Challah, the egg-based dough that's typically braided for weekly Sabbath dinners, "is coiled into rounds of a higher symbolic order" for the auspicious occasion, explains Post Food section's Bonnie Benwick.

Apples and honey also play a central role, representing hopes for a sweet and joyous year ahead. Variations on the theme include an apple cake with honey sauce, a cozy apple coffee cake or, if you're in need of something gluten free, an apple cake made with almond meal, a Passover classic equally good at this time of year.

In his cookbook "Olive Trees and Honey," Gil Marks includes several savory ideas using winter squash, which has made its debut at local markets. He's thinking pumpkin soup, accented with aromatic warmers such as ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg. I like his idea of adding chickpeas for heft.

Marks extends the pumpkin theme to include turnovers, which have me excited to revisit one of fall's new crops.

The filling (called Gomo de Calabaza) goes something like this:
2 pounds winter squash (about 4 cups), peeled, seeded and diced gets steamed, drained and then mashed. To that, add 1 cup crumbled feta, ½ cup parmigiano, 1 beaten egg and ½ teaspoon salt.

For the turnovers, Marks offers a simple recipe for "Sephardic Oil Pastry Dough," which includes the following:

½ cup lukewarm water, ½ cup vegetable oil and 1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt, which go into a mixing bowl.

Add 1 cup of all-pourpose flour, then gradually add another 1 ½ cups of flour until a soft dough ball forms.

Wrap in plastic and allow to rest for 30 minutes at room temperature.

When ready to bake, form dough into 1 ½ inch balls and flatten into 4-inch round. Spoon 1 tablespoon of pumpkin filling in the center of each round and fold in half, in half-moon shape. Seal edge with the tines of a fork.

Bake at 375 degrees on a parchment-lined baking sheet, for about 20 minutes, until golden. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Do you have a tried-and-true Rosh Hashanah favorite to share? Please add to the mix in the comments area below.

Chinese eggplant is great on the grill. (Kim O'Donnel)

In my own kitchen, I see this shift, looking at the new (apples and pears) but also finding ways to bridge the romance of summer with the "impulse to insulate against cooler winds."

This week, as I pay my respects to summer's end, I am giving eggplant one last dance. And like O'Neill, I look for more intense flavors that stand up to earlier sunsets and transitional breezes.

For these reasons, I turn to the smoky notes of baba ghanouj, an eggplant puree of Middle Eastern origins. Roasted for about an hour, the flesh practically melts and feels like a hushed whisper on the tongue.

A few tablespoons of tahini paste, made from ground sesame seeds, brings a layer of nutty richness to the mix. The juice of a lemon brings the puree out of a lazy languor, with tart brightness that keeps the equation balanced.

At this time of year, eggplants of all shapes and sizes emerge for their last hurrah. Although all are worth exploration, the most baba ghanouj-friendly are of the larger, dark purple varieties - either "globe" or "Italian" - which have a higher flesh-skin ratio.

Share your favorite way to savor the last bit of eggplant (or baba ghanouj variation) in the comments area below.

Baba Ghanouj
Adapted from "Lebanese Cuisine" by Madelain Farah

Ingredients:
1 large eggplant (Western, "globe" variety or Italian works here)
Olive oil to taste
1-2 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
3-4 tablespoons tahini paste
1/4cup water
1/4-1/2 cup lemon juice, to taste
optional garnish: chopped parsley, pomegranate seeds

Method:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Slice eggplant in half, lengthwise, and place on a baking sheet. Roast until flesh is extremely tender and thoroughly cooked, about 1 hour. Brush olive oil on top of eggplant halves if flesh appears to drying out. Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly. Drain off any resulting liquid.

With a teaspoon, scoop out flesh and place into the bowl of a food processor. Add garlic and salt, and puree gradually, using pulse setting. Add tahini and pulse. Finally add water and lemon juice, and pulse-puree. Taste for salt and tartness, and adjust accordingly.

It's hard to believe, given that our constantly replenished supermarket shelves are constantly replenished with pre-washed and pristine greens, as if packaged by elves. With gift-wrapped spinach always for the taking, who would want to bother looking anywhere else for salad fixins?

