We almost didn't get to know her or have her sparkly, sweet personality in our lives.

You see, for some time I'd had my heart set on another dog from the same kennel as our first two Corgis, but when we brought that dog home, while she was lovely with a gentle personality, she lacked that certain spark we were looking for.

Because of this breeder, I'd known Kitty from birth—on a lark I'd actually suggested her feline name because of her kittenish demeanor—and when the breeder was heading out of town for a few days she asked if we'd be able to babysit the by-then-18-month-old pup.

She fit into our household like a glove from day one, getting along with our elderly grande dame, Rosey, as well as our boisterous, determined young Walker. Though we would have scoffed at the suggestion that we would ever consider having three dogs, when my friend came home I called and told her that she wasn't going to be getting her dog back. Three Corgis it was.

Fortunately that fit into the breeder's plans, and she came to live with us permanently, sharing camping trips, beach excursions and daily activities for almost exactly sixteen years. Like most Cardigan females, she could be stubborn and opinionated, but she also had an underlying happy, chipper nature. In all those years she never met anyone who wasn't a new best friend, giving everyone she met her best smile, wag and wiggle, and for the lucky few (you know who you are) she'd even bestow the ultimate compliment of flopping on her back for belly rubs.

One day we found out that one of the puppies from her first litter, Angus, had been adopted from a breeder in Texas by friends of ours who lived just up the street. Their reunion in a nearby park was like one of those old commercials where the lovers run toward each other in slow motion and come together in a passionate embrace—or chest-bumps in Corgi parlance. And for the remainder of their days it was required that their humans get them together at least every few days.

Last week we finally had to say goodbye to our girl, who one friend described as one of the sweetest dogs she'd ever known—and for the record, I've never had a dog who had as long a list of fans to be notified of her passing (almost two dozen).

A human should be so lucky—and we definitely were.

"Be comforted this day from whatever weighs heavily on your mind, the trouble you have known so long it almost seems normal. Let the strong arms of faith enfold you. It has been a long time. You have carried your burden with courage and dignity. You have been patient, almost to the limit of your own resolve. Now you need to feel that your waiting will soon be over. Hope needs to beckon you forward, holding high more than a promise, but a reality of change. Healing, reconciliation, an answer: whatever it is you need, may it come to you quickly. And so it will. Be comforted this day." - Bishop Steven Charleston, 7-23-15

In the spirit of Halloween, it's the ideal time to feature the more than 900 members of the gourd family, or Cucurbitaceae. As Ginger Rapport of the Beaverton Farmers Market wrote in a recent newsletter:

"Although pumpkin, squash, and gourd names are sometimes used interchangeably, it is important to remember that gourds are purely ornamental. Botanically a fruit but culinarily used as a vegetable, winter squash and pumpkins can be decorative and can also be food.

"Because of its very long shelf life, winter squash is a great source of vitamins during the colder months. In our growers’ stalls, you will find plenty of colors, shapes, and sizes to choose from, and each variety has its own personality."

With its easygoing nature—being a breeze to clean and peel, with a sweet, slightly buttery flavor and smooth texture—Butternut squash is one of the most commonly mentioned types and the easiest to find in stores. But venture a bit further afield and you'll discover a world of other varieties to choose from whether you're making soups, curried stews or even desserts.

Just this last week I whipped up a delightful appetizer of fried squash blossoms from a gift of zucchini flowers from Randy Long of Cohesive Farms, a farmer at the Headwaters Farm Incubator in Gresham. Then a hearty dinner of minestrone soup that included colorful delicata squash from my Stoneboat Farm CSA, a squash I'm fond of because of its harlequin coloring and the delightful fact that this variety doesn't require peeling. (Find the recipe below).

Squash seems to be a natural pairing with curry, and the aroma of a curried squash stew simmering on the stove dispels any chill in the wintry air—check out this recipe for curried coconut soup (with or without the accompanying roasted cauliflower).

