I just started reading “Plenty”, by Alisa Smith and J. B. MacKinnon. I’ve been wanting to read it for awhile now (it’s been out three years), but just didn’t get around to it.
Then, last week, out of the blue, I got email from Bookmooch telling me a copy was available, and, wonder of all wonders, I actually got to it before anyone else did. Interspersed between the first and second chapters (“March” and “April”) is a recipe for what I think is a really lovely-sounding appetizer, or amuse-bouche, as they put it, involving disks of steamed beet topped with little potato-blue cheese croquettes and a sauce made of applesauce stirred into melted butter. It was the way the recipe ends, however, that really caught me—“Serve in the center of a very large plate, alone and a little heartbreaking.” Hm. Now, I suppose you have to take into account the fact that at this early point in the narrative, Smith and MacKinnon are starting to despair that they’ll be living on little other than potatoes for an entire year if they want to carry through with their “100-mile diet” experiment. All a matter of perspective, I guess.
I kind of know how they feel. Not that I’m attempting anything like a 100-mile diet—just the CSA. But I swear, if I see another cabbage, or cucumber, or even an ear of corn I might very well start screaming. I wouldn’t mind so much if I had a chest freezer (or anywhere to put one), or even just a basement (see previous), but at this point, I’ve got more than half a freezer full of quart baggies of miscellaneous veggies, plus three quart jars of fridge pickles and a largish container of oven-dried tomatoes. 
And of course we’ve been eating veggies all the time as well. I felt a little like an ingrate last week when I had to turn down the offer of a second head of iceberg lettuce (ick, iceberg—I didn’t even really want the first one), explaining that I just didn’t have enough room in my fridge. The response sounded tired and exasperated: “Well, it’s feast or famine.” I get it, I really do, and I appreciate these folks’ generosity, but I did only sign up for half a bushel every week, and with good reason—there’s only the two of us to eat all this stuff. Lately, though, I’ve been getting more like a full bushel, and the veggies are kind of taking over my life, like something out of a cheap-ass sci-fi/horror movie. Obviously, I would have made a lousy farm-wife—I can just hear my maternal grandmother tsk-ing at me from the great beyond. I never met her, but I hear tell she never failed to stock her cellar to bursting with all manner of pickled and canned fruits and veggies.
I am trying, though—taking baby steps. Who knows, maybe I’ll get up the nerve (and somehow find the time) to try the real deal—real pickling. Lord knows I’ve got enough cukes.