I’m always curious to know what people shop for in a supermarket and why? What one person considers a staple, another considers a rare occasion treat. I remember being 13 years old, being at a friend’s house, and they had an enormous, family-sized bag of M&Ms in the pantry… 2 hours later, they didn’t, because I had managed to polish off the vast majority of the bag – I was both permanently hungry and had a much faster metabolism as a teenager. Sadly, only one of those things has changed… but I digress…
The reason for my voracious and greedy appetite was the fact that a bag of M&Ms never entered my own pantry. This was a treat and luxury that I could never have dreamed of – candy, open and available at a moment’s notice – and the cunning little imp in me couldn’t pass up the opportunity to over-indulge.

In a thoroughly unsurprising development, the holiday season has left me with less time than I’d like to do the things I enjoy most – namely putter around the kitchen and cook. I eat out too much, go to too many parties, and order delivery too often in an effort to save time for gift-wrapping, which inevitably takes 5 times longer than it takes the average all-thumbed clutz, that I end up cooking less during this home and hearth-oriented season than usual.

And, quite frankly, eating out so much sounds fun, but it is a bit off-putting. I like my own cooking, I like creating something, I like knowing what goes into it, I like being in my kitchen and doing the familiar dance around my pantry and stove, and not doing it makes me feel out of sorts.

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….

There are certain cookbooks in my library that are stained, dog-earred, and otherwise, lovingly mistreated with their overuse. And then there are those that are not. This latter number is far smaller, and there is one reason why 3 or 4 of my cookbooks are rarely opened…. these cookbooks scare me.

They are all derived from famous restaurants around the globe, were all bought in a fuzzy haze of culinary ambition bordering on delusion, and have fantastic, exotic sounding recipes that, as it turns out, are a bit of a pain in the ass to actually make. When a cookbook actually dictates the type of green you must use (lamb’s lettuce, butter lettuce, red perella, perhaps) as opposed to the quotidian “mesclun mix”, you know you’re in trouble.

I imagine that you probably think that farmshare folks sit around in homespun hemp gnawing on raw vegetables with ascetic delight. And that may be true for some folks, but I prefer a bit of indulgence to balance out the veggie virtue.

The late comedian, Mitch Hedburg, once declared that he believed that eating a good food with a bad food cancelled out the negative affects of the bad food. Eating a carrot, along with some fries, gave the fries a ‘free pass’ into his gullet, and I must admit, I adhere strongly to the same principles.

After a weekend of decadent wedding food and, horror of all horrors, two pit stops at McD’s, I came home craving, yearning for my the fresh veggies from my latest farm share.

Not long after arriving at home, a pile of peppers, bunches of carrots, and one large, firm, brilliant head of cabbage found themselves on the chopping block, awaiting shredding by my lethally powerful Cuisinart.

A bit of mayonnaise, olive oil, apple cider vinegar, and mustard later, and I was delving into a crunchy, tangy, refreshing, and so-satisfying bowl of tangy mustard cole slaw.

Things have been a little hectic around Chez Besotted lately, but the brisk Fall air, ushering in the change of seasons has me very excited for some of my cold weather favorites – chicken stock and soup, pies, and scones, and braised meats.

But, there’s still just enough summer left in the air for a de-constructed Summer tomato sauce, made with farm-fresh tomatoes. This is a no-cook, light and easy week-night dinner (unless you count cooking the pasta) that really capitalizes on the flavor and brightness of local tomatoes.

Green beans (or haricot verts if you’re feeling fancy and worldly) make a great side for the Summer Fried Chicken, and, as I’ve made them probably 18 different ways this summer, I thought I would include two of my favorite recipes.

The first, Haricot Verts with Crispy Shallots, is one that I’ve been making for years, with slight tweaks here and there, depending on the season. At it’s core, it’s simply shallots fried in an olive oil and butter combo until crispy, mixed into ever-so-slightly cooked green beans. But, depending on my mood or hunger level, I’ve been known to toss in some toasted walnuts, or add a bit of lemon juice to brighten the flavor. I’ve served this to company, and also made it the core of a lazy, weeknight dinner for myself, making its versatility one of its most commendable features.

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.