Fourth of July

From the Los Angeles Times

In the beautiful economy of the forest – or the urban backyard garden – leaves are nature's brilliant cookware. Banana leaves can be cut down to make plates or unfurled into wrappers perfect for steaming fish on a low-slung grill. Fig trees and grapevines yield leaves the exact size for enclosing, then grilling, a cube of feta, a recumbent sardine or a mint-studded lamb meatball.

Before the invention of tinfoil or grilling baskets, pragmatic cooks picked their kitchen supplies from branches and found what they needed in the trees.

Going green was logical – OK, obvious – long before it became chic.

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Summer is the season for salads. Some days it just gets too hot to turn on the stove. And you never get quite as hungry on those days anyway. A salad for dinner makes perfect sense. Still I am always challenged to figure out how to make salad feel like a meal. Especially without adding fish or grilled meats.

Friday night was one of those salad nights. I had planned on making a chickpea and spinach dish but cooking was out of the question. A spinach salad was devised instead. Fortunately there were several delicious things on hand to make the salad something special. In this case Stilton cheese, red onions that were "bloomed" in vinegar, glazed pecans, and Mission figs.

Did you know July is National Hot Dog Month?

I guess it makes sense since this is the month when Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest takes place.  I think this year, fifty-nine hot dogs were eaten in 10 minutes and then an overtime round was required because of a tie.  Ack!  Fifty-nine dogs plus the tie-breaker round...no thanks!

We don't have hot dogs around here very often, but when we do, we like them slathered with chili and cheese.  And not just any chili, it has to be sweet and super tangy.  I love chili with cumin and cayenne but not on a hot dog. I prefer something that really forces my taste buds to stand up and salute.  This is why I came up with this recipe.  Hold me.

These chili-dogs have an amazing burst of flavor like you have never tasted before.  The tang gives you this awesome puckering sensation in your mouth but in a very good way.  It's not overpowering, it's just right.

If you’ve never read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, “The Last American Man”, I suggest you pick it up this Fourth for a bit of quirky, patriotic fun.  It chronicles the true story of a modern day hero who lives in a teepee in the Appalachian Mountains, eating only what he himself picks, raises or kills.  The guy is an egomaniac and a genius, and the writing, especially when detailing how he forages in the woods, is funny and sensitive and page-turningly good.     

The only problem with that book is the title.  He’s not the last American man. My mother is.

She spends every summer, and most of every fall, wading through rivers with a fly-fishing rod, and hiking giant, shale-covered mountains to sleep under the stars.  She’s had staring contests with bears and cougars, weathered lightning storms under scraggly trees, and once hiked three miles back to her truck with a broken tailbone.