Summer

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.

There was a time when the closest I would get to an eggplant was at an Italian restaurant when rounds of it would be coated with a thick layer of breading and fried to crispness, then smothered in rich tomato sauce and lots of cheese. But even at that, I'd still run across some very distasteful eggplant.

Oh, I've come a long way since those days. I've discovered fresh, locally grown eggplant.

I've found there are many varieties of eggplant, from basic globe eggplant to long thin Japanese eggplant to tiny Fairy Tale eggplants. Skin colors vary from white, to deep or light purple to striped or variegted. They can be small, round, long, slender, plump or pear shaped. While some eggplants are more tender, some have thinner skins, and some cook more quickly, none hold their shape very well during cooking and all have mild flavor. They all seem to turn delicious when they are roasted or grilled, baked or sauteed.

We are so glad it's summer. Beach camp, sleep away camp, art camp, baseball camp, days at all the Los Angeles museums, road trips, days spent in our p.j.’s, and lots and lots of long bike rides.

I love not being on a schedule. All four of us need these 78 days and they couldn’t have come soon enough. From September to the end of June, life is hectic, riddled with schedules, and not so flexible. Summer is the antithesis of this and summer is what we long for.

Using pantry staples, left over egg yolks and jar of homemade caramel sauce, Eli and I stirred and churned and came up with an ice cream inspired by David Lebovitz. Using his basic white chocolate ice cream recipe, we swirled in the caramel sauce and added some candied pecans.

Super rich but super good!

From the LA Times

Peaches and nectarines are kissing cousins. In fact, maybe closer. Plant a bunch of peach pits and a few of them will actually sprout nectarine trees, and vice versa. It used to be said that the difference was that peaches had fuzz while nectarines didn’t. But in supermarkets today, that’s hard to determine since many of the peaches have been mechanically de-fuzzed.

Generally, the flavor of nectarines is lighter and a little more acidic, almost lemony, while peaches are richer and muskier. Ripe nectarines can make you gasp with pleasure, but a great, perfectly ripe peach will make you fall to your knees. Still, you can use them interchangeably. What’s good for the peach is good for the nectarine.

How to choose: Check the background color. Ripe fruit will be golden, not green. Mature fruit that hung on the tree long enough to develop full sugar will have a distinctive orange cast. Always with peaches and nectarines, trust your nose: fruit that is ripe and delicious will smell that way.