It's September. Summer's over.
I'm probably the only person in San Diego who isn't sad that September has arrived. Why? Because September is the start of fresh fig season, and you simply can't be sad when you see fresh figs.
Figs are a sensual fruit. Their velvety soft skin emits a sweet, floral fragrance and often splits with juicy ripeness. They are the prized jewels of farmers' markets, and nowadays most major supermarkets sell them as well.
Figs are highly perishable, so buy them when you know you'll eat them in a couple of days. Otherwise, it's best to store them in an air-tight container lined with paper towel in the refrigerator for up to three days. Don't worry though. They'll never last that long. I don't care what the weather is like this September. As long as I have my fresh California figs, I'm good.
Soup weather has hit hard today, very rainy and gloomy all around. A good day for a fire and just hanging out. 
It has really felt like Fall the past week or two, which has really had me in the mood for all things apple and pumpkin. However, today, the first day of back to school, we will be pushing 90 degrees here in the Willamette Valley. 
This is, without a doubt, going on my Thanksgiving table. What is it about Gruyere cheese that is so dang good? I love its assertiveness on the palate.
Is there some sort of cheap plastic switch nestled deep inside my brain that gets reset each time the season's change? I swear my friends, I become some automated eating robot that's completely incapable of making my own choices when it comes to food. Take Autumn. It wasn't some gradual ease into the season at my house but a very! drastic! change! of! the! seasons! I began snubbing the grill and light summer veggies almost immediately in favor of the tastes that currently rule my existence: caramelly, sticky, roasted, savory, smoky, braisey, deep and dark. And you know what? I couldn't be happier.