Nothing simpler.

While kirby cucumbers abound - and are wonderful - at New York's Greenmarkets in the summer, lemon cucumbers are less common. Imagine my delight, then, to encounter the round little fellers at Cherry Lane's St. Stephen's Greenmarket stand on Saturday morning. There they were, nestled in among the kirbies, looking for all the world like miniature honeydew melons.

Lemon cucumbers are round and pale yellow, which, I suppose, is where they get their name. Their flavor is a bit subtler than other varieties of cucumber, and their flesh is silkier, too. All in all, they're flat-out delicious. I enjoyed the first of mine very simply, just sliced and topped with a light sprinkle of sea salt. I have no solid plans for the remainder of my haul, though I'm thinking a cucumber sandwich (warm, toasted bread, a touch of mayonnaise, salt and pepper - and, of course, cucumber) might be in order.

What would you do with such bounty?

Cool cocktail for a cold night.

On Saturday night, my brother, sister-in-law and I tramped through the cold, biting snow to see Where The Wild Things Are. None of us enjoyed it all that much (I must not be a hipster...), and by the time I made it home, I was chilled to the bone and ready for a cocktail.

I wasn't in the mood for a martini, and I was running low on bourbon - but I had plenty of lemons and Laird's Applejack, an apple brandy made just over the river in New Jersey. I decided to make my new go-to autumn cocktail, an applejack sidecar. Sidecars have lemon juice, which makes apple pie taste good, so why not apple liquor?

As you know, thanks to Nick, I'm awfully fond of a bourbon sidecar. An applejack sidecar is a bit lighter in taste, but packs just as much punch at the finish. And since applejack is essentially apple brandy, I figure it's even less a bastardization of the original, which calls for brandy or Cognac.


It's key that you use fresh lemon juice (just as it's paramount to use fresh mixers in all drinks) to ensure the right amount of tart, citrusy bite. It would also be good to do half lemon juice, half fresh cider. Oooh, yeah, that would be awesome. You could sub (or even supplement) Grand Marnier in for the Cointreau...you could even do what Nick does with his sidecars and add a little Grand Marnier float to the top.

After all, you're already breaking with convention - have fun, wouldja?

Applejack Sidecar

This makes a smaller, quite civilized cocktail - feel free to double up. I often do.

1 sliver of lemon, reserved
Granulated sugar
2 1/2 ounces Laird's Applejack
1 tbs. lemon juice
1 tbs. Cointreau or Triple Sec

Drag the lemon sliver, fleshy side down, around the rim of a cocktail glass. Once the rim is evenly damp with juice, put some sugar on a small plate and spin the glass around in it a couple of times to coat the rim with sugar. Place the glass in the fridge or freezer to chill while you make the cocktail.

Fill a cocktail shaker 1/3 full with cubed ice. Pour in the Applejack, lemon juice and Cointreau. Cover and shake gently until the shaker fogs with condensation.

Pour the cocktail into the prepared glass and enjoy.

Serves one.

A happy accident.

On Saturday morning, I visited the St. Stephen's Greenmarket at 82nd and First, where I bought some dill, brussels sprouts, shallots and beets - at least, I thought they were beets.

Turns out, they were a batch of the biggest purple radishes I have ever seen. I made this discovery when I started slicing them for a roasted beet and cucumber salad. Not to be deterred, I decided to roast the radishes instead, and to add some sliced carrots to replace the sweetness of the beets.

It also turns out that roasted radishes and carrots make a pretty damn good salad when tossed with cucumber, dill, onion and a lemon vinaigrette. The salad went perfectly with my roast chicken thigh, and I had to restrain myself from eating the second half of the meal, which had been earmarked for Monday's lunch.

All in all, a good showing.

