I never tasted a peach until I moved to Birmingham. The little orbs of sun-kissed gold grown in Chilton County far out flavor the peaches I drenched in cream and sprinkled with sugar as a child in Utah. In an attempt to perfect perfection, I embarked on a peach crisp to present at a lazy Sunday barbecue.

Bringing a little of the southwest to the south, I pulled the recipe from “With A Measure of Grace,” the cookbook from Hell’s Backbone Grill in Boulder, Utah. A few years ago, a friend and I  made the trek through the state’s back roads with this restaurant in mind. There’s not much but sagebrush and hoodoos on the way and  after breakfast, lunch and dinner, one can accurately say they’ve experienced the city.  

The recipe calls for cornmeal and I reluctantly obliged. Of course, I  had only a course grind variety on hand but figured all would work itself out in the oven.

I was wrong.

When we sat down at table my friends politely crunched.  No one finished but my dear friend Dan – the only person with a sweet tooth fierce enough to succumb to a lackluster dessert.  He also appeased my tender feelings. Charles Essington Walton IV took these beautiful photographs (he does live up to the name) and I’d be remiss to not do something with them.

Alas, I learn a lesson I already knew.  A  good peach is best simply adorned.   A dousing of cream and slightest sprinkling of sugar will always do.

I’ve been spending my Tuesdays and Fridays picking strawberries, arugula, and salad greens at Jones Valley Urban Farm. Crawling out of bed around 8:30 is tough for the unemployed, but when I get  there it’s all worth it. For one, the coolest farmer (and the only regular to attend my yoga classes) works there, Charley. We’ve shared a few laughs and waxed philosophical over strawberry sorting many a time. His company softens the blow that I really have no one expecting me to be anywhere at anytime. He’s pictured above with his super hip and cool girlfriend, Julia. Aren’t they the perfect picture of today’s young farmers? I’m thrilled to call such forward thinkers my friends.

During our last conversation over the strawberry bed, Charley happened to drop the word: Jam. I think that’s all he said, but it got the wheels in my head turning. Picking and sorting strawberries into the “goods” (to be sold to local B-ham restaurants) and the “bads” (too soft, too wholly, too green), I got to thinking “what’s going to happen to them?  I took a bag of rescues home, saving them from the compost pile.

First came sorting.Then boiling and bottling.

2lbs strawberries (about four cups)

4 cups sugar

1/4 cup lemon juice

I found the recipe quite sweet and might cut back on the sugar next time. Basically, boil for a looong time. My thermometer was broken (I later found out) so I boiled much longer than 20 mins. You want the mixture to come to 220 degree. I don’t think it’s possible to burn (comment if I’m wrong) just be sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom by stirring every so often. Since most people seem to under cook their jam and it comes out more like soup, I’d ere on the side of overcooking rather than under.

And what’s strawberry jam without homemade biscuits. These tasted great the day they came out of the oven, but by day two kinda sucked. I’m still perfecting my recipe, so I’ll get back to you on it. They did photograph well though.

Well it wasn’t that bad, but after the first tequila shot came a complete disregard for my cleanse status. I followed it with handfuls of pistachios, pita and salsa, and my favorite Terra chips. It wasn’t pretty. I went to bed guilt ridden and bloated. This morning, woke and vowed to do better. I started with quinoa kitchari with broccoli, then this lovely green juice mid-morning. It’s chard, broccoli, apple and pea sprout. My body hasn’t taken in so many veggies in a while and is right now rebelling with a constant craving for Sweet Tart jelly beans. Nearly as pretty as the juice above and much, much tastier. Sigh.

Woke before dawn to start day one of the cleanse. I sat and waited for the sun to peak sipping the advised hot lemon water. I contemplated hitting the yoga mat but instead opted for my pillow and crashed until 8:30. Not the best start, but I did work through my practice around 2:30 and soaked in the lovely afternoon sun. Afterward, gorged on the beautiful salad above.  It’s full of earthy goodness: jicama, tomato, arugla, endive, cilantro. I drank the lemon olive oil dressing that pooled at the bottom then lay on my bed and took a nap with a full, round belly.

