salads have once again become as dear a standard —at least one, each excellent, a day— as the sun is through the kitchen window. thank goodness for the heat, which has me lying utterly stationary upon my bed in the evening, with the fan turned my way, sprawled and damp and baffled— I don’t care. thank goodness for summer, and those tomatoes, and fresh thyme.
there have been standouts. one had peppery arugula, slow-roasted tomatoes, thyme, and a vinaigrette with two sweet wine vinegars (rice wine and red wine) and minced fresh ginger; another was comprised of slim tips of asparagus and slivered stalks of green garlic, roasted, dressed warm, and tossed with some fresh tomato, thyme, and a handful of arugula —all served with torn pieces of fresh mozzarella + coarse sea salt; there was yet another inspired by a short perusal of this book (Phaidon has the best cookbooks), made up of marigold-yolked (in both texture and color) boiled egg, mixed baby lettuces, and nutty shaved gruyere w/ a sweet onion & thyme vinaigrette.
a sandwich has also been making the rounds, it is cool and a little rich and utterly satisfying; I was provoked by one of the more perfect food combinations (radish + good butter + coarse sea salt): the mighty three were generously piled into a crusty whole-wheat sourdough roll, along with some thyme and a few leaves of tender young lettuce. a tiny drizzle of olive oil sealed the deal, and I have been happily reflecting on it— wrapping my head around additions, such as chile flakes or blanched garlic, to the butter.
ah, yes: and when life hands you a sale on bagged organic lemons, make lemonade. it is splendid, and easy, and worth it not only for the taste and the color, but for the whole feeling of the thing. the feeling of rolling lemons on the counter until they yield, of squeezing and straining the seeds and the damp, lively smell of them in the kitchen. of opening the fridge to a big steel mixing bowl with lemon slices floating on top. I tell you, it is a moment in which your heart will swell. with pride, with love, or with joy?
who cares? it is perfect.
