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Posts Tagged ‘peach custard pie’

Midsummer, and we’re all starting to ooze into the fabric of our beach chairs (but today temps hit 90 again, so full disclosure: I’m oozing into my sofa as I write this).

A hazy, dreamy list of the not-to-be-missed—summer delights,`a la me.

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Beach rose in early evening light.

1. Go to the beach between 4 and 6p. The shadows are long, the sand has a golden glow, and the crowds have cleared. It’s the most beautiful time of day.

2. Or go to the beach between 7 and 9a when the ocean is sparkling in the morning sun. It’s the other most beautiful time of day. Dive in. You’re swimming in a big splashy tub of glitter.

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3. Eat locally grown fruit, picked perfectly ripe. To get the full flavor, resist refrigerating it. Trust me on this one.

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Sticky ripe plum.

4. Don’t put fresh basil in the fridge, either. Treat it like the plant it is: Trim the ends and stick the bunch in a jar filled with water. Use as needed. If flowers start to emerge, pinch them off to keep the leaves from getting bitter.

5. Go barefoot. Feel the differences between the textures of this or that sand, or this or that grass. Don’t freak over rough patches forming on your feet; they’re giving you the power to explore the summer world further.*

6. Make a pie. Any sensible pie crust comes together in the Cuisinart in 10 minutes, I promise, zip zip zip, and it won’t have any weird stuff in it. Then you can add anything summer gives you—blueberries, blackberries, late-season cherries. Doll them up or leave them alone.

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Peach custard pie.

7. Find a funnel cake and dive into that, too. Any will do, but I like ’em puff-tastic.

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From the very nearby Asbury Park, NJ boardwalk. I’m not 300 lbs., and it’s miraculous.

8. Slurp up an heirloom tomato—and go local on this one as well, too, for best flavor and price. All other tomatoes will seem like the soggy tube socks they are. Slurp at room temperature. A ripe uncut tomato will live happily on your kitchen table for a few days, if you can restrain yourself longer than I can.

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9. Ride your bike. It’s just as you remember—like flying.

10. Go to a playground and swing on the swings. Go at night. Even better.

11. Find an old-fashioned ice cream parlor and order something retro. The one near me, in business since 1901, offers a really sweet, really kaleidoscopically colored soda called a cherry-lime rickey. Or go back just as far as the boomers, who order butter pecan, black raspberry, and cherry vanilla.

12. Collect wildflowers and let them brighten your counter or night stand. Tiger-lilies, false Queen Anne’s lace, and many others grow in profusion in meadows and along roadsides. If you pull the latter up fully, smell the roots; they smell like carrots (a cousin). Cool, right?

13. Buy a melon from a farm stand. Be sure it’s local for best ripeness. You can eat it in slices or chop it up and make a smoothie or an agua fresca out of it. Use a knife; a melon baller wastes too much fruit.

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I inserted a sharp knife one half-inch into this Sugar Baby and it cracked itself right open. That’s ripe, my dear friends. That’s how melon should be, and taste.

14. Sleep with the windows open. Falling asleep and waking up to a breeze is beauteous.

15. Find something yummy growing somewhere wild and have a little snack. Then tell me about it. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.

*Gabrielle Reece, pro beach volleyball player, has said she isn’t ashamed of her weight—she is grateful for it, because she needs every pound to play with the force she wants. I feel the same about callouses on my feet; I’m proud of every one because I need every one.

 

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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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