Squash desserts go far beyond just pumpkin pie—I have fond memories of the squash sorbet that Dave concocted with the roasted flesh of one of my favorite varieties, the voluptuous Musquée de Provence. But if pumpkin pie is your jam, particularly with Thanksgiving looming, ditch the store-bought Libby's and pick up a squash on your next trip to the farmers' market, whether a warty-but-delicious French heirloom Galleux d'Eysine, our own PNW variety the Lower Salmon River, or a more familiar Hubbard. Here's the recipe for Squash (Pumpkin) Pie I make at least a couple of times a season.

So broaden your horizons and give the butternut a rest, whether by picking up a kabocha, black futsu, Gill's Golden Pippin or Koginut. There's a whole world of squash out there to explore!

Winter Minestrone with Delicata Squash

1 onion, diced in 1/2" squares
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 carrot, diced small
2 medium delicata squash, cleaned and diced in 1/2" squares
2 c. diced zucchini
1 qt. roasted tomatoes, breaking up the large chunks with your hands)
8 c. chicken or vegetable stock
2-3 c. cooked cannelini beans (I used cooked pinto beans from Sun Gold Farm)
1-2 c. chopped kale or other greens (optional)
1-2 c. chicken, sausage or meat, shredded (optional)
Salt to taste
Finely grated parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil for serving at the table

Saute onions and garlic for 2-3 min. until golden. Add carrots, saute 2-3 min. (This is the base that Marcella Hazan refers to as soffritto—the raw, diced vegetables are the battuto. The final stage is the insaporire, or sautéing the rest of the vegetables in that base. Who knew?) In any case, add the chopped zucchini and saute for 2-3 min. Then add the rest of the ingredients except for the condiments (for the table) and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 2-3 hrs. Serve with parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil.

You've likely seen them in the more authentic Mexican restaurants around town, and certainly if you've traveled to Mexico: Giant ribbed jars—called vitroleros—full of brilliantly colored aguas frescas. I had my heart set on making one in particular, the purple-hued beauty known as agua de jamaica after finding a bag of dried hibiscus flowers lurking in the back of my pantry.

I've seen palm-sized, brilliantly colored hibiscus flowers blooming in gardens on recent walks around the neighborhood, but the flowers that are dried for agua fresca are from a specific variety, Hibiscus sabdariffa. The dried blossoms in my pantry were originally part of a holiday punch-making kit from Three Sisters Nixtamal, and there were enough left for a half-gallon batch of agua fresca.

The basic idea is to steep the dried flowers to make a concentrated "tea" that can then be sweetened—the concentrate is quite tart on its own—and served as is over ice or, as I do, combined with a splash of soda and simple syrup. The drink is high in vitamin C and anti-oxidants, and is used in many cultures to aid in lowering blood pressure, easing urinary tract infections and for liver and kidney health. Plus it's delicious!

I checked with Wendy Downing, co-owner of Three Sisters Nixtamal, and she has dried hibiscus flowers at their shop, and they can also be found at some Mexican and ethnic groceries.

Enjoy!

Agua de Jamaica (Hibiscus Cooler)

2 c. dried hibiscus flowers
3/4 c. granulated sugar (more if desired)
6 c. water
Ice
Garnishes (see below)

Rinse and drain the dried hibiscus flowers in a large colander.

Bring water to a boil in a pot. Add the flowers and cover tightly with a lid. Remove from the heat and steep for 10 minutes.

Strain hibiscus water into a pitcher and discard flowers. Add sugar and stir. Refrigerate until time to serve.

Taste tea, and add more sugar or dilute with water to your liking.

Ladle into a tall glass filled with ice and garnish with fresh mint leaves or lime slices (optional).

Photo of Hibiscus sabdariffa from Wikipedia.

My mother loved to entertain, and I remember many evenings as a child reluctantly trudging upstairs to bed, falling asleep to the sound of vehement discussions and accompanying laughter floating up to my darkened bedroom. One of her rules was that she never tried a new recipe out on her guests, preferring instead to stay with the tried and true.

Me, I think there's no better excuse to try something you've never made before than having folks over. I first tried out a new (to me) sauce called "pesto" on guests—it was a smashing success—and over the years there have been myriad salads, braised meats and desserts that were, for the most part, well received. Though I have to admit there were a (very) few that, how shall I put it, will never be spoken of, or made, again.

