It's like the Blue Plate Special, but weirder.
Watermelon radish, diced.
Small cluster of cauliflower, diced.
Small cluster of broccoli, diced.
4 olives (think about dicing them, but they're not really from the CSA, eat on the side instead).
1 cup wheat berries, cooked (Thomas Keller calls them "Farro." They take a half hour or so to cook. Don't add as much salt as I did.)
2 eggs, poached.
Mix cauliflower, broccoli, wheat berries and radish with a little olive oil and vinegar. Top with poached eggs.
Hold on. Removing poached eggs now. Let's see if it's good:
Oh yes. My dream. I may live forever.
(The secret to poaching eggs? Use the freshest eggs possible, meaning, eggs from the CSA.)
Edited to add, 15 minutes later. I'm still eating. It's even better now that the eggs have seeped into the wheat berries. But my jaw hurts a little from chewing. When they say eat whole grains, you can't get much more whole than the whole berry of the wheat.
4 comments:
You had me at watermelon radish.
I must say that whole grains, as in the cracked wheat cereal of my youth, is a time-consuming comestible. I remember eating that and thinking, omg I am never going to finish in time to get to school. I have never since willingly eaten it. Who has the time?
However, your salad sounds delicious.
ARE.
are a time-consuming comestible.
From Janet Burroway's _Writing Fiction_: "Screenwriter Stephen Fischer emphasizes tht 'writing is not a monolithic process, just as cooking is not a monolithic process. You don't just go in the kitchen and cook--you do a number of very specific things that you focus on one at a time--you peel garlic, you dice garlic, you saute onions--these are separate processes. you don't go into a kitchen and flap your arms and just cook--and in the same way, you don't "just write"'"
That's another reason I like that your blog is a writing blog, a cooking blog, a family raising blog -- the elements of all of your activities share a lot of care and passion and attention to detail such that any one event is the coming together of many small motions. Still, I have to tell you, I did imagine you walking into the kitchen, flapping your arms and . . . homemade sweet potato soup.
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