One thing I really miss since the overhaul of my diet is crunchy food. Sure, carrot sticks and celery batons have crunch … but it’s a different kind of crunch. A wet crunch. When I’m sitting in front of Project Runway or watching the latest Netflix has delivered, I want something crisp and crackly, a vehicle for some guacamole or something that substitutes for my fingernails during a scary zombie chase scene.

These flavorful flax crackers fit the bill perfectly.

I was introduced to flax seed crackers during a short stay at Canyon Ranch up in the Berkshires a couple years ago. The food there was great, but I don’t remember anything specific except for their flax crackers. Oh, and their lemonade in the workout rooms. I ate their flax seed crackers like potato chips … and came home two pounds heavier. Oh well.

Flax seeds are loaded with good stuff, including alpha linolenic acid, or ALA,  an omega-3 fatty acid that’s somewhat similar to the fatty acids found in oily fish (super good stuff if you’re vegetarian or vegan!) Omega-3 fatty acids are anti-inflammatory, which is good news for anyone suffering from conditions like arthritis or asthma. Flax seeds have lots of fiber … over 5 grams in two tablespoons. Lots of fiber in your diet = good digestive health + fewer hunger pangs during the day.

(Read more about all the health benefits of flax seeds here.)

Since my son likes to go out for pizza a lot, I need to bring foods with me that really satisfy my taste buds, because if I may be honest, there’s nothing I’d rather do than dive head-first into a Jay’s Heart pizza at the Flatbread Company and not come up for air until the whole pie is gone. But I can’t. These crackers help. They really do have a strong pizza-like flavor. I find that two or three large pieces can get me through the first few minutes after the pie is delivered to our table. They give me time to regroup and remind myself of how bad I’ll feel in a few hours if I eat wheat or dairy.

And these crackers really do taste damn good.

Pizza-flavored Flax Seed Crackers
Yield: about 12 large crackers

While these crackers will satisfy the munchies, don’t devour a whole plate full of them in one sitting — they’re loaded with fiber. Too much fiber in one sitting can not only be painful, but it will wreak hell on your social life. A dehydrator works best for this recipe, but you can also make the crackers in your oven set on the lowest heat setting.

1 cup golden flax seeds
1 small tomato, roughly chopped
1/2 cup sundried tomatoes, soaked in hot water for 15 minutes and drained
1/2 red pepper, roughly chopped
1 tbsp. lemon juice
1 small clove of garlic
1 tsp. salt
A handful of fresh basil

Fit an “S” blade in the bowl of a your food processor. Add all ingredients to the bowl. Process for about 1 minute, stopping once to scrape down the sides of the bowl.

Pour the flax seed mixture onto your nonstick dehydrator sheets. Using an offset spatula, smooth out the flax seed crackers until they’re even and about 1/4″ thick. At this point you can use the edge of your spatula to cut your crackers into sections; I don’t. I just break the large cracker apart with my hands.

Dehydrate for about 8 hours on the “nuts & seeds” setting. When the top of the cracker is nearly dry, peel off the sheet, turn over and dry for 2 to 4 more hours. The cracker should be completely dry and crisp. Break apart and store in an air-proof container.

(If you’re using an oven, spread the flax seed mixture out on a silicone baking sheet, such as a Silpat, set on a rimmed baking sheet. Set your oven on the lowest possible temperature — 150 degrees Fahrenheit on most ovens — and check every hour or so. When the top of the cracker is almost dry, peel it off the baking sheet and turn it over to dry on the other side.)

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 like to make this curry in the summer. It’s not super spicy, although one could make it that way, and the flavors of coconut, fresh curry leaves, and tomatoes simply whisper warm weather to me.

I noticed this recipe on the Boston Globe’s “Dishing” blog last year. I could tell it was going to taste great, what with the coconut and Indian spicing, although I think their version doesn’t include the cayenne. The zucchini is my twist. It’s a good way to slip more veggies into my family’s diet.

You can used canned beans for this; I happen to cook dry beans in bulk with my pressure cooker and freeze them in small containers. Also, I’ve used small white northern beans and kidney beans in this recipe, but earthy black-eyed peas taste best, IMO.