But sustainable agriculture advocates beg to differ.

"If there ever was a reason to shop local, this is it," says Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows, a home gardener and food blogger from Syracuse, N.Y. The latest contamination scare makes it "more critical than ever to eat closer to the source," adds Baskerville-Burrows. "If we patronize smaller, local farms and something goes wrong, we can trace it back directly to the producer."

What's more, the coverage of the E. coli scare has been a bit like watching a new CSI spinoff where the good guys of "CSI: Food Safety" are tracking the source of the contamination and tackling the bad guys.

Of course, in all seriousnness, the FDA wants to solve the mystery and get to the source of the E.coli contamination, as it's become a public health situation involving 21 states. Its diligence, however, is being met with the enormous, complicated web that is American industrial agriculture. To wit, 31 brands of bagged spinach, all packaged under the corporate umbrella of Natural Selection Foods, the non-organic operation of Earthbound Farms, of San Juan Bautista, Calif., (and the largest organic grower in the country), have been recalled. Still with me?

In spite of the scare, there's perfectly good spinach to be had -- and it's not canned, frozen or pirated. You just have to wait for the high sign from Mother Nature.

Baskerville-Burrows said that her love for spinach and desire to eat it year round was a call to action, so she started growing it herself. While she waits for the spinach to harvest, she's eating "lots of chard, red Russian kale and collard greens."

Mark A. Kastel, a farm policy analyst from Cornucupia, Wis., is also willing to wait for the fall spinach to arrive in his local farmer's market. "There are plenty of greens I can buy today, not necessarily spinach, because it's a cool weather crop," says Kastel, who runs the Cornucopia Institute there. "It will be available in Wisconsin soon and for much of the fall."

Buying locally and seasonally, says Kastel, is a "chance to feel a connection with the earth and the people who are involved in their food." This is the "polar opposite of a farm that has 26,000 acres of production," referring the acreage owned by Earthbound Farms.

Greens from a local farm, says Kastel, "are probably picked one or two days before being sold," compared to the highly mechanized process of its industrial counterparts, which may be picked two weeks before arriving in supermarkets around the country.

Kastel acknowledges the trade-offs involved -- buy locally and you don't have the convenience of washed greens at any time of the year; buy industrial and you miss out on the community-building, fresher, and, in his opinion, more nutritious product.

Heinz Thomet, of Next Step Produce in Newburg, Md., argues that the choice over how and where we buy our food is a matter of priorities.

"People do all kinds of research to buy a plasma TV," asserts Thomet, who sells his vegetables at FreshFarm Market at Dupont Circle. "If you care for your well being, you will spend the same amount of time finding out how your food is grown."

When asked what consumers can do, Thomet talked about building relationship with local growers. "Come and visit your local farmer's market," he says. "Chances are better that you're going to be safer."

Like it or not, it's the home stretch of summer, the last opportunity to savor warm-weather crops that soon will be a winterized memory. Get'em while they last -- tomatoes, eggplant, corn, melon, peaches and peppers. Throughout this week, I'll pay tribute to a few summer produce hangers-on; today is all about chile peppers. Below, a chile sampler found at a few area farm markets over the weekend:

Cubanelle
This mild yellow-green pepper looks like an elongated bell pepper. Can be roasted, grilled and fried. Try it on top of pizza, in sandwiches or in salads, raw or cooked. A good bet for chile first-timers.

Poblano pepper. (Kim O'Donnel)

Poblano
If you've had chiles rellenos, you've eaten a poblano pepper. These shiny hunter green babies can morph into shades of purple-brown. Stuff with cheese, rice, herbed breadcrumbs, veggies.
Medium to low heat.

Jalapeno peppers. (Kim O'Donnel)

Jalapeno
Available in shades of green and red. Medium heat. Kitchen versatile; can be eaten raw (as part of pico de gallo) or cooked - be it grilled, roasted, fried and stuffed. Flavor can be somewhat vegetal. Smoked, it becomes a chipotle.

