Summer

There’s a new kid in my garden. Can you see that dainty little sprig of green right on top of that pretty scone? Well, that’s it. That’s the new kid. His name is Orange Thyme of the Thymus family. I’ve known his cousin, Lemon Thyme, for many years. For several summers, Lemon Thyme has been a favorite visitor in my kitchen, adding shindig to my sugar cookies, cha-cha to chicken, liveliness to my lemon bread and sassy flair to my salads. I love Lemon Thyme. When she’s not in my kitchen, she’s just outside the door basking in the sunshine.

And then, last weekend I spotted tiny Orange Thyme at the Kingfield Farmers Market in Minneapolis. I snapped up the potted herb and found a spot for it very near to Lemon Thyme. If all goes well, Orange Thyme should be making a perennial appearance in my garden.

I could not wait to snip a few stems of Orange Thyme and start baking. With a few stalks of rhubarb still in my refrigerator, I chose to make Rhubarb Scones with Orange Thyme, using my favorite base recipe for scones. I added a bit more sugar to balance the tartness of the bits of rhubarb that I stirred into the batter.

I'm still thinking about the smell of the sweet Virginia hay - wishing there was a way to bottle that scent. We couldn't bring the hay home, but we did bring other treasures back to remind us of our trip: honey, old frames and fruit from various farmers markets.

On the drive home, the dark red plums were on my mind while they sat on the console of the car. Each time I glanced at them, I could almost taste them.

They were tart...so very sharp in that first bite and the bright red inside had a sweetness that was intensely satisfying - a perfect compromise to the sour skin.

We came home to rain and knee high grass and with too many things I needed to do to count. Yet again, those plums called to me.

Dane held them in her hands. I could see it was their size that excited her, as if they were grown just for her small inquisitive hands.

She played and I rolled dough beside her - a perfect way to be home.

Last Summer I spent my birthday up in the Napa valley. I stayed at a spa, went wine tasting and ate out, of course. It was sunny and relaxing and just a little bit indulgent. I had a terrific time and especially terrific meals, the highlight of which was a cool creamy soup at chef Douglas Keane's restaurant Market, in St. Helena.

Frankly the soup ingredients sounded like a spa treatment--yogurt, cucumber, avocado, was it a soup or a facial? Inspired to create my own version I gathered a whole bunch of fresh green ingredients and started experimenting. If your cold soup repertoire consists of gazpacho, try this one on for size. It's a great solution for dinner on a hot night, especially since it can be made in minutes and without heating up the kitchen. 

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.