Seconds and Minutes and Seasons

About a month ago, we went to the Cape for a long weekend. We watched the waves and tried to spot sharks at Nauset Beach, and then we ate shrimp or fish tacos or lobster rolls and drank wine.

Mornings were for the "breakfast" part of "bed and breakfast," and for coffee and stories. Dennis, the husband part of the husband-wife B & B owners, liked the phrase "a New York second." As in, a seal will kill a fish in a New York second. Or, a shark will get a seal in a New York second. Generally, the New York second came up in the context of the food chain. I always thought the phrase was a New York minute, like the Eagles song, but a New York second sounds even better. It sounds even faster.

Now I'm typing this on the Northeast Regional train as it pulls away from Penn Station and our not even thirty-six hour New York weekend seems just as fast. The days, and the weeks, and the months seem fast, the seasons too. I love every season, equally -- Christmas presents and wool socks in the winter, picnics (but also allergies) in the spring, the beach in the summer, and then apple picking and leaves and plaid and all cliched and all wonderful things New England in the fall. So I am a little sad but not too sad to see the summer go, because here comes another season that I love. The 23rd is the fall equinox. So today is the last Sunday of summer. So this weekend is the last weekend of summer. And so on.

Last Monday was the last Monday of summer. So we went to Hampton Beach. It was that deceptive kind of beautiful, sunny cold. We drove up with hoodies and hot coffee and put our rash guards on to get in the water. We body boarded, rolling to shore on the right wave at the right time and sometimes getting rolled underwater by the right wave at the wrong time, and talked about taking surf lessons next summer.

When we got out of the water for a break, all salty fresh and tired, I looked at my watch. It had only been twenty minutes. It had seemed like longer. But twenty minutes is still a whole lot of of New York seconds.

And there went the last seconds of this summer on the last Monday of this summer; and here go the minutes of this train ride back to Boston, this train ride to fall; and here goes the overlap of the seasons, the fade out of summer and the fade in of fall.

Stolen Summer

We are stealing moments of summer. 

Falling asleep with the windows open to the smell of a bonfire and waking up in smoke scented sheets.

Cracking open lobster claws in Rockport.

Flying a kite on Stratton Mountain after hours of yoga and sunshine. 

Napping on a striped blanket laid out in the shade.

Eating slushy, citrus-y Italian ice on the deck of the ICA.

Grilling corn in the backyard, grabbing the cobs off the grill, and dipping them in queso fresco.

Convincing the dock guys to let me take out the last paddleboard of the day, catching a view, and spinning around in the middle of the Charles.

Getting home and going straight to the freezer for a homemade blueberry popsicle. 

These moments are stolen. But they add up to a summer.

S'mores and Sand Castles

The weekend was bookended by s'mores and sand castles.

You can't get any more summer than that. 

Cruisin Down the Coast Goin' Bout 99 (Route 1, Summer, and Sol Bean)

As far as I'm concerned, everyone should take themselves on a drive up Route 1, play 101.7 so loudly it drowns out Google Maps, steer with one arm, and dance with the other.

Lana Del Rey kept playing today. I didn't mind. On an Indian summer kind of day, driving somewhere I'd never gone before, it seemed right. You know, DJs used to play Will Smith's Summertime when the weather got warm. Now they play Summertime Sadness.

One summer ago, I spent a lot of time on Route 1, going up to Revere Beach or the North Shore. For me, it's impossible to be on that road and not think of summer. With the sun streaming through the car windows and a smoothie to look forward to, I could still pretend that it was summer today.

At Sol Bean in Middleton, I got a Tropical Colada smoothie (coconut water, pineapple, spinach, mango, and coconut butter), plus an Athena quinoa bowl with chicken. The smoothie was so good. It was green and refreshing and it tasted like straight up pineapple. Best parts of the quinoa bowl? A seriously ample portion of hummus (totally beat the chicken for flavor) plus warm quinoa. The menu is huge and I would happily try another smoothie (maybe the Purple Rain next time).

I sat outside on the porch. Yeah, the porch overlooks Route 114. But at least it's a pretty part of 114 (green leaves, green hills, and cows) and I was happy to be outside.

When it was time to leave, I got in my car and turned the volume to low. I had to pay attention to get back to Route 1 and I got confused. But as soon as I was back on Route 1, it was a straight shot to Boston. So the music came back on.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

Summer Streets, New York, NY

Diner En Blanc, Boston, MA

WaterFire, Providence, RI

It's been a fun few weeks.

