Gray can be the color of August

A Trip to Eastern Point

 

Eastern Point, Biddeford Pool, Maine

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   August in Maine is usually the time of brilliant oranges and yellows, and dull rusts blending into the dusty green of fields that have been recently cut for hay. This summer of 2016 has additional colors caused by deep, enduring drought as well: prematurely yellowed forest ferns, dry crackling brown leaves on trees and on annual vines that cannot extract enough water from their pots. Even my heat-loving fig tree is sporting yellowing leaves on the patio, and the roses can manage only small flowers for their second flush of bloom.

    The sea features a very different palette from the land, however. Yesterday was a welcome wet day - warm and humid to be sure, but with a slow steady rain that teased an end to the drought. And after the rain came the fog, fog that wrapped the coast in a thick fuzzy blanket. We went down to Eastern Point in Biddeford Pool at high tide to experience a roiling sea under a gray sky.  Sea, sky, and rock combined to offer an array of grays, blues, browns, and blacks just as varied as a flower garden.

Rocks jut into the ocean at Eastern Point

 

I'm always fascinated by plants that eke out life in the least hospitable places. The brilliant reds and greens of these grasses speak to the coming change of season.

More grasses and tidal pools 

The grays and blues of the stones and the sea were not the only attractions of the trip to Biddeford Pool, however. August grasses are in the midst of turning from green to yellow. They make a lovely contrast to green lawns and to some Queen Anne's lace, as shown in the following photo:

Grasses and wildflowers on the edge of a golf course, Biddeford Pool

 The Home Garden

Wildflowers are lovely in August, but garden flowers can be gorgeous even in a very dry summer. Here are a few shots from my garden from the last week or so:

A few ripening blueberries. We don't get a lot of berries, as the birds and mammals usually beat us to them.

Oriental lilies, Prairie Sunset daylilies, pink spirea, and a bumblebee enjoying my prized "Sir Paul McCartney" hybrid tea rose. A few Black-Eyed Susans complete the floral show.

Sunset-colored lantana on the porch step

A monarch butterfly enjoys a pink coneflower

A cooling and delicious dessert for August

   August is a great time to drag out the ice cream maker, and the array of stone fruits available at markets is a wonderful starting point for frozen creations that highlight the best of summer produce.

    Here's a suave and subtle sorbet made with my favorite late-summer fruit, plums. Plums are - to my mind - the most versatile and delicious of all stone fruits. Peaches and apricots can sometimes turn out to be mealy and tasteless, but plums just seem to get juicier and sweeter the longer they sit in your fruit bowl. And they make wonderful jam, especially if you can find the small damson or greengage varieties.

   This sorbet is equally successful made with black plums, red plums, or even pluots, the cross between plums and apricots. I think ripe red plums are best, though!! Unlike many kinds of sorbet, it contains no milk or cream - the creaminess of the dessert comes from the cooked and blended fruit skins.  I urge you to try it!

Plum red wine sorbet  (from Gourmet, August 2007)

  

• 1 pound ripe red, black, or prune plums, halved lengthwise and pitted (about 11-12 halves)
• 3/4 cup dry red wine
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 3/4 cup water
• 1 (3-inch) cinnamon stick
• 2 (3- by 1-inch) strips lemon zest (removed with a vegetable peeler)
• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
• 8 black peppercorns

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• Equipment: an ice cream maker

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Stir together all ingredients and a pinch of salt in a heavy medium saucepan and cook, covered, over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until plums fall apart, about 25 minutes. Discard cinnamon stick and zest. Let cool slightly. Purée in batches in a blender until very smooth (use caution when blending hot liquids). Force purée through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl, discarding solids. Cool, uncovered, then chill, covered, until cold, at least 2 hours.

Freeze purée in ice cream maker, then transfer sorbet to an airtight container and put in freezer to harden, at least 1 hour.

