Summer

People in Portland, Oregon  have salmon on the brain. It is a centuries old, intense love-affair – one that I can easily identify with having grown up in the Bronx where lox was one of the five basic food groups along with pickled herring, pastrami, rye bread and shmalts {or schmaltz} - chicken fat.  Everyone from the state’s original people – the Umatilla, Warm Springs, Siletz and Grand Ronde tribes, to the chic tattooed urban dwellers, is salmon obsessed.

At the downtown Portland farmers market there are at least 3 purveyors of fresh and smoked salmon, not including a Native American  guy who also sells fresh salmon eggs that you can take home as I have and make ikura.  I’ve not done any scientific surveys but it appears to me that in the last 10 years the Oregonian has had more front page articles on protecting salmon habitats than on any other major political issue – except logging maybe. (Actually logging and salmon are joined at the hip because logging allegedly destroys salmon habitats.) 

Picked up a pint or quart of cherry tomatoes at the greenmarket? Or harvested some from your garden? You could eat them as they are or make something special. What would you make with them?

The tomato plants in my garden have provided for many relatives, friends, and coworkers. With such a surplus we were giving them away as fast as they were growing. Cherry tomatoes, such little bursts of summer freshness, are great for a light salad, combining other vegetables and herbs from the garden like onion, cucumber, and parsley.

Great for accompanying grilled meats or roast chicken, this recipe for cherry tomato salad is sure to be a highlight of summer’s end. Make it any time of the year too, but it’s most refreshing when made with perfectly ripened tomatoes.

I woke up the other morning craving roasted red pepper soup. Not for breakfast -- that would be weird – but for dinner.

Since I had recently purchased a dozen bright and shiny red bell peppers, I thought it would be a good idea to roast them first thing in the morning. So by 6:15 am, the peppers were sliced, drizzled with oil, and placed under the broiler.

Like wood-fired pizzas or chargrilled burgers, the smell of roasting peppers is utterly enticing. Except when it's not.

You see, that utterly enticing aroma becomes not-so-enticing by three o'clock in the afternoon. You can light vanilla scented candles (which I did) and spray air freshener (which I did). It won't matter. The smell will linger like an unwanted house guest.

So here's my advice: Make roasted peppers only after 12 noon. And then make this soup because it's too delicious to pass up.