Summer

I realize that most of the country is melting right now, and that everyone is looking for no-bake dinners and salads. But sometimes, in spite of the heat, a girl's gotta have some warm, belly-filling, Italian comfort food, like eggplant parmigiana, or more affectionately, eggplant parm. As far as I'm concerned, eggplant parm is a year-round food, but it's the best from August-October, prime eggplant season.

Eggplants have a long history. The earliest ones were grown in India between 4,000-5,000 years ago. Eggplant was introduced to the Mediterranean region in the early Medieval period. That's when Italians discovered eggplant, and they still prize it for its rich, creamy, flavorful flesh.

Eggplant parmesan, also known as melanzane alla Parmigiana or Parmigiana di melanzane, is a treasure of Neopolitan cuisine. It consists of thick slices of breaded eggplant that are fried in olive oil until golden then layered with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and basil and baked until bubbly.

Fueled by the books of Michael Pollan and Mark Bittman, among others, and by the recent release of films such as Food, Inc. and Food Fight, a lot of people are talking about food policy in the United States.

With so many people suffering from diabetes, we know that Americans have paid a price for the convenience of fast food. When the First Lady digs up part of the White House lawn to plant a garden, you know we're either at war or there's a problem with what American's are eating.

Knowing that consumers want a reliable, healthy food supply, corporations use phrases like "Organic," "Farm Fresh," "Healthy Choice" and "100% Natural" as marketing tools to keep processed foods in our pantries.

Access to fresh, affordable produce is essential to good health. Those of us who live in communities with farmers' markets are lucky. In our area, we have two great farmers' markets: the Santa Monica Farmers' Market and the Sunday Pacific Palisades Farmers' Market.

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.

What's this I see? Kids fighting over vegetables? Yes, it's true.

This past Saturday at the Little Italy Mercato in San Diego, two little boys were tussling over cucumbers. Well, not just any cucumbers, Armenian cucumbers, otherwise known as "snake cucumbers" and "snake melons."

"I wanted that one!" said the freckled blonde, stomping his right foot on the ground.

"Well, it's mine!" said the dark-haired one, fiercely, as he handed a curly, striped cucumber as tall as he was to his mother and asked: "Can I have this?"

I sighed. Ahhh! There is nothing so touching as seeing children fight over fresh farmers' market vegetables.

If you've seen an Armenian cucumber, then you understand why they're so alluring.  Though a variety of melon, an Armenian cucumber looks and tastes like a regular cucumber, but can grown up to three feet long!