Happy Solstice friends!

That darkest day of the year carries with it the reminder that the light is returning. Today I’m sitting in front of the fire and the twinkling lights on the tree illuminating a lifetime of memories collected in the shape of ornaments, thinking about the year and the new one ahead. There has been plenty of darkness and also moments of light, those are just sometimes harder to notice.

Today a dear reader reached out and said my homemade Snickers recipe has become a holiday favorite. I was about to message it just to her but then I thought others may want to also enjoy the peanut-y caramel goodness. While the work may be bountiful so is the amount of candies you actually make, so there is plenty to share.

Thank you so much to those who have become paid subscribers. I have tried paid subscriber bonuses in the past and have just not been super consistent with it. I think there is a part of me that doesn’t love the exclusivity of making things only available to some while I also recognize the value of the work I do and what I’m providing. So my plan is to make all of my content available to all but if you are able to become a paid subscriber that would mean so much to me as I would love to be able to devote more time here in the coming year. Thank you so much for the support! I also want to grow this community so if you feel so inclined to share it with others that would be so appreciated. I will be continuing to share some of my greatest hit recipes along with some new ones inspired by my travels and what I’m loving right now. I’m also wanting to devote more time to writing and would love to share that here as well.

Snickers

It’s a multi-step process but completely worth it. In it you’ll master both nougat and caramel and be left with dozens of little peanut-laden candy bars. If you choose to share this bounty you’ll be met with high praise and life-long admiration for your efforts.

makes 3 dozen (depending on desired finished size)

For the peanut nougat:

3/4 cup / 160 g sugar

1/4 cup / 75 g light corn syrup

2 tablespoons / 40 g honey

1/4 cup / water

1 large egg white

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 cup / 130 g smooth peanut butter

Caramel

8 oz/ 1 cup / 228 g sugar

6 oz/ 1/2 cup / 170 g Lyle’s Golden Syrup

1/4 cup water

6 oz/ 3/4 cup / 170 g heavy cream

2 oz/ 4 tablespoons / 57 g butter, soft

1/2 vanilla bean, seeds removed

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

2 cups roasted and salted peanuts

1 1/2 pounds milk chocolate

1 tablespoon oil

peanut nougat:

Butter a 9x13 inch baking pan then line it with parchment paper so that a few inches are left hanging over the side. Set aside.

In a saucepan combine the sugar, corn syrup, honey and water. Stir gently then wash down the sides of the pan with water. Cover the pot with a lid and set over medium high heat. Remove the lid after 5 minutes then continue to cook until the sugar reaches 275 degrees F.

While the sugar syrup is boiling place the egg white in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whisk attachment. Start the machine on low, add the salt and beat until frothy. Increase the heat to medium and beat until stiff peaks form.

Drizzle in the hot syrup down the side of the stand mixer while it is running. Try to avoid pouring the syrup over the whisk so the hot syrup doesn’t splatter. Continue to beat the nougat until it cools slightly and starts to pulls away from the sides of the bowl. This entire process should take 3-4 minutes.

Butter a spatula then stir in the the creamy peanut butter until well mixed. Add the nougat to the prepared, spreading evenly with the buttered spatula.

Set aside and let stand while you prepare the caramel.

caramel:

Combine the sugar, golden syrup and water in a large saucepan. Stir gently to combine then wash off the sides of the pan using water and your clean hands to feel if any sugar remains on the side. If stray bits of sugar fall into the caramel it can cause the caramel to crystallize so it’s important to make sure all the sugar is in the bottom of the pan mixed with the water.

Place the lid on the pan and put over high heat. Having the lid on during the first few minutes of boiling creates condensation that further helps to wash away any sugar that may be left on the sides of the pan. After 5 minutes remove the lid and let the caramel continue to boil until it reaches 300 degrees F. If some of the caramel starts to color you can gently swirl the pot to combine.

Add the cream, butter and vanilla seeds once it has reached 300 degrees F and then continue to cook until the caramel reaches 248 degrees F. Remove from the heat and stir in the peanuts. Pour the caramel over the nougat. Let sit at room temperature for 40 minutes then refrigerated until completely firm, about 30 minutes.

optional: add some flake salt to the caramel layer before covering them in chocolate.

Melt the chocolate in the microwave or using a bain marie on the stove. Stir in the oil.

Cut the candy bar into 1 inch squares and dip into the melted chocolate.

Set aside on a sheet tray lined with parchment. Place the candy bars in the refrigerator to set up.

These candy bars will keep for three weeks in the refrigerator or two months in the freezer.

The moment the calendar rolled over into November I began making festive preparations for this holiday season. Maybe it’s because it just feels a little darker this year or maybe because it’s the first year I have a child away in college and Christmas means the first time we’ll see him since he left in August. Or maybe it’s just the desire for the reminder of the promise that light always follows the darkness.

I try to imagine what our ancestors must have felt when the sun made its descent. Not knowing when or if it would return. Would they be promised light again? Another growing season? Is the darkness forever? Now we understand the dance of the earth, sun and moon. We know that no matter how dark it seems there will be light again. But my rushing into the festivities reminds me that no matter the darkness I too get to add some sparkle, light and joy into my days.

This time of year I get so many messages from you all asking me for recipes that have made their way into your holiday traditions. I apologize for the inconvenience of not being able to find those recipes but I am happy to share some of our favorites and some of yours. First I’m starting with our classic White Chocolate Peppermint cookies with Vanilla Salt. Now, I’m not always the biggest white chocolate fan so if you need permission to swap out the white chocolate with dark, permission granted. But I will admit white chocolate and peppermint are a classic pair for a reason. I’ll also let you know that I’ve turned these delightful cookies into a very festive trifle worthy of any sequin adorned holiday party. Well, let’s just add that recipe here too.

I hope you all are finding or adding some light to your days. Cookies do tend to help.

White Chocolate Peppermint Cookies with Vanilla Salt

Makes 18 to 24 cookies

Ingredients
½ cup / 115 g unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons turbinado sugar
¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons / 170 g packed dark brown sugar
1 egg, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ¾ cups / 250 g all-purpose flour
¾ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup / 140 g white chocolate chips
2 tablespoons / 30 g crushed peppermint candies (or candy canes)
Vanilla salt (such as Jacobsen), for finishing

Cream the butter, granulated sugar, turbinado sugar, and brown sugar together in a medium bowl with an electric mixer on medium speed until pale, fluffy, and light—about 5 minutes—scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add the egg and vanilla and mix again until smooth, pausing to scrape down the bowl to make sure everything is incorporated.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt. With the mixer on low, slowly add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture and stop when there are still a few streaks of flour showing. Add the white chocolate and crushed peppermint and mix just until everything begins to come together, then finish folding the dough by hand so the mix-ins are evenly distributed. Cover and refrigerate the dough for 24 hours; the rest deepens the toffee notes and improves the texture of the baked cookies.

When you’re ready to bake, heat the oven to 360°F and line two baking sheets with parchment. Scoop the chilled dough onto the prepared sheets and finish each mound with a small pinch of vanilla salt. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, rotating the pans if needed, until the edges are lightly golden but the centers still look soft and gooey. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets for at least 5 minutes before transferring them to a wire rack to finish cooling. These are best the day they’re baked but will keep, tightly sealed, for up to 2 days.

Peppermint White Chocolate Chip Cookie Trifle

Ingredients
1 batch White Chocolate Peppermint Cookies (recipe above)

2 cups whole milk
4 cups heavy cream, divided
1 vanilla bean, seeds scraped
6 egg yolks
3 tablespoons cornstarch
½ cup brown sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ cup white sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon peppermint extract (optional)
¼ cup crushed candy canes

In a medium saucepan, combine the whole milk with 1 cup of the heavy cream. Add the scraped seeds from the vanilla bean along with the pod itself and bring everything to a gentle simmer.

Meanwhile, whisk together the egg yolks, cornstarch, brown sugar, and salt until the mixture lightens slightly in color. Slowly pour about half of the hot milk mixture into the yolks while whisking, then return everything to the saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the custard thickens, just a couple of minutes. Strain it through a fine sieve into a clean bowl, press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface, and refrigerate until completely chilled. The custard will continue to thicken as it cools.

Whip the remaining 3 cups of heavy cream with the white sugar and vanilla extract until soft peaks form. If you want the peppermint flavor to really sing, add a small splash of peppermint extract here.

To assemble the trifle, start with a generous layer of cookies. Break about half of them into large, rustic chunks and scatter them across the bottom of your trifle dish. Spoon half the chilled custard over the cookies, then add a layer of whipped cream. Repeat the layers—cookies, custard, whipped cream—finishing with a cloud of whipped cream on top. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, though overnight is ideal so the flavors can settle in and the cookies soften just enough while still keeping a bit of texture.

Just before serving, shower the top with crushed candy canes for sparkle and crunch.

The following is the first thing I wrote in my journal after arriving in the Cotswolds. Just for a wee bit of context, I spent most of September in the English countryside cooking for the participants of a watercolor workshop taught by my dear friend, Sarah Simon, of The Mint Gardener.

“Looking out the kitchen window whilst preparing a pot of coffee in an old stone house in the Cotswolds, I see a field full of bunnies gathering their morning meal. Uh oh, I think. It actually exists - a place I long for in my everyday when it all feels too much, too impossible, too hard. A place I assure myself that it doesn’t actually exist. Now how am I going to fool myself?”

First let me explain my usage of “whilst”. Yes, I did actually write that in my journal. Yes, I was reading a lot of Jane Austin leading up to this adventure.

Perhaps the grass is greener but what is more likely is that I was living a life free from my daily obligations of home life. While I did have to prepare multiple meals a day for 15 to 20 people, I didn’t need to worry about much of what often preoccupies my mind. Instead I got to watch the bunnies nibble on the grass in the morning light, and pick blackberries that look and taste of candy, and fill glass bottles of milk with the cows the milk came from cheering me on mere feet away. I was present and paying attention. And I was rising up to new challenges - I taught myself how to cook on an AGA - and like most things in life I learned by failing. The first cake I baked was absolutely blackened BUT I simply cut off the top, bottom, and sides to reveal an interior that was perfectly baked. I took time to run my hands through the lavender in the garden every time I walked past just so I could pause to take in the heady scent. Instead of my inbox I reached for my journal in the morning while the porridge slowly simmered. Instead of Instagram and TikTok I read a book in the evenings until my eyes were heavy. This is perhaps why the grass is so green over there. Well, the rain also helps.

If these paragraphs feel a bit frantic and out of sorts it’s because they are, which is just a sign of my abundance of excitement and inspiration that came from this time. Inspiration that I am giddy (that’s right, giddy) to share with you all. And you guys, it has been a minute since I’ve been this excited.

