Happy Earth Day

I had every intention of heading home immediately after the gym this morning to wash my grease-mess hair. Once home, however, the sun was shining just so, the breeze was blowing in just the right way and, I remembered, it's Earth Day.

To my garden I went, tout de suite!

My tulips have put on less and less of a show over the past few years, and I've been meaning to dig up the bulbs, give the ones the squirrels haven't gnawed at a serious Bulb Tone bath, and replant. I assumed I'd be twenty minutes, thirty max. Because my hair. It's truly disgusting.

Once in, well, you know what happened. I gently tilled up every leaves-only tulip I saw, all the while throwing away every grub I encountered and making small, appreciative talk with each worm. I'm certain that if anyone was listening, they thought me slightly off. I was just thanking those worms left and right. Whatever.

It occurred to me, once I had the bulbs soaking in their restorative pool, that now would be the time to add new perennials, something else I've been meaning to do.

To the nursery I went, immédiatement.

Oh, the nursery. It's my happy place until I run into the happy, corpulent jester-wannabe whose jokes I just can't learn to love. Bygones. I did not encounter said person and left with a tray of beautiful plants and a few veggies. 

Two hours later, things look better than ever. More worm-talk, more grubs in the trash, the soil so nicely aerated and happy, the tended tulips back home. 

I have decided not to spend today listening to any climate change-denying foolishness but rather to enjoy my little patch, toss my compost pile, clean and recycle old plastic bags and be grateful for all those working for the health our Earth. If you'd like to learn a bit more about Earth Day's history, activism on its behalf, why we need environmental regulation and so forth, read my Earth Day 2014 post.

On the way in, I picked some fresh mint from a pot on my deck. I've been eyeing some spring pea tortellini that I'd stashed in the freezer a couple weeks ago and thought a mint-lemon-butter sauce would make them sing.

spring pea tortellini with mint-lemon butter

Indeed. Delicious and so very pretty. 

Dinner last night was darn good too: halibut with mango salsa, roasted asparagus and homemade yeast rolls. 

yeast roll dough

buttered moons ready to bake

voila

Spring dinner, in anticipation of spring

Just before bedtime last night, Ol jumped head-first into a window sill. I was fine until I saw his hand and Mom's upper lip and the tip of her nose covered in blood. She wasn't hurt but had kissed him, and I worried that at some point, his tears would pause, and he'd think, "Now why does Misse have a blood mustache and Rudolph nose?" I mimed that she may want to skedaddle to the bathroom and clean up.

All is fine now. 

At the market yesterday was first-of-the-season halibut. The steaks were stunning, and I couldn't resist buying a large hunk, knowing it'd be spectacular with some mango salsa.

mango salsa

It was. The roasted asparagus with cumin-coriander aioli was lovely too, and the strawberry-rhubarb pie made me close my eyes after each bite, blissful.

toasted cumin and coriander aioli

strawberry-rhubarb pie version 2

Ricotta, stewed prunes, Bluebells and kumquats, bath fail

Oh, spring, how do you energize me. This morning's gray drizzle and an epically funny bath fail have given way to a glorious day. I was finally able to plant my mint and marjoram and uncover my basil, fennel, Bluebells and other carefully lidded treasures. They are all aglow now, happily drying out and warming up in the sunshine. Nutmeg is playing with all the abandon a cat on a leash can muster; I do feel terribly for him. He races gleefully after bugs, feathers, anything that appears to scoot, and though he reaches some before the leash length gives out, at other times he's foiled in a dramatic, whiplash way. If I weren't so worried that he'd either never come home or be hit by a car, I'd let him roam free. But we have feral cats in the alley, maniac drivers on the extremely nearby busy roads, and I just adore him entirely too much to risk a feline sayonara.

After dropping the boys off, I went to the market to stock up on stuff for us and the plethora of catering gigs, big and small, in my near future. Since, I've made ricotta, stewed prunes (don't judge; these are amazing in all their orange- and cinnamon-scented glory! If that's not enough of a draw, Molly Wizenberg provided the recipe so obviously it's foolproof!) and am about to embark on candied kumquats. An enormous pile of three types of freshly washed and spun kale is drying on the counter, and the open doors and windows are letting springy vibes wash away the remaining inside cold of winter.

PS- while at the market, I was thrilled to see that this Friday is the annual One Day mango sale. You do not want to miss this, not least because Ataulfo, aka champagne, mangoes are THE best. Canners out there, you should most definitely go nuts. Mango jam, mango chutney, etc. Yee-haw! Non-canners, you should still get excited too: grill your mangoes, make mango/amaretto/vanilla ice cream sundaes, craft some mango salsa for fish, eat them plain, make mango honey mustard, cook yogurt chicken with mangoes.....

How, you might still be wondering, does one experience an epic bath fail? Well, there are two ways.

One, you endure a mudbath in Calistoga, CA. Disgusting. Tom and I chose this activity during our first trip together, to Napa many moons ago. We had been dating all of four months, thought this might be a nice change of pace from wine tasting, got into our respective baths and immediately felt like pigs in styes and got out. Yuk.

Secondly, and this happened this morning, you realize while at the market just how dirty you feel. I passed the fancy, made-in-house bath salt area and was transported to a clean, aromatic world as I trailed my nose slowly over the bins of seductively "flavored" salt scrubs. I sprung for a bit of the rosemary-lavender one, visions of a relaxing, leisurely, exfoliative soak hurrying me home. I drew my bath, the dial turned decidedly to hot, looked with horror at my unkempt legs and felt doubly glad I'd bought the scrub.

I dropped gratefully into my tub, shampooed and conditioned my hair and got to work on depilation and exfoliation. At that point, the water started to feel a bit cooler than I hoped. I turned the cold completely off and enthusiastically commenced scrubbing. People, this scrub should perhaps be renamed bath soak; it's a tad aggressive for a scrub. I think I lost a layer of skin over my whole body. I was smooth, so there's that. Concurrently, the hot water quit. Just quit, and I still had conditioner to rinse out of my hair. I hate cold baths like I hate winter in March. Neither is right. And suddenly, my languid tub felt like a vat of chilly challenge. I have never rinsed so quickly or flung myself into a towel with such need.

That, my friends, is a bath fail!