Dinner with a Side of Art

We got a last minute invitation to go to the Art Farm for a harvest dinner in a barn. Hell yes, we can come! We almost forgot we have children for two minutes. We (Laura) called Fiona's favorite babysitter but she had plans to do something much more enriching and fulfilling than watching Cinderella 2 (which, by the way, sucks more than the original Cinderella, if you can imagine that). After a few more calls, our trusted friends, J and R, agreed to take on the task. Yeah! We get to go eat in a barn! With friends! Without having to ignore a baby slinking out of her high chair in the middle of the first course! No dessert negotiations or cleaning up spilled milk. Out with the whine, in with the wine!

Their place is in the country, where the Amish folk dwell.  We followed these people, knowing they would lead us in the right direction.

Once we got there, we were giddy with the realization that we had pulled this off. Just an hour ago, I was looking through the fridge, looking for something halfway edible to make for dinner. Now, we're in the midst of a full-fledged dinner party in the making. 

Everyone gathered in the kitchen to finalize their epicurian delights. We brought a bagette and wine (it was last minute plus we have kids - don't judge us), so we were off the hook, unlike those other poor fools who had to braise, chop, slice and broil.

The hosts are artists who remodeled an old farmhouse and adjoining building into an art resort. Their personality and talent is injected into every piece of furniture and every stroke of paint. 

When we felt guilty about watching everyne slave over the stove, Laura and I decided to have a little fun in the shower.

We don't normally do this sort of thing in other people's homes. I was obviously drinking, which helps explain the behavior. Laura, well, that's just how she is. In our (her) defense, the shower was unlike other people's shower. It was designed and created by them. There's even a little seat:

Photo from ArtFarm.shutterfly.com

After the shower shananigans, dinner was served in the barn. But this is the Art Farm, so a barn may be a barn, but it's a different kind of barn. And as expected, the table was immaculately set:

Magical.

The food was fantasic. Photos cannot do it justice, plus, my camera ran out of juice right in the middle of dinner. Nonetheless, here's a sampling:

We like these people. Not because of their food, or their barn, or their art. Well, actually, kind of because of their art, but mostly because of their genuine natures and their love of life and all that is beautiful. And for their kindness and open hearts.

Their work, their life, is their art. They are creating their own existence. I have tremendous respect for this self-sufficiency. It seems natural and idyllic to be able to so effortlessly merge what you do with who you are.
Just being on their turf reminded me how generous the universe is when you are open to its abundance. It reminded me of simple pleasures, like the beauty of flickering candle light and the pink of dusk.

It's a Chuck Taylors and Soup Kind of Day

Another Saturday upon us and we had a LOT planned: Chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, farmer's market, downtown Art Fest, naps for the children, grocery shopping for me, soup making later, laundry and cleaning the house and fixing our screen door for Laura. Yep, she got the raw end of the deal.

We decided to all wear our respective Chuck Taylors. For just a few minutes, before Fiona had to change to her princess shoes because she can't be seen in such boying shoes, even though they're PINK. She has standards.

We found a new farmer's market today.  It was indoors, a plus since it was raining this morning. This place was huge. When we first walked in I spotted these luscious yellow peppers, of which I needed six for my soup. That booth only had four and I felt guilty buying all of them. Perhaps this guilt was misplaced. Right next to the peppers were some lovely tomatoes. I needed those too. Laura was getting concerned that we were stocking up at the very first booth when it was obvious that this was a 5,000 acre market. She let me buy the yellow peppers. She must have known how important (and obviously scarce) these were. So we all agreed to scope out the place before randomly buying produce like crazy people. Fine.

We scoped. They had everything there. Except for the additional two yellow peppers I needed. Sometimes, scoping is a waste of time. Just sayin'.

We got our vegetables for the week. Laura sneaked in an acorn squash. I have no idea how to cook this freakish vegetable. "I'll cook it," she said, when I complained. I'm such a pain in the a** sometimes.  I just hope this squash will not end up rotting in our potato bin  like it usually does. I can't handle any more fruit flies.

