When Gigi planted a fig tree on the border of her urban garden four years ago, she had no idea that it would take to the place with such ardor. But the tree settled right in to its new home, rapidly spreading upward and outward: a sprawl of great leafed branches ultimately producing hundreds of honeyed knobs of fruit. “It seems very happy here,” we both observed. “This could be the year of the fig.”

Throughout July and August, I’d get calls from Gigi, field reports you might say, about the status of the figs.

“If these all ripen, well, this is one rockin’ fig tree,” was one update.

“Thousands of figs! I picked two 5lb. baskets in less than an hour.” was another.

Over weeks, and as the summer heat became more severe, Gigi cultivated a relationship with the beloved tree; to me, it was really a reverence:

“It’s unbearably hot, and I keep telling her how wonderful she is, making all this fruit.” She set up a special watering system, “I told her I’d take care of her. I know she’s thirsty.”

To date, She has produced enough figs to make 100 pints of preserves. One hundred pints from a four-year-old tree! It seems unimaginable—

but true! Despite temperatures stuck in the nineties and rainfall spare, Gigi’s mighty fig tree became so laden with plump fruit you could easily pick a basketful in no time at all.

Which, given the intense heat and the sticky milky mess that you get allover your hands and arms from picking, was a very good thing.

Gigi set up a system of ladders and planks within the inner sanctum of the tree, cloaked under the leafy branches. It was with childlike glee that I clambered up and around the limbs, concealed from the outer world, immersed in the heady enclave of fig leaves and fruit.

And, soon, I had picked a large bowlful of figs, most dark purple, some yellow-green with a flush of rouge, all exquisite, ripe, and beautiful.

It was time to try something new with my fig bounty. Last year, I made luscious preserves with Maggie. Gigi had already been playing with different recipes: cutting back on the sugar, adding ginger to some batches, orange juice in another, and white balsamic vinegar in yet another. All methods were cooked on the stovetop. While each batch was delicious, none had the figgy caramel syrup she was seeking.

Then, one afternoon, I got a text: “Roasting is the way.”

Why, of course! But wait, another text followed–

“No olive oil. Sugar and white balsamic vinegar only. 425 degrees.”

A-ha! (Love the economy of a texted recipe.)

After carefully rinsing my figs, I placed them on a baking sheetpan, along with a few wedges of lemon–my addition. Then, I dusted with sugar, sprinkled white balsamic vinegar over the batch, and put them into that hot oven to roast. It didn’t take long—ten minutes or so—and the figs got puffed and charred, coated in a rich caramel created from melting of the sugar, vinegar, and natural fig juices. It was amazing.

After scraping into jars, I processed some in a hot water bath, as I had with Maggie’s figs, but kept one jar in the fridge–ready for this pizza I’ve been dreaming about since we first made it last year, about this time.

Covered with roasted figs, shaved gorgonzola, leeks, and ripples of prosciutto, this is one dreamy pizza. And, don’t forget–A few sprigs of rosemary, and drizzle of the figgy syrup takes the dream to wonderland.

ROASTED FIG-PROSCIUTTO-GORGONZOLA PIZZA

PIZZA DOUGH:
1 pkg. Dry Active Yeast (2 t.)
1 c. warm Water
1 3/4 c. Unbleached All Purpose Flour
1/2 c. Rye Flour
2 t. Sea Salt
1 T. Olive Oil

Sprinkle yeast into bowl of water, stir well, and let stand for 5 minutes to activate the yeast. Combine yeast water in a mixing bowl with flours, salt, olive oil. Mix until it forms into a ball. It will be moist, but not sticky. Cover and allow to rise for one hour.

Transfer dough to lightly floured work surface. Divide into two and form into balls. Cover and refrigerate, if you are not going to use immediately.
Otherwise, let stand out for 30 minutes, then roll out into whatever pizza shape—round, oblong, rectangle—suits you. Use additional flour, as needed, to prevent sticking.

Cover with toppings, and bake in a very hot oven–450 degrees–until browned and bubbly–10 minutes.

TOPPINGS:
Roasted Figs and their syrup
Sliced Prosciutto
Diced Leeks
Shaved (or crumbled) Gorgonzola Cheese
Fresh Rosemary

Too hot for soup?

Think again—it’s really just as hot eating sauced pastas, or grilled kebabs, fluffy omelets, or stir-frys. In a way, soup is lighter, less of a commitment. And yet, it can still soothe, still satisfy.

Like this soup that my cousin cooked up one evening during her visit.

It highlights the golden bounty of summer, with a couple of surprising twists: like the counterpoint of jalapeno heat and nutmeg spice. Oh, yeah.

