We had our first real frost last night, this one arriving considerably later in the season than usual. But it’s been so rainy and cool for so many weeks now that the remains of the summer garden have largely succumbed to rot, and frost made everything feel almost clean again — almost. Of course there’s still plenty to do, like scatter decaying autumn leaves across the garden beds, and shelter the lettuces, or get them picked.

On the patio an old Brandywine tomato plant had gone brown and soft in spots, so today while the baby napped I dashed outside, hacked down the abandoned plant, and quickly turned it under the soil, wondering just how many tomato sprouts might rise there in spring.

As you’ve probably guessed from my radio silence, the Biscuit is out of the oven — and now on to her third week of life. Needless to say, I’m not writing a whole lot right now, and I’m not gardening or cooking very much either.

Instead, we’re being nourished by all of our amazing friends and relatives, who keep showing up with delicious things to eat — fresh corn and tomato salads, roasted chicken, cheesy pastas and polentas, bean soups, a gallon of chowder. Or who drop off fresh, end-of-season produce that’s just been picked at the pea patch.

I’ve fed plenty of people in my time, but nothing like this. It’s truly humbling.

As for this blog, I’ll continue posting my kitchen and garden adventures from time to time, and I’ll certainly still follow the food blogs I like so much. Expect not to hear from me quite as regularly, though, at least for a while.

But know that the local adventures are keeping on, off-line. The Biscuit and I made it to the Broadway farmers market last weekend, where the last of the corn and nectarines were on the tables, and we’re planning to keep going so long as the farmers keep coming. The pea patch plot has been put to bed, thanks to my good friend Alice, who cleared out the tomatoes and cucumbers and eggplants, and sprinkled the soil with cover crop seed. A quarter side of beef arrives from Sweet Grass Farm this weekend, and the lettuces, chard, and celery root are more or less established in the backyard winter garden. Pears, squash, basil, and green beans have gone into deep freeze for cold weather eating.

It’s our version of going to the mattresses. But I hope you’ll check back periodically, to keep up on Stephen’s food adventures in Alaska, and because at some point we’ll come up for air.

So said my friend Molly, from the pea patch, after my due date came and went with no sign that the little person was ready to splash down.

It’s been a strange transition for me. I’ve been off work for weeks, ever since my last two shifts induced regular contractions. I checked dozens of tasks off the to-do list and ruled out big new projects that may never get finished. There was the cooking frenzy, which should keep us fed for a while. I put up pear butter, plum jam, and dried some Italian prunes. Still no baby. So then what?

Everybody’s got an opinion about what to do right now. Read lots of books and see a bunch of movies, some said, so we did. Go out and eat great meals, others suggested, and so we have. Most memorable of all was a nearly perfect dinner at Tilth Restaurant, and not even the contractions that came with the ricotta dumplings put a dent in the evening. Parenthetically, Tilth was the first restaurant where I wasn’t looked at askance when I asked if the cheese was pasteurized. Much appreciated, and we’ll be back for date night.

And everybody’s got an opinion about how to bring on labor. One friend suggested gardening, which she credits for inducing three deliveries. Others resorted to distance walking or yoga and acupressure, plus a roll in the hay.

Then there are the foods that supposedly induce labor. The most popular advice involves eggplant parmigiana, though a search yields little more than a story about dish served at a restaurant in Cobb County, Georgia, which is backed by guarantee. Some claim it’s the basil and oregano and not the eggplant itself that does the trick. Others suggest spicy foods. Now spicy is something we can do — thankfully no third trimester heartburn here — and to boot, we’ve had ripe cayenne peppers since late July.

Recipe Redux: Spicy Noodles with Chicken and Green Beans

¼ lb rice stick noodles, or more if desired / ¼ lb green beans / one dozen cherry tomatoes / 1 tbls fish sauce / 2 tsp sugar / 2 tbls fresh lime juice / 1 tsp chili paste, or to taste / ¼ tsp salt / 2 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces / 1 shallot, minced / 1 cayenne pepper, minced, or to taste / 1 stalk scallions, minced

Pour boiling water over noodles and soak for 10 minutes to soften. Rinse in a couple changes of water and drain. Meanwhile, cut green beans into bite-sized pieces and halve tomatoes. Thoroughly mix together fish sauce, sugar, lime juice, chili paste, salt, and ¼ cup water.

Heat a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Swirl in vegetable oil. When hot, saute green beans until just cooked, about 4 minutes, then reserve. Bring skillet back to medium-high heat, using more oil if needed, and add chicken, shallot, and pepper. Cook, stirring, until chicken is lightly browned. Add noodles and fish sauce mixture. Stir constantly, so sauce coats noodles as they cook. If needed, use 1-2 tbls water to keep noodles from sticking to pan. When noodles are tender, 3-5 minutes, mix in tomatoes and scallions and serve. Feeds 2.

