Since July 12, 2007, not a day has gone by where I did not spend a portion of my waking hours attending to Slashfood. I’ve written nearly half a millon words across 1,700 posts, devised features, taken pictures and offered up some of my most treasured recipes (the granola recipe my mom got from her friend Melinda is now the first Google result when one searches for ‘granola recipe’).

This morning I learned that Time Magazine had picked Slashfood to be on its list of the Best Blogs of 2009. I am delighted by this news and am so grateful that it has come now, just prior to the time when I’ll be stepping down as the site’s lead blogger. While I know that I don’t need any external source to tell me that I’ve worked hard and done a good job there, this recognition feels awfully good nonetheless. It makes all the hard work seem increasingly worthwhile.

We stayed at the Ojai Valley Inn & Spa, which was (oddly enough) located next door to a boarding school at which I attended summer camp when I was 15. The first day I was there, I spotted Bill Paxton having lunch with his kids. I tried not to be too starstruck, although I was dying to take a picture and tell him how much I enjoy Big Love. The Inn was absolutely beautiful and there were moments while I was there that I truly struggled to remember why people live outside of California.

At the moment, I’m quite silly with exhaustion, but I’ll be writing more about the experience of touring the lemon groves and learning about the many uses for lemons both here and over at Slashfood very, very soon.

You can find all my pictures here and Scott’s are here.

This has been a whirlwind weekend, and now it’s just a few minutes before midnight on Sunday and I’m wishing for another day (however, I’d settle for another hour or two). My friend Cindy was in town, visiting from DC. Friday night, a collection of us drove to Wiggins Park in Camden for the second night of the XPN festival. I was there primarily to see Dar Williams (I am something of a fan), while Cindy and Shay were more excited about Beth Orton. While the sun was still high in the sky, it was fairly hot, but as soon as it dipped down a bit, the evening turned pleasant, with occasional breezes blowing off the Delaware River.

Saturday afternoon, I did my first solo cooking demonstration over at Foster’s Homewares (where we typically do Fork You Live). About a month ago, I was approached by a woman from The Food Trust, asking if Scott and I wouldn’t be interested in doing something with them in conjunction with Buy Fresh, Buy Local week (which started today). I said sure and we started the planning. Originally, Scott was going to be involved, but then realized that he had promised to visit his mom for her birthday (which is today) this weekend and so he left me on my own. I was a little nervous, because I’d never done a live cooking demonstration without someone up there with me, lending me energy and sharing the burden of talking. However, it turned out really well, I showed myself (and the 35 people who came to watch) that I can actually cook four dishes and talk at the same time. Adding to the challenge was the fact that I didn’t know what I was going to be cooking until I showed up at 12:30 and saw what was in the box from the market. But instead of being a burden, that kept things fresh and fun.

I think today was the best day out of the whole weekend. Cindy and I went to brunch at Day by Day and had arguably some of the best lox and bagel platters in Philly (they give you an abundance of toppings and they use amazing ingredients like ripe, local yellow tomatoes). She left to catch her train and I headed home to grab a market bag. I picked up Shay and we went down to Headhouse Square. I spent far more money on vegetables than I probably should have (we’ll be eating well all week long), took over 100 pictures of eggplants, peaches and heads of lettuce and sat on a curb with Shay, chatting and nursing an iced coffee for more than an hour in the breezy shade.

Sitting here, grabbing these few minutes to catch up, I have that tired feeling that comes from sun and pleasure (much like the one you get after a day at the beach). I’m ready to crawl into bed but I hate to let the day end because it’s been so delightful and full of mundane joys. Here’s to pulling that feeling of satisfaction into the rest of the week with me.

The getaway weekend arrived faster than we could have imagined and last Friday we packed up my trusty Subaru and hit the road. The cabin was lovely, tucked into a hillside with a stream 50 feet away from the front door. My younger inner self was so delighted, as I always had a particular affinity for natural bodies of water.

Saturday morning, Scott opened one of the French doors in the bedroom and climbed back into bed so that we could lay there, listen to the creek and smell the fresh air (I always forget how much better it smells outside when you get out of the city). Unfortunately, the peace of the place was rattled a bit, when the neighbors across the creek settled in just an hour later for a three-day, outdoor party. They played classic rock outside all weekend, which was not in line with my mental image of a quiet weekend getaway. Oh well.

Thad and Angie drove out Sunday (and killed a bird in the process) and we spent the afternoon eating junk food and wandering around antique stores. That part lined up with my perfect vacation moment almost exactly. We all took lots of pictures on the trip. Mine are here. Scott’s are here. Thad and Angie haven’t gotten theirs up yet (slackers!).

Scott and I spent the weekend in Lancaster County. We were out there for the wedding of our friends, Becky and Eric. As we drove out of Philly, I realized that I don’t get out of the city nearly enough. While I wouldn’t particularly want to live outside the energy of an urban center on a permanent basis, I also like getting away from it on occasion (especially since a seriously irritating squeak starting coming from one of the fans on the next building over. Seriously, it never. ever. stops).

The wedding was held in a barn (a nice barn that often plays host to ceremonies and gatherings). There were chickens wandering around the grounds, co-existing peacefully with some barnyard cats. A big, black pig was hanging out not too far away and there was a trailer of goats a little further down. Far more animal life than I see on a regular basis (well, except from the brazen squirrels and ratty pigeons that hang around Center City). The ring exchange ceremony was lovely and the reception was laid back and fun, with lots of barbecued pork, baked beans and dessert potluck (I brought my “famous” flourless chocolate and a walnut cake that improved drastically overnight–meaning the leftovers were much better today than the cake I brought with me yesterday).