Three hours later couldn’t resist a shot of tequila before heading to the Wilco concert at Sloss Furnace

Wondering how tequilla suits my dosha . . .

I’ve embarked on Birmingham Yoga’s Teacher Training Program. After 16 hours of yoga asanas and philosophy this weekend, I’ve come away with a pulled shoulder and a realization that after 5 years of off-and-on practice, what I know could fit in my outstretched pinky toe.  As such, I’m determined to eat, sleep, drink yoga for the next couple of months–which explains the above photo.

Tomorrow, begins day 1 of a 15-day auyrvedic cleanse from my favorite cleanse book by Adina Niemerow. After identifying my dosha,  (I’m a Pitta marked by my competitive nature and hearty appetitite) I’ll eat veggies and grains to bring myself into balance and avoid foods that aggrevate my dosha. The theory is that when our bodies are in balance, we naturally crave foods that are good for us. Weight gain, eating too fast, not eating enough, etc.  are supposed to all be  solvable through ayurveda.

There are three doshas: Vatta ( Creative types, have a hard time gaining weight) Pitta, and Kapha (Grounded, gain weight easily). If you’re curious about yours, the Yoga Journal has a great quiz.

More than a diet, this cleanse is a lifestyle change. I’ll be challenged to rise and eat with the sun to better connect and ground me to my environment. I’ll be calling on the Hindu God Balrama, Hindu God for strength, and protector from desires (chocolate) to get me through this.

Namaste

No, the photo above is not a little turd, but a most delicious pumpkin truffle from my dear friend Chi-an. She brought over a bucket full of the little guys a few days ago and I’ve already worked my way nearly half through. It seems she’s decided to go into the truffle producing business and would like to use me as her taste tester. I was reluctant to sign on, but what are friends for? 

It seems to be the season for cocoa. It’s on everyone’s mind and lips of late.  First, there was this article in the New Yorker about one of my favorite chocolate producers Dagoba. Then, the world or chocolate party and the most expensive dessert. Now, a most impressive gift.  Wondering what other tidbits might present themselves? 

So, here’s my first pot of the season. 

I went with a different technique this year using Chianti as my base and stew meat rather than ground beef.

Not sure how it’s going to turn out, but if my nose is any indicator it’s off the charts. If you look closely you can see the steam rising from the pot. If there were cyber smell, I’d have to offer a cyber bowl. Well, too bad.

As a kid, I always looked forward to the house that gave out the full-sized versions of my favorite candy bars on Halloween. I fantasized of a day (maybe next year?) when every house would do the same. My trove would be so heavy, I’d have to return home to empty it out before embarking on the other half of the neighborhood. Obviously, that day never came. Whoever thought of “fun size” dashed those dreams, and I’ve been on my own to amass a respectable amount of chocolate every year.  When I was younger that meant a fair share of doorbell ringing; now, it’s grocery store stock piling. But tonight, things took a turn. I made a discovery – Sweet Mandy B’s. And I will forever view this holiday differently.

I’d heard tell of a cupcake Mecca, but wasn’t sure how to get there. On a whim, I got off at the Fullerton red line stop because I’d heard the place was near. I asked a few directions, walked a few blocks and found my way to Mandy’s door — invitingly outstretched, I might add. Inside were more than cupcakes . . . much, much more.

There were sugar cookies of pumpkins and bats, dream bars, peanut butter bars and puddings. Cupcakes of all colors clustered together like a vibrant bouquet and were just as fragrant. It was a near sensory overload — similar to how I felt when presented with the opportunity to choose one of my favorite big size candy bars during holidays past. But now, I didn’t have to choose just one. So I didn’t.

I got a pink cupcake, two flourless chocolate cupcakes, a peanut butter bar, a double chocolate cookie and a pumpkin sugar cookie (which is not pictured because I ate it). What’s best is everything is its proper size. Now these are admittedly treats for the big girls (note the double entendre) because unlike Halloweens past, I won’t be eating half my loot in one sitting. I plan to stretch these goodies out over two days — maybe three, thus allowing ample time for middle to accommodate these new friends. And I will feel no guilt. I’ve put up with samples too long.