In the thick of the short picking season, I am plagued by huckleberry envy. Grinning hikers emerge from the woods, their lips stained purplish-blue and their buckets overflowing. Friends smugly stash gallons in the freezer to keep them supplied until the next huckleberry season. Everyone seems to be finding more huckleberries than I.
The Mountain Huckleberry, a wild cousin of the blueberry, is prized for its tartness, which comes from
The rugged, outdoor type gets silently down on one knee. With sleeves rolled up and hands that denote signs of hard, honest labor, he utters with genuine sincerity the six little words every woman on the planet so desperately wants to hear:
“What can I do to help?”
In a subdued show of humility, he kneels beside her and bows his head, raising hopeful eyes for a brief moment, as
If ever I needed a reminder that Boise’s food scene is getting progressively better, it’s a recent bite of The Modern Hotel and Bar’s potato salad. Okay, it was a fingerling potato salad with arugula and house-made pancetta, but a potato salad nonetheless—and it induced the eye-rolls and involuntary sighs of a much fancier dish. There was something intuitively right about it, something subtle and just a little surprising.
It was practically a tropical paradise at Rice Family Farms. Though the March wind whipped at the walls of the greenhouse, a moist heat hung like a dewy blanket over rows of carrots, radishes and beets. One could even hear birds chirping.
Peeling back a layer of row cover, Lee Rice shook his head. “There might be flea beetles on these radishes,” Rice said. “Just a few, not bad though.”