Tempo readers were either intrigued or completely put off by the concept of eating as a meditation, mentioned in my Friday dining review. I knew before writing it that some would entirely dismiss the notion that mindful eaters can happily consume smaller portions and find greater pleasure in their food, as many health experts recommend.
Now that I’m about to suggest a similar theory, here’s a disclaimer: Read no further if you find meditation as odd as a restaurant that serves no animal protein (like one meat-head exclaimed on the Mail Tribune’s reader forum).
In this age of busy households and convenience foods, the simple tasks associated with preparing food can actually be a means to relaxation. You don’t need to follow a Rachael Ray 30-minute recipe to find cooking stress-free. It’s all about the approach.
Visualize how you’re going to prepare your next meal. How will the heft of your chef’s knife feel in your hand? How will the freshly chopped parsley smell? What is the exact hue of the bell peppers you purchased?
Such sensory details associated with cooking seem mundane when the cook assigns them no importance. Yet when they represent a means to unwind at the end of a busy day, they somehow seem infinitely significant, able to sustain all good cooks through life’s stressors.
I realize many households multi-task through their meals, as I did last week preparing a much-anticipated dinner. After talking on the phone throughout my stint in the kitchen, I emerged after dinner with a full stomach but unsatisfied. Because I wasn’t concentrating on the process, I couldn’t enjoy my food as much as usual.
If weeknights just won’t allow you to devote your attention to cooking, try meditating on your food in much shorter intervals. When preparing a snack, listen closely to the snap of that fresh apple when you remove the core. Try to hold that fresh whiff of feta cheese in your nostrils.
Do these small observations boost enjoyment of your food? Let me know.

While editing one of the newspaper’s columns last week, I did a little independent investigation on behalf of our recipe devotees.

Today’s piece by Corvallis writer Jan Roberts-Dominguez mentions green garlic, a bit of produce likely unfamiliar to those who don’t have home gardens like Jan. But non-gardeners should be able to find green garlic at farmers markets, Jan promised.

Indeed, I located this young garlic reminiscent of green onions at last week’s Medford gathering of the Rogue Valley Growers and Crafters Market. Runnymede Farm of Rogue River sells bunches for $1.

On Jan’s suggestion, I chopped white and tender green portions in a food processor and blended the green garlic with several tablespoons of Best Foods mayonnaise. But, deviating from the composed salad recipe that accompanied her column in today’s A la Carte section, I added about 1⁄4 teaspoon of wasabi paste to my mayonnaise. Instead of folding the mayonnaise around grilled chicken, I simply used it as a condiment on my homemade tuna burger.

I never met a mayonnaise concoction I didn’t like, but the flavors were so compelling that I scraped the food processor bowl for that last bit after finishing my burger.

Tomorrow’s growers market offers shoppers their last chance to enjoy green garlic, for this year, at least. Because green garlic stalks are remnants of Runnymede’s efforts to thin its primary crop of mature garlic, they’re available in small quantities for only about three weeks in spring, said farmer Teri White.

The growers market assembles Thursdays from 8:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. at the Medford Armory, 1701 S. Pacific Highway.

Every gardener out there is no doubt cheering on warmer weather. In our family, summer means lots and lots of home-grown basil for my mother-in-law’s ratatouille, bruschetta topping and her essential pesto.

We could, of course, purchase bunches of basil during the cold season. However, that’s hardly as economical as growing our own, and the resulting pesto just doesn’t taste the same.

Better to experiment with different herbs this time of year. I’ve heard numerous references to replacing a traditional pesto’s basil with parsley or even substituting walnuts for the pine nuts.

But running across an interesting recipe for Pumpkin Seed Pesto this past week, I started deconstructing the idea of this pasta topping. It is, after all, merely a combination of nuts or seeds, an herb of some sort, acid (generally citric), oil, spices and cheese, if you like.

Experimenting at home with Thai flavors, my husband and I topped peanut-crusted sea scallops with a peanut, cilantro and ginger pesto. The preparation was simple: In a food processor, pulse some roasted, shelled peanuts until finely ground; add one bunch cilantro (stems removed); 1 teaspoon of jarred, minced ginger; juice of two limes; and a little salt and pepper. While that’s blending, stream in some oil. We used rice bran oil but peanut would have been nice if we’d had it on hand. In keeping with the Asian concept, we omitted cheese.

Mint would go just fine, too. Try it for yourself or the following recipe for Pumpkin Seed Pesto courtesy of The Associated Press features staff.

Pumpkin Seed Pesto Pasta

12 ounces whole-wheat pasta spirals

1 cup raw pumpkin seeds

3 ounces (about 3 loosely packed cups) fresh cilantro, stems trimmed

4-ounce piece of Parmesan cheese (or about 1 cup grated), cut into small pieces

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 to 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Bring a large saucepan of lightly salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook according to package directions.

Meanwhile, place the pumpkin seeds in a small skillet over medium heat. Toast the seeds, stirring frequently, until they are lightly browned and puffed up, about 2 to 3 minutes.

Transfer the seeds to a food processor. Add the cilantro, cheese, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Pulse until all ingredients are finely ground. Then, with the processor on, drizzle in olive oil until desired consistency is reached. Set aside.

Drain the pasta and transfer to a large serving bowl. Add the pesto and toss well to coat. The heat of the pasta will melt the cheese and the pesto will coat the pasta. Adjust salt and pepper as needed.

Makes 4 servings.

NOTE: To keep with the Hispanic theme, consider replacing the Parmesan cheese with manchego, a nutty, creamy Spanish cheese.

