The daffodil wakes up, stretches out of the slush and yawns brilliant yellow. Spring will be sprung, shortly.
The edible garden, however, lies deep in sleep. We're months away from plucking lettuce, shelling peas, tying up tomatoes-to-be.
In chilly anticipation, we pull out preserves. Fragrant flowers spun into honey. Brilliant basil, crushed into pesto. Creamy mozzarella, smoked sultry for the long haul.
Sweet and spicy, sharp and soothing, bright and mellow meld into a savory pie. One that's satisfying in any forecast.
