Week 7: Mardi Gras Stir Fry

The best and worst thing about visiting Louisiana is, well, all the fried food. From hush puppies to po-boys to seafood platters, deep fried glory is calling out to you from the radio, the TV, street signs, newspaper ads, and once they've got you where they want you, the restaurant menu. In Louisiana, I'll eat things I won't eat anywhere else: fried shrimp, stuffed crab, butter-soaked crab claws, catfish po-boys. Rationally, the clean eater in me is horrified by all of this, but the power of smell and marketing is just too much in Louisiana, and reason tends to take a back seat to passion. In fact, on this journey, passion completely sabotaged reason, and I accidentally left all of Week 7's broccoli at my sister's house in Mississippi. She was thrilled because it gave her the chance to make a beautiful stir fry (photo attached) and I was over the moon because it meant I got to eat another po-boy.

But by Day 3, I was actually craving food that wasn't lathered in oil and batter, so I decided to follow my sister's lead and make a stir fry. As luck would have it, we had red cabbage, summer squash and Swiss chard in this week's delivery, so I sauteed it all with garlic, onion and homemade peanut sauce. The cabbage turned purple while cooking and to everyone's excitement, our meal took on the colors of Mardi Gras - purple, gold and green. Even the kids, in disbelief that I was offering them purple food, outdid themselves by taking multiple bites. They stopped short of making happy plates though, no doubt coming to the realization that what they were eating was wholesome and natural rather than artificial and fun. But so be it - I was just relieved they weren't begging for king cake for dessert.

Mardi Gras stir fry with tofu, red cabbage, summer squash and Swiss chard.

Staci's beautiful broccoli stir fry.

Week 7: Ants on a Log

So this post is only partly about ants on a log, the super fun name grown-ups created to coerce little children into eating peanut butter, celery and raisins. It's a great idea in theory but children are just so much smarter than we give them credit for. By any name, a celery stick is still green, fibrous and raw. And in the case of Week 7's celery, tough as nails. The celery was petite and just ripening for springtime, so Farmer Gene gave us the disclaimer that it would need to be soaked for an hour or so to soften before eating. I shrugged off this warning, of course, and merrily made my children ants on a log and presented them on adorable plates as the most exciting snack ever. Not so much. My son used his as teething toys and my daughter licked the peanut butter and craisins right off the top of hers, leaving the lonely celery stalks on her plate. I understood when I tasted them - they were completely tough and inedible, just as Farmer Gene promised. No doubt, my children thought me a trickster and a fraud once again (case in point: kale chips).

The saving grace of this story is that we had the celery as a side dish to possibly the best sandwich in the history of mankind. I understand those are fighting words, but taste this via the world wide web if you can: freshly baked and buttered rustic bread, the softest brie cheese and thinly sliced, crisp apples all melted together panini style. Paired with cold white wine, this will be my last supper if I have any say in the situation. I will, however, be leaving the ants on a log for the kids.

Ants on a log with brie and apple paninis.

Week 7: Kale Pesto

Just when I thought I knew all there was to know about kale, my culinary adventures led me to kale pesto. While I had learned that: 1) steamed kale with nutritional yeast and soy sauce is the next best combination to chocolate and peanut butter; 2) sauteed kale takes way too long to cook to wind up tasting so very mediocre; and 3) the entire kale chip movement is a fraud; I had no idea that kale would make such a divine pesto sauce. And lest you think I'm exaggerating, let it be known that I made this pesto for my mother, who was raised on pretty much every green except those of the kale variety (too hippie for Mississippi perhaps?) and she gave it an enormous thumbs up. Even with all the garlic - another faux pas in the deep South due to its unfortunate ramifications on one's breath - she ate it like she meant it. Either that or she was afraid not to since I was scrutinizing every bite she took like a woman possessed. But she cleaned her plate and polished off the leftovers for lunch the next day, which left me glowing. I mean, it's not every day that a girl can open her mother's universe up to a new vegetable, especially one that has grown so near and dear to said girl's heart. There is just something about kale that reminds me of all that is pure and good, so to find a new way to enjoy it and get to share it with the woman who introduced me to all the major food groups? Well, in my tiny world, it just doesn't get much better than that. Find the recipe here.

Kale pesto, tilapia and roasted beets.