Sticky Toffee Date Cake with Apple and Plum Caramel

This is one of the few recipes I made in the Cotswolds that I had made previously but it only felt fitting that our first meal end with a classic Sticky Toffee Pudding. Well, I guess this isn’t entirely classic because it is me and I am who I am; meaning, I can’t leave a recipe well enough alone. So instead of the traditional toffee sauce this tender date cake is usually served with, I used the apples I plucked off the branches behind the kitchen and some crimson plums I found at the market to create a fruit laced treacly toffee sauce. It’s not quite as rich as the version made with heavy cream but fear not, the entire dish is capped with a cool, creamy crown, because tradition or not, I will never miss an opportunity to finish a dish with a dollop, swirl or spoonful of cream.

Serves 8 to 10

8 ounces/ 230 g pitted medjool dates

1 cup / 240 ml boiling water

1 teaspoon baking soda

4 tablespoons / 60 g butter, melted

3/4 cup / 160 g packed brown sugar

2 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 cup / 140 g all purpose flour

Preheat the oven to 350*F. Grease an 8 inch cake pan then line the bottom with parchment paper and grease the paper.

Add the dates to a heat proof bowl then cover with the boiling water. Stir in the baking soda then let this mixture sit until it is cool enough to handle and the dates have softened, about 10 to 15 minutes. Using a fork (or your hands) mash up the dates until nearly a soft puree.

While the mixture cools, stir together, in a small bowl whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. In a large bowl, stir the melted butter and brown sugar until well combined. Whisk in the eggs and salt before gently stirring in the flour mixture and then the date puree. Mix until just combined, taking care not to overmix.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and then bake until the cake gently springs back when pressed or a toothpick, when inserted in the center, comes out clean, about 35 to 45 minutes.

Apple & Plum Caramel

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 cup dark brown sugar, packed

1 large apple, cored and chopped (about 2 cups)

2 medium plums, pitted and chopped

Pinch of salt

In a wide saucepan set over medium heat, melt the butter and stir in the brown sugar. Cook, stirring often, until the sugar dissolves into the butter and a glossy caramel begins to form. Add the chopped apples and plums along with a pinch of salt. The caramel will seize and harden when the fruit is added—this is expected. Continue cooking and stirring gently, and as the fruit releases its juices and softens, the caramel will melt again and coat the fruit in a rich sauce. Cook until the apples and plums are tender and the sauce is thick and glossy, about 8 to 10 minutes.

• Seasons of the Sacred, Llewelyn Vaughan- Lee

Ivy and I made our annual Summer Bucket List; the highly lofty and dreamy list of tastes, activities, experiences and delights that we hope to enjoy throughout the all too brief summer season. This list includes visits to the berry patch where we will attempt to pick enough strawberry and raspberries to fill our smoothie cups all year long. A day trip to Pike Place where we will eat our way through the market sipping on Rachel’s Ginger Beer (our favorite is a float with Guava Ginger Beer and Pineapple Soft Serve), tucking into a bowl of homemade pasta at Pasta Casalinga and finishing with the tart, creamy bite of cultured frozen yogurt from Hellenika. There are plans for beach days where we follow the tide and linger until the cold Salish Sea laps at our toes. Craft projects that include lots of rhinestones and glue, a long list of movies to watch, a visit to the fair, the zoo and an aquarium. If we mapped it all out we have enough “to-do” items to fill multiple summers. It’s no wonder that I crave the coziness of fall when that first rain hits. 

Summer in the northwest is where we really shine. Nearly every day is around 70*F and the rain from the rest of our days keeps the trees green, which stand in brilliant contrast against the picture book blue sky. And this summer feels even more full as we prepare to send our oldest off to college in the fall. That’s about all I can say on that subject before I turn my keyboard into a puddle of tears. Let’s just say, this is indeed a summer where I am eager and ready to “taste life full” as Llewelyn Vaughan-Lee says. 

In the kitchen the activity there is just starting to be dictated by what’s happening in the garden. Every year I seem to forget that the growth of the spring garden tends to slowly creep until we consistently hit the streak of sunshine. We’re nearly there. I just polished off a bowl of cottage cheese loaded with a handful of chopped arugula, dill, chives, mint, tarragon and peas - all from the garden. It’s all simply dressed in a squeeze of lemon, a slick of olive oil and a blushing amount of freshly ground black pepper. It’s a protein packed salad that leaves me feeling quite virtuous and deserving of a slice of the leftover birthday sitting on the kitchen counter. 

We’re still in the season of frilly herbs - it’s just before the berries, beans, and tomatoes really take over. So before they do I wanted to pass along the recipe for herbed dipped radishes. I teased it before and then life left me a little breathless there for a moment but I’m here now with a crisp snack that visually delights nearly as much as the taste itself. 

*A few things to note for those who are local:

 I’m teaching this Saturday, June 7 at the most beautiful venue - Bella Luna. I’m teaching Campfire basics - from flames to coals. 

Menu: Fire toasted Gruyère on garlic toasts with pickled shallot and herbs; smoked beet salad with grilled steak, blue cheese, greens, and flowers; fire-baked sourdough with housemade smoked butter; and, toasted almond panna cotta with roasted strawberry rhubarb sauce.

Coming up in August I’m teaming up with my friend Eleni from Pottery By Eleni. Here’s a brief description of the event:  We will begin with a welcome prosecco cocktail served in cups from our Signature Collection while we enjoy some beautiful appetizers made by Ashley herself! Next, we will dive into a cooking demo where Ashley will show us unique ways to use herbs and flowers from the garden in culinary delights! The pottery portion of the day will be up next where we will forage our very own herbs and flowers to roll into ceramic platters to create whimsical impressions. Head to Pottery By Eleni to find out more. 

On June 28 I’ll be signing copies of both Rooted Kitchen and Field Notes from a Fungi Forager at Christensen’s Nursery in LaConner. Come say hi!

I hope wherever this season finds you, you are finding a few moments of wonder and joy. 

Radishes with Herbed Butter

Makes 1 dozen radishes

1 bunch of radishes (about 10-12), washed and thoroughly dried

1/2 cup unsalted butter

1/4 cup spring greens and fresh herbs, finely minced (such as blanched nettles, dill, chives, mint, parsley, tarragon, or a mix)

Flaky sea salt (for finishing)

Prepare the Radishes:

Wash the radishes thoroughly, removing any dirt and greens. Pat them dry with a clean towel or paper towels. It's important they are very dry to help the butter adhere properly.

Place the radishes in the refrigerator to chill while you prepare the butter. This will help them firm up and get an extra crunch when dipped.

Make the Herbed Butter:

Cut the butter into 1/2-inch pieces and place them in a microwave-safe bowl.

Melt 2/3 of the butter in the microwave on medium-low heat, stopping every 20 seconds to stir. Heat it until nearly all the butter pieces have melted, but not completely. This ensures you avoid overheating.

Once the butter is almost fully melted, stir in the remaining butter pieces. Continue stirring until the butter is creamy and smooth. This method helps prevent the butter solids from separating, giving the butter a velvety texture.

Assemble:

Once the butter is smooth and creamy, stir in the finely minced fresh herbs.

Remove the chilled radishes from the fridge. One at a time, dip each radish into the warm herbed butter, ensuring they are well-coated but not dripping.

Lay the butter-dipped radishes on a parchment-lined tray or plate. While the butter is still soft, sprinkle each radish with a pinch of flaky sea salt.

Chill and Serve:

Once all the radishes are dipped and salted, place the tray in the refrigerator for 10-15 minutes to allow the butter to set and firm up around the radishes.

Serve immediately after the butter has set, or store in the fridge until ready to enjoy.

I began this year by declaring January a “no buy” month. Basically anything other than essentials (food, basic home supplies, etc.) was a no-go for me. I’m not a huge consumer (I guess that depends on the day, honestly) but I will admit that I do love the dopamine hit of something “new”. And by “new” this could simply mean new-to-me. The thrill of the thrift is how I like to spend many hours when it’s not foraging season. Basically I’m a grown child who is always on the hunt for a good hunt. 

This exercise of the no-buy month was created to serve a few different purposes. 1. To ease the holiday strain on our bank account. 2. To lighten the load in our already crowded home. 3. To help me enjoy and appreciate what I already have. What I didn’t foresee was how much mental load that was also relieved as I took away the question of what I was wanting or needing. I would continually tell myself, I have everything I need. And I found that to be delightfully and abundantly true. 

Of course there were things that would come up that I wanted, but rather than feel any sense of frustration, I would simply put it on a list and tell myself that if I still wanted these things in February, I would consider buying them then. But you know, there really wasn’t much on that list at the end of the month. What I noticed was a shift in my own contentment - by removing the ability to get what I wanted I started to appreciate the abundance I already had. 

In her book, The Serviceberry, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, “Recognizing “enoughness” is a radical act in an economy that is always urging us to consume more.” The world around us, through the media, advertising, etc. thrives on us feeling that we don’t have enough, that we aren’t enough, that if we just get this one more thing we will feel full from finally having enough. But then there’s just one more thing we need. If you thought you were enough before, just wait until you get this new gadget, this new wellness hack, this new pill, etc. We’re trained to be looking for all the things we need, sold to us with the belief that we’re one ‘thing’ away from happiness. By taking this off the table I learned that I have enough and more importantly, I am enough. 

It’s enough for me to get giddily delighted by taking a photo everyday as the lilacs swell to their full bursting bloom. It’s enough to feel the warmth of the sun on my back while digging in the garden with my two dogs, three chickens, and my nearly 19 year old son with me. It’s enough to pull together a very random pantry-inspired dinner that was actually surprisingly delicious. It’s enough to write this sitting next to my tomato starts bending towards the sun next to the window, and to hear the others in the house going about their morning routines as they ready themselves for school and work. They are healthy and here. It almost doesn’t feel enough to call this just enough - it’s abundant, it’s everything, it’s more than enough. 

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It’s enough that I spend many of my days puttering about writing this and that, stirring a few pots, thinking of what’s the next thing I want to create to share with the world, planting seeds, watching trees move from bloom to bare branches, standing in the rain watching my son play baseball, helping my adult child make future plans, watching Modern Family with my daughter while we dip our spoons straight into the Ben & Jerry’s carton. By recognizing the enoughness in my life I went from asking “what more do I want?” The question that leads to stressed bank accounts, over crowded closets, and a subtle emptiness that creeps in when you realize that things don’t fill the holes in a soul. To asking “what more do I need?” The question that is more like a statement. A declaration that I have and that I am enough. 

Perhaps these realizations are also part of the joy of getting older. The gift of perspective that comes from walking through tough shit which makes stopping to smell the lilacs feel like an essential spiritual practice. Being able to spend time digging in the dirt when the sun comes out in the middle of a random Thursday is more than enough. And in fact that’s what I plan to do just as soon as I share this recipe with you - something I’ve done on the internet for years, but now feels more enchanting than ever. 

