Asparagus, asparagus, asparagus. Our patch started sending up shoots early this year after a warm spell and just keeps going. Pictured is one day's picking, thick as my thumb. Thickness has nothing to do with tenderness when dealing with fresh asparagus. Once the tough ends were snapped off this beautiful bunch it still took under 5 minutes to steam and was juicy with a lovely crispness. This year I've finally gotten around to making asparagus stuffed ravioli with mixed results. The asparagus soup, salads, risotto and frittatas have all been delicious but now I am running out of ideas.
There's feast and then there is almost too much of a good thing. Asparagus, it seems, is insinuating itself into just about everything at this point. I've steamed, grilled, sauteed and roasted it in the past few weeks and have now resorted to freezing it because I just just don't have time to pickle it or fry it or spend an hour on the net looking for some new and exciting treatment of asparagus that I haven't tried yet. Believe me, I will miss asparagus very soon, just the way I am missing good tomatoes now. After spending the winter without much nice and fresh, asparagus is the perfect first taste of spring - the great abundance after the lean winter. It makes me think how odd it is that most people no longer seem to think in terms of feast and famine. A broad spectrum of food is always there in our supermarkets. We make it through the winter without much worry although our history is peppered with famines and their consequences. We need reminding to savor the spring feast while it lasts.
Strawberries have made their appearance at the farmers market in the last several weeks. Lush red berries in rows of boxes, tempting me to buy 2 boxes instead of 1. I really only need to buy one since these strawberries are so ripe and delicious that they begin to suffer being left uneaten for a day or two. When I give in to the temptation of the 2nd box, what is left by the end of the week has blemishes, frosty bits of mold, and a collection of squishy, inedible berries lurking at the bottom of the quart. The strawberries look too wonderful though and I tell myself I'll make shortcake or sorbet or something. This week I tried making jam.
When I was a child homemade jams were often given to our family at holidays, jars of jewel tones sealed with a white cake of wax with tops wrapped in a square of checkered fabric. I remember going strawberry picking once with a friend and afterwards her mother made preserves from our haul. Now I only recall her kitchen filled with steaming pots and how superb the jam was. As an adult, I'm trying to branch out into the somewhat tedious process of canning just because the taste can really be worth the investment of time. So far my several attempts at "natural" strawberry jam, without using pectin as a thickener, have not gotten as jammy as they should. My strawberry jam sessions have led me to conclude that strawberry syrup on pancakes or ice cream is really under-rated and nothing beats a jellyroll to use up a sweet mistake. 
