Oil Changes: the anti food blog food blog: Godfather Chair

When I sit in this chair I feel like Brando at the end of The Godfather. That's the thing about gardens: if you think their produce is limited to vegetables, you're missing out. Ripe tomatoes are awesome, everyone knows that, but if your garden world stops at the boundary of flavor, uh, you aren't doing something you should be. Gardens should inspire the imagination. Your garden should transport you into the world of pure thought. I'm serious. It sounds cheesy as hell, but if you sweat all season long, busting your hump with a watering can around every corner, gettin' knocked on your ass by drought, strong winds, and heavy rains at turns, not to mention construction workers and other assorted laborers who wouldn't think twice about hurling a medicine ball onto your tomatoes, um, if after all that work you can't sit down in your Brando chair and go to another place, one that's more perfect than this place--shit! I'm gonna jerk a tear here--then you are sadly missing out on the garden's finest. I'm serious here, people, if your garden doesn't do more than put a couple tasty zucchinis on your table, you should probably phone up Fanny Farmer or something, 'cause you didn't get the memo.

So this afternoon I went out to pick as much as I could. It's mid August and the harvest is rolling big time. Every day, tomatoes to stew, beans to pickle, chilies to string up and dry. Oh, by the way, I finally figured out how those Mexican grandmother's get such tight ropes of chilies! A needle and thread, baby, right through the base of the stem; quadruple ply the thread for power! Anyway, when it comes time to deal with your crops, you should get yourself a double-barrel, pump action shotgun and stick it to your imagination's head because it won't do anything but make trouble. Point is, there is no time to think about moon beans when you are heating two-piece lids and sterilizing jars.