Two happy occurrences converged last night. First, the “farm box,” as my son calls it, arrived full of just the best produce I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know what they’re doing out there in Winters, CA but it’s working. In it were “farm carrots,” “farm cabbage,” and many other fruits and vegetables now saddled with “farm” as an adjective in our house. Why do we speak this way? Because Ernie will eat anything that’s “farm.” He is all about the farm and the farm box and the big bowl of farm kiwis sitting on the counter.

Speaking of, that bowl of kiwis is part of what I’m absolutely loving about the whole CSA thing. I never buy kiwis. They’re often not so good and, to be honest, even when they’re good they’re just okay in my opinion. That promising emerald green hue never really pays off with an equally “wow” flavor, am I wrong? But a big batch of them arrived in the farm box and Ernie downed two as a pre-dinner snack. He loves kiwis. Correction: he loves farm kiwis.

But I digress. The second happy occurrence was a visit from a friend’s cousin who, through regular visits to San Francisco over the years, has herself become a friend. She visits from Providence, RI (where she “teaches business majors enough philosophy to be able to chat at cocktail parties”) and finds the Bay Area to be a sort of paradise. Especially in March. The comparison, I’m led to believe, having never been to Providence, is quite striking.

So she loves this city and she also loves to eat. She finds food and meals a source of great pleasure and satisfaction, and so she is a delight to cook for. We put out some Carmondy cheese from Bellwether Farms, farm cauliflower (so sweet you just want to eat it plain–and by “you” I mean “I”), and peeled stems from the farm broccoli drizzled with tamari to nibble while I cooked. We sat down to a gratin of farm yellow finn potatoes with Italian fontina and a bit of prosciutto, the tiniest florettes of farm broccoli sautéed with garlic, and a salad of farm spinach and farm radicchio with backyard Meyer lemon dressing (made with juice from a lemon Ernie picked for me on command and the last bit of chopped preserved lemon I made from last year’s crop–this year’s batch is curing on the counter). We finished up with a dessert made of sliced oranges drizzled with a syrup made from their own zest, a bit of prosecco poured on top, and garnished with chopped bits of said semi-candied zest.

Could the dinner have used a steak? Yes and no. Yes, it would have been good. But no, we were pretty happy with the farm and agreed we didn’t miss the steak at all. Well, husband and guest agreed. Me, I would have liked just a bite or two of rib-eye. It might have off-set the wine a bit.