Arigyalas.

Let me be very clear up front.

Salads are not my preference.  I do not care how you combine leaves with other fantastic edible life-forms or how delicious those first few bites may be -- the time will come, within the same bowl, where I will feel as though I am eating a lawn.  A glorified lawn, yes, one with nuggets of cranberry and/or cheese crumbles and/or other delectable plants, but a lawn nonetheless.

Also?  Not into salad dressing.  I remember when ALL. THE. RAGE. raved over Green Goddess salad dressing and never was I a fan. I can handle a touch of something balsamic, or even this fig concoction that Brandon brought home recently, but only enough to say that I did.

At any rate, this all leads up to the problem of what to do with not one but TWO bunches of farm fresh arugula.  Siiiigh. I have been known to order an arugula/parm/lemony dressing combo when needing to participate in the cultural tradition of the "salad course" when dining at restaurants -- after all, this is how I knew I liked arugula in the first place -- but something told me my version of any fancy salad I had prepared for me would fail dramatically in comparison. I needed to cook it. I think the preferred term in this instance is "wilt."

As an aside, I have a soft spot in my heart for arugula for a completely (almost) unrelated reason. And that's Arigyalas.  When Brandon and I moved to our Cottage in the Woods in the splendid DC summer heat of July 2009, I had major anxiety. I have --other than an ill-advised few months in Winston-Salem, NC -- lived in a major metropolitan neighborhood, be it DC or NYC, since 1993. I had not owned a car. I walked everywhere I could ever want to go. I had a push cart to wheel groceries home. I could fall out of my front door to any of sixteen bajillion cuisines, wine varieties, beers on tap, and freaky people. I had friends a stone's throw away. What I did not have, however, was space enough for a growing Doberman, greenery, or a happy fiance. The house hunt that started in Capitol Hill to appease my fear of leaving urbanity ended in Chevy Chase (DC side! DC side!) where houses were not attached (I am not making this up) and children played outdoors in actual YARDS. I wanted Brandon to be happy, and I did not want to walk the dog in the snow, and so I let go of my push cart, bought a car, and moved six miles up the road into what felt like no-man's land. Or at least no-one-like-me-and-Brandon land. People looked WAY too normal up here.

Turns out, our first night collapsing at Arigyalas erased the vast majority of that anxiety. After we finished unloading the endless stream of boxes and belongings, all we wanted to do was eat. And, well, drink.  We were dirty, we were hot, we were sweaty .... and we were in Chevy Chase? Where in the name of all that was holy could we eat in OUR condition? In the old 'hood, we would not have given it much of a thought -- any of ten places would have been options. But here? With the pretty people and manicured lawns? So, we headed over to the little Chevy Chase DC area of businesses on Connecticut Avenue to see what we could find, and there we spied a sign that said Arucola. Brandon asked, exhausted but always the funny man, "what's this place? what kind of word is that? Arucola? like the plant? why not just call it Arigyalas?"  Homemade pasta in a fancy, rustic Italian setting, complete with antipasto tray and dessert cart. It was after 9 o'clock, and I thought no way would a kitchen up here in no-man's-land still welcome diners, let alone two in our condition. Never shy, we gave it a whirl -- me in my ripped filthy tee shirt and a face that exposed the trauma of the day's move, Brandon in his work clothes, covered in sweat and tattoos. And you know what? Arucola was THE BOMB. You would have thought they were just waiting for us to show up so that they could say hey, WELCOME, let me stuff your face with homemade pasta goodness and cold beer while we show not one ounce of care that we certainly have never served anyone in your state of appearance in recent memory. The people were amazing and the food unspeakably delicious. Heaven.

Since then, Arucola is the go-to, maybe a weekly affair. They know us by now (and how could they not?). Our neighborhood fancy Italian joint. Except we never, ever call it Arucola. No. It is forever Arigyalas. Or Ol' Arigyalas. On nights when I can't fathom cooking, we may have an exchange as follows -- modern couple that we are, of course, this occurs via text:

Me: Trying to leave work. It's late. Starved. No cooking.
Him: K
Me: Can we go somewhere?
Him: K
Me: Rigyalas?
Him: K

And so it goes. But, I still do not order salad there.