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Three things that I've found to be very helpful in making this treat are: (1) really cook the plums down - until they're falling apart. Do this over relatively low heat, and be patient. Also, (2) it's very important to completely chill the puree before freezing it in the ice cream maker. It makes a huge difference in the texture of the sorbet. Chill it overnight if you can! Last, (3) let the puree freeze in the ice cream maker long after you think it might be done. Just let it go. The freezer mixes air into the puree and - once again - the texture of the sorbet really benefits from a long mix. It comes out velvety, smooth, and extremely delicious.

To serve the sorbet, I like to make shortbread cups. Just make up any good recipe for shortbread or short sugar cookies, and use a 3" round biscuit or cookie cutter to stamp out large circles, about 1/4 inch thick. Drape these circles over well-greased overturned muffin forms (yup, that's right - turn the muffin pan over and mold the cookie dough into cups) Bake these at 350 degrees for about 10-12 minutes, or until light brown. Let sit for only a minute or two, and then gently remove the cups from the muffin pan and cool thoroughly.

Serve scoops of the sorbet in the shortbread cups, and garnish with fresh berries and a spoon of creme fraiche. A perfectly wonderful summer dessert!

Epiphany

Return to the Light

 

 
It's January - the Northern Hemisphere has once again begun to tilt towards the sun, and we are told we need to be suffused with the hope of more light and more direct sunshine. Astronomically, all we need do is wait for this light; our old world will eventually gift us with earlier sunrises and longer evenings. The longer day-hours are beginning to be felt even now, at the beginning of the month. 

But traditionally, this is also a time of reassessment, and of wondering what other kinds of light we may allow into our lives, and into our world. It's a time of new possibilities and buoyed hopes, which we express as fond wishes for others and in resolutions for ourselves. Renewed versions of ourselves, the better angels of our nature, as Mr. Lincoln so profoundly expressed it, might be just around the next corner. And maybe, this year, we can hang on to the joy, promise and exhilaration of Christmas. 

The Romans knew, however, that a new beginning could not happen except out of the ashes of the old, the former, the discarded. The god of January, of course, is Janus - the two-faced deity who looks forward expectantly but also glances back at what has been. 

To look back at the promise of Christmas, and to look forward towards what that promise might mean for the New Year, I offer a poem composed by my uncle, William A. Sommers. He's a poet of some renown, and he nails this one cold: 

********************************************************************************
 
 

We came too late

the trails filled with snow

tribes of warring gods

blocking passage on the plain

losing our way as

a once bright star

retreated into the

hovering darkness.

The stable bolted

the magi in royal retreat

shepherds and sheep

scattered among the hills

the family fled

wrapping the child

against a wilderness of fear

and the soldiers

decked with swords and spears

stopping, searching,

stamping out the message.

 

But being late

did not dissuade the soul’s

insistent hope

for a chaliced grace

invoking relentless journeys

repeated each year as token

of that glimmered joy

whose unseen light

guides our forever search.

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Also in the spirit of looking back, here is a column that I wrote for my local paper in January of 2007. It followed a visit to San Juan in early January of that year that culminated in the colorful revelry surrounding Three Kings' Day: music, dancing, and fireworks all night!! There's much in this column that seems quite current - especially the recipes! I urge you to try the delicious chocolate tres leches cake that I concocted. It's out of this world - although tasting it may blow a few of your resolutions for the new year!

A Taste of Southern Climes in January

            Even though we have been treated to a number of days of above-average temperatures, true summer weather is, sadly, months away.  Is it any wonder that, in January, droves of erstwhile hearty New Englanders head south for a little taste of August?  I confess to have recently returned from a memorable tropical jaunt to the lovely Commonwealth of Puerto Rico.  Although the beaches, the local art and music, and the incredible ecology of the rainforest were on the top of my travel agenda, the food of Puerto Rico surprised and beguiled me entirely. It is rich in the bounty of the island and its surroundings: tostones, rice, and beans are among the basic, delicious underpinnings of a wealth of pork, poultry and seafood preparations.  The flavors are extravagantly spicy without a great deal of heat. And the desserts! (well, more on that last subject in a bit …)

