Nova Clutch

Adobe Creative Suite 3.3 Updates, Crashes and Bugs

Since updating my Adobe CS2 to CS3.3 last week, it seems as though almost all of my creative time and energy has been spent reading tech blogs, downloading patches and updates, resolving conflicts, getting advice from geeky friends and asking myself, why so many bugs?

After all, we do pay a hefty price for these licensed products, but still, it is not remotely close to the price I have paid in terms of billable hours and emotional stress. Good lord, is this the plague we have brought upon ourselves? Are the four horsemen now called; Update, Restart, Patch and Crash? Is Adobe a cleverly conceived acronym for the Antichrist? Are the locust coming trough the Airport Extreme?

Thankfully my soul was saved during rebooting pilgrimages to our terrace to enjoy the analog world of our garden. While observing the tangible fruits of my labor, the result of simple mulching and watering, I was met with more bugs. Dragonflies to be precise. (Not to be confused with the damselfly, which holds their wings behind them when at rest, while the dragonfly keeps them perpendicular to their body.)

Although ancient and sinister in appearance (compared to the modern and inviting branding of the Adobe Suite), these cold blooded creatures are a welcome sight since they spend their days devouring mosquitoes, midges and various other insects that hurt our plants and give Natasha giant throbbing welts all over her body. And unlike Adobe Suite, they are friendly, helpful and don't waste my time or money.

Tomato Sandwich Dreams

As if they knew the official start of summer began must a mere four days ago, our little tomato plants have decided to kick into a high gear growth spurt that is producing strong vines, and yes, flowers! Encouraged by almost daily rain showers, diligent watering and the warmth of the Brooklyn sun, these little babies will be churning out lovely lunchtime treats in no time in another month. Damn. Anyway, by that time Natasha will have her baguette recipe down to a crusty science.

Until then I will be dreaming of full-flavored Cherokee Purples, sweet Sweeties, juicy Purple Calabash and the oh-so exotic Ceylon.

A garden grows in Brooklyn

As I waited in the doctor's surgery today, marveling at how strange it was that I couldn't understand what anyone was saying due to my lack of foreign tongue, I opened The Botany of Desire at exactly the right time. I had just come from the Green Market, where I went a little crazy buying vegetable plants. You have to understand that teetering on the edge of what is a fairly prolific vegetable growing season for someone with only plant pots in the sky of Brooklyn, this is very exciting.

I realize this is strange from the looks my friends give me when I enthuse, over and over again, about growing tomatoes. And this love and strange pull towards growing plants, as Pollan tells me, is not my fault. If they weren't so goddamn tasty, I wouldn't want to grow them again, now would I?

So in the "ground" are all heirloom tomatoes; eight Purple Cherokees, a Ceylon (I'm Sri Lankan, I had to), a Purple Calabash and a Jaune Flamme. We also got a Wonderberry husk tomato, Kamo eggplant, Red Rib chicory, red mustard greens and Wallonne endive.

But probably the most exciting thing we bought was a Feherozon paprika plant, which grows as a pepper which you dry and crush into powder. Most exciting thing. Ever!

Pictured is also some red sorrel, lemongrass and random herbs floating around. We got all of our vegetable plants from the outstanding people at Silver Heights Farm who have by far and the away the best list of rare and heirlooom vegetables. They have five different kinds of brussel sprouts, for God's sake...

What's in season: rhubarb

Seeing as we've been in the countryside (we just got back again from a trip upstate, this time with my dad and our friend Karen, both visitng from England) we've been cooking like our lives depend on it. And they kind of do, because there ain't no takeout restaurants anywhere near. But it also means that I keep forgetting to take photos of the food as I am too busy cooking. You'll just have to believe that last weekend we made rhubarb crumble with pecans and some rhubarb and cold custard.