Roast Chicken with Radish, Carrot and Cucumber Salad

Olive oil
1 bunch radishes, washed and cut into one-inch pieces
1 large carrot, peeled and cut into half-inch thick half-moons
Salt and pepper
2 chicken thighs (bone-in, skin-on)
2 kirby cucumbers, seeded and cut into one-inch pieces
1/4 large white onion, thinly sliced
3 tbs. fresh dill, finely chopped
1 small shallot, minced
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Juice of one lemon
1 tsp. honey
2 tbs. canola oil

Preheat the oven to 425°F. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and brush the foil with a bit of olive oil. Spread the carrots and radishes evenly on the foil, drizzle with a bit more olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Place in the preheated oven and roast for 25-35 minutes, stirring once or twice, until tender and beginning to brown deeply.

Meanwhile, pat the chicken thighs dry, brush another baking sheet with olive oil (no foil this time), and place the chicken thighs on the sheet. Season with salt and pepper and add to the oven. Roast for 30-40 minutes, until the skin is crisp and golden, and the meat's juices run clear. Set aside to rest for 5-10 minutes.

Place the cucumbers, onion and dill in a medium bowl. In a small bowl, whisk together the shallot, mustard, lemon juice, honey and a bit of salt and pepper. Add the oil in a small stream, whisking as you go, until the mixture is emulsified. Set aside.

Once the roasted vegetables have cooled for a minute or two, add them to the cucumber. Add half of the vinaigrette and toss the salad until all ingredients are evenly distributed. Taste and add more vinaigrette as needed, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Spoon the salad evenly onto two plates, and place a chicken thigh on top of each little pile. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Serves 2.

Somewhere over the rainbow.

This Sunday, I took the M86 crosstown bus over to the Upper West Side to check out the Greenmarket behind the Museum of Natural History. I had a bit of a late start on Saturday morning (I blame my friends Mark and Jim - they're major enablers), so I didn't make it to the Union Square or the East 82nd Street outposts. The Upper West Side market, however, is open on Sundays. Score!

Even more of a score? Piles of gorgeous, late-season Kirby cucumbers, new-season Gala apples, and a create-your-own-pint-of-cherry-tomatoes offer, courtesy of Berried Treasures Farm. I love having an assortment of tiny tomatoes on hand; the slight variations in tang and sweetness make for a more interesting salad, and the different colors are just so darn pretty.

Even better, they only charged three dollars for a pint - a pretty good deal in Greenmarket land. I think I'll have to make a rainbow version of spaghetti with tomatoes, garlic and basil sometime very soon.

Closer to home.

There are some weekends that end up so jam-packed that I just don't have time to make it down to the Union Square Greenmarket. It might be work that needs catching up on, or laundry to be done before a trip, or just too many obligations all around. On those weekends, I'd always resigned myself to grocery store sourced produce - but no longer.

One recent weekend, I decided to check out the Greenmarket's Saturday outpost at 82nd and 1st. I was utterly convinced that there would be little on offer that could compare to the Union Square pickings, and I was wrong. Though the selection is notably smaller, the quality of the produce is just as good as what you can find at Union Sqaure.

When I visited, there were piles of eggplant, some lovely peaches, gorgeous peppers, and - of course - mountains of summer squash and zucchini.

The 82nd Street market is tucked behind St. Stephen's, a Franciscan church, and uses the church's parking lot to house its meat, bread and cheese vendors. Ardith Mae had a beautifully spare display - their chalkboard-and-bare-wood aesthetic screamed "CHEESE" to me. (Their website is great, too - check it out for cute pictures of their goats.)

I walked home laden with potatoes, peaches, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and onions - not bad for a two-block walk and no subway ride. I might be a convert!

To market, to market...in Rhode Island.

Before we took our bike ride to lobster roll heaven, Aunt Cathi and I did some shopping for Saturday night's dinner. She had planned a seafood-heavy feast (always music to this landlubber's ears): steamers, angel hair pasta with crab, tomato, wine and herbs and panzanella (bread salad with cucumbers and tomatoes).

Our first stop was the Sakonnet Growers' market in Tiverton, where we picked up cucumbers (the green kind, not the round yellows ones above) and basil for the salad. The market was small (compared to the sometimes overwhelming bustle of the Union Square Greenmarket), but well-stocked. Tiverton's citizens are particularly concerned with preservation, and the market is perched at the top of a rolling, undeveloped meadow ringed by tall trees - an absolutely idyllic setting for browsing the local produce.

