Summer

Eat your peas. That's one thing my mother never had to say to me. I always liked peas, even as a little girl. Why? Probably because my mom never overcooked them, and she always used fresh peas (well, maybe frozen occasionally, but never canned).

All varieties of peas have been available lately in Southern California, and their full flavor and crisp texture is incomparable. In addition to the classic English pea, there is the snow pea and, my favorite, the sugar snap pea.

Now, sometimes peas can be a bit complicated. Do I eat the pod? Can I eat it raw? What exactly does shuck mean? Thankfully, a farmer at our local market recently put up signs:

ENGLISH PEAS: DON’T EAT THE PODS

SUGAR SNAP PEAS: EAT THE WHOLE THING

No one ever has questions about the snow peas; they’re low maintenance.

Now that corn has reappeared in the farmers' markets, it's time to grill, baby, grill.

Boiled corn slathered with sweet butter and seasoned with sea salt and pepper is delicious. So too is grilled corn where olive oil replaces butter. Lightly browned, the kernels caramelize, adding sweetness and the hint of smoke.

Make extra, so the kernels can be removed and used in green salads, salsas, and--my favorite--pastas.

Tuscan or black kale is widely available in the farmers' markets in large, inexpensive bunches.

Adding in mushrooms, onions, garlic, a pat of butter and you're ready to enjoy a delicious lunch or dinner that needs little more than a simple romaine or arugula salad, a glass of wine or an ice cold beer, and you'll have a memorable meal with no more effort and time than it would take to order take out.

I thought I knew my white fish – cod, sole, halibut, tilapia, etc. That is until a couple of months ago when I met California White Sea Bass. Now nothing else seems as worthy. OK, except for the halibut I bought recently. That was amazing.

What makes California White Sea Bass so good? It's a satisfyingly thick, meaty fish with a pure, mild flavor. It's ideal for baking, pan searing, and grilling since it won't fall apart and can withstand all types of chunky salsas that are tossed on top of it.

Like I did with the halibut, I bought my California White Sea Bass from Tommy Gomes at Catalina Offshore Products in San Diego, purveyor of fine, fresh, locally caught seafood. If you don't live in San Diego or along the West Coast, consider shopping online for California White Sea Bass. And don't feel guilty about eating it: The Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch lists it as a "best choice" fish.

There may be other perfectly tasty white fish out there I haven't met yet, but I don't care. My California White Sea Bass and me, we're getting along just fine.

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.