Cayenne peppers. (Kim O'Donnel)

Cayenne
These pencil-thin chiles are known more for their use dried and ground. Fresh, they are versatile, easily diced and thrown into
Soups, curries, stews and sauces. Flavor feels like direct heat; these are hotter than jalapenos.

Habanero peppers. (Kim O'Donnel)

Habanero
These heart-shaped heart throbs of extreme chile lovers, come in shades of green, red and yellow/orange. Can easily be mistaken for Scotch bonnets, another hot number. Fruit flavor. A little goes a long way in the heat department. This is my chile of choice when making curries. Proceed with caution; seeds and fumes are highly irritable to skin.

But now I need your help. I'm having trouble identifying the two red peppers, pictured at right. Can you lend a peppery hand? And while you're at it, share your favorite ways to use chiles in the comments area below.

Mystery peppers: Can you help identify? (Kim O'Donnel)

Chile shrimp and rice. (Kim O'Donnel)

The emotional pull of food is complicated, personal and undeniable. When we humans come in contact with food, the switches to our five physical senses are activated, which sets the stage for an experience of emotion. These experiences are duly noted in the memory bank, and more often than not we share them with others.
I know this may seem elementary, but think about it. Everything you eat today likely rings some kind of emotional bell for you. Even more interesting to this cook is the noise of one's emotional food bells clanging with that of another.

I'd argue that we relate to each other -- as friends, lovers, spouses, family, strangers -- more through food than we realize, and because food serves this vital role to staying alive, our relationships with food and with each other are ultimately intertwined.

To wit, below are a few quotes that speak to food and its power on our emotions and our relationships with others:

"There is one thing more exasperating than a wife who can cook and won't, and that's the wife who can't cook and will." -- Robert Frost

"S is for Sad...and for the mysterious appetite that often surges in us when our hearts seem about to break and our lives seem too bleakly empty...The truth is that most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak. What is more, they need a steak." - from "An Alphabet for Gourmets" by M.F.K. Fisher

"Cake holds a family together. I really believed it did. My father was a different man when there was cake in the house. Warm. The sort of man I wanted to hug rather than shy away from." -- from "Toast" by Nigel Slater.

Everyone has one of these quips or food-relationship stories. Just last night, I was having one of my own. It was an ordinary day, meaning nothing particularly eventful or emotionally sparked. But it was rainy and dreary, and I knew the mood at home, by day's end, would probably need a lift.

I asked my sweetheart if he'd like Chile Shrimp (link includes recipe details) for dinner, a recipe I discovered nearly a year ago that makes him do a jig. The response was not "yes, please, " but "MMMMMMMM." Message received.

Hardly fancy or complicated, this southeast Asian-tinged dish is hearty, spicy and comforting over a bowl of rice. There was no salad or side veg, but an elaborate three-course meal was beside the point.

And then at some point, as we're lapping up the last of the sauce, the food is no longer pretty objects in a bowl. It's a metaphor. It's an experience. The tangible physicality has melded into experiential dust.

What remained, however, was a smile, wide at both ends, and two dancing feet, as he washed the dishes in thanks.

What's the food of your emotional triggers and relationships? Share in the comments area below.

Doors opened on Sept. 1, in the ground floor of The Columbia Residences of Washington, D.C., the swanky yet-to-opened condos, in the space formerly occupied by Columbia Hospital for Women.

I arrived on Day 5, around 6 p.m. The place was crawling with urban dwellers, just out of work, foraging the shelves, which seemed to deplete by the minute. Without a shopping list, I felt free to roam and observe this new store in action.

In addition to its popular private label of food (wine, jam, milk, to name just a few ), TJ is known for its extensive array of frozen food, and this store proved no exception. Customers were practically lined up, shuffling patiently in single file along the frozen food aisle, exploring the offerings of flash-frozen fish by the piece, organic veggies and Chinese dumplings. (I was looking for their frozen naan, but alas, came up short.)

Next time, when the line isn't 20-deep, I'll pick up a bag of the TJ brand of Pappadums (tandoori masala flavor), the ice-cube-esque packages of frozen basil, cilantro and parsley and the lavender-scented laundry softeners that look like giant tea bags.

