What’s in Season

Where did this month go? It started out so turbulent, so unsure. The beginning of November existed only in liminal spaces and pockets of time. In short days that slipped into nighttime. And in a new era.

This month, I’ve taken some time to just cook for myself. Without the lingering thought of preparing for photos or chasing the light. Going into my first winter as a natural light food photographer, I’m noticing the changing light. The nuanced tones of blue and grey that seep in. The strongest light that shines through earlier in the day. I wish I could just sit with it for a while, observing the new patterns and subtleties each hour.

October goes by too quickly. It's the one month that feels fully immersed in autumn, without any feeling that the year is coming to a close, rather slowing its pace. Still colorful, full of bountiful apples, mushrooms, winter squash. It feels alive. Last weekend was the first that actually felt like autumn. Still-green leaves shivering in the wind, crisp air, the softest wisps of ashy clouds blanketing the sky, and warm auburn light of early sunsets.

Yet, the temperatures pop back into the 90s and we're back to eternal summer. Still, our big cat with his thick fur coat stopped hiding under the bushes for sanctuary from the sun. Maybe the length of his fur and the food we cook are the only signs of seasonal progression I need.

So long as it's cold enough for soup, I'm happy with October.

Happy Autumn!

Although it doesn't quite feel like it here, I am so eager to get started on autumn recipes. Some of my favorite ingredients are at their prime this time of year: an abundance of apples, pears, mushrooms, and nuts that pair so wonderfully with spices and long peaceful nights of cooking. At its heart, cooking is made for the cooler seasons. For the long chilly nights and cozy days. For the preservation of everything at its peak freshness. And for the enjoyment of slow cooking, when life begins to pace itself.

Sometimes I feel like the heat and the smokey air drains my energy, like I'm waiting for just a day of cold weather to clear my lungs and my mind. There's a certain peace I find in autumn. When there's still color in the leaves and the world comes a little more alive. There's no sameness, and every day brings a little bit of change to the atmosphere.

As California endures the heatwave, and fire season makes the beloved landscape particularly apocalyptic, I stand in limbo, trying to savor the last of summer while slowly making the transition into earthy autumnal tones. Though I love the bright colors and strong sunlight that these months have pushed me towards, rustic neutrals, ruddy browns, and smoky greens feel more comforting. I'm still finding my footing, tentatively moving my way through the world of styling and photography, grasping at new techniques wherever I can. Stylistically, I'm drawn towards rustic settings that feel less staged, more welcoming and atmospheric. Snapshots of everyday life, with the beauty of fresh ingredients and mundane settings emphasized.

Rambling, I know, but all this to say I'm still honing in on a style, one that is much more clearly expressed in cooler seasons. Still, some of the warmth and atmosphere shines through, and I think I've managed to tiptoe between the seasons.

A little over a month of summer left, and I'm already awaiting autumn. The seasons seem backward at home, as the camphor trees dropped their yellowing leaves in spring, and the worst of the heatwave always creeps in late September. A little flipped, yet this year it feels reaffirming of a sense of normalcy, of the immovability of time. And just as I did last August, I find myself anticipating cooler months, anticipating mellow weather and comforting meals.

In my head, all I can think of are autumnal recipes and photos. My creativity has jumped past me even as I try to savor the waning summer produce. Unfortunately, so many our plants in the garden have suffered - we are still waiting on the first cherry tomato. My purple striped eggplants never made it past a sprout, but I'm hopeful that there are enough cranberry beans to save for an autumn stew! Those mighty little bean plants have been the most bountiful of the new additions. Though I wasn't able to grow them myself, I was able to find purple and white striped eggplants and gorgeous heirlooms at the farmers market!

This dish was inspired by a recent farmers' market find: a bag of zucchini and stunning color-blocked summer squash. I was so mesmerized by the duo-tone veggies that I bought a bag without thinking of what I would make, knowing I wanted something to show off the beautiful colors. Sometimes the only inspiration you need is the subject itself.

Our garden is still a little way out; I suspect the combination of a shaded area in August heat causes the veggies stress. Yet, the blushing cherry tomatoes and first dry pole beans reassure me of our persistent little plants. I've been slowly harvesting the first cranberry beans, leaving them inside to collect until I have enough to store. Striped scarlet and off-white shells turned to light brown husks in a matter of weeks, but I snuck a peek at the beans inside. Like little quail eggs, the beans are mostly white, dappled with the most vibrant cranberry-colored speckles!

During seasons of abundant gardens and farmers' markets, preserving and canning are how I savor the flavors of the season. Stone fruit is around every corner, and our plum tree yielded the best harvest in years. Plums turned into cake and jam, and tomatoes soon to be enjoyed fresh while some squirreled away to be frozen and enjoyed in winter. And this month, I delved into the process of fermentation.

This sauerkraut recipe is woodsy and aromatic, with juniper berries and caraway seeds that taste softly of pine and anise-like licorice. Reminiscent of winter spices, yet mild and close enough to tradition that it can be served with dishes both sweet and savory. A little stronger and more flavorful than traditional salt-brined sauerkraut, I wanted my sauerkraut to be satisfying and aromatic.

When I was 3, my parents took me to Tuscany. I was little, curious, and refused to put shoes on in the snow. I remember cobblestone streets, tree-lined paths covered in crunchy auburn leaves, chasing pigeons, and bowls of pici. Most of my memories from that trip are scattered and misplaced but they are among my first. What I know for sure is that it was beautiful and exciting and I was always hungry after a day of walking - or being carried.

I tried many years ago to make pici, but it was a failed attempt and I did not push it any further. A few weeks ago, I decided I wanted to commit to recreating this pasta from my childhood. Of course, my memories are hazy, and I couldn’t exactly remember what it was like, but I entered in with the mindset that I would know when I got it right.