            Here, therefore, is a menu that brings touches of Puerto Rican magic to warm a gray New England January.  Don’t think of these suggestions as entirely authentic; they’ve been filtered through the sensibilities of a short-term visitor who is, however, slated to become a long-term fan. For the main course, I suggest crab cakes.  Crab is everywhere on San Juan menus, and bags of the creatures are offered for sale at the sides of major thoroughfares.  I enjoyed crab-stuffed piquillos in Puerto Rico, but those spicy peppers are difficult to find in wintry New England.  Instead, a sprinkle of cayenne pepper will convey a bit of that special piquancy.  With the crab, serve shoestring fries. I had the good fortune to taste the best French fries on the planet near the beach on the Condado – it’s shocking how good a simple preparation like fried potatoes can be if they are properly handled.  Perhaps it’s time to experiment with that deep fryer once again! Add some chopped jicama to a green salad, and you have a simple yet evocative meal.

            But it’s the dessert that really conveys the wonderful taste of Puerto Rico. Stay tuned …

            Here is one of the best recipes I know for crab cakes.  Drain two 6-oz cans of best-quality crab, or (even better) substitute some fresh lump crab meat for one of the cans. Finely dice one very large shallot (or one small onion, but the shallot will taste better) and a half a red bell pepper. Saute the shallot and 2 tablespoons of the chopped red pepper in 1 tablespoon olive oil.  Add 1 / 4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or more, if you like things spicy), a good shake of Goya adobo seasoning (I like the kind with pepper), and a healthy pinch of kosher salt to the sauté pan, and cook until the seasonings become fragrant.  Meanwhile, beat 2 whole eggs until combined, and add 2 / 3 cup bread crumbs; 1 slice firm white bread, crumbled; 1 tablespoon lemon juice; 1 1/ 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard, 1 /4 cup mayonnaise; the sautéed vegetables, and the drained crab.  Form this mixture gently into six patties, and sauté them in butter until they are well browned. 

            These crab cakes deserve the best fried potatoes you can find or make – I would use Prince Edward Island potatoes for this critical side dish.  Fry them in oil, or make oven fries if you like. Just make sure the potatoes are crisp and hot and salted when they are served. 

            

 And then – dessert! Nothing but a tres leches (three milks) cake will do.  This classic Latin American preparation is most often made with a simple vanilla genoise cake, but I sampled a chocolate version in San Juan that was stunning.  Here is my version of that sublime dessert.  First, bake a simple but rich chocolate cake that includes the essential Puerto Rican flavors of coffee and rum.  Melt 6 tablespoons butter with 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, 2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, and 3 / 4 cup strong hot brewed coffee in a large heavy saucepan over low heat.  Stir constantly with a spatula, until the mixture is smooth. Remove the pan from the heat, and add 2 tablespoons dark rum, 1 / 2 teaspoon vanilla, and one large egg. Beat the mixture well; it will thicken. Add 7 / 8 cup sugar, 1 cup sifted flour, 1 / 2 teaspoon baking soda, and 1 / 8 teaspoon salt.  The batter will be thin.  Pour the batter into a 7-inch springform pan that has been well buttered and dusted with plain cocoa.  Bake the cake at 275 degrees for 60 to 75 minutes, or until the cake springs back when touched lightly.  Cool the cake in the pan.  Meanwhile, combine one 12-oz can evaporated milk, one 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk, and 1 cup heavy cream. Place the cake, in its pan, into a container large enough to contain it entirely. Pierce the cooled cake all over with a thin skewer, and pour the three-milk mixture over the cake little by little.  It will absorb a good portion of the milk mixture. Reserve the excess milk in a separate container. Refrigerate the cake for several hours or overnight.

            To finish the cake, unmold it onto a serving dish.  Beat 1 cup heavy cream with 1 tablespoon Bailey’s Irish cream and 2 tablespoons confectioner’s sugar until it holds soft peaks.  Frost the cake with the whipped cream.  Melt 1 oz. bittersweet chocolate and stir it into the reserved milk mixture. Cut thin slices of the cake and surround each slice with a spoon of the chocolate three-milk mixture. Enjoy the very special tastes of Puerto Rico!

