Are you ready for something lighter? Let's talk about food.

I love field peas. They come in every shade from bright white to sage green, pink, red and black. You could plausibly design a soothing interior color palette from a seed catalog, come to think of it. Size ranges from the tiny, tender lady peas to the square, chunky, creamy crowder peas.

I regularly overestimate my food needs for the week. Most days, I’m feeding myself, weekends there are two of us, occasionally we’ll have someone over. But when I’m rolling through the farmer’s market, that sober math escapes my mind, and when I saw a farmer that I liked stuck with big pile of field peas at the end of the day--at a pretty decent price of 3#/$10)--it was inevitable.

Those peas sat in my refrigerator for 8 days before I got to them, but this is another great thing about field peas: in the shell, they’ll keep. I often dry them from the garden, as I rarely need 6 pods worth of peas at a time.

Another great thing about peas: if you can muster friends, shelling them is a warm social activity. This cuts down on the work and gives that irreplaceable sense of being a part of a communal food culture.

Linton Hopkins taught me two important things about field peas: they should be cooked gently, so that the starches in the center swell without breaking down and peeling away the skin on the outside, and they should “smear” between your fingers. Some people prefer a more al dente pea, but if it’s creaminess you’re after, the smear is key.

I love field peas in a salad. That creamy starch condenses and absorbs the flavors of a dressing well, and with little more than a handful of herbs, some bacon ends--or feta--and a bright dressing, you have a winner for one or several meals.

These field peas had thick skins and produced a viscous potlikker, far more appropriate to soup. In that case, I store the peas in their potlikker and use them for soup. They contrast nicely with the sharp flavor of early turnip greens and lots of herbs, making an austere soup that's greater than the sum of its parts.

Field pea soup: Yields 4 qts

1 c diced onion
2 T minced garlic
2 T bacon fat, butter or vegetable oil
1/2 c white wine or dry vermouth
2 # field peas
2 c cornfield or pole beans (optional)
Vegetable stock (optional)
4 c chopped turnip greens
1 T each oregano and thyme
2 T parsley

eat fat over medium heat until foaming for butter, just until hot for oil or bacon fat. Add diced onions and a pinch of salt. Sweat until translucent and add garlic.
When the garlic is fragrant and the onions start to brown around the edges, add wine or vermouth. Reduce until almost dry, then add peas and cover with water or stock. Season with a generous pinch of salt and a little black pepper or chile flake. Set a timer for 10 minutes.
When the timer goes off, check the field peas for doneness and taste broth for salt. When you estimate that they have about 5 minutes left, add pole or cornfield beans if you're using them. If the broth needs salt, add it now.
When the beans need about 3 minutes left, add turnip greens (more time if they are large or tough, less if they are small or from hakurei turnips), oregano and thyme.
When the greens are cooked, turn off the heat. If you're eating all of the soup at once, stir in the parsley, check for final seasoning and correct with salt, pepper, lemon and hot sauce (if desired). If you'll have leftovers, sprinkle the parsley on the soup in the bowl.