I’ve been archiving years and years of recipe sharing on my old blog, Not Without Salt. It’s been so fun to go back and read snippets of when the kids were little. I was always careful not to share too much of their lives there but rather I’d give insights into my own thoughts on motherhood, partnership, and making a life around the table. Those kids are now teenagers, one of them is getting ready to leave the house come the fall, and I’m even more careful to not share too much as they are living and leading their own lives, but I will share these tacos. A friend made these Asparagus Tacos for me recently and it was such a lovely reminder for how delicious they are. A few simple ingredients that come together to make a nourishing and delicious meal. That’s more than enough. 

Asparagus Taco

Serves 4 to 6

1 bunch asparagus

1 tablespoon olive oil 

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

1/2 cup sour cream 

1 tablespoon mayonnaise 

1/4 cup finely minced pickled jalapeños 

1/4 teaspoon sea salt 

3 -4 radishes, thinly shaved

4 - 6 corn tortillas 

1/2 cup cilantro leaves

lime wedges

Queso Fresco

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 425°F

Place the asparagus on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper (for easier cleanup).

Add the olive oil, salt, and cumin seeds to the asparagus. Toss to combine then lay out the asparagus in a single layer.

Roast until tender and frizzled in parts, about 20 minutes.

Once cool enough to handle, roughly chop the asparagus.

To make the aioli combine the sour cream, mayonnaise, and pickled jalapeños with a pinch of salt.

Warm the tortillas either in the oven wrapped in aluminum foil or carefully over a low gas flame.

Add a tablespoon or so of the aioli to each tortilla, top with about 1/4 cup chopped asparagus. Sprinkle on cilantro leaves, a squeeze of lime, shaved radishes, and Queso fresco.

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In 2005 I started a blog called Artisan Sweets. Three years later that blog turned into Not Without Salt, where I continued to share recipes and stories from our table and life in food until July 2021. The last post on that site is a recipe that now lives in my latest cookbook, Rooted Kitchen. It’s a roast of lamb that slowly roasts over open fire while resting on a bed of foraged branches and greens and is then served with a charred apricot compote spiced with ginger, cumin, cinnamon, and chili. In the book I replace the apricots with rhubarb, spiced similarly. Either way it’s lovely. I didn’t mean for it to be my last post but I also think I knew I had been shifting away from that space for a long time. I wasn’t the same person that started blogging 20 (?!!?!?!! how is that possible?!?!) years ago and in some ways it felt disingenuous to continue to pretend that space felt like home.  

I’m going to spare you all the details and really it is my husband, Gabe, that has been doing the dirty work, but the site (notwithoutsalt.com) has been pretty non-functioning for quite awhile. Many of you have emailed me about recipes you searched for and found a 404 message instead. Honestly, as frustrating as it’s been, those messages have meant the world to me. It’s not that I’m delighting in your frustration but you reaching out means that there are recipes I wrote many years ago that continue to live in your kitchens. And in this work, that is so often very solitary (and I’m not saying that as a bad thing), it is just so utterly delightful to know that something that I made in my kitchen, something that brought me joy, found its way to you and your kitchen. 

When I tell the story of how I came to be doing the work I am doing, I often credit the blog for giving me the space to play; with food, with photography, with writing and with recipe development. When I tell the story of my life I often credit the blog with giving me a place to explore myself; how I felt as a new mother, and then a mother of three, a wife, and for giving me a community when I desperately needed it. To this day many of my closest friends came from baring a bit of my soul on the internet. 

The other day, while searching for a recipe one of you was missing, I stumbled upon a post about cookies. It’s not THEE cookie, but it looks slightly similar, although from the photos on the site it looks like a recipe from my grandma’s handwritten collection. I would share it here but for some reason the recipe is missing (ugh). Anyway, tears filled my eyes while I read:

“We women try so hard to do it all and fool everyone into thinking we have it all together when we would do better to serve one another by sharing our struggles. When I’ve done this I have found great freedom and help as often I am not the only one feeling this way. Not that I want others to struggle as I do but there is comfort in not being alone and we can work together to ease the burden.” I continued to cry as I read the 107 comments. Words that echoed a message of, “I see you, I hear you and wow, those cookies!” And of course there was the occasional, “I followed this recipe exactly as written but my cookies didn’t look like yours.” 

I found my voice through writing and was met with a community that supported me. If you were among those that found me through Not Without Salt and you are still here, there are not enough words for me to express my gratitude. You all have held me through some incredibly hard days, whether you knew it or not. And because of you, I have found this work. It has shifted as I have, but I know that this is what I am here to do. This paying attention to the delights of the mundane, following the curiosities and creative impulses, and bringing you all along on the journey. And there is still so much I want to share, which is why I created this newsletter. This is the place I want to call home. 

Not Without Salt is still so much a part of me. While I may cringe at some of the photos that still live there, I feel nothing but pride for that woman who opened her chest and let her heart spill out into the world. She found herself and a community in the process. But the reality is that keeping that site online has been a huge expense and an even bigger headache. One that I’m no longer willing to deal with. We’re figuring out a way to save the content before we close the doors and my plan is to revisit some of my all time favorite recipes and to share them here.  

There is something poetic about all of this; a chance to revisit the recipes that led me to where I am but make them fit into this current version of myself. A sort of “this is your life” told through butter, sugar, and salt. The recipe I want to share today was written in 2011 by a young mama who was trying to figure out her place in motherhood and now she’s contemplating life after her three teens all flit away to continue to find their own way. The recipe is simple Asparagus Tart that I recently revisited for a segment I did for our local news station. I updated it to reflect my current delight in wild foods, which I foraged on a recent adventure in the woods (with a dear friend I met through the blog!)

It’s an uncomplicated tart, made even more simple if you buy the puff pastry. On top of the puff a quick sauce made of mascarpone and cream with grated garlic, salt and pepper is spread on before asparagus is added for the Not Without Salt classic, or add to it other foraged greens and fungi such as nettles, blanched fiddleheads, maple blossoms, dandelion greens, onion grass, and morels. Once out of the oven and cooled, finish the tart with shavings of Parmesan and roughly chopped walnuts, if you so desire. 

Asparagus Tart

serves 6 to 8

1 bunch asparagus (about 1 lb)

1 tablespoon olive oil

½ batch quick puff (or store-bought puff)

¼ cup Mascarpone

¼ cup heavy cream

1 large clove garlic, minced

½ cup walnuts, toasted and roughly chopped

Parmesan

pinch pepper flakes

salt and pepper

Preheat your oven to 415*F. Line a baking sheet with parchment.

Roll the puff to a rough 8x12 inch rectangle. Trim off the uneven edges. Carefully place the puff onto the baking sheet and chill in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

In a small bowl combine the Mascarpone, cream, garlic, pepper flakes, and a hefty pinch of salt and pepper.

Remove the woody part of the asparagus by taking one spear and carefully bending until it snaps. Using that spear as your guide cut the remaining asparagus where your guide snapped. In a medium bowl toss the asparagus with 1 tablespoon olive oil.

Remove your puff from the fridge and top with the Mascarpone mixture leaving a 1” border around the entire tart. On top of the Mascarpone lay the asparagus, one right next to the other. Sprinkle the top with a fine sea salt and put in the oven. After the first 20 minutes of baking reduce the heat to 350*F and continue to bake for another 20 to 30 minutes, until baked through.

Remove from the oven and let cool slightly. Just before serving, top with toasted walnuts and shaved Parmesan. Serve warm or at room temperature.

*To make this a foraged spring tart simply add whatever delightful foraged items you have on hand. I added blanched fiddleheads, nettles, onion grass, rehydrated morels from last season, and maple blossoms. Bake as directed. 

Spring is doing the very thing she does every year; she shows up. The buds on the lilac tree are starting to swell, seeds are sprouting on the sills of nearly every window in my house, and the forests and parks are filled with nettles. Also, I kid you not, someone posted a video of their first morel of the season and my entire body got goosebumps. I am so ready.

The other thing that spring so generously brings with her is an abundance of inspiration and creativity. It really does feel like a wake up. This cake is one of her inspirations and I am so excited to share it with you. Just look at that color!! What better way to welcome spring with a cake that screams spring green?!

I’ve capped the green cake with a strawberry buttercream. It’s quite sweet but is a lovely adornment to the lemon-tinged cake. Rhubarb would also be a nice pair and would lean more towards tart than sweet. The original version had a fresh mint buttercream that was also nice but I prefer the blush colored cap. Thanks to Miss Wondersmith for inspiring this cake and thanks to spring.

(In the photo my cake is a single layer because I used some for cupcakes. The recipe below if for an 8 inch layer cake)

Nettle Cake with Strawberry Buttercream

2 cups / 250 g all-purpose flour 

2 teaspoons baking powder 

1 teaspoon kosher salt (or 1/2 teaspoon sea salt)

1 1/2 sticks / 200 g butter, room temperature

3/4 cup / 150 g granulated sugar

3 large eggs, room temperature

1 cup nettle puree* (recipe below)

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 teaspoon lemon zest 

2 tablespoons lemon juice

Butter and line 2 8-inch cake pans with parchment paper. Butter the parchment paper. 

Preheat your oven to 350*F.

In a medium bowl whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. 

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, add the butter and sugar. Cream until light and fluffy starting on low speed then increasing to medium as the sugar and butter blend together. Scrape down the sides of the bowl then cream for another 30 seconds. Reduce the speed to low then add in the eggs one at a time, making sure they are well combined before adding the next egg. Scrape down the sides of the bowl again then add the vanilla, lemon zest and lemon juice. Add the nettle puree and mix on low until well combined. 

While the machines runs on low add the dry ingredients. Stop the machine just before everything is well mixed then finish mixing by hand. 

Pour the cake batter into the prepared pans. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes until the center gently springs back when pressed. Cool in the pans for 5 minutes before unmolding onto a wire cooling rack.

Strawberry Buttercream

1 stick butter, softened

1/4 cup sour cream, room temperature

1/4 cup strawberry jam, room temperature

3 - 3 1/2 cups powdered sugar 

Salt 

Add the butter to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat the butter until creamy and smooth. Add the sour cream and jam and continue to beat until well combined. Add the powdered sugar one cup at a time with the machine on low until all the sugar has been incorporated. Turn the mixer up to medium speed and beat for two minutes. This makes the frosting unbelievably fluffy and helps get rid of the slightly gritty texture that can come from powder sugar buttercreams. If the frosting still looks a little soft add the remaining 1/2 cup powdered sugar. Season with salt then frost the cooled cake. 

Nettle Purée

Bring a large pot of water to boil and have a large bowl of ice water sitting nearby. 

You can cut the leaves from the stems before you boil the nettles or remove them after they are free from their sting. Either way you are only going to want to purée the leaves. 

Boil the nettles for 60 seconds then remove them from the water using a strainer or tongs and immediately shock them in the ice water.

Squeeze out most of the water then process in a food processor until finely minced. You’ll need to scrape down the sides of the bowl a few times to get an even consistency in the purée. 