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 Some seasonal flowers

My husband Paul bought these for me to cheer me after we'd de-Christmified the house. Everything always seems a little more hard and severe after the lights and the tree and the glitter are packed away for another year.  So these flowers were a real beam of light ... and there will be more of that very soon. Happy New Year!

High Summer

Lunasa

The month of August earned its name in English from Roman Emperor Augustus. But the character of August is better epitomised by its Irish name: Lúnasa. - See more at: http://www.irish-genealogy-toolkit.com/celtic-holidays.html#sthash.b1hWe2s4.dpuf

A site concerned with Irish genealogy puts it very well: "The month of August earned its name from (the) Roman Emperor Augustus. But the character of August is better epitomised by its Irish name: Lunasa." Lunasa was a feast that anticipated the harvest and welcomed the months of plenty with festivals of music, dancing and poetry.

It's true. The year has turned, the nights are lengthening, but the hungry time is over, and the gardens and markets are bursting with produce. Time for a celebration! I've just returned from a visit to the vegetable garden, where changes are afoot, appropriate to the season. The pea vines, which produced magnificently throughout June and July, have finally come out. Their space has been weeded and cultivated, and cool-weather greens (spinach, arugula, and mesclun) have been planted in their places.

The second large picking of haricots verts is also sitting in the kitchen, ready to be washed and turned into pickled green beans, and (with the just-picked cucumbers and first tomatoes) a Salade Nicoise - a summer classic! It's the essence of August: just steamed new potatoes and green beans, freshly chopped cucumbers and tomatoes, and the best canned tuna and cured olives. Maybe a sprinkling of fresh basil, too. And a homemade vinaigrette. With a slice of crusty baguette - who could ask for more?

And, even though it's quite late for them, my roses are just finishing their first true flush of bloom. I spent some time this morning deadheading and pruning them. Later, when it gets cool, I'll work some Epsom salts into the soil around their roots. I also planted one of several passalong plants happily acquired during our recent trip to Vermont and northwestern Massachusetts - an heirloom rose, the Rosa mundi:

Rosa mundi

More about the passalong plants, and the trip, in a moment! 

But first, back to Lunasa, and the notion of celebration in anticipation of the harvest. Lunasa is also the name of a band that plays Irish traditional music; they are actually one of the top traditional ensembles in the world. To celebrate the High Summer festival of Lunasa, what better than a sample of Lunasa's music?

A trip to Vermont

 Mid-July was the perfect time for a summer road trip. We decided to explore western Vermont and the Lake Champlain region, and settled on the lovely college town of Middlebury as our base. We took a leisurely route to Middlebury and visited a good friend in Loudon, New Hampshire for lunch. We also stopped at The Mill in Quechee, Vermont to goggle, amazed, as glassblowers at the Simon Pearce complex fashioned lovely crystal glasses with speed and precision. Here's a photo of the dam at The Mill, just down the hallway from the glass blowing area: 

The dam at Quechee, Vermont, as well as a portion of the reconstructed covered bridge over the Ottauquechee River

After Quechee, the drive was not that long to Middlebury. What a lovely town, set amidst gorgeous farmland. And, of course, another dam - this time at Otter Creek: 

The falls at Otter Creek, Middlebury, Vermont

 We spent one whole day of our time in Vermont visiting the reconstructed Fort Ticonderoga (or, to the French, Fort Carilllon) at the southern tip of Lake Champlain. The French reference is necessary, as the interpreters at the Fort were presenting the Year of the French. The costumes, firearms, and even the martial music hearkened back to the French construction and occupation of the Fort in the 1740's: 

Fife practice, in the main gate to the Fort

French fife and drum corps, circa 1740

 Outside the structure of the Fort lay a marvelous surprise: The King's Garden! It had begun as a vegetable and herb garden for the benefit of the troops stationed at the Fort, but has now grown into an absolutely stunning garden that includes a formal colonial garden, enclosed by a brick wall, as well as open gardens of flowers and fruit and a fenced vegetable plot. Here's a taste of the incredible riches of the Garden: 

Entrance to the formal garden

Pole bean plants trained up high poles! I must try it!