So when a friend invited us to bring an appetizer for dinner the other night, I mulled over the usual suspects…dips, wings, crostini/bruschetta, etc.…but nothing really clicked. Plus I really didn't want to make a trip to the store. So I looked around and took stock: tomatoes and kale from our weekly CSA, and onions, garlic and parmesan in the pantry. Then I remembered a photo of an amazing tomato tart I'd seen on the cover of a cookbook, and the deal, as they say, was sealed.

The book's version was made with all sizes and colors of tomatoes, so it fit perfectly with what I had on hand—though it would have been terrific with simple red tomatoes, too. The thin layer of sautéed kale and parmesan tucked underneath was just the right bass note for the bright acidic treble of the fresh tomatoes. And the dinner that night, with great food, wine and friends laughing and talking, was one my mother would have loved. Even if I broke one of her rules.

Tomato, Kale and Parmesan Tart

For the crust:
1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 c. (1 stick) frozen margarine, cut into 1/2" pieces
2-3 Tbsp. ice water

For the filling:
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
4-6 leaves kale, sliced into chiffonade
1/2 c. parmesan, grated fine
3-4 tomatoes, sliced in 1/4" thick slices (cherry tomatoes can be halved)

Preheat oven to 375°.

Put flour and salt in the bowls of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add pieces of butter and pulse until the texture of cornmeal. With processor running, drizzle in water until it comes together in the bowl. (I usually use 2 1/2 Tbsp. and it comes together well without being too wet.) Remove from bowl, adding in any stray bits, wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least 1/2 hour.

Roll out dough on floured surface to make 12" round. Transfer to 9" diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Trim edges, leaving 3/4" overhang. Fold overhang in to form double-thick sides. Press tart edges to raise dough 1/8" above pan. Chill in refrigerator for 30 min.

Add olive oil to non-stick skillet and heat until oil shimmers. Add chopped onion and garlic and sauté until golden, stirring frequently to avoid browning. Add kale chiffonade and sauté until wilted. Remove from heat and set aside.

Line crust with foil and bake until golden, about 20 min. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Scatter kale mixture over the bottom of the crust, then sprinkle with parmesan. Top with single layer of tomatoes, arranging randomly. Place in oven and bake for 40 min. or until crust is browned and tomatoes are cooked through. Let cool slightly and remove outer ring. Slide off bottom onto serving platter. Serve warm or at room temperature. (And I hear the leftovers are great for breakfast the next day.)

I rarely, if ever, make donation requests here, but the intentionally imposed and ongoing famine in Gaza that is affecting defenseless civilians, mostly women and children, requires exceptional action.

I have been supporting Gaza Soup Kitchen since it was founded last year by brothers Hani and Mahmoud Almadhoun. With the purchase of three large pots and scavenged firewood from the bombed-out ruins around him, Mahmoud and a few helpers began cooking soup for their neighbors. Hani, whose day job is as Senior Director of Philanthropy for the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) in Washington, DC, has spent much of his time outside of work raising funds to buy the food that the soup kitchen prepares—as well as reminding the world on Facebook and Instagram that the people of Palestine are still standing despite the horrific efforts of the Israeli government to erase them.

Last November Mahmoud was assinated by an Israeli drone. Without missing a beat, Hani and his extended family in Gaza picked up Mahmoud's fallen banner, dedicating themselves to feeding the Palestinian people, providing food, water and basic medical support while bombs literally fall around them and the deadly drones buzz overhead. Hani sent out this appeal today:

Hi friends,

If you are new here, welcome! My name is Hani, co-founder of the Gaza Soup Kitchen. For those regulars, thank you ✊

Right now we have seven kitchens running in and around Gaza City, five water trucks delivering fresh water every morning, and our health clinic is still seeing patients. Sadly, our classroom was bombed —but we’ve pivoted to something bigger:

• Delivered 4,250 food parcels so far
• Another 2,550 parcels ready to go
• In the middle area, we delivered 600 parcels and opened a new kitchen. Each food parcel equals 40–60 meals. It’s not just about helping one family—it feeds whole networks of relatives, neighbors, and displaced people. In doing this, we’re also showing the world (and the bad actors watching us) that you can give away a lot of food in Gaza without harming Palestinians. Our signage makes that crystal clear. 
• We keep showing up for hospitals with meals

One moving moment: we’ve been operating from inside an Orthodox and Catholic church (اتحاد الكنائس ). Families shelter there, and they benefit from the food too. Our young team—many who had never met a Christian before—are learning about unity and friendship in real time. Feeding people from a church feels like something Jesus himself would have blessed.