Store in a well sealed container for up to 1 week or freeze for at least six months. 

Now a question for you. Which recipe would you like to see next?

• Herb Butter Dipped Radishes

• Smoked Beet and Feta Dip

• Roasted Carrots with Whipped Goat Cheese, Chive Honey, and Cilantro

Standing at the stove my glasses steam as I peer over the large pot of boiling water. With long tongs and arms covered with sleeves to guard against any possibility of sting, I grab the nettles from my woven basket then plunge them into the hot water. Their deep green turns shockingly bright, as if they’ve just woken up from a dark winter sleep. It only takes a brief plunge to stifle their needly bite. 

Like so many, my first encounter with Stinging Nettles, Urtica dioica, was anything but pleasant. As a child, leaping from a towering tree swing into what I thought was a soft pile of stunning, jewel-toned autumn leaves, I found myself writhing in pain, my skin burning from the invisible venom of nettle’s tiny, stinging hairs. Hiding beneath what was meant to be a cushioned landing of fall leaves was a small but mighty cluster of nettles. That experience kept me wary of the plant for years and with every encounter on the trail or in the backyard of my childhood home, I would take massive steps around them. Once I safely navigated around them I’d call to the others behind me to alert them of the presence of these cruel intruders.

I don’t remember exactly when I learned that nettles were edible. It’s a blur of those early days, when I was ravenous for every bit of information I could gather about foraging and the bounty of wild foods in my backyard woods. Not long after this new discovery I cautiously donned multiple layers of long sleeves and thick gloves, then tucked scissors and tongs into my basket before heading out to a somewhat deserted trail near my house. You never forget a face of one who has wronged you so it was easy to spot the jagged teeth that line their heart shaped leaves. I began snipping away, filling my basket as the disdain started to thaw in the early spring sun. 

After a few successful forages I took my three kids with me to gather another basket full of nettles. Showing them how to avoid the fuzzy hairs that line the back of the leaves and along the stem they did their best to stay away from the bite. But even with the best of intentions there were a few stings along the way. We remedied the pain by rubbing the wound with the aloe-like ooze of the inside of a nearby horsetail. I had heard somewhere that this plant eases the pain caused by a nettle sting and the kids thought it fun to rub themselves with snot-like slime. Whether or not it actually eased the pain it definitely helped distract them while I continued to fill our baskets. Watching them thwap each other with horsetails and splash their boots in nearby streams it delighted me that their first interaction with nettles would be filled with laughter, joy, and later, dinner. 

It’s hard to describe the flavor even though I’ve tried many times. I’ve used words like grassy, earthy, or the more sophisticated cousin of spinach. Actually, that’s the first time I have used that exact phrase but in fact nettles do have a spinach-like flavor but are somehow more interesting and nuanced. To me they can taste like a mix between spinach and matcha but tastes more savory than either. Nettles return just as I’ve reached the end of how many ways I can cook and serve root vegetables. This prickly harbinger of spring, so abundant in vitamins A, C, K, and B, so rich in iron, calcium and magnesium have been shown to support the immune system, reduce inflammation, and, in my own experience, significantly ease seasonal allergies.

After I pull the nettles from the hot water I submerge them into an ice bath. This stops the cooking and keeps their color fresh and vibrant. From there I wring the leaves to remove as much water as I can and then place in my food processor blending them into a smooth paste. Part of this goes straight into the freezer so we can continue to enjoy nettles long after the plant has set their seeds and the remaining part becomes dinner. Kneading some of the green paste into flour I create a smooth dough that gets thinly rolled and hand cut into perfectly imperfect noodles. The remaining bit of the nettles are mixed with lemon zest and juice, minced garlic, finely chopped toasted pine nuts, and a blizzard of finely grated Parmesan. If I have it on hand I’ll also add a handful of mint that I chop into a fine aromatic paste. The noodles bathe in hot water seasoned with enough salt to make the bath taste like the sea. Swirling in the pot they cook to a perfect al dente in just a few moments.  I retrieve them with the tongs then shimmy them into a skillet warming with the nettle pesto. A ladle full of the salty pasta water helps the pesto adhere to the noodles as well as make the sauce creamy and cohesive. 

As I slurp the grassy noodles splattering green all over myself like a Pollock painting I’m grateful that I didn’t let the sting of our first encounter turn me off of this harbinger of spring  and I count it among one of my greatest parenting achievements that my kids, all teens now and long past the puddle stomping days, eagerly await the arrival of nettle pesto pasta every year. 

*It just so happens that the start of nettle season comes right around my birthday, so in the coming days I’ll be out foraging and then working on a nettle cake recipe. I’m thinking mint buttercream and maybe a roasted strawberry jam sandwiched in between the layers. I’ll report back!

Yesterday, while tightly embracing a friend I said, “happy new year!” I realize it’s February but it’s still winter and this time of year always feels like one long pause or at least a slow moving stillness. And so I still say happy new year to those I haven’t yet hugged this year. Or maybe more accurately I could proclaim, happy winter or happy stillness. Seeing as this is my first post in 2025 let me offer a warm embrace while  gently and enthusiastically proclaiming, happy new year, happy winter, happy stillness, happy barebranch season, happy hibernation.

I feel the obvious dissonance when I write of stillness and hibernation in the midst of the daily (more accurately - constant) onslaught of news. The noise is deafening as it continues to announce all the ways in which we are making steps away from what I value most - love, care for the earth and the people who live on it, justice, and kindness. It’s enough to flatten me on the couch or leave me in the fetal position rocking back and forth in a corner. But I refuse to let it. So going forward this is how I plan to resist despair and overwhelm and how I want to show up for myself, for my family, for my local community, and for you all. 

1. Create more than I consume. This has become my mantra for 2025. Those close to me are likely already tired of hearing me talk about this but one month in and I am already feeling the massive shift happening as I live into this intention. I am happiest when I am creating. At the core that is what I truly believe I am put on this earth to do. The vagueness of this vocation has honestly been maddening at times. As has my unending interest in pretty much all artistic endeavors. There are very few hobbies that exist that I wouldn’t at the very least be interested in trying once. I just googled a list of hobbies to see if any came up that I wouldn’t try and the only one that gave me pause was Numismatics, which apparently is the study or collection of currency. I’m comfortable saying that I’d be fine if I never try that BUT don’t hold me to that. Even though I know I am here to create, I spend so much time ingesting the creations of others. At times this is inspiring but overconsumption can leave me feeling like I’m lacking or I become too exhausted to create. I get overstimulated or simply feel inadequate to create what I just saw while scrolling through my feed. What I’ve come to notice is that creating begets creating and I’m finding that the more time I carve out to write, paint, cook, crochet, weave, sew, forage, preserve, dye, garden, sculpt (I wasn’t kidding), etc., I want more of it. As I started to live embody this intention for the year I thought that it primarily related to my consumption of online content but as I’ve lived into this I realized it’s also about me as a consumer - how I shop for clothes, food, etc. I declared January a “no buy” month (with the exception of groceries for my family and a few inexpensive experiences). It was a great reset for me and honestly gave me a bit of my brain space back as I removed the possibility of needing to ask myself if I “need” this or that. It simply wasn’t an option and I very easily made do with what I already own. 

2. Sleep & rest. I am nothing without a good night's sleep - The irony of writing this having been awake for hours in the middle of last night. When I don’t get a good night’s rest my perspective feels shaky, the world appears more dim and I move like cold honey clinging to the bottom of the plastic bear. This also includes rest. I resist the culture that praises the constant hustle and I instead embrace times when I check out and just rest.

3. Be in community. As I’ve been reflecting on my body of work throughout my career one of the clear throughlines has been my desire to help others in connection. With my first book it was about connecting and staying in connection in your relationship. With my second it was all about family and friends. With my third and fourth they were about encouraging a deeper connection with the earth. I know this work is vital but it’s hard for me to keep that in perspective when again, it feels like there are massive shifts happening that are in direct opposition to intimate connection. Which is why gathering in community is a form of resistance. Connection fights against despair, depression, anxiety, overwhelm and complacency. When we connect we remind ourselves that we are not alone in our struggles, in our joys, in our shared frustrations and delights of having three teenagers in the house who think you are so very out of touch (just, you know, for example). We need each other. I need each of you to help bolster me when I’m feeling lost and I hope that there are times when I can do the same for you. 

   

4. Forage for joy, beauty, and delight. I am through and through a treasure hunter. Sometimes that looks like a walk in the damp woods seeking apricot scented chanterelles, sometimes it’s clear agates on a pebbled beach, or sometimes it’s a hunt for joy, beauty, and delight. Unlike mushroom hunting, when you set out to find beauty you will always find it. Joy and delight are right there with her. I’ve read the books and seen the memes and have read many essays from others more well spoken than I - they share the message that joy is resistance. I believe it in far off places of my inner knowing and yet I need daily reminders that this too is part of the work. That my joy and delight do far more for the collective than my despair. As a deeply feeling person it’s hard to not feel weighed down by the suffering of so many, and I allow myself to feel these and do what I can to ease their suffering and then I go back into my hunting, seeking that which brings me delight. This could be a coffee date with another creative, some time spent with my paints and blank page, a walk on a icy, blue sky day when the mountains show off their brilliant white winter coat, or curled up on the couch tucked in between two dogs with a good book or a funny show on my laptop. Sometimes it comes easily, other times it takes work, always it’s necessary. It’s part of the work I want to do here. To do what I can through my words, recipes, resource sharing, that might help you in finding a little bit more delight, joy and beauty in your day. 

Mary Oliver said it best and with just the perfect amount of words:

“Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

That is what I commit to doing in this space and in my life and I hope and I trust that in doing so I will leave the world a little bit brighter than how I came to her. I hope that you find that safety and inspiration in this space to tell us about what you are paying attention to. 

As always, thank you for being here. 

Read more

It’s nearly winter now in the northern hemisphere. The days are dim and the nighttime sky is inky black and covered in a dense sheet of clouds. The squirrels and chickadees emerge throughout the few lighted hours during the day to forage the remaining berries and seeds in the decaying garden but for the most part the land is quiet. When I stop resisting and allow my own animal body to feel itself in this season I notice the quiet too, the pull to go inward, to deeply rest as the plants and animals do. 

In her book, Wintering, (which I re-read every year because I love it so) Katherine May writes:

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”

The earth's axis and her relationship to the sun signals to the natural world that the time has come for them to take care: to allow the fat that they’ve worked so hard to acquire sustain them through the cold; to go inward to the cave, the den, the warm depths of a mud slick pond. For the garter snake it means surrounding themselves with the warmth of the community in order to survive. Similarly for the honey bee, the colony envelope itself with the heat of one another taking turns moving to the warmth of the center to keep everyone alive and well in this season. The chickadee ventures out into the cold, relying on her memory of bountiful seed sites to keep her diminutive body warm and full. Throughout the season of abundance she’s plotted a map in her mind that lays out the necessary food sources that will keep her sustained through the winter. 