Ripening grapes in the fruit garden

Shasta daises, brilliant red monarda (bee balm) and purple liatris (gayflower)

A border in the Children's Garden contains ageratum, pink snapdragons, red and yellow zinnias, and salvia

Entrance to the formal garden. A colonial-era angel guards the portal.

Gorgeous Oriental lilies in the formal garden

Another group of Oriental lilies are a focal point in the formal gardens

 We also spent some time in Williamstown, Massachusetts - home of the Clark Museum of Art. I must confess I had never heard of the Clark before this, but it was a wonderful experience - the Winslow Homers, and special shows of Van Gogh and James McNeill Whistler's iconic "Arrangement in Grey and Black #1" (AKA Whistler's Mother) were unforgettable. 

The building itself had undergone a recent transformation, and I was enthralled by the patterns made by slanting sunlight and sparkling water within the new structure: 

Reflections from a shallow pool. The Clark, Williamstown, Massachusetts

Slanting sunlight and patterned stone

 We also managed to do some searching in the many antique shops in the area. Here's my find, a vintage postcard of Short Sands Beach, in York, Maine. I know the area well! 

The title is "Fishing Boats, York, Maine". It's probably Short Sands Beach. 

 And then there was the Bridge of Flowers, in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts! One of my favorite places on earth, we've visited it several times over the past few years. We always find something new and wonderful in the plantings that line the Bridge - this year it was a beautiful little collared dahlia - named "Pooh"! Of course I had to order a couple of them for next year's planting. Here's a rendering of "Pooh", admired by one of his friends: 

And then there's the passalong plants. We were delighted to have the opportunity to visit a couple of Paul's old friends in Lanesboro, Massachusetts - antiquarian book experts who are also excellent bluegrass musicians. And terrific gardeners! We enjoyed the gardens, the music, and the delicious food, a passing thunderstorm, and went away enriched by a volunteer of Rosa mundi (see above) as well as a bit of a lovely coral daylily named  ... "Bill Monroe".  Well, it turns out the eponym is not for THAT Bill Monroe - but who cares? A daylily whose name recalls the Father of Bluegrass!! These plants, along with a hollyhock seedling I'd purchased at The King's Garden, made the trip an absolute bonanza for the garden. 

An arrangement of garden flowers

Late July and early August bring the native perennial gooseneck loosestrife into bloom. I first saw this plant at Jordan Pond House in Acadia National Park, and have loved it ever since. We have a huge abundance of this plant, and it makes a wonderful cut flower - its sturdy stems and lush foliage make arrangement easy. Here is some loosestrife in a squat white pottery vase: 

Gooseneck loosestrife - a bit out of focus (sorry ...)

 

Chocolate Fudge Pops! 

One of my favorite kitchen purchases of this summer season has been my set of frozen pop molds (Zoku Classic molds - highly rated by Bon Appetit! Get 'em on Amazon ...). I've kept some kind of frozen concoction or other in them most of the summer for a sweet snack or chilly dessert.  But my favorite? This unbeatable, incredibly easy and decadent take on an old-fashioned Fudgesicle.  I am a latecomer to the wonders of a Fudgesicle, I'll admit. When I was a kid, chocolate ice cream (and by extension, Fudgesicles) just made my skin crawl. When we visited Bridgeman's in Duluth, on secret ice-cream missions with my grandfather, I'd always let my brothers have the chocolate ice cream from my banana split. Give me vanilla, strawberry, or butter pecan. But NO chocolate ice cream! 

My, how tastes change when we get older ... 

When I saw the article on fudge pops in the New York Times earlier this summer, I knew I just had to try them. I'm glad I did; they are sinfully good. I've made the recipe several times since then, and ... well, I think I just ate the last pop. I need to make more! 

