There are some things that are just WAY too good not to share. Now that I’m free to share some non-Gourmet recipes, I knew that this one had to be my first.

A couple weeks ago I came home from work on a half day, positively ravenous, and in the deepest depths of my love affair with Fall that I seem to go through every year – you know the love affair with Fall when you live in New England, when you day dream of apple-picking, crunching blissfully-colored leaves beneath your feet, dressing in the cuddliest of fabrics and warmest of colors.

As promised, November’s posts starts with a recipe made from Gourmet’s October issue, what they called Scarlet Carrot Soup, but which I’ve modified to more of a Vibrant Veggie Soup. When I described the contents to PT – tons of carrots, beets, and parsnips – he crinkled his nose and grabbed a carrot cupcake with maple frosting, presumably to soothe himself from the raw shock of so many vegetables.

As it turns out, the soup was delicious, thanks to a liberal dose of coriander, which playfully and spicily tickled the back of my throat. And while I hope that you do try this soup, as it is incredibly easy, healthy, and tasty, it’s not really what this post is about….

My farm share has been inundating me with firm, vibrant bundles of bok choy, and, while I enjoy Asian-inspired recipes more than anyone, my recent consumption of ginger and five-spice-powder has been bordering on excessive.

Which is why I was so thrilled to find a provencal recipe for bok choy, allowing me to enjoy this wonderful, jewel-colored veggie with the bright, pungent flavors of Provence. Hearty, summer tomatoes mingle with briny kalamata olives, garlic, orange peel, and thyme producing a rough sauce in which the bok choy stews to tenderness.

I love cucumber sandwiches, as I’ve stated before, but I do have a couple small gripes with them. The first is the daintiness and the second is that, in their original carnation, they were intended as a polite snack; whereas, I’d like to re-fit them slightly for lunchtime consumption.

My first attempt at un-civilizing the cucumber sandwich was a tangy blend of cream cheese, green onions, cucumbers, and spices smushed between an everything bagel. This was in the Spring time when running along the Charles didn’t feel quite so much like crossing the River Styx into Hades, temperatures were cooler, and appetites more robust.

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.

A few years back, I had made the foolish habit of buying lunch every day at work; a group of us had become close friends, and I felt worthy, neigh, entitled, to splurge on eating out in order to spend the quality time with friends and break up the work day. I estimate that in one year I spent ~$2000 ’splurging’ on going out for lunch, rather than brown-bagging it, which is just a little nauseating, given our current recession.

There seems to be some sort of distastefulness associated with brown-bagging-it, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is – it’s part hassle, part belief that the food won’t taste as good, and part perceived image and social opportunity in a work setting. I understand the reluctance, as I felt it myself, but those qualms disappeared when I started making my own lunches and realized the following: I make a better sandwich, with fresher, more interesting ingredients for a third of the cost of the local cafe.