We have a great garden this year, and compared to last year, in which it did not rain for weeks and weeks and everything shriveled up and died and I completely and totally gave up, it is a SUPER great garden. The potatoes are delicious, the tomatoes are prolific, the raspberries are booming, the basil is zooming, the corn is blooming, and the zucchini is looming—

…or rather, it WAS looming large and lush until it suddenly all keeled over. So we got exactly one week of zucchini. Bummer.

And I’m getting ready to do my THIRD very large planting of green beans because the first two decided to cop out on me.

And my onions are rotting in the ground.

So maybe it’s not such a hotsy-totsy garden after all? Or maybe it’s the gardener who isn’t so hotsy-totsy? But I thought zucchini, green beans, and onions were no-brainer crops! I rely on my no-brainer crops! I need my no-brainer crops!

In any case, the one week of zucchini yielded enough green clubs for me to play with for quite some time. I turned out a batch of blueberry zucchini bread (and have an idea for a couple more I’d like to try), a zucchini strata, a zucchini pasta salad (or I will—it’s on today’s lunch menu), and my favorite standby zucchini dish, which I was stunned to see has never made it onto the blog.

When it comes down to it, this simple, delicious, most favorite zucchini recipe of mine is not actually a recipe. It’s one of those more-of-a-formula-than-a-recipe deals, and you probably make it all the time already and therefore I’m offending you by telling you something this basic, but on the off-chance that you don’t know about it, this recipe/formula is for you, baby.

Except that I’ve taken something so basic and plain and turned it into two recipes so now it looks all complicated and fussy. It’s not! The components are mostly the same each time—onions and garlic, zucchini (of course), tomatoes (fresh or canned), cheese (feta or Parmesan), and fresh herbs—but sometimes I make it into a side dish, and other times it’s more of a soup or sauce, perfect for serving over brown rice or with some crusty bread, so I kind of had to write it as two recipes.

So without further ado, here it is, written up both ways just for you! Because you’re the bees knees and I love you to pieces! XOXO

(Excuse the outburst of affection. It just came over me. I blame it on all the Beautiful that’s happening outside my window right now—the twittering birds, flirty breeze, blue-blue skies, and dew-drenched grass.) (I’m trying really hard not to think about the three bushels of apples that will soon waltz through my kitchen on their way to becoming sauce.)

Zucchini Skillet with Tomatoes and Feta

Small zucchinis are always better than big ones. I aim to pick mine when they’re about 8 inches long.

And all of these measurements are guesstimates. Just chop, dump, and pour your way to the end, however you best see fit.

4 cups sliced zucchini
½ cup thinly sliced onion
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil, a generous drizzle
1 cup of fresh tomato, sliced (Roma or cherry are best)
1/4 cup feta cheese
S & P

Heat the oil in a skillet and add the zucchini and onion. Toss them around so they get coated with the oil, add some S & P, and then let them cook without stirring so they get a little brown on them. Once they’ve started browning, add the garlic and stir occasionally until the vegetables are tender (but not mushy). Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the tomatoes till they’re heated through (don’t cook them—you’re going for a fresh tomato taste). Sprinkle with the feta, more S & P, if needed, and serve immediately.

Zucchini with Sausage, Tomatoes, and Oregano

1 cup chopped onion
4-6 ounces loose sausage, any kind
olive oil, a generous drizzle
4-6 cups sliced zucchini
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 quart tomatoes
1/4 cup fresh oregano, chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried)
S & P
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan

Brown the onion and sausage in a skillet and then transfer to a bowl, leaving the drippings behind in the skillet.

Put the zucchini in the still-hot skillet (add some olive oil if necessary), toss to coat with the fat. Let the zucchini sit for a little so it gets good and brown before stirring. When the zucchini is almost done (tender, but still firm), add the garlic and oregano and saute for another minute. Add sausage and onions and the tomatoes and bring to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper.

Serve over brown rice or noodles and garnish with the Parmesan.

This same time, years previous: simple creamy potato salad, French potato salad, tempero, vanilla pudding, apricot pandowdy

Recently, I visited a friend and came home feeling entirely dissatisfied with my house/yard/general existence. (Note: my feelings of inadequacy had nothing to do with the my friend at all. She and her family are some of the sweetest, most authentic, loveliest, hardest working people ever. So to be clear, she did nothing wrong. This is not about her. It is about me.)

Most days, my cup feels half full when it comes to material possessions, so this was a bit odd. Sure, I sometimes have pangs of jealousy, and sometimes I get inspired to better my lot in life, but more often than not, I just think, “Wow, that’s beautiful,” or “They’re such neat people,” and then move on.

But his time, for whatever reason, I was suddenly excruciatingly aware of how tired and shabby my house is.

*There’s a violent hole in the leather sofa’s middle cushion.
*Various lampshades have been stapled, broken, smooshed, and scribbled upon.
*There’s the alarm clock that has to be flipped upside down in order to keep the alarm set.
*Dead house plants adorn cluttered, dusty shelves.
*The flower gardens look more like weedy patches of wildflowers than actual cultivated beds.
*Window screens are broken and bent.
*The dining room table has a broken leg and must not be bumped or leaned upon lest it go crashing to the floor.
*My bedroom has a bad case of the piles.
*The upstairs toilet is missing a lid.
*One easy chair lists to the side, the other screams every time someone sits in it, and the rocker walks.
*Rugs are faded and stained, and one of the kitchen tiles is broken.

And that’s the short list.

