Rob is out of town for the week, back in Massachusetts visiting his mom for her birthday (happy birthday, Moe!), which means it’s just me and the pets. Which means lots of funny little meals made up of things I just feel like eating, okay? And chickpea salads. Because I’m crazy about chickpeas and Rob is not.

So my solo week started with soaking a cup of dry chickpeas overnight and cooking them in the slow-cooker for a few hours. (WOOO! PARTY!) In the end they were soft but not mushy and ready to soak up a garlicky lemon vinaigrette.

This week I also joined a super-local CSA, Silver Lake Farms, so I mixed the chickpeas with a few handfuls of arugula leaves from my box, but this salad actually works with any type of green, cooked or uncooked. I’ve made it with spinach, kale, chard and even purple mustard leaves.

The original recipe was published a couple years ago in the excellent Recipes for Health column in The New York Times. I made it after a marathon baking session I did for a friend, and after a weekend of tasting cookies, brownies and caramel corn, it was just what I needed: nourishing, garlicky and bright with lemon and herbs.

The important takeaway from that first time making it was that chickpeas were made for a garlicky lemon vinaigrette. From there, you’re free to go in any direction you like, mixing it with whatever herbs and cheese you like. Or don’t use cheese and make it vegan. It’s your solo chickpea party*, go crazy!

* You don’t actually have to eat this alone; it makes at least two servings. But I actually preferred eating it as a dinner for one because there was enough left over to eat the next day over brown rice with a fried egg on top. (WOOO! TWO-DAY PARTY!)

This week I discovered the magic of pet photos + purikura apps. (Thanks, Jenn Marie!) This is Cricket, one of the dogs we dog-sat last weekend, as seen through Decopic.

What I’ve been reading:

I Love My Kitchen Because: Miho Hatori – Saveur

Are Most People in Denial About Their Weight? – New York Times

How to Charm Your Sushi Chef – CHOW

Drinking On The Job: Is 2012 The New 1966? – NPR

What I’ve been cooking:

Lemon Yogurt Ice Box Tart – my recipe on The Kitchn

Warm Chickpeas and Greens with Vinaigrette – New York Times

…and thinking about cooking:

Scallion Pancakes – Food52

Tsukune (Japanese Chicken Meatballs) – Bon Appetit

Long ago, when my romance with Rob consisted mainly of flirtatious instant-message chats, meaningful looks across the cubicles and long lunch picnics in the sad park next to our office building, we used to talk about taking a trip to Hawaii together. It sounded thrilling and utterly impossible.

Nearly a decade later, the impossible happened — but not without a little agonizing. Was a Hawaiian honeymoon too cliched? Were we being lame?

All our fears were for nothing, it turns out. A honeymoon in Kauai is just as thrilling as it sounded long ago, back when the idea was just words on a computer screen and I was still nervous about even holding Rob’s hand.

So here’s how we did it:

We rented a cottage on an organic farm in the town of Kilauea, on the North Shore of Kauai. It was perfect — well-equipped for cooking simple meals, full of hippie books and “artwork” and a mere $99 a night. We fell asleep to the sound of wind in the palm trees and woke up to wild roosters in a nearby field, which I found more pleasant than Rob did.

We took a boat ride on a catamaran — looking very nautical — and saw 3000-foot sea cliffs. We snorkeled in a calm bay and got back to Kilauea in time for the weekly farmers market.

It was a small market, but everything was so vivid, it almost leapt off the tables. I bought bunches of bright greens, a knobby chunk of ginger, little yellow tomatoes and a bunch of sweet bananas.

Rob hates farmers markets and hippies, so we didn’t stay long. We made a quick stop at the fish market across the street and bought three pieces of super-fresh ahi. With a nice bottle of wine from the town’s small but well-stocked grocery store, we were ready to head home for dinner.

I cooked every night and Rob did dishes every night. Neither of us complained about our respective duties. This is the magic of Hawaii.

We hiked through the jaw-dropping views of Waimea Canyon and stopped for shave ice at Jo Jo’s on the way home.

We never had a chill-out-on-the-beach day, but we wandered around a couple sea caves and Rob herded feral chickens. On our last day, we rented bicycles and found a sea turtle on the beach. We thought it was dead, but it was just living very slowly. As sea turtles do.

We lived very slowly too, the six days we were there. I can’t imagine a better honeymoon.

Celery is like an extra in a movie restaurant scene. You need it, but you aren’t supposed to notice it or think about it much. If it stands out, you probably used too much. But every extra dreams of a big break, the moment when the director points straight at it — most likely in slow motion — and says, “Youuuuu. You’re my staaaaar.” (In slow-motion-speak, obviously.)

This soup is that moment for plain old celery.

It was born the weekend I got an enormous bunch of celery in my CSA box, a leafy, bright-green bunch that was way too big to fit in my fridge as-is. For some reason I kept thinking about soup, though I think the only celery soup I had ever eaten was a can of Campbell’s Cream of Sadness at some point in my childhood. This celery deserved better.

