Watermelons are haunting me this month.

Twenty-four hours before my father died, the last conversation I had with him centered around a watermelon cake (yes, an actual three-tier cake made of raw watermelon) that I made for my 47th birthday while vacationing in Portugal.

That same day, on the way to dinner, I had a kismet encounter with a third-generation farmer in Comporta, Portugal, who was eager to show me his garden nestled alongside the rice paddies. And to my delight, there were watermelons—a bounty he couldn’t wait to show me and share.

The next day, I flew home, and shortly after landing, I learned that my father had suffered a heart attack. I boarded another plane, this time for Atlanta. After a hard goodbye in the hospital, I returned to my childhood home and wandered into my dad’s beloved garden. In the rapture of his food forest, there were three watermelons.

In this strange landscape of grief, where so much of the familiar suddenly feels foreign, watermelon keeps finding me. Some call these moments grief glimmers—small encounters that bring a flash of connection, comfort, memory, or even joy in the midst of loss.

For me, right now, that glimmer is watermelon. During a season when grief has coated my tongue and made food simply undesirable, watermelon conjures joy, memories of childhood summers, and a little nourishment.

There is something so poetic about watermelon that mirrors life itself: a bountiful fruit growing from a tiny seed into a sprawling vine, reaching across the earth before producing heavy, sweet fruit that continues to give. Maybe that is what I am learning from watermelon this season: even after something has been planted, tended, and released, it can continue to give.

As we enjoy the fleeting last weeks of watermelon season, I am realizing there are many ways for something to continue nourishing us after we thought its season had ended.

This month, I hope you’ll eat the watermelon. Save the rind. Plant the seeds when you can. Share the bounty. And pay attention to whatever keeps finding you.

A Few More Ways to Enjoy the Watermelon

Pickled - Willing Watermelon Rind Preserves
Dehydrated - Watermelon Fruit Roll-Ups
Maceration - Sweet Potential (Macerated Watermelon)
Grilled - Chile-Lime Grilled Watermelon
Frozen - Salted Watermelon Sherbet Bars
Frozen - Gingery Watermelon Paletas
Syrups & Concentrates - Watermelon Syrup
Cold Soup - Kimchi-Melon Gazpacho
Sushi - Spicy Watermelon Onigiri
Raw - Watermelon With Yogurt, Poppy Seeds, and Fried Rosemary
Pickled - Nepali Watermelon Rind Pickle

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Why Crops Are Becoming Less Nutritious
READ - Your Brain Becomes the Bottleneck
READ - What’s in Califonria’s Zone Zero fire safety rules — and what they mean for SoCal residents
READ - Op-ed: Worried About an Outbreak? Try a Shorter Food Supply Chain.

Seed to Supper is growing! This season, we’re introducing a collaborative teaching model, bringing a different educator and area of expertise to each topic. Expect fresh perspectives, new information, and practical knowledge from a diverse team of garden educators. Come grow with us—and learn something new.

Grief has coated my taste buds this month.

Last week, I buried my favorite aunt, who died of congestive heart failure. In many ways, she was the pioneer of our family. She was the first to move out of state, the first to go to college, the first to earn her master’s degree, and the one who constantly reached back to uplift others. Her home had a revolving door, providing refuge for those in need, in despair, or in transition. Her wallet was equally open to anyone who needed a helping hand.

Though she was many things, she lived life on her own terms. During her battle with breast cancer, she drank her favorite bourbon, chain-smoked cigarettes, found joy in pranks and practical jokes, and declared she was going to die happy. And with a little holy intervention, she kicked cancer’s ass and lived cancer-free for another twenty years.

She embraced contradictions and honored her truth unapologetically. From afar, she gave me permission—not through advice, but through example—to be curious, to be myself, to hold seemingly opposing truths, and to reinvent myself whenever I outgrew a job, a relationship, or even the life I had built.

At her core, she didn’t believe we were meant to live comfortably inside boxes. She showed me that I didn’t have to live confined within someone else’s definition of who I should be. That lesson has stayed with me. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that nature rarely fits into the tidy boxes we create. Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved corn without fully understanding why. It reminded me of the first woman who taught me that you don’t have to become smaller to make other people comfortable.

So when I sat down to write this month’s issue, I wanted to lean into a plant that embraces duality and defiance on a level rivaled only by my Aunt Mary - Corn.

I’m endlessly fascinated by its duality. Botanically, it’s a fruit. Culinarily, it’s a vegetable. Agriculturally, it’s a grain. It refuses to fit neatly into a single category—a gentle reminder that nature rarely does.

Most people know corn as something to eat, but it’s much more than that. It’s found in everything from cosmetics and paper products to biodegradable plastics, adhesives, antibiotics, and even fireworks. Long before “zero waste” became a modern movement, Indigenous peoples throughout the Americas were already using every part of the corn plant. The husks became sleeping mats, baskets, ropes, and twine. They were woven into traditional “no-face” dolls that taught children humility. Corn cobs became natural pot scrubbers. Corn silk was brewed into medicinal tea. Nearly every part of the plant had a purpose.

This season, as sweet corn reaches its peak, I hope you’ll savor more than its flavor. I hope you’ll remember that you, too, are allowed to be many things. You can be practical and wildly imaginative. Soft and strong. Rooted and adventurous. Scientific and spiritual. Professional and playful. You don’t have to choose one version of yourself simply because the world prefers easy labels.

Nature doesn’t. Neither did Aunt Mary. And perhaps that’s the sweetest lesson summer has to offer: the richest lives, like the richest harvests, are rarely simple. They are layered, unexpected, and unapologetically abundant.

This one is for you, Aunt Mary.

• From Scratch - Yotam Ottolenghi’s Sweet Corn Polenta with Eggplant Sauce

• Baked - Fresh Corn and Green Chile Cornbread Recipe

• Roasted - Effortless Oven-Roasted Corn on the Cob With Husks

• Sauteed - Best-Ever Succotash

• Grilled - Grilled Corn, Asparagus and Spring Onion Salad

• Raw - Raw Corn Salad with Tomatoes, Feta, and Herbs

• Fermented - Fermented Corn Relish

• Dehydrated - How to Make Homemade Cornmeal

• Pickled - Pickled Corn with Red Onions and Cilantro

• Distilled - Brown Butter Corn Syrup

• Frozen - Picolé de Milho Verde (Corn Pop)

• Brewing - Vietnamese Corn Milk Recipe (Sua Bap)

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Pasadena’s Lost Vegetarian Colony
READ - ‘My Shelves Are Very Empty’: How a Year of SNAP Cuts Is Pressuring the Food System
READ - Fig June Drop: What’s normal vs. not?
READ - I Studied Wealthy Women and Found Myself on the Floor

As we say goodbye to May and settle into the trenches of June Gloom, apricots offer a little sunshine. Alongside cherries, they are among the first stone fruits to make their debut at local farmers markets, signaling the start of a season filled with juicy possibilities.

A few days ago, one of my students asked why they’re called stone fruits, and I was delighted by the opportunity to nerd out for a moment. The “stone” refers to the hard pit that protects the seed inside. But not all stone fruits are created equal. They can be divided into two categories: freestone and clingstone. Freestones have flesh that separates easily from the pit, while clingstones hold on tight and tend to be a bit messier to eat.