If you live in Washington, have you been to the new Trader Joe's? If so, what was your experience? Or maybe you've got a TJ favorite to share. Do so in the comments area below.

With the whizbang help of Nutritionist Pro, the software used by the Food section for all of its published recipes, Benwick input the specs for Lulu's cookies.

Below, the nutritional low-down, per cookie, approximating a heaping teaspoon before going into the oven:

125 calories
2 grams protein
1 gram dietary fiber
14 grams carbohydrates
7 grams total fat; 1 gram saturated fat
33 milligrams sodium
0 grams cholesterol

Not exactly a low-cal item, but on the plus side, it's cholesterol free, low in saturated fat and considering its size, comes with a decent dose of fiber, which makes you feel full.

And remember, everything in moderation -- even when it feels and tastes this nutri-virtuous.

Despite my speedy typing, there's never enough time to answer all of the questions submitted in my weekly chat. Here's one left in the queue that needs immediate assistance.

Washington, DC writes: I am on a "soft diet" after having oral surgery, and I am going to scream if I have to eat another bowl of soup, plate of mashed potatoes, or smoothie/milkshake. Any recipes/suggestions?

Screaming is probably not a good idea after oral surgery, so let's nip that idea in the bud pronto. There are lots of options for food that goes down the hatch without the use of those recovering choppers.

A bowl of hummus, my solution to many a culinary conundrum. A puree of chickpeas seasoned with tahini paste, garlic and lemon juice takes all of seven minutes in a food processor and will bring you out of your smooothie-induced madness. As for accompaniments, perhaps small, torn-up pieces of pita bread would be manageable. There's a healthy dose of protein here, from both the chickpeas and tahini.

If chickpeas don't excite, consider pureeing a can of white beans instead. Season with garlic, olive oil, herbs of your choice (I'm partial to rosemary here), cayenne, salt and pepper. This is another easy-breezy lapper-upper easy on the orifice.

For veggie variations on the puree idea, consider baba ghanouj, a common hummus companion on the Middle Eastern mezze platter. Roast a halved eggplant (still available at local markets!) until beyond tender, then puree in and season with tahini, garlic and lemon juice.

Another roast-worthy summer veg that likes being pureed is the zucchini, which transforms beautifully into a bowl of zuke-a-mole.

All of the above pureed dips are best served cold or at room temperature, so if temperature is an issue, consider a bowl of steaming dal, the generic word in Indian cuisine for cooked legumes. I'm thinking of smaller, easier to digest varieties such as mung beans, black urad or yellow split peas, but without a tried-and-true recipe, I'm going to refrain from posting until I get back into the kitchen.

Got a favorite dal recipe to share that would make life more pleasant for this recovering reader or for any of us hankering for a bowl of the good life? Please share in the comments area below.

Also on my mind is rice. To wash or not to wash?

This week, while testing a recipe in my new wok, I was faced with the challenge of washing my rice, something I typically refrain from doing. Cookbooks from rice-centric cuisines around the world, including the Middle East, Japan, China and Southeast Asia, tend to emphasize washing rice, a step this American cook never learned along the way.

The recipe in question (which I plan to report on in coming days) is Mandarin, and so I decided to honor the tradition of washing my rice before cooking. Essentially, I rinsed the rice six or eight times, until the water on top was clear. I could see how the cloudiness from the starch would dissipate with each rinse.

All these years, I've never had issues with rice, an ingredient that trips up many cooks. Along the way, I've learned to add less liquid, taking a page from Asian cooks, but without the time-honored grain washing.

I can't believe what I've been missing. Washing the rice separates the grains and gives them a little extra wiggle room to play on your tongue. My rice of yesteryear was a heap of sticky mush compared to this stuff! The new way brought a new level of finesse to a simple bowl of rice, and the difference, well, it made all the difference in the world.

What do you think? Should the rice cook bother to wash or not? I'd love to hear the grainy consensus.

