MY artichokes. MY lettuce.

Eastside Road, May 17—

A LIGHT SUPPER TONIGHT out of the garden. Salad first, a rarity here: leaves of speckled lettuce, green and red romaines, dressed with the current house vinaigrette: a clove of garlic mashed up with sea salt, steeped a few minutes in olive oil, whisked at the last minute with vinegar — these days, a white tarragon-flavored vinegar in which sour cherries had been pickled years ago.

With it, toasted Como bread from the DBC — The Downtown Bakery and Creamery, which L. opened with T. and Kathleen so many years ago, and Kahleen still runs so well. That Como bread makes the best toast.

Then, three more artichokes from our garden. I remember when I was in the sixth grade there was a kid who'd never seen an artichoke, had no idea what one did with them. He was from Colorado. I developed an odd attitude toward Colorado at the time, and haven't completely lost it since.

bottle-ends, white