With their velvety gold-orange skin and concentrated sweet-tart flavor, apricots are dense-fleshed little flavor bombs that fall into the freestone camp. Their easy-to-remove pit makes them perfect for snacking out of hand, though they’re equally at home in the kitchen.

Apricot season is fleeting, so don’t wait too long. Enjoy them fresh with a dollop of labneh and a drizzle of honey, bake them into pies and crisps, or transform them into a fragrant apricot cognac that captures a taste of early summer long after the season has passed.

Need a little inspiration? Here are nine delicious ways to savor the season.—with a handful of recipes that let radishes take center stage:

• Baked - Apricot Kuchen with Labneh Whipped Cream

• Roasted - Apricot and pistachio stuffed turkey legs

• Grilled - Grilled Apricots with Almond Cream and Fregolotta

• Raw - Chicken Salad With Apricots, Celery, and Blue Cheese

• Fermented - Lacto-Fermented Spiced Apricot Chutney

• Pickled - Japanese Salty Pickled Apricots

• Distilled - Apricot Liqueur

• Dehydrated - Apricot Fruit Leather

• Frozen - Apricot Sorbet

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Recession Meals’ Destigmatize Home Cooking on a Budget
READ - Can MAHA Change the Way Medical Schools Teach Nutrition?
READ - Why the Cookbook Endures
READ - Inside ‘Teflon Joe’s’: Why your favorite grocery store is not what you think
READ - Scientists Studied Tea, Coffee, and Bone Health for 10 Years — One Drink Came Out Ahead
LISTEN - Composting Can Be Complicated

Making Room for the Unexpected

Last week, I got a gentle reminder from the universe to leave a little room for the unexpected—for serendipity, surprise, and even a bit of magic.

I’m often guilty of letting logic and an endless to-do list dictate my days. Two hours before the Health Care Communicators of Southern California Finest Awards, my boss encouraged me to attend. My first thought was all the work I needed to catch up on, the phone calls I still had to make, and the meetings filling my afternoon calendar.

But I went.

I threw on some eyeliner, dusted off a pair of heels and a business-casual outfit, and made the drive down to San Juan Capistrano. To my surprise and delight, I was reminded why saying yes to unexpected invitations can be worthwhile.

That evening, we brought home the highest honor in our category—the Community Relations Award—for our Seed to Supper program.

Awards are always validating, but this one felt especially meaningful. We were recognized alongside hospitals with fully staffed departments and multi-million-dollar budgets. Meanwhile, Nancy Clifton-Hawkins and I are a mighty team of two, stretching a modest budget through sweat equity, grant funding, partnerships, and a deep belief in the work.

For the past four years, we’ve built this program from the ground up. We’ve handed out flyers, knocked on doors, partnered with the Pasadena Public Library, and worked alongside countless community members who believe that growing food is one of the most powerful pathways to better health and well-being.

Which is why this award never really felt like it belonged to us.

It belongs to every participant who planted their first seed, every volunteer who showed up, every partner who opened a door, every instructor who shared their knowledge, and every person who believed that food can be medicine and gardens can be places of healing.

This wasn’t a polished campaign backed by a large marketing budget. It was real work, rooted in relationships and powered by community.

And that’s what makes this recognition so meaningful.

The drive home felt a little different. The to-do list was still waiting for me, but so was the reminder that sometimes the most important work is impossible to measure. It grows quietly in gardens, classrooms, kitchens, and communities until one day you look up and realize it has taken root.

Life was lifing at a solid level 10 this month.

In the span of a single week, I went from a whimsical 48-hour escape to the Bay—squeezing in precious time with my daughter—to rearranging my entire life around oral surgery. And somewhere in the blur of post-op haze, while I was surviving on soups and smoothies, I got the call that a high school friend had suddenly passed. It was the kind of week that leaves you disoriented. The kind that asks you to move slower, whether you want to or not. So this month, I needed a strong dose of ease.

When I think about ease in the garden and in the kitchen, I think about radishes. Radishes don’t ask for much. Not patience. Not perfect soil. Not even that much attention. Give them three weeks and they’ll give you something back. Fast. Sharp. A little unexpected. And honestly, that felt like the right kind of relationship this month.

Because there is so much more to radishes than the familiar red globe with the pointed tip - the one you pass by at the grocery store or barely notice at the farmers market. There are more than 100 varieties. Black radishes. Yellow radishes. Long white daikons. Some with green flesh that hits with heat. Some that stretch nearly two feet long. Some that don’t taste like what you think a radish should be at all.

But here’s the thing: to really experience that range that complexity you have to grow them yourself. That’s where the magic is. That’s where radishes stop being predictable and start becoming something worth paying attention to.

Because radishes have been typecast. They’re treated like an afterthought. Something to slice thin, scatter, and move on from. But they can hold their own. They can anchor a dish. They can surprise you. They can be the point.

So this month, I’m leaning into that energy—simple, bold, and a little underestimated—with a handful of recipes that let radishes take center stage:

• Crispy Pork With Buttered Radishes

• Radish Salad with Curry-Orange Dressing

• Fried Lemon and Radish Salad

• Peas with Anchovy, Lemon, and All the Radishes

• Cantonese Instant Pot Braised Beef with Radish

• Radish Butter

• Roast radish, new potato & peppered mackerel salad

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - USDA Creates New Office of Seafood
READ - The 23 Best Cookbooks of Spring 2023
READ - Citrus tree disease expands in LA and Orange counties
READ - You Can’t Steal a Recipe. So Why Does It Feel Like Theft?
READ - Deep Soils Could Hold Keys to Climate Resilience
LISTEN - When did kids become such picky eaters?

Celebrate Earth Day with the Garden of Hope & One Colorado
Join us in partnership with One Colorado for an afternoon of hands-on activities, sustainable fun, and community connection in the heart of Old Pasadena.

Saturday, April 25
1:00 PM – 4:00 PM

Enjoy:
• Interactive workshops
• Live music
• Local pop-ups
• Sweet treats across the property

Reserve your spot below.

A Refresh, A Re-grounding

As a card-carrying, green juice–drinking hippie who still believes in humanity, I spend a lot of time thinking about the ebbs and flows of meaningful change. Lately, I’ve been asking myself how to make this work more useful, more grounded, and more actionable. When I started Savoring the Seasons in March 2023, I did it with three simple intentions:

• To help people reconnect with their food.

• To eat with the seasons.

• To remember that growing, even in small ways, is possible.

At the time, it was an offering. A place to share what I was noticing, cooking, and learning. Over the past few years, it has grown alongside me. But growth doesn’t always mean adding more. Sometimes it means refining. Clarifying. Letting things mature.

2026 feels like that kind of year. A year to grow up a bit. A year to evolve, not away from the original intention, but deeper into it. As part of that evolution, this newsletter is getting a refresh, both in how it looks and how it flows.

Going forward, each month will center around three core sections:

• Seasonal Pursuits - a love letter to what’s in season, with simple ways to bring it into your kitchen

• Food for Thought - articles, art, music, podcasts, and local happenings that are shaping how I see food and the world around it

• Field Notes - occasional reflections from the sidelines on gardening, food systems, and the things that feel worth paying attention to

Not every issue will include everything, but each one will stay rooted in the same intention. This rebrand isn’t about doing more. It’s about doing this better. With more clarity. More rhythm. More care. And like the season itself, I’m letting it unfold simply.

One offering at a time.

In the next couple of weeks I’ll also be opening up a deeper way to engage with this work soon. I will be unveiling Living the Season: A Field Guide will be a weekly practice of growing, cooking, and living with the seasons.