I gave in to temptation and bought two jars of locally-made jam (Made from local produce, too!) from Cory's Kitchen at Sweet Berry Farm. My picks were peach-raspberry preserves and hot pepper jam - the former will appear, no doubt, on crumpets chez Queenie in the near future. The latter might end up stirred into salad dressings, spread on crackers, or, possibly, eaten with a spoon.

Our next stop (after a beautiful driving tour of Tiverton) was Coastal Roasters, widely known in the area as the best coffee for miles. Aunt Cathi, primarily a tea drinker, wanted some help picking out a dark, rich coffee for my Uncle Jack. This was a challenge to which I felt equal. The shop roasts most of its own beans, and the selection was fantastic. We ended up choosing a Sumatran blend with cocoa tones to it for Uncle Jack, and ordering a latte (for Cathi) and a café au lait (for me). The coffee was great - rich, round, and strong.

Finally, we stopped at the fish store to collect the crab and steamers. No pictures , sadly, but I can confirm that many times of mollusk were on offer, including the little necks they gave us by mistake (something we only discovered upon opening the bag to clean them just before dinner). Oops.

I have to say, I was seriously impressed with the availability of local, sustainable foods in this little corner of Rhode Island. Everywhere I turned, it seemed, someone was offering me fantastic coffee, delicious ice cream, succulent fish, or fresh fruit - all grown or made within the surrounding 50 miles or so.

Looking for links to all the places we visited, I even found an amazing site called Farm Fresh Rhode Island, a comprehensive guide to buying local and fresh across the (admittedly teeny) state. Pretty nifty, I have to say.

What's up, field-grown tomatoes?

If you live in the northeastern United States, you've probably noticed the lack of field-grown tomatoes at your local market. You may also have heard that this lack is the result of a particularly bad spell of late blight, a strain of the same potato- and tomato-targeting fungus that caused Ireland's famine in the mid-19th century.

Dan Barber (chef & owner at Blue Hill and Blue Hill at Stone Barns) had a great op-ed piece in Sunday's New York Times explaining the origin of this year's particularly nasty case of late blight. Turns out the summer of 2009 has been a sort of perfect storm of nature, economics, culture, agriculture and good intentions, providing perfect conditions for late blight to flourish like crazy.

First of all, late blight loves cool, wet weather. This summer has been remarkably moderate in temperature and generous with water, so it's no surprise that late blight has made itself at home. Next, you have the economy and current food culture, both of which are encouraging people to grow more of their own food. This is a great trend - food you grow at home is indeed far cheaper, and often better than what you can get in the store.

But since so many people buy their tomato plants from large chains like Home Depot, rather than from small, local nurseries, they're increasing the chance late blight has to hop from plant to plant before making the journey to the home garden. Plants raised in smaller batches can be more closely observed for blight before sale, and have less chance of spreading the disease amongst themselves.

I highly recommend you take a look at Barber's piece, which goes on to suggest some improvements to agricultural training and awareness for professional and amateur farmers alike. In no way does he encourage us to walk back from the current trend for home cultivation, but he does remind us that engaging in agriculture means we should learn a bit about the larger ecosystem in which we're now participating.

Photo Essay: July at the Union Square Greenmarket.

In July & August, the greenmarkets in New York are at their most bountiful. Stone fruits abound, blackberries, blueberries and raspberries are in season, and the cucumbers continue to be plump, juicy and impossibly fresh.

Summer squash appear in their infinite varieties, including the ruffly and little bear shapes (my two favorites), tomatoes are in full force (though this summer's late blight had put something of a damper on things), and garlic scapes are everywhere, bundled into delightfully stinky bouquets.

It's pretty good times.

Salad for breakfast? Don't mind if I do.

The first corn of the season is always a little exciting for me. Summers in my mother's house always meant piles and piles of corn, usually steamed or boiled and served with butter, salt and pepper. I had braces from the seventh to the eleventh grade, so there were a few years there where I tended to cut it off the cob - but, for the most part, summer to me is my face covered in butter and bits of corn, a naked corncob on my plate.