Lulu's cookies and coffee. (Kim O'Donnel)

Come on, hand it over. I promise, it won't hurt. Just this once, I want you to trade in some of that processed lunchbox loot for something a little bit different.

In fact, this snack/dessert/breakfast-on-the-run is so scrumptious I am confident you won't want your bag o' doodles back. I've got a secret weapon cookie that will have your friends lining up in the cafeteria begging for seconds. Best of all (don't tell anyone), this cookie is good for your heart.

In addition to the much-touted cholesterol-lowering oats, this little zinger is loaded with sesame, sunflower and pumpkin seeds, which contain cholesterol-lowering, hearty-healthy compounds called phytosterols. Flax seeds, with their highly publicized and sought-after Omega-3 fatty acids, also appear, doubleteaming as a binder for this egg and dairy-free batter.

Imagine that -- a cookie that's good for your heart.

I'm telling you, if there's only one piece of kitchen advice I can give you, it's to make a batch of these cookies. Everyone will love you (I've been getting requests for the past 13 years), and with every batch, you'll make the world a happier, heart-healthier place. I can see it now -- children all over the planet eating Lulu's cookies from their lunchboxes, eschewing those bags of neon-orange curls and foiled-wrapped choco-rolls! It will be the most delicious revolution ever. (Can't I dream just a little?)

Now, do you really want those doodles back?

Lulu's Cookies
adapted (and originally published as "Energy Cookies") from "Brother Juniper's Bread Book: Slow Rise as Method and Metaphor" by Brother Peter Reinhart

Ingredients:
1/2 cup each sunflower seeds, pepitas (pumpkin seeds) and sesame seeds
2 tablespoons flax seeds.
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup raisins
1 cup hot water
1 cup canola oil
1 cup honey
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (up to 3/4 cup if you prefer)

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Toast seeds on a baking sheet about 8 minutes, or until the sesame seeds turn a golden color. Be careful not to burn seeds.

Remove from oven and allow to cool thoroughly.

In a large bowl, combine flour, oats, baking powder and salt.

Soak raisins in hot water for about 15 minutes. Drain, but reserve raisin water.

Add raisin water to dry mixture, plus canola oil and honey. With a rubber spatula, stir until combined. Add cooled seeds and stir to combine, then add raisins and chocolate chips. Don't overmix.

Form teaspoon-sized patties onto a cookie sheet, preferably lined with parchment paper.

Bake until golden brown, about 15 minutes. Don't overbake; the cookies will turn into rocks.

Makes about 50 cookies.

Fried chicken in the wok. (Kim O'Donnel)

For ideas and some preliminary wok dos and don'ts, I called my friend and wok guru Grace Young, whose "The Breath of a Wok" is a must-have for anyone considering a wok.

DON'T "make a dish with sweet and sour sauce. The acid is going to strip the seasoning off the wok, and that's exactly what you don't want to do." That means no tomatoes, vinegar, wine, citrus of any kind - anything acidic.

Young further explains that "a new pan is dying to drink oil. Deep fry something or cook bacon."

Hmm...I had never thought about using a wok as a deep-fryer, but the idea makes sense. A wok gets really hot very quickly, and that's exactly what you want when making tempura or French fries...or fried chicken (which includes recipe details).

As always, I soaked chicken parts in a spiced buttermilk bath for several hours before dredging in seasoned flour. I also preheated the oven for final cooking, as over the years I've learned that finishing fried chicken in the oven helps to minimize burning from the cast-iron skillet fry session.

Lo and behold, the wok needed no such back-up plan. Not only did it heat the oil quickly, it cooked the chicken efficiently, using about 1/3 less oil than I typically use in a cast-iron skillet. Because of its wide girth, allowing even distribution of oil, the chicken merrily fried on medium-high heat, without any signs of burning. In fact, the only reason I transferred the chicken to the oven was to keep it warm. On process alone, the wok had done the job beautifully, and was perhaps my new favorite way to fry stuff.

As for end results and taste test, I was blown away. The crust was crunchy, and was not oversaturated with oil. The interior was cooked through. The kitchen was also not overrun with grease.

