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Posts Tagged ‘bread-and-butter pickles’

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Feather down of a sea gull in early evening light.

I get razzed a lot for being a detail-oriented person, always by friends; and often enough, amusingly enough, by the friends who hire me to be detail-oriented (editing, prop design, you get the picture). I can’t help myself; it’s just that there’s so much to experience in the tiny, unobtrusive stuff.

Good example: I love the seasons, all of them, because each offers both big and infinitesimally small imprints, changes, shifts, gifts, little breaths of the universe that say I was here. It’s all fascinating to me. I want to see it, get into the same space with it. That’s me in the corner, that’s me kneeling in the dirt with my nose up against an inchworm on a strawberry saying coooool.

So.

This is a semi-comprehensive chronicle of my favorite details, late spring into summer. There’s a lot of food, but you expected that.

What’s on your warm-weather list?

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Peanut Butter Moose Tracks cone, Days, Ocean Grove, NJ.

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Sycamore leaf, early evening.

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Fresh Bing cherries in heavy cream.

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Quail eggshell.

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Surfer’s wet and supremely happy mongrel.

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Fresh peach custard pie made with local peaches.

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Bread-and-butter pickles made from a 100+ year-old recipe from a farm wife.

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Turkey burger with homemade hot green-chili harissa.

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Little two-year-old feet in Jellies.

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Bocce ball in intense early evening light.

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A Shirley Temple after a hot day.

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Empty beer mug, lonely and forlorn.

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Fuzzy apricots in more early-evening light. I have a thing with this light, obviously.

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Signs I’m home 🙂 This is what’s on local shelves.

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I had a be-in with a plum a few weeks ago. It was sweet. After that I canoodled with a muskmelon, some pickles, and more than a few heirloom tomatoes. I register my guilt here in this photo essay.

You can’t blame me, can you?

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Softball-sized muskmelon. The innermost center tastes like honeydew, and the deeper you dig, the more it tastes like its cousin, the cucumber. The spoon is at the best part.

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Local, organic strawberries. The jelly jar is foreshadowing. But you probably guessed that.

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With organic vanilla yogurt—an unbeatable breakfast or teatime snack.

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Cupcake with homemade Nutella (guanduja), both in the batter and straight up as a topping.

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Morning glory, late summer.

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My cousin’s sangria, with raspberries, strawberries, lemons and limes.

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Surfers backlit by sunset.

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Cobblestones near train station, Hoboken.

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Fresh peach custard pie made with local eggs.

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Really ripe heirloom tomato.

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My summertime obsession again, here on a whole wheat bun, with local basil, fresh mozzarella, olive oil and salt. In short, breakfast.

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Tiny lemon square.

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Mulberries picked from a branch hanging by my balcony, simmered with sugar and some Petite Syrah.

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S’mores made for my friend Laura’s 5th of July party.

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A spoonful of late-summer flowers.

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Bread-and-butter pickles made from a 100-year-old or so recipe.

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Assemblage of toasty artisanal bliss, Porta National Park, Asbury Park, Labor Day.

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Nutella sandwiched happily between two thin discs of homemade pizza dough and doused in powdered sugar. The smears below showcase my brother-in-law’s determination to get every last bit. Porta National Park.

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And of course, the pan in which I shamelessly assassinated a quart of olive oil. The summer wasn’t all pretty.

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