Rainy Days and Sundays

The first farm share of the season yielded a ton of salad greens, including arugula; some spicy purple-pink radishes; and a fragrant bundle of herbs (most of which I, sadly, can't identify).  Tonight I made a big salad with the greens and radishes, threw in some mushrooms and cucumbers, dressed it with a healthy helping of olive oil and lemon juice, and topped it off with some sourdough croutons:

Yum.

I've been reading Nancy Milford's biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, Savage Beauty, and wish that I had ten ounces of Vincent's confidence--the woman was never afraid to do or say anything, and she pretty much did whatever she wanted, charming everyone who breathed within ten feet of her.  Which only sounds like an exaggeration.

I mean, come on.

In other news, there's nothing like a rainy day and a timely re-read of a Zadie Smith essay to make you realize you were going about everything absolutely wrong in your novel.  So now to try a new tack--starting with too many chili-lime cashews and heading straight for hacking apart the first 20 pages or so of my book and re-making them.  

With any luck, I'll be able to put the bookmark I made for the awesome residency program at Millay's New York home, Steepletop, to good use one day.  Until then, forward!  And some flowers, too.