I don't wanna be a food stylist when I grow up.

I've been developing recipes for a handout on "Farmers Market Cooking" over the past few weeks, and since I wrote them myself and needed to photograph them, testing was required. I thought it might be fun, and I did enjoy the cooking aspects of it, of course, but it turns out while some basic food styling is fairly easy...

Others are, um... less so. Seriously, how does anyone ever style a dish like this? The best I could manage was "its best side."

I was reminded of one nice advantage of food photography, though: it only matters what it looks like. For this pesto - the recipe is actually written for basil - I used arugula. Arugula that turned out to be more mature than I thought. Arugula so bitter that no matter how much lemon juice and salt I added to it, produced an absolutely inedibly bitter pesto.

Also, that basil? It's a lie. It's from the renegade plant I posted last time - a plant I have since ripped out by its roots and tossed into the yard with disgust - and, damnit it is not basil. I have no idea what's wrong with it, or wrong with our soil, or wrong with me, but I cannot for the life of me grow basil that tastes like basil. It has a hint of that glorious basil flavor, buried under a mountain of this awful astringent, medicinal taste. It makes my tummy sad.

Of course, the one clear advantage of a recipe testing frenzy is having lots of delicious food fill the house, and fortunately everything I made - except that damn pesto - did turn out quite delicious. For this salsa, Keith tossed some locally grown hydroponic tomatoes on the grill to char up, and the glorious smokiness really elevated it. Not surprisingly, the salsa was not long for this world.

This grunt was pretty directly adapted from Alton Brown's grunt recipe, and it was by far the last dish to be made, in part because ugh am I really going to turn the oven on for an hour in the middle of this heat?, and in part because I'd burned myself out on recipe testing by then. The peaches sat on the counter for a week and barely made it through my holdout. Keith's first comment on this photo was, "You should've wiped the rim." Thanks, butthead.

Fortunately some dishes are hard to get any way but right. I've never come across a bruschetta that I wasn't thankful for, and this is no exception.

New Knowledge Is Nutritious

I am pursuing a career in dietetics with the full knowledge that I have major concerns with how the field is practiced. Human nutrition seems to be fairly poorly understood when it comes to the specifics and minutiae, and many practitioners seem to be very reluctant to consider research that contradicts their understanding from when they went to school and/or "how it's always been." It's frustrating, and it's daunting to think that I may find myself in a position where my job requires me to give advice that I don't agree with and don't find well supported. But I suppose I'd rather feel that way than lodge myself firmly in the "how it's always been" camp.

A while ago, we - the dietetics field - determined that saturated fats are bad. All of them. Animal fats, plant fats - saturated is bad. I attended a meeting a few months ago where one of the dietitians in attendance asked the dietitian holding the meeting about coconut oil, prompted by an introduction to coconut yogurt (which is delicious by the way, but totally not worth the cost). Her response essentially boiled down to, "Well, it's getting more popular, and some people seem to think it might be a good thing, but it's full of saturated fats, and I'll certainly never recommend it." Most of that is a paraphrase, but the last clause is nearly a direct quote: she will never recommend it. That kind of resolution in a field with so many unanswered questions isn't just disappointing. It's alarming. Especially given that there is research out there strongly indicating that saturated fats are not all the same, and those in coconut oil may indeed be - gasp - healthy.

In the same vein, the AND has a trade magazine that publishes a few book reviews in each issue. The last issue had two reviews, a glowing one of Marion Nestle's new book, and an utterly sarcastic one about Richard Nikoley's book on the Paleo diet. Now, first and foremost, I do have to say I have major issues with the Paleo diet. Though I think it's absolutely possible to have a healthy, balanced diet based on its guidelines, I also think that it's financially unfeasible for a large percentage of the population, it's environmentally irresponsible, and it encourages the alarming practices of factory farming and overfishing. Furthermore, I strongly disagree with the rationale used to justify the elimination of most of the forbidden foods. But I'd like to think that if I were to write a review of a book about it, I'd be able to do so without the dripping derision present in this particular review. It seems clear that the review author already had his/her mind made up long before reading the book. It reminds me of those "Letters to the Editor" you'll occasionally see where it seems the entire purpose of publishing the letter was to publicly shame its author (at least, I hope that's the reason for some of those publications).

