A clear case of government underregulation of the dairy industry: Fat Free Half & Half. Or, rather, sneaky loophole-exploitation by Land O' Lakes, as the official definition stipulates that half-and-half must contain between 10.5% and 18% milkfat.

I demand a more restrictive labeling regime, preferably one where dubious coffee creamers have well-defined geographic labels. Land O' Lakes products should be produced in Minnesota, and Minnesota only, or they lose the subtle flavor of authenticity! This "suppliers in Wisconsin" shit will not fly. Similarly, "fat free half and half" should be relabeled "fat free enhanced dairy product".

That is all. Good night.

Am eating the aforementioned rhubarb sorbet over a pile of lightly crushed nilla wafers - delightful! The rhubarb isn't actually from my yard, but it could be, in theory, if I were eating my plants rather than nursemaiding them through a summer heat they're not at all built to handle. Sorbet is remarkably simple, once you've gotten past the whole "having an ice cream maker" issue, and it's cold, and it's tasty. So now it's time to play the "make a sorbet out of everything in my garden" game:

• Proven�ale Herbed Tomato Sorbet
• Watermelon sorbet - not that I expect any actual watermelons from a plant with barely four hours of direct sun, but it's the thought that counts.
• Mint sorbet, and for safety's sake, green grape mint sorbet, verjus-mint sorbet, green pea mint sorbet, and coconut mint sorbet. Mint can be invasive.
• Marjoram sorbet - marjoram, oregano, whatever.
• Apricot sorbet
• Prickly pear sorbet - actually the prickly pear is in my backyard neighbor's garden, but she's said I can have all her fruits. I have the awesomest backyard neighbor!
• Lavender sorbet
• Rhubarb sorbet - in English this time.
• akvavit pepper sorbet - not actually growing rose pepper, but... whoa.
• raspberry and red bell pepper sorbet - bell peppers, that's what I was going for, but simple this ain't.
• Corn, green bean and zucchini sorbet recipes are not forthcoming. Stupid Internet, what good are you anyway?
• Beer sorbet - it doesn't grow in the garden, per se, but I do put it out to catch earwigs and slugs.

For dessert, the Danish Kronprins Fred and his new wife are eating white chocolate mousse with rhubarb sorbet, yum! I confess that the mousse sounds like too much fuss for me but one can probably substitute instant pudding. Certainly a crust of "digestive biscuits" wouldn't strain anything, though there's always danger of getting mired in the cracker-cookie aisle when deciding between graham crackers and nilla wafers, and coming out with nothing but Triskets and a cube of gjetost.

The ever-beguiling Chocolate and Zucchini has a recipe for cranberry banana bread; sounds like an excellent way to use a few more of those big $1 bags of almost-bad bananas that haunt the "reduced for quick sale" produce cart. It also sounds like an excellent reason to think about solar ovens, because gas ones and 100 degree afternoons just don't mix. Everything makes me think about solar ovens these days; when the wind blows from the Pacific again I'll get over it.

Anyway, cranberries. They're wonderful, but they're also out of season, and I wasn't clever enough to fill my freezer with the post-Thanksgiving sales. But I think rhubarb is really the cranberry of spring - sweet-tart without the puckering acidity of citrus, and shockingly tasty over roast meat. The next question is, will rhubarb sauce be as good a moistening agent as applesauce, or do I still have to put in the usual amount of margarine?

Dr. Seuss meets Ole and Lena jokes:

I would not eat them on a raid,
I would not eat them with a maid,
I would not eat them on a trip,
I would not eat them on my ship.
I do not like lutefisk and yams.
I do not like them, Sven I am.

Surely there must be a more authentic Scandinavian foodstuff that rhymes with "am"? I can't imagine that the Vikings would have had much access to yams, as most varieties don't do well in the cold. Dioscorea batatas is hardy to USDA Zone 5, though, and southern Sweden is Zone 7, which strikes me as utterly ridiculous but I guess a bit of Viking yam-cultivation would not have been entirely out of the climatological question. History is another matter; decent references on the history of yams are not forthcoming, but check out the completely unrelated sweet potato for kicks.