I read something recently in which the mother was describing their hot little home by the railroad tracks. Some of the doors are missing their knobs, she said, and extension cords for the fans are all over the place. As I read that, I mentally tsk-tsked and rolled my eyes, but now I realize she was describing my house, too, down to the missing doorknobs and extension cords trip-traps (yes, really). It made me depressed.

If I had some self-righteous high ideals to back up my style of shabby chic (which is shabby, minus the chic), it’d be a lot easier to cope with the state of things. Because then I could have glorified reasons for the faded and worn-out furniture—“we wear things out because we don’t want to add to the landfill,” or “we live simply so others can simply live.” Whatever.

Or, I could play the classic If I Just Had More Money song on my itsy-bitsy woe-is-me violin. Which is mighty tempting, I must admit.

But both of those arguments are hogwash. The truth is, I don’t have it in me to fuss over my house all day long. I don’t want to weed my flower beds to perfection or go buy fabric to fix the sofa. (I just want them to magically look perfect/be fixed.) When it comes down to it, I pretty much hate shopping and rearranging and matching. It’s much easier to throw a blanket over the hole in the sofa and then sit down on it with a bowl of popcorn and a good book.

So if I’m (mostly) okay with my holey sofa and non-lidded toilet (it flushes quite nicely) and squawking chairs, then why all the jealousy? I’m not really sure (and don’t want to spend the time thinking logically about this anymore). What I do know is that I’m not going to let myself wallow. Either I grab the bull by the horns and fix things up (those plants only have minutes left in his house), or I can decide to focus on all I do have and smile real big. In either case, the choice is mine and I WILL OWN IT.

I feel so much better now. Thank you.

A post-post disclaimer:
a. What feels trashy to me would probably feel (and be!) luxurious to the vast majority of the world.
b. I am fully aware that I’m a hard worker, that my house is cozy, and that we are wonderfully fortunate to live the way we do.
c. There is so much more to life than nice sofas. It’s the togetherness and kindness that actually count. (So what to do when we can’t stand being around each other and no one acts very kind? But excuse me, I digress. That’s a whole other post…)
d. Even beautiful people feel ugly, skinny people fat, and hardworking people lazy. These are feelings and feelings aren’t always rational. I’m just being honest here.

This same time, years previous: quotes for writers (and how I do it), baked oatmeal (the kind my family likes)

Last night I went on a little garden tour with my husband. I wanted him to see the freshly weeded asparagus and strawberries so he could give me some congratulatory back-patting. Plus, a walk around the garden usually leads to him attacking some weeds himself, and goodness knows, there are quite a lot of weeds to tackle.

Sure enough, after we pondered the pathetic green beans (two failed plantings in one season—what’s up with that?) and picked a few cherry tomatoes out of Miss Beccaboo’s garden, Mr. Handsome started pulling the weeds out by their hair (I know my man!) and I headed over to the red raspberry patch in hopes of filling the little bowl I brought out with me.

The first round of raspberry picking is always pretty skimpy (and some years I ignore it all together), but this year there are enough to warrant a go-over every couple days. In another month, though, we’ll be swimming in the berries, and I can hardly wait.

When we came back in, Mr. Handsome headed upstairs to shower and I decided to whip up a pan of red raspberry lemon bars while the kids finished cleaning up the yard before coming inside for bedtime stories.

I got the idea for these bars from Julie, though she uses rhubarb in place of the raspberries. When I spied her recipe I had a hand-slaps-forehead moment: But of COURSE! Red raspberries in plain old lemon bars is the most simple, most brilliant move EVER!

Every time I give someone a bite of these, I get the same reaction: a brief moment of silence followed by an explosive, “WOW!” or “MMMM!” or “Give me MORE!”

These are tastebud popping treats, if ever there were. The berries help to cut some of the lemon’s intensity while at the same time adding a tangy-tart contrast that totally enhances the whole eating experience.

Now that I’ve eaten these, I kind of doubt I’ll ever be able to make plain lemon bars again.

And you know what? I’m perfectly happy with that.

Red Raspberry Lemon Bars
Adapted from Dinner with Julie

Julie cuts the amount of butter in the crust is half, and while I kind of liked the idea, I couldn’t bring myself to go all the way. So I compromised, cutting the butter back by a fourth—her recipe calls for 4 tablespoons, mine for 6. The crust had a fabulous texture (perhaps even better than my old butter-packed crust?), somehow managing to be both crispy and chewy. (After patting the crust into the pan, I realized I had forgotten the salt, but a quick dusting from the shaker and the day was saved.)

I have plans to make another pan of these soon (the lemons in my crisper are slowly slipping beyond their prime), and I just may sub a bit of buckwheat flour for some of the crust’s white flour. I have a hunch the gentle nuttiness of the buckwheat will only enhance these bars.

For the shortbread crust:
1/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons butter
1 cup flour
pinch of salt

Cream together the sugar and butter. Add the salt and flour and beat until you have a bowl of buttery sand. Press the crumbs into the bottom of a lightly greased 8″ x 8″ pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

For the filling:
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour
pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
2 eggs
1 lemon, zest and juice (about 3 tablespoons)
1 ½ cups red raspberries, fresh or frozen

Stir together the flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Whisk in the eggs and lemon juice and zest.

Sprinkle the berries over the hot crust. Pour the filling over the berries. Bake the bars at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes, or until set.

Cool completely (yeah, right) before cutting and devouring.

This same time, years previous: angst over my daughter’s reading, raspberry lemon buttermilk cake, and angel bread