It’s in the kitchen where my wintering becomes most instinctual. Following the cue from the earth I slowly simmer the hearty roots and greens, built sturdy to withstand the cold. Maximizing on the warmth the oven is often on, gently breaking down tough cuts of meat through long braises or gently calling forward deeply rooted sweetness from hardy vegetables. My own body craves the fullness and fat of heavier foods that don’t sound appealing in the summer when freshness is in abundance. 

There’s a peace that surrounds the quietude of this season if I allow myself the gift of letting intuition and instinct guide. That still-small voice that requires time, space, silence, and practice to listen – all of these being very limited resources in a culture that praises efficiency, effectiveness, noise and even chaos.

Our culture makes few allowances for the change of seasons. Our output, outlook, and behavior are expected to look as they did in winter as they did in summer. Yet, no other part of nature behaves this way. I wonder what would change if we remembered a time when we listened to the sun?

Flemish Stew

From, Date Night In

This national dish of Belgium was one that was created to use cheap cuts of beef and flat beer. It is hearty, satisfying and quick to throw together; the finished dish is very meaty, has very little liquid and is intensely flavored. If you are out of the house all day, a crockpot works well for this. 

This stew improves with a day in the fridge so plan for some great leftovers or make the day before you plan on dating. 

Serves 4 

1 1/2 lbs beef chuck roast or well marbled stew meat in 1-inch cubes

1 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, divided

1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

2 tablespoons flour

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon oil

1 large onion, thinly sliced

3 garlic cloves, chopped

2 cups ale (a Belgian ale works nicely here but today I’m use this beauty this Autumnal Ale I collaborated on)

2 dried bay leaves

1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

Sprinkle the beef with 1 teaspoon salt, pepper and flour. Toss to coat.  

Add butter and oil to a large pot or dutch oven over high heat. When butter has melted and bubbled and the pan is very hot add the meat, cooking in two batches, to not crowd the pan. Cook for 5 to 6 minutes, turning over halfway through, until deeply browned on both sides. Remove meat and set aside. Reduce heat to medium low and add onions and 1/2 teaspoon of salt.  Cook for 8 to 10 minutes until golden and tender, stirring occasionally to scrape up the deeply flavored bits on the bottom of the pan while the onions sauté. Add garlic then cook 2 minutes more.

Place the meat back in the pot and add beer, herbs, vinegar and brown sugar and bring the stew to a simmer over low heat. Place a wooden spoon in the pot and cover, allowing the lid to rest on the spoon handle, leaving a 1/2-inch gap. Simmer on the stovetop for 3 hours or until the meat is tender.

Alternatively, you may cook in the oven, mostly covered at 325° F for 3 hours.

To finish, stir in the Dijon mustard and add salt and pepper to taste.  

Stew can be made up to two days ahead and warmed over low heat on the stovetop. 

This morning, after the oven had preheated, while the pumpkin pies bake, before the table is set, before the turkey has hit the oven, and before my family fills empty chairs I set out to write a blessing of gratitude. I wanted to share it here because in my long list of things I’m grateful for you all are a huge part of it. Thank you for being here.

A Thanksgiving Blessing

Let’s begin this meal with grace and gratitude.

Gratitude is the abundance that is before us that could be easy to miss if we didn’t pause to acknowledge it. 

It’s the acknowledgement of the people who came before us. They tended the land, cared for the seas and planted trees they knew would never tower over them but they hoped enough to plant them for us. 

Today, we’re enjoying this bounty on the land of the Duwamish people. For generations they have been and continue to be in relationship with this place. It is because of this care that we can enjoy the abundance here. 

It’s the seeds from previous years that produce the beans, the corn, the wheat on our table. The soil that nourished seedlings and the sun that propelled their growth. 

Abundance is the filled chairs around this table. Each of us holds love, pain, hope, fear and our own stories. We come to this table because we are family, friends and community and through it all we still love one another immensely. 

We acknowledge these gifts to remind us of our abundance. Gathering together in the spirit of thanks-giving brings us closer to a world that is filled with more joy, beauty, and justice. It is a reminder that we have everything we need. 

With this overflow of abundance may we give back so that, like the seasons of earth, the cycle continues. May we have enough hope and love to plant the trees we will never see flourish.

Thank you for your presence here, for contributing to this abundance. I am so grateful for each of you. 

Amen and let’s eat. 

A blustery day. Tipping the summer scales into fall. The evidence of fall is mounting as the presence of summer fades. Fall’s rainbow of colors in rusts, rubies, auburns, marigold and goldenrods have become the primary palette. The garden is slowing and preparing to slumber while the encore of tomatoes, zucchini’s, eggplants and corn take center stage. My kitchen reflects the season with a freezer full of summer’s bounty. Shelves stocked with dried plums, plum cordials, and garden teas. There’s plum jam in the fridge next to the tray of foraged mushrooms and next to that, smoked salmon from last week’s catch. 

Aside from jam making, dehydrating the last of the herbs, and the bounty of mushrooms I’ve been finding in the woods, I have been happily using some of the mushrooms I find; the ones with too many bugs or the ones I can’t eat, to use to make dyes and pigments. It’s about as close to a scientist as I want to get but with the inspiration and guidance from Julie Beeler, author of The Mushrooms Color Atlas, I am having so much fun capturing pigments from Lobster mushrooms, porcini, dyer’s polypore and many more. I’m planning on using the pigments to make paint, then I’ll use the paint to illustrate the menu I’ve created for a mushroom feast to celebrate the release of, Field Notes from a Fungi Forager, coming out next month. 

To read/listen:

I’m busy trying to hit my book goal for the year so my listening has been devoted to audiobooks. I just finished, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, which I really loved. I’ve also been reading/listening to/and actively doing, The Artist’s Way. I’ve been wanting to talk to you all about this all summer - have you done it? I have tried several times throughout my life to complete this program and I am so proud to say that in just four short days I will have written my morning pages for 3 months. I am behind in the reading but I am absolutely calling it a win. 

I’ve also been reading the newest book by John Philip Newell called, The Great Search and as I mentioned above I have been reading and being inspired by, The Mushroom Color Atlas.

To eat:

It’s very nearly the end of tomato season around here so you may need to jump on this one very quickly but I couldn’t let tomato season go by without giving you this gift of a recipe. I’ve made it for a few events recently and people have absolutely loved it. The last event I did I made it into a tomato toast. Every summer I need to have that quintessential tomato sandwich. For me that typically is tomatoes, sliced thick, on white bread with a hefty slather of mayonnaise. This is another great option. This recipe comes from my latest cookbook, Rooted Kitchen. Which is on super sale on Amazon right now. I’d also LOVE it if you already have a copy if you wouldn’t mind taking a moment to leave a kind review on Amazon. Even if you didn’t purchase it there you can still leave a review. Reviews help bring more eyes to the book and help those who are on the fence make that decision. This book carries such an important message that I hope more and more people will find and connect with. 

Tomatoes with Goma Dare

From Rooted Kitchen

Serves 4

If this book is to be a real reflection of my seasonal eating life then I can’t just include one tomato salad. Here heaps of heirloom tomatoes rest on a bed of Goma Dare – an intensely flavored sesame sauce traditionally served with shabu shabu (Japanese hot pot). 

This simple salad makes a lovely side dish that comes together in minutes. Or slather the sauce of a toasted piece of sourdough and add sliced heirloom tomatoes to make an unforgettable tomato toast. 

1/4 cup / 30g plus 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds, for serving 

1 cup / 5g bonito flakes

1/2 cup / 130g tahini

1/4 cup / 60g rice wine vinegar

2 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce 

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

2 tablespoons white miso

2 tablespoons toasted sesame seed oil

2 pounds/ 910g , heirloom tomatoes, sliced or cut into wedges 

Flake salt, for serving 

In a food processor, blend together 1/4 cup / 30g toasted sesame seeds and bonito until finely ground. Add the tahini, rice wine vinegar, soy sauce, sugar, white miso, and toasted sesame oil then blend to completely combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl then blend again. Taste and adjust seasoning to your liking. 

Add the Goma Dare to a large platter then add tomatoes on top. Finish with flake salt and remaining 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds. 

A few more words:

There are a couple more things I’d like to share and point your attention to. First I’ve been updating my site if you’re curious to poke around there. I’m trying to keep my events page updated and am very eagerly hoping that soon I’ll have a few things to add to the online shop so I can open those doors. 

In the next couple of days I will be starting a 100 days project on my Instagram (and maybe Threds as well). I’ll be doing 100 days of Rooted Living. These will consist of brief (can be done in 5 - 10 minutes) invitations to connect to the earth. As I mentioned above throughout the summer I have been working my way through The Artist’s Way and I have found such growth in doing a daily practice. It takes some serious dedication and discipline but I have seen how much benefit comes in putting in that work and so I wanted to take the idea of a daily practice and put it towards living into a rooted way of existing. If you’re interesting I can created a round up of the invitations if you don’t use social media.

Finally, as I mentioned in my last post my new book, Field Notes from a Fungi Forager, comes out next month. It’s available for preorder now. Preorders are extremely helpful for the success of any book. It’s one of the best ways to support an author. They signal interest which in turn excites the bookstores to order more copies and the media to take notice. There are links on my site for many places where you can order but basically you can preorder wherever books are sold. The support means the world to me!

Thank you, as always, for reading and for being here.

If you were to tell little Ash that someday she’d write a book about mushrooms she would have squished her nose up at you and proclaimed a passionate “ew”. I avoided mushrooms both in the woods and on my dinner plate as a child. In the woods I feared they would kill me, on my plate I pushed them aside as I loathed their slippery texture. Things are different now. Now, I could go on and on about how they are not only delicious but fungi are essential to the health of our forests, our earth, and to us. 

And that is just what I did in my next book, Field Notes from a Fungi Forager.

This book is my love letter to fungi, specifically Pacific Northwest Fungi, which is where I live and have lived my entire life. The journey from fear to fascination and then to fanaticism started on the plate. Determined to grow a taste for mushrooms I started sneaking them into my own meals. First I’d cut them up so small you wouldn’t even know they were there except for the depth of earthy flavor they added. Then I learned how to properly caramelize them to get a texture that is crisp and meaty. And then I met wild mushrooms which vary in flavors, textures and intrigue and I fell in love.

Somehow I managed to convince a few experts to take me with them out into the woods. These foragers shared the same thrill I experienced each time I noticed a frilly, yellow-orange chanterelle, cleverly hidden in the fall foliage. Or when I spotted the honeycomb-like structure of a morel in a forest recently burned. But when our forages would end and I was left to my own devices I felt lost and overwhelmed with all there is to learn about the fungi kingdom, not to mention my fungi-phobia still loomed large. Determined to learn I devoured any and all mushroom-related books and I spent as much time as I could out in the woods. Taking on one new species at a time I became a fungi detective, which is to say I started to discover which plants and trees are commonly associated with the species I was seeking. Do they grow on trees? In the soil? What time of year? Do they like lots of moisture? I remember one time, on a forage with my friend, Langdon Cook, he mentioned that when he starts to hear a certain bird call in the spring, morels are just starting to pop. I started paying attention in a way I had never before.

