The Missing Season

Hidden Valley boasted four seasons to their resort life. Vivaldi composed concertos that corresponded to each of the changing seasons. Poussin painted them; Franki Valli named his band after them; And businesses galore, ranging from tanning, to furniture, to heating and cooling certify their products will work through each of the four seasons.

The thing is, I feel like I only know three seasons well - that at least recently, I'm not very familiar with the Earthly Paradise that Poussin painted or the subtle, cheerful, awakening of the world that Vivaldi orchestrated. Instead, I've been living in a place where one only needs to acclimate to three and sometimes only two seasons. A place where winter burns away into summer almost instantaneously around Memorial Day weekend. And where Indian summers get extinguished by the first snow fall on Halloween. In Chicago, and for that matter in South Bend and Pittsburgh too, I have seen very little of spring in the past twenty years.

But this year, oh, this year, something magical happened. About ten days ago, a week before the first official day of spring, the temperatures rose, the sky went from overcast to crystal clear, the sunrises and sunsets became ethereal, the birds commenced a set of sweeter melodies drowning out the obnoxious geese, the buds popped out of the trees and bushes, and then, just as Vivaldi's introduction swelled into the familiar chorus we know well, the colors of spring started blossoming, turning every inch of the Midwest into something spectacular.

Flowers I hadn't seen since looking around the wild strawberry patch, up the bank or under the Magnolia tree on Bartlett Street started appearing. Violets, buttercups, crocuses, and other delicate varietals produced by only the perfect spring climate finally had the chance to perk up and say hello.

While the dormant flora awakened and slowly, gently, miraculously added their beautiful pigments and fragrances to my suburban landscape this week, I felt that dinner needed to have a spring-like palette and aroma as well. So on Monday, we grilled citrus marinated sea scallops, served them over a pea puree, tossed up a beet and feta salad, and sat down to a meal that tasted as wonderful as spring looked. 

But while reveling in spring wonderment, one of my co-workers commented that she was nervous about what the weather meant, hinting at the effects of global warming. While it dampened my mood, I couldn't help but think that if so many people before us staked their masterpieces, businesses and namesakes on the four seasons, why isn't a real spring in Chicago the most natural thing? I think Double G's asparagus are all for it at least. 

Lo.

English Pea Puree

• 3/4 cup chicken stock
• 1 cup English peas, shucked from their pods
• 2 teaspoons butter
• 5 mint leaves
• 1 tablespoon of a triple cream cheese, like St. Andre
• Salt and pepper

In a small sauce pan, heat chicken stock and butter. Bring to a boil, add peas, then reduce to a simmer.  Cook for about 5 minutes, until peas are bright green and tender. Add cheese, melting it into mixture.

Put peas and stock in a blender, along with the mint, salt and pepper. Puree into a smooth mixture. Serve warm under chicken, lamb, or seafood. Sure, it looks like baby food, but it's fantastic!

Tips

This week, something, somewhere, over some bite to eat made me think about my blog. Not the fodder du jour per se, but the platform itself. And the 'why do I do it?' behind it. Why have I invested more than 120,000 words, hundreds of hours and thousands of thoughts into this site? Why didn't I instead, say, write two books? Or work more? Or just slept in?

Was it worth it? Better yet, will it continue to be worth it?
My answer remains, a resounding yes.

Why? Because without this space, I don't think my writing would have progressed from where it was (it was bad) to where it is now (better.) I don't think the conversations I'm having offline would be as rich and meaningful. And I think I would still be courting a populous female following, instead of engaging a core group of consumers who I care most about. 

Without this outlet, I also don't think I would have challenged myself in the kitchen everyday, accepted new adventures, calmed worries and fears, defeated enemies, learned new skills or strove to be the best version of myself. Above all, I don't think I would have the same joie de vivre. Having a place where I determine what's newsworthy or not helps me see a day or a dinner as something other than routine - there is always an opportunity for it to make headlines.

For instance, the aptly scheduled pre-Tip Day tritip, the asparagus, the conversation, and the laughter that we shared last night were so great, that they made a dreary, Perrier-sipping evening in Naperville grand. So the meal made my blog.

I have honestly thought about that entry called 'The End.' But for now, it's still far away. To me, approaching life with an editorial eye and voice, makes you appreciate every last image, story, and memory. And I want to hold onto that for as long as possible.

In other news: It's Tip Day. Meaning I'm rich. (Not really, but my bank account looks a little better.) And yes, I will be spending my 'tip' all in one place. If only the sellers would make a counter offer. Let's get 'er done. 

Lo.

White Asparagus with St. Andre Cream Sauce

1 Tablespoon Butter
2 ounces St. Andre Cheese (or another triple cream cheese)
3 Tablespoons water
Bundle of white asaparagus
Salt and pepper
1 teaspoon tarragon, chopped

On medium heat, in a 2-inch saute pan, melt butter. Add cheese and fold in. Add asparagus and cook for one minute, coating it with cream sauce. Add water and let steam for 3-4 minutes, until the asparagus is just done. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from pan, serve with chopped tarragon.
(Dip bread in remaining sauce. Amazing.)