Have you reached the place of acceptance yet?

It isn’t peaceful. Not exactly.

It’s the kind of acceptance that comes after you stop counting the wars, the unnecessary deaths, the absurd press conferences, the constant churn of headlines designed to inflame. It’s the quiet realization that the next few years may carry a steady hum of chaos — and that our nervous systems will feel it.

Outrage still lives in my body. Anger, too. But I’ve stopped trying to metabolize the world through urgency alone. Instead, I’ve turned toward something slower. I’ve doubled down on anti-inflammatory foods. On feeding my soul. On repairing what constant stress quietly erodes. If I can’t control the noise, I can tend to my internal landscape.

Lately, that tending looks like artichokes.

There is something medieval about them — armored, scaled, almost reptilian. Our English word artichoke comes from the old Spanish alcarchofa, which comes from the Andalusi Arabic al-kharshufa, rooted in the Arabic word harashef, meaning “scale,” like fish or lizard skin. A vegetable in protective gear.

Artichokes have been cultivated for at least 5,000 years — first in Ethiopia and Egypt, then spreading across the Mediterranean where they became staples in Italy, France, and Spain. In the 1800s, French settlers brought them to Louisiana. Spanish merchants carried them west to California, where the cool fog of Monterey Bay proved ideal. Today, nearly all artichokes consumed in the United States are grown in Castroville, California — the self-proclaimed Artichoke Capital of the World.

Empires shift. Headlines flare. Artichokes keep growing. Nutritionally, they are quiet medicine. They’re rich in magnesium and folate — nutrients that support the nervous system and soften the physiological edges of stress. They contain one of the highest antioxidant profiles of any vegetable, including polyphenols like cynarine and flavonoids such as quercetin and luteolin, compounds known to reduce inflammation and oxidative stress.

One medium artichoke delivers nearly seven grams of fiber, much of it inulin — a prebiotic fiber that feeds beneficial gut bacteria and helps stabilize blood sugar. In a time when our bodies are constantly negotiating stress hormones, that matters.

But beyond the data, there is the ritual.

Artichokes demand patience.

You steam them slowly. You peel back each leaf. You dip. You scrape. You work your way inward toward the heart.

It isn’t fast. It isn’t efficient. It requires your hands. And maybe that’s what I’m craving right now — food that asks something of me. Food that slows my breathing. Food that reminds me that nourishment is layered.

That protection doesn’t mean hardness. That something can look armored on the outside and still be tender at its core.

Maybe that’s the lesson.

Acceptance isn’t passive.
It’s protective.
It’s choosing where your energy goes.
It’s building resilience in small, repetitive ways.

Cooking an artichoke won’t end a war. It won’t fix corruption. It won’t quiet every anxiety. But it can remind you that nourishment is still available. That ritual is still available.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

If artichokes are showing up in your markets right now, here are a few ways I like to bring them to the table.

• Wine-Braised Chicken With Artichoke Hearts

• Asparagus, Artichoke and Shiitake Risotto

• Tuna Artichoke Melt

• Spinach Ravioli with Artichokes & Olives

• Roasted Artichoke Hearts

• White Bean Artichoke Basil Toasts

• Spinach Artichoke Quiche Cups

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - This Everyday Fruit Is Still Showing Traces of a 2015 Environmental Disaster
READ - How to Start a Seed and Plant Swap
READ - Op-ed: Can the Food Justice Movement and MAHA Find Common Ground?READ - The Fight for the Future of the World’s Best Cinnamon
LISTEN - How glyphosate got a greenlight from Trump

Events & Opportunities

Growing Food Is More Than Gardening. It’s Agency

Have you felt it at the checkout line lately?

You load the belt with what used to be the basics — greens, eggs, olive oil, a few vegetables — and the total climbs faster than expected. Again.

Then, almost on cue, a headline flashes across your phone: “Trump’s Order Could Put More Pesticides on US Produce.”

It feels like an episode of “You Can’t Make This Shit Up.”

It’s a strange combination — rising costs and declining confidence.

You’re paying more. And trusting less.

That tension sits in the body.

I don’t teach people to grow food because I believe backyard gardens will dismantle industrial agriculture. And I don’t believe everyone needs to become fully self-sufficient.

I teach people to grow food because it restores agency.

Agency is simple: the ability to act within your own sphere. To influence something tangible. To participate instead of only consuming.

When you plant a seed, you step into a direct relationship with your food. You choose the soil. You choose the inputs. You decide what doesn’t go in. You watch it grow. You harvest it yourself.

That feedback loop changes something.

You are no longer only responding to grocery prices or federal policy shifts. You are producing — even if it’s just herbs on a windowsill, greens in a raised bed, or tomatoes in containers on a patio.

It may seem small.

It isn’t.

I’ve watched people harvest their first head of lettuce and hold it differently than anything they’ve ever bought. Not because it’s extraordinary — but because it’s theirs. They know its story. They know what touched it. They know the effort behind it.

That knowledge builds literacy.

You start asking different questions. About soil. About residues. About inputs. About why certain systems rely heavily on chemicals like glyphosate and others don’t. You begin to understand that agriculture is not neutral — it is designed.

And if systems are designed, they can be redesigned.

Growing food becomes civic education in real time.

It also builds competence.

You learn that soil can be rebuilt. That mistakes can be composted. That abundance requires planning and attention. That resilience is not dramatic — it’s seasonal.

In a moment when grocery bills continue to rise and federal policies may expand chemical allowances in conventional agriculture, that competence matters.

Growing your own food is not just about personal health.

It’s about reclaiming a measure of control in a system that often feels distant and opaque.

It’s about reducing dependence, even slightly.

It’s about knowing that if supply chains wobble, you still have something rooted in your own soil.

That’s why we’re launching two Seed to Supper cohorts this season.

The Foundations cohort is for those ready to begin — to learn how to grow a meaningful portion of their own food, even in small spaces and on a limited budget.

The Advanced cohort is for gardeners ready to think long-term — soil health, seed saving, fruit trees, regenerative systems that improve year after year.

Both are free. Both require commitment. Both are built for people who want to participate, not just observe.

Growing food won’t undo federal policy. It won’t change agricultural regulation overnight. But it changes your relationship to the system. It shifts you from passive consumer to active producer.

And right now, that shift feels necessary.

Registration is open.

Let’s grow something real.

Do you feel…
Disgusted?
Distressed?
Angry?
Hopeless?
Exhausted?
Overwhelmed?

And is cooking the last thing you want to do?

My dear friends, you are not alone. Collectively, we are craving a break, some comfort, and a strong dose of meaningful change. But instead, society is serving us a sociopath and his legions of loonies, horrific headlines, an inverted food pyramid, and soft news declaring that 2026 is the year of the cabbage.

I don’t know about y’all, but it’s getting a 1979-edition middle finger—one that effortlessly glides up like it’s been coated in WD-40. The only thing catching grace? Cabbage.

And listen, I don’t have beef—or bones—with cabbage. But this is not the year for an affordable, versatile, high-fiber brassica to be rebranded as a low-cost, new-age, woo-woo recession “superfood.”

What we actually need is joy.

This month, joy showed up in the form of an orange.

They are sweet. Refreshing. Dependable. Infinitely joyful.
When was the last time you had a bad experience with an orange?
I’ll wait.
Three seconds.
…Exactly. Never.