We hear the drones above us, and we know they don’t like what we’re doing. But we’ll keep feeding as long as we’re allowed. Our system works: families sign up on a link , we close it when full, assemble the food, and text pickup times. No chaos, no exploitation—just neighbors helping neighbors. Each distribution serves 500–1,000 people with dignity.

You give us confidence , even as we worry for our team’s safety every single day. I am tired of asking for prayers, but somehow it’s still comforting to do so. Thank you for being with us. Together, we are saving lives, it's not a slogan…it's our daily reality.

If you are so inclined, make a donation at their GoFundMe site. Thank you.

I can't think of a farm family I know where one or more of the owners doesn't have another job (or two) outside of the farm to help pay the bills or cover health insurance. This essay by Andrew Tait, a farmer in Shenandoah County, Virginia, was originally published in The Daily Yonder on Aug. 1, 2025.

I live in Shenandoah County, Virginia. I’m a factory worker. A farmer. A father of two girls, one still in diapers. I get up before the sun, and most days I don’t sit down until after it’s gone.

My partner Hannah and I raise our girls on a small farm in the Valley. She works full-time too—though nobody calls it that. She’s a caregiver, a homemaker, a livestock handler, and a mother. She doesn’t get a paycheck. She doesn’t get a break. She doesn’t get counted.

We’ve relied on a cistern for water for over three years. I’m trying to save up to dig a well before it runs dry. We heat with firewood I cut myself. We raise animals for milk, eggs, and meat because the grocery bill outpaces my paycheck.

We’ve stayed unmarried—not because we don’t love each other, but because getting married would kick my partner and our daughters off the Medicaid that keeps them healthy.

My employer offers insurance, sure—but only if I pay nearly as much as our mortgage. I can’t, so we stay as we are; in love but locked out.

I’m not ashamed of our life. It’s honest work, and it’s full of love. However, I am ashamed that in a country as wealthy as ours, people like us are left out in the cold.

When the so-called “Big Beautiful Bill” passed, it was marketed as a win for working Americans. From where I stand, it looks like the opposite. Cuts to Medicaid, reduced support for struggling families, and a ballooning deficit that somehow still leaves us more exposed than before.

You can dress it up however you want, but if it leaves working families behind, it’s not serving the people.

This bill, like so many before it, rewards the already powerful while punishing the people who hold up the economy in invisible ways. It gives to those who lobby and takes from those who labor. It reinforces a message I’ve felt in my bones for years: You’re on your own.

I’m not writing this as a Democrat or a Republican. I’m writing this as a man watching families like mine wear themselves thin; working hard, doing the right things, and still falling behind.

This isn’t about Red or Blue. It’s about the fact that we’re being divided against each other while both sides forget that real Americans bleed the same when the cost of insulin triples or the cost of groceries goes up again.

You shouldn’t be able to carry a hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in two hands. But these days, you can-and that’s not just wrong, it’s dangerous.

I’m writing to ask one simple thing: Who is this country really for?

Because if it’s not for parents doing their best to raise good kids in a broken system…

If it’s not for factory workers and farmers who show up every day, no matter how little is left in the tank…

If it’s not for families trying to make a life from the land and a paycheck…

Then maybe the flag doesn’t wave for all of us after all.

I don’t want handouts. I want fairness. I don’t want politics. I want policy that works.

I don’t want a revolution of violence. I want a revolution of responsibility—one where we take care of each other, where people can raise a family without choosing between groceries and medicine, and where love doesn’t have to take a back seat to red tape.

So, if you’re in power, hear me: We are not okay. We are drowning quietly.

And if you’re not in power, but you’re reading this and nodding along, then know this: you’re not alone either.

We’re not enemies. We’re neighbors. We’re parents, workers, and caretakers. And it’s time we start acting like it.