In between the cocktail hour and dinner, there was a pig race. That’s right. Pig race. Possibly the most awesome mid-wedding active I’ve ever encountered.

Although we could have driven back last night, we decided to stay over. This morning, after searching online for the perfect local breakfast spot (and discovered that most the fun places to in Lancaster are closed on Sundays), we hit the Waffle House (you can never go wrong with the Waffle House). Then we headed for the Sears Auto Center. I’ve been meaning to get the tires replaced on my car for the last six months, and for a whole host of reasons (money, time, energy), I haven’t had the opportunity to do it. The salesman went out to take the measurements and determine what would work on my 1992 Subaru, and when he returned, he said to me, “You sure do have some thought provoking stickers on your car.” He said in a way that was mostly friendly, but also carried the feeling that he didn’t see many cars like mine out in those parts.

We wandered the mall while they worked on my car. I found two skirts on sale at Boscov’s and Scott bought a pair of pants. Then we spent an hour sitting in some plush club chairs in Borders, reading.

When we finally got the car back, it was off to Adamstown, to check out an antique mall. We wandered through although didn’t buy anything (although I was really tempted by a few old cooking pamphlets). Hungry and ready to hit the road, we decided to have lunch at the Stoudt’s brewpub (which was conveniently adjacent to the antique mall). After sitting down and ordering, I headed to the bathroom. When my hand was on the door knob, I someone say, “Marisa!”

It was my friend Devon, in from California. She had stayed with me a couple of days last week, but had gone off to visit her cousin in the suburbs. Somehow, circles of movement collided and we ran into each other for one last greeting and hug before she left for the airport tomorrow.  It was an unexpected treat and a really lovely way to end the weekend.

Today was the first day of the Headhouse Square Farmers Market for the season.  I’ve had it noted on my calendar for over a month.  Last night, I set my alarm especially to get myself out of bed and down to the market.  It took me a little while longer than anticipated to get going this morning, but I finally headed out into the city around 11 am.

It was one of those perfect, spring days. People were out on the sidewalks, wearing cute summery clothes and flip flops, drinking iced coffee as they wandered. Walking down to the Headhouse Square Shambles, I took a rambling, zig-zaggy route that led me down blocks and alleys that are not part of my ordinary travels.  I sometimes forget that there are so many lovely areas of Philadelphia, with appealing (if ankle endangering) cobblestone streets and small city backyards.  As I walked down a stretch of Addison, around 10th Street, I noticed a black and white cat staring at me from a large picture window.  She was sitting on the ledge, the curtain caught on her tail.  I stopped walking for a moment to commune with this cat.  After a moment of quiet eye contact, she turned her head, seeming nearly regal, as if to tell me that the audience as over.

The market wasn’t as full of vendors as it was at the peak of summer growing season last year.  It was something of a disappointment, as I’ve been reading about the bounty of the farmers markets that people in other areas of the country have been experiencing and so I was hoping for something similar.  I was able to find some green garlic (which you can see above), as well as some delicious garlic turkey sausage (that I cooked up tonight into a sauce for whole wheat spaghetti), local lavender honey, some fresh, tender salad greens and a dozen speckled, genuinely free-range eggs (I’m hoping for vibrant orange yolks).  I had a long conversation about reusing egg cartons with the man who sold me the eggs and promised that I would bring his container back the following week.

When I had been at the market about fifteen minutes, the crowds in front of me broke briefly and I spotted my friend Roz’s head.  As I tried to push my over to her (the market was really crowded), my cell phone buzzed with a text message from her.  Thanks to Twitter, she knew I was down there and was looking for me.  We ended up gathering a couple more people and spending the rest of the morning at the market, listening to Hoots and Hellmouth play, munching on some snacks and enjoying the not-too-hot sun.

For the last few years, I’ve managed to get out to Portland during blueberry season. Not that I went out there only to pick blueberries, but it was always a highlight of the trip, as my family has been going out to the same U-pick farm on Sauvie Island for the last 15 years or so.

This year I went out to Portland towards the beginning of  May, which meant that I missed out on blueberry season (as well as the raspberries that grow along my parents’ back fence).  I knew that there were places to pick around here, but I felt almost disloyal to the Blueberry Patch (slightly unreasonable, I know) to consider picking anywhere else.

So I thought about picking and didn’t do it.  Many nights, I had a plan that I’d get up the next morning and go pick, only to sleep later than I had intended and put it off for another day.  A couple of days ago I realized that if I didn’t do it soon, I would totally miss the season and so I made plans with my friend Seth to go pick.

We headed out this morning, and after only a few wrong turns, made our way to Mood’s Farm Market in Mullica Hill, New Jersey.  They weighed our buckets, handed over a picking permit, said to turn left at the #4 sign and to pick towards the woods.  The bushes were pretty picked over, but we discovered that crouching down and looking up through the branches often revealed hidden pockets of blue gold.  We picked for about an hour and then spent a lovely half hour stretched out in the tall grass, by a small stream, at the base of the woods.

The picture is of me, showing off my blue-stained hands.

Yesterday afternoon I met up with Scott so that we could walk over to Headhouse Square. There we met up with Roz and Bart and proceeded to help out with the set-up for the Good Food, Good Beer event that was part of the Buy Fresh, Buy Local week that wrapped up today. We worked in exchange for free passes to the event, and so after two hours of manual labor, there was much eating and drinking (Owen and Alex stopped by as well). The picture you see there is of me laughing, after licking clean the insides of my blueberry cobbler container (I make my parents so proud). If you are interested, there’s a whole set of pictures of the event here.

I also spent some time with my cousins this morning, went up to the pool on the roof of my building for the first time all summer, wrote briefly about heirloom tomatoes and made a really awesome salad for dinner (a post about it should be appearing soon on Slashfood).