Oranges didn’t let you down during preschool snack time.
They showed up as your “healthy on-the-go snack” during every half-hearted diet. And when you were sick—drowning in phlegm—they saved the day with vitamin C and just enough hope to push through.

And now, when the world feels unstable and uncertain, oranges are here to hold us down.

The scent alone is widely linked to happiness—boosting mood, reducing anxiety, and increasing energy by positively influencing brain chemistry.

But oranges are more than just tasty. They are cultural symbols of significance.

They’re the good-luck ambassadors of Chinese New Year. Exchanging mandarin oranges is like passing along good vibes and well-wishes—prosperity, happiness, abundance. It’s not just about the juicy fruit; it’s about shared optimism.

Mandarin oranges have long been considered symbols of good fortune, in part because the word orange in Mandarin sounds similar to the word for wealth. Their golden hue is also said to symbolize prosperity, making them one of the most auspicious fruits around.

So, in the spirit of joy—and as a gentle nudge to glean oranges from your neighbor’s tree (or your own backyard)—I’ve rounded up a few of my favorite orange-inspired recipes to help us remember: sometimes comfort doesn’t come from trends, headlines, or superfoods.

Sometimes, it comes from something simple, bright, and already within reach.

Two Roast Chickens With Citrus and Sage
Roasted Citrus Relish
Crispy, Crunchy Chopped Chicken Salad with Sesame Dressing
Spiced Orange Duck
Spiced Roasted Oranges with Dried Cranberries
Whole Orange Cake (Super Moist!)
Orange Polenta Cake (Gluten Free, Moist & Easy)

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Coffee May Hold Major Promise for Diabetes Research, Scientists Say
READ - What Happened to All the Barbie Cakes?
READ - Food Scholars Predict 2026 Food Trends
LISTEN - How to Save the Rainforests Without Picking a Food Fight
LISTEN - Marion Nestle breaks down our new food pyramid

Events & Opportunities

Over the holiday week, I had a rare opportunity to be unapologetically lazy and marathon-watch documentaries while recovering from my self-induced food coma. To maintain my faith in humanity—and a hopeful heart for the future—I took a break from my usual true-crime and historical picks and queued up Fantastic Fungi. To my delight, it sparked a full-blown culinary obsession with mushrooms.

About 30 minutes into the documentary, my mind started racing with all the ways to cook them. Quickly searing mushrooms in a hot, dry pan intensifies their flavor and gives them a firmer, meatier texture. Gently frying them in a little butter or oil coaxes out their richness while preserving their juiciness. The possibilities? Truly endless.

Though often lumped in with vegetables, mushrooms are technically fungi—a whole kingdom separate from plants and animals. Within that kingdom, there are roughly 14,000 known species, and about 2,000 are edible. Because mushrooms are mostly water, they shrink as they cook—but no matter what, they always bring depth, character, and umami to a dish.

But before we get into recipes, let’s explore a few varieties beyond the usual all-stars—portobello, shiitake, button, oyster, cremini, porcini, and enoki.

Hedgehog

With a flat, wide cap and a toothy underside, hedgehog mushrooms have a sweet, nutty flavor and a fruity aroma. They shine when simply sautéed in butter.

Maitake (Hen of the Woods)

Maitake mushrooms, also known as hen of the woods, are beloved for their meaty texture and deep, savory flavor. They’re best enjoyed simply sautéed to let their distinctive taste come through.

Morel

Morels have short stems and a honeycomb-like cap that soaks up sauces beautifully. Their earthy flavor makes them perfect partners for meat, pasta, and cream-based dishes.

Chanterelles

These golden, flower-shaped mushrooms are prized for their delicate fragrance and slightly fruity flavor. Briefly fry them in oil or butter, then use them as a garnish for poultry, meat, or fish.

Black Trumpet

Cousins to chanterelles, black trumpets have a sweet, apricot-like aroma and are considered one of the most flavorful mushrooms in the world. They’re best lightly sautéed or folded into cream sauces. Like chanterelles, they can only be foraged—not farmed.

Golden Oyster

An invasive newcomer to North America, golden oyster mushrooms offer a light yet rich, meaty flavor and excellent texture. They’re great in stir-fries, sautés, or even as “mushroom steaks” when young clusters are firm and dense.

Chicken of the Woods

This bright, shelf-like fungus is famous for its uncanny chicken-like flavor. Very young specimens can taste slightly tart with a citrus aroma, while mature ones develop a firmer, meatier texture and classic mushroom savoriness.

What I love most about mushrooms is their ability to add complexity, richness, texture, and umami to everything—from appetizers to sides to hearty mains. Below is my roundup of mushroom recipes that might just make you fall in love (or fall back in love) with these marvelous fungi.

• Mushroom Lasagna

• Spicy Oyster Mushroom and Lemongrass Stir-Fry

• Diri Djon Djon (Haitian Black Mushroom Rice)

• Vegetarian Wild Mushroom Sourdough Dressing

• Mushroom Soup with Tofu and Toasted Garlic

• Baked Eggs with Spinach and Mushrooms

• Creamy Farro With Crispy Mushrooms and Sour Cream

• Passive Method Creamy Mushroom Pasta

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month

READ - Marion Nestle Tells Us ‘What to Eat Now’
READ - The EPA Approved a New PFAS Pesticide — Will It Show Up in Your Produce?
READ - What the Shutdown Revealed About Food and Agriculture Policy
READ - Anthony Bourdain’s Favorite Sandwich Is the Ultimate Lesson in Simplicity
LISTEN - Baroo’s Mina Park & Kwang Uh Take the Resy Questionnaire
LISTEN - The Best Cookbooks of 2025, according to Good Food

Events & Opportunities

I grew up in an “eat or starve” household. So when the holidays rolled around, “choice” was rarely on the menu—and I was forced to confront my love-hate relationship with sweet potatoes. Whether it was candied yams or sweet potato pie, I wanted to love them the way my family did, but I simply couldn’t stomach them. Roasted, baked—no matter the form—their dried-out presentation conjured a kind of tasteless sadness. Sweet potatoes were never allowed to be unapologetically themselves at our table, nor did they ever get a fair audition with my taste buds.

It wasn’t until college, when I was cash-strapped and hungry, that I decided to give them another chance. A friend offered to cook me dinner, and roasted sweet potatoes were on the lineup. I don’t know if it was the fact that they were prepared with love and intention, but two bites in—topped with a dollop of whipped butter—I was converted. They were satiating, naturally sweet, creamy, and deeply comforting. I practically licked the plate and demanded the “how and why” behind their magic. Her answer? Time.

Time led me to Michael Solomonov’s addictive Slow-Roasted Sweet Potatoes, a recipe that asks you to roast them for three hours. Yes, you read that right—three full hours. But the payoff is extraordinary: the flesh becomes sweeter, richer, and more nuanced than you’d think possible, and your patience is rewarded with a tender, caramelized masterpiece. Meanwhile, the salty, lightly blackened skin turns crisp enough to make you forget every mediocre sweet potato you’ve ever endured.

But time isn’t just the secret to cooking sweet potatoes—it’s essential for growing them, too. Sweet potatoes generally take 3–4 months to mature after planting, plus an additional 12–15 days of curing, which converts starches into sugars and heals any cuts or bruises. The investment of time at every stage is what transforms a humble root into something so deeply satisfying.