This weekend I tried the pizza dough recipe again (success!) and made a rhubarb pie. Last summer in Pennsylvania I made this pie and just used the basic recipe again for the rhubarb pie. It's a really good crust and holds together well for a really "solid" pie. Don't laugh! What I mean by this is: the pie filling holds together well and is juicy but not sloppy, the crust also holds together and is crispy on the top and the bottom and doesn't crumble too much but still has a lot of flavor. I was going to photograph it properly the next day, but all I was left with was this little slice after I brought it out to the table. Testament to a good pie I think.

Spring at the Farmers' Market

And armed with canvas bags, we were ready and willing to buy 15-20 tomato plants in anticipation of eating only tomato sandwiches for the duration of the summer. Alas this wasn't to be, so we consoled ourselves by watching the British peeler-man hawk his wares. We, like everyone else, are mesmerized by his speech and deft peeling skills, but, like everyone else, have never bought one. I am always too shy to step forward in front of the crowd and hand over my five bucks.

Until today! After our fruitless (he he!) search for the tomato plant lady we returned to 16th Street and there he was, alone, no crowd, just quietly munching on a carrot. A little star struck (I'm so sad) I triumphantly made my purchase. Along with ramps, fiddleheads, rhubarb, sorrel and mustard greens it was consolation for the absence of tomato plants.

Oh yeah, and I had a pumpkin doughnut too.

What's in season – Jerusalem artichokes

You would be forgiven for thinking that these bizarre-looking tubers are not the kind of thing you put in your mouth. That's certainly what we thought when we were digging through our former backyard in Carroll Gardens in Brooklyn, turning over the soil. We had had some egregiously tall sunflowers that year – I'm not kidding, around 14ft high – and just there where the sunflowers had grown we found some very strange lifeforms.

Michael started throwing these roots my way, covered in soil, exclaiming that the ground was full of these things. Stunned as I knew that only the sunflowers were in that patch, I poked at the nuggets with a stick. They looked completely alien.

Duh...sunflowers...sunchokes...Jerusalem artichokes. Why we didn't put two and two together, I'm not sure, considering that we were the people that planted them in the first place. But we were in the habit of just throwing things into the soil and seeing what took those days, and in our lives as container gardeners we don't have such luxury. The unexpected bounty of root vegetables meant that we were eating them for weeks, and that's no bad thing. The Jerusalem artichokes below were sublime roasted at 400°F for an hour with some garlic, rosemary and lemon zest, chucked raw and sliced into a salad like water chestnuts or, as I tried the other day, carpaccioed (can I use that as a verb?) with olive oil, lemon and thyme.

Beta vulgaris, a.k.a. Swiss Chard

What a horrible name for such a lovely vegetable. Truth be told, only asparagus can bring such a seasonal flood of childhood memories to my brain and a pinch to my salivary glands like Chard. Call it what you will, Swiss Chard, Silverbeat, Perpetual Spinach or Mangold, this leafy beauty with its long, slender stems couldn't have been more eagerly anticipated this year. Thankfully, global warming eased its grip so Fall could usher in the breezy warm days and cool nights for this wonderful green to come into its own, and into our home.

I grew up with Swiss Chard, as we liked to call it upstate (New York). My grandfathers would grow it and my father still does. My mother will take the harvest and sauté it with large, but thinly sliced garlic (once again from the garden) and bread crumbs with a bit of salt and pepper. Although she traditionally uses the stems, I find myself now adding a bit of red wine with the hand torn leaves before throwing in mustard infused Japanese panco bread crumbs. OK mom, I'm a bit fancy, but the taste can still live up to fond memories of this simple Italian dish.

Pictured are the red-ribbed varieties often known as Ruby Chard, Rainbow Chard or Rhubarb Chard.

Making pesto for winter

It's a sad fact that I am having to admit to myself, but the summer is definitely over. It's still not cold here in New York, but the tomato plants have been cut down and the basil plants have seen sunnier days. Even the fig tree's leaves are now yellow. It's sad, but I have to admit it, it's time to start preserving like crazy.

