My solo weekend

Patrick was out of town over the weekend, so I was saddled with consuming all the produce (twist my arm) except the kohlrabi bulb, which I promised to save because neither of us had ever tried it. Refrigerated, kohlrabi keeps like two weeks.

Saturday morning, I cored the remainder of the berries and placed them on a bed of cooked wheat berries, which I had handy in the fridge. I topped that with a little almond milk for breakfast.



It seemed too healthy, so I added peanut butter toast.

Saturday's dinner was a huge success. (I was the judge.) I fried the red potatoes to a crisp in our cast-iron skillet with oil, salt and pepper. For the last maybe 90 seconds, I threw in chopped green garlic stalks and leaves. Their color intensified. Meanwhile, the kohlrabi greens were steaming away. I tried to eat the lovely purple steamed stalks, but they were way too fibrous. For protein, I added a big glop of cooked black-eyed peas from the fridge, which I microwaved and buttered.



Can I just take a moment here to share my deep appreciation for Mark Bittman? Before we bought "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian," we never stocked our fridge with home-cooked granola, whole grains and beans—we never even used to buy dried beans, and certainly not grains besides rice. This is huge when it comes to the CSA, because no matter what fruit or vegetable the farmers throw at us, we can put it on a plate with beans and grains for an honest meal. Come to think of it, owning "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian," which Patrick picked up after he heard Terry Gross interview Bittman, gave us the confidence to join the CSA in the first place. There's practical information and simple, adaptable recipes for plant life common and obscure. How do you think I know kohlrabi keeps so long in the fridge? I always tell my friends that that cookbook has changed our life.

Anyway, the leftover garlicky potatoes became an egg scramble for Sunday's breakfast. Fried potatoes are one of those comfort foods of which I have strong, fond childhood memories—especially from the cast-iron skillet.