Curried Black-Eyed Peas
Adapted from The Boston Globe

2 tsp. canola oil
1 tbsp. black mustard seeds
12 fresh curry leaves
1/2 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. whole cumin seed
1 tsp. ground coriander seed
1/4 tsp. ground cayenne pepper
1 shallot, chopped finely
1 tsp. minced fresh ginger
1 can chopped tomatoes, drained (sometimes I use fresh tomatoes and eyeball the amount, maybe a cup and a half)
1 small zucchini, diced into 1/4″ cubes
1 cup reduced fat coconut milk
1 cup cooked black eyed peas
Salt, to taste

1. In a medium saute pan, heat oil over medium high heat. Add mustard seeds; when they finish popping, about 30 seconds, add curry leaves. They, too, will pop and sizzle. Immediately reduce heat to medium; stir in turmeric, cumin seed, coriander, and cayenne pepper and cook for 30 seconds. Add shallot, stir into spice mixture, and cook for about two minutes until softened. Stir in ginger and cook for another minute.

2. Add tomatoes and zucchini and cook until softened and the tomatoes begin to lose their moisture, about 4 or 5 minutes. Add coconut milk and cook for another five minutes or until sauce has thickened a bit. Stir in black-eyed peas and warm through. Add salt to taste. Serve curry with cooked rice, preferably basmati.

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.

My standing order at our local Starbucks is a nonfat caramel macchiato. But come July and August, I go on a mocha frappuccino bender. Few things make me happier than walking out to my hot car with an icy cold frozen coffee drink in hand.

The only thing bad about it (well, besides the sugar and caffeine), is that these fancy drinks are expensive. My husband loathes the smell of coffee, so we’d agreed I’d always leave the house to score my java, thus why I was visiting Starbucks at least twice a day. A few years ago, we were doing our taxes and I was stunned to see how much money got funneled from my check card into Starbucks’ coffers. We’re talking an embarrassing amount of moolah, a sum that would buy me a business-class ticket to Vienna, plus the pastry and coffee when I landed. At this sobering moment, I pointed out it might be cheaper for me to make my coffee in the garage where he wouldn’t smell it in the a.m. He quickly agreed, and since then, Starbucks has been an occasional treat. (Although I do buy Starbucks beans from our local Costco warehouse.)

But lately, I’ve noticed I’ve been making excuses to run in for a mocha frappuccino. Maybe because it’s so damn hot and I’m not interested in drinking the hot coffee I make at home. A few days ago, I watched the barista make my drink. She measured out a pre-made sweetened coffee-and-milk mixture, added chocolate syrup, then blended it with ice.

The lightbulb went off. “My God,” I thought. “How easy that would be to make at home.” We’ve even got the $600 Vita-Mix blender. What the hell was I thinking paying $4.50 for this drink?

I got the formula right on the first pass. When I tested this on our au pair, she said she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. (A true scientific inquiry hasn’t been completed yet, where we compare my version to an official version.) But I’ll happily drink my version for the next seven weeks — and feel smugly economical to boot. Caveat: I strongly suggest a heavy-duty blender to make the ice smooth and slushy. A half-rate blender just won’t cut it here.

Diana’s Frozen Mocha Coffee
Serves 2

1 cup strong black coffee
3 tbsp. sugar
3/4 cup milk (skim, whole, part skim — your choice)
3 tbsp. chocolate syrup
2 cups ice cubes

Stir the sugar into the coffee and chill. (You can make several cups of coffee at once and chill, then pour a cup when you need it.)

Pour the coffee, milk, and chocolate syrup into a heavy-duty blender. Blend for about 5 seconds. Add ice cubes and blend until drink is thick and slushy, approximately 20 seconds. Serve in chilled glasses with straws.

As I waited the six interminable minutes for my nail polish to dry — sitting still for longer than two minutes makes me antsy; six minutes is excruciating — I glanced over at the cover of the June/July issue of Domino, sitting on my manicurist’s coffee table. One coverline grabbed my attention: “A No-bake Strawberry Pie!”

It was something like 90 degrees that day. Strawberries were abundant at the local farms. I’ve been slaving away on fall and winter recipe assignments in my 100+ degree kitchen. I fell in love with the idea. As soon as the buzzer on my nail dryer went off, what did I do? I ran out of there — without looking at the recipe.

I realized my error later in the afternoon as the temperature in my kitchen crept up to 105 degrees. As luck would have it, Domino had the recipe on their website and last night, I got around to testing it.