With respect,

A father holding faith

This story was originally published in the Daily Yonder. For more rural reporting and small-town stories visit dailyyonder.com. Photo from the author.

An extreme heat warning was in effect for the Portland area, but I had five pounds of Bartlett pears from a generous neighbor's tree that were rapidly ripening on my counter and about half of them were ready to tip over into that over-ripe, past-their-peak stage.

Normally I'd try to entice Dave into firing up his Oonie Karu and making one of his fabulous wood oven galettes, but he was knee-deep in smoking 14 pounds of bacon and really didn't look like he wanted to take on another project. Doing some research, it looked like I could get a small batch of jam made in about 20 minutes on the stove, which probably wouldn't overpower our ancient window AC unit that was doing its darnedest to keep up with the broiling temperatures outside.

I ran across a recipe for pear and ginger preserves on Serious Eats that would fit the bill with the ingredients I had on hand, though their recipe called for crystallized ginger that we can't keep in stock because of some snack hounds around here (ahem) who eat it like candy. So I upped the amount of grated ginger to account for that, and increased the quantity of lemon juice to give it just a little more spark—pear jam can be a bit "bleh" left on its own—and also mashed it for a smoother texture. In 20 minutes I had four beautiful jars of preserves and the house was barely warmer than when I started.

Whew!

Lemony Ginger Pear Jam

2 1/2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored and diced
1 1/3 c. cane sugar
1/3 c. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp. zest
2 Tbsp. fresh ginger, grated with a microplane (about 3" knob)

Place pears, white sugar, brown sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, crystallized ginger, and minced ginger in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened and sauce has gelled, 20 to 30 minutes. If you'd prefer a smoother texture, at this point simply mash the cooked fruit with a potato masher. Remove from heat.

Ladle jam into clean jars, placing lids on jars after wiping any residue from the rim and outsides of the jars. Allow to cool on the counter, then move them to the refrigerator or freezer. If you want the jam to be shelf-stable, after ladling the fruit into the jars and cleaning the rims, place canning lids and rings on them and follow directions for water-bath canning.

Peppers are popping at our farmers' markets. When I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market to pick up our CSA share from Stoneboat Farm then wandered the aisles to see what else I might need, there were brilliant red sweet Italian peppers, fluorescent green anaheims, sunshine-yellow sweet peppers, and grassy green serranos, jalapeños, poblanos, shisito and, of course, those sneaky-but-irresistible padrons.

I was hoping to make Hank Shaw's Nopales en Escabeche, but in a fairly thorough search I couldn't find cactus paddles anywhere. But, instead of calling off the whole shebang, I bought a pound of jalapeños from Eloisa Organic Farm and decided to proceed with the plan, using the carrots and onion I had in my CSA bag.

Mexican escabeche is that ubiquitous condiment familiar to anyone who's been to Mexico or has frequented an authentic Mexican restaurant. A combination of quick-pickled vegetables, it usually includes jalapeño peppers, carrots, onions and garlic, but can also have cauliflower, red onion, jicama or radishes in the mix.

The vegetables are generally sautéed for a few minutes—some recipes char the whole jalapeños in a hot cast iron pan—then the ingredients are simmered in the brine for a short period before being spooned into quart jars with the remaining brine. You can either seal them with a canning lid and, once they're cool, store them in the fridge, or water-bath can them so they're shelf-stable. The escabeche should then be ready to eat within a week and you're free to include them in tacos, tostadas, nachos, egg dishes, grilled meats or anything that could use a little pickley zing.

Mexican-style Vegetable Escabeche

1 Tbsp. neutral oil
1 lb. whole jalapeños
1 medium white, yellow or red onion, halved lengthwise, then thinly sliced vertically
3 medium carrots, halved lengthwise then sliced into thin coins or bite-size pieces 
1 head of garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1 1/2 c. water
1 1/2 c. white vinegar or white wine vinegar

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Place onions in pan and sauté for approximately 2 minutes.

Add jalapeños, carrots and garlic into the pan and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the vegetables from sticking and burning.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the pan and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes, or until carrots and jalapeños are tender. Remove from heat.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer vegetables into two clean wide-mouth quart jars and fill with brine that remains in pan. Place canning lids on jars and seal with canning rings. Cool to room temperature and store in fridge, or water-bath can them according to canner directions.

