Stuffed Summer Squash

My favorite thing about spring and summer is the farmer’s markets. I’ve loved them ever since I was a little kid, begging my mother to take me the waterfront market in my hometown.

I was enamored with the flowers – dinnerplate Dahlias that were easily the size of my head, the crafts – beads and bits and bobs and amazing wood carvings from the local tribes, and the food, oh lordy the food – vegetables in every shape and size and color, more than the mind could process at once.

I still have that sense of giddy excitement when I walk through a market, myriad possibilities running through my brain, challenging me to create and experiment. The opportunity to talk with the people who are growing my food, to interact with the people in my community – it’s bliss. Pure and simple bliss.

While walking through a farmer’s market recently (or possibly three…) I spotted these gorgeous globular summer squash that were just begging to be stuffed. They make a beautiful side dish or, if you get them just a bit bigger than this, a lovely main course along with a salad.

Stuffed Summer Squash

4 globe summer squash

8 oz. Shitake mushrooms, stems discarded and caps sliced

1 clove garlic, minced

2 cups cooked brown rice

4 oz Taleggio cheese, cubed

Preheat the oven to 425⁰

Slice off the tops of the squash and scoop out the center of the squash. Rub them down inside and out with a little olive oil and season to taste with kosher salt and pepper. Set aside.

In a heavy bottomed skillet sauté the shitake mushrooms and garlic in a little olive oil until the mushrooms start to brown. Add the brown rice and cook just long enough to warm through. Remove the mixture from the skillet into a heat proof mixing bowl and toss with the cubed Taleggio cheese (you can do this in the skillet, but it might get a little messy). Season to taste with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Divide evenly between the 4 squash. Bake on a parchment lined baking sheet (or in a casserole dish) for about 30-35 minutes, or until squash is tender.

sour cherry galette

Sour cherries are an elusive fruit. They grow only in a few areas in the country, are impossible to find in a grocery store (fresh, at least), and even at a farmer’s market one would be lucky to find them more than one or two weeks out of the year.

If you do happen to find them, though – buy them. A lot of them. Don’t tell your friends. Don’t tell your family. Don’t even tell your neighbor’s dog. Keep them all for yourself and make this galette.

Galette is just a French word for “we’re too lazy to make two crusts and call it a pie.” It all comes together in about an hour, which is only a little bit longer than it will take you to devour this entire tart.

Sweet-tart cherries, flaky, buttery pastry – it’s a match made in heaven. Add a bit of vanilla ice cream on the side if you’re so inclined.

I prefer to eat mine directly out of hand, eyes closed in bliss, pastry crumbs dropping all around me. It’s the only civilized way.