When it comes to herbs and spices, my general rule of thumb has been the more the better.

Of course there are exceptions, like that pinch of cardamom that can flavor an entire 8-by-8 pan of rice pudding like a Scandinavian pastry. Or that vigorous dash of dried thyme that leaves meatloaf tasting a tad bitter.

But I’ve always figured the process of experimenting is more valuable than the end product. How else are you going to know a seasoning’s limits?

Unfortunately, my husband reached his limit last night after six months of enduring my infatuation with smoked paprika. I’ll admit to being maybe a little too enamored with this bright-red jar after receiving it as a free sample, one of many that inevitably reach newspaper food editors.

I’ve always loved paprika, but my former supply had gone somewhat stale. And with it’s updated flavor, this new spice seemed the perfect way to put a spin on many of my tried-and-true recipes.

So I used smoked paprika in everything from raspberry vinaigrette to the egg salad my mom recently raved over. It became my standard seasoning for fish, whether pan-seared or broiled, and showed up in this blog last week as a rub for braised rabbit.

You get the picture. I’d become so accustomed to the taste of smoked paprika that adding it to any concoction became as automatic as salt and pepper, which is how it ended up in a batch of guacamole I agreed to whip up last night for my husband, Will. One taste and he knew, but he decided to let me squirm anyway.

“What’s that smoky flavor?”

“Uh, smoked paprika.”

And then, after so many months, the inevitable: “I don’t really care for it.”

Of course, I thought the guacamole tasted great, the addition of smoked paprika sheer genius. But with my overindulgence apparent, I promised to lay off for a while.

When I’m cooking for him, that is.

Ambitious cooks have one more week to submit their best recipes to Allyson’s Kitchen’s spring online recipe contest.

At stake are gift certificates to the Ashland gourmet emporium, new knives and cookware and, of course, local recognition. If you need a little inspiration, I can’t think of a better jumpstart than perusing Allyson’s kitchenware and specialty food sections, the extensive wine cellar and tempting deli case. However, a store purchase is not neccessary to compete.

All recipes must be original. Categories are: appetizers, soups and salads, entrees, desserts and a la carte. The contest is open to all registered visitors at www.allysonskitchen.com. Registered visitors also can vote for their favorite recipes.

The deadline for e-mail entries is April 6. Voting will run through April 23. Winners will be posted online by April 30.

Each category winner will receive a $50 gift certificate to Allyson’s. Best of show will receive a three-piece Global knife set. All winning recipes will be entered into the recipe of the year contest, which touts as grand prize a brand-new set of cookware.

View the entry form at Allyson’s Web site, listed above. Click on the “recipes” tab at the top of the page.

Food-trend followers likely were intrigued with Wolfgang Puck’s recent announcement that his restaurant menus are changing to promote animal welfare.

One can only wonder whether Puck would have been so eager to ban foie gras while the fatty liver was still currying favor with foodies everywhere. Following a year or so of renewed popularity, foie gras, The Associated Press announced in late December, would be hopelessly passé in 2007.

Foie gras long has been foremost among “cruel” foods for producers’ practices of overfeeding ducks and geese. But you don’t have to ban it entirely to promote peace of mind. Chefs and consumers alike can choose products, whether they be vegetables, cheese or meat, from small operations that are more interested in quality and sustainability than quantity.

Yes, this can apply to foie gras. I’d probably be skeptical of this statement, too, if I hadn’t visited a small foie gras farm in rural France several years ago.

The ducks — indeed roaming free — were the first to greet our busload of students. Mobile and lively, they seemed to suffer no adverse effects from their enlarged livers, developed during daily gorgings on corn. The farmers frankly addressed their industry’s reputation for cruelty, stating that physical distress would prevent the ducks from developing the type of liver prized for foie gras. The flock, in fact, clamored for corn, they claimed.

An extensive tour revealed not one ailing duck. And I had absolutely no reservations about gorging myself on the best foie gras I’ve yet to taste anywhere.

Mind you, I’m not under the illusion that the experience represented all foie gras farms everywhere. But given this one’s practices and superior product, I would have no qualms about purchasing its foie gras. And since some foodies are not likely to forego these velvety morsels just because celebrity chefs are riding the next trend, education about a product’s origins could go a long way toward promoting peace of mind.

It wasn’t in anticipation of Easter that rabbit made its debut in my home this weekend.

My mom, visiting from the coast, had located a small farm in rural Coos County that raises and butchers rabbits by special order. I confess to loving this poultry alternative, but I get the chance to enjoy rabbit only when it makes a rare appearance on restaurant menus. The meat is notoriously difficult to find in grocery stores. You might say we jumped at the chance to prepare it at home.

Although these cuts purported to come from a young rabbit, braising seemed the best way to render its meat tender and succulent. We started by browning a little pancetta in some olive oil and adding diced onion and garlic and then the rabbit. In addition to salt and pepper, smoked paprika really brought out the rabbit’s distinctive flavor.

We deglazed the pan with a couple cups of red wine, added some fresh bay leaves and sage sprigs and roasted the whole thing in a 350-degree oven for about 30 minutes. Quartered Yukon Gold potatoes, chunks of red onion and carrots and whole garlic gloves then went into the pan. Another 20 or so minutes later, we removed the meat and vegetables, thickened the pan sauce with a little potato starch, garnished the plates with some fresh, minced parsley and savored every bite.

I would welcome readers’ suggestions on where to find rabbit in the Rogue Valley. Respond to this blog, or e-mail slemon@mailtribune.com. Have a favorite rabbit recipe? Send that along, too.