Saturday morning, Migliorelli had a pile of early corn for sale, and I dove right in. I bought three ears and toted them home along with some scallions, tomatoes, cherries and other goodies. Sunday morning, not much in the mood to do a lot of cooking, I decided to whip up a warm corn and tomato salad for breakfast.

I cubed two small tomatoes, diced a little red onion, and mixed the two in a small bowl. Then, I cut the kernels off of one ear of corn, chopped up a little scallion, and sauteed those two together in a teeny bit of canola oil. A splash of sherry vinegar and a healthy amount of salt later, and I had a damn satisfying breakfast - sweet, earthy, crunchy, soft, and a bit tangy. Summer in a bowl.

Improvisation is the spice of life.

I love summer squash. It's sweet, it's pretty, and it's so easy to cook - unlike all those fall and winter squashes, with their giant seeds and pulpy insides, summer squash is pretty much just slice-and-serve. You can roast it, saute it, or eat it raw, if you like.

Most of the time, I roast mine with a little olive oil, some salt and pepper, and a sprinkling of thyme from the windowsill garden. But, one night last week, I found myself in need of dinner and without any meat in the house. The result? An improvised pasta dish: green and yellow zucchini sauteed with garlic, onion, mustard and thyme, deglazed with a little chicken stock and tossed with penne.

There's no real recipe here - just an example of improvisation at work. Don't be afraid to play around with whatever you have in the fridge - at worst, you'll have a slightly less than stellar meal - at best, you'll add a new standard to your repertoire.

I made zucchini with penne again for lunch Saturday, natch.

From peonies to dahlias.

Dahlias have replaced peonies as the flower of the moment at the Greenmarket, and I love them almost as much. Almost.

Everything's coming up rosy.

Raspberries, cherry tomatoes, and cherries have appeared at the farmer's market...I've been bringing cherries to work for my afternoon snack for a week now, and my days have rarely been happier.

Change of season.

The asparagus are few and far between, strawberries are everywhere, and the tomatoes are starting to pop up at more and more stands...this can only mean one thing: summer is here, however cold and rainy it may be. I'm looking forward to a couple months of tomato, basil & corn salads, roast squash, beets galore, and stone fruits.

What are you most excited about this summer - food-related or no?

Late spring.

A photo tour of the Union Square Greenmarket over the last few weekends...enjoy!

Spring's sharp bite - and a bargain to boot.

Radishes aren't everyone's cup of tea - and, I admit, they're not at the top of my list of produce to get worked up over. That said, they add a delicious, peppery bite to salads, are delicious with butter, bread and salt, and, perhaps best of all - they're an insane bargain.

Local radishes from small farmers? $1 a bunch. ONE DOLLAR. Just thought that all of you who think buying local and sustainable is out of reach, budget-wise, should know about this. Not that you can live on radishes alone, but it's a start.

1,001 (ok, two) ways to eat your strawberry-rhubarb compote.

With vanilla ice cream...

...or with waffles, butter, and a pinch of sugar.

It's that time again.

My friends, the day I've been waiting for has finally arrived. Strawberries are here, and all is right with the world.

I took Friday off from work and used the morning to visit the Greenmarket. The Friday market is less crowded than its Saturday incarnation, but there are also proportionately fewer vendors on hand. I strode briskly down the line, checking each and every table for the tell-tale turquoise containers, searching and searching until I spied some out of the corner of my eye.

There were about ten quarts of berries on the table, so I quickly swooped down and claimed two of them. My search over, I calmed down a bit and wandered back through the market, adding a pound of rhubarb and a bouquet of poppies to my haul for the morning.

Strawberries will obviously be far more plentiful next week, so there's no need to be precious about them. But to make my haul last until then, I decided to use most of this first batch to make a double batch of one my favorite springtime treats, strawberry-rhubarb compote.

I've already eaten it on ice cream, over greek yogurt (topped with a drizzle of honey) and, admittedly, straight from the jar. Yeah, I'm uncouth - deal.

