We’re happy to welcome you back to The Food Podcast with our first episode of the season: The Jellyfish Buffet. It begins with a turtle soup savoured in a 19th Century Danish home, then travels to present day Nova Scotia, where Sea Turtles visit from the Caribbean every summer. We meet Kathleen Martin, Executive Director of the Canadian Sea Turtle Network, who explains why Sea Turtles find their way to Nova Scotia, and what challenges they face on their epic journey. We also learn about the lion’s main jellyfish, the Sea Turtle’s favourite food. It’s a meandering coastal exploration, on this episode of The Food Podcast.  We discuss: Babette’s Feast  Muppet Show Turtle Soup The Sea Turtle Scoop Kathleen Martin, Executive Director of the Canadian Sea Turtle Network  Chef Oliver Rowe’s recreation of Babette Feast in Vice Magazine Food Stories - a Newsletter - lindsaycameronwilson.substack.com Credits Hosted by Lindsay Cameron Wilson Edited by Abby Cerquitella Theme song is One More Night by Jenn Grant  Follow: @thefoodpodcast and A Finely Sliced Soup I’ve been working on speaking French, slowly, lentement, since I studied in France at the end of university. My French roommate Cécile and I are still friends. Last June I visited Cécile and we spent the week cooking, eating, walking and exploring favourite places while speaking our usual mélange of French and English. I get scrambled from time to time, like one evening when Cécile was in her garden and asked me if I would like to help her arrose le jardin (water the garden). I heard, would you like a rosé dans le jardin ( a rosé in the garden)? So I went inside and opened the fridge in search of a bottle of rosé while Cécile watched me from the garden door, a watering can in her hand.  Rosé, in addition to a lovely pink wine, means the colour pink in French. Early spring in my Halifax kitchen means wintery foods with a tiny touch of pink. I say this every year, I know. But I, we, need this colour when the ground is still frozen, buds are weeks from unfurling and crocuses are just peeking through. Pink is the bridge. I find it in the beet microgreens I scatter over salads, or in the cluster of pickled red onions balanced on top of a bowlful of chili. Thinly sliced radishes also work. So does my pink hat.  So this is why I placed a bunch of fat, crinkly, rainbow chard leaves in my grocery cart the other day. Their magenta stems are wide and tender crisp like celery. They take longer to cook than the leaves, so I will chop them separately and add them to the beginning of a soup with the chopped onions and garlic. But this extra time in the pan means the pink stems will fade to a dark, murky tone, as though winter’s claw is pulling them back into the soil. Vibrance isn’t in season, not quite yet.  Ribollita is on the menu. It’s an Italian soup made with vegetables, cannellini beans, yesterday’s bread and a good grating of parmesan cheese. I have chard, a big bunch of Tuscan kale, a random assortment of vegetables and a loaf of almost stale sourdough- the perfect lid for this homey, almost-spring soup.  But I had forgotten about the bread. I thought we were getting better at anticipating Dottie’s unrestrained desire for food. We know not to leave slices of pizza in a pizza box on the center of the kitchen island, many paw lengths away, or chocolate chip cookies inside a glass jar, sitting on the counter, or a bowl of cat food casually on the floor. Of course not. We didn’t know that Dottie could pull open a bread drawer with her paw and help herself to the delicacies inside. Well she can.  So I made the ribollita without the bread.  Ribollita translates from Italian as ‘re-boil.’ It’s a soup meant to sit on the stove for hours, boiling and re-boiling as people come and go. The vegetables inside are hearty and forgiving. The cannellini beans might turn to mush and the stale bread will eventually melt into the soup, but this only