Long time ago, when the produce used to be  seasonal, young garlic was one of the first signs of spring. Young garlic is just that – the garlic plant before the bulb forms. At that point the whole plant is edible top to bottom; in a few weeks it becomes rough and the season is over. For years I was on the lookout for the young garlic and once even signed up for a CSA just because they listed it among the produce they grew. Last Saturday I finally found some at the River Market; the lady even repeated “garlic” twice to make sure I know what it is. I knew. Young garlic tastes a lot milder than the real thing and I just eat it with meals. There are some recipes out there, I don’t bother, it’s perfect the way it is and only needs to be peeled.

The way to tell the young garlic from, say, green onions is by its flat leaves.

Young garlic for me always means spring. Hurry up and get your spring started.

Iola is located South of Garnett on U.S. Route 169.

Iola is the scene of an upcoming gritty drama sequel to the Baywatch – Methwatch, where less toothy but a lot more animated characters save lives of unsuspecting citizens.

Muslim Magomaev, one of the most popular Soviet singers of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s died today. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that 100% of the Soviet population knew and loved him. He was a huge star with a wide range of musical talents – from pop to opera, performing in many languages and winning many well-deserved international awards. Many times when Magomaev was on TV my Father would record his songs on our reel-to-reel tape recorder and little 6-year old me would sing along.

I always thought he was old, only 66…

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One of the milk products of my childhood that’s hard or impossible to find here is tvorog sometimes referred to as the Farmer Cheese. Instead of trying to find it, I use strained yogurt to make these tasty pancakes.
By the way, the only yogurt that doesn’t contain any extra ingredients (none) and not overpriced at the same time is this one.
As always, women who’d like to wake up to the smell of these cooking should apply in the comments section.

Couple of weekends ago I was sitting at the Harvey House Diner inside the almost empty Union Station, drinking a strawberry milkshake and reminiscing. Not that long ago this place was crowded with thousands of people as the second largest train station in the country, filled with sounds, voices and emotions. Today it spends it’s days quietly, ironically populated by the dead. I am not old enough to remember the glory days of the Union Station but in another place and another life I rode my share of rails. There is something special about traveling by train. It’s an experience rather than just a means of transportation. On a long train ride you have time to relax, to think, to read, to sleep, to talk, to eat, play cards, meet people, sleep some more, and, most importantly, to look outside the window. You actually travel to your destination; you see changing landscapes; unknown places slowly pass before you; you wake up in the middle of the night at some station you’d never heard off, its sleepy inhabitants getting on the train and you can hear them walking through the rail car; you see a sunrise and then a sunset hundreds of miles later and the train keeps chugging along making that rhythmical sound that only a train can make and gently swaying from side to side. Finally you arrive, your train is greeted at the station by the sounds of a brass band and waving crowds trying to see a familiar face through the dusty window. You are tired and continue swaying even on the solid ground. A happy reunion or a new adventure awaits.

Many of my trips started at this train station:fun trips, work trips, trips that I loved and some that I didn’t, like the one to the army, or a trip to the unknown country when I left one last time, not knowing if I am ever coming back. Many times my parents or friends were there to wave good-bye or to meet me when I was coming back. I may not remember every time but I do remember the feeling, feeling of someone waiting for you. I think at least once in a lifetime everyone should travel by train, even for no other reason than to experience it.

In the meantime, you can always spend a slow lunch hour at the Union Station and imagine all the hustle and bustle of the past, the tears of joy or sadness, emotionless voice of the announcer, the constant hum of the crowd, whistles of the conductors, in other words life that used to be there and and now is not.

Union Station,
Old walls still remember
Sounds of life.