1. The international grapefruit-flavored pop competition is over; Mexico wins. Whichever country provided the marketing impetus for pink grapefruit Fanta is second, of course, but minus points for being unable to convince a solid multinational distribution network to pay attention. Meanwhile, the kiss of NAFTA is all it takes for scrappy lil' Pe�afiel to appear in stores near me. There's a laissez-faire fairy tale here somewhere.
2. Cletus is officially off the list of potential names for the latest cousin-in-the-oven. Great. How long do I have to wait before I have a cousin named Cletus? You'd think, with the number of babies in the family, at least one of them would be named Cletus, Harpo, or Knud, but noooo...
3. Yeah, it's an old link, but Jimmy Carter is awesome.
   

   The smallest child, named Shadrach, reminded me of our grandson Hugo, who always has clean water to drink and will never be afflicted with three-foot-long worms developing in his body and then penetrating his skin to emerge over a period of several weeks through a painful sore that may cripple him for life.

How long does one have to live in the desert before realizing that cactuses are hateful? They seem fuzzy and tasty, but they hate you with a deep, abiding, and very personal hatred, which they express at every opportunity by launching time-release milli-spikes into your wrists. Never underestimate a cactus. I spent an hour plucking my palms.

The jury's still out on the tasty for this particular variety (beavertail?), though it's clearly somewhere between mild and flavorless. Orangerine-clove pound cake with tea, on the other hand... ahh.

Yams = tastiest vitamin A ever. I'm currently attempting a batch of this with a tomato and maybe some mushroom thrown in for kicks, but it'll be nigh impossible to improve on the plainer version. De-veganize at will; I certainly do.

A rich, mellow flavor and beautiful golden color characterize this
easy-to-make soup.

2 cups chopped leeks
1/2 cup chopped onion
water as needed
3-1/2 cups peeled, diced garnet or jewel yams
3 cups vegetable bouillon or broth (use homemade stock, canned broth, or broth powder mixed in the water)
3/4 tsp. salt or to taste
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. mild curry powder
3/4-1 cup soy milk or rice beverage
dash of cayenne pepper (only if your taste buds are broken)
2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 Tbsp. chopped chives

In a large pot braise chopped leeks and onion in a little water, covered,
over low heat until they are soft but not browned, about 15 minutes. Add
the yams and 3 cups of broth. Cover pot and bring to a boil; reduce heat
and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Add salt,
peppers, and spices. In a blender with a tight fitting lid puree soup
in small batches until it is smooth.

Return soup to saucepan. Stir in soy or rice milk and lemon juice. Taste
and adjust seasonings, adding a little more broth if a thinner soup is
desired. Sprinkle chives (or green onions) over each serving of soup.

Update: the tomato is not to be repeated. The mushrooms, however, are worth experimenting with; the soup as is could really use some richer bass notes, and mushrooms are a pleasantly earthy possibility. Next time, I'll puree them with the sweet potatoes, rather than having them in chunks. Dollops of cream are also on the agenda.

Last night, in honor of National Pie Day, I went back to campus to be a creepy pie-making alum. And made a couple pies, natch. Though several creepy pie-eating alums (and some students, even) had been warned in advance, there were still wanderers-by to call in.

Hey! It's National Pie Day! Have some pie!
Pi Day? Isn't that in March?
It's today. Have some pie! It's got blackberries and mystery cactus... no, not that kind of mystery cactus, and not prickly pear either. I saw it at the store. I think the name ended in tl.
Are you guys, like, practicing for Pi Day?
Look, the American Pie Council is the only organization committed to promoting America's Pie Heritage. They don't truck with this nerdy math junk. Have some pie.

Upon further reflection, the cactus fruit probably was a variety of prickly pear - but it was most definitely not labeled "tunas" in the store. Perhaps the Farm Fresh Ranch Market is promoting some kind of Mexican linguistic nationalism in its produce section.

There is a delicious frisson of Catholic-style guilt in that classic New Year's resolution to eat better: I'm still working through the Christmas candy. I've made it to the Giant Bar.

The Giant Bar is not actually as intimidating as one might suppose, given that the yellow wrapper was designed to evoke some dim genetic fear of tigers. You don't eat the milk chocolate with almonds, the milk chocolate with almonds eats you! Symbolically, of course - what is actually supposed to happen is that you are consumed by gluttony, gobble the whole thing down at once without even pausing for a drink of milk, and expire in glee.

Which is why I'm grateful to the Transportation Security Authority at the Quad Cities regional airport. They smashed the Giant Bar into tiny and completely non-threatening portions. Hoorah!