And it got it: a slow softening in butter with chopped potato and onion and — thrown in at the last minute — an apple on the counter that had gotten too mushy to eat out of hand. I added as many celery leaves as I could, which turned deep green as they cooked. Everything got covered with stock and simmered until soft, then whizzed up with the immersion blender into a creamy puree.

The combination of celery and apple had gotten me thinking about Waldorf salad, that classic mix of celery, apples and walnuts, so I added a drizzle of walnut oil and it was just right: a little nutty, a little sweet, with celery the undeniable star.

Celery, I’ll never ignore you again.

Parsnips in love. (Follow me on Instagram: anjaliruth)

What I’ve been reading:

Red Meat Blues – New York Times

Supreme Court Ruling: Broccoli Sucks – CHOW

Make Perfect Pita – Gilt Taste

‘Larry,’ Quaker of Oatmeal Fame, Gets a Makeover – Wall Street Journal

Kicking the Dessert Habit – Dinner A Love Story

What I’ve been cooking:

Nancy Silverton’s Focaccia – Los Angeles Times

Chana Masala – Orangette

…and thinking about cooking:

Roasted Feta with Thyme Honey – Food52

Strawberry & Honey Sorbet – The Kitchn

No matter how healthy my eating habits, I have one big weakness: sweets. Put a giant bowl of mac and cheese in front of me and I’ll be able to stop eating after a few bites. Make it a big piece of cake or a pint of ice cream or a slice of warm pie and I make no promises.

I used to take down full-size ice cream sundaes at the age of two. They were from a local ice cream parlor called Betsy Ross, where the sundaes came topped with tiny paper American flags. I saved these, like a serial killer collecting trophies. I am a sweets killer. I show no mercy.

Needless to say, I’m always on the lookout for healthy-ish snacks that will satisfy my post-dinner sweets craving. Fresh fruit, dates, chocolate-covered dried cranberries, almonds and dried apples are the usual suspects. But as much as these snacks quiet the sweets monster, none are real desserts, not like a flourless chocolate cake with fresh whipped cream or a salted caramel tart.

But you know what is a real dessert? A brownie. What is special about this particular brownie is what isn’t in it — it’s vegan, gluten-free and raw — and the fact that it tastes rich and decadent, like a real dessert should.

Raw pulverized walnuts and raw cacao powder take the place of the usual flour, butter and melted chocolate, while dates add sweetness and a fudgy texture. I didn’t strictly make mine raw — I toasted the almonds in the oven! call the Raw Police! — but I was surprised by the nutritional difference between raw and regular cacao powder. The latter has significantly more fiber, iron and magnesium. It also costs a lot more, so feel free to use any good-quality cocoa powder; the brownies will still taste good.

I made these particular brownies for a Paleo dinner party for my gym (happy one-year anniversary, CrossFit 323!), so these are also Paleo-friendly. I was told later that certain guests were found hiding outside with the platter at the end of the party, scarfing down the remaining brownies. Doesn’t that sound like a real dessert to you?

• Get the recipe: The Raw Brownie at My New Roots

I also wrote a brief review of this recipe on The Kitchn. That’s how good it is — two write-ups in one week!

I brought too much cash to the farmers market, that was the problem. If I hadn’t been carrying around more than twice what I usually bring, I wouldn’t have felt flush enough to consider buying meat from the vendor who sells pork, lamb, rabbit and goat alongside his excellent carrots and spinach. But it happened: I bought a goat leg. It was expensive.

It was a pretty big goat leg, to be sure. And I was excited about cooking goat for the first time. With with a third fewer calories than beef and half the saturated fat of chicken, goat is healthy, and because the animals live on pasture cows don’t like, it is also a sustainable meat choice. But this leg was definitely a luxury, and as I walked away with it, I thought, This better be the best damn leg I’ve ever eaten.

Goats, rangy little creatures that they are, do well when moist-roasted, which keeps the meat from being tough. An overnight marinade infuses the meat with flavor and further tenderizes it. I will fully admit I had no idea how my goat leg would turn out while I was making it. A Chow.com thread about cooking goat made me realize I didn’t know if I was dealing with a comparatively tender young kid or a gamey old nanny goat. (The label said simply “GOAT LEG.”)

Goblin likes goat legs too.

But after three hours of slow-roasting, I dared taste a shred of meat. It was tender and tasted a little like lamb, but with a deeper, richer flavor and none of the gameyness I expected. I knew I had a winner. And probably a kid, not a nanny.

I served it shredded, alongside soft corn tortillas and all the taco truck fixings, for Rob and a couple friends, all goat newbies. We polished off almost all of it, to cries of “So tender!” “So good!”

I’m happy to report it was the best damn leg I’ve ever eaten.

A rainbow of carrots. (Follow me on Instagram: anjaliruth.)

