I was a scrawny, strange, unpopular child. I was a scrawny, strange, unpopular teen. I’m a not-so-scrawny, strange, controversial adult. I’ve never really done much to inspire envy in others. That is, until I pestered SFR into letting me write about food.

Everything has its microcosm. While jet-setting heads of state bring nuclear nonproliferation and the possibility of new nuclear power plants to the headlines, Santa Fe’s Atomic Grill is experiencing a fission-fueled rebirth of its own.

Two overriding factors describe the current state of telecommunications. The first is tremendous interconnectivity, allowing for an unprecedented level of information exchange, and attendant advances in media, health, science, activism and overall human understanding. The second factor is the stunning level of corporate control of this interconnectivity. In Santa Fe, we apparently misunderstand both.

Yes, we know we’re still in for some vicious cold snaps—the types that turn apricot blossoms into shriveled husks—but winter is in the rearview mirror and one’s mind naturally wanders to short skirts, T-shirts, and eating and drinking outside. In advance of the impending work-avoidance weather, here’s a roundup of the best patios for partying, posing, pastries and passing the time.

Here’s a good way to make sure that dropout rates at area schools remain high and that kids become even less engaged with education than they are now: Follow the advice of the Santa Fe Public Schools’ district budget advisory subcommittee and consolidate small schools into big ones. And yet that, and a host of other unpopular decisions are making the rounds in Santa Fe today.

it’s a special kind of gleeful weird to be concerned that your spinach is getting too hot in the winter or to walk into a humid, 75-degree hoop house and sit among huge, thriving plants while breathing in the summery scent of moist soil. It’s fun to know that, as your neighbors scrape ice from their windshields, you can casually pull and eat a fresh carrot while wearing nothing but a hat. Then, of course, the gopher showed up.

Sometimes it’s frustrating to be in Santa Fe’s bizarre political bubble. Everything is falsely rosy and the most pressing issue is red, green or Wi-Fi? Other times our irreality bubble is pleasantly insulating: There are no outraged, militant lunatics getting violent because the government is helping them. But we should remember that what happens beyond our bubble won’t necessarily stay beyond our bubble, especially as an important election season kicks off.

Deborah Madison’s new book is fuel for fruit fanatics. The three words of the title, Seasonal Fruit Desserts, contain many suggestions—the most blatant and mouthwatering of which are conjured by the word “desserts,” written in giant typeface on the book’s cover. That emphasis probably plays well in booksellers’ aisles but, in practice, it’s almost a constraint: The book is actually a page-by-page insurgency against the over-sugared, unimaginative indulgences that plague the American plate.

When the road to the ski area is icy or snow-packed, you’d think people would exercise sound judgment about traveling. For example, those without four-wheel drives or all-wheel drives or, at least, snow tires and good winter driving skills, might choose to find a ride with someone who does. But this is not the case.

Lunch at Santa Luna lays you out.