As one of the oldest cultivated vegetables, sweet potatoes come in nearly 400 varieties. Just be sure not to confuse them with true yams—which are an entirely different plant. What Americans call “yams” are usually just mislabeled sweet potatoes, thanks to a 1930s marketing tactic.

Now, follow your cravings and dive into this month’s collection of sweet potato recipes to support your seasonal cooking—and maybe spark your own sweet potato redemption story.

• Slow-Roasted Sweet Potatoes With Garlic Labneh

• Sweet Potato Yogurt
  Stir Fry Sweet Potato Leaves

• Sweet Potato Chickpea Buddha Bowl

• Sweet Potato and Sausage Soup

• Spicy Braised Sweet Potatoes

• Sweet Potato Hash Browns

• Burmese Chicken Braised in Coconut Milk & Turmeric with Sweet Potato

• Sweet Potato Cornbread

• California Roasted Sweet Potato Kale Salad

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Denver’s Food Forests Provide Free Fruit While Greening the Environment
READ - 8 Trader Joe’s Sides That Make Thanksgiving Easier — All for Under $6
READ - Putting Food and Farming at the Center of Climate Action: Q&A with Anna Lappé
LISTEN - The History Of Bibimbap
LISTEN - ‘What to Eat Now’ nutritionist talks SNAP, food policy and the ‘triple duty’ diet

Events & Opportunities

How are you loving on yourself these days?

No, seriously—fall can be chaotic. Between colliding holidays and the nonstop headlines, breaking news, and endless online chatter, it feels like everyone’s sanity is hanging by a thread.

These days, my version of self-care revolves around one word: lazy. I’m in my lazy cook era. My kid is in college, and the only mouth I have to feed is mine. Plus I’ve also developed an acute allergic reaction to nonsense, stress, and any ounce of unnecessary foolishness - which includes prioritizing cleaning over relaxing or regulating my nervous system. So I’ve been doubling down on simple, nourishing recipes that minimize dishes and maximize comfort. I’m leaning into seasonal produce that’s rich in nutrients, fiber, and flavor—especially foods that take the edge off perimenopausal symptoms.

And the one thing I can’t get enough of right now? Winter squash.

Its simplicity, nutritional potency, and deep, almost soulful flavor make winter squash a cornerstone of the low-stress lifestyle I’m claiming. It’s a no-brainer—it checks the fiber box and provides generous doses of vitamins A and C, which support immunity and keep your skin glowing. (Because really, who’s saying no to dewy, radiant skin?) Plus, its vitamin B6 content helps balance mood and fight off the “doom and gloom” energy that’s been floating around lately.

So consider this your gentle nudge—a reminder that cooking doesn’t have to be complicated to be healing. Let this collection of winter squash recipes be your invitation to double down on simple, nurturing comfort foods that restore your mind, body, soul, and spirit.

• Chicken and Kabocha Squash Stew

• Bean, Bacon and Butternut Squash Soup with Swiss Chard

• Roasted Squash Wedges with Collard-Peanut Pesto

• Quick and Easy Air Fryer Butternut Squash

• Squash and Black-Eyed Pea Coconut Curry

• Coconut Shrimp Curry with Butternut Squash and Spinach

I truly believe fall offers us gentle lessons in letting go. Whether it’s cleaning up our gardens after the fun and abundance of summer or watching the world around us shift—both figuratively and literally—autumn reminds us that saying goodbye is often the first step toward transformation.

The Garden of Hope is also in a season of transformation. As we move forward, we’re evolving our programming to deepen impact and connection. This new chapter focuses on expanding our Seeds to Supper initiative, including the launch of an Advanced Seeds to Supper Cohort in 2026 designed to help participants shift health and environmental outcomes in their communities.

To make room for this enhanced focus, we’ll be saying goodbye to our monthly Lunch & Learn sessions. But before we close this beloved chapter, we’re ending on a high note—with a very special guest.

This month’s culminating session features Steve Sabicer, author and creative force behind the newsletter and podcast Enlightened Omnivore. Steve is a media maven, butcher, and urban farmer whose passion for food, farming, and regenerative agriculture shines through in everything he does. He’ll be leading us in a crash course on backyard chickens—a perfect topic for our final session.

Why chickens? Because they’re the unsung heroes of a thriving garden. Chickens help create sustainable, closed-loop systems that work in harmony with nature, turning waste into nourishment and chaos into balance.

So register today to learn how to close the loop in your own gardening efforts—and join us as we lovingly close this chapter of our Lunch & Learn workshops.

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - How an African Legume Became a Migration Metaphor
READ - Op-ed: Let’s Preserve Our Communities Through Canning Food
READ - The Power of Sour
READ - The Industry Ties Within Trump’s Food and Ag Leadership
LISTEN - Fixing our broken food system and the glory of tacos

Events & Opportunities

When you think of eggplant, what do you imagine?

Eggplant Parmesan?

Or does it conjure an instant “yuck” because of its spongy texture and gooey nature?

I’m here to tell you there is sooo much more to eggplant, and it isn’t just for frying and smothering in marinara and cheese. For all the “yuckers” out there, it’s time to understand that your trauma is probably connected to a meal where someone cooked it incorrectly—leaving you with a bitter, unappetizing blob of a mess.

Let’s put the food trauma aside and take less than 2 minutes to reshape your relationship with eggplants. Before you can truly appreciate eggplant, you have to understand it first.

Pick Your Eggplant Wisely

There are hundreds of eggplant varieties in all shapes and shades—from white to deep purple to the cutie Fairy Tale eggplants you can fit in your overall pockets. Lots to cook and experiment with!

But one hard-and-fast rule: the big, bruised, lopsided eggplants are just horrific and should never be cooked with (aka: they’re out of season and have been sitting on grocery store shelves for too long). Also, never cook with eggplants larger than medium-sized—they're a useless Frankenstein.

Size & Shape Matter

When cooking with big globe eggplants, cut them in half or into smaller pieces. More manageable slices will cook faster and retain their shape.

Depending on the recipe, you might want to slice and salt globe eggplant beforehand to draw out some of the water and keep them from turning to mush. In On Food and Cooking, Harold McGee writes that because eggplants are filled with tiny air pockets, they function like sponges:

“The absorptiveness of eggplant can be reduced by collapsing its spongy structure before frying,” he writes.

You can do this by microwaving it before frying (!) or salting the slices to draw out water and close up those air pockets, giving you a firmer flesh to work with.

Season Your Heart Out

Eggplant wants to soak up flavor like tofu. Bless its heart, eggplant skews a little more on the bland side—it needs a lot of seasoning (salt, spices) to succeed.

If you’re following a recipe, keep tasting and adding more salt or seasoning to match the size of your eggplant. A bigger eggplant might need twice the amount of seasoning as a smaller one.

Fat Is Your Friend

Finally, don’t fear fat.

Because eggplant is a literal sponge, you might hesitate to keep adding oil as you sauté it on the stove. The key is to add oil little by little—enough to keep things from sticking, but not so much that you drown it.

Lean Into the Mush

There’s a time and a place to let eggplant become its truest self: mush. Eggplant’s custardy nature was made for dips. So if you accidentally overcook it when trying your hardest not to undercook it—blend it into a dip and call it dinner.

Now that we’ve got the basics out of the way, here are seven recipes that will help you transform your relationship with eggplants.

