Yesterday we ate our first meal from the garden. Placing a big bowl of radishes, young mustard, kale, arugula, turnip and radish greens, and raab sprouts (from that kitchen window planter box) at the table was like making room at the table for an old friend who’d been gone for too long. I couldn’t wait to dig in, but also found myself apprehensive. Would everything taste the way I’d remembered? Would the greens be different this year than last? Would I fall in love all over again with these vegetables, or decide it was all a waste of time?
With our salad we ate a substantial heap of pasta topped with pesto that I’d frozen in ice cube trays and popped into freezer bags last summer. And although I’m grateful to be able to enjoy pesto all winter and spring, fresh pesto is now in sight and I couldn’t be happier.
Spring meals are complex experiences. First, they are full of anticipation for the flavors that have been absent during winter’s long reign. Then, with the first bite of radish, anticipation gives way to satisfying relief. Spring also presents a merging of flavors, young greens mingling with preserved foods that hark back to last summer’s warmer, drier days. Mostly though, spring reminds us to trust this natural system. Each plump pea pod reminds us that tomatoes will also soon fruit, that beans will overcome the harassment of slugs and grow tall, and that despite any doubt we might have, renewal is inevitable. The cycle persists.
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