It’s a fairly straightforward recipe. I was iffy on the idea of a no-bake graham cracker crust, but it turned out fine. The recipe calls for 2 1/2 cups of graham cracker crusts, so if you buy graham crackers and smash them up yourself, this equals 18 whole crackers, or two packages. (Another tip: rather than using a spoon to pack the crust down, try a 1/4-cup measuring cup, which makes it easier to pack the sides of the pie plate.)

You make the crust while the strawberry filling cools — yes, you do have to use the stovetop — and indeed, your kitchen will be permeated with the smell of strawberries as the recipe promises. The pie must chill overnight (or for 8 hours; you could make it in the a.m. and serve it for tonight’s dessert). Before serving, you top the whole pie with sweetened whipped cream and fresh berries, which I didn’t do. Instead, I garnished each slice with a dollop of cream since I knew the pie wouldn’t be eaten in one session and I didn’t want the pie to get mushy with the weeping cream.

The verdict? The pie tasted wonderful. We all had seconds. As you can see, though, this isn’t a pie you’d want to serve to special guests. The filling didn’t hold its shape well at all and it looked like slop on a plate. I cooked it until it was thick and bubbly, for precisely 7 minutes as the recipe directed, but maybe it wasn’t enough. Whatever. Were I to make this again, I think I’d use a couple sheets of gelatin to give the filling more structure. And while my husband loves graham cracker crusts, I thought this one was too thick for the pie — but I begrudgingly admit it worked without the oven.

It wasn’t particularly hot today in the Boston ‘burbs, but I’ve been feeling peevish all day (nay, week!) and thought tonight would be a great night for a cocktail. Especially since The Oyster is visiting Dad at the office tonight, and I’ve finished up all my household chores — except for mowing the lawn. I’ll try to get to that tomorrow.

Earlier this week I picked up one of those small seedless watermelons at our local market. When I cut into it last night, I was struck by the brilliant pink of the flesh and thought, after tasting it, the melon would make a fine base for a daiquiri. I blended the flesh in our new VitaMix blender, along with a handful of mint from our garden, then chilled the thick juice overnight. I also made a fresh batch of simple syrup, which is one part sugar boiled with one part water. One thing I like to do with simple syrups is flavor them with herbs or spices. For this drink, I could have steeped star anise in the syrup, or even the mint. But I was too tired and didn’t think of it. Next time.

Tonight I blended the melon juice with 4 cups of crushed ice. Then I stirred in one cup of light rum, 1/2 cup of the chilled simple syrup, and a tablespoon of lemon juice into the slurry. A perfect ending to a peevish day!

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)

Before Ina and Nigella, before Martha or even Julia, there was Elsie.

A former medical secretary, Elsie Masterton and her attorney husband John left New York in the 1940s to cleave a ski area from Vermont’s Green Mountains. While John and his workers felled trees and packed snow (if there was any — this was before the advent of snow guns and grooming machines), Elsie taught herself to cook, a practical necessity since it became her job to feed an army of hungry men every day.

The ski area didn’t pan out, but Elsie’s newfound cooking talents saved the enterprise. With the last of their savings, the Mastertons transformed their 19th century farmhouse into the Blueberry Hill Inn, with Elsie presiding in the kitchen. A small ad in the Saturday Review promised visitors “Lucullan food,” and throughout the 1950s and 1960s, guests from around the world sojourned in Brandon, Vermont, to feast on Elsie Masterton’s shrimp tempura, her famous chicken baked in wine, and her homey, bite-sized biscuits. Her fame grew with the publication of the Blueberry Hill Cookbook in 1959, the Blueberry Hill Menu Cookbook in 1963, then the Blueberry Hill Kitchen Notebook in 1964, in addition to two nonfiction books about the Mastertons’ lives as country innkeepers.

Masterton balked when her publisher asked for a cookbook that merely catalogued the inn’s recipes. She convinced them that women wanted and needed a cookbook with spice and personality. In the Blueberry Hill Cookbook she wrote, “I think that I am talking with someone; let’s let it be you. You are a gal in my kitchen, at my elbow. I want you to know what I’m doing, every single thing I’m doing, and as often as this is practical, why I’m doing it.” The headnotes in her recipes share amusing stories about her children, guests, and the local school board, impart practical kitchen wisdom, or guilelessly gush over how delicious the dish is. Masterton’s engaging writing style won over not only American housewives, but earned her accolades from First Lady Bess Truman and poet Ogden Nash. An unattributed endorsement on her last cookbook reads, “I read and devoured [the Blueberry Hill Cookbook] like a novel from cover to cover.”

