Summer

Last weekend we found ourselves sipping on these. It's not like the weather was nice enough in any way, that it would have warranted having such a cool and refreshing cocktail. But the watermelon has been so sweet and I bought so many of those baby seedless ones at the store, I had to do something with them!

I've also always associated the daiquiri as being a frozen drink. However, after a little research, it's really the name for a family of cocktails whose main ingredients include rum, lime and sugar. Maybe I'm just feeling like I'm still on vacation in Florida, close to where the daiquiri became well known.

Story has it the daiquiri was invented by an American mining engineer who was in Cuba during the Spanish-American war. There is an iron mine in Cuba named daiquiri as well as a beach....hmmm, sounds like we have a connection. Miner...working in an iron mine...needs a drink after work...has only these ingredients in the pantry...proclaims it the daiquiri...shares it with all his friends...gains worldwide popularity? Are you feeling the connection?

Anyway, enjoy this drink, it was no nice to sip on!! This could also be made without the alcohol if you choose, making it a great option for any guests who might not be drinking. It would still taste great.

When Jeff watches t.v., it’s typically one of three types of shows: sports (he’s a guy), nature/science programs (he’s a doctor), and cooking competitions (I’m stumped). He’s not so much into instructional cooking shows, though he doesn’t mind Giada’s Everyday Italian (he’s a guy). What he really likes are the cooking competitions, like Top Chef and Iron Chef America.

One night last summer, we saw a particularly inspiring episode of Iron Chef featuring Bobby Flay, Jeff’s second favorite chef after Cat Cora (he’s a guy; Jeff, not Cat, that is). We like Bobby’s creativity and the way he makes ordinary grilled food seem chic.

So the following day when I went to the library, I checked out a couple of his books, including Grilling for Life and Boy Gets Grill. They were mixed in among a 4-foot high pile of cookbooks (including many baking ones) that caught Jeff’s eye when he came home.

Picking through the pile like he was looking for the perfect apple among many bruised ones, he paused upon seeing Bobby’s books. “Hon, why do you have two Bobby Flay grilling cookbooks?” he asked. “Because he’s the guy you really like on Iron Chef, so I thought I’d check out some of his recipes,” I replied. “So, are you planning on just reading them or actually making something from them?” he asked.

“Making something. Why else would I have gotten them?” I said. (Though we both instantly realized the flaw in that argument—for the next three weeks, the closest thing those baking books would come in contact with is dust.)

“But hon, we don’t have a grill,” he said delicately. “I know we don’t have a grill, but we will some day,” I said.

"This simple, fresh, colorful chopped salad can be found everywhere in Israel, from roadside falafel stands to high end restaurants, and is served for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The variations are endless but the base always includes finely chopped tomatoes and cucumbers. I just returned from a truly memorable trip to Israel and highly recommend it as a travel destination."

One of the highlights of the trip was an excursion to Safed, (also known as Zefat, Tsfat, Zfat, Safad, Safes, Safet, Tzfat, etc.) a charming town located in the northern part of Israel. It’s situated at 900 meters (2952 feet) above sea level in the mountains of Galilee and faces east towards Golan, north to Lebanon, west to Mt. Meron and the Amud Valley, and south to Tiberias and the Kinneret.

I’d flown to New York for too short a time and then extended my stay because I had too many things to do and then flew home. Crowded/full flights both ways, a little delay, and by the time I reached L.A., I was flat on my back. Jet lag. No. Fever.

And for me a completely curious thing - since I think the cure for the stomach flu is a chili dog or a hamburger please with French fries - absolutely no appetite. None. I was nervous about that.

I didn’t eat anything for two days – don’t discuss my metabolism, two hours is a long time for me.

But by the third day, I still didn’t feel like I could eat anything.

Unaccustomed to any processed food, maybe blame it on the “cheese plate” if you can call it that that comes packaged on the plane if they put enough on and you can in fact purchase one, I felt only the freshest thing would do. Not even chicken soup. (I have a theory by the way that chicken soup is not a curative but quite the opposite, but that’s another story.)

All I wanted was some kind of broth, no, something slightly more substantial. Home-made vegetable soup. The easiest thing in the world.