A couple of years ago I posted a recipe for a plum upside-down cake that has become a family favorite, one I make several times when plums (and particularly Italian prunes) are in season. It's a simple batter cake that comes together quickly, with a buttery, pound cake-like texture and a to-die-for caramelized, crunchy top and sides when inverted.

I made it recently when we had three small but very ripe peaches left over from Dave's foray into ice cream-making (another delicious recipe I'll share soon). They were super-flavorful Red Havens from Kiyokawa Family Orchards in Hood River that I'd found at Hollywood Farmers' Market.

And they needed to be used right away.

Since their skins were fairly thin and not too fuzzy I decided to skip peeling them, which worked quite well after baking, so if you feel like being brave and eschewing the dunk-in-boiling-water-then-in-an-ice-bath method for peeling peaches, feel free!

Peach Upside-Down Cake

For the baking pan/dish:
3/4 c.butter, softened, divided
1/2 c. packed brown sugar (for buttered pan)

For the cake:
2 c. fresh peaches (3 small or 2 large), sliced into wedges
3/4 c. sugar
1 lg. egg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 350°.

Melt 1/4 cup butter; pour into an ungreased 9-in. round baking pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar. Arrange peach slices in a single layer over sugar.

In a large bowl, cream sugar and remaining butter until light and fluffy, 5-7 minutes. Beat in egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt; add to creamed mixture alternately with milk, beating well after each addition. Spoon over peach slices and smooth top.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 45-50 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temp.

I am loving our neighborhood co-op, the Alberta Co-operative Grocery. I admit to being stuck in the supermarket chain rut until its employees called for a boycott after two years of working without a contract, and we were forced to find an alternative. Fast.

The change, frankly, has been revelatory…while the store itself is much smaller, the co-op seems to have just about everything we normally shop for, the brands it carries favor local producers and the bulk of the goods—including the bulk goods—tend to be organic. The prices are much better than at the chains, too, and between our Stoneboat Farm CSA and the co-op, our grocery bill is noticeably reduced. It even has a senior day every Tuesday for 10 percent off your total bill.

I was checking out the other day (yes, a Tuesday) when the cashier asked me what I was going to make with the miso I had in my cart. Since I'm putting miso in just about everything these days, I rattled off a list of my favorites. She then began describing her latest favorite featuring miso, a miso-glazed roasted eggplant, and how much her up-till-then eggplant-hating husband had done a 180 on the vegetable after she made it for him.

I was sold.

After arriving home I sat down and looked up several recipes (some even in actual books) all with some similarities to the one my cashier friend had described, but none was exactly the same, so I was left to wing it. While my guys are not eggplant averse—Who could dislike the cheesy goodness that is this Eggplant Parmesan?—they flipped out over the version of roasted Japanese eggplant in the recipe below.

I'll keep working on it to see how it holds up with different sizes of the fruit, but I'd recomment sticking with smaller-sized fruits or, better yet, the long Japanese varieties.

Miso-Glazed Eggplant

For the eggplant:
6 Japanese (long) eggplants, approx. 3-4 oz. each
2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil

For the glaze:
4 Tbsp. miso (white or red)
1-2 Tbsp. sugar or honey, depending on how sweet you want it
2 Tbsp. mirin or dry white wine
1 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 large clove garlic, pressed or finely minced
Toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Slivered green onions (optional)

Preheat oven to 450°.

Slice off the stems of the eggplants and remove any remaining bits of the cap. Slice eggplants in half lengthwise and, with a paring knife, score the cut side of the eggplants in a crosshatch pattern about 1/8” deep. Brush with toasted sesame oil. Place cut-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

While the eggplant is roasting, put all the ingredients for the glaze in a small mixing bowl and combine well.

Remove the eggplant from the oven and turn up the temperature to 500°.

Carefully turn over the halves so cut side is facing up. Brush with miso glaze and place back in oven for 5 min. Turn up the oven to broil and place the pan 8-10” from the element. Broil until glaze bubbles and begins to char slightly, 5-7 min. Remove and serve sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and chopped cilantro or green onions.