It has a very adaptable nature, too. Cousin Cathy got her inspiration from a Jane Brody recipe that features zucchini, corn, chicken broth. On occasion, she has replaced the corn with hominy, with favorable results. While at my house, we made a few other substitutions that created a marvelous, complex layering of flavors–with minimal effort.

This year, my garden zucchini crop was a curious, abysmal failure–beautiful plants that bore almost no fruit–but my “straight-eights” produced aplenty, an easy ingredient swap. A soup with sweet yellow squash paired with farmer’s market peaches-and-cream corn roasted on the grill….

…became anchored in an earthy wash of mushroom broth. Another surprise!

In deference to the vegetarian in the house, we opted out of using chicken broth. Cathy didn’t want the inherent sweetness you find in some vegetable stocks—a little “carrot forward” she correctly thought. I had a container of organic mushroom broth in my pantry, how about using this?

A-ha!

Once she sauteed the onion in butter, Cathy poured in our mushroomy brown liquid–the color is not the most visually appealing, but its aroma is pleasant, almost musty, with hints of garlic. (and, that color mellows out, when you add the milk.)

The squash, corn, jalapenos all simmered briefly, imparting their good flavors, while retaining their integrity.

As I typically saute my veggies before adding the broth–caramelizing them somewhat, for deeper flavor—I was surprised, and pleased by this simpler method. It kept the texture and bite of the soup right.

A Heads-Up: The garnishing is not just for show—it plays in key role in the soup’s success. Especially the nutmeg. If you have–or can get–whole nutmeg, and grate it over the soup just before serving, you’ll be astounded by what a compelling top note of spice it brings to the mix.

Overall, you’ll find intriguing tastes at play, arrived at in quick-time. Perfect for waking up a sleepy palate in the waning summer heat.

COUSIN CATHY’S ROASTED CORN-SUMMER SQUASH SOUP adapted from Jane Brody’s Good Food Cookbook

1 small Onion, diced
1 1/2 t. Butter
2 c. Mushroom Broth
2 c. Yellow Squash, diced
2 c. Roasted Corn Kernels
2 T. chopped Jalapenos or Green Chiles
1 c. lowfat Milk
2 oz. Monterey Jack Cheese, shredded
Chopped Italian Flatleaf Parsley for garnish
Fresh grated Nutmeg for garnish

Saute onion in butter until translucent, about 3 minutes.
Stir in broth, squash, corn, and chilis. Season with salt and pepper.
Bring to just under a boil, reduce heat, cover pan and cook until squash is tender, about 5 minutes.

Stir in milk and heat until hot, not boiling.

Pour into bowls, and sprinkle with cheese and parsley, and fresh grated nutmeg.

Serves 4

Around this time each August, when tomatoes are at that wondrous peak of perfection—and production—Nashville’s One and Only Tomato Art Fest takes place.

Not only does it give us the chance to express our love of All Things Tomato, we also get to push ourselves creatively, with the beguiling fruit of the Nightshade family as our Muse.

For some, it manifests two-dimensionally: the Art and Invention Gallery displays tomato-inspired works created especially for the Fest.

For others, it is chance to strut your stuff; the fest is a tomato-directed costume party that rivals Halloween.

But for us local food activists, it means getting in the kitchen and baking up sweet and savory tomato goodies for the Everything Tomato Bake Sale. Proceeds from the sale go the Field of Greens Fund, which was founded to benefit farmers in our local foodshed who suffered damage from the Great May Floods.

For last years sale, I made this, and it sold so well that I knew I would make it again.

But I also like the challenge of coming up with something new for the sale. How best to combine my garden zucchinis, my surplus of fat ripe cherry tomatoes….

…and some beautiful fresh Greek Oregano and Summer Savory, grown by Arugula’s Star?

With these at hand, some Greek yogurt and goat cheese in my fridge, a roll of phyllo stashed in the freezer, a sunny-along-the-Aegean-Sea direction began to form.

Roasted Zucchini planks smeared with herb-laced goat cheese stacked with sliced tomatoes encased in phyllo: the result was a cross between a terrine and a napoleon.

It baked up beautifully, with sharp feta nose, bright acid tomato pop, and robust herbal notes that conjured the rocky coast of a Greek Isle. Sliced, it’s delicious for snacking, or served as a first course. I think it would be nice for brunch, too.

But, here’s a hot tip:
At the Everything Tomato Bake Sale, it was the First Thing to sell out.

COOK’S NOTES:
Phyllo can be a little tricky to work with; thank goodness it is so forgiving.

