Tag Archives: CSA

Tuesday Blues Strawberry Crumble

13 Apr

On the trip up to Wine Country we took for Moh’s birthday last weekend, he spotted a girl selling big boxes of bright strawberries on the side of a winding, sun-dappled road. Naturally, we whipped that rented Jeep Wrangler right over so he could yell out the side, “Are those organic??” Being Sonoma County, they were, and we were merrily back on track to Benziger Family Winery with a case of perfectly ripe fruit in plastic-topped tow.

Wine Country: open road and organics galore.

Of course by the time my Tuesday night return to reality hit (the weekend was so idyllic it took an extra day, making the sugar crash that much harder), the half of the strawberries we hadn’t devoured were beginning to look like I felt. Tired. Like they’d seen better days. But, with my new CSA-inspired waste not, want not ethos I just couldn’t bear to let them go.

Strawbs, before the fall.

Let me backtrack a bit. Though I’ve loved food since I was a wee(er) lass – seriously, ask my dad about fighting his four-year-old over the last of the pesto – my first post-college apartment boasted a charming kitchen that was essentially half of my poor roommate’s bedroom. Clearly, my first foray into “adulthood” was not so conducive to culinary exploration. As I moved on up in the world (dubious) and settled into my new apartment, which was conveniently outfitted with walls and doors and located two blustery blocks from Trader Joe’s, I came across a Mark Bittman nugget of a post: “Worry Less, Cook More.” And I embraced it.

More than a year and hundreds of dinners later, I find a nerdy joy in coming home after work to cobble together a simple meal for whomever’s around from whatever’s in the fridge. But I’ve never quite gotten there with baking. Cooking seems more forgiving, more free-form, while baking has always seemed to me like some kind of sugar-coated chemistry painstakingly performed in an apron instead of a lab coat. Tastier results, same intimidating procedure. Nevertheless, I decided to squash my domestic fears of scientific shortcomings alongside a Meyer lemon to make something with those strawberries, damnit,  using what I had on hand.

The results? Not the prettiest creation in the history of baking, and it did lack some of the depth and backbone that a mixed-berry melding would provide, but my Strawberry Crumble was sweet and comforting and I did it all by self. No recipes, no nagging fear of culinary perfection, it was a healthy dose of perspective, encouragement and sugar all in one. I suppose that’s just the way the crumble crumbles.

Who you callin' shortcake?


For filling:

  • Strawberries past their prime (I had three little green plastic cartons left)
  • A shot of whiskey (you could have one too, though I showed remarkable weeknight restraint)
  • Juice from a fresh lemon
  • Just a spoonful of sugar
  • Your favorite warm seasonings – I went with pumpkin pie spice and a cinnamon stick
  • A sprinkling of fresh ground pepper

For topping:

The real beauty of the crumble is that you can really use anything – cookies you have, nuts, oats, whatever. Here’s what I grabbed:

  • A stick of butter (cause why not)
  • A handful or two of rolled oats
  • A handful of cashews, or whatever nut you have, pulsed in a food processor or smashed by hand (if you’re more angry than melancholy)
  • A handful or two of flour
  • A handful of brown sugar
  1. Preheat oven to 350.
  2. Slice 2/3 of the strawberries in half, removing any questionable bits, and line the bottom of a smallish baking dish with them. Toss with half the lemon juice.
  3. Puree the remaining strawberries in a blender.

    Strawbs with their heads cut off.

  4. Pour them into a small saucepan with the whiskey, the remaining lemon juice, sugar, seasonings/pepper. Heat on low while you whip up the topping, stirring once in a while so it doesn’t stick, until the boozy smell has evaporated. Keep it classy.
  5. Cut the butter into small squares. Mix your topping ingredients in a large bowl with your hands. It’s fun and then you have an excuse to eat it off your fingers when you’re done. Note: Mine was a little too wet to crisp properly, which I suspected would happen because it started wet – but I kind of like the doughy cookiness of it. I’d use probably more oats and flour to the other ingredients next time around. Go nuts.
  6. Take the filling puree off the heat and mix up with the strawberries. Spread topping mix as evenly as you can over the top.
  7. Bake until juicy edges are bubbling up deliciously and the topping is goldeny goodness, at least 30 minutes, probably more.
  8. Serve with Häagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream. Or ya know, another kind, if you’re into settling 🙂

Food is Love

17 Mar

A former boss and dear friend used to say Food is Love. She would leave the office long after the rest of us (who were no strangers to the midnight oil)  had  cleared out and return the next day with a homemade birthday cake that so embodied the person she was baking for I’d tell her she should stop doing PR for the food and just make it for a living. But even though the gorgeous-as-it-was-delicious chocolate peanut butter cup cake (not to be confused with a cupcake) she made me for my first birthday on the West Coast warmed my long-distance heart, I’d missed the point.

Food is love not because you make a hobby of searching for the city’s best pumpkin curry or because your job perks include free Madagascar vanilla bean pods and an excuse to learn everything there is to know about Wine Spectator’s scoring system. Food is love because sometimes, when the world has slipped beyond your control and you can’t bear to see the people you would give anything for in pain, you take all that pent up hurt and everything you wish you could give them and pour your whole heart and whole-nutrient vegetables into a Dutch oven. It might be because  you don’t know what else to do, and the currency of circumstance might be dollars, but I truly believe that when what you put in your body comes from your heart you can feel it in your soul.

Some terrible things have happened to wonderful people in my life since I last wrote. Some even more horrible things have happened to people I don’t know by name – regime after regime in the Middle East gunning down its own people, the earth’s foundation erupting, wiping out lives and all their structures to be followed by a man-made horror whose consequences we may not even grasp within our lifetime. To try to make sense of any one of these things is staggering. But each shard of inevitability reminds me we have nothing but who we are and what we do today.

Reading an article in this week’s New York Times about the outpouring of monetary support for Japan’s relief efforts when they’re financially OK made me think about something a soup kitchen director told me when I first looked into volunteer opportunities around Thanksgiving. It’s the one day they’re overstaffed. If you really want to make a difference, come in on any one of the other 364. But even more importantly, I believe any difference we can make starts here, now, with the people we love.

There aren’t words in any language to express how grateful I am to live a life so rich in nourishment, not just for my body but for my soul. I’ve always been thankful for the incredible cultural opportunities I’ve had. But maybe for the first time, I’ve been thinking about what it means to truly count your blessings – and while I love my Le Creuset it’s not among them. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has touched my life with your courage, your perseverance and your perspective. I hope you can feel the love I’m sending out and I hope you know my heart carries you with me, always.

And a special spoonful of love for those in the neighborhood – I just split an Eatwell Farms CSA trial with the Lovely Miss MT and am planning to spend my spring helping you taste just a little piece of it.