Summer

I don't know where I went wrong. Three years of high school French and one graduate school semester of reading French, and I can still barely string together an intelligible sentence. C'est terrible! I have accepted the fact that a French pre-schooler could speak circles around me, but as long as I can say some words, like aubergine, I'm content.

Aubergine doesn't look or sound anything like its English counterpart "eggplant." But, oh, how I wish it did. Let's be honest, could there be a less appealing name than "eggplant"? I mean, it's not an egg or a plant. Plus, phonetically, it's just not pleasing; it's harsh and flat.  Aubergine, however, flows elegantly out of one's mouth. I daresay it's almost too attractive a word for the vegetable is signifies. (In botanical terms, an eggplant is actually a fruit, but it's cooked and eaten like a vegetable).

Fortunately I'm mature enough to look beyond such petty issues and appreciate eggplant's attributes. A heavy, firm, eggplant with a glossy purple-black skin borders on the regal. And its flesh, though just an unassuming off-white color, becomes enticingly rich and creamy when cooked. Like a chameleon, eggplant has the ability to transform itself: when grilled, it is appetizingly smoky flavored and tender; when fried, it is irresistibly crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Grilling, the most primal cooking method, is revered as summer sport by men everywhere. It's practically religion in one country, Argentina. This multicultural nation with a unique blend of nationalities, traditions, and customs can only have a renowned food culture. Known for tango, football, and Eva Perón among many other things, Argentina consumes the most beef worldwide and is the third largest importer. Argentinians pretty much grill anything to great effect. Steakhouses, called churrascaria, throughout the cities serve up meats straight from their spits and are sliced right at the customer's table. I can't imagine a better way to enjoy steak.

A popular cut of beef in the traditional asado (barbecue) is skirt steak, a grainy cut from the underside of the animal. In the States it's considered a cheap cut, but there is no more flavorful steak than skirt. It's appreciated throughout Latin America, especially in Argentina, Brazil, and in Mexico where it is commonly used in fajitas. Grill it just until medium-rare, it becomes tough past medium. What goes better with steak than a potent sauce? Argentina's answer to steak sauce is chimichurri, a concoction of fresh herbs, garlic, oil, and vinegar. No one really knows how the sauce got its name, but it's the most popular condiment for all things grilled. Use it also as a marinade. I can't think of a better pairing than steak with chimichurri this coming father's day.

With no attempts to revise biblical history, I have concluded that some religious scholars may have erred. I simply do not believe that the fruit hanging from the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden could have ever been an apple. In my humble opinion there is only one fruit that had the potential to misdirect Eve into morally unsound behavior.

It had to be an heirloom tomato.

Alright, it’s not as romantic and symbolic as the ubiquitous apple and what I’ve written may be considered blasphemy, but when you take that bite of your season’s first heirloom tomato you quickly understand how some things on this planet can just be absolutely perfect as they are and make you want to do bad, bad things just to get another bite.

It might just make you want to write a letter to the editor of the Good Book. Wait, um, on second thought, scratch that.

Heirloom tomatoes have gained popularity in the past decade or so, and that puts one of the biggest smiles on my face. If you’ve never tasted an heirloom (let alone never seen one), you might react by shock and horror and then pure idiotic delight. Simply put, heirlooms are very very old tomatoes, grown from plants and seeds that have been handed down from generation to generation. Because of their lineage, there’s usually a story behind each specific variety.

Blueberries are intense. Intense color that stains your mouth purple. Intense sweet and tangy juice so rich it almost tastes like wine. Unlike other fruit, such as apples, they don't even need vanilla or cinnamon to give them a boost. They are the boost. The intensity of blueberries make them a nice kind of accent to other dishes, like in a fruit salad or a salsa. They are also great as polka dots in pancakes and muffins but a little trickier in pie. Just too intense. That's why I love blueberry tarts.

When you pick a bucket full you end up with about four pounds, which is a lot of blueberries! I called my mom for a recipe for a blueberry tart. This particular one uses three cups of blueberries and combines them with a sour cream filling that bakes up like a custard. Plopping blueberries into a custardy base, a pastry cream or clafouti seems like the right way to handle them.

I am hopeless when it comes to pie crust. I just don't have the pie crust mojo. So I rely on recipes with graham cracker crusts, and press-in crusts. This recipe has a crust that is no fail. Really. I swear. I'm going to use it as my default pie crust from now on. My mom cut the recipe out of a newspaper over twenty years ago so I apologize for not being able to attribute it properly. I have simplified the instructions somewhat.