My fingers and fingernails are stained dramatically purple-black, which earned me some strange looks in the bodega this morning when I went to buy milk; this is the result of an escapade instigated by Miss Ashley of macaroni and monogram fame. An email from her friend Michael asking for volunteer fruit pickers inspired her to sign up for a backbreaking stint of manual labor at the Queens County farm this past saturday. Well, that was the theory, but in practice she got there just a wee bit late and all the picking had been done. Oh dear, oh dear, quelle dommage (ahem). Undeterred, she called me and uttered the magic word (“mulberries”) and so yesterday we toddled off to the Unfancy Food Show on South 6th to show support for the farm’s stand there.

mulberries and salad cups fresh from the farm

As well as the spectacular berries, they had lettuces, cucumbers, gorgeous baby fennel, free range eggs and pork for sale, all products of the farm’s 47 acres – New York City’s “largest remaining tract of undisturbed farmland”, according to their website. As I’m in the middle of a marmalade making marathon (more on that later), I wanted something other than jam to do with the mulberries. Mulberry wine seemed to be another popular option in my older cookbooks, but I wasn’t sure this was the time to freak out the neighbors and tackle home fermentation either. In the end, the indomitable Constance Spry came up trumps. more »

zombies: cucumber, watermelon, mushroom, patty pan squash, tomato – all pickled until they reach the desired level of undead deliciousness. Pass the vodka.

If I tell you that this was the third course of five, and that it’s a plate of seared foie gras with butter-drenched pommes anna, and that we’re eating seated on plastic lawn chairs at a converted gas station where the menu hasn’t really changed (and with damn good reason) in two generations……

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