Thaw your package in the refrigerator overnight before using.
Have all your ingredients organized and ready to assemble, including your brush and bowl of olive oil.
Work quickly, and don’t worry about piecing the Napoleon here and there. Layer over layer of phyllo will create the right shape, bring it all together.

TOMATO-ZUCCHINI NAPOLEON
1 roll Phyllo Dough (one of the two pkgs. in a box)
3 medium Zucchinis
1 medium Onion
3 medium Tomatoes, or 1 1/2 pts. Cherry Tomatoes
6 oz. Mild Goat Cheese
4 oz. Feta
6 oz. Greek Yogurt
several sprigs fresh Summer Savory
several sprigs fresh Oregano
1 Egg
Salt and Black Pepper
Olive Oil
1 terrine or Loaf pan

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Slice zucchini into long planks, about1/4″ thick. Slice onion into strips. Lay out both vegetables onto a baking sheet pan and brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and roast for 7-10 minutes. Remove and allow to cool. Drop oven temperature to 375.

In a food processor fitted with a swivel blade, pulse together the yogurt, goat cheese, feta, egg, salt, pepper. Then add fresh herbs and pulse again until the herbs are chopped—but not too finely—throughout.

Oil the terrine or loaf pan. Unroll phyllo pastry and cover with a damp towel. Lift a couple of leaves of the phyllo and lay into terrine. The leaves, or sheets will fold over the sides of the pan. Brush with olive oil and repeat the process until the terrine base and sides are covered, several sheets deep.

Place a layer of sliced tomatoes at the bottom. Spoon some of the cheese mixture over, then place a layer of the roasted zucchini planks. Continue this layering process until you fill the terrine. Finish with a few sheets of phyllo to cover the top.

Bake in a 375 degree oven for 30 minutes. Phyllo will brown and crispen.
Allow to cool, and invert. Serve in slices for snacking, or as an appetizer.
Makes 10 slices.

It’s always a great pleasure for me to have houseguests who also love to cook. And not just for the fun of planning the meals together, or the camaraderie of working side by side in the kitchen. It’s the new things that I get to learn about, whether they are techniques, ingredients, or recipes. We all have such varied experiences with food; there is always something new to share.

My cousin’s husband John, an avid cook, shared this recipe with me. He prepared Tomato Paella as part of a multi-coursed dinner we enjoyed the last night of their visit. It won rave reviews from everyone.

The recipe is a Mark Bittman original. It appeared in The Minimalist column in the New York Times three years ago, and fiercely circulated the ‘net for its spectacular taste and simplicity. Somehow, it eluded me then, but, no matter, I’m on to it now! I couldn’t wait to make the dish myself.

Bittman stresses that it can be prepared with any variety of rice—a short grain style preferred—-and you can take the seasoning in a number of directions. If you have some nice threads of saffron, for a true Spanish take, please put them. Or perhaps smoked paprika. Or herbal notes: thyme, oregano, basil.

Because, really, this dish is about showcasing The Tomato.

Or, in my case, The TOMATOES.

Earlier this spring, I had planted a variety of heirlooms–green zebras, black zebras, cherokee purples, lemon boys, brandywines, sungolds. Each plant has, to date, produced only modestly, but the other day I realized, after picking, that I had a splendid representative from each plant.

What better way to use them than baked on top of savory arborio rice?

My resulting “paella” was a wonder. All the varied nuances of tomato goodness could be discerned in each bite, as each heirloom made its contribution: mellow and bright candied reds, acidy green, fragrant lemon-citrus.

It’s a visual treat, too.

I cooked it as part of Sunday brunch, served alongside poached farm eggs.

Of course, it is just as lovely as dinner side dish, as John had prepared, complementary to the salmon I smoked on our Big Green Egg. I recommend it too, as a meal’s centerpiece, served with an arugula salad, splashed with sherry vinegar.

The original recipe calls for 2 cups rice to 3 1/2 cups liquid. Considering it was just two of us eating, I decreased that to 1 cup rice/2 1/4 cups liquid. I kept the remainder of the recipe intact–tomato paste, garlic, onion, paprika. And, the quantity of tomatoes! I didn’t want to cut down on that!

Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme and a drizzle of olive oil over the top before it goes into the oven…

TOMATO TOMATO PAELLA adapted from Mark Bittman
1 T. Olive Oil
1 T. Butter
1/2 medium Onion, small dice
1 T. minced Garlic
2 t. Paprika
1 T. Tomato Paste
2 c. Water
1/4 c. Red Wine (opt.)
Salt and Black Pepper
1 1/4 c. Arborio Rice
Assorted Heirloom Tomatoes: Brandywine, Lemon Boy, Green Zebra
(about 1 1/2 lbs.) Sliced into wedges

1 9″ skillet that is Oven-Safe, like a cast-iron skillet, 2″ deep

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Dissolve tomato paste in water. Heat skillet on medium, and add butter and olive oil. Saute onions until translucent, and add minced garlic. Stir in rice and paprika, stirring until the grains are coated. Add water solution and wine, stirring well. Season with a little salt and black pepper.

