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Walking the (scurvy) dog.  Dear friends, I promise not to indulge in this rank and craven commercialism on a regular basis, honestly.  I promise that PTMYB will not devolve into a hollow, content-free shell of its former self, kept alive only to shill for Bakerina Kitchens.  It's just that I've received so much nice email from people asking me how goes the jam racket.  I have to say that I'm stunned by what an excellent first weekend I had.  Within hours of going live, I had sold all of the damson butter and nearly all of the jellies.  I even made a significant dent into the apple butter, although there is still plenty of that left.  As I have tortured told poor 'mouse repeatedly, it is still amazing to me that people actually want to pay money for something I made.  This might seem like an odd point of view for someone who spent two years writing a business plan for a bakery, but there you go.

It occurs to me that one cannot live on light apple butter alone, and I should start thinking about something new to put up on the site.  This is a tough time of year for canning.  Rhubarb arrives at the greenmarket in May, and I will be counting the minutes until it gets here.  Until then, there are the last of the storage apples for both dark and light apple butter.  Citrus fruit are still plentiful at the fruit and vegetable stores in my neighborhood -- hello, marmalade! -- and I have one dried-fruit jam in my repertoire, a truly luscious dried apricot jam enriched with brandy and studded with hazelnuts.  I have also been asked if I will consider selling the cardamom-lime cake.  Why, yes, I will.  Consider, that is. 

Badly timed existentialism.  Leave it to me to miss the window of opportunity on the New York Times article.  At about the same time I was posting pictures of Arkansas flora and bemoaning yet another case of writer's block, the New York City Department of Health was busy issuing cease-and-desist orders to restaurants who cook with sous-vide equipment.  I am of two minds about this.  I do hope that this is not a knee-jerk, boneheaded, fear-of-germs measure, the same kind that leads to things like widespread use of non-dairy creamers, and the death of raw-milk cheese.  On the other hand, I have, erm, opinions on sous-vide, and it's hard for me to not feel a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal amount of schadenfreude at the news.

Which side are you on, boys, which side are you on?  It should be a cause for celebration.  For over ten years, ever since my two favorite sources for spices in New York closed up shop (those would be Pete's Spice & Everything Nice on the Lower East Side, and Paprikas Weiss on the Upper East Side), I have been mail-ordering spices from Penzeys Spices in Wisconsin.  To say that I love Penzeys is a vast understatement.  The spices are always snapping fresh.  Their custom spice blends are unique, nuanced and properly thought out.  The people who sell their goods, both the mail-order staff and the staff at their retail locations around the country, are friendly, chatty and deeply knowledgeable about the merchandise.  Every catalogue features an essay by the owner, Bill Penzey, a man who clearly loves his job, loves spices, loves world travel and the lessons learned while conducting business; his letters are like a crash course in social studies and world economics.  The closest Penzeys retail outlet to me is in Norwalk, Connecticut, not a terribly far piece, but a bitch to get to if you don't own a car.  Thus, the news that Penzeys has agreed to open a retail shop at Grand Central Market, after an aggressive courtship by the MTA, should be the happiest news I've heard in a good long time.

It should be happy news, and yet I can't help but wonder.  My other great source for spices -- and for leatherwood honey, and for Lyle's Golden Syrup and peach chutney and French hot chocolate mix and burnt sugar essence -- was the beauteous Adriana's Caravan, which, after several rent-increase adventures around the city, found a home at Grand Central Terminal Market.  Adriana's has been at the market since its opening in 1998, so I was stunned to learn that the MTA, the owner of the market space, advised Adriana's that their lease would not be renewed, and that they would have to vacate by the end of February.  I have no doubt that Adriana's will do well wherever they end up; there are building owners and business improvement districts who would give their arms to have such a business in their neighborhood, and no matter where they end up, I will continue to give them my business.  On my last trip to the market, the space that used to be Adriana's had been taken over by Zaro's Bread Basket, their small stand suddenly much, much larger, and I thought, so that's the deal, Zaro's wanted to expand.  Then I received a postcard from Penzey's announcing the upcoming opening of the brand-new Grand Central Terminal Market, and a dreadful feeling closed around me.  If both Adriana's and Penzeys are telling the truth -- and I have no reason to doubt that they are -- it sounds like the MTA lobbied hard for Penzeys, got them, and then yanked the rug out from under Adriana's. There is a part of me that feels I should stay away from Penzeys in deference to Adriana's, and another part of me that wants to shop at Penzeys as much as possible, to help them succeed in my hometown.  Either way, I feel guilty and confused.  When a 30-year-old French patisserie suddenly loses its lease because Ann Taylor wants to double the square footage on its store next door, and the property owner wants Ann Taylor's big fat rent check, it's easy to know with whom to be angry, or frustrated.  In this case, though, where does the anger go?  Who is the heavy in this situation?  Is there even a heavy to be had, or am I making much out of what is really very little?