When I was little and learning to play the piano, there was one song that I loved more than any other, and I played it constantly. So much so, that just playing it became kind of pedestrian, and I had to do something to jazz it up…. So I timed myself, to see how fast I could play the piece from beginning to end. It came out sounding just as you would expect a song to sound that a 6 year-old was speed-racing her way through, but I had to do something to make it challenging, and speed was my handicap of choice.

Skip ahead a couple of decades, and I’m not exactly the little pianist hellion banging away on the keys with no thought other than speed…. But, I’m not that far away from her, either. Nice 10 mile commute to work? I’ll ride my bike. Beach read? I’ll take Sophie’s Choice over Sophie Kinsella. Friends over for a work-night dinner? I’ll flake out and make this pan-seared salmon with luscious green sauce, which takes 30 minutes if I’m slow and 15 minutes if I’m in crazy speed-demon mode.

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.

Some people spend Sunday mornings reading the paper (or news online), some go to brunch, some stay in bed, cuddling with their significant others. What do I do? Search for new recipes and dream up ways to use the new basil & herbed dressing I made the day before.

Sounds a bit obsessive, no? Well, it would if you’re accustomed to store-bought dressings with their gag-worthy sodium levels. Thankfully, this dressing was of a different variety and so wonderfully delicious that it trumped even my new farm share lettuces and freshly baked croutons.

It was from this month’s issue of Gourmet, and it was spectacular – light and ethereal, with just the right amount of zing (from lemon and anchovies) and sweetness from basil.

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 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.