So we are back to the arigyala from the farm with my refusal to eat it raw, and in a bit of a state of needing comfort food, which meant whipping out the necessary stand bys:

I may be in Chevy Chase, but I am proud to have my Lawry's and Mrs. Dash!  Sometimes, Penzey's, a girl has to go back to her roots.  But for this comfort food, I needed meat.  And, it being summerish, I was determined (as I am almost all of our summer months) to cook said meat outside. I found we had some ground turkey so I knew I was in business.  Turkey burgers and some-form-of-cooked-arigyala coming up.

Now, some folks (I'm looking at you, Dad) may think the use of "turkey" in place of "beef" automatically means healthier. This is not the case. "Ground turkey" in an of itself could consist entirely of dark meat and Lord knows how much fat. The only time I ever buy ground turkey is when I know I am buying 100% ground turkey breast.  The upside is the leanness; the downside is the leanness causes dryness and less flavor.  The price we pay for health. 

Out of respect for my vegetarian beloveds, I will not post the pics of my time with the ground turkey.  Suffice it to say that one thing I love about making turkey burgers is the harkening back to my childhood days of playing with various substances. Play-doh comes to mind.  Ground turkey is nothing at all like ground beef, or ground bison (the family favorite).  Ground turkey breast only turns into a decent burger with certain additions to hold it together and prevent its drying out.  So, to the meat I added the aforementioned Mrs. Dash and Lawry's Seasoning Salt (don't be shy folks! season season season!), an egg, a small chopped onion, and copious amounts of breadcrumbs. After pattying it up, I washed my hands for about ten minutes and sprayed down the counter. 

Once those were on the grill -- the farm bounty!  After some research online, I found that others (including one lady named Martha Stewart) cooked arugula in many ways similar to my standard formula for all greens -- olive oil, garlic, red pepper flakes. Since arugula has a bitter, peppery punch to it, I thought I would ditch the crushed red pepper and instead top it off with a bit of balsamic. 

I cut off the bottom stems of the bunch of leaves, then took out the larger, tree-like stems with flowers.

Next I cut the leaves into ribbons for the mandatory washing. And let me tell you; one bowl change of water will demonstrate why cleaning greens from the farm is a necessary task.

Since the rigyala is a thin leaf, I knew I better remove as much water as possible before adding to the pan. So, after about four rinses in bowls of water, I spun the leaves using a salad spinner -- and, knowing this would take all of a few seconds, pulled out the non-stick so I could use the TINIEST amount of olive oil. Then, add garlic to heat for a minute or two before adding the leaves and turn turn turn until wilted. Finish with a drizzle of balsamic.

The end result, complete with the turkey burgers and backyard bliss, was a sight to behold. Brandon even came into the kitchen towards the end and starting eating the 'rigyala from the pan. The arugula was PERFECT. And thank heavens we had two bunches -- that stuff cooks down and we both devoured it as quickly as our forks and mouths would permit. This one is a keeper.

CSA Week One. Am. In. Heaven.

I'm going to plunge right in, since that is what I do, typically.

So, one of last year's highlights in my life was signing on to the CSA at Karl's Farm. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, CSA stands for community supported agriculture (the lofty intellectuals sometimes say community-sustained agriculture, but same idea), and it is, by far, one of my Most Favorite Things. In approximately 1995, I made an apple pie after a day of apple picking with my best friend from college, Joanna Goode, from apples that were on the tree that very morning. Let me tell you something. I am from the South, with a capped S, and nothing, NOTHING compared to that apple pie. Do you understand? Nothing.

In the fifteen or so years since, I have grown to appreciate the value of food that comes from the ground, for a variety of reasons too mundane to type here. Suffice it to say that I, having watched all the other women on my mom's side of the family die of cancer, am very attuned to what I put in my body, and I think people who work with their hands to sustain themselves and others are far superior to anything I do. Some other time I will reminisce about the women's co-op we visited on my honeymoon in South Africa, which was transformative, and I wept. This particular CSA springs from Karl's Farm -- a family-run farm up in Maryland, with very kind people, and the food that comes from that farm makes my heart sing.

Why blog? Yes, I wonder that. In part, it is selfish, purely a recording tool, since I never remember what I do with the day's harvest from week to week -- sometimes I make something AMAZING, other times ... not so much, and both are worthy of noting to repeat or not, as the case may be. Also, I am determined to do more than work this summer (ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!), and this, ostensibly, will help me enjoy the bounty we receive each week, and be grateful. In other part, I have actually had people ask me what I do with our CSA share, since it often includes things we have never heard of, or have heard of but cannot imagine using (um, sorrel? harukei turnips?), and for the life of me, I have no clue how to answer. And I am not one to feel okay with having nothing to say.