Bring to a simmer. Remove from heat and place tomato wedges in circles around the top. Cover the top well with the wedges. Place uncovered into the oven and bake for 15 minutes.

Tomatoes will brown and caramelize, their juices encasing the rice. Check for rice-doneness–the grain will be firm, but nicely puffed.

Serves 6.

Oh, how we Love our Tomatoes.

A few summers ago, Maggie’s garden caught her by surprise. All at once, her zucchini plants began producing in quantities that quickly grew beyond manageable. Garden Leviathans!

Sure, everything started off fine: Maggie kept up, preparing dinners of ratatouille, breakfasts of zucchini muffins and quickbreads, handing out baskets of lumbering green squash to her friends. But, it didn’t let up. Each day she was shocked to find a mob, a frenzy, a zeal of zucchini!

“A garden will teach you,” she later said. “That’s the last year I plant them all at the same time. Stagger your plantings. Or have a kitchen factory ready to go.”

Sound advice. But, in the meantime, she wanted to find some other clever use for all those zukes. She had been making bread-and-butter pickles with her modest cucumber crop…..couldn’t zucchinis work just as well in their place?

A little scrolling around the internet confirmed her suspicions.

And, she had all the pickle-fixin’s in her pantry: cider vinegar, sugar, and salt, plus mustard seed, celery seed, and bright finger-staining turmeric.

In dervish-mode, she swirled those ingredients together, and boiled them long enough to make glazy brine.

While the brine cooled, she sliced her zucchini trove into rings, layering gallon sized jars. She poured the sweet-sour liquid, screwed on the lids, and stashed her pickle experiment into the fridge. Then, she let out a sigh of relief. Now, the wait….

It takes about a week for them to “cure.” Seems pretty simple, doesn’t it?

Soon after the curing time was complete, I drove out to her country place for a visit. She couldn’t wait to have me sample her discovery.

I wasn’t sure about them—but one bite and I was sold. Tender yet crunchy, sweet-sour flavored with mild mustard seed bite. They tasted better than “regular” cucumber-based pickles. I loved the pickled onion in there, too. Versatile:You can make them with different zucchini varieties. Like Black Beauty, Cocozelle, or those charmingly named Buttersticks.

We had them for lunch. It was the sort of lunch that you have in the country on a hot summer afternoon. You sit in the kitchen with the lights off. You select your garden’s finest, and eat to be cool.

Like a ripe peach, sliced into a small bowl and topped with yogurt.

And fat red slab of tomato, open-faced on toasted whole grain bread, (a swipe of mayo) topped with a few coins of zucchini pickle, and onion.

Hmmmmm…….I’m feeling cooler already.

MAGGIE’S REFRIGERATOR ZUCCHINI PICKLES

Layer into a clean gallon glass jar:
3 quarts Zucchini, sliced 1/4″ thick
1 quart Onions, sliced in 1/4″ thick rings or half-rings

Bring to a boil, and continue boiling for 5 minutes:
4 cups Sugar
2 cups Cider Vinegar
1 cup Water
1/4 cup Kosher Salt
1 1/2 teaspoons Celery Seed
1 1/2 teaspoons Mustard Seed
1 teaspoon Turmeric

Allow to cool, then pour over zucchini and onions. Cap and refrigerate.
Let them sit for a week, so that the flavors will develop.
Yield: a little over 3 quarts

This will keep for months, if they last that long!

Zephyr is a breeze, a mild yet refreshing wind, hailing from the west. It is so named after Zephuros, mythic Greek god of the West Wind—considered the most benevolent of The Winds.

Zephyr is also a unique summer squash, a two-toned slender beauty: yellow with faint white striping and green-tipped at the blossom end. Do you know it? Tallahassee May introduced me to this delicious vegetable several years ago through her Fresh Harvest Co-op, and I look forward to its fleeting appearance each summer.

I am quite taken with Zephyr. Aside from its distinctive look–indeed attractive–it possesses other prized qualities worth this gush.

The flavor is slightly sweet and nutlike. Its texture is firm, yet pliable: not the least seedy, or watery. You can easily slice it into long ribbons that will retain their lovely shape in a saute.

