Summer

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.

A major aspect of the garden living lifestyle is the understanding of each season’s produce. In a culture where summertime fruits are available in winter, I feel that a true garden lifestyle is marked by the gardener’s knowledge of “in season” produce for the freshest garden experience possible. Having an understanding and knowledge of your garden and the land’s timely bounty is a must for garden living, for the rewards of this understanding are delicious. For this Farmer, knowing when peaches, blackberries, and other seasonal delights are at their finest is a memorable stopping point on the garden living journey.

As a Georgia boy, I have grown up under the shade of pecan groves and amidst the rows of peach fields. In fact, the Peach County line is only a stone’s throw from my home. Growing up on a farm lent the opportunity for an education with nature as professor, learning in relation to the seasonal and native crops perennially noting the time of year.

Each season is marked by its produce in my mind, a marking that has imprinted itself into a garden living mindset and thus lifestyle. I know we’ll have blackberries in late spring and summer, followed by peaches, watermelons and wild plums, muscadines and scuppernongs in late summer and into fall and finally pecans in the year’s latter months. From the brambles and briars yielding scores of deep purple blackberries to the fields laden with peaches, I have come to rely and respect nature’s bounty for its simplicity, its flavor, and beauty.

Cheese and tomatoes go together like, well, pizza.  But sometimes you don’t want all that bread.  Sometimes you want something satisfying, fresh, that’s hot and quick.  Insalata Caprese is great, but when I want something a bit more substantial and warm I make Scamorza Affumicata alla Griglia.  

Or grilled smoked mozzarella topped with seasoned cherry tomatoes.  It’s the easiest dinner ever.

Take a few cherry tomatoes, cut them in half and toss with good extra virgin olive oil, salt, the pepper of your choice (I love Aleppo pepper) and some oregano (I have a bunch of dried Sicilian oregano that I use by crumbling a bit into the bowl.

Peas, alas, are not a spring vegetable, despite what legions of food writers would have you believe. It is wonderful to think of things like spring pea risotto and minted pea soup in May, but unless you are lucky enough to live in a really temperate climate, you’ll be waiting for fresh peas until late June with the rest of us.

I feel bad being a Scrooge about this. Actually a super-Scrooge, as, these days, I can’t really even get behind those so-called fresh peas (usually already shelled) that arrive in the grocery stores before they do in my garden. I’d rather eat frozen peas. (And I do.)

The reason is that shell peas–or English peas–lose that just-picked sweetness rather quickly and wind up tasting bland and starchy when they travel many miles to get to you.

So right now I have to content myself with staring at the squat little pea seedlings in my garden, imagining what they’ll bring me. I’m very proud of them, actually. Yesterday I noticed that they’ve started unfurling their little tendrils and have obligingly begun to grab on to the curtain of strings I hung for them. Such good peas.