The Devil Inside: A Cocktail Recipe

I'm a little sassy. I've been called an enabler,  a sparkplug, and a gunslinger.

It makes perfect sense that I would be interested in a cocktail called El Diablo. The weather forecast looked good and I had a bottle of tequila. So, I sent out an open invite for post-work drinks outside, set out tortilla chips and made guacamole, and re-interpreted the El Diablo. It's a well-balanced drink (a little sweet, a little sour) with a phenomenal rosy color. Do yourself a favor: serve it up with a waiver and release of liability. You shouldn't be responsible for whatever happens next.

El Diablo

(all ingredients should be chilled)
2 cups tequila
1 cup creme de cassis
1 and 1/2 cup Cointreau
3 cups fresh-squeezed orange juice

Combine all ingredients in a pitcher and stir well. Makes one pitcher of trouble.
Note: You may wish to strain the cocktail before serving.

Just One Scoop

I'm cutting through Boston Common and I hear Shakespeare. Shakespeare on the Common, that is. The audience is absolutely rapt and I know that I better not block their view. I spot the Ben & Jerry's Truck and, keeping my voice quiet, I order a scoop of Cookie Dough. And I swear, this is the best ice cream of the summer. Ben and Jerry's is good and all... but it's the summer night, the Shakespeare, and the slow walk that make it taste so, so good.

Lobster on a Summer Sunday

Summertime means lobster. It's non-negotiable.

L and I made a lunch date for lobster rolls on a sunny, summery Sunday afternoon. We met up at James Hook and Co, just off Atlantic Avenue in the Financial District.

It's a simple lobster roll: just a generous portion of lobster meat and mayo. L took one look at her lobster roll and her eyes got really wide: "There's a whole lobster claw in there!" And sitting outside under the blue sky, at one of the wooden picnic tables, next to lobster traps, made our lobster rolls taste even better.

The regular-sized lobster roll is $13; the large is $17. Be sure to get the bun toasted.

And, then, a few days later at Summer Shack...

Around Town

Summer Days

I am on a long, hot run through the Financial District. I'm sprinting down Atlantic Avenue and suddenly decide to veer under the arch of Rowes Wharf. I work my way out to the water and along the wharf and I'm about to turn back to Atlantic when I take a big breath. Salt air. I stop, facing the water, and breathe. Salt air.

Salt air means only one thing to me: landing in a tiny plane on the airstrip in Nantucket, popping my head out of the airplane and being so happy to smell salt air. Summer after summer, year after year, I'd walk down the stair cart that had been rolled up to the airplane, breathing in the air and knowing that we were finally there, that we had a month ahead of us. A month of kite-flying and bike-riding, frappes from the soda fountain at Nantucket Pharmacy, Quidnet Beach, morning walks to Sconset Market to get the New York Times (for my parents) and chocolate milk (for everyone under the age of ten). And there was clam chowder, but I was little and didn't like seafood, so I would order clam chowder just to get the oyster crackers. I read and read and read those summers and I won the kids' reading contest at the Nantucket Atheneum library several years in a row. The librarian eventually had to disqualify me because I always won. If I couldn't sleep at night, I'd lie in bed and watch as the light from Sankaty Lighthouse flashed through my bedroom window. I'd count the seconds between each strobe of light and I'd eventually get too tired to keep counting.

***

Much later that day, I'm on Revere Beach. We've spent the day reading and lounging in our matching beach chairs, wading into the water, buying cups of frozen yogurt at Twist & Shake. It's late in the day, about 3:30 or so, but the afternoon is magnificent. It's sunny with just a little breeze, the light is golden, and the beach is calm. I pull out my iPhone and I open up Pandora. I'm playing the 90s pop station -- you know, N'Sync and Backstreet Boys -- but then Eric Clapton's Layla comes on.

And I think of the kitchen in Nantucket. The stove with the quirky pilot light, the big wooden table, and the tall chairs painted light blue. Were the chairs really light blue? Memories play tricks on us. But I think they were light blue. In the corner was the white wicker chair and near the countertop was the radio. I remember Layla playing on that radio. Did Layla really play? I think it did. And even if it didn't, my memory of Eric Clapton playing on the radio as we sat around the big table and shelled peas fresh from Bartlett's Farm is a good one. So I will keep that memory.

