Prospect: A Year in the Park

Cool cones and warm fuzzies

So, yes, about 90 in the shade. Anyone else getting sick of the rote ballyhoo over Memorial Day weekend as the "unofficial start of summer"?

 

I wish there was a Smell-Cam. Near the old shuttered Well House, this tangle of honeysuckle and something else (rose family?—but not wild roses) was heady. Behind the Well House, not so nice; seclusion equals an impromptu bathroom, despite the little phalanx of Port-o-Sans a few yards away. (They were ripe, too.)

 

The not-unpleasant scent of swampy muck arose from the lake, but mingled with the sour pong of goose poo. Don't look so innocent, buster.

Speaking of Waterfowl:

Are these hybrid ducks, like a cross between mallard and those white ones we cook?

 

Crossing paths: adorable goslings (left) and gawky goose-tweens (right), fast losing their juvenile charm.

ALL TOGETHER NOW: AWWWWW!

There's been much waterfowl drama lately, including Swans with Endangered Young'uns, reported here by the Daily News. I haven't seen the cygnets yet, but their photographer scored this bit of downy cuteness.

 

Photo: Egan-Chin/News

What do you do with a snap pea?

I love it when you have an extra dream lying around, one you'll never realistically chase down, and somebody does it for you.

My extra dream, given my weekly Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket obsession, is to get the whole world over to the nearest farm stand, take stuff home and start cooking. Most weeks, (to the despair of totebag-and-cooler-toting Spouse and Daughter) I get caught up telling a curious and intimidated shopper how to cook, say, celeriac, or rhubarb, or kale. The market is overrun with discriminating foodies, of course, but so many people seem to have a dysfunctional relationship with their kitchens--sort of the way I co-exist with my computer, uneasily struggling to do the basics without any explosions. The tour guide and teacher in me wants to help them all live richer, fuller lives (with rhubarb).

Well, this week at the market I met a lovely young lady named Ronna Welsh who is doing exactly that. (She lured us in with refreshing melon-scented fruit cooler.) Her pet project, Purple Kale Kitchenworks, strikes me as brilliant: not just a cooking class or catering business, but a versatile resource for learning to cook the way people once did naturally. She admits that, although a pro chef herself, she was often reduced to eating cereal and take-out in a tiny home kitchen after a grueling work day. Her new venture seeks to give us amateurs the smart techniques and strategies of the pros, to improvise creatively and frugally.

I grew up on Minute Rice, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, instant mashed potatoes, and frozen peas-and-carrots, and spent many years learning (and sometimes, unlearning) from books, magazines and classes how to put together a simple, fresh, intuitive meal. (Ronna, where were you when I needed you? Probably in grade school.) So if you are avoiding the Greenmarket because all those delicious veggies don't come with little cooking instructions printed on them, give her website a look. (She does small group consultations; you could gather your most cooking-impaired friends together for a night of empowerment.)

By the way, this week, the sugar snap peas were in, and the asparagus and strawberries were at their peak. May I tell you how to select a good snap pea? Or roast an asparagus? Can I? Please?

Lush, hushed, with thrush

The rain finally stopped this afternoon; the woods near Lookout Hill were dark and verdant.

I stood near the Quaker Cemetery, all alone, and recorded the haunting song of a thrush (with robins, cardinals, and woodpeckers doing backup and percussion). According to this site, it was a wood thrush and not a hermit.

The Nethermead was virtually deserted.

The soaking earth gave up a thousand different woodsy smells, but wild roses predominated.

 

There was a faint air of delicious menace, a touch of overgrown gothic to the atmosphere. For comic relief, there was a dunce lamp-post base...

...and this rollin' dude with Cerberus in tow.

Waiting for Seurat

On a brilliant Sunday afternoon in mid-May, Prospect Park calls to the spirit of Georges to set up his easel on the balcony of the Boathouse.

But pointillism is for the patient. With the feeble zoom of my point-and-shoot, in the course of 5 minutes, I capture a leaping princess...

...two gentlemen clad in African finery...

...and a frisky wedding party out with their photographer.

 

On the nearby lakeshore, bucolic Brooklyn attitude is exemplified by a fisherchick and an oblivious swan.

Getting fresh

At precisely the mid-point of May, the asparagus at the Greenmarket are fat and alluring...

 

...and the local strawberries are in. This year, it's $12 for 2 basketsfull. I try not to think about it and hand it over. We wait for this all year long...no point in losing one's nerve now.

 

The Blue Moon fishery sign suggests that porgy-wrangling is a blood sport. Maybe they're spiny or something. Next week, I'm asking for my free fishhead. "Clams...dug by Rizzuto" has a nice ring to it.

  This young lady reminded me of Daughter in her beanie-and-kitten-obsession phase.

GREENMARKET DOGS OF THE DAY

Meet Sake the Shiba Inu and her acquaintance, a young Ewok whose name I didn't get. Are Shiba Inus soaring in popularity these days, or do I just notice them because I like them so much?