Sculpin

Today was the first time I’d ridden a bike in the rain. We really need to get some fenders on that thing. And I’ve got to get myself some rain pants. On the bright side, everybody seems to enjoy watching a couple of soggy, grinning people on a tandem. A bunch of folks waved to us as we rode by. Riding the tandem’s always fun, even in the rain.

Being married to an amiable driver made me go soft, I have to say. I used to go out for walks in the pouring rain and not think much of it. But after being ferried around in a car for a few years, I got so reluctant to go out in the rain, you’d think I’d melt. I’ve wondered if I’d regret going car-free once the fall rains set in. So far, the answer is no. I’m rediscovering that it’s not that bad, even with imperfect rain gear. Sometimes it’s even kind of nice. (Though we’ll see how nice I think it is when the rain is less Pineapple Express than Hyperborean Drench.)

At the market today, we picked up enough sausage to hold us for a couple of weeks, some fabulous Microbakery cheese-and-onion rolls, and about twenty bucks’ worth of potatoes. And yes, that’s a lot of potatoes.

There’s a new potato you can get from Olsen Farms, called “Purple Majesty”, that’s stunningly purple. (If you go to the U District market or some of the others in Seattle, you’ll probably remember the Olsen Farms guy; he’s really nice and has a big bushy beard.) It’s a lot more vivid than the old All-Blue, which was no slouch itself. It’s likely the anthocyanidins are good for us, but it’s the sheer gorgeousness that really draws us in. And it makes great mashed potatoes. Josh is the mashed potato czar at his family-of-origin’s Thanksgiving (weighty responsibility!) and this year he’s going for the dramatic flourish.

Next week I’ll try to remember to bring a really large plastic bag and a couple of straps so we can buy a ton of greens. It’s just about time for us to have another round of making and freezing gumbo base. We’ve been using a recipe out of Crescent Dragonwagon’s Soup and Bread cookbook. It takes a couple of days to do it at a relaxed pace, and we wind up filling every big pot we own with chopped vegetables. But in the end, we get around a gallon and a half of pure gumbo-base bliss, which makes about three gallons of gumbo not counting the rice. This is the recipe that taught me that collard greens are food. I’d happily live on this stuff all winter.

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