I don't really have time these days, but the other night I came back from the gym and instead of hurriedly eating, I made pesto. That's what all people that love food are doing these days, and in fact I am probably very late in the game. Most of the basil has been hacked down and I supplemented my stock with the last bunches from the farmer's market. I didn't put any cheese in yet as I am freezing most of it, and it freezes better without. At least this way we can get the taste of summer in those never-ending winter months. Stews and slow-cooking, here I come.

The last tomato sandwiches from the garden

The weather has literally snapped and I think that's it. It's autumn, it's cold and the tomatoes are at their last. We have eaten tomato sandwiches every single day since July and I'm still not bored of them. Michael introduced the sandwiches to me with our heirlooms last year – crusty bread, tomatoes, homemade mayonnaise and salt. Nothing else. I was baffled. No olive oil, no basil? An unequivocal no. And he was right. They are absolute perfection and I am sad to be eating my last. On our bread this summer we had the following tomatoes: Summer Cider Apricot, Marianna's Peace, Black from Tula, Orange Strawberries, White Beauties, Pink Ice, and my favorite, Purple Cherokee. The farmer's market had nothin' on these rooftop Brooklyn beauties, and today I mourn their passing.

First harvest from the garden: Husk Tomatoes

Husk tomatoes (also called ground-cherries, physalis or cape gooseberries) are one of those things, kind of like curly parsley, that seem to only belong as a garnish for other foods. But they're such a pretty bounty that I want to rescue from a curly parsley death.

Surprisingly enough, the physalis have been our first harvest from anything from the garden. We got it as a tiny little one dollar plant at Union Square market that we thought we would just try out. Michael said it would grow into a huge bush and I didn't quite believe him (although I should have, he knows about these things) and it really has grown massive. It has spread horizontally and the physalis husks hang off the beautifully purple-flecked branches like paper chinese lanterns. They start off green, turn a sun-bleached pale orange while ripening and are ready to eat when they fall to the ground.

I'm off for two weeks on holiday – hopefully I won't miss too much bounty in the garden while I am away – and will be blogging intermittently. Have a great July!

Male and female zucchini flowers

There are many ways in which females are different from men. We smell nicer, we can multi-task (a cliché but a cliché for a reason) and we can bear offspring.

The same can be said for our zucchini blossoms, shown here. The males will bear no fruit, and are there just to fertilize the females so that they can become squash. The female is useful both for its flower and its fruit, which is very tiny and infantile still, as you can see from the pictures.

We stuffed these clusters with parmesan and roasted them on top of of white beans and fresh cherry tomatoes with rosemary and garlic. Luckily more keep sprouting up, as I want to try some of theserecipes soon. More photos here.

Black from Tula tomato flower

Am I turning into one of these people? Probably. I not only insist on handmaking everything myself, but in the summer I subsist almost entirely on my own vegetable produce. And yes, I do have my very own set of antique silverware from England that I eat my goods with. I am a parody of myself. Hey, at least I don't live in Park Slope as well.

My heirloom tomatoes, planted last week, have blossomed and the promise of fruit is surprisingly near. This particularly pretty flower is from the Black from Tula tomato, one of two black varieties we're growing this year. I'm like a bad parent with my tomatoes – initially very nurturing but vindictive in the absence of excellence. Let's hope they live up to my expectations.

Albino Orange Tree Seedling

For almost two years now, N.C. and I have been discovering gorgeous waxy green seedlings growing from oranges that had fallen into the soil of our two miniature indoor orange trees from Chinatown. The other day we found an odd little white gem poking through the soil. A few days later, and much to our surprise, we realized what we had unfolding and growing in our pot was an albino orange seedling. Unfortunately, as Bio Bob tells us, our little curiosity has but a short time to live among its greener chlorophyll producing siblings. In other words, a slow imminent death awaits any plant that can not undertake photosynthesis to create energy beyond that which the original seed provides. Ah, the wonder and heartbreak of genetic mutation.