It's a truly beautiful afternoon. I have to be back in Boston for a 6pm board meeting. I look over at B and say that I don't want to leave the beach. I never want to leave.

Challenge Accepted

15 guests RSVP'ed. I bought 30 ears of corn. 35 hot dogs. 32 sweet potatoes. 6 pounds of apples.

I like a challenge.

Making blueberry & cream popsicles, then shucking the 30 ears of corn at 1am on my kitchen floor while watching The Bachelorette.

I like a challenge.

Making apple pie for the first time ever and teaching myself how to make a pie lattice on the Fourth of July.

I like a challenge.

Hope your Fourth was very happy and full of the things you like best.
Recipes coming soon.

Not So Far From Home

Do you ever forget that Boston is near the ocean?

Heat, Smoke, and BBQ

Saturday, 3:30pm, Phantom Gourmet BBQ at Government Center Plaza.

The best part? The roasted corn. Without a doubt.

#ThisIsCrazy Sangria

On December 31, 2011, I decided that 2012 was going to be phenomenal. And, before I knew it, it sort of caught on.

We decided that January was going to be (obviously) phenomenal. February was epic. March was outrageous. April was sassy. May was solid gold.

Then this little gem entered our lives.

And we love it.

We kicked off Memorial Day weekend with a picnic. I made sangria – a summery, fruity white wine sangria.

When B asked if it was solid gold sangria, I said no. It’s #ThisIsCrazy sangria.

June is #ThisIsCrazy. And I have a feeling that the whole summer is going to be too.

Strawberry-Peach White Wine Sangria 
(Adapted from Strawberry Mojito Sangria in Women’s Health Magazine, June 2012)

½ cup lime juice
½ cup simple syrup
7 cups sauvignon blanc
1 cup ripe peaches, sliced
10 strawberries, sliced

In a pitcher, combine the lime juice and simple syrup and stir well. Add the wine, peaches, and strawberries. Refrigerate for at least three hours. Stir well before serving.

How to make simple syrup:

I use the simple syrup recipe that is part of the official Kentucky Derby Mint Julep recipe. I make a batch (without the mint) and store it in glass Mason jars in the fridge.

Celebrating with Corn on the Cob

E finished grad school. Hooray for E! What are we doing to celebrate? We're going to Ashmont Grill in Dorchester.

And we're eating this.

Grilled corn on the cob, with lime juice and feta. Sure, we're eating other things too, like the Ahi tuna lettuce wraps and the best carrot cake I've had (sweet and moist, with coconut-cream cheese frosting, raisins, and pineapple).

But the corn? That's the main point. School's out and summer's here.

Eggplant Two Ways

Thursday night at Trade: Pomegranate glazed eggplant with capers, olives and pine nuts. I didn't really pick up on the pomegranate flavor, but I loved the balance of the rich eggplant, the tomato, and the tangy yogurt drizzled on top. This small plate and one of Trade's flatbreads made for a perfect dinner. I will definitely be going back. Definitely.

Friday night in B's kitchen: Eggplant medallions with feta, mint, and tomato salad... roasted eggplant rounds, topped with a tangy, summery salad. These medallions would be awesome paired with sangria... on a rooftop... at sunset. I'll be adding them to my summer to-do list.

(Adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

2 tablespoons and 2 teaspoons olive oil
2 medium eggplants, cut into 3/4 inch slices
1/2 cup crumbled feta
2 tablespoons chopped green olives (pitted)
1/3 cup finely diced purple onion
2 cups seeded, chopped tomatoes
3 tablespoons minced fresh mint leaves
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
Salt and pepper

Have the feta, olives, onion, tomatoes, and mint in separate bowls, ready to be combined.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Grease a large baking sheet with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and lay the eggplant rounds on the sheet in a single layer. Sprinkle them with salt and pepper. Roast for 20 minutes, or until the underside of each piece is puckered/puffy and darkened. Flip the rounds and sprinkle them all with a bit more salt and pepper. Roast for another 10 minutes, or until the rounds are evenly cooked on both sides.

Meanwhile, pour the red wine vinegar over the onion and let it sit for about 10 minutes.

When the eggplant rounds are done,  let them cool until they are only slightly warm. While they are cooling, combine the feta, olives, onion, tomatoes, mint, and remaining 2 teaspoons of olive oil  and toss. Top each eggplant round with a large spoonful of the salad and serve immediately.

Summer in March

It’s been a string of perfect, sunshine-y, summery days here in Boston. Days when the biggest problem is picking out which sundress to wear. And where to go for outdoor cocktails.

