I felt a twinge of guilt all day over the buckwheat I ignored last night, as my heart was carried away by cold rice. Tonight, it was cold buckwheat which wooed my thoughts, directing my hands.
I have been needing to do something with Carrot Tops. On Sunday, at Whole Foods, visiting guests and I were playing urban hunter-gatherers, and we bought carrots with tops. At the check-out, the girl asked if we'd like the tops composted. hmm... "No," I said. We had paid for those tops, and gosh darn it, I was going to use them.
After this last minute decision at check-out, where so many last minute regrettable decisions are made, after all; as eyes are lured in to read greasy news, headlining alien babies, three footed felines and the first documented Yeti/Human romance. I felt obligated to use these green fronds to some good end. Today was the day, destiny declared! I stumbled upon the website for the World Carrot Museum. I have always been partial to carrots; their sweet smell, taste, crunch, shape and their ability to turn my skin orange, communicating to me in warning of when I have been enjoying them just a wee bit too much. They are polite vegetables, often reserved, but always intelligent and perceptive. And, always male. Despite their slender physique, and green lacy top, they are definitely male. This, another strange reflection upon my relationship with food: I see personality in everything. Quite a strange leap for my rather orthodox brain, this animistic tendency.
This Carrot Museum, contains recipes for all manner of things carrot. Carrot Top Tea? This must be tried soon. But tonight called for salad; for, I was going picnicking...
Spring causes itchiness. Falling short of complete hibernation, winter draws us in; into ourselves, and into our homes. Beds draw us into layered sheets of chocolate brown earlier in the evenings, as circadian rhythms change with the light. And now, as light lengthens, stretching its reach out to the antipodes of the Cimmerian, we too find ourselves drawing out of winter's shell.
And, this creeping sensation of change, reminds us that all does indeed go round. By these dances in the heavenly realms, we measure our years, our growth and our pain. We have gone out, around, and are back again.
Back again, to evening light and laughter shared.
~ Carrot Top Salad ~
Freshly cracked pepper