Summer

A friend brought me 32 peaches. She’s growing them in her backyard in Burbank. I didn’t think much of anything was growing in Burbank except the Disney coffers, but there you go.

While I was very grateful to my friend, I struggled a little to figure out what to do with that pile o’ plenty. They were ripe, ready to eat, so the Peach Project had to begin immediately. But peaches are just one item on the very long list of foods my husband will not eat, so whatever I made, I’d have to scarf it down myself, unless I can organize a quick Peach Party. (NOT.)

I wasn’t equipped (or inclined) to make preserves, and the idea of baking a pie always makes me irritable. I could give some to Oliver, but my dog will not eat a peach unless you can disguise it as a hot dog.

I finally decided to invent a peach salad, with excellent results, which I am sharing with you here. That took care of two peaches. I will get back to you with what became of the other 30.

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.

On really hot days, when I was growing up, my mother used to make an antipasto plate with dry salami, cheese, cherry tomatoes, olives, celery sticks, and various other things for dinner. We'd sit outside and nibble away until the house cooled down enough to go back inside. These days I don't have any outdoor space where I can eat al fresco, but I still enjoy a do-it-yourself style dinner now and again. Hot weather calls for some creative approaches to meals and my mom was right--lighter, less meaty, room temperature meals that don't require using the stove really help beat the heat.

A variation on my mom's antipasto platter is lavash sandwiches. If you've never used Persian lavash bread before you should try it. It's similar to a flour tortilla but square or rectangular instead of round and at room temperature it's pliable and soft. You can get it in white or whole wheat. Tortillas are great when warm, but cold or room temperature they are dry and gummy and not very tasty. I know plenty of "roll-up" sandwich recipes call for them, but lavash is a much better choice. I particularly like the lavash bread I get at Trader Joe's but it's available in supermarkets near me as well.

You meet the most interesting people. If you have a farm stand in your back yard, that is. The farm stand didn’t start out as close to the house as it is now, but there were a couple of little problems that forced our decision to move it down the driveway. On a positive note, now when people get out of their cars, they get a great view of the garden, and some even wander over to take a look at the chickens and Cocoa bunny. Also, since I am often outside working, I get to meet more of them now.

This past weekend I was chatting with a lady who’d just returned from a trip to Paris with her husband. She had her eye on our “pick your own mint” patch (which is actually mint planted in an old dresser drawer—very cute!), because she wanted to recreate a drink she had in Paris for her friends on the Vineyard. She told me it was a (non-alcoholic) combination of lime juice, apple juice, and mint, with lots of ice and a splash of soda. I didn’t get any more details, but the notion of making one of these stuck in my head because it sounded so refreshing, and I love any concoction that takes advantage of the lime-mint synchronicity.