Living and writing in a circa 1840 New England Farmhouse with three generations of my family
I have always liked eggplant. Problem is, I have always disliked the way it was prepared. I never understood the point of covering it in a coating of breadcrumbs an inch thick and then frying it in oil. What ended up on my plate tasted of oil and stale bread without even a hint of the eggplant lying in repose underneath.
It’s time that I came clean. I love tomatoes. No really. I love them. Not the languishing in the produce aisle in February variety. Sorry. You may label me a tomato snob, but I can’t help it. If you’ve ever tasted an heirloom tomato fresh from your garden, still warm from sunlight, then you’ll understand. If you haven’t, get thee to a local farmer’s market. Immediately.
My family moved to the 1840 Farm in the Fall of 2005. It had been uninhabited for over a year and it showed. The grass was waist deep and the plantings would have been considered overgrown years before we found ourselves taking refuge from a New England rainstorm on its Read More