With a bounty of squashes now filling our gardens, CSA baskets, and farmers markets, I have been considering different ways to highlight this paragon of summer in dishes, without becoming squash-weary.

And, I could readily imagine ribbons of zephyr squash tangled with ribbons of papparadelle. Soon after I had this notion, I came across a zucchini-shrimp-linguine recipe on Tracy’s blog, Amuse-Bouche for Two that followed a similar line of thought. Serendipity! That cinched it. Really, there is nothing new; we are all accessing from the same wondrous creative fount.

The recipe that I put together is ridiculously simple, and enormously satisfying: all designed to let the toasted goodness of Zephyr to breeze through….

Sauteed with some onion in a combination of butter and olive oil, the julienned strips make a lively tangle on their own.

Those interlacing ribbons like a liberal grind of black pepper. I think the dish is very good, even at this basic stage, but a crumble of chevre….even better.

It lightly coats while imparting bites with creamy tang.

I brought a bowl of this to a Sunday covered dish supper, where we all gathered to view slides of a Colorado Trail hike from our friends, Jen and Jenn. It was a favorite–even with the wee ones—who doesn’t love a toasty tangle of noodles?

ZEPHYR RIBBON PASTA
1 medium Onion, sliced thin
4 Zephyr Summer Squash, sliced lengthwise into thin strips
2 T. Butter
1 T. Olive Oil
Sea Salt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper
8 oz. Papparadelle or Fettuccini
2 oz. Goat Cheese

Heat skillet and melt butter with olive oil. Saute onion until translucent. Add julienned strips of squash. Stir until the squash is coated with butter/oil, and gets tangled up with the onion. Cook for 5-7 minutes, until soft and tender, but still with bite.

Boil pasta in salted water, according to package directions. Drain, but reserve a cup of pasta water.

Toss ribbon pasta into skillet with zephyr. Toss well, adding some reserved pasta water as needed. Season with salt and black pepper. Add crumbled goat cheese and serve.

Serves 4-6

Each month, when Gigi and I host the Third Thursday Community Pot Luck Dinner, we put our heads together a few days beforehand to decide what we want to make. Seasonality, of course, takes the front burner. What we find flourishing in our respective gardens figures prominently in the mix. And, then, it’s where ever else the kitchen muse directs us…

“Look at ALL these turtle beans,” Gigi said, bringing out bowls mounded with shiny purple-black pebbles. She placed them on her kitchen counter.
“I don’t know how farmers can make any money. I spent hours shelling them. I haven’t even calculated the time in planting, weeding, and harvesting.”

I nodded. “They are impressive,” I said. Who knew that you could grow black beans in Tennessee? “We will definitely showcase them in some way.”

“And, don’t forget, I have lots of peppers and garlic!” Gigi paused. “The cilantro’s gone, but its seeds are ready too.”

“Toasted coriander, ” I said.

I reminded her of the large bag—a lifetime supply, she believed–of quinoa stashed in her pantry. A Southwest themed salad, hearty, healthy, and protein-rich, seemed to be in the works…

But, what else would we make?

My little front yard farmette is but a speck, compared to Gigi’s Wedgewood Urban Gardens, however, my two lemon basil plants had grown into fragrant bushes. It would be nice to use the lot in a dish for the potluck.

I went home and stared into my own pantry—seeking a spark, a nudge, any ingredient to highlight the herb. I scanned over boxes of capellini, penne, fusilli, but pasta didn’t excite me. Brown rice, jasmine rice, arborio, no, they all seemed wrong.

Then I found a bag of bulgur wheat. Hmmmm. While parsley and mint are key to Tabouleh, it is a distinctly lemony salad. Why wouldn’t lemon basil work in place of parsley and mint?

Yes, friends, we have a winner!

In no time, I made a lemon basil pesto, which worked its lemon-scented magic in the cracked wheat. Not unlike tabouleh, but less green tasting, this salad was refreshing and summery, and turned out to be a complementary partner to the black bean-quinoa.

Side by side on the table, our potluck offerings were rather yin and yang, light and dark, crisp and soft, cool and spicy, citrus and chocolate….

LEMON BASIL CRACKED WHEAT SALAD
2 cups Cracked Bulgur Wheat
2 Lemons, for juice and zest
2 cloves Garlic
1/2 cup Olive Oil
1 bunch Lemon Basil leaves (about 1 1/2-2 cups)
Sea Salt
Fresh Ground Black Pepper
2 ripe Tomatoes, diced
1/2 Red Onion, diced

Soak cracked wheat in fresh water for at least 15 minutes and rinse well. Set aside in a bowl.
Using the food processor with a swivel blade, make a pesto using garlic, lemon basil leaves, lemon zest, lemon juice, and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

Stir lemon basil pesto into the cracked wheat. Stir in diced tomatoes and onion. Set into the fridge and allow the flavors to meld into the cracked wheat.