• Smoky Eggplant With Whipped Ricotta & Pistachios

• Eggplant Dip with Yogurt (Borani-e Bademjan)

• Yotam Ottolenghi's Sweet Corn Polenta with Eggplant Sauce

• Eggplant Bread

• Fire Roasted Eggplant Dal

• Coffee-Caramel Eggplant Upside-Down Cake

• Thai Eggplant Curry RecipeCurried Tomato Sandwich

• Tomato Soup With a Whole Head of Garlic

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - How Libraries Are Creating Community Through Food
READ - For Europe’s Overlooked Oils, Look East
READ - What brain surgery taught me about the fragile gift of consciousness
LISTEN - What does MAHA's leaked strategy document really say?
LISTEN - Awakening Trust In A Fractured World
LISTEN - A Q4 Roadmap: Anchors, Audits & Resets

Words, Lessons & Inspiration

Events & Opportunities

With all due respect to stone fruit and watermelon, there’s no food that screams Peak Summer more than the tomato. Peak tomato season is in full swing, and that means one thing: It’s your duty to consume as many tomatoes as possible.

I can’t let summer slip away without making these ten fresh tomato recipes. You shouldn’t either!

• How To Make Sweet-and-Savory Tomato Jam

• Labneh With Sizzled Tomatoes

• Tomatoes and Feta With Chickpeas

• Black-Eyed Pea Tomato Salad

• Sarah Leah Chase's Scalloped Tomatoes

• Tomato Toast With Blue Cheese Butter

• Grilled Romaine With Tomato Vinaigrette

• Mussels with Tomatoes & Garlic

• Curried Tomato Sandwich

• Tomato Soup With a Whole Head of Garlic

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - This book lives on my nightstand during our current political season
READ - He Who Feeds You, Controls You
READ - Everything You Know About the Dietary Guidelines Is Wrong
READ - Trader woes: How Trader Joe's pilfers product ideas for mass consumption
READ - How to Attract the 9 Beneficial Predators You Want on Your Land
READ - City-Owned Grocery Stores: A Bold Fix for Food Insecurity
READ - 11 Flowers You Should Plant Along Your Vegetable Garden
LISTEN - 'Biscuits are like people. They're better when they rise together.'

Words, Lessons & Inspiration

Events & Opportunities

This summer was a endless series of planes, trains and automobiles, as I traveled to Kenya, Costa Rica and up the coast of Central California. Despite the time zone changes, cultural differences and even political climate, my understanding sustainability was challenged as I sat with chefs and farmers in each area.

Prior to my travels, I was an Earth Day Curmudgeon, who would roll her eyes at corporate Earth Day campaigns implying we need to “save the earth.” And I would unapologetically pronounce “Its humanity that needs saving, not the earth. The earth will be here long after we are gone.” The word "sustainable" has been so greenwashed that it has lost its meaning to me. I really couldn’t take any one or any product or campaign serious that started off with the word. But this summer, my travels provided me with a wide range of plausible livable case studies on how to live in harmony with the planet. I had to chill on my old environmental activist sourpuss mode and ponder sustainability through hopeful lens.

Here a few snap shots of what stuck with me:

Less is more

In Kenya, I had a chance to hang out with rural farmers who are embracing bio-intensive farming, a method to grow a diverse, calorie-dense diet for your household by using small-scale, manual farming techniques to maximize yield and build soil health. The farming method emphasizes that you only really need 2 tools, a garden shovel and a digging fork. There is no machinery or a fancy shack of ten different types of tools, as they destroys all the life of the soil.

Hannah, a Kenyan farmer, brought this concept to life for me.

With eight fingers, she manages ½ of acre with just her hands and twigs. With her bare hands, she dug all the trenches, maintains over 10 beds, tapped into subterranean water to create a natural resource for her and her village, and grows more food than her and family can consume.

Grow To Feed The Soil and The Future

Under bio-intensive farming, 60% of your garden must be dedicated to compost crops to feed the soil and the other 40% is dedicated to food and open-pollinated seeds. This method allows you to create a closed loop that doesn’t require the yearly purchase of amendments and seeds.

At Grow Biointensive Agriculture Center of Kenya (G-Biack) they grow amaranth, which serves as compost crop, food and provides open-pollinated seeds. The crop has a variety of uses - leaves can be used in salads and stews.

The stems and older leaves can be used as livestock feed. The whole grains can be boiled, roasted, popped, and eaten.

The grains can be milled into flour, which: without being blended with other flours can be used to make nutritious amaranth porridge; when blended with wheat flour can be used for home baking, making ‘chapati’ (flat bread), ‘mandazi’, doughnuts, and pancakes; when blended with maize or sorghum flour can be used to make ‘ugali’, a dense porridge. As you can see, not one part of the plant is wasted.

Food Forests Are Future

Meet Alexander, a farmer with a different kind of farm.

His farm– where he grows around 22 different crops from bananas to cacao – is right among the trees of the Costa Rican rainforest. This approach, known as agroforestry, brings together traditional agriculture and the cultivation of trees - allowing crops and forest to grow alongside each other. Restoring the jungle increases precipitation and helps retain more moisture in the soil, while wildlife help control pests.

A mature food forest is very low effort, super high yield; in other words, low labor requirements. Plus capital investment is minimal too because there’s no refrigeration, equipment, pesticides, fertilizer, etc needed. You just let Mother Nature work her magic.

Linda and Larry, are following Alexander’s lead in the Central Coast California. The inspiring duo have a 1/3 acre Mediterranean-climate backyard food forest with 120+ fruit trees, heritage roses, herbs, vegetables, native and drought-tolerant plants. What makes their food forest super unique is that they grow roses as a food crop. Yes, roses are edible especially if your grow them without pesticides and fungicides. You could make them into rose petal jam or Rose Petal Granola.

Sustainability now resonates with me as “meeting present needs without compromising future generations.” This simple phrases forces us to evaluate everything— cooking, gardening, purchasing, etc— through a more holistic framework that has ecological, economic, and social dimensions, with evolving considerations like cultural, technological, and psychological well-being.

When it's really hot out, the last thing I want to do is cook over a hot stove. So when June rolls around and the random sporadic heat waves kick in, I start plotting for outdoor adventures and searching for recipes that don’t require the stove or oven.

If you’re sticky, sweaty and fast approaching hangry, here is a roundup of delicious, nutritious recipes that don’t require an oven.

• Salmon-Stuffed Avocados

• Sardine Salad

• Chopped Power Salad with Chicken

• Mediterranean Tuna and White Bean Salad with Pesto Vinaigrette

• Spicy Tuna and Avocado Tostadas

• Texas Caviar

• Sugar Snap Pea Salad

New Name and New Faces

I think we can all agree that the year 2025 has been a year of significant change, encompassing shifts in economics and societal values. Just when I said I couldn’t take anymore, I was threatened with a trademark lawsuit for using the name “On The Grow.”

Like many of you, I had to put on my big girl panties, push through the fuckery, took a deep sigh and re-envision my company’s future and name. On The Grow is now Grow On The Go. Same venture and cause, just a new name.

In addition, I have enlisted some help. Capri Kasai will be my partner in crime this summer and helping at the Garden of Hope. Capri is a gardener and multi-disciplinary artist based in Los Angeles. Their land work centers California native plants, fruit trees, and edibles. This southern-midwesterner loves to read too many books at once, sew badly, and stop and smell literally every flower.

