Pure in Heart
Only the pure in heart can make a good soup. —Ludwig van Beethoven You could argue that the best way to enjoy a tomato—or a carrot, or an ear of corn—at its peak is uncooked and practically unadorned. And you’d be right. What is better than that August tomato, warmed by the sun, picked from its vine and showered with a few flakes of salt? The ear of corn that’s snapped from its stalk tastes best right there among the rows—raw and as juicy as a peach. The carrot? Even the carr
On Chaos Theory and Why We Dance Behind the Bus
Every April, I sit down with four blank pieces of paper. I draw a five-by-seven grid, and number the cells. Then, in the square that represents the first Saturday in June, I write: CURE. I feel good about this one. Our first dinner of the season is usually a mild and sunny affair. It may have snowed only a week ago, but by June, we are well into our first solid stretch of warm summer evenings, and the monsoons of July are still on the distant horizon. As soon as I am on to th
Setting the Stage
There is something very endearing about a grown man tiptoeing along, arms outstretched for balance. This is what Bob Munson is doing when I pull up beside his truck. The tilled, empty field is his stage, and he carefully places one white sneaker in front of the other, moving gingerly across, featherweight. If you've ever watched a sand hill crane dance—stretching its wings, lifting into the air, bowing to the ground—this is what Bob looks like. I remain in my car to watch him