Here's how: 

Take six ounces of good semisweet or bittersweet chocolate - I use Scharffen Berger bits, which you can now sometimes find in the baking aisle of a good supermarket.  If you don't use the bits, just break up six ounces of a good dark chocolate Lindt or Ghiardelli bar. Put the chocolate into a blender. In a heavy sauce pan, whisk together 2 cups whole milk, 1/2 cup heavy cream, 1/4 cup sugar, and 2 tablespoons cocoa (I use King Arthur's Double Dutch), and heat the mixture until it just comes to a boil. Remove from heat, and add 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract (I use my own brew) and a scant 1 teaspoon kosher salt. Pour hot mixture over the chocolate in the blender, and let sit for a minute to soften the chocolate. Blend until thoroughly combined (careful with the hot liquid!). Pour into molds, insert pop sticks, and freeze for 24 hours. I know; it's very hard to wait. 

This recipe makes twice as much as I need to fill my Zoku molds, so I just freeze the rest in a plastic container. You can either thaw it to make more pops once the first batch is gone (I think the second batch is even better than the first) or you can scoop it out and enjoy it as you would chocolate sorbet (which it is, sort of). 

August on a stick! Happy Lunasa.

The month of August earned its name in English from Roman Emperor Augustus. But the character of August is better epitomised by its Irish name: Lúnasa. - See more at: http://www.irish-genealogy-toolkit.com/celtic-holidays.html#sthash.iFxmaEHh.dpuf

The month of August earned its name in English from Roman Emperor Augustus. But the character of August is better epitomised by its Irish name: Lúnasa. - See more at: http://www.irish-genealogy-toolkit.com/celtic-holidays.html#sthash.b1hWe2s4.dpuf

The month of August earned its name in English from Roman Emperor Augustus. But the character of August is better epitomised by its Irish name: Lúnasa. - See more at: http://www.irish-genealogy-toolkit.com/celtic-holidays.html#sthash.b1hWe2s4.dpuf

SUMMER!

From Spring into Summer : A Photo Essay

 

Calvin is right, as usual

Spring wreath for the front door

A summertime twig wreath, with natural sea stars and sand dollars

The summer solstice is barely past, and we are enjoying the longest days of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. The change of seasons is an occasion to enjoy some simple pleasures: the feel of warm sun on bare skin, the taste of the first grilled meats and vegetables of the year, a sweet nap on a warm afternoon, and the multiple sensory stimuli of a well-kept garden.

Oh, and of course, changing the outdoor decor to fit the new season ...

A wispy springtime wreath for the side door

A summery wreath of seashells and oats

A well-kept-garden? Well, sometimes it is. Right now, roses are coming into bloom, the peonies are making a glorious show, and we are about to harvest the first sugar-snap peas. Arugula has already been re-planted and the French breakfast radishes have gone by. Here is a photo of the just-rising peas and their supports, taken about a month and a half  ago:

Sugar-snap peas, surrounded by leaf lettuce and arugula. The support structure is made from red-birch poles, salvaged from tree-thinning in the woods. They are bound together by garden twine. The finial is a terra-cotta beehive!

The spring was glorious in its own way. After the awful winter - 5-6 feet of snow from storms in late January and February - it seemed like forever until the first spring flowers made their appearance. Of course, once they did, their season was over in a flash. Long winters often mean short, delayed springs. To help recall that quick burst of spring brilliance, here are some photos from late April and early May:

Woodland daffodils 

A profusion of bluets in the lawn

Delicate late narcissus; delphinium and white quince in the background

Pansies and multicolored violas for the side entry

Darwin tulips and grape hyacinths clustered in front of a northern magnolia

More tulips, backed by beach roses and a cat who thinks he's hiding

Late-blooming lilacs outside the front door

And into Summer ...