Since I was on a wokking roll, I placed a bunch of kale leaves (sans stems) for a quick oil dip, and they cooked in about 15 seconds. After paper towel blotting, the kale begged for a spritz of hot sauce, and then was thrown over rice.

I'm a sucker for fried chicken, but now it's the wokked variety for me. Got a favorite way to make fried chicken? Or maybe you've got a trick up your wok sleeve to share...Do so in the comments area, please!

P.S. Wanna know how to clean the wok? Check this space tomorrow for details. Also later this week, I'll share a report on a wokky thing that's free of meat.

The "coursework" at Cowgirl Creamery's cheese class this week. (Kim O'Donnel)

With a few months underfoot, the Cowgirls are expanding their in-store offerings, including sandwiches, wine and cheese-tasting classes.

Last night was the first in a series of Thursday evening classes focused cheese tastings, led by cheesemaker and CG co-founder/owner Sue Conley.

Our small group gathered in a back food prep area, cheerfully set up with all the tasting trimmings -- cheese, bread and wine glasses. Yesterday's focus was the basics of cheesemaking, with an overview on simple, fresh varieties such as fromage blanc, chevre, ricotta and mozzarella, with tasting notes on the milk of four different animals (cow, goat, sheep and water buffalo) and what happens along the way, from farm to cheese board.

Conley steered the conversation towards seasonality of cheese, pointing out that goats, sheep and buffalo don't produce milk during winter, which inevitably affects supply as well as cheese texture.

To that end, CG makes two seasonal cheeses - St. Pat., a dome of soft cow's milk, wrapped in a rind of stinging nettles, available from March 17 (ergo, the name) until late September - and Pierce Point, (released this week), the same cheese, but yielding a very different experience simply by changing the rind. In this case, it's muscato wine and an herb blend that includes chamomile, calendula and fennel.

The third round of cheese included more rinds -- washed (brushed with a brine solution), natural (from a cave) and bloomy (vegetable ash) -- which although designed to protect the cheese, impart unique flavors and depth, like wine.

The oft-asked question of whether or not to eat the rind was addressed, and the verdict is: Try it, you might like it. If not, remove, and don't worry about it. It's a matter of personal taste, according to Conley.

Over the course of 90 minutes, we tasted a total of nine cheeses, including an opportunity to sip two of CG's new wine offerings (I loved how the Liberty School 2004 Syrah danced with the St. Pat and the Mt. Tam). Conley's passion for the subject is infectious, making me hungry for more cheese school.

Fortunately, there are more classes in the works to satisfy my cheesy curiosity. Next week's session features cheesemaker Pablo Solanet from Firefly Farms, of Bittinger, Md., (Thursday, Sept. 14, 4-5:30 p.m. and 6-7:30 p.m., $12), followed by four tastings in October, details of which soon to be posted on the CG Web site, promises Conley.

My new wok getting a proper seasoning. (Kim O'Donnel)

The idea of a new wok had been marinating in my brain for some time, inspired by Chinese cooking authority Grace Young. But it wasn't until I walked into Tane (call me "Octane") Chan's Wok shop in San Francisco, that I was faced with a do-it-now-or-you'll-regret-it moment.

Fifteen bucks and a few minutes later, I became the proud owner of a flat-bottomed, cast-iron wok (carbon-steel is the other variety), with an enamel exterior coating. Yesterday, I unwrapped my newly arrived kitchen baby and brought her into my world.

But before I could even consider cooking, I needed to give her a good scrubbing, to remove factory grime and any residual metal powder. This is one of the few times in the life of a wok that dish soap is not only welcome but encouraged.

With a copy of Young's "The Breath of a Wok, " at my side, I followed her instructions for both the wok's first washing and seasoning.

With a stainless steel scrubbing pad, I washed the wok, inside and out, and noticed that my scrubbing pad had turned black -- a phenomenon I had been warned of and told not to worry about. Next, I paper towel-dried the wok, and moved on to seasoning.

"A new wok represents the beginning of countless culinary possibilities," writes Young. And the "ritual of seasoning initiates the wok's culinary life."

