So as the days of summer dwindle, so does my supply of summer fruit. The bowl that I filled on Thursday with the bounty from the farmers’ market was down to a few lonely items by Sunday.
I was gonna make a cake or a tart or a cobbler or a pie but a) everybody’s so annoyingly calorie-phobic and b) I’m too lazy. (Isn’t Labor Day supposed to be Labor-free?) So I embraced my inner sloth and just threw together something so simple you barely have to be conscious to make it.
The hardest part was locating my cherry pitter, which I’d received as a hostess gift some time in the ‘90’s from someone who didn’t know me well enough to know how seldom that tool would see the light of day.
I only had a few cherries, so the task of pitting them was over before it could become annoying. I threw them into a saucepan, added my two remaining nectarines and what was left of my berry stash and cooked ‘em up with a little sugar, lemon and orange zest. Now I’ve got this lovely, almost labor-free compote and only one task remains. Hint: it involves an ice cream scoop.
Isn’t it great to be blessed with friends who entertain beautifully, who attend to every detail, artistically, with care and flare? Friends who take pleasure in delighting with beauty and richness?
Because our house and backyard are shaded by three large trees, we make it through summer's hottest days without air conditioning. It helps that a cooling ocean breeze comes our way in the afternoon. Eating outside on the deck is a great way to beat the heat. Easy-to-make dishes, relying heavily on salads and grilled vegetables, fish and meat are the way to go. No need to suffer inside in front of the stove when there's a barbecue outside.
There is no place I’d rather be in the summer than the breathtaking coast of Maine...And nothing I’d rather eat, anytime of year, than Maine lobster.
And I’d say, “Yech.”Or at least I used to. I’m not sure when the exact transition from terrible to tantilizing took place, but I can assure you it’s a food miracle. As a child, if any part of a raw tomato touched my plate, I couldn’t eat the item on it. The pulpy, soft texture, the runny pink juice – don’t even get me started about the seeds – was all like garlic to a vampire. The only thing that was (and still is) worse – the pickle. (How could they do that to the cool deliciousness of the cucumber?) But, I digress. You seriously could have tortured me by forcing me to take a bite out of one. I would have given up every secret I had before I ever put one in my mouth. 