filmmaker and surf guru bruce brown was on to something: endless summer. if anything were possible, i might seek the same. but instead of chasing waves, i'd follow the lazy season around the globe, eating heavy tomatoes with my hands, travelling sun-baked city streets where no one knew my name. i love, love, want to marry summer.
i can't resist summer's usual lineup. county fairs, threadbare beach towels, starry nights, shucking corn, excuses for cold root beer, road trips, novels, catching wafts from charcoal grills, popsicles, sleeping with an open window, and piles of peaches so fragrant you eat them with first your nose.
the season is defined by its bit of excess. not anything extravagant. we get our ordinary pleasures in abundance and something in the air, maybe the memory-inducing balm of sunblock or faded scratch from a distant radio, compels a pause, staying in a little longer. maybe it is the light at the end of the day like an ellipses.
in this excess, i fell madly in love with a cookbook. aptly named plenty, by yotam ottolenghi, my response to it has been with otis redding-esque fervor. i tell anyone who will listen how badly they need this cookbook. it explodes with genius, produce-driven recipes begging its use. i've cooked halfway through it, some things over and over, like the fava bean burgers. oh, the fava bean burgers (i turn mine into little cakes so there are more of them to share).
when i wasn't cooking from plenty, i was excessively eating lobster. i became fairly certain that if i didn't eat lobster once daily while i was in maine, hell would freeze over or holly golightly might give the cat a name.
my dear friends tied the knot on tiny, bicycle-strewn peak's island. a wise person once told me that any day that includes a ferry ride is bound to be a good one. peak's island is only reachable by boat, making it a place where good things are bound to happen, like tables studded with plates of lobster rolls and fried chicken, and dancing to a live rendition of "fever" in the stained glass-filtered light of the 5th maine regiment museum.
i imagined relocating my life to coastal maine and opening a bed & breakfast. summer permits this sort of rambling.
and every summer has one unforgettable meal. mine was lobster & sweet potato hash, flanked on one side by what appeared to be a cool creek and a sweltering kitchen on the other.
there are so many luscious gifts, i lose track. summer is the season for dahlias and visiting my best friend dot in carmel, where each day offered fireworks in form of flower and homemade meals at dot's expansive dining room table.
there's sneaking off for a night to a tucked away spot called mundaka, having too many tapas beneath old films projected on the walls and spanish guitar. dot is an expert in finding tucked away spots and knowing everyone in town by name.
while in carmel i passed on my penchant for impromptu picnics to thing 1 & thing 2. is there anything more reaffirming of the goodness of living than eating outside in the summer? you might have trouble locating a first aid kit in my car, but there is always a knife decent enough for cheese and something to sit on.
but here we are, and it is the first day of october. the weather report says to expect 90 degrees in san diego by this afternoon. southern california kind of stays summer indefinitely, but the peaches and corn in the market have been replaced by several rotund specimen of squash and stacks of apples. i can't deny what the fruit tells me, and this means goodbye, at least to succotash and sleeping in. i'll say hello to pie, but i'm keeping the picnic gear in my car.
notes
* i am giving away a spankin' new copy of plenty by yotam ottolenghi and a package of other groove food goodies (homemade granola! camarague sea salt! etc! etc!). simply leave a comment with your favorite summer meal or food by 11:59 p.m. on october 3, 2012, at which point i will use a random numerical process to select a winner and send you your loot.
* the tucked away spot in carmel, ca is called mundaka. go if you can, right here.