At the most basic level, seasoning a wok means applying heat and oil to begin the creation of a patina, the desired nonstick surface that develops each time the wok is used. In addition to creating the nonstickiness, the patina also acts as a sealant and rust protector.

On a more symbolic level, Young says that seasoning a wok opens its pores: "It's like giving it a facial."

There are many "recipes" for seasoning a wok, several of which are mentioned in Young's book. The method I used includes the use of vegetable oil and Chinese chives. (I actually used flowering chives, but don't tell Grace.)

If you can't find Chinese chives, says Young, a good substitute is 1 bunch of chopped scallions and 1/2 cup of sliced ginger. These aromatics are used for their anti-bacterial qualities as well as to minimize the initial metallic taste of the wok.

Here's how it works: Heat the wok over high heat until "a bead of water vaporizes within 1 to 2 seconds of contact," writes Young. Add 2 tablespoons vegetable oil and 1/2 bunch of chives (or substitute). Lower heat and cook for at least five minutes (and for as long as 15 minutes, if you wish), using a wooden spoon or spatula to move the oiled chives all along the sides of the wok. Turn off heat and allow wok to cool before discarding the chives.

When cool, wash wok with hot water and a sponge. Dry on the stove, over low heat, at least 1 minute. Your wok is now ready for showtime!

Coming up next week: The wok's maiden voyage.

At my house, the mood was furthered dampened by the arrival of a cold/flu setting up shop in the nasal passages of my beloved co-habitant. The cold-induced snoring made me feel like I was trapped in a cave with a monster truck.

Something had to give.

The damp conditions already had me craving for a bowl of noodles, Asian style, but now with a patient in the house, there was no stopping Nurse Noodles.

Soup is good food, you'll get no argument from me there. But noodles? They're magic.

There's something mood-altering about the salty-sweet pungency of hoisin sauce, married with soy sauce, rice wine and other Asian jarred condiments, enrobing a mound of hot noodles.

You can mix and match sauce ingredients and create your own winning house special sauce, and my only suggestion is this: A little salt, a little sweet (even a dash of sugar will do), a little heat and a little acid.

Last night's magic potion included: soy sauce, hoisin sauce, black bean-garlic sauce, rice wine, a squeeze of a lime, a smidge of sugar and chili sauce with garlic. I thinned the mixture out with a small amount of water. Nothing was measured, but I never used more than one or teaspoons worth of each item. Taste along the way!

As for veggies, anything is possible. Bell peppers are in season, as are hot ones, plus garlic, onions and zucchini. Bok choy, or any kind of choy for that matter, not only cooks quickly but adds crunch as well as folic acid and Vitamin C. Whatever you chose, you want it to be quick cooking, so big hunks of broccoli are out.

I like to top everything off with fresh herbs; right now, basil and mint are a-plenty in the garden, and I picked up a bunch of cilantro at the neighborhood Thai grocery to add to the garnish mix.

How to pull it all together given such loosey-goosey ingredient amounts? Here's one way:

Chop all veggies and aromatics (ginger, garlic, chilies, onions, etc) first.
Boil water for noodles.
Make sauce in a bowl and set aside.
When water comes to a boil, add noodles.
Heat skillet or wok and begin cooking veggies. Add sauce when veggies are softened, then reduce heat. When noodles are done, drain and rinse with cold water. (VERY IMPORTANT with Asian noodles, or else they'll become a gummy mess)
Drain well, then add to veggie mixture and toss to combine.
Serve up in bowls and top with herbs. Eat immediately.

See if that doesn't wash that cold right out of your hair.

Ice cream is one of their favorites, so I knew a batch of the homemade stuff would be a welcome distraction and perhaps yield a few smiles.

After much deliberation, I decided on flavoring the ice cream with peaches before they disappeared into the culinary sunset until next year. A little basil thrown into the heated cream and allowed to infuse would lend an additional late summer note, I thought.

In spite of my lateness, the custard was moving along nicely and was setting up in the fridge for its churn in the machine. And then I goofed. No, I royally screwed up.

