Summer pie

There is nothing like hours of Garrison Keillor live on stage to inspire strawberry and rhubarb pie days later. And so strawberry and rhubarb pie it is.

Rhubarb love

Rhubarb. In any language, in any farmers market, it is a personal favorite.

Passion for pie

"On Thanksgiving, I discovered pie. Until then, I had only known apple pie, but Neda's grandmother baked rhubarb, sour cherry, pumpkin, and peach, taking each out of the oven just when the fruit was bubbling around the edges. Not surprisingly, it became my favorite holiday and the beginning of a lifelong passion for pie."

Donia Bijan, in "Maman's Homesick Pie: A Persian Heart in an American Kitchen"

Crumble, her sweet

"Five minutes later, a generous slice of rhubarb-apple crumble arrived, warmed in the small kitchen and served with a side of fresh cream, whipped staunchly into a thick, puffy cloud.

"I sat for a minute, contemplating the crumble's imperfect bumps and dull brown color. The pale pink and sometimes green slices of rhubarb poked out of the sides and lumps of rogue topping decorated my plate.

"Where the crumble had baked against the dish, a sticky crust of caramelized fruit juice and sugar had formed. It looked like a tarte that had done a somersault in its pastry box and arrived bruised and battered. There was nothing perfect about it.

"Except its bright flavors. Except its comforting warmth. Except that it was exactly what I wanted and needed. I savored each juicy-crunchy bite. It was wonderful."

Amy Thomas, describing dessert in "Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate)"

An April fool

Because I am still a fool for rhubarb and yogurt.

Much too much

OK now this has got to stop.

I survey the groceries and realize there is simply too much food in the refrigerator. There are tons of fruits and vegetables. It's crazy.

After the Mexico-Argentina game Sunday afternoon, I went to the Berkeley Bowl, where I got raspberries, blackberries and blueberries on the cheap. I don't want to keep them too long, though, so I make a crisp.

I got a bag of eggplants for 99 cents and think of a tomato-less pasta sauce with a recipe I saw on Salon. Or perhaps I should roast them for baba ghanoush.

I got six ears of shucked yellow corn for 99 cents. I got a bag of squash - zucchini and two varieties whose names I do not know - for 99 cents. I have not figured out entirely what to do with them but have a couple of days still, I think.

I got rhubarb, which I happened to see and, of course, could not resist. I love it and will need to cook that down for schloop (a word I made up). I can have it with vanilla yogurt and granola for breakfast.

I got kale just because. In hindsight, perhaps I should have put back the kale. I still have carrots, onions and lettuce leaves, too. I even wound up freezing a mess of sliced red bell peppers the other week because I could not use those immediately.

It is ridiculous, right? You'd think I was cooking and shopping to feed a football team. And this is all after the full flat of strawberries the other weekend from the farmers' market.

Oh, and shoot, running errands in Chinatown with my mother this morning, I got pluots, too. I know, I know. But they are in season, and I saw them.

Food for thought

"We only have three meals a day. I hate to waste one."

Michael Pollan, author of "The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals," in an interview last year with the San Francisco Chronicle.


And so I think often about what to eat: the vanilla yogurt in the refrigerator, the rhubarb cooked down with sugar and orange juice, the granola. I think about what to drink. Do I want coffee, the first sip that goes down warm and smooth?

I think about what to have for lunch. Leftover rice or pasta? Salad, soup or a sandwich? I wonder if I will get five servings of fruits and vegetables; there is that mango on the counter ripening nicely. I think about what to prepare for dinner as well, how to shop and chop and braise. I do all this before I make it out of bed.

What I must take for granted

At a farmers' market across town, I stock up on strawberries but can not yet locate rhubarb. Darn.

When I email a friend in snowy Colorado, and talk of having enough luscious red fruit to last the week but unfortunately still no rhubarb, she envies the year-round farmers' markets in the Bay Area.

To which I ask, semi-seriously: What, aren't all farmers' markets year-round?

Spoken like a fruit-privileged Californian.

I am reminded of the mildly morbid but telling story a brother used to share about a man who complained of having no shoes until he saw somebody else with no feet.

Sour grapes

Shame on me. I should know better.

I had Chilean grapes the other week. They tasted horrible. Or, to put it more accurately, they tasted like nothing. They were not sweet at all. What a waste of time and effort.

From now on, so long as I am living in California, I am spending money on California grapes. There is no point in purchasing mediocre produce packed and shipped from afar when all I need to do is wait. It is better that I support local agriculture when it is in season.

Besides, in no time, I should have access to berries, beans, rhubarb and a mess of spring and summer produce also grown in California.

Alas... only when I find myself in Chile will I eat Chilean grapes again.