At summer's end, a feast of condiments
I've been making pickled onions and waiting for the heat to lift
I almost always feel like eating, with a couple of exceptions: a case of influenza and the last few blistering days (or weeks) of summer.
I dragged myself to the Old Town farmer’s market last weekend, no longer game to be outside. Wearing plastic shoes, because what else are we supposed to do at this time of year? Once stocked up on bread from Peewee + Sweets, I realized the produce was practically nonexistent. Tin Bucket Farms had sold out of everything other than herbs, arugula, beets, and green onions. It had been so hot not much was growing, they said.
This was my first signal that we were out of the tomato phase (also known as the BLT phase) of summer. Firefly Farms still has a few tomatoes on offer via their online food hub, but the crop is definitely on the way out. Besides, I’ve had my fill of tomatoes this year. Instead, watermelon has been a primary component of my diet for the last couple weeks — a sure sign that summer has had its way with my appetite.
I already had a jar of pickled onions in the fridge, and I’d bookmarked a TikTok video that mentioned whipped feta. I am firmly in the condiment phase of summer eating.
More than a decade ago, over a similarly hot summer, I was broke and living in an apartment with an unairconditioned kitchen. But I did own an immersion blender! It was then I discovered the power of simple, homemade condiments — in general, but especially when it’s so hot you have little desire to eat and even less to cook with heat. Or for more than a few minutes.
That was the summer I added vinaigrette to my repertoire. I learned you can make pesto with almost any herb and lots of greens besides. I didn’t feel quite so sorry for myself when I topped my lentils and rice with the pickled onions that were shockingly easy to make. (One cup hot water, a half cup apple cider or other vinegar, a tablespoon of sugar, salt. Mix together and pour over a jarful of thinly sliced red onions. Refrigerate.)
I had almost always been attracted to the kitchen, but I become a capable home cook that year.
So when ingredients are lacking, I know what to do: At the market last week I bought a staggering whole pound of arugula from Tin Bucket Farms. We made dinner salads with hardboiled eggs and chickpeas and side salads to go with sandwiches and I used up a quantity on a batch of pesto (without nuts, because I didn’t have any, and it’s too hot to leave the house). It is bright green, which pleases me, unlike most everything else at this time of year. So far it has blanketed toast and functioned as a binder for egg salad. I whirred up some whipped feta. I made another jar of pickled onions and piled them on absolutely everything (including microwaved frozen burritos, lest you assume I make every single thing from scratch).
Somehow I forgot it’s too hot to eat. Somehow I fell in love with food again.
My favorite hot-weather poem
Speaking of the unspeakable weather we’ve been enduring, I think of and look up this poem by Robert Francis every single year. It was first published in the 1980s, and perhaps it doesn’t resonate quite as much today, when you can by a decent Honeycrisp from any grocery produce section at any time of year. But it still evokes the desperation of late summer — “the long haze of dog days” — better than anything else I’ve ever read.
Remind Me of Apples
When the cicada celebrates the heat,
Intoning that tomorrow and today
Are only yesterday with the same dust
To dust on plantain and on roadside yarrow-
Remind me, someone, of the apples coming,
Gold in the dew of deep October grass,
A prophecy of snow in their white flesh.
In the long haze of dog days, or by night
When thunder growls and prowls but will not go
Or come, I lose the memory of apples.
Name me the names, the goldens, russets, sweets,
Pippin and pearmain and seek-no-further
And the lost apples on forgotten farms
And the wild pasture apples of no name.
Robert Francis
It occurs to me that summer condiment season is the correct backdrop to Orie’s Garlic Fest, happening today from 11 a.m.-4 p.m. at Public. I’ve never been, in part because, as previously mentioned, I’m loathe to leave the house at this time of year. But the high today is 87F, which means we’re basically experiencing a cold snap. And Mark is game to go with, even if it it’s only to ensure I don’t bring more garlic home, having stocked up on bulbs at the market last week.
I’ve seen a lot of art over the past few months, and so much has happened. But today I have a garlic party to attend.
More soon.
Emily