My love and fascination with hunting mushrooms led me to a wider world that ultimately changed mine. Never before have I felt more poignantly the interconnectedness of all. That is when my love of mushrooms and fungi grew beyond what I could eat to an appreciation for each and every single one that I come across. Seriously, ask anyone who goes hiking or even just on a walk around the neighborhood with me; I will point out in child-like glee every single fungi I see. 

From the introduction to, Field Notes from a Fungi Forager: 

“This book is an ode to the fungi among us, a celebration of the natural world and the magic that can be found in even the smallest beings. Through the lens of these humble fungi, we’ll explore the interconnectedness of all living things and gain a deeper appreciation for the beauty and complexity of our bioregion. Whether you’re a seasoned forager or just starting to appreciate the beauty of mushrooms, there’s something in these pages for everyone. Allow the scent of damp earth and the sight of vibrant caps, hidden mycelial webs, and puffs of smokelike spores be our guide.” 

So, little Ash, we wrote a book about mushrooms and it has been one of the greatest joys of your life. With this little book you hope to ignite a mushroom movement to turn fungi-phobia into fungi-fascination. 

The book releases October 15 but you can preorder now wherever books are sold. 

• Book Larder

• Secret Garden Books

• Amazon

• Barnes & Noble

• Bookshop.org

• Books A Million

• Hudson Booksellers

• Powell’s

• Target

• Walmart

If you are in the Seattle area I’ll be hosting events at Secret Garden Books, Book Larder and The Pantry. 

Check the events page on my site for more information. 

I’ll be sharing more about the book and the process of writing over the next couple of months but for now I am thrilled to share a few of the incredible illustrations by artist, Libby England. (@libbobobo) Her work is the perfect pairing to bring my words to life. Libby, I can’t thank you enough for everything you gave to this project. They are far more beautiful than I could have dreamed. 

Thank you to Hannah and the entire team at Sasquatch for bringing this project to me and for being the best fungi partner.

The first crack of the match and my heart starts pounding. I light the paper which ignites the kindling and soon flames crack and dance in the buttery late summer light. I love everything about this process; the methodical build of the fire, waiting for the flames to create coals, tending to the fire while the nearby river and light breeze provides the soundtrack. Finally the food hits the hot coals and I’m deep in the process with nothing else on my mind. The coals become both stove and oven and I wield my tongs to move the gently burning wood around to control the heat as best I can while at the same time recognizing that being a bit out of control is part of the process. 

Cooking over the fire began for me as a playful experiment. On our yearly summer camping trips with my brothers, sister-in-laws, parents and our children (seventeen of us in total) I started to play around with elevating our camp meals using the campfire as my kitchen. Growing up, camping as a kid I loved the typical camp fare, always eager for the night we’d pack potatoes, onions, carrots, and sausage into aluminum foil then roast that right over the coals. I’d pour ketchup all over the top and eat with a giddy smile plastered on my face. As an adult camping, and deep into my love affair with food, I wanted to bring the experience I was creating for people around a table, outside. Could I use the untamed heat of the fire to create the same sort of food I was serving inside? The answer I found was yes, and actually it’s much better. 

Sure there are often charred bits of crust on my fire baked loaves of sourdough and the bottoms of the pans are often crusted in food that got too hot from the coals but there’s a layer of smoke, a primal light ignited and the smell of pine under a table lit by the stars somehow makes the food taste that much better. In fact it’s the embracing of the imperfections that gives me a great release in the process. To allow the natural elements to become part of it, taking fire, wind, and the earth into consideration while I roast, back, and sear. There is something primal about it, an instinctual connection to my ancestors who lived off of the land and evolved dramatically once fire became a part of their lives. 

I’ve spent decades in the food world, always being told that I need this gadget to make my meals better, that this is the precise temperature for baking, to measure, re-measure and then do it again. Precision and perfection are the goal when you’re working in high end restaurants feeding hundreds of people every night. Accuracy and consistency is what is needed when crafting recipes that become a part of the kitchens and lives of people I’ll likely never meet. But around the fire it’s you, nature, and your senses that guide you in the process. As I began serving meals on rickety camp tables that felt like they belonged sitting next to crystal and white linens I learned how to trust myself in partnership with the earth. To trust that instinctual voice that knows how to tame fire, to adjust, readjust and to adapt to what surrounds, to embrace imperfection, a little char and ash on your food and to be present to the process. 

Cooking over a fire doesn’t need to be complicated. In fact, I’m certain that you too will find that as you begin the process you’ve known this way of preparing food all along. Some little voice lurking deep within your DNA shrieks, “YES!” at the first spark. First thing you must know about cooking over the fire is that it’s not actually the flames you are after. We should call it cooking over coals and to be more precise we might say, cooking over hardwood coals. Hardwood coals retain their heat for a long time. They are easy to control and give your food color, flavor and a good bit of heat without the blackening smoke that happens when you cook, say a hearty steak, with flames. You can set up a grill grate in the fire and use the flames just as you would your gas stove. Set a cast iron skillet over the dancing fire to sauté, sear, or steam but when you want long, reliably and sustaining heat it’s the coals you’re after. 

Most campsites ask that you use the wood they provide to prevent bringing along with the wood you brought, new pests and creatures that could wreak havoc on the ecosystem where you are camping. Before you bring your own wood to burn check in with the campground where you plan to camp and I also recommend bringing along a large bag of hardwood charcoal. It’s my little cheat for building up a quick, cookable fire. If you don’t have hardwood charcoal on hand you simply will have to wait for your hardwood to burn down enough to provide you with a hefty bed of coals. 

If the pit in which you are building your fire to cook is big enough, give yourself some stations. Leave part of the fire pit as a coal building section so that as some of the coals start to become spent you can quickly move in freshly lit coals without too much drop in temperature. This is particularly important when baking over the fire as you’ll need long, sustained heat. 

Cooking over the fire is a practice and I’d like for you right now to say to yourself that a little char is fine. In fact, I find it quite delicious. If this is new to you know that there will be burnt bits and most likely dinner will take about twice as long as you thought it would and that for me is all part of it. We all love to gather around the fire when we’re outside anyway, might as well create something delicious while we’re there.

Here’s a great recipe for practice elevating your outdoor cooking experience. 

Pizza is a great meal to cook over the fire. I make my pizza dough ahead and then bring it to the campsite. You want the coals to be hot but you may need to move the pan around the fire to make sure the dough cooks all the way through. Make sure the dough isn’t too thick so you can get a blistered crust while the interior cooks through.

With cooking outside you’ll need to trust your instincts over the timing I mention in the recipe. It’s more about looking for the cooking clues than going by the clock - which is part of what I love about it. You have to pay attention and grow in your trust of your own instincts.

Long tongs and heatproof gloves are an essential part of your cooking outside kit. These will especially come in handy when it comes time to flip the dough.

I may be jumping the seasons a bit with the inclusion of mushrooms here but I’m just so excited for the chill in the air and to fill my baskets once again. Pesto would also be lovely here in place of mushrooms as would sausage. Or you could use a cultivated mushroom like shiitake.

Cast Iron Pizza with Mushrooms, Arugula, and Speck

Serves 4

1 1/2 tablespoons butter

8 ounces mixed mushrooms, thinly sliced

3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced, divided

Sea salt

3 tablespoons olive oil, divided

1 recipe pizza dough (below), rolled out to a rough 10-inch circle

1/3 cup ricotta

3 ounces fresh mozzarella

2 ounces speck

2 cups arugula

1/4 cup roughly chopped basil

Flake salt

Set a large cast iron skillet on a grill grate set over coals or low flame. In the cast iron, melt the butter and add the mushrooms. Sauté until deeply caramelized, about 5 to 7 minutes, depending on the heat of your pan, it could take quite a bit longer. Add one of the thinly sliced garlic cloves and a hefty pinch of salt then remove the mushrooms to a platter.

Return the cast iron skillet to the fire and add 1 tablespoon olive oil to the pan. Get the pan very hot.

Carefully lay in the pizza dough and let sit undisturbed for a couple of minutes until bubbling and a good bit of color forms on the bottom. Use tongs or heat-safe gloves to flip the pizza dough. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil to the top then add the ricotta by the spoonful all over the surface of the pizza. Continue with the mozzarella, scattering tablespoon size pizza all over. Once the cheese starts to melt add the mushrooms and the speck.

Once that pizza dough is completely cooked through, about 10 minutes, remove to a plate and top with the arugula, basil and flake salt. Feel free to finish with a bit more olive oil.

I’m surrounded by rows and rows of raspberries. Their branches heavy with fruit that practically slips from their tender grip, heavy with juice. The low guttural moo of a nearby cow shakes my attention away from the berries. Lifting my head to take in the evening light I now find myself staring at the other side of the farm where rows of corn are bathed in the buttery light of a summer sunset. Surrounded by cows and taking note of the quality of light my mind turns to recipes and then quickly to a corn and anchovy butter to accompany the wagyu steak I’m planning on taking home with me for after my stay. I wonder if this is a normal thought process for anyone other than myself? There are some, I suppose, who might be inspired to paint such a scene, or to pen a poem, or snap a photo. And while those are tempting and I do grab a few photos with my phone it’s in the recipe I’m writing in my head that I want to use to capture this moment. 

Oostema Farmstead is a Wagyu farm that also offers a few farm stay options. It’s located in Lynden, Washington, about two hours north of Seattle and within shouting distance from the Canadian border. It’s part of the new  Farm to Table Trails itineraries created by Sustainable Connections which is what brought me to the farm. Lynden also happens to be about 20 minutes from where I grew up, it’s where I spent many years going to school and where many of my family members continue to live. Driving around this town I’m flooded with memories. That’s where I fell off the monkey bars and landed in a big puddle on my first day at my new school. There’s grandma’s house where I used to eat cherries off the trees in the backyard and slowly stumble sleepily down the stairs listening to her warbling whistle while she made me breakfast.. And just down the road from the raspberry bushes that surround me now was my aunt and uncle’s raspberry farm. Sometimes we were called in to help pick when the branches were loaded with fruit. The most I ever made from picking was $5 as most went straight into my mouth or I would get distracted from my job and would run off to play with my cousins. 