There will always be disagreements in dietetics; I understand that. But it pains me to see so many of my future colleagues make such absolute statements about issues we know are still uncertainties.

Through Mint-Colored Glasses

This is easily one of my favorite times of year. Now, the weather (will it be 95º or 45º? Drought or torrential rain? Will the wind take me away today?) I could do without - I'm decidedly a fall girl - but the excitement of such new life springing up in my front yard? That I just love.

Three of our five tomato plants now have fruit on them, with the Black Krim about the size of a fist already (but still green as can be).  I can't wait 'til they start turning and our kitchen turns into a constant rotation of salsa, bruschetta, and Italian sauces!

I get almost as excited about the tiny, perfect flowers that precede the fruit, though. My gardening is 100% for the purpose of food - no ornamentals on our property - but I love that every fruiting plant adds a little color to the landscape long before it fills our bellies.

Because we keep our house so cool through the winter and aren't keen on running lights and heaters to start our own seeds, most of the garden is blooming with starters purchased from local nurseries. We've had a bit of luck starting from seed outside, except for basil and cilantro, which have steadfastly refused to grow for no clear reason. Except for this one little rebel, which has found a home at the base of our rosemary, nowhere near where a) I planted basil, or b) we grew basil last year. I may see if I can transplant it, but I suspect I'll kill it in the process.

I love watching the seedlings shoot up through the soil - especially the ones that immediately distinguish themselves from our many and varied weeds. I love the tiny flowers and miniature fruits. I love the way the garden changes and matures each day (though, let's be honest, nothing changes and matures quite as quickly as those weeds). But I'm not sure there's anything in the garden I find more charming than those slender pea tendrils reaching up and wrapping their perfect coils around the trellis. Actually, after I'd planted these seeds and set out the "trellis" (truly an inaccurate description of this two-foot-tall piece of fence), I noticed the seed packet described the plant as a sturdy bush that needed no trellising. Oops. Well, it may not need it, but it sure seems to like it, and I have no problem doing something a little extra to make my plants happy. Like anthropomorphizing them, which I'm positive warms their little hearts.

Backyard Bounty: Mulberry Pie

Keith comes from a rather more self-sufficient family than average. Both sets of grandparents have a history of growing quite a bit of food for themselves. Not just a crop of homegrown tomatoes, which is all I really aspire to in my garden, but fruit orchards, strawberry patches that yield a gallon of berries daily in prime season. You know, the kind of agriculture that toes the line between "garden" and "farm." Having grown up in times more tight-belted than I'm likely to ever see, the idea of letting food that just falls into their laps go to waste is a little absurd to them.

"We should eat those," Keith said, letting the guilt get to him. "We should make a pie."

City-girl Becka did not even know we had a tree that produced edible fruit.

It's a learning process.

So while Keith was mowing the yard this weekend, I plucked and foraged every ripe mulberry I could get my hands on. Just so we're clear, mulberries are tiny and it takes a long time of crouching on the ground to get a good haul of already-dropped berries and, no, I am not old, but I am not that young anymore. And if we plan to continue this whole berry business (and we should!), we're gonna need a system that causes me a lot less pain.

I proudly presented my berries to Keith, and we agreed that, it being something like 90º that day, the pie could wait until more reasonable temperatures. Pie is important, but not turning on the oven when the house is already in the 80s is equally important.

I left the baking to Keith. He used Alton Brown's crust recipe, swapping more butter for the lard (which we do actually have, for once, but it was still in the freezer). He tossed together a pie filling with the mashed berries, sugar, vanilla, pomegranate liqueur, and a gelling agent of some sort. Since we didn't have a huge pile of mulberries, Keith opted to make a couple of rustic free-form pies rather than worry about filling a pie pan. They came out beautifully.

It just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to participate in this level of "from-scratch" cooking. Obviously we didn't raise the cows for the butter or grind our own wheat, but it's always incredibly satisfying to have at least one ingredient in a dish that you produced from your own land... even if the tree was already there when you bought the house.

Next step: actually start eating the nuts from our walnut and hickory trees.

Tuna Coleslaw Salad... thing

Ha! Remember that one time when I started that blog and was all, "I am totally going to write stuff here"? Well, better late than never, right?

Also this is why I didn't tell anyone about the blog yet.

When I started dating Keith years ago, I knew that (if I was lucky) dating a chef was going to have a major impact on the way I experienced food. I'd always, at least as an adult, been a fairly adventurous eater and enjoyed cooking for myself, but I tended not to learn a lot in the kitchen. I thought that dating a chef would mean amazing gourmet meals at home at an incredibly low cost (and, indeed, my time with Keith has made it much harder for me to fork over money at a restaurant), and that part was true. I have eaten some amazing food in the last 4+ years.

What I didn't expect was how he would change my perspective on more "low-rent" foods. I will admit - with some degree of glee - to a certain amount of food snobbery. So when Keith gave me coleslaw on our first date, I was skeptical to say the least. But here's the thing: I had exclusively consumed bad coleslaw up until that point. Soggy, runny, not-so-fresh coleslaw. I also, for no particularly good reason, thought it was made with iceberg lettuce, but that's neither here nor there. But this coleslaw Keith made me? It was good. Freshly purged cabbage, yummy mayo dressing, pumped up with minced habanero and perfectly ripe mango. I was a convert. When we catered our wedding reception last year, I requested coleslaw for the salads as we developed the menu.

The story with tuna salad is not dissimilar. For a road trip last summer, Keith packed up more pints of freshly made tuna salad than we should really admit to (kept in a cooler with lots of ice!). I'd had and enjoyed tuna salad before, but it was always just a bit of a filler - nothing special. But this tuna salad, with Keith's recipe? I'm surprised it lasted more than a day (in a cooler! with ice!).

So I have some cans of tuna lying around, and I figured, you know, I should eat the tuna. Because tuna's good for you! And I like fish. But I was scared of making tuna salad without a recipe, and without the right ingredients. Then I reminded myself that I knew what I wanted my tuna salad to taste like, so I knew how to make it. Pretty simple, right? Tuna, tangy dressing, crunchy veggies. Because of the veggies we actually had on hand, this turned out to be a bit of a tuna salad-coleslaw hybrid, which is why I was rambling on about coleslaw. This is a highly customizable recipe and great for using up small amounts of leftover raw vegetables.

Tuna Salad

• 3 tbsp plain yogurt (I used organic & full fat)
• 1 tbsp mayonnaise
• 1 tbsp mustard (any variety)
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp hot sauce
• 1 can tuna, drained
• 1/3 red bell pepper, diced
• 1/2 small sweet onion, diced
• 1/2 cup red/green cabbage, sliced into short, thin strips
• 1 small carrot, diced small or grated
• 2 tbsp walnuts, chopped
• 2 green onions, sliced

Mix first six ingredients until well incorporated. Flake tuna with a fork into smaller pieces and add to dressing. Add all veggies to dressing and stir to combine. Serve on its own, with a nice seedy whole-grain bread, or in a lettuce wrap.

After the photo shoot, I dutifully rolled up my lettuce wrap and ate it, but truth be told, I think lettuce wraps are little more than a way of punishing people for trying to enjoy food, so I recommend the first two options.

Why, Hello There.

There just aren't enough food blogs out there.

Wait, no. That other thing, the opposite.

So why this one? Hard to say - it's mostly for me. But I hope others will find it's for them as well!

I'm Becka. I'm a dietetics student who's passionate about food - cooking, eating, sharing, feeding, growing. I eat healthfully, though not everything I eat (or post here) is straight from the Dietitian's Handbook. And, truth be told, I cleaned out a jar of Nutella with alarming thoroughness as I was starting this blog today.* I intend to write almost exclusively about food here - from recipes and restaurant reviews to policy news, to the garden I hope to find blooming in my yard each year. I hope to share things I learn here, and by sharing, learn more. I hope that having an outlet to discuss the things that matter most to me will encourage me to pay closer attention to them, think more deeply about them, and when applicable, taste them more fully.

Why "Such Splendid Satiety"? Two things I like: the word "satiety," and alliteration.

* It was almost empty when I started. I swear.