Summer

Isn’t it great to be blessed with friends who entertain beautifully, who attend to every detail, artistically, with care and flare? Friends who take pleasure in delighting with beauty and richness?

I am one lucky ducky in this department for sure. Most of my friends enjoy setting a pretty table and “doing the flowers” as I call decorating when having guests over for a meal. A couple of my peeps, though, are off the charts in this department which causes me to spend most of my time wandering around their house saying “wow I love that,” like I haven’t read a newspaper in weeks and have nothing else to say for myself, or like a gal from East Podunk, straight off the farm, who’s never seen a formal place setting before let alone matching salt and pepper shakers. Or someone in awe of people who create beauty and inspire me by the things they think of and do. Please say the latter.

One would expect our friends Heidi and Guy to have a great house. She’s been selling prime LA real estate for 25 years, and he is the proprietor of Ligne Roset Los Angeles, the go-to store for architectural furniture. Ten years ago Heidi and Guy combined tastes, talents and 3 young teens and moved into a sprawling and spacious Spanish, Mission- style house in a canyon with a never ending view of LA’s immense valley. Guy is almost apologetic in sharing in his off the cuff, just between us, way that the style of the house, the architecture, is not really him so much, (like any of us who know him and his exquisite design sense need to be told), but the interior and over all vibe of the house is so him and Heidi in all of their beauty, creativity and warmth; the art, furniture and fabrics, the two gorgeous greyhounds, the family photos taking up a whole wall in the kitchen juxtaposed with the Chanel Houndstooth fabric on the family room couch.

I have books stashed everywhere. The car. The kitchen. The upstairs and downstairs bathrooms and the living room just in case I’m watching something on TV that isn’t recorded and I have to endure the commercials.

This summer I read the following books:

"My Lobotomy" by Howard Dully:  Somewhat tedious, at least what I can remember of it.

"Outliers: The Story of Success" by Malcolm Gladwell: Utterly fascinating as the two previous Gladwell books have been. He describes how timing, culture and class are major contributors to success. How one can have natural talent, even genius, but it often takes circumstances the reader might never have considered to optimize these qualities. I knew if I’d just been born in the 1960s, I might have had a better shot at organizing my garage!

From the Los Angeles Times 

Quite frankly, persian mulberries often don't look like a fruit so sought-after that farmers have to hide them behind the counter. They can be fairly small, like malnourished raspberries, and so fragile that they frequently look a little dinged up from being picked. But Persian mulberries have an intoxicating effect on some people. A friend tasting her first one clapped her hand to her mouth and exclaimed, "This tastes like my grandfather's garden!"

Because they're so sought-after, more farmers are planting them, and some farmers who grew them before are expanding their orchards. They're certainly not yet commonplace (or cheap!), but at farmers markets you are starting to see them out on the table, instead of hidden away for the select few. If you've never had one, a Persian mulberry is intensely sweet, but with a nice, balancing acidity. The flavor is almost wine-like in its complexity. They're so good that I think it's a waste to cook them: Serve them in shortcake, on a biscuit with whipped cream, or freeze them into ice cream. 

Read article...

Really, it is too hot to write. (No, my “office” in the old farm house is not air conditioned.) I thought I’d seen heat, what with growing up in Washington, D.C., and spending summers in North Carolina in un-airconditioned cabins. But I guess I’m old. And I guess farming is really one of the worst activities to do in a heat wave (or humidity wave, I should say). I keep trying to get up earlier and earlier to harvest, but it doesn’t matter what time I get up—it’s already hot. (Doing anything in the middle of the day is out of the question.)

Today, three tee-shirts and two (outdoor) showers later, I’m sitting at my desk, but really none the cooler.

Earlier in the week, I was all blasé about this heat thing, and actually did some cooking. In fact, I turned on both the oven and the stove (several burners). I was all excited because our neighbor Ralph Savery brought us a bucket of quahogs. First I made a quick chowder with some of our fingerling potatoes, onions, and fresh thyme. Delicious. The next night I made spicy linguine with clams. There are still a few clams left, which Roy is threatening to turn into Clams Casino—if we ever turn the oven (or broiler) back on at this point.