The Roundup...

Of blackberries, random summer stuff and not just the weekend. Oh, and let's start a Summer Reading List!

At the present moment I have five, full, half-pint containers of blackberries in my fridge, and a full pint plus a handful of blueberries, too. Yes, I did buy FIVE little boxes of ripe, juicy, perfect blackberries yet again, as I have been all spring, and you all know from where and from whom, yes, correct, from the street fruit guys.

Something magical happened this year with blackberries, and since early April, there have been sweet, juicy boxes for sale for between one and two dollars from the guy on the corner. That’s a crazy good price. A block away the same exact berries at TJ’s are $3.99 and if you know me, and I think you all do by now, pretty well, you know I absolutely love a good blackberry, and a good deal! I’d daresay they’re my favorite berry, maybe even my favorite fruit? Probably tied up there with a perfect plumcot, or aprium or pluot or, as we snarkily call them around here, plumpricots. We’ve discussed these apricot-plum hybrids before, as recently as just last summer when they were last in season, and I’m sure we’ll circle back around to them in August. But since it’s not the season for those yet, let’s just put a pin in the plumcot for the moment, and get back to the black…berry. Because I think it may be time to admit that I might have a little—problem. A blackberry problem. Yes, I can admit it, and yes, that’s the first step.

Now, as many commenters felt the need to tell me when I posted last week on Instagram and TikTok a very simple video about how to wash berries, non-organic blackberries are generally very heavily sprayed with pesticides, especially the Driscoll’s brand berries which were shown in the video. Even on organic berries, sprays are used, especially the so-called “USDA Organic” labeled which still allows for pesticide use. If I had a place to grow my own berries I would, and those of you on the west coast who treat berry bushes as a scourge, a pest and an invasive, well, you guys can just sit there and keep it zipped for now. Or go pick ‘em and send them to me. There are many different organic certifying bodies, and USDA Organic is the worst, most lenient one, with the lowest standards. This is because huge companies like WalMart, about fifteen years ago wanted to get in on the action and get their piece of the organic pie, so they used their massive lobbying and political power and pressured the USDA to set the lowest possible standards for a useless label they can slap on all kinds of crap products, but still call them organic. But I digress. Sort of.

I know that berries are one of the most heavily sprayed produce crops. And, yes, I know that I should only be buying organic berries, and that washing doesn’t remove the pesticide residue. I know all of this, I’ve been screaming into the void about this very topic for two decades of food writing and podcasting. But I also know that the blackberry season is short, (although not this year?) and that I eat plenty of other organic plants and other stuff and probably the least processed diet of anybody I know, so I feel like I’m coming out even, basically. Maybe even still ahead. The powerhouse antioxidants, pigments and just sheer enjoyment and deliciousness of a perfect blackberry wins out over the invisible veil of doom that always hovers over out-of-season, non-organic fruit grown who-knows-where and sprayed with god-knows-what. Life is full of bargains and compromises and this is one I’m willing to make. Call me a hypocrite if you want, I’m ok with it. I’ll just sit here quietly and eat my berries while you get it out of your system.

The Driscoll label on the berries was not intentionally shown for any advertising or sponsored content purposes, either, as some accused me of. I just left the box in the scene. If I did have a deal with Driscoll, the reel would have clearly said that. I knew I’d get shit from viewers about Driscoll the minute we posted it, but I was ok with that. The pesticide use, the poisoning of the water and land on their farms, the cancer clusters and rampant abuse of farm labor—I know. I know. I know. I grew up on a sand island with drinking water that filtered through an underground aquifer, that had once been covered in industrial-strength potato farms. You think I don’t know from cancer clusters?

I didn’t even bother to respond to the comments, as I usually do. I try to at least “heart” most of them, answer any relevant questions, filter out the mean ones, you know engagement is everything! But what was I gonna say? I know? IknowIknowIknow. And I know that industrial farming is terrible, that berries are just delicate little sacs of water that soak up every drop of every poison they’re doused with, and that farm labor is treated horribly and as doused with poison as the fruits of their literal labor. I know. Mea culpa, I just f*cking love blackberries, ok? So everybody just calm down. How many cigarettes did you smoke in your youth, hmm? ZERO here, pal, so give me a break.

