Boston has a delightful little pizza and ice cream restaurant called Picco in the South End. I refrain from using the word ‘joint’ to describe this establishment, because it is decidedly more high-brow than your average hole-in-the-wall ‘pizza place. It doesn’t serve by the slice and offers pizza toppings that include crème fraiche (yay!), shallots, shittake mushrooms, and the like, as well as some outstanding artisanal beers and homemade ice cream.

On our frequent visits to Picco, PT and I typically share a double scoop of ice cream for dessert– he opts for the sweet and gooey, while I go in for the more subtle flavors, generally favored by our grandparents’ generation.

It happened a few days ago that I was having one of those non-problem problems that only someone who spends her time writing about food would have…. I couldn’t decide if I should have homemade lemonade or beer. I know, call Amnesty International, right?

The problem was, it was 4 o’clock – a perfectly legitimate time for an adult beverage, and, yet, lemonade sounded so much more refreshing. And then a stroke of brilliance hit me, as it clearly did for a few other people around the world, that I should mix the two.

I was fully intending on writing about my latest obsession with my homemade version of Shandy, an uplifting and bright combination of beer and homemade lemonade, but my newly planted herb garden has me dizzy with excitement, and I couldn’t bear not to share.

My apartment is a sun-starved nook, tucked away between towering buildings. Unlike many of my neighbors, I don’t have a roof-deck, patio, or even a Juliette balcony to house my tender herb garden. Instead, I have precariously hung a wide planter off of my fire escape with a contraption from Home Depot that was clearly intended to be used on sturdier, suburban decking.

I recently received an e-mail from my dear friend, PK (of the Mango Salsa recipe and the very active commenting) requesting help with a vegetarian recipe for a BBQ he was hosting; burgers would be the staple, but he wanted to have a few non-meat options up his sleeve for vegetarian guests.

Vegetarian entrees are fantastic on their own, but when combined with a meat offering, the usual choice is either to go for a pre-made veggie burger or double the grocery list and prep time, neither of which are great options.

I wanted to put together a tasty veggie option, that wouldn’t load PK and Mrs. PK with an exhaustive grocery or prep list. I opted for a marinated portobello mushroom burger, because it almost perfectly mirrors the preparation and condiments necessary for hamburgers, and the ingredient list would most consist of items they had lying around the house.

But, I assure you, it is all for a good cause. I was cooking up some BBQ ribs the other night and remembered that I have some cornmeal from a traditional mill in Tennessee that I bought on a road trip through the South. This cornmeal is far and away superior to what you can buy in stores – both finer in texture and more nuanced in flavor than a store-bought variety.

However, as excellent as the cornmeal was, the recipe it provided for cornbread fell far short of its potential, mainly due to a nonexistence of baking powder. I was skeptical, but went ahead with it, and came out with the expected results – dull, flat, hard cornbread that simply hadn’t risen.

I love the change of seasons in New England. From September through March foodies wade through the produce offerings in our local stores (our farmers’ market hibernate through the winter) and pick at sad, defeated-looking, uber-expensive summer produce, and we are instantly reminded why we must make every effort to eat local and seasonal, because the alternative is simply not worth the cost.

But then Spring rolls around, and rather than getting a few measly basil leaves for $4, we’re offered a veritable basil tree for $1.99. It really does boggle the mind…. and it also leaves one with the challenge of what to do with all of that access produce. In the case of basil, the simple solution is to make pesto, and it boggles my mind (again) why people don’t make it more often.

The Northeast suffered one of its erratic weather spells last week, casting the lot of us into dreary, dull raininess for nearly five solid days. Five days of nothing but Wellies, wet hair, and wistful remembrances of sunny Spain. Clearly, a little pick-me-up was in order….

Nutella smeared between two discs of sunny shortbread seemed like just the cure for five days of oppressive rain…. and, wouldn’t you know it, these shortbread sandwiches snapped me right out of my rainy-day-blues mood.

Ever since my dear friend, and super hostess, CS, served cucumber sandwiches at a summer party, I have been simultaneously obsessed with and repulsed by them. In spirit, their crustlessness makes them all daintiness, pinky-finger-up, civilized-to-the-point-of-oppression madness. In taste and texture, they are velvety smooth and crisp – all refreshment and succor.

Thus, I decided to ‘un-civilize’ my cucumber sandwiches, and make them something that those of us who live in the urban jungle could truly feast on.

In case you hadn’t noticed, I am a woman who loves to experiment. The words “oh, just leave it be” rarely cross my lips, and the baking extravaganza that took place in preparation for PT’s birthday party afforded me ample opportunity to flex my experimental muscles.

The Burnt Butter & Sugar Cupcake with Cream Cheese Frosting and Ginger Chips was probably my most avant-garde cupcake. A very basic, but delicious cupcake recipe becomes the center of attention with bright green frosting embedded with sugary ginger chips.

Lasagna is not something that I frequently crave, but when that craving does strike, nothing but fat noodles dripping with a beefy tomato sauce and pounds of cheese will do.

This particular craving hit a few weeks ago, and I went searching for an appropriate lasagna recipe. Most of my cookbooks featured recipes that attempted to create a sophisticate of this very rustic dish – lots of herbs and spices that I had never entertained as a possible addition to a lasagna recipe – and I dismissed them immediately.