It’s always strange, I find, to be back in the place you spent so much time as a kid. I sit in this place seeing two versions of myself; my younger self and the me I am today, marveling at the sunset, dreaming of butter dripping off corn cobs and still delighting in gorging on raspberries. I never  felt like quite fit in here growing up. Of course, most kids feel that they don’t fit in but I dressed differently (which was pointed out to me often), I had different dreams and I was eager to see the world beyond the one that was right in front of me.  Now that feels even more true. But the difference with not fitting in as a kid and not fitting in as an adult is that I’ve grown to find a home within myself. I’m not wasting any energy trying to fit in but rather trying to make sure that I am being the truest version of myself. That I’m not making decisions based on outside influences or forcing myself into a role that has always been expected of me. I strive to be wholly me. And that means sometimes I write recipes while watching the sun set over corn fields, listening to the cows settle in for the night, and a belly full of berries.

Pulling away from the farm I’m grateful for this feeling of settling into my skin, of confidence and bravery and the life I’ve lived thus far to get me here. Along my path home I continue on the farm trail and gather more summer bounty to add to the menu I’m writing in my head. At the farmstead down the road I grab green beans because they remind me of grandma, cucumbers for pickling and apricots for making my favorite pie. My last stop on the journey is a winery where I sit in the sun and read a favorite book of mine from childhood. In the book, Mandy, after scaling the walls of the orphanage, finds and creates a home out of an abandoned cabin in the woods. She delights in the garden and the wildness of the creek, trees and creatures around her. I remember connecting to Mandy and this part of her story as a young girl. In many ways I’ve changed so much, and in others I have always been so very me. 

A Menu for a Summery Feast

Summer Wedge Salad 

Buttermilk Dill Dressing, Smoked corn, tomatoes, blue cheese and flowers

Green Beans

Olive oil, flake salt

Smoked Wagyu Beef Ribs

Anchovy & Honey Glaze

Apricot Pie

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Summer Wedge Salad

This salad is very much inspired by Erin French from The Lost Kitchen. I have been so inspired watching her show, Getting Lost. She feels like a kindred soul friend as we share a passion for evoking feelings in those we feed, with simple food prepared well. Her story is unlike many other restaurant chefs but she owns her path and it is very clear it is what led her to where she is today. 

For the dressing:

1 tablespoon chopped onion

1 small garlic clove

Salt and pepper

1 1/2 cups sour cream

2 tablespoons buttermilk

Zest and juice of 1 medium lemon

1/2 cup roughly chopped dill

For the salad:

1 head napa cabbage

2 corn cobs

1 pint cherry tomatoes

1/4 pound blue cheese

Herbs and flowers

Extra virgin olive oil

Flake salt

For the dressing:

In a mortar and pestle process the onion and garlic with some salt and pepper until a paste is formed. You can also make this in a food processor. Stir in the sour cream, buttermilk, zest and lemon juice, and the dill. Taste and add more salt and pepper if needed.

For the salad:

While my ribs were smoking on the grill I added the corn in there as well and let them smoke until the kernels were tender and they took on a deep smoky flavor. This is a worthwhile but unnecessary step. 

Remove the kernels from the corn cobs. Slice the tomatoes in half and cut the cabbage into 1-inch thick rounds. 

Add the dressing to the bottom of a serving platter then arrange the cabbage rounds on top. Scatter the corn and tomatoes over the cabbage. Slice the blue cheese into 1/4 inch thick wedges then tuck them into the salad. Garnish with herbs and flowers. Finish with a light drizzle of olive oil and finish with flake salt and more cracked pepper if you’d like. 

Smoked Wagyu Beef Ribs

Learn from my mistakes on this one; make sure that all of the thick layer on the back side of the ribs is removed. I thought I had got it all but turns out I hadn’t so there was some toughness around the meat that we sort of had to eat around. If you are buying these from the butcher just ask them to remove it for you. I really wanted the flavor of the beef to shine here so while smoking they are simply seasoned with salt and pepper. I didn’t want to drown the flavor in a tomato-based BBQ sauce so I went with a thin lacquered layer of anchovy, garlic, honey and rice wine vinegar.  It added a bit of a caramelized sweetness, salt and a good hit of umami along with some brightness that cut the richness of the meat quite nicely.

2 pounds Wagyu Beef Ribs

Salt and pepper

For the Anchovy Honey Sauce:

4 anchovy filets

2 teaspoons anchovy oil

2 garlic cloves

1 tablespoon honey 

2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar

Black pepper

Season the ribs with salt and pepper and let sit out at room temperature for one hour. It’s even better if you can season the meat the night before.

In a grill or a smoker, slowly cook the meat until the bones are exposed and the meat is tender to the touch. I did this in my weber with a few pieces of lit charcoal at a time. I would occasionally add some wood chips or wood smoking pellets to the grill. I kept the grill at around 250*F (roughly) throughout the cooking time, which was about 3 hours.

For the anchovy honey sauce:

In a mortar and pestle add the anchovies, anchovy oil and garlic cloves. Pound until a fine paste forms. Stir in the honey, rice wine vinegar and black pepper. 

When the meat is just starting to come away from the bone, paint on the anchovy honey sauce using a brush. Continue to cook the ribs until blackened and a crust forms on top. 

Finish with any remaining sauce and serve while warm. 

Green Beans

For the green beans I boil in salted water until tender then cool in an ice water bath. Just before serving, toss with extra virgin olive oil and flake salt. 

Apricot Pie

There are no bells and whistles with this pie. It’s just classic and it is my favorite pie. I guess the one thing I do that might be different is that I add a generous amount of freshly grated nutmeg. 

This pie dough takes a little bit of Grandma’s recipe (the oil) and combines it with quite a bit of my love for butter. The oil is an unusual addition but dramatically helps with the tenderness of this dough. Streaks of butter fan out as the dough is rolled and in this I find immense joy.  The dough is easier to work with if you don’t use the oil. Sometimes I will leave out the oil and heavy cream and just use ice water. There is still enough butter to keep the dough flakey and tender. 

I’m not going to lie - this dough is rich but it pairs beautifully with the tartness and simplicity of the filling inside. Also, this pie tends to run. I love that about it but thought you should be warned. If you, like my husband, prefer a bit more sweetness you can up the sugar or, and this is my favorite idea, add a few nectarines to mingle with the apricots and lend them a bit of natural sweetness.

Apricot Filling

makes enough for 1 pie

2 1/2 pounds pitted and halved apricots

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 tablespoons flour

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1 vanilla bean, seeds removed (optional)

1 tablespoon butter

I make the fill while the dough chills.

Combine everything, except the butter,  in a bowl and mix well to combine. 

Pie Dough

2 ⅓ cup (11.75 oz) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon kosher salt

2 tablespoons sugar

2 sticks (8 oz) cold butter, cut in small cubes

2 tablespoon oil (I use a neutral, flavorless oil)

2 tablespoons heavy cream

1-3 tablespoons cold water

In the large bowl add dry ingredients and whisk until light and no clumps remain. Add the cold butter to the dry ingredients then use your hands to break up the butter. With your fingers smear the little butter cubes with the flour so that flat pieces of pea size butter remain. In the mixing some butter will get incorporated into the flour making it look like cornmeal. You want a mix of this and large pieces of butter in the flour.

Add the oil, cream and 1 tablespoon cold water. Again, use your hands to mix the ingredients. Evenly distribute the parts that have more liquid until the whole mix feels evenly damp. Squeeze a bit of the dough in your hands. If it comes together and holds its shape it is ready. If it still crumbles once squeezed add a bit more water until the dough just holds.

Divide the dough in two with one having a bit more dough than the other - this will be the top crust.

Cover with plastic wrap then refrigerate for one hour so that the butter can get good and chilled and the liquid will absorb into the flour.

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

Rolling out the dough

Roll out the smaller of the two doughs first on a evenly floured surface. I like to roll out my dough on a silpat so my counters stay bit cleaner and I find that I have to use less flour.

Gently roll this dough around your rolling pin then unroll over the pie pan. 

Fill the pie with your prepared fruit (recipe above) and dot with 1 tablespoon butter. Then repeat with the next disc of dough.

Roll out the top crust to 1/4” thick then roll it up on the pin and place on the pie. Tuck in the edges to create a thick crust. 

Place the pie on a sheet tray to catch any juices that fall from the pie. Sprinkle the top of the crust with sugar and cut small slits in the dough to allow steam to escape then bake in a 400 degree oven for 1 - 1 hour and 15 minutes. 

It’s possible that my pie takes longer than yours as I am notorious for opening the oven frequently at the end to sneak a glimpse of the golden crust and the bubbles the slowly rise and pop on the crusts surface. It’s best to look for the signs that the pie is done rather than trust the time.

You’ll know the pie is done when the edges are deep golden and the juices bubble in a graceful and methodical way. 

Let the pie cool for several hours before serving and ALWAYS save a slice for breakfast.

Tips

* Don’t be afraid to use flour when rolling out the dough. Dust the surface with flour in a swift motion with your hand at an angle coming from the side to get an even layer of flour. You don’t want large clumps of flour worked into the dough.

* Work quickly and with cold ingredients. Large flecks of cold butter mean flakes are in your future.

* Use a bench scraper to gently lift up the dough. 

* Keep the dough moving. Give the dough a few rolls with the pin then give it a gentle wiggle to make sure it’s not stuck. If it feels tacky add a bit more flour. If the butter is getting too soft just put it back in the fridge for 10 minutes.

* Bottom crusts are notorious for being a bit soggy. I do my best to offset this by rolling out the bottom crust quite thin. The top crust then has more of a chance to shine in all its thick, sugar crusted glory.

* Glass pie pans are my favorite.

* If you see Gravensteins (the best apple for pie) at the store buy them and make a pie. Even if the sight of them causes you to wince at the ending of summer. Do it. Throw a couple apricots in the mix if it makes you feel better.

*If you live in the Pacific Northwest and want to follow the farm trails be sure to check out the amazing itineraries put together by Farm to Table Trails. 

I visited:

• Oostema Farmstead

• Cloud Mountain Farm

• Primavera Farm

• Samson Estates Winery

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

I love a recipe that takes days to prepare. Often I get just as much enjoyment from the process of preparing the food as I do eating it. Especially when the perfume of these spruce tips hit my nose and I get to run my knife through their tender crispness, releasing a citrus woodsy scent that is intoxicating. Now, the work itself is not lengthy, nor difficult, but the time spent anticipating the taste builds the excitement and seems a fitting way to honor ingredients like salmon and spruce tips. 

Spruce tips are one of my favorite springtime wild ingredients. The bright citron green color tips are the new growth of the season and are full of vitamin C, they are also antiseptic and antimicrobial. This nutritional boost is just what is needed to help shake off the last bits of winter still clinging to the bones. Their flavor is a bit citrusy with a hit of sour with a gentle woodsy note that you expect from a tender tree bough. That piney bright flavor is well suited for the natural sweetness of the salmon. Spruce tips are also excellent chopped up and included in salads, used as a garnish, turned into a natural soda or syrup, or used in baked goods.

