Summer

I'm still thinking about the smell of the sweet Virginia hay - wishing there was a way to bottle that scent. We couldn't bring the hay home, but we did bring other treasures back to remind us of our trip: honey, old frames and fruit from various farmers markets.

On the drive home, the dark red plums were on my mind while they sat on the console of the car. Each time I glanced at them, I could almost taste them.

They were tart...so very sharp in that first bite and the bright red inside had a sweetness that was intensely satisfying - a perfect compromise to the sour skin.

We came home to rain and knee high grass and with too many things I needed to do to count. Yet again, those plums called to me.

Dane held them in her hands. I could see it was their size that excited her, as if they were grown just for her small inquisitive hands.

She played and I rolled dough beside her - a perfect way to be home.

Gazpacho, what a perfect name for a chilled soup. Ever since hearing of the exotic "gazpacho," I have been intrigued and perplexed by its very foreign name. I came to learn that the soup's roots lie in Andalusia in the southern region of Spain. Gazpacho originated as a cold soup of stale bread, garlic, oil, and vinegar. Once tomatoes were brought from the New World and added to the traditional recipe, the summertime soup became even more refreshing. Over the years the soup has transformed, sometimes omitting bread, and in some tomato-less variations including almonds, cucumbers, and grapes. When I tried gazpacho for the first time, I realized what I had been missing and what I had misconstrued as foreignness was just my lack of knowing how incredibly simple it is to make.

With no cooking involved, all that is needed are fresh vegetables, a good sharp knife, and a blender. I've attempted to make gazpacho before but haven't always been successful with achieving the right vegetable combination or the texture. It's entirely about having that just-so touch witth the blender. Blend too little, the soup will be too grainy and blend too much, it will be watery. One way to get really good texture is to reserve some of the chopped vegetables to add back into the puréed soup. This will create a chunky version, which is the kind I prefer. Some recipes call for pushing the soup through a sieve. Others recommend a food mill, which will achieve a really good texture. It's really personal preference that dictates whichever textural method is used.

From the LA Times

You’ll find bins full of corn at farmers markets and supermarkets. These usually aren’t your parents’ ears, though – remember the old advice about the only way to cook it was to have the water boiling when you went out into the field? New varieties of corn have been bred to be sweeter and to hold on to that sugar longer before it converts to starch. It’s convenient corn.

How to choose: Ears should be well filled out (check the tips of the ears to make sure there are kernels), and make sure the silk is still soft, not dried out. Don't shuck the whole ear before buying, though; it makes the farmers really cranky.

How to store: Corn should be refrigerated, tightly wrapped.

How to prepare: If you haven't already tried grilled corn, you really need to.

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Fresh corn on the cob just seems to be a summer tradition for most people. It’s so simple to do, but everyone I know seems to use a different method – grilled, steamed, boiled, microwaved.

When I was growing up, we picked fresh corn from the garden and it was thrown into a pot of boiling water, cooked briefly, stacked on a large platter, slathered with butter and placed in the center of the table.

It’s still my favorite method, although grilling is a close second. This recipe is pretty fool proof and brings out the natural sweetness of fresh corn.