When summer meets fall [recipe]
Notes from the yard
It’s bridge season. Not the card game but the melding of summer and fall. In my yard, the basil stands tall while arugula is just an inch high. The cucumber vines are scraggly, but the tomatillos are on full steam, their lanterns bulging with chartreuse orbs. Jimmy Nardello fryers hang from the vine, squiggly and morphing red. Zinnias, sowed in July, are putting on a really big show, fireworks without all the smoke. The passiflora, a newcomer, has climbed the fence, its purple blooms like something from a hippie-knitted poncho.
These are summer’s waning days. This is the light I wait for all year long. It’s a loose-fitting version of its July self, a gauzy blouse replacing a tube top that screams “get a load of these.” The harsh white glare from overhead is gone until next year. Golden hour comes earlier, a five-thirty-ish early bird special, hold the meatloaf. Light pours through the west-facing windows of the kitchen, casting shadows on the jars just out of the canner without baking the room. The a/c is off, the windows are open, and the crickets make white noise.
The sparrows, as many as twelve sometimes, line up on the fence, catching up on the gossip, a conversational ease that was not possible in the spring when there were nests to be built. Even the way they sip from the bird bath is more relaxed.
My favorite farm stands are groaning with fruit — the last of the peaches and the melons, extra honeyed due to the hot, dry summer we’ve had — and the beginning of apples and pears. Concord grapes, possibly the foxiest thing you’ll ever put in your mouth, are here for a minute.
I am crazy for it all. The corn and the wax beans, the garlic and the eggplant. Because in just a few weeks, all the summer goodies will be a memory. There is nothing like this moment. For now, let’s eat it to save it in our mind’s eye. After all, tomorrow may never come.
Watermelon Cucumber Salad
Makes enough to savor summer’s last gasp
6 to 8 cups watermelon (or even cantaloupe, why not?), cut into 2-inch chunks
1 medium cucumber, peeled as needed, thinly sliced or diced
½ cup finely chopped red onion (or scallions or shallots)
1 chile peppers of choice, seeded and diced (or not, or no chiles at all)
1 to 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons cilantro, basil or mint, finely chopped
Optional but good: 1 teaspoon Za’atar
Place all the ingredients in a large bowl, waiting to mix until everything has been added. Gently stir until the fruit is evenly coated. Taste for salt and acid, adding more as needed.
Let sit for at least 15 minutes to let flavors marry. Add herbs just before serving.
Store in the refrigerator in an airtight container. Keeps for a few days.
In other news, today is Pub Day for Zahav Home, the latest cookbook from Philly’s Michael Solomonov and Steven Cook. As recipe editor on this project, I can vouch for the food — it’s fucking delicious.
Lovely lyrical piece! Do you know the symbolism popular among some behind your hippie knitted doodad? Those knitted filaments of the passion flower represent Christ's crown of thorns, and the three stigmas the three nails. Other passiflora varieties also have 5 sepals and 5 petals which represent the 10 apostles minus St Peter the denier and Judas the betrayer.