So anyway, I’ve got this fridge full of berries, and while I could just sit down and eat a boxful at a time, and I do, I also like to make stuff with them. Although, these days I’m really off the sugar and baked goods mostly, but c’mon, it’s summer, and fruit season is upon us, so we must indulge and celebrate and immerse ourselves in it, before it’s back to apples, pumpkins and five o’clock sunsets again.

Therefore, today I made my first berry dessert, an oat-topped crisp, of the season, to bring to a friend’s house for dinner. The occasion is to “watch the game” meaning The Knicks, meaning really that she and I will sit and drink wine and talk about hormone replacement therapy and traveling and books, while others “watch the game”. Although apparently this game is a BIG DEAL, but I’m not a sports guy. I’ll watch a little tennis maybe, love the Olympics, the NYC Marathon coverage, but the game? Nah. I do enjoy attending a Hudson Valley Renegades baseball game once a summer, as I’ve mentioned before, to sit in the warm pink twilight and drink a local IPA while the Mets farm team plays in the little stadium and the town kids perform goofy dances and play games between innings. It’s like freaking Mayberry, and I love it. It’s not about the actual game for me, but the game-adjacent happenings that I like.

I tossed the blackberries (not all of them! just enough for four people) with some frozen blueberries, a little sugar and some lemon, added a teeny drop of vanilla, and as I always do, forgot to add any sort of thickener. I do this EVERY TIME I make a crisp. I forget to add some flour or cornstarch, and then I wind up with a runny fruit base. EVERY TIME! See? Chefs eff up too. We’re human. I made a topping of oats, almond flour, a little more sugar, teeny bit of salt, and some melted butter, scattered it over the berries in a tiny glass Pyrex baker/storage container and baked it in my microwave-convection combination oven so that I didn’t have to turn on my hulking main oven and waste gas and heat the whole damn apartment up for a dish that is only six by eight inches. See? I have an environmental conscience, even though I eat poison berries. I baked it up and it looks really good, albeit likely kind of runny (every time!) I’ll now pack it up leakproof and put it in a tote, and start the 45 minute walk to Jenny’s house. I need the steps. I’ve been sitting all afternoon, waiting for the writing lightning to strike. It looks pretty cute, right?

Now, on to other business. Guess what I’m doing this summer? I’m moving north, temporarily. I’m leaving Brooklyn for July and August and spending my peak summer months at Tiny Bungalow and with my spouse, whom I normally only see a few days a week. We haven’t lived together full-time since before covid, so this should be interesting. He lives in his own house in the Hudson Valley, about thirty minutes north of TB, so we’ll be kind of bouncing between the two. I decided that I have had ENOUGH of New York’s miserable summers, and am getting outta town! I even re-planted my community garden box at Tiny Bungalow this year, the first time since I had back surgery two years ago, in the eternal hope that I can actually grow something in there. A girl can dream…and finally bend over enough to garden.

And before I leave you tonight, there’s one more thing. On my summer to-do list this year is to READ MORE BOOKS. I used to be a voracious reader, and then the internet and phones ruined me. I’m trying hard to get back to reading, so I am proposing we start a Chefsmartypants Academy list of recommended summer reads, recommended by all of YOU! In the chat, tell us what you’re reading this summer so we can all read those books, too! I’ll start. I just finished Valley of the Moms, by my friend Hannah Selinger. It’s rich-mom, Stepford Wives stuff, with just enough scorn, disgust and intrigue that I couldn’t put it down. A perfect summer read! Hannah wrote Cellar Rat, which I recommended in my Holiday Gift Roundup post last year. My next up is Ghost Town by Tom Perrotta. I love him. This time he takes us to suburban New Jersey in the 1970’s. If you’re never read Little Children or The Leftovers, do so immediately. Your turn! Tell us, please!

Ok, gotta go. Time to “watch the game” Ha!!

xxx

e.