Ollie plays a pretty intense game of Jenga
(This is what was left AFTER we canned the salsa!)
The first Friday of the month is reserved for recipes. You can see additional First Friday Food posts here.
Homemade pesto is one of the greatest things our society has ever invented. It’s one of the best things about gardening: lots of excess basil means lots of pesto sitting in the freezer, waiting to be eaten.
As for the rest of it, well, it’s fast and easy, which is something you can never have too much of, especially with two small kids and a busy schedule.
Which is good, because this pasta is something I can never have too much of.
You can essentially roast any kind of veggies, but we pretty much always fall back on the same ones. So go with what you have, but this is a combination I can vouch for.
If you’re feeling particularly plucky, or carnivorous, you can toss in some sausage as well, which makes this even BETTER.
Not only is this absolutely delicious, but it’s just so colorful! Makes me feel good just looking at it. Plus you’re getting a lot of veggies, and it looks a lot fancier than it feels, since it’s so simple to make. The veggies are actually pretty sweet, and they go so well with the pesto. The sausage brings in a little saltiness and makes it last a bit longer in your stomach.
This is in heavy rotation at our house.
Recipe modified slightly from the yummy life.
Any roasted veggies will do, but this is what we use:
We hadn’t yet got the garden arranged or planted, but we had done some work on it. I had buried the compost we had been dumping on all winter and removed the last of the old kale stalks, so it was more or less ready to go. So, since the weather has finally taken a turn for the better, Sara decided to go get some seeds in the ground.
She called me at work. “Did you rearrange all the bricks from the garden path?” she asked. “Uh, no? Why would I do that?” I said. “Well I don’t know, but someone took apart our path and rebuilt it in a new pattern.”
It seemed a little too polite for vandalism, so right away we assumed perhaps someone new to the garden had gotten confused and thought they had been assigned our plot. We emailed the garden director, but there was really no way to know who had made the mistake or which plot they had really been assigned.
Anyway, we hoped they hadn’t planted anything in our garden, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. Sara put the path back, flipped the dirt, and planted some seeds.
A few hours later, we got a text from one of our neighbors, and fellow gardener. “Someone is digging up your garden!” Sara immediately ran over there and confronted the lady, averting disaster.
Now, of course it was an honest mistake, but by the time Sara got there she had covered over some of the swiss chard seeds and she had unearthed bucket fulls of our hard-earned compost and was taking them out of the garden. All winter long we have been laboriously schlepping our good kitchen compost over to the garden, braving -30 degree weather to save our slimy decomposing fertilizer.
Apparently, one of our garden neighbors had disdainfully told her, “Oh yeah, they just used this as a dumping ground”. Hello? It’s called compost! What gardener can’t tell the difference between trash and biodegradable worm food? The thing is, our plot is by no means untended. We have a nice path and nice smooth dirt, and a box full of strawberries. Sara had put sticks in to mark the rows of planted seeds. “Oh, I thought maybe my friend had left me some sticks,” she said. “Good thing you got me before I threw out your strawberries!”
Good thing indeed!
Again, it was an honest mistake. I feel bad for the lady; I would be mortified if I had made the same mistake. I can only imagine she will spend the rest of the year hiding under the lettuce whenever she sees us. Maps are difficult to read. I’m just glad our neighbor has our back (and a quick texting finger)!
This year we decided to simplify our garden and mostly just focus on tomatoes. No beans, no peppers, no eggplant. Just lots and lots of tomatoes.
However, we did put in two basil plants, and we had planted carrots and kale from seeds before we made this decision. Those seem to be going surprisingly well. I don’t think we’ve ever had so many carrots come up! Last year we had maybe 3 or 4 kale plants and they provided an amazingly endless amount of kale. This year we had about 10 plants come up! So we might be swimming in the stuff.
And of course, lets not forget the strawberries!
Okay, so maybe it’s a little more diversified than I realized.
I’m actually kind of excited about all the tomatoes. They seem to be the most versatile and consistently useful thing we grow. I really don’t think we could ever have too many tomatoes. Some things seem to be about the same from the garden or the store, but that is not the case for tomatoes; they are night and day better from the garden. Worst case scenario we just can lots of extra tomato sauce and salsa.
It looks like one of the tomatoes didn’t survive the planting, and one of the ones from the food swap is a teeny tiny baby, so I’m not sure it’s going to make it either. But it’s still early enough that we could probably sneak in a few replacements if we had to.
Here’s to another year of delicious fresh produce!
Unfortunately, our garden gnome Lloyd is no more.
Lloyd had been with me for just under 10 years or so, given as a gift to be a companion to my gargoyle Prince (short for Prince of Darkness of course). Usually we take Lloyd in for the winter, but this year we didn’t. Perhaps he got upset at being left out in the cold, but more likely, someone decided to appropriate our humble garden gnome. And something tells me I’m not going to get a bunch of cute pictures of his travels.
Evie has noticed that he’s not in the garden, but hasn’t caught on yet that he’s gone for good. So far, I haven’t had the heart to tell her. He was certainly a positive part of the garden, and our only protection against the shark (who unfortunately did not get stolen, and still menaces our plot from his lofty plastic perch).
Lloyd, we miss you buddy, and we wish you’d come back. The garden won’t be the same without you. But if you don’t, I can only hope you’ve moved on to greener pastures.