Meg and Paul have turned a small strip of dirt along side their driveway and planter on wheels into an impressive vegetable garden. The rolling bed lives in the driveway, and can be moved to allow the car to come and go from the garage, making the most of the only sunny patch of their yard. After seeing their thriving summer squash plants two weeks ago, I sent them a link this roundup of squash blossom recipes.

Paul wrote back:

Last week I went out to San Francisco to visit some friends and Teddy, Stella and Vicent and I took a weekend camping trip to Bodega Bay. We arrived at our ocean front campsite Friday night just in time to pitch our tents and watch the sun set over the Pacific. We built a fire and made a simple dinner of sausages and corn on the cob with s’mores for dessert.

Saturday morning we cooked bacon and eggs and skillet cornbread (from jiffy mix this time) over the fire for breakfast. But the real highlight of the trip was our dinner that night. We drove into town and went looking for live crabs without a viable plan for how we would cook them with nothing but a  large frying pan. We went to two different fish markets before being tipped off to follow the big orange signs around the bay to the marina. We found our way to the dock where a friendly fisherman was selling the biggest crabs I’d ever seen right off his boat, and when he heard we didn’t have a pot he offered to lend us one. He sent us on our way with four live crabs in a garbage bag and a big pot, and told us to cook them in sea water. Teddy made me hold the bag of crabs for the car ride home.

When we got back to camp I sent Vicent down to the water to fill up the pot. We started a fire and set the pot over it to boil, and I wrapped up a few  potatoes in foil and set them in the fire to bake.  When the water came to a boil we dropped the crabs in and let them boil for about 15 minutes. We were the envy of the campground, using stones gathered on the beach to crack open the shells and dipping the briny meat in melted butter.

This morning I took a delightful stroll up through Prospect Park to the Grand Army Plaza greenmarket. It was warm and sunny and all the trees were in bloom and the air smelled amazing.  I got to the top of the park and was greeted by a klezmer band, spontaneous dancing, and piles and piles of fresh spinach, leeks and cut herbs. I brought home my first asparagus of the season, some leeks, a bunch of chives, a half dozen eggs, and a geranium to brighten up my kitchen. That little brown thing in the paper bag that looks like a small woodland creature is, in fact, a small woodland creature– a hen of the woods mushroom. I hear they can be found in the same wooded park where the raspberries grow if you know where to look.

I always thought I hated fennel because I am vehemently anti-licorice. And yet every time I saw it in the store I wanted so badly to like it. It’s just so fresh and crunchy  and delicious looking. A couple of weeks ago I saw the pile of fennel bulbs in the co-op, with their feathery little leaves, and I gave in. I brought my little fennel bulb home and decided to make a salad. As I chopped off the stalks I caught a whiff of that licoricey scent and thought, “Why did I buy this? I hate fennel!” But started slicing the bulb anyway, and I tasted a piece. And you know what? It really doesn’t taste like licorice at all. It tastes fresh and crunchy and delicious. Now I’m hooked. That night I ate an enormous pile of this salad. Two days later I made it again for a dinner party and it was a big hit. And I made it again last night. I can’t get enough of this stuff.

• One bulb fennel
• juice and grated zest of half a lemon
• about 2 to 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• about 1/2 a teaspoon finely chopped preserved lemon peel (optional)
• salt and freshly ground pepper

In a small bowl whisk together the lemon juice, olive oil and preserved lemon (if using). Add salt and pepper to taste. If you are using the preserved lemon, taste the dressing first before adding salt as the preserved lemon is pretty salty all by itself.

Cut the stalks off fennel bulb and peel away the outer layer if it’s brown or bruised. Reserve a  few little bits of the leaves for garnish. Slice the bulb crosswise as thinly as you can. If you have a mandolin now is the time to use it. Pour the dressing over the fennel and sprinkle the lemon zest and fennel leaves on top.

Last year I posted my grandmother’s Irish soda bread recipe for St. Patrick’s Day and it has been the most popular recipe on this site ever since. I never would have guessed. Anyway, the other day I came across a soda bread recipe in The Art of Simple Food. Simple it is, without the butter, sugar, and raisins of the American version. When I noticed the whole wheat variation at the bottom of the page, I remembered the delicious brown bread they sold at the Irish butcher shop down the block from my old apartment in Queens. I had to try it. It’s rather austere compared to the Irish soda bread we are used to, but hearty  and delicious none the less. This bread is at it’s  best slathered with butter while it’s still warm, though it also toasts up nicely on the second day.

Brown Bread adapted from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters

• 3 cups whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup bread flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 1/2 to 2 cups cultured buttermilk

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Oil a small dutch oven or cast iron skillet.

In a large bowl stir together the flours, salt, and baking soda. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add 1 1/2 cups of the buttermilk. Stir, adding more buttermilk if needed, until all of the flour is incorporated. The dough will be pretty scrappy. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for a minute or two, just until the dough comes together. Form the dough into a round and place in the pan. Sprinkle a bench scrapper or a large knife with flour and cut a deep cross in the dough, as if you were going to divide the dough into four pieces.

Bake at 450 for 15 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 400 degrees. Bake for about 30 minutes more, until the loaf is nicely browned and sounds hollow when you knock on it.