Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local
It’s there on the calendar, but it’s there everywhere I look outside as well: Spring is here this week.
Green things are popping up all over the place, and colors sprout extra brightly in contrast to winter’s shades of brown. Daffodils started with their leaves pushing through the soil a while ago, and they’ve already exploded into gently enthusiastic yellow flowers. The tight buds on our row of lilacs are forming, soon to also burst into simultaneously pale yet strong shades of purple; close by, our two old stock-tanks established with mint and strawberries are getting their headstart on the growing season, too.
Benson and I trenched in some asparagus crowns a few weeks ago (okay fine, we threw some dirt around — Brian did the actual work), and while they haven’t peeked up yet, the fruit tree nearby is fluffy with blossoms. I can’t remember if it’s a cherry or a pear, but Benson’s fairly certain each of the burgeoning lamb’s-quarters scattered around the area are going to grow oranges. He’s wrong…but I’m in love with the excitement brimming out of him at seeing plants and potential springing out of the ground.
He’s even in love with the ground itself, apparently; the other day after our meander around the farm pointing out all the colors everywhere, he flopped down in the cushion of greening grass, “watching the clouds and the moon.” I so appreciate Benson’s vivacity for the Creator’s gift of Spring and new life sprouting.
And with all this sprouting going on outside, it’s only appropriate for us to have some going on inside. We don’t often eat sprouts, but we recently got a couple boxes of alfalfa and clover sprouts. For some reason it’s a little odd to me if I think too much about eating so many teeny tiny baby plants at one time, but I love their flavor and nutrition.
Sprouts always remind me of a certain comedian’s quip, originally about rice but so applicable here as well: “[It’s] great if you’re really hungry and want to eat two thousand of something.” And clean up two thousand of something, as it’s nearly impossible to pick up a clump of sprouts without dropping some. Benson would randomly decide to stuff handfuls in his mouth, so even though I definitely consumed the most, I’ll blame him for the little seeds I kept finding everywhere.
Sprouts also always remind me of my parents talking about peanut butter sprout sandwiches. They grew the alfalfa sprouts, made the whole-wheat oat bread, and sandwiched it together with a spread of crunchy peanut butter. It sounds so hippie — to be fair, it was the 70s.
And to be fair, it does also sound exactly like something I would do. (Because I do.) And it is really a moreish combination: the nutty, fresh sprouts complement the nutty, rich peanut butter, particularly when sandwiched between hearty bread. I of course had to elaborate on the theme a bit for my version, but as much as I want to poke at my mom and dad’s hippiness, I can’t help but just enjoy the meal.
Spring is here! Sprouts are everywhere, outside and inside, and we are happy.
Groovy Sprouts Sandwich
Mom says peanut butter sprout sandwiches were a common thing, and I did find some proof to back her up; perhaps you can also attest their popularity in a certain era. I can only assume they’ll start to be in vogue again then anytime, so I might as well get ahead of the curve and get one of my versions out in the sphere. All the elements just play so well together. I don’t know how to describe the texture of sprouts (plant-y?), but whatever it is calls out for the smoothness of avocado, peanut butter, and cream cheese, and the crispness of toasted bread.
Prep tips: you can get as “hippie” as you want and bake the bread (even grow and mill the wheat), sprout the sprouts, make the cream cheese, grind the peanut butter…or you can just put them all together.
2 slices hearty bread, toasted
a schmear of whipped cream cheese
a spoon of peanut butter (I uncharacteristically prefer creamy for this)
½ an avocado, sliced
a good sprinkle of coarse salt
a handful of alfalfa/clover sprouts
optional: a drizzle of local honey
Layer all ingredients in the order given, of course beginning and ending with bread. Enjoy, preferably in the sunshine.