I like these kinds of problems.

All of a sudden, Boston is alive and giddy. Everyone is coming out of hibernation, so it’s been the best kind of busy. Dinners in the North End, tennis games and iced coffee, roof deck brunches, impromptu trips to the beach, birthday parties.

It's much too early for spring to have sprung... much less summer. It might get chilly again. It will probably get chilly again. It is Boston, after all. But, even if it does, we will still have had these perfect days, this perfect March.

So, I will put on my new sundress and my aviators and I'll pretend like this weather will last forever.

Summer in October

It was 86 degrees Sunday and 80 on Monday. I put aside my boots and sweaters. I pulled out my bikini, flip flops, my tennis racket, tank tops and shorts....

I hope you went out and played. Because I did. 

A Little More Summer: Sauteed Shrimp with Late Summer Tomatoes, Spinach, & Peas

It rained again today. To see the rain falling is to know that the seasons have, for the moment, gotten themselves confused... and to hope that they will get themselves unconfused soon.

I made something summery for lunch: sauteed shrimp with late summer tomatoes, spinach, and peas, with a little chopped parsley as a final touch. The shrimp and spinach, sauteed in olive oil, are almost buttery, the peas are sweet, and the tomatoes add color and acidity. It's a simple dish, with about twenty minutes of cooking time.

The rain stopped tonight. There's sun in the five day forecast. So maybe we have a little time before autumn comes. A little more time to eat late summer tomatoes.

Sauteed Shrimp with Late Summer Tomatoes, Spinach, and Peas

1/4 lb shrimp, cleaned, deveined, and tails removed (approx. 9 small shrimp)
1/2 teaspoon minced garlic
2 1/2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
3/4 cup ripe tomatoes, chopped 
2 cups spinach leaves, washed well, dried, stems removed, and torn into smaller pieces
1/2 cup shelled peas
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon chopped Italian parsley
Black pepper to taste

Heat one and a half teaspoons of the oil in a large saute pan over medium low heat. Add the shrimp and the garlic; saute until the shrimp are pink, opaque, and cooked through (3-5 minutes, depending on the size of the shrimp). Turn the heat up to medium and add the tomatoes. Saute until the tomatoes release their liquid and the tomatoes reduce in size by about half (about 3-4 minutes). Set aside the shrimp and tomatoes.

If using fresh peas, bring a saucepan of water to a boil. Add the peas and boil them until bright green and tender (about 1-2 minutes); then scoop them out, run them under cold water, and drain well. If you choose to use frozen peas, follow the instructions on the package to fully thaw them. 

Placing the original saute pan over medium heat, add the remaining teaspoon of oil and heat. Add the spinach and saute until the spinach is wilted and dark green (about 2 minutes). Stir in the peas and cook until they are heated through (less than a 1 minute).

Add the shrimp and tomatoes back to the saute pan and combine. Stir in the parsley, salt, and pepper. Serve immediately. Serves one.

Not Quite Autumn

I slipped away from Boston for a few days, to a place where summer is still in full swing, to a place where September 1st holds absolutely no connotation. And I didn't mind missing that day at all. Even before I left, there were moving boxes piled on sidewalks and U-Hauls getting stuck in narrow Boston streets (Yes, stuck. Yes, I watched. No, I don't know how it happened).

When I got back, suddenly autumn was in full swing. The change that Boston undergoes when we flip our calendars to September is incredible. The college students are back and their classes have started. And we're making plans for apple-picking. I've never been apple-picking; I've never made apple pie or apple butter. I can't wait.

But, really, we're not seeing autumn yet. We've had a few wet, chilly days that remind me more of early April than September. Last night, I walked along Arlington Street, along the side of the Public Garden, and I looked out across the wet pavements and empty benches of the park, shrouded in a smoky, violet dusk, to the twinkly lights of the Financial District.

I love my rainboots and walking through puddles as the water splashes up around my legs. But I'm not ready to let go of summer yet.

Soon enough, peaches will be out of season. And we'll be looking out of our windows at falling leaves and, a little later, snow.

Maybe September could slow down a little bit. Because there's a lavender-colored ruffly sundress that I haven't worn yet. Because I didn't have a chance to make white wine sangria. Because I really love late summer tomatoes and those warm days and cooler nights of September in Boston.

Maybe we could have a little more summer. Because the seasons will change soon enough.