With dinner nearly ready, one pal was interested in watching the ice cream come to life, so I asked her to peel and chop a handful of peaches. As the custard churned, I added the peaches, and never once thought about the texture of the fruit I had just added.

Dinner was served, and we dug into the cucumber/watermelon/basil salad, cashew rice, roasted Anaheim peppers and marinated London broil. We toasted to better days, and everything was delicious. While the ice cream froze up a bit, we played a round of Cranium.

And then the moment of ice cream truth arrived. At first spoonful, I knew of my blunder. The fruit had turned into frozen chunks that protruded like stones. The vanilla-rum base was so creamy, so nice on the tongue, and the fruit, a serious buzz kill, jarring and not as sweet as I had hoped. Sigh.

As I sunk into obsessive misery, the rest of the group was lapping up dessert and didn't really seem to notice the debacle (or, that's what was said to protect my wounded ego). Pride aside, what should I have done to avoid such a disaster? The fruit should have been pureed and strained before going into the ice cream machine. It probably could have benefited from a smidge of sugar, to release its juices. Pureed fruit integrates much more readily than raw chunks, and that is the culinary lesson learned.

But the other and perhaps more significant take-away piece is that at the end of the night, none of these details really mattered. My friends needed comfort and camaraderie, and both of these ingredients were served in abundance.

After all, a perfect meal is one shared with the people you love, regardless of the menu.

What's your idea of a perfect meal? Share your thoughts in the comments area below, or join me at noon ET today, for a live hour of kitchen banter.

Translation: We were headed to one of Seattle's 70-plus community gardens, which grows thousands of pounds of fruits and vegetables expressly for area food banks. Deb Rock, who's been a food-bank garden coordinator at Interbay Community Garden since 1999, oversees a group of volunteer gardeners who join her every Tuesday night during growing season, between April and October.

The "party" portion of the evening comes after the weekly chores of harvesting are completed, and that's when we first-timers showed up on the scene.

"Kim, can you go to my plot and pick a container's worth of sun gold tomatoes for the panzanella?" Deb asked me. "And don't worry if the tomatoes are splitting; they're still tasty," she added.

Leslie and Trine were on raspberry duty, then moved onto lettuces and herbs. The work was welcome, as it was part of preparing a feast for the volunteers and a few extra folks, like ourselves.

We brought our bounty to the makeshift kitchen in the middle of the garden. We began tearing stale bread for Deb, who planned to cook it in olive oil and garlic. The sweet and juicy sun golds were added, and then Deb asked Trine to quickly harvest some lacinato kale to add to the mix.

In the meantime, green beans were thrown into a pot of boiling water (the secret is to boil, not steam them, says Deb; recipe below), and an herbal vinaigrette was underway. Kate lit a fire in a steel drum to keep us warm, and she brought a blackberry pie made from blackberries picked at the local park. Thinly sliced cucumbers were so pristine and cucumber-y tasting they needed only salt. There was wine, cheese and bread to fill in the gaps.

As dusk turned to night, we gathered around the table and piled our plates with the goodies. Everything we ate was loaded with meaning. Who planted the seeds for the green beans, I wondered. And those raspberries, sitting in an egg carton so as not to get squished, tasted like candy. I imagined the sun beaming down, like a magic sweetening machine.

I could see the pride in the faces of the eight volunteers who join Deb every Tuesday night, as they grow an average of 4,500 pounds of fruits and vegetables, between April and October, for those with a less certain food supply.

"Everybody shares, you have this deeper relationship and you go home feeling all tingly," said Rock. On the way home, my hands remained full of tomato-vine perfume, and I hoped it would stay with me for a little while longer. I smelled smoke in my hair and noticed that my fingernails were filled with soil. No wine could have me feel this inebriated.

"Greg's Green Beans"
(named after a late Seattle community gardener named Greg who loved green beans)

Bring a pot of water to a boil, and add about 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Add 1 pound of green beans, trimmed, and boil 8-10 minutes, or until tender.
Drain. Toss with olive oil and sea salt to taste.

P.S. Deb Rock and her merry band of volunteer gardeners are featured in the August/September issue of Organic Gardening magazine.