowl. Pour the sugar over them and stir to combine. Cover the berries with a lid or plastic wrap and let macerate at room temperature for 8 hours, stirring occasionally to ensure the sugar crystals dissolve.

2. Put the berries and the syrup in a stainless steel saucepan, preferably 3-quarts or larger; you may also use a sauté pan. Just make sure it’s not an aluminum pan because the metal will leach into the fruit. Over medium high heat, bring the berries to a boil and cook for 5 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, cool, and cover. Let berries sit at room temperature for 24 hours.

3. Ok, today’s canning day. You’ve read that Ball book, right? If not, remove yourself from the computer and go read it! Follow the instructions for how to prepare your water-bath canner and jars for preserves. For this recipe, you should have 3 sterilized 1/2 pint jars, lids, and screw-on bands ready.

4. Place the berries in a stainless steel saucepan over medium high heat. Clip the candy thermometer to the side of the pan. When the mixture starts to boil, add the lemon juice. As soon as it comes back to the boil, stir constantly, keeping an eye on the thermometer. It should take about 5 minutes for the jam to reach jell stage, which is 220 degrees Fahrenheit. If you don’t have a thermometer, you can test for the stage by letting the jam drip off a spoon – if it “sheets” off, then it’s set. I can also tell when jam is ready by a change in its smell (hard to explain, but I think it’s the smell of the pectin developing) and the sound of the bubbles.

5. Remove the pan from the heat, ladle the jam into the sterilized jars, place lids on top, secure with screw-on bands and put the jars of jam into the water-bath canner, which should be at a boil. Process in the boiling water for five minutes, then remove the jars and place on wire cooling rack. Within a minute or two, you will hear the “pop” from the lids that tells you your jars are properly sealed. Let the jars cool completely, label, remove the bands (not the lids, unless you’re ready to eat) and store your scarlet treasures somewhere cool and dark.

Yield: 2 1/2 half-pints (don’t can the remaining 1/2 pint — put that jam in a bowl, refrigerate, and use within the next week or so)