In a day when convenience food became the norm, Masterton fought the good fight: “I disclaim all knowledge of a way of fixing any canned vegetables other than onions and beets,” she wrote. She preached respect for ingredients, instructed readers to make friends with their butchers, and showed them there was life beyond the canned vegetable aisle when they grew their own vegetables or shopped at roadside stands. And although she quaintly refers to women as gals and chooses margarine (the fat of the day) over butter in her recipes, Masterton’s cookbooks are relevant nearly a half-century later. Today she’d be an enthusiastic supporter of CSAs and farmers’ markets, if not a card-carrying member of Slow Food USA.

When Elsie Masterton died of cancer in 1966, mere months after her husband passed away, so did one of our earliest good food advocates. Masterton’s cookbooks are out of print, but can occasionally be found in used bookshops. Signed copies can fetch $25 or $30, and the boxed set of her cookbooks has gone for as much as $90 on eBay. And she still has her fans: on eGullet, an online community for foodies, Masterton’s books were cited when someone posed the question about what cookbooks members most liked to curl up with and read.

Tony Clark, who bought the Blueberry Hill Inn from the Masterton estate in 1968, says he gets the occasional letter asking if Elsie is still around. In a way, she is. The youngest of her three daughters, Laurey Masterton, has run Laurey’s Catering and Gourmet-to-go in Asheville, North Carolina, for 20 years.

“People are always coming in here, telling me how much they loved my mother’s books,” says Laurey, who was 12 when her parents died. “Then they look at me and tell me how much I look like her. I’m very proud to be her daughter.” Several years ago, she reprinted the Blueberry Hill Cookbook, and in February 2007, she published a memoir, Elsie’s Biscuits: Simple Stories of Me, My Mother, and Food ($19.95). “It’s really about me honoring my mother,” says Laurey. “I wish she could see what she showed me and what I have now.”

Laurey feels closest to her mother when she’s making her biscuits; it was her job as a child to line them up on the baking sheets after her mother cut them out with a makeshift biscuit cutter. Today Laurey uses her mother’s recipe in her shop. When one customer learned there was sour cream in the recipe, he declared, “Them’s Yankee biscuits.” He went on to devour them.

Yankee biscuits they may be, but with Elsie’s touch they transcend time and cultural boundaries.

Elsie’s Biscuits can be purchased from Laurey’s Catering and Gourmet-to-go or Malaprop’s Bookstore/Café in Asheville, NC, phone 828-254-6734.

Elsie’s Biscuits

Adapted from The Blueberry Hill Cookbook by Elise Masterton
Yield: 30 1-inch biscuits or 10 3-inch biscuits

To preserve the soft, flaky architecture that’s the hallmark of a well-executed biscuit, use a light touch when patting out the dough and don’t twist your biscuit cutter – simply push it into the dough and pull it straight up to release the circle. Elsie cut her biscuits into bite-sized 1-inch circles. If you don’t have a 1-inch cutter, cut the dough into 1-inch squares or use a standard 3-inch biscuit cutter. According to Elsie’s daughter Laurey, a handful of chopped ham and Vermont cheddar makes a fine addition.

3 cups flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon sugar
4-oz (1 stick) butter, cut into 8 pieces
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup sour cream
1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract
Flour, for sprinkling

1. Preheat the oven to 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

2. Sift the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar into a large bowl.

3. Using a pastry blender or two knives, cut the butter into the flour until the mixture looks like cornmeal. In a small bowl, stir together the milk, buttermilk, sour cream, and vanilla extract. Pour the liquid into the flour mixture and stir until just combined.

4. Place the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Gently pat the dough out until it’s 1/2-inch thick. Press a biscuit cutter firmly into dough without twisting, and place biscuits on baking sheet.

5. Bake 1-inch biscuits for 7 to 8 minutes. If using a standard size biscuit cutter, bake for 11 to 12 minutes. Serve warm.