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PURE SUMMER What are the transporting flavors of summer? There are tastes and perfumes that carry us instantly to the summer of memory or imagination - long days, lingering twilights with the sound of children's voices (now allowed to stay up late), the sweetness of early morning, the languid feeling of afternoon heat relaxing into evening. There's an expansiveness about summer, a feeling that there's time for everything. Probably we learned that in school years, when life was rigorously scheduled for nine months and then summer stretched ahead like some golden mirage: we'd sleep in, spend long hours reading what we liked, lie under a tree or by the pool. Or maybe we'd have a romance, write a book, go to some exotic place where life was entirely different. Summer had room for it all. Whatever the grown-up reality may be, that feeling of magical summer comes stealing back when I walk down the quiet streets of my neighborhood after dinner to buy an ice cream cone with my son. It comes over me when I smell the first ripe peach, or taste sweet corn again. I find it when I sit at a table outside with my friends, eating easy summer food and drinking cold wine, watching the light fade from amber to blue. What are the transporting flavors? Corn, peaches, tomatoes - for sure. Then cherries, plums, ripe melons. Basil. Cucumber. Those are the real thing. Everything else is just - everything else. The best way to enjoy the pure flavors of summer, especially in June when it is all beginning, is in the simplest dishes. I found the first pile of sweet white corn at the farmers' market a few weeks ago. Corn is one of those things that should be bought at a farm stand, if you don't have a garden or a neighbor with one. It changes rapidly once it's picked, and the true, ecstatic, summer-magic taste can only be had if it is fresh. As soon as I got home with my haul, I made an ultra-simple corn soup that tastes like heaven. I sliced the kernels from about ten ears, tasting each one, and simmered them with a few cups of delicate home-made vegetable broth. (I wouldn't recommend canned broth for this - it's too strong and carroty.) I melted down some chopped onion in a pat of butter, letting it slowly turn golden. Then I combined everything with nonfat milk and pureed it in a blender. I seasoned with salt and pepper. That was it. The corn puree comes out slightly rough, and it can be left as it is, or put through a sieve for a silkier texture. A few cilantro leaves can be dropped on top of each bowl for contrast, but don't get any fancier than that. Make this at the beginning of summer, and you'll have one of those quiet moments at the table when all you hear are clinking spoons and sighs of pleasure. Peaches need nothing. There is no better way to eat a peach than from your hand, juice dripping. But after a few weeks of peaches in abundance, it's time for peach cobbler. Few foods have had such a good effort-to-gratitude ratio in my house as the easy peach cobbler I make on a moment's notice. Sometimes I don't think of it until after dinner, but it's so quick - peel some peaches, add a little lemon and sugar, stir up a biscuit dough, and into the oven with it. Just the right amount of time after dinner, when it really can be appreciated, the smell of a bubbling cobbler fills the house. Everyone shows up. We spoon it into bowls, and sit outside on the porch. I always keep buttermilk in my refrigerator during the summer for that fast biscuit topping, and always vanilla ice cream in the freezer. The same fast cobbler can be made with any combination of soft summer fruits - nectarines, blackberries, plums, apricots, cherries - but peach cobbler is the one against which others are measured. The first tomatoes most of us get each year are the clusters of tiny grape or cherry tomatoes. Larger ones soon follow, and when you slice open that one-pound juice bucket, red as a bing cherry, summer is peaking. In fact, some of us think life is peaking. Two or three times each week, all summer long, I make tomato bruschetta. I cut up a bowlful of tomatoes, add a clove or two of chopped garlic, a big handful of sliced fresh basil leaves, and then pour on a thin stream of green olive oil until it seems just right. Salt, pepper, and a few drops of balsamic vinegar complete the dish. I mix this up and let it sit on the counter for a few minutes or an hour - doesn't matter - then spoon it over toasted or grilled baguette slices. Tomato fanatics fight over it, so I make lots. Melons and cucumbers are the cooling, quenching foods of summer, and I can't leave this subject without saying a word about the cucumber salads of my childhood. The Polish cucumber salads my mother made were never more than three ingredients. The method is this: peel or don't peel, depending on the type of cucumber and the thickness of the skin. If you're getting Persian cucumbers, the skin is delicate and you don't need to bother. Slice the cucumbers thinly, and salt them well. Leave them for a while, then drain away the excess water. Now add white vinegar and slivered onions, or lemon juice and dill, or - this is the best - a touch of vinegar, some chopped dill, and a big spoonful of sour cream. Mix it up, serve it, and know it's summer. |