Ah, nesting. For some it involves setting up the crib and painting the nursery. Sewing cute baby quilts. Scrubbing the house down and making way for all the gear that comes with modern babies.

Over here, it’s been a cooking frenzy instead.

But who can help it? There’s so much that’s good and plentiful in the garden right now. I made quarts of our favorite Bolognese sauce, using orange paste tomatoes plus handfuls of fresh oregano, thyme, parsley, and basil. Pints of bread and butter pickles for eating with burgers. A lovely green sauce from ripe tomatillos, for enchiladas and similar fare. I cured a big slab of pork belly guanciale, which will make its way into pastas, soups, and stews all winter long.

And because they make me so happy, I assembled and froze multiple batches of my grandmother’s wonton, using pot sticker filling. These we’ll drop into steaming broth and eat with chopped greens and minced scallions for easy cool weather nourishment.

I even peeled, cored, and froze pears for use as baby food down the road. It feels like storing acorns for winter.

Surely we’d be fine without any of it. We’ve been ready for weeks for this new creature to arrive, so the bustle in the kitchen feels more like a diversion, something to distract me from thoughts of just how dramatically life is about to change. One thing that I’m guessing will stay the same: we’ll like having tasty local and homegrown food in the weeks and months to come.

Recipe: Bolognese Meat Sauce

I’ve made this sauce for countless friends in the throes of new parenthood.

1 large onion, minced / 2 carrots, minced / 2 stalks celery, minced / 2 lbs ground beef and/or pork / 1 cup milk / pinch of nutmeg / 1 cup white wine / 6 cups skinless paste tomatoes / a generous quantity fresh parsley, oregano, thyme, and basil, minced / salt & pepper

Warm a heavy pot over medium heat. Swirl in 1 tbls vegetable oil and add onion, carrots, and celery, cooking over medium heat until softened, about 8 minutes. Add ground meat, ¼ tsp salt, a few grindings of pepper, and cook until browned. Add milk and nutmeg and cook until liquid is essentially gone. Add wine and cook until liquid is essentially gone. Add tomatoes and herbs, bring to a slow boil, then turn down heat and cook over low for 3 hours or until flavors melt together richly. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve over spaghetti noodles, garnished with Parmesan cheese and fresh minced parsley if desired. Freezes great. Adapted from Marcella Hazan. Feeds 8-10.

Here’s my new favorite way to preserve pears, which are low in pectin and thus not great for jam. Long cooking reduces the fruit to a buttery consistency, and the spices impart nice seasonal flavor to what’s otherwise a subtle (bland) fruit. Above, pear butter on pear-ginger muffins.

Recipe: Pear Butter

3 lbs ripe pears / 2 cups light brown sugar, approx. / 2 cinnamon sticks / 2 slices ginger, ½-inch each / ¼ tsp ground cloves / ¼ tsp ground allspice

Peel, core and chop pears. Cook in a large saucepan 20 minutes so, until soft. Add 3 tbls water if needed to keep pears from scorching. When pears are soft, measure their volume and add half the volume in sugar. Add spices and cook over low heat until very thick, 1-2 hours, stirring occasionally.

When pear butter is thick, remove cinnamon and ginger. If canning, ladle the butter into small self-sealing jars and process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Adapted from Linda Ziedrich. Makes about 2 pints.

I’m almost afraid to say so, lest the garden gods take offense, but the basil supply was overwhelming this year. We grew eight or ten plants at the pea patch, which we shared with our friend Alice, plus a few more plants in the backyard, and it was plenty for everybody. Credit the unusually hot weather for this summer’s bounty; I snipped back the herb tops constantly to delay flowering, and the plants got bushier and leafier with each trim. Just like they describe in the books, but honestly, who knew?

So we made pesto, and ate the pesto with pasta and fresh cherry tomatoes, or sauteed zucchini squash. We spread pesto under chicken skin and grilled the pieces, so the cheese and garlic and the herbs all melted together.

Even then, there was scads more basil. Not that I’m complaining, not exactly.

We swirled pesto into a tasty frittata with ham, potatoes, and more sauteed zucchini. We spread it on sandwiches with leftover grilled chicken and avocado. We assembled caprese salads, and stirred basil ribbons into spicy tomato pasta with fried eggplant.

Abundance can make a person indifferent, as happens with zucchini. Or it can fuel more creative ends; for instance, we’ve discovered that basil mixes well with mint and cilantro in a spicy carrot salad. That it’s lovely in corn chowder with bacon and roasted chilies, that it’s delicious tossed into a green bean and radish salad, or with grilled nectarines.

Next on the agenda is basil-infused fruit syrups, blended with flavors like vanilla and cinnamon. Quinces are said to be wonderful poached with the herb, something I can’t confirm, since fresh quince are hard to come by locally. But Jerry Traunfeld does blueberries and watermelon in a cinnamon basil syrup, and he’s rarely wrong about these things.