I don't understand squash, or zucchini, or pumpkin. Don't even get me started on desserts using these veggies. Desserts, by their very nature, should not be made out of vegetables. Even pumpkin pie is wrong. Call me un-American. If anyone (the two of you who actually read this blog) has a trusted recipe for acorn squash, please let me know. I'll cook the damn thing and I'll throw in a little love (for Laura-Jo). Maybe that'll make it taste better than chalk, with cinamon sprinkled on top.

Speaking of food, I made a Roasted Yellow Pepper and Tomato soup tonight that was, quite frankly, exhausing. It turned out beautiful and delicious. Look at it:

Pretty, right? But it took so long to make. I was almost too tired to eat it. Everyone loved it, partly because it was almost seven by the time it was finished and the troops were starving.  Fiona loved it so much she gave it two thumbs, plus 10 toes up. She's my favorite daughter.

It was quite an endeavor. Between the roasting and the chopping and the pureeing and the straining and trying to keep one soup hot as I made a whole different soup. Well, I was so worn out from the ordeal I had to retire to a bubble bath. My back hurt! That's how hard this soup was to make. I had to detox from soup making.

Then, we went outside to walk barefoot in the freshly wet grass and dance to Prairie Home Companion music and finally, crashed to PBS Kids cartoons. I'm tired, people (the two of you).

Saturday is an Asparagus

It's the perfect day. It's cradled by Friday, which is a great day because it's right before Saturday, and followed by Sunday, which is a great day in and of itself. But Sunday has a dark lining, when you're not in the moment. Sunday thinks about getting up early on Monday. But Saturday, has no such worries. It's perfect.

So we celebrate with chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and we wear happy clothes. Laura goes to work and the kids and I go grocery shopping.

I love groceries. The endless possibilities of gourmet meals to come. Although I have the menu for the week somewhat lined out, I will sometimes stray in the presence of luscious, under appreciated vegetables. Brussel sprouts, for instance, don't always come to mind when planning the week's meals. If Brussel sprouts were a day, it would be Monday. Icky, by nature, through no fault of their own. But they look so cute, their tiny little cabbage selves just crying out to be loved, and smothered in bacon fat. Because who doesn't like cute cabbage sprinkled with bacon?

Well, I thought about you, brussel sprouts, but the asparagus looked so freaking good that I could not resist their allure. Asparagus do not need bacon. They are happy naked, steamed or baked. Plus, they are one of the ingredients in tonight's dinner.

Fiona could care less about produce, but she likes the bubble gum machine. She brought her purse with a million quarters in it.  She stood in front of the colorful machines for several hours and finally decided to spend one quarter on a bubble gum ball. And two quarters on a tacky temporary tattoo.

Cyd sat in the cart, saying "hi" to everyone who walked by. She was happy in produce, gleefully pointing at the bananas and mangos. She was happy in the cereal aisle and happy in the wine aisle. If I'd thought of bringing a cork screw, I may have stollen a sip in the frozen food aisle, which is where Cyd finally decided enough is enough.

With Cyd crying, I rushed through the dairy section and ignored the "oven thermometer" item on our list. We don't have that kind of time. Walnuts were on the list too, but really, walnuts are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Walnuts are a luxury. It isn't an ingredient in any of the meals I have planned. F*#ck the walnuts. We're checking out. Old ladies were staring at us, their smiles laced with a hint of disapproval.

We hurried home. The kids shared a mac and cheese bowl, which was redeemed with a few fresh blueberries and yogurt.

While the kids napped for two luxurious hours, I made the dough for dinner. I love the process of dough, the kneading, the rising, the baking, the silence. Tonight's menu: Flatbread with Arugula, Asparagus, Ricotta, and summer veggies.

Laura finally came home and built us a beautiful bonfire.  We roasted gigantic marshmallows, which mysteriously materialized in our cart this morning. And by mysteriously, I mean by Fiona. These marshmallows were the size of apples. Really.

We ate by the fire. We roasted. We entertained the neighbor children.

We are happy. Crazy happy.

(Note: the kid on the right is our neighbor.)