BLACK BEAN QUINOA SALAD
2 cups Black Beans, rinsed and picked over
2 T. Olive OIl
1 Onion, diced
1 Poblano Pepper, diced (or 2-3 Jalapenos)
2 cloves Garlic, minced
1 Tomato, chopped
1 t. Cumin
1 t. toasted Coriander Seed
1 cup Quinoa, rinsed three times, and drained
1 1/2 cups Water
1 Lime, for juice and zest
Salt
Red Pepper Flakes

For the Black Beans: (if fresh, there is no need to soak. If dried, soak the beans for at least 3 hours. Drain and rinse.)

In a 2 qt. saucepan, saute chopped onions and peppers in olive oil until onions are translucent. Add garlic and diced tomatoes. Season with cumin and coriander. Saute for 5 minutes. Add black beans and stir until beans are well coated. Add water to cover the beans, and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes. Skim off any foam that accumulates on the top and stir. Simmer until beans are soft but still intact. Can be prepared the day before and refrigerated.

For the Quinoa:
Heat a skillet and add the well-rinsed quinoa. Stir under medium heat to toast the grain—about 5 minutes. Add water and stir. Season with salt and red pepper flakes. Cook, covered, under low heat for 30 minutes.

To Assemble:
Stir the black beans into the quinoa mixture. Add lime zest and juice from one lime. Stir well. Sample for salt and heat, and adjust to taste.

When we moved from New York to Nashville oh-so-many years ago, I was eleven years old: tall and awkward, somewhat shy, and firmly entrenched in my picky eating ways. My first impressions of The South ranged from confusion to dismay.

I had a hard time understanding some of the lingo and the accent. I didn’t know that when our neighbor Lola Newman said, “‘Y’all fixin’ ta go to the thee-ay-ter?” she was asking if we were going to the movies.

And there were foods (eek!) I had never seen before, like pickled okra and chow-chow, beans and greens cooked down in ham hock, skillet cornbread. I remember my picky girl horror when Lola Newman welcomed us with a dish called Summer Squash Pie.

“What is That?” I asked my sister Carole, who was the antithesis of picky eating. I was certain that she purposefully ate things like green olive mustard sandwiches just to gross me out.

“This?” she replied, holding up a forkful of the pie. “It’s yellow squash. It’s a vegetable but it’s sweet. I like it. Wanna bite?” she snickered, in full knowledge of my impending response.

“Yuck. No.”

I have to laugh at myself, having come to embrace The South, its foods, easy-speak, and sensibilities. It’s become my home. And, I believe that I would really enjoy Lola’s pie now, although I imagine she put sugar in it, and I would not.

Today, I made a kind of squash pie–no crust, or eggs, though. It was too hot for that. I layered young uncooked yellow squash (that I grew myself!!) with sweet corn that I bought at our farmers market. It’s more of a gratin. Bechamel sauce seasoned with onion and thyme held it together.

We enjoyed it, served with a piece of crusty bread covered with a fat slice of tomato. Our supper was light and summery-sweet, sooooo good. I think Lola would have liked it, too.

SUMMER SQUASH-SWEET CORN GRATIN
1 T. Butter
2-3 young Yellow Squash, sliced very thin into circles
2-3 ears Sweet Corn, kernels cut off the cob, cob scraped
1 T. Butter
1 c. Water
1/4 c. diced onion
1 T. Butter
1 T. All Purpose Flour
a few sprigs of Thyme
Salt and Black Pepper
1 Cup Lowfat Milk
Grated Gruyere or Parmesan Cheese

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Coat 9″ pie pan with 1 T. melted butter, and lay out squash in partly overlapping concentric rings until the bottom of the pie pan is covered. This will use about half of your squash.

Melt 1 T. butter in a skillet; add corn and corn scrapings. Season with salt and black pepper, and stir in 1 cup water. Simmer for about 3-5 minutes–corn will partially cook and release more “corn milk.”

In a small saucepan, melt 1 T. butter and saute onions until translucent. Stir in flour and cook until it dissolves and is incorporated in the butter. Stir in milk, thyme leaves, and season with salt and pepper. Stir until bechamel becomes thick. Remove from heat.

Spoon corn and its juices over the layer of squash. Spoon and spread bechamel over the corn. Add another layer of squash, and repeat the process. Garnish the top with a center floret of squash circles and sprinkle cheese over all.

