Truman Capote once wrote, “The difference between the very rich and regular people is that the rich serve such marvelous vegetables.”

Obvious snobbery aside, was Truman making an observation on the socio-economics and agro-economics of setting a table? After all, to invest more resources in order to enhance the quality of a low-calorie food suggests that one’s resources are not terribly constrained. To prioritize the pleasure of a ‘marvelous vegetable’ over the utility of a higher-calorie comestible does seem luxurious… until you do the math on a farm-share or CSA membership.

You can’t make friends with salad…. unless that salad has bacon, parmesano reggiano, and toasted pine nuts, in which case, you’ll probably find yourself with new friends that you don’t even know.

Jamie Oliver introduced me to the concept of the warm salad several years ago with a poached egg and prosciutto version that I made at least once a week for a year. This version is the same concept – select, high-quality, delicious treats, warmed or toasted, spread over a dressed salad, and served immediately. There’s something about crunchy, spicy arugula as a bed for crispy bacon, caramelized onions, toasted pine nuts that makes something that should induce a ton of bikini-weather’s-coming-guilt into a meal… and a meal that has salad in the name. Hoorah!

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….

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.

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 am boldly plowing my way through a refrigerator full of veggies with some, admittedly, mixed results. Anchovy frisee was not so good. In fact, it was so bad, I couldn’t eat it.

Ah well…. But, this little gem of a culinary epiphany is well-worth documenting, sharing, and trying, and I would encourage all of you inundated with zucchini and summer squash (whether from your own garden or a farm share) to embrace the flour, egg, and bread crumb combo.

There are certain kitchen tasks that, no matter how simple, always reduce my ego and perception of my own mental capacity to the size of a child. For example, basting a turkey…. It’s quite simple, really. You just dip the tip into some of the juice, squeeze the little rubber-thingy, and distribute the juice over the turkey. Simple, right? But, somehow, I always end up choking on the heat of the oven, bump my head tellingly against the oven door, can’t quite get the juice into the baster (at which point it makes that hideous slurp-slurp noise), jab at the turkey senselessly, causing it to lose far more moisture than I ever intended to put in, and usually give myself a nasty burn.

It’s officially raspberry season in New England, which feels like finding the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. For 9-10 months of the year, berries are too expensive, not tasty enough, and from too far away to be contemplated…. But then, for a brief window of time, they are profuse, overflowing at farmers’ markets, in farm share boxes, proudly proclaim their local origin in the supermarkets, and are equally boastful of their budget-friendly prices.

If you’re like me, you scoop them up by the armful when they are as sweet and luscious as they are in July and August, get them home, and then wonder what on earth you’re going to do with all of them. Well, this Raspberry Buttermilk Cake recipe should help in some small way to make good use of the now-prolific fruit.

It is amazing how many veggies I’ve been eating since joining a CSA. I didn’t eat this many when I was a vegetarian (a long, long time ago), but it’s hard not to when half of your refrigerator is filled with them every week.

The funny thing about these veggies and greens – it’s been mostly greens since the start of the season – is that they actually do a bang up job of filling me up. I’m not the person that thinks “Hmmm… arugula sounds good,” when my tummy’s growling. I’m more likely to think that a grilled cheese, fried chicken, or a salty peanut butter cookie will do the trick, but rummaging through a fridge stocked with such a copious amount of veggies, just to find the one fat-laden item, brings on such a crushing tidal wave of guilt that words fail me to describe its strength.