Barbra Austin

I never ate at the first Spring, so I didn’t really have any preconceived notions about what the new Spring would be like.

That’s not exactly true: I have met Daniel Rose, visited the boutique, and read plenty about the old Spring. But with the exception of a superb ceviche whipped up for the Paris by Mouth launch party, I had never eaten anything made by M. Rose until last Friday night.

This was a fine way to spend my first night back in Paris.

The best thing about old friends is how easy it is to step right back into the old roles, to immediately know how to be with each other.

I eat in restaurants regularly. I love cooking big meals for friends. But when I am home alone, this is the kind of thing that I like to eat.

Memorial Day weekend is considered the unofficial start of summer, but if anything is clear after a walk around the Greenmarket this morning, it is that spring has sprung.

I initially published this about a year ago, from Paris, where asparagus was on abundant display at every market. At Union Square the other day I was happy to see that the tri-state crop had finally come in, and I thought I’d revisit the idea of asperges crues.

The other morning I stopped by Barbuto to say hello. On my way out, I passed Luis, the lead lunch cook, whom I’ve known since 2002, when we both worked for Jonathan Waxman at Washington Park. Luis still works for JW, and on this particular day he was shelling a pile of fava beans that he had just blanched. I wanted to stop and help him.

You might think that because I like to cook, my refrigerator is perpetually well-stocked with a bounty of beautiful produce, fine meats, and ripe cheeses. This could not be further from the truth. On most days, the contents of my fridge could be summarized as follows: Condiments and booze.

All I wanted to do was make rhubarb upside-down cake. The universe (at least below 14th Street) was not on my side.