The Dawning of a Season

Regardless of what is happening with the weather or my weekend travel schedule, I never feel that summer has truly arrived until the summer fruit graces the farmers markets with its presence.  There is absolutely nothing better than those sweet, delicate and ephemeral berries and stone fruits fresh from the farm stand on a hot Saturday morning. Rhubarb, you ersatz fruit, begone (until next April at least)!

Strawberries always seem to come first.  And then come the good strawberries, those whose perfume you can smell from a foot away.  Then the rest of the berries, a few currants thrown in, peaches and then the heaven that is cherry season.  I can't wait.

In the meantime, I'm settling (hardly) for a breakfast built around the tiny, sweet, peak of the season strawberries.

With a baguette from Balthazar spread with Ronnybrook's incomparable unsalted butter and Agrimontana preserves along with a fried egg, the start of the day just does not get much better than this.

Summer Treats

Much is being made of tomatoes this time of year. Between the articles extolling their summery virtues and those bemoaning the various fungi that are afflicting many of the crops this year, one can scarcely avoid thinking about these brightly colored orbs.

Which has made the mediocre tomato haul that New York has experienced this year particularly vexatious. A cool, damp summer seems to make for pale tasteless tomatoes, heirloom or not. Or perhaps the good ones have just been delayed? Let's hope that is the case.

But no matter. California, which is experiencing an unusually hot summer and extraordinarily dry conditions, is tomato heaven at the moment. A trip to Wild Boar Farms' booth at the Grand Lake Farmers Market on Saturday yielded this stunning collection.

Can you guess which one they call the "Berkeley Tie Dye"?

These tomatoes tasted so perfectly fresh and sweet that I almost didn't recognize them as vegetables (or fruit, whichever school you subscribe to). It is no wonder that they are a supplier to Chez Panisse.

As my return to New York is imminent, I am currently gorging myself on beautiful fruits (and a few vegetables), taking advantage of the good stuff while I can. As much as I adore New York, the produce (other than apples of course) simply does not compare to what I became used to growing up in California. The fragrant, almost floral melons, sweet nectarines (even the wrinkled up old ones in the refrigerator are phenomenally delicious) and tiny strawberries that are scattered throughout the kitchen, along with the sweet juicy pears from my parents' tree, will have to tide me over until my next brush with perfect produce, whenever that may be.

Welcoming Old Friends

The heavy rains and relatively cool summer this year have delayed some of the gems of summer for longer than really has been bearable here in New York. But it seems that we have turned the corner. Berries, tomatoes, peaches...they're all here!

Peaches and tomatoes are perhaps an odd combination for my fruit bowl, but I've been counseled that once you put a peach or a tomato the refrigerator it is forever ruined.

I cannot be sure of the veracity of this statement, but I do as I'm told regardless and keep them together in a vessel on my kitchen counter for the brief period between purchase and consumption.

After returning home from the farmers market this morning, I cut into my first heirloom tomato of the season with great trepidation. You see, I grew up detesting tomatoes. For years I was only ever exposed to mediocre specimens, and a mediocre tomato is truly awful.

Finally, when I was about fifteen or so, my mother threw a dinner party to which she invited the great Terry Paulding, a wonderful friend, fabulous cook and great appreciator of fresh produce. She kindly contributed to the meal a platter of sliced heirloom tomatoes, basil and buffalo mozzarella. I was intrigued by the unfamiliar color palate of these odd specimens, so partly out of curiosity and partly out of a compulsion towards politesse when seated at a dining table, I confronted my nemesis the tomato.

And it was fantastic. I vowed then and there never to eat a less than spectacular tomato again. And I have largely hewed to that vow.

So would this first tomato of the season be one of those spectacular specimens? Almost. Dressed with my favorite olive oil and dusted with Maldon sea salt, it made for quite a nice lunch. It was not transcendent as I had been hoping that it would be, but then after ten months sans tomato, the reality could never live up to my memory. And the first of the season are never the best, so let's hope for improvement, shall we?

But the peaches made up for the minor tomato disappointment. Sweet and fragrant, they were truly the essence of summer. My lunchtime dessert, peaches and blueberries splashed with half and half and then drizzled with honey, could not have been more satisfying.

But in the midst of all of this bounty and joy there is one dark spot. I asked my favorite cherry vendors (The Cheerful Cherry at Union Square) how much longer the season would be lasting. The answer? One more week! Possibly longer, but not much.

I have an unnatural obsession with these little orbs, particularly the ones from the Greenmarket. They are just so rich and dark and sweet that I sometimes feel as if I am drinking a beautiful red wine rather than eating fresh fruit.

So I'm clearing my schedule next Saturday. I will go to the Greenmarket, buy as many quarts of cherries as I can carry, and sit on my living room floor with a massive bowl of them, eating as I weep, mourning the loss of the best fruit in the western world. And those I cannot consume will be preserved in brandy, so that my despair may be lessened at a later date.