And so, I begin.

A caveat: the past few days have been very, very rough. I have few escapes anymore, limited time with friends, and I cannot read a book for more than three paragraphs without falling asleep or thinking about the last work-related thing I read. Also? I. Hate. Winter. I hate coats, I hate snow, I hate dark, I hate being cold, I hate hating it. Two years ago, my doctor finally convinced me to try a light box (a contraption that emits rays most like that of the sun to trick the brain into generating whatever beneficial chemical comes with daylight) -- which, I thought, was hocus-pocus voodoo bs -- and lo and behold, it helped me get out of bed in the morning. But nothing, nothing at all makes me happier than summer. Nothing. Since moving to our Cottage in the Woods, with deer in the front yard and a backyard big enough for the family Doberman to chase a ball, I have become ... earthy. I mean, I appreciate it. I still have my urban sprite side, and I long for the ability to walk to my favorite bar and drink a Stella, but few things bring calm to my chest (I mean, PHYSICALLY PEOPLE! THIS IS A PHYSIOLOGICAL REACTION I AM DESCRIBING!) than inhaling air that comes from Rock Creek Park. And I can keep Stella in the fridge. But I digress.

One of the great things -- and one of the most annoying things -- about participating in a CSA is the coming face to face with plants deemed edible yet utterly foreign to me. Without Google I could not do this. Frankly, without many things I could not do this: a husband who makes up songs while I chop, a screen door that leads to the grill, a Shun knife. Truly it is one of the things that makes me happiest.

Like I said, this day, the first delivery? I have been looking forward to today for several months. Karl's Farm rides again! Can you imagine coming home to this?

I nearly cried with joy and immediately took stock. Today's CSA brought: an enormous head of cabbage, sorrel, two bunches of arugula, radishes, broccoli rabe, lemon balm, and sage. It was all I could do to contain myself to not rip into that broccoli rabe, but cooler heads prevailed and I managed to chop garlic beforehand.

Now, one thing about me: I looooooooove greens. Love. And, turns out, to cook greens? Fresh from the farm? Only a few necessary items: a bowl, water, strainer, sharp knife, tongs, a good pan (I prefer Al-Clad, but Calphalon non-stick is great too, and needs less oil), garlic cloves, olive oil, salt, pepper, maybe red pepper flakes, Penzey's Fox Point seasoning if you are REALLY going nuts. Every single green that touches my hands can be cooked as follows: chop into pieces. Dunk into a bowl of water, strain, change the water, repeat maybe three times until you see no silt or dirt in the water. Chop garlic. Heat up olive oil (over a low flame!), add garlic, add crushed red pepper flakes if you like that sort of thing. Toss about until mmmm, smells good. Add greens. Now, here, I may either (a) for thick greens, add with the water on the leaves, or (b) for thinner greens, salad spin those puppies to get the water off. Grab those tongs and turn, turn, turn. Salt, pepper, and VOILA! Deliciousness that will make your mama proud and your heart happy.

One thing about the farm. I have had to seriously address my issue with bugs. I  mean, I think I embraced the whole "earth is good" concept in part to allow myself not to run screaming from the house when an ant crawls out of the greens I am chopping, as it did tonight.

I remind myself that this is a sign that the food I am preparing is not coated with chemicals to drive away little mister bug, which is good for me. But ... sometimes the bugs that come with the plant life require calling on the Handsome Tattooed Man. Egad.

But, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper? All you need. That is precisely how I treated tonight's broccoli rabe. Paired with chicken on the grill topped with Penzeys Northwood seasoning and garlic salt (love me some Penzey's) and zucchini steamed with some cherry tomatoes, topped with Penzey's Fox Point seasoning. Really, cooking is easy if you have a pan and some water. And Penzey's. And maybe Sailor Jerry's rum and ginger beer for the dark and stormy in the background ...

Tomorrow I plan to dig into this arugula, but mind you: I ain't no salad girl. I like those leaves WARM. So, part of my goal here is to find AND REMEMBER a way to cook things to my liking. And figure out what to do with sorrel and lemon balm. I mean, really. Tips are welcome.