Bake for about 40 minutes, or until liquid reduces and thickens. Cool slightly and serve. Serves 2 generously.

The cake lady is at it again! Here is yet another, in the unfolding series of birthday cakes for family members enjoying those special zero-year milestones….

…and this one, made for my brother-in-law, Ted’s 50th, is tangy beyond measure, thanks to the rhapsodic pairing of lemons and raspberries.

Tart, cooling…It’s a summery dessert, to be sure. Lemons and raspberries each have assertive, zingy notes that don’t require a load of sugar to sing. And, really, who wants the burden of sticky-sweet, especially in hot weather?

The cake batter has lots of lemon juice and zest, and plain lowfat yogurt lends rich body without heaviness. The cream cheese-buttercream icing, flecked with lemon zest, takes on a pretty, light yellow hue. The raspberry filling is simple to make, divine sitting on top of the icing, as well as over some vanilla ice cream, should you decide to make extra.

The recipe that I’ve given you will make 2 9″ layers, or fill a bundt pan, if you’d like to make a simple glazed lemon bundt cake.

Because there were close to 50 guests at his party, I doubled the recipe to make the 3 10″ layers for Ted’s cake. And, because his party was held at their country home close to 50 miles from my house, I assembled the cake in my kitchen, and put on the finishing touches once I delivered the cake to my sister’s kitchen.

With heat and humidity being factors, Summertime Cakes have their distinct challenges, especially when a 50 mile drive is involved. But, a trip across town can be just as risky!

One of my first Big Summertime Cake endeavors, (over 25 years ago!) involved a multi-tiered orange-scented spongecake for a wedding. It was an ambitious effort, with each layer having a different filling: chocolate, apricot cream, strawberry-vanilla. The bottom tiers were stacked; the top tier was to be supported by three crystal glasses. Peach tea roses and small clumps of white hydrangea would adorn the cake.

The wedding was held outside at nearby home, on the absolutely hottest, most sultry, dripping August evening. Working at home, in and out of the refrigerator–and a chest freezer I had at the time–I filled and iced the layers, stacking the 14″ and 10″ rounds (and securing them with dowels pushed through the layers) , leaving the 7″ topper separate.

My car at the time was a 1963 Valiant convertible (no a/c, needless to say)—a most improbable vehicle for transporting wedding cakes. I had the sizeable base propped on the backseat, the topper on the front floorboard, and somehow managed to make a safe delivery. The site was only 2 miles away—but felt like 20!

That hurdle crossed, I then assembled the cake in the foyer where it was to be served. I piped simple borders to unite the layers, balanced the top tier on the three crystal cordials, garnished with fresh flowers, and took a deep breath. Success!

But the a/c was not cooling the foyer effectively. So, the host decided that the cake should be moved into the dining room with the other food. Two men in linen suits gingerly shifted the cake across the hallway and onto the dining room sideboard. Phew. Success, again.

Post-backyard-ceremony, the wedding party and guests came into the house, sweat-drenched and delirious. Champagne and heat had gone to everyone’s head. After partaking of more bubbly and the dinner buffet, the host decided that the cake would be more dramatic if it were cut and served from the round table in the foyer as originally conceived.

Indeed.

Our two linen-suited men stepped in, once again, to make the move. It all happened so fast. I remember hearing a groan and then seeing a creamy-white form fly across the room, a spray of flowers and greenery, followed by the crashing of three little crystals….

To be fair, It did supply the Drama. I must report that all was not lost—it was the topper that went sailing. The base layers–the majority of the cake–were undamaged, mostly. And still quite delicious.

LEMON YOGURT CAKE
2-3 Lemons—2T. Lemon Zest and ½ cup Lemon Juice
1 ½ sticks soft Butter
1 ½ cups Sugar
4 Eggs
1 cup Plain Lowfat Yogurt
3 cups All-Purpose Flour
2 t. Baking Powder
½ t. Baking Soda
½ t. Salt

Sift dry ingredients together in a separate bowl. Cream butter and sugar together, add juice, yogurt, zest. Then add eggs, one at a time. Add dry ingredients. Pour into 2 9″ cake pans that have been coated with baking spray.

Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Cool on rack before removing.

RASPBERRY FILLING
1 1/2 cups Raspberries, or Mixed Berries, rinsed
1/4 cup Water
1/2 cup Sugar

Place a saucepan on medium heat and add berries, water, sugar. Stir until dissolved. Cook the mixture for 15 minutes, occasionally stirring. The berries will break down, releasing their juices, and a sauce will begin to get a glaze and thicken.

