The vendor had noticed us ogling her herbs. “It’s papalo! Here, take some with you,” she chirped. “I’ll write the word down for you. It’s from Mexico. Use it like cilantro.” At the next stand over, we scored some gray sole and returned home with arms full of tomatoes, onions, lettuces, cucumbers and this unfamiliar herb. A quick web search revealed that papalo is indeed native to Mexico, and it grows like a weed across the Southwest US as well as Central and South America.

The Big View Ah, Duluth… So much easier to say than, say Keegewaquampe (though in truth, the Chippewa kind of had first dibs on naming rights). Mum and I met up in Minneapolis and pushed north to take in the promised delights of the Lake Superior region. And delight there was. We were only there overnight, so I won’t be revealing any state secrets here, but I will say that if only famed Kentucky Representative J.

Ah, the 14th of July! The season of fresh, local cherries. The celebration of Bastille Day. The time to bake a fruity dessert for this week’s Dessert Corps project. Oh, hey… look at that. It’s like a cosmic alignment of forces telling me it’s time to make a cherry clafoutis, the traditional custard pudding of Limousin in the heart of la belle France . As it happens, the fantastic Dessert Corps volunteer crew provided me with a half-dozen eggs and more than a pound of gorgeous, blushing Rainier Cherries — sweet, fragrant and fresh from the Greenpoint farmers’ market.

Of all the fruits, rhubarb retains the most magical nostalgic quality for me. Back when I was very small, it grew gargantuan each spring around the farmhouse. My mom always made terrific rhubarb desserts. Sweet-tart. Spicy. Distinctly rhubarb-y. What’s funny is that rhubarb isn’t actually a fruit. It’s a stem, making it technically a vegetable… but who eats rhubarb as a vegetable? No, rhubarb is the vegetable that found its true calling in the fruit world.

At long last, sun emerged from behind a wall of clouds. Heartsick with cabin fever, we leaped at the chance to get out and about. Zipcar provided the wheels, Google provided the directions and PickYourOwn.Org offered up the berry farms. Truth be told, we spent most of our time hiking on the lovely Delaware Water Gap trails, but on the way back, we popped into Sussex County Strawberry Farm to snatch up a sweet, fragrant pre-picked pint.

How long has it been since I posted a recipe? Too long, clearly. Travel, work and a busy schedule of triathlon training have kept me from blogging, but today I come to you with a salad that celebrates one of the underrated wonders of the spring season: the radish. I found some lovely red radishes at the farmer’s market last weekend — tender and almost sweet with a gentle peppery bite.

The call went out. And the foodies poured in. The people who pickle and the people who vend kitchenware. The people who grow community gardens and the people who grow kombucha. The Slow Food people and the Just Food people. The vegans and the grass-fed meat vendors. They came, they spoke and they distributed their recycled paper brochures. Disappointingly, the workshop I really wanted to attend (Permaculture : an introduction to ecological design systems fro sustainability) was stuffed to the walls with folks pouring out into the hallways of John Jay High School.

Just in case you were wondering… yes. The rumors are true. Our Bee Sweet Bake Sale for Earth Day last week was a sweet success (probably one of our biggest in-office bake sales to date) with a menu consisting of such treats as: Honey Raisin Oatmeal Cookies Banana Bread with Honeyed Cream Cheese Chocolate-Honey Mini Cupcakes Spicy Ginger Brownies (honey-free) Honey Peanut Butter Cookies Whole-Wheat Honey Fruit Squares Honeyed Hot Masala Chai

I’m willing to admit it: I’m a northern girl with southern envy. Having grown up on a parade of cream of mushroom soup casseroles, I’ve since discovered some of the flavorful, everyday delights my southern brethren took for granted… things like red velvet cake, po-boys and one of the finest condiments to cross my palate: chow-chow. It’s my great loss that the only chow-chows I’d ever encountered were the dog breed and the dancing chow-chow-chow cats of 1970s-era TV advertising.

Ahh, Easter. Egg dying. Egg hiding. Egg finding. And then… a lot of hard-boiled eggs to use up in a hurry. I’m sure you know how to make a simple egg salad (dice boiled eggs, add chopped celery if you like and slather with enough mayo to moisten), but just in case you’re long on eggs and short on ideas, here’s a dozen other things to do with a hard-boiled egg.