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Now Is Not the Time to Eat Bagged Lettuce
READ - The Food Recall System Is Broken, and Experts Say We’re All at Risk
READ - Afro-Caribbean Cooking Gets a Bright Spotlight at This Stunning New Fairfax Restaurant
READ - The Post-Dinner Habit You Didn’t Know You Needed? Meet the Fart Walk
READ - How to Use Orange Peels in Your Garden to Boost Plant Health and Deter Pests
READ - Everything You Know About the Dietary Guidelines Is Wrong
READ - 3 Trap Crops You Should Plant in June
LISTEN - Southern California Culinary Road Trip
LISTEN - The matcha business is booming — and that's not always a good thing

Words, Lessons & Inspiration

Events & Opportunities

Kids just have this natural knack for verbally busting your balls with unapologetic direct statements. I got a nice reminder last month when my best friend’s eight year old son launched a war on asparagus at dinner. With undeniable confidence, he declared we were trying to feed him premature bamboo stalks that taste like bitter grass.

The dramatics and colorful analogy prompted my curiosity. So I took a bite and discovered he was right. Despite our efforts to elevate them with butter, salt and pepper, they were simply horrible.

The gardener and chef inside of me wanted answers immediately, because asparagus is a quintessential spring vegetable. So I did some digging and discovered that after asparagus is picked, the sugars decline and the spears turn fibrous and stringy. So the fresher you can find them, the better they will be. Local, fresh asparagus really does taste better.

But you might have also noticed asparagus has become available year-round. That's because import tariffs were discontinued, allowing for affordable options to be brought into the US. In fact, even during spring, asparagus might be an import at the grocery store since California produces 75% less than they did 10 years ago.

Fresher asparagus will have tightly closed buds with stalks that are not woody or fibrous looking at the ends. Also, size has nothing to do with their quality, as confirmed by multiple sources. Serious Eats has some good advice on choosing size based on your cooking method:

• Choose thinner stalks for boiling, snacking or sauteing

• Buy thicker ones for roasting or grilling. The larger stalks have more water content and can stand up to those high heat cooking methods.

I also discovered improper storage was the culprit behind our horrible asparagus. If you don’t use them as soon as you get them, they will get tougher and more fibrous the longer you store them. Cold temperatures slow down the negative effects of storage, so be sure to put them in the fridge.

Store asparagus in the fridge, in a glass with a small amount of water (like you'd store flowers). Some folks suggest covering it with a plastic bag to keep in the moisture. An alternative method is to wrap the bottoms in a damp paper towel and store in an open plastic bag in the crisper drawer.

To celebrate the vegetable in all its forms, here is a round-up of my favorite asparagus recipes:

• Sautéed Asparagus with Sugar Snap Peas

• Spring Ramp and Asparagus Frittata

• Absurdly Addictive Asparagus

• Bright Spring Salad

• Cheesy Grits With Spring Vegetables Recipe

Food For Thought

Words, songs, inspiration, and lessons I saved, read, wrote down, and savored last month.

READ - Polluted soil is all over L.A. Here’s how to fix it, even if your home didn’t burn
READ - Wildflowers could be absorbing toxic metals that pass on to bees, study finds
READ - How I got hooked on tinned fish
READ - When Did Restaurant Salads Get So … Unwieldy?
READ - 10 Ways to Get Involved With Food Mutual Aid
READ - An Ancient Irrigation System May Help Farmers Face Climate Change
LISTEN - Did RFK Jr. really ban food dyes? Dr. Jessica Knurick decodes his decree
LISTEN - Pulling back the curtain on the supply chain

Events & Opportunities

My blueberry consumption these days is kinda diabolical. I am downing two trays a day, to the point that my teenager told me it's time for me to plant a couple blueberry bushes in the backyard (INSERT THE SIDE EYE). My compulsion is fueled by an uptick in my blood pressure.

Perimenopause remixed with a heavy dose of chronic stress from the Eaton Fire and world affairs, has pushed my blood pressure and cortisol through the roof. To avoid a high blood pressure meds or a potential heart attack, I have been chomping blueberries religiously because they are fiber-rich, antioxidants powerhouses that contain a plant compounds called anthocyanins (pronounced ann-though-sigh-a-nins), that relaxes blood vessels and reduces the stiffness that occurs in aging blood vessels. As we age, our blood vessels lose elasticity making it harder to control blood pressure. A recent study published in the Journals of Gerontology found that eating about a cup of blueberries twice a day lowered blood pressure similar to taking common blood pressure meds. The effect on blood pressure was both acute (happened quickly) and chronic (over time).

One Acre Farm in Santa Rosa Valley is my connection for all things blueberries. The farm hosts pick your own blueberry events, called U-pick on Saturday’s, 9am-1pm or call to schedule a visit.

If you decide to make a trip, look for berries that are even in color, plump with a smooth skin, appear dry, and have a white powder on them. This is called Bloom and is a sign of freshness. Nor does it need to be wiped off, rather gently rinse all berries under tap water just before serving. Store berries in the refrigerator in their original container and eat 7-10 days after purchasing. Don’t wash your berries before you are ready to eat them because they will get mushy. Instead, rinse in cool water and blog dry right before using them.

After I pick berries, I rinse them and completely dry them by spreading them out on clean kitchen towels. Then, spread them on a cookie sheet lined with parchment (or wax) paper and set in the freezer, uncovered for about 24 hours. Then transfer to freezer bags where they will be good for a solid 7 to 10 months.

Seriously, a handful of blueberries a day keeps the foggy brain away! Here is a round up of some of my favorite blueberry recipes.

• Citrusy Kale Salad W/ Blueberries and Pepitas

• Lemon-Blueberry Bars

• 20-Minute Spinach Blueberry Salad

• Blueberry Crumb Bars

• Jalapeno Cornbread Filled with Blueberry Quick Jam

• Blueberry Mousse

• The BEST Lemon Blueberry Bundt Cake

Food For Thought

READ - Residents in Palisades, Eaton fire areas are finally getting their soil tested
READ - Op-ed: How Trump’s Tariffs Could Impact Your Local Restaurant
READ - Ultra-Processed Foods Are Ultra-Complicated
READ - Op-ed: The Food System Cannot Become Another Fossil-Fuel Industry Escape Hatch
LISTEN - Microplastics have invaded our air, our water, our food, and our brains
LISTEN - Sow What’s Next

Events & Opportunities

During my childhood, my insatiable appetite for spinach had a strong connection to the pop-culture legend Popeye. Popeye, with his odd accent and improbable forearms, used spinach to great effect, a sort of anti-Kryptonite. It gave him his strength, and perhaps his distinctive speaking style. But why did Popeye eat so much spinach? What was the reason for his obsession with such a strange food?

The truth begins more than fifty years earlier. Back in 1870, Erich von Wolf, a German chemist, examined the amount of iron within spinach, among many other green vegetables. In recording his findings, von Wolf accidentally misplaced a decimal point when transcribing data from his notebook, changing the iron content in spinach by an order of magnitude. While there are actually only 3.5 milligrams of iron in a 100-gram serving of spinach, the accepted fact became 35 milligrams. To put this in perspective, if the calculation were correct each 100-gram serving would be like eating a small piece of a paper clip.

Once this incorrect number was printed, spinach’s nutritional value became legendary. So when Popeye was created, studio executives recommended he eat spinach for his strength, due to its vaunted health properties. Apparently Popeye helped increase American consumption of spinach by a third!

