The Conscientious Herbalist
While weeding my ever-stifling home garden today, I had the opportunity to contemplate my position at my current job, as resident chef at Fernbrook Farms. More specifically, I had the time (between mosquito attacks - ran out of bug spray) to - swat! - wonder why, in all - swat! - the jobs I might have landed at as a - swat! - professional cook, a farm was the final destination on this layover-laden trip we call "finding ourselves". A vegetable farm, of all things. I had previously been knee-deep in cow sh*t, and rammed by goats, and bitten by parrots even, and was totally at home and OK with it, but veggies? We have a rough history, to say the least. Maybe that's why cooking them is sooo satisfying! See, here's the skinny on my green thumb - there isn't one. I am the only, the ONLY, person in the entire world who can't grow zucchini. My bestie from high school, who gets bi-weekly mani-pedis and doesn't have a smedge o...