Most spruce, fir or pine tips can be used here but as in all foraging, be sure you’ve identified your tree with 100% certainty, it’s removed from spraying and other potential toxins, and that you harvest only what you need. It’s also a good idea to harvest from different parts of the tree so growth isn’t stunted. If spruce or fir tips can’t be found you can use dill as a substitute. 

This salmon comes from my friend Mark from Eva’s Wild. Mark is passionate about protecting the salmon and the fisheries in Bristol Bay. Check out his site and his films (The Breach and The Wild) he has made about making sure we keep these waters clean and clear for the salmon.

You can also check out a recent interview I did with Mark on the Save What you Love podcast.

This recipe comes from my new cookbook, Rooted Kitchen.

Seedy Rye Flatbread with Spruce Tip Gravlax, Cremé Fraiche and Red Onion

Serves 4

Seedy Rye Flatbread 

1/2 cup / 70 grams rye flour

1/4 cup / 35 grams all purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

2 tablespoons rolled oats

2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds

2 tablespoons sunflower seeds

2 tablespoons grams sesame seeds

1 tablespoon flax seeds

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 tablespoon honey

2 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 cup water

1 egg white, lightly beaten (for a wash)

Flake salt

Salmon Gravlax (recipe below)

1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced

1/2 cup / 50 grams crème fraiche

1/4 cup / 2 grams chopped fresh dill

Flake salt

For the Rye cracker

Preheat oven to 300*F. 

In a medium bowl combine the rye and all purpose flours, baking powder, rolled oats, pumpkin, sunflower, sesame and flax seeds and the kosher salt. Whisk well to combine.

In a small bowl add the honey, olive oil, and water. Whisk well to combine.

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir until a slightly sticky but cohesive dough forms. 

Roll the dough as thin as possible between two pieces of parchment paper. Transfer the rolled out flatbread to a baking sheet, brush with egg white and sprinkle with a couple of pinches of flake salt. Bake the cracker until deeply golden throughout and completely dried out, about 25 to 30 minutes. You may need to let the flatbread cool slightly, then carefully flip and bake for another 5 minutes. Leave on the baking sheet to cool for at least 15 minutes. If the cracker doesn’t snap after they cool, return to a preheated oven to dry out for another 5 minutes or so.

To assemble the flatbread

On the flatbread spread 1/2 cup crème fraiche all over. Scatter thinly sliced salmon gravlax on top then finish with the red onion, fresh dill and flake salt. Enjoy straightaway. 

Spruce Tip Gravlax

1 1/2 cups /115 grams finely chopped spruce tips

1/3 cup / 70 gram kosher salt

1/3 cup / 60 grams granulated sugar

1 teaspoon ground mustard seed

1 teaspoon fennel seed

Freshly ground black pepper

1 1/2 pounds salmon filet

In a medium bowl combine the spruce tips, kosher salt, sugar, ground mustard seed, fennel seed and black pepper. Mix well to combine.

Lay the salmon filet on a wire rack over a sheet pan with the skin side down. Press the spruce tip mixture onto the salmon, cover with a clean towel or plastic wrap then refrigerate for 36 to 48 hours depending on how you like the cure. I like to cover the fish with another sheet pan and place some weight on the top to help draw out some of the moisture. The longer the fish sits the more firm it will become. Every 12 to 24 hours check on the fish.

Once cured, gently rinse the spruce tip cure off the salmon with cool water then thinly slice. 

Keep any unused gravlax in the fridge, well sealed, for up to 2 weeks.

It's been one month since the launch of my third cookbook, Rooted Kitchen. The craziness of the first bit of a launch is calming and I am now just taking it all in. A very hearty thank you to those who have joined me at our launch and signings, to those who have purchased the book, left a review and/or have been cheering this journey on. I feel the love and it has been one of the greatest gifts during this vulnerable time of sharing my art/soul with the world. 

Rooted Kitchen is the story of my own journey to deepen my connection with the earth through food. When I first dreamed up the idea for this book I simply wanted it to exist in the world. I wanted a book that was part manifesto, one that illustrated a way of living that invited the audience into a different way of seeing and relating with the natural world, with recipes that inspired and deepened that invitation. The words are the why and the recipes are the how. Going through each of the seasons while I wrote the proposal I let the vision of this book open up slowly, living into it and really focusing on why I believed this book deserved a space on your bookshelf. An editor once made a comment on how a book needs to be worth the trees. As one who loves and respects the trees immensely I wanted to make sure that I was working on a new and different sort of book. This book needed to come to life and it is one of my life's greatest joys that I got to be the one to bring it to life. 

In Rooted Kitchen, you'll find seasonal recipes inspired by my love of foraging and cooking with fresh, local ingredients. From spring's tender green garlic to winter's hearty root vegetables, each recipe tells a story of my connection to the natural world around me. It's not just about recipes or cooking techniques, but about a way of living and being that honors the rhythms and cycles of nature. Through the pages of Rooted Kitchen, I hope to inspire readers to see themselves as a part of nature, rather than separate from it. By developing a reciprocal relationship with the natural world, we can learn to care for and protect it in a way that nourishes both ourselves and the planet.

*If you’ve purchased the book (thank you!) I would love it if you could leave a review. Even if your purchase wasn’t from Amazon you can still review it there. These are immensely helpful in encouraging others to grab a copy. 

*If you spot the book in a small bookstore or if you are a small shop carrying my book please do let me know. Send me a picture with the shop name or tag me on Instagram (@ashrod). I would love to support and highlight the small businesses that are supporting my work. 

*If you live in LA and want a signed copy of Rooted Kitchen they have a few left at Now Serving. Go say hi to Ken and grab a copy!

*Now that the bulk of my traveling has settled I hope to spend more time in this place. Sharing things that inspire, seasonally driven content, recipes, invitations, etc. This place feels like the calm in the midst of a very chaotic internet world and I’m so grateful you are here. 

I’m thrilled to share one of my favorite recipes from Rooted Kitchen. I’ve been making this salad every spring (multiple times a season) for years now and it never fails to delight. 

Peas and Their Greens Salad

My friends who have had this salad at the various events and occasions I’ve brought it to insisted that I include the recipe in my new book. But, I’m sharing it here for you in case you, like me, also love peas. It’s a celebration of peas in various forms, brought together with fragrant herbs, salty pecorino cheese, floral olive oil, and tart lemon juice. There is really not much more to it than that, yet it tastes as if there’s something secret hiding within the list of ingredients. 

Ingredients

10 ounces fresh or frozen peas (about 2 cups), blanched

8 ounces sugar snap peas, thinly sliced (about 2 cups)

2 cups tender pea vines

½ cup fresh mint leaves

¼ cup coarsely chopped fresh dill

1½ ounces pecorino cheese, finely grated (about ½ cup )

⅓ cup pistachios, salted and roasted

Grated zest and juice of 1 small lemon

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Flaky sea salt

On a large platter, layer half of these ingredients: the peas, snap peas, pea vines, mint, dill, pecorino, and pistachios. Sprinkle half of the lemon zest and drizzle with half of the lemon juice and oil. Repeat, finishing the salad with a pinch or two of sea salt. 

In the spirit of this holiday of honoring love in all forms I wanted to share a recipe for one of the best things that has come out of my kitchen lately - Strawberry Rose marshmallows. 

While traditionally roses are given out in bouquets this time of year I’m here to say that perhaps a bundle of these would be better suited to communicate love, affection, and appreciation? 

Roses are said to gladden the heart particularly when burdened. So when told to “stop and smell the roses” there is truth in the ability for that simple act to help you connect you to your heart and remind you to slow down and enjoy life. In her book, Body Into Balance, Maria Noel Groves says that studies suggest “that roses tone the heart and have antihypertensive, antidiabetic, anti anxiety, hypnotic, anti-inflammatory, nerve-calming, and mood-boosting effects.” As if you needed any more reason to whip up a batch of these blush-tinted beauties. 

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Here in the northwest we’re in the season blanketed with gray. The glowing sunshine this time of year often comes in the form of citrus. My parents bring a carload back with them when they return from a trip to the southern deserts of California and it’s almost as if I can feel that box of citrus radiate sunshine heat as I run my finger over the dimpled skin to release that floral scent. Besides snacking on satsumas all day long I’m continually looking at ways of preserving their bright flavor and vitamin boosting powers. I’ve come up with a few ways to prolong the citrus season that I share in my upcoming book but today I’m giving you a sneak peak of one of my favorite ways to enjoy citrus this season. 

When my body craves a touch of sunshine or my immune system needs a boost, I turn to Fermented Lemon-Ginger Honey. This concoction is bursting with vitamin C and has potent anti-inflammatory properties, making it the perfect remedy for sore throats. I’m regretting not having a batch of this already going as I’m feeling a bit of a tickle in my throat. I’ll admit that I do start enjoying this mixture even before the week resting time is done as I just love anything to do with lemon, honey and ginger.

This versatile concoction can be used to add zest to sparkling water, add depth to teas, create flavorful hot toddies, enhance salad dressings, or simply be savored by the spoonful.

1 cup raw honey

1 large lemon, thinly sliced

4 ounces fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced

Have ready a sterilized 1-pint canning jar

Instructions:

To the jar, add ½ cup of the honey, the lemon, and ginger. Pour the remaining ½ cup honey on top. Gently press down on the lemon and ginger to fully submerge under the honey. Cover the jar with a lid and let sit at room temperature for about 1 week. Open the jar at least once a day to release any built-up gas and give the mixture a stir with a sterilized spoon to submerge the lemons and ginger. They’ll continually rise to the top, which is fine, but you’ll want to flip the jar or stir it daily. The flavor improves as it sits, but give the honey at least 1 week to ferment. Once it reaches your desired fermented taste, store the jar in the fridge to slow down the process. The honey will keep in a lidded jar in the fridge for at least 6 months. Discard if you notice any spoilage or mold growth.

Book News

The launch of Rooted Kitchen is fast approaching and I want to make sure you lovely people don’t miss out on any of it. 

One of the best ways to support the launch is to preorder the book. The excitement built around preorders alerts bookstores and other buyers to the book and helps bring attention to it. My lovely publisher and I created a stunning PDF that includes sample recipes, an essay and a bonus recipe I created just for those who preorder. 

This PDF will be delivered directly to your inbox once you’ve preordered and then filled out this form.

Preorder your signed copy at Book Larder!

IndieBound

Secret Garden Books

Powell’s

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Events

The book officially launches on MARCH 5 and I’ll be at Book Larder here in Seattle that evening in conversation with my friend Aran Goyoaga.

On MARCH 7 we’re celebrating PNW style at the Filson flagship store. My dear friends Sarah and Colin Simon are launching their Gardening Journal and we decided to celebrate together. The first 50 attendees will receive an amazing swag bag. There will be drinks by Westland Whiskey and Kings & Daughters and I’ll be preparing some bites from Rooted Kitchen.

Be sure to register for that amazing event.  

I’ll also be making trips to LA, NYC, and SF. Details coming soon.