Summer Plate

It took me many winters to adjust and accept the cold. The first 4 years in the North East, coming from the equator, were brutal. At the slightest hint of fall, my mood would take a turn for the worst. I would never be warm enough and at -11 Celsius with the wind blowing through every layer I had on, I thought I'd never be warm again. Now, although I do enjoy summer, I complain about being hot far more than I do being cold and summer might be my favourite season only because of what's around to eat.

My lunch today was the essence of summer:
tomatoes, goat cheese and balsamic vinegar on toast rubbed with garlic, grilled eggplant, sweet corn and a nectarine (not pictured)

(I caved and went to the market to buy some green zebra tomatoes, even though I have CSA tomatoes coming out of my ears, vegetable drawer overflowing)

Hello hot summer

Just my luck that my grand welcome is the most brutal summer anyone who has lived here for the past 30 years can remember. And just when temperatures were about to hit beyond unbearable was the time I decided that I would stop taking the metro in protest of its steep fare hikes. Sweat and burning calves be damned, I power walk home so fast that its the pace of a slow run, just so that I have the satisfaction of outwalking the bus and saved money that I've put towards some heavy duty sandals bought specifically for...outwalking the bus.

After a very crappy Friday that was utterly unrewarding and short of a mini heart attack, I reminded myself that no one died (ok, maybe some have fallen victim to some unfortunate road signs) because of graphic design and decided the only way to soothe my sour self was to make some blackberry yogurt pops. So I walked over to a kitchen supply store and picked up some molds for $10.

It's equal amounts of fruit and plain yogurt, with some lemon juice and honey and blended until creamy, then frozen.

Summer Treats

The thing about living in DC is that I've had to accept that apples will cost a zillion dollars a pound and won't be as delicious and I have to think twice about buying a whole bundle of apples. On a more cheerful note, peaches, nectarines and apricots are much cheaper!

And although I am a little sad about the absence of green zebra tomatoes in my life, I get many very delicious tomatoes delivered in my CSA every week.
This is my usual after work snack – lush tomatoes on garlic bread (I made the bread!) with some farmers market cheese and basil.





Behold! My apricot tart! (I made it with a chocolate mousse filling because...well...I love chocolate mousse and do not love pastry cream as much)

The Strawberries

My frequent trips up to New York always begin with me sliding (not so) gracefully into a booth in Shabu Tatsu, exactly 30 minutes after my train gets in, and ordering an enormous plate of raw meat, and then swirling it hypnotically in a hot pot sunken into the table. Afterwards, I usually gobble up 2 bowls of ice cream since my friend Nick can't eat his and go off to a bar if I haven't hit a wall yet and stumble 2 blocks to my other friend Salman's apartment. Then, at 7.30 the next morning I tramp off to the farmers market and buy some tomatoes and line up for strawberries at Mountain Sweet Berry, usually while slurping up Ronnybrook chocolate milk. This time Salman and I were in line just as the last flat of strawberries was up for sale.

"WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF STRAWBERRIES"

Panic ensued.

People stated how many pints they wanted. It was usually just one. Or a meek two. "EIGHT."

Outrage.

"oh COME ON! LEAVE SOME FOR THE REST OF US WHY DON'T YOU!"

People in line were fidgety and disgruntled, making protesty noises. The girl behind me gets the last of the strawberries and does a double fist pump like she won a bar of gold and shouted half dazed "YEAH! I MADE IT!" and I start to relax a little, my strawberries now secure. The old man in front of me had a granny cart and he recounted joyfully and resentfully how last week he had been behind the one who got the last strawberries and with an upwards fist swing announced that he "wanted to PUNCH that M*****F****R!!!!!!" and then added emphatically, "I really did!"

That night at Blue Hill, sandwiched between two old new york old money couples who were behaving absolutely insufferably, we ate a truly spectacular dinner. The first 3 courses were delicious, but painful to sit through: scathing passive aggression was rampant and it was exhausting. Tolerating their stares at us like we were were two rats that wandered out of a drain was very trying. On top of that we had to put up with preposterous and confusing comments like "I cannot f-ing stand it when guys don't tuck in their shirts. It's so sloppy." and "I hope these peaches aren't form Pennsylvania. Good. Because I can't eat anything from Pennsylvania" – whether it was a joke or serious was not entirely clear. But thankfully they both left before the desserts started and the wait staff relaxed. The first dessert they brought out were strawberries on a little bit of mint ice cream, topped with an elderflower cloud. The strawberries were unmistakable – small and bursting like flavor like Japanese candy. After she came to clear the dishes I asked where they were from and she checked with the chef, and came back to report that they were from Mountain Sweet Berry and was surprised when she learned that we had thought as much – who goes into a restaurant and identifies produce by farm? So I recounted the story of the morning's events, enthusiastically and with actions, hushed and whispering diners all around as we burst into peels of laughter and then she told her coworkers about the morning's near brawl over the strawberries.

Shortly after the next course, she slipped a little bag beside me on the seat, leaned over and said "These are from the chef, he says no fighting."
and inside was a green carton – a whole pint of Mountain Sweet Berry Strawberries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG!




P.S Here are a couple of articles about Mountain Sweet Berry:
Serious Eats
Food and Wine by Dan Barber, executive chef at Blue Hill