Strawberries have landed!

In other news, I love Twitter. Thanks for the update, @maggiejane!

Eat your greens.

I love lettuce and greens in all their various forms, but I will admit - I'm not great about using them at home. I tend to stick with romaine, which serves me for my meal-sized salads (a dinner eaten at least twice a week chez Queenie) as well as my smaller, side-salad creations.

Anything else I buy tends to sit in the fridge till it wilts enough to become completely unappealing. Such behavior is a waste of food and money, and so I've stopped pretending and mainly get my lettuce varietal fixes elsewhere.

That said, when I saw some fresh pea greens at the market last week, I couldn't pass them by. I love their sharp little bite and the crunch of the stems, and I thought they'd be the perfect thing alongside the duck leg I'd bought on the other side of the park. I did a little thinking, picked up a container of fresh fettuccine, and made my way back uptown.

When I got home, I chopped some shallot and a little garlic, seasoned and seared the duck leg (which I then popped in the oven to finish cooking), and sauteed half the pea shoots in a tiny bit of olive oil. I lined the pasta bowl with the other pea shoots (still raw), topped it with the fettucine and cooked greens, and placed the duck leg on top of it all. A shower of chives and a bit of salt and pepper later, lunch was ready!

Fresh Fettuccine with Pea Greens and Duck

1 duck leg, skin-side seasoned with salt and pepper
3 tsp. olive oil, separated
1 small shallot, minced
1 garlic clove, sliced
2 loosely-packed cups pea greens, separated
1 tbs. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. honey
2 tbs. dry white wine (or dry Vermouth)
1/4 cup finely chopped chives
1/4 lb. frsh fettucine, cooked according to package instructions
1/2 tbs. unsalted butter
Salt and pepper, to taste

Pre-heat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. In a small skillet set over high heat, heat 1 tsp. of the olive oil for a minute or two. Place the duck leg in the skillet, skin-side down, and let sear on high heat for a minute, then reduce heat to medium and continue to cook for three to four more minutes, until the skin is dark brown and crispy. Turn the leg over and transfer the skillet to the oven. Cook for 10 minutes, then remove from oven and let sit while you prepare the pasta.

In a medium skillet set over medium-high heat, saute the shallots in two teaspoons of the olive oil until transluscent, about one minute. Add the garlic and saute for a minute more. Add the pea greens and chives and saute for two minutes, or until wilted. Add the mustard & honey to the pan and stir into the greens, shallots and garlic, until both are evenly distributed. Cook for two minutes, then add the wine.

Stir briskly, making sure you get any good brown bits from the pottom of the skillet incorporated into the sauce, then turn the heat down until the pasta is ready. Once pasta is ready, drain (Do NOT rinse!) and add to the skillet. Turn the heat to medium and cook the pasta and sauce together for a few minutes, stirring to distribute the sauce throughout the pasta. Add the butter stir once or twice to incorporate, and turn off the heat.

Line your plate with the remaining pea greens, top with the pasta, and place the duck leg on top. Sprinkle the remaining chives over everything, season to taste, and eat!

Serves one, generously. I've made this recipe a few times this month, usually with fresh fettuccine. Last week, I used spaghetti - which works really well, too - so don't feel beholden to the fresh pasta rule!

Not the hard stuff, but it'll do for now.

For my money, asparagus rival ramps for the altogether-made-up title, "Spring's Greatest, Most Delicious Vegetable." Gloriously grassy (which makes sense, since asparagus is a grass, of sorts), asparagus is a perfect foil for many of spring's other goodies, such as farm-fresh eggs, chives - though it's no stranger to the more wintry parmesan and balsamic vinegar.

Over the last two weeks, I've made my way through four bunches of asparagus - some roasted, encrusted with grated parmesan, some blanched and dipped in homemade mayonnaise, some steamed and topped with an improvised, raw hollandaise (really just homemade mayo with extra lemon juice and chopped chives).

My cravings for strawberries, tomatoes and corn haven't abated, but the asparagus binge is helping to alleviate the pangs - for now.