Friday, July 1, 2011

Pickled field garlic

I love watching this water. No matter where I am in the world, I will remember this constant motion, this old, slow method of moving from one place to another place in a city that likes to move fast.

On the lawn sloping down to the water at Pier One, we ate our April-pickled field garlic. Not in brine for long, it has a volatile punch of pure garlic but remains faintly sweet. A slice of Stinky's wonderful duck rillettes and some ham washed the pickles down perfectly. A family was snacking on the blueberries planted above the swampy part of the park - most of them are still green. The blueberries, not the family.

Today we plant a garden in Park Slope. And tomorrow we hoof it to Pennsylvania, with boerewors in our luggage, for a Fourth of July in the woods, near a cold, clean lake, with swimming, and foraging and cooking, and friends. Until next week posts may be sporadic. Or not.

Enjoy this most American of weekends...


  1. What is it about water that is so hypnotic? I could watch it and listen for literally hours without ever being bored.

    Have a wonderful weekend in the woods!


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