What I’ve been reading:

Sous-Vide Cooking in Plastic: Is It Safe? – CHOW

Jonathan Gold’s 60 Korean Dishes Every Angeleno Should Know – LA Weekly

Seattle’s First Urban Food Forest Will Be Open To Foragers – NPR

What’s Really Making Us Fat? - The Atlantic

What I’ve been cooking:

Cornmeal Pancakes With Vanilla and Pine Nuts – New York Times

Southwestern Pulled Brisket – Smitten Kitchen

Northern Spy’s Kale Salad – Food52

…and thinking about cooking:

 Almond & Yogurt Waffles with Orange Honey Syrup – Roost

Crisp, Chewy Parmesan-Roasted Carrots – Gilt Taste

When Rob and I eat at a new restaurant, he can always predict what I’m going to order. It’s always the thing on the menu with pickled vegetables on it. Whether it’s a Vietnamese noodle dish with quick-pickled radish or an old-school hamburger with house-made pickle slices, “Uh-huh,” he says. “That has Prasertong written all over it.”*

I love acid and crunch and sweetness and spiced brine. I’m a pickle addict, what can I say?

So when my sister, who may or may not be a fellow pickle addict, suggested that I turn my unused red onions into pickles, I remembered that I’ve always wanted to try the red onion pickle recipe from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

It’s a rather fussy recipe, requiring three rounds of precisely-timed dunkings in boiling brine, with chilling in between. I don’t usually go for fussy, but I made an exception for good pickles, as well as Judy Rodgers, whose precision has never led me astray. I mean, have you ever had a Zuni Cafe-style roast chicken? The instructions are like three pages long and it takes several days to brine, but the crisp-skinned, juicy, perfectly-season bird is the best I’ve ever had. Totally worth the fuss.

As are these bright-pink pickles. The raw onion bite is softened by the spiced brine, which has a nice balance between acidic and sweet, and because the onions are cooked in such brief spurts, they retain their crunch. And they’re beautiful. How many shocking-fuchsia foods do we get to eat in our lives that aren’t loaded with Red Dye #40? Not enough, friends.

• Get the recipe: Pickled Red Onions at Orangette

* Yes, we call each other by our last names. And no, I didn’t change my last name to “Kerkovich” when we got married. And no, we never for a moment considered hyphenating, which would have created a 19-letter monstrosity. Instead, collectively we go by “Kerkotong,” as in Let’s invite the Kerkotongs over for dinner tomorrow. Feel free to use it.

Where did the week go? And perhaps more importantly, where did all the vegetables from my CSA box go? Time for the truth: what I ate and how I ate it (or didn’t eat it) over the past week and a half.

The large bunch of celery became a surprisingly satisfying celery, apple and walnut soup that I’ll definitely be writing up as a recipe soon. The best part was it used up all the celery leaves, which were plentiful.

I simmered the small bunch of turnips in a Japanese-ish sauce made with water, soy sauce, mirin and a little sake, which cooked down to a glaze by the time the turnips were done. I ate them on a salad, which put a small dent in the head of red lettuce.

I roasted the broccoli with shiitake mushrooms. Tossed with oil and salt and roasted in a 425° oven for 20-30 minutes until browned and crispy, this was dinner, along with brown rice and a Thai omelet. I ate the leftover broccoli and mushrooms as a snack the next day instead of the salt and pepper potato chips I was craving. With my fingers, to make it a little less virtuous.

By the way, ROASTED BROCCOLI LEAVES. Crunchy and toasty and almost as good as salt and pepper potato chips when they’re right out of the oven. Seriously.

I chopped up the red mustard leaves and added them to some leftover chicken and rice soup. I love adding greens to soup — even bagged arugula or frozen spinach work — although red mustard is definitely a cooking-for-myself-who-cares addition, because it turns the soup a deep purple. Mustard is one of those greens that can be unbearably bitter unless boiled, and eating it in a soup ensures you get all the nutrients that would normally be dumped out with the blanching water.

Half the cabbage was cut into 1-inch chunks and roasted like the broccoli, until it was soft and crispy and sweet. Can you tell I like roasting any vegetable I can get my hands onto? The other half of the cabbage awaits its fate in the fridge. Probably a future salad, with or without smoked fish.

The arugula was, as far as I know, tucked into prosciutto sandwiches and eaten by Rob.

A small portion of the cilantro was chopped up and used to marinate fresh sardines. After the sardines were grilled, more cilantro and some of the romaine leaves were rolled into rice paper wrappers with the sardine fillets. As a dinner, it was just okay. I’m still figuring out fresh sardines.

The 4 oranges were peeled and eaten, happily.

Where I really dropped the ball was on the lettuce. I just don’t make many salads at home, especially at this time of year, when I like turning on the oven because that is the only way my frigid kitchen will warm up a little.

I’m also not a fan of raw onion, so I haven’t used either of the red onions yet, but they’ll keep long enough for me to caramelize them or otherwise transform them into something I want to eat.

I never expect to use up all the cilantro when I get a bunch because Rob is one of those weirdos who thinks it tastes like soap. Yes, I’ve heard it might be genetic and yes, I’ve heard Julia Child hated cilantro too. He’s still a weirdo.

What would you do with a mountain of lettuce? And are there any vegetables that you never know what to do with?