LEMON CREAM CHEESE ICING
1 lb. Cream Cheese, softened
1 stick Unsalted Butter, softened
1-2 Lemons, for Zest and Juice
1 1/2 cups Confectioners Sugar

In a mixer, cream together the softened butter and cream cheese. Add the juice and zest of the lemons and mix well. Add confectioners sugar and beat until well incorporated. Taste for sweetness—and tartness—and adjust.

ASSEMBLING THE CAKE

With cool but workable icing, put a “skim-coat” on your first layer. If your kitchen is warm, put the iced layer in the refrigerator for 10 minutes to set up. Then, spoon your raspberry filling on top. Spread it across–but not to the edge. You don’t want the raspberry to bleed through. Place the next layer on top and skim coat it.

Again, let that set up in the refrigerator for at least 15 minutes. (30 minutes is better!)

Ice the cake in its entirety. Pipe with simple bordering, stars, and decorate with fresh berries, and a little reserve of raspberry filling. Lemon basil leaves make a nice garnish, too.

Just don’t move it more than twice.

Listen, what if I told you that the festive-as-confetti salad above was created using the stovetop for, say, five minutes. That’s the time it takes to boil less than 2 cups of water, right? Five minutes of cooking.

Sounds pretty compelling, especially when you consider the oppressive, in-the-nineties heat that barged in last week like an unwelcome guest—and has yet to pack up and leave.

But credible?

BELIEVE! This Too Good To Be True recipe is bonafide: Healthy, full of intriguing flavors and textures, Curried Fruit Couscous also requires almost no cooking.

This fabulous recipe comes courtesy of Michele Watkins Knaus, a chef and food activist currently living in Portland, Oregon. She worked for me several years ago, filling in while my right arm Tonya was on maternity leave. Later, we catered Michele’s wedding, and this was one of her specialties that she asked us to prepare.

The basic recipe serves 6-8 generously, and readily multiplies: Doubled, Quadrupled, Times Twelve, Times Twenty—-it’s one of those caterer’s dream recipes that can be made in mass quantities with exceptional results.

You can serve it mounded in large bowl, or molded into pretty individual servings. Eat it by itself, or along with salad greens. Or, take it uptown: Use it as a foundation for fancy-pants grilled sea scallops, or butter-sauteed trout.

Don’t be daunted by the list of ingredients. You already have some of the essentials in your pantry. For the rest, with a little forethought, and a quick trip to the grocery, you can assemble everything you need. The beauty of the dish is in the couscous itself.

Boiled water poured over the couscous in a bowl, stirred and sealed, cooks it to fluffy perfection. While the tiny pasta grains sit in that bowl, effortlessly absorbing the water, you can shred carrots, slice dried apricots, chop flat leaf parsley.

The dressing whisks up in a heartbeat. The yogurt binds the oil and vinegar, and serves as a terrific vehicle for the spice. Vegan friends can substitute a soy based yogurt; that’s all it takes to make it vegan friendly.

You may want to double the Curried Yogurt Dressing, and save half to drizzle over some salad greens, or grilled chicken, alongside your couscous.

The colorful array combines to make a satisfying summer dish, spice and sweet, fast and cool. Thanks, Michele!

CURRIED FRUIT COUSCOUS adapted from Michele Watkins Knaus

The Couscous
1 ½ cups Couscous
1 ½ cups Water
½ t. Kosher Salt

The Curried Yogurt Dressing
¼ c. Plain Yogurt
¼ cup Olive Oil
1 t. White Balsamic or White Wine Vinegar
1 t. Curry Powder
½ t. Turmeric
1 t. Kosher Salt
1 t. fresh ground Black Pepper
dash of crushed Red Pepper Flakes

The Salad Fruits-Veggies-Nuts
½ c. Carrots, shredded
½ c. Flat Leaf Parsley,coarsely chopped
½ c. Dried Apricots, slivered and diced
½ c. Golden Raisins
¼ c. Toasted Almonds, chopped
3 Scallions, chopped, green tops included

Place couscous into medium bowl . Add ½ t. to 1 ½ c. water and bring to a boil. Pour over the couscous and quickly stir. Cover tightly with plastic wrap—the couscous will absorb the water and be cooked in 5 minutes. Remove wrap and fluff with a fork.

Whisk together: yogurt, olive oil, vinegar, curry powder, turmeric, salt, black and red peppers. Pour over the couscous, and stir until all is well coated.

Add all the dried fruits, nuts, carrots, parsley and stir well. Serve in a large bowl, or make individual molds by pressing the salad firmly into a small bowl, and then invert onto a salad plate.

Serves 6-8