Naturally, early summer's blooms aren't staying long enough, either. The iris have come and gone: 

A really lovely pink German iris

 

White Siberian iris, with pink peony buds and the last of the Solomon's Seal

And now the peonies and the roses are making their show. Can there be anything more splendid than a lush centerpiece bouquet of peonies? My German grandmother only cultivated two types of flowers in her garden (well, yes, there was the spirea and the bleeding heart, but those didn't count), because she only loved those two types of flowers: gladiolus and peonies. And she grew them expertly. Early-summer dinners in Duluth always featured a bowl of her pink peonies at the center of the table - their fleeting scent somehow gave the fried chicken and green beans and homemade bread an extra savor.  In late August, we celebrated my brother's birthday with a homemade iced white layer cake and a huge crystal vase of multicolored glads.  When I began to work as a florist during high school and college, I was disappointed to find that the floral trade relegated gladiolus to funeral arrangements, or the occasional altar arrangement for a wedding. To me, they always meant high, hot, heady Midwestern summers that were just beginning to fade towards September, school, and schedules. Celebrations, and never sadness. To this day, if I send a funeral arrangement, I will always specify that glads not be used. They are possessed of too much joy for the occasion.

 My grandmother was definitely an artist in the kitchen, and in her gardens. I swear she could make anything from scratch, and delighted in doing so. And her flowers were always the talk of the neighborhood. But she dreamed of being a visual artist. Salvador Dali and Pablo Picasso were her heroes,  and she enjoyed sharing her artistic sensibilities with her (stunned) daughters-in-law (two of whom were  - and still are - splendid artists in their own right).  I, too, was absolutely amazed to discover this about my elegant, thrifty, and (so I thought) strictly proper grandmother. My (artist) aunt told me one evening when I was visiting her in North Carolina that my grandmother's sense of color, proportion, and composition were impeccable - and that her love for Dali stemmed from the fact that he had all of those same sensibilities, and upended every one of them in his paintings.  It allowed me to appreciate my grandmother as someone as rebellious as I had always been. Maybe that's why she stayed with me, hellion that I was as a girl. I think she may have seen herself in my wildness and stubborn nature. 

So, Grandma, here are some of my peonies and roses. For you. Thank you.

First bloom of the year for Sir Paul McCartney (how can you NOT grow a rose with that name, with that beauty?)

 

Yellow Chinese tree peony. Just the one, in a treasured glass bowl. It's about 10 inches in diameter.

Beach roses, looking down the greensward.

More beach roses, closer to the house.

Roses and peonies. With a Thai metal rice bowl.

An early-summer treat

I went looking for rhubarb recipes after I scored some local stalks at the supermarket.  I wanted to go beyond the usual strawberry-rhubarb pie (which is delicious, don't get me wrong ...) and found an easy and straightforward recipe for rhubarb sorbet. I'd had rhubarb sorbet with a version of chess pie at a restaurant in Boston recently, and it was the sorbet I had remembered most. Why not give it a try? 

I found this recipe in an old Gourmet magazine (June 2005, for you collectors out there), and it fit the bill nicely. Easy, dairy-free, and luscious. I served it to guests next to a slice of lemon chess pie and a couple of fresh local strawberries. June on a plate! 

Wash, trim, and chop one pound of rhubarb (about 3-4 cups). Add to the fruit 1/2 cup plus 1/3 cup sugar, and one tablespoon light corn syrup. Stir, and allow to macerate for 30 minutes. Then, bring to a slow boil over moderate heat, and simmer until the fruit is very tender, stirring often. This will take 10 to 15 minutes. Puree the mixture in a blender (Take care! It's very hot!) until almost perfectly smooth. Depending on the color of your rhubarb, you may wish to add a small drop of red gel color to the puree; it turns the final sorbet an appetizing light pink. Pour the puree into a metal bowl, and set into a larger bowl of ice and water to cool quickly.  Stir the puree often until it has cooled completely; this may take up to 20 minutes.  Freeze the sorbet in an ice-cream freezer. This takes a while; the change in the texture of the mixture is astonishing - it gets thick and very smooth. When the sorbet is frozen, pack it into a freezer container and allow to ripen for about an hour before serving. The taste is pure sweet rhubarb, but the texture will make you think of the richest ice cream ... all without a drop of milk! 

P.S. : Obscure Literary Reference. Bonus points for those who get it.