My father kept a vast vegetable garden behind our house in Northeast Ohio and eating that totally fresh produce spoiled me for life. It was a half-acre plot, the same sort of garden my Italian grandfather had tended, a patch that began to feed us strawberries in the spring and carried us into summer with corn and zucchini. During the season, my mother would send us to pick the ripest fruits or vegetables. My favorite days were corn days. While we were out picking and shucking, my mother would put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Ten... Read more →