This error was eventually corrected in 1937, when someone rechecked the numbers. But the damage had been done. It spread and spread, and only recently has gone by the wayside, no doubt helped by Popeye’s relative obscurity today. But the error was so widespread that the British Medical Journal published an article discussing this spinach incident in 1981, trying its best to finally debunk the issue.

But most people don’t know that spinach is a protein powerhouse. It's the chicken breast of the salad leaf world. With a whopping 2.2g of protein per 80g raw, you would have to eat A LOT to get a decent amount of protein, but every little helps. This means that if you’re a vegetarian/vegan/plant-based spinach can play a vital role in building up the amount of protein you eat daily. The best way to pack as much spinach into a meal is to cook it. We’ve all cooked spinach in the pan and seen it shrivel up to nothing. Throw the bag in there and up your protein intake.

Here is some culinary inspiration to bring out the Popeye in you!

• Mushroom-Spinach Soup With Cinnamon, Coriander and Cumin

• The Best Baked Spinach

• Spinach-&-Artichoke-Dip Grilled Cheese

• Palestinian Spinach Pies

• Pierre Franey’s Creamed Spinach

• Creamy Garlic Skillet Chicken with Spinach

Side Note & Celebrations

🚀 BIG NEWS! I’m beyond excited to be part of Empowered Kitchen, a cookbook filled with simple, nourishing, and mouthwatering plant-based recipes! 🌱✨

This isn’t just about cooking—it’s about making healthier choices easier and more accessible. Whether you are new to plant-based meals or a seasoned pro, this cookbook has something for everyone! 💚

Imagine having a go-to guide packed with flavorful, nutrient-dense meals that support your health and well-being. That’s exactly what Empowered Kitchen offers!

👀 Pre-order now!

Food For Thought

READ - A New Film Celebrates Edna Lewis, the ‘Mother of Soul Food’ Who Shaped How America Eats
READ - Op-ed: Egg Prices Are Soaring. Are Backyard Chickens the Answer?
READ - Invasive Plants: What They Are and Why They Matter
READ - Anti-Foraging Laws: How the Rich Made Sure Only They Could Eat
READ - What trees survived in our terrible fires? And why didn’t they burn?
LISTEN - Why have seed oils become a target of so much ire?
LISTEN - The Grocery Goblin takes us on a sociological journey through LA via its grocery stores

Events & Opportunities

February is rushing by like a missed train and plus there’s all the << STUFF >> happening in the world and to my nearest and dearest.

And just to keep it 100%, I’m feeling really overwhelmed at the moment.

I imagine a lot of you are feeling the same for private and global reasons. 2025 really is demanding our full attention!

So I’m going to say what I tell my inner child at 3am when I can’t get back to sleep - ​It’s going to be okay.

This month I am channeling my energy towards seasonal comfort food since we are in uncomfortable times. Soup to me is food’s equivalent of a hug around your tummy. It’s a hug for the soul. Soup soothes me to the very core. It’s that warm feeling you get when you snuggle up under a blanket next to your beloved. It’s that extra pair of fuzzy socks on a wicked bitter cold rainy day. It’s that one universal dish that people equate food to making you feel better and it really does. So here is some soup for your soul. A roundup of my five favorite soups this season.

• Dilly Bean Stew with Cabbage and Frizzled Onions

• Lasagna Soup

• The Best Italian Wedding Soup

• Collard Greens Ramen

• Chicken Pozole Verde

Food For Thought

READ - You Will Never Happen Again.
READ - Our FDA: she's imperfect, but she tries
READ - California Decides What ‘Regenerative Agriculture’ Means. Sort of.
LISTEN - 60 fantastic Black-owned Los Angeles restaurants
LISTEN - Is the ash and residue from the recent fires a danger to the fruits and vegetables in your garden?

Events & Opportunities

I missed my deadline for this newsletter two weeks ago.

I have the best excuse: I’m currently a wildfire evacuee. But I am one of the lucky ones, who still has a house standing and just smoke remediation to navigate.

Like many Pasadena/Altadena and Pacific Palisades residents, we are all on the struggle bus trying to figure out what’s next? Whether it’s rebuilding our lives, our communities or just simply a sense of home. Gardens that were once a place of pride or a refuge from the world are laden with dust and debris. In the aftermath of the Eaton Fire, I have been flooded with phone calls and text messages from gardeners on what to do with their beloved produce covered with smoke soot and their ash field gardens. As you can imagine, I don’t have all the answers, but I have a few.

Say Goodbye

While ash from a distant forest fire is generally harmless, urban fires are so more complicated. The safest approach is to say goodbye to your beloved plants and throw them out. It’s better to sacrifice a harvest than to risk consuming potentially harmful contaminants.

Test Your Soil

After a fire, you can check for soil contamination by collecting soil samples from your garden and sending them to a lab. Before taking samples, draw a map of your food growing area and label it with the spots where you took your samples from. Mapping your food growing area and soil sample spots is a good idea so you can correlate your test results, and identify spots of concern in case you need to do more testing, and guess what? It can save you time, money, and help you understand the ground conditions!

The cheapest place I was able to find was the Cornell Lab. You mail in samples and they charge $30 per sample tested for heavy metals. Here is a link, the heavy metals option is at the bottom on the page.

Ask your lab for a heavy metals panel that includes lead, cadmium, arsenic, nickel and mercury. Heavy metals tests typically cost under one hundred dollars per sample. Tests for dioxin and other organic chemicals that may be present in smoke can be hundreds of dollars per sample. If heavy metals are present in your soils, there is a greater chance other contaminants may also be present. Contaminants detected in post-fire soil testing may have been present there before the fire. You will not know if contaminants are present as a result of fire smoke deposits on your produce or soils unless you have had your soils tested prior to a local fire, or unless you have your produce tested after a nearby fire.

Contain Your Soil
Mulch your beds with straw and use sub-surface irrigation (such as drip-irrigation) to prevent the up-splashing of soil particles onto the under-sides of leaves, especially leafy green vegetables or other plants’ parts. A landscape fabric or weed cloth can also be used as a barrier between local and imported soils.

Amend and Enrich Your Soil

Regularly amend soils with compost and add “clean” soil to your food growing beds to dilute contaminants. Some research suggests that adding compost to soils increases soil microbial and fungal populations, which may help break down organic chemicals (like dioxins) in soils, and would be appropriate for low-level contamination, while composts high in phosphorous may help bind lead and cadmium in soil. Wear a face mask and minimize airborne dust when turning soil.

Decontaminate Your Garden Soil

Whether by absorbing, capturing or breaking down toxic materials, certain plants can actually help remove pollution from your soil. Believe it or not, there is an efficient and ecological way to clean contaminated soil: plants.

This technique is known as phytoremediation. "It works by using the metabolism and natural properties of plants that extract, immobilize or break down pollutants on the surface of the soil," explains Frédéric Pitre, a researcher at the Plant Biology Research Institute at the University of Montreal. Researchers have figured out specific plants that can clean up certain toxins. Some of these include:

• Sunflowers have been used to absorb radiation on the site of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.

• Mustard greens can absorb lead and have been used on playgrounds in Boston to keep kids safe.

• Corn can absorb lead and cadmium in soil. This plant can also work well in a soybean rotation.

• Many types of mushrooms can remove toxins from soil, including oyster, shiitake, and reishi mushrooms. This process is called mycoremediation.

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