snowy dayMonday January 15th, 2007 | categories: Uncategorized
Just as winter seems to have truly arrived, I have already begun dreaming about spring and summer. Not that I mind winter, mind you, Vermont Winters are what I’ve missed most whenever I’ve lived elsewhere. I love the stillness of the streets when it snows, how the snow outlines every branch and roof line. I even love how it gets dark so early, and how fresh and cold it is outside and how warm it is inside. Hot chocolate tastes better here. Wood smoke smells sweeter. No, I really do love winter, it’s just that after nearly 3 months of winter root veges and and meat, I have begun to dream about fresh greens, herbs, berries and wild ramps. I have been making lists of all of the dishes I want to prepare come summer; big fresh salads with assorted lettuces and leaves, new summer goat cheese, berries, and drizzled with maple syrup from the new year; home-made vege burgers with my own aioli, juicy new tomatoes and onions, steamed yellow beets, and crisp butter lettuce; grilled chicken fillets with lots of fresh herbs, sprouts, and micro greens; asparagus crepes; wild leek pancakes and tarts; tender new mushrooms; fresh fruit sorbets; and BERRIES ON EVERYTHING….
Like many other Vermonters, I stare out at the snow and make private internal commitments to spend more time outside this summer, to have a garden, grow more potatoes, plant trees, start herb containers, and find wild food to preserve for next winter. I make lists of the menus I want to offer at kismet, lists of the farms I want to visit, lists of the ingredients I need to source. Even with the snow outside, and beans soaking on the counter, I know that summer will be here soon enough, and sweep me away with it’s rapid heat, long hours, and celebrations. I will enjoy these beans, these snowy days, continue my lists, and be thankful for all that I have to keep me warm and inspired throughout this dark season, and still I will allow myself dreams of fresh sage on my lips, lemon thyme crushed between my fingers, and the smell of warm dirt on potatoes…