Even after, there should be plenty of raw material to play with. So tell me, what are your favorite ways with basil?

Pears feel quintessentially of winter but are in season right now in my friend’s south Seattle backyard — no matter that we’re in the thick of nectarines and melons at the farmers markets. Still, you don’t argue with Nature. I came right over when my friend mentioned that the weather had knocked half of them off his tree, and in short order I’d gathered ten pounds of Bartletts and a handful of Asian pears. Some were green and hard as a rock but most of them gold-skinned and ripening quickly.

Ten pounds and you’re talking cooked fruit or preserves. We had dinner guests coming, so the first dozen I slow-poached in a Riesling with lemon, cloves, vanilla bean, and ginger. They were delicious with pistachio ice cream; the leftovers made for a great crepe filling.

Next I tried Nigella Lawson’s pear-ginger muffins, featuring her secret baking weapon, sour cream. Easy and delicious, but they made just a minor dent in the pile of fruit, which was starting to attract dark clouds of fruit flies.

To finish off the supply I attempted a batch of pear-ginger jam, also infused with ginger and lemon, but it didn’t gell, which makes it a compote I suppose. I’ll go back for more pears soon and will hopefully find a more effective recipe next time. Meantime, here’s what I’ve gleaned about cooked pears:

1. Use firm fruit that is just starting to ripen. The firmer pears stand up to long poaching times and don’t completely fall apart during jam making.

2. Pears have low pectin content. Adding processed pectin or extra sugar can thicken jams; or consider adding lemon zest or green apples, which have higher levels of natural pectin.

3. Good partners for pears include ginger, lemon, vanilla, rosemary, basil, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom.

Recipe: Pears Poached in Riesling

6 firm pears, halved and cored / ½ bottle Riesling / 1 tbls ginger, minced / 5 cloves / zest of 1 lemon / ½ vanilla bean / ¼ cup sugar /

Place pear halves, Riesling, ginger, cloves, lemon zest, and vanilla bean in a heavy pot, adding water if needed so pears are just covered. Bring to a boil, then turn down to simmer for about 40 minutes, until pears are softened. Remove fruit. Scrape seeds of vanilla bean into remaining pear juices and bring back to a boil, adding sugar, and reducing until liquid is thickened and syrupy. Strain if desired. Serve pears chilled and tossed with their syrup alongside vanilla ice cream, or as a filling for sweet crepes. Feeds 6-10.

—> Check out a more recent post for a pear butter recipe.

Best find at this week’s farmers markets is the $2 cantaloupe from Tonnemaker Orchards, of Royal City, Wash. You can tell from the sweet scent and heft of these babies that they won’t disappoint. A smallish one that we chilled, sliced, and ate unadorned was rapture-inducing. You can find Tonnemaker at a variety of the Seattle farmers markets including Columbia City, University, and Broadway.

I love fresh flowers, but given limited garden space, I’ve always had a hard time committing to grow anything except vegetables. Sure, some blossoms like nasturtiums and violas make pretty, edible garnishes. And sure, some flowers are good organic partners, repelling unwanted critters and attracting helpful pollinators. It just doesn’t feel like the same bang for the buck.

But I’m slowly coming around, thanks to a less-than-perfect track record with certain vegetables, and this summer I opted to plant sweet peas, cosmos, and zinnas among the edibles.

Wish I could say it’s been an unqualified success but frankly, the results have been mixed. The sweet peas produce stunningly-colored blooms, but suboptimal growing conditions made for small, sparse plants. Cosmos, which demand a fair amount of elbow room, are just now putting out delicate, short-lived flowers. The only real upshot has been zinnas, which grew big and bushy and sent up multiple blossoms; something about our maritime climate seems to suit them. They look wonderful in a simple vase and contribute as much happiness at the table as what’s on the plates.

Scarlet runner beans — talk about a plant that doesn’t lack for good P.R. You can hardly get through a gardening magazine these days without somebody gushing over this heirloom varietal. Fedco, one of my preferred seed sources, claims that Thomas Jefferson grew the beans at Monticello. They might as well have come over on the Mayflower.

So this year I surrendered to the hype and planted them, and so far they’re not exactly an unqualified success. Despite a choice planting location, the vines are really pretty puny. By comparison, Wally’s Romano beans, which are up in an adjacent bed, are twice as lush. It’s pretty much a solid ass-kicking at this stage.

But! We’ve just discovered one upside to scarlet runners: the garish scarlet flowers attract hummingbirds, and we’ve had lots of backyard visitors the last few days. The tiny birds are so enthralling that I just don’t think to run for the camera, and anyway they don’t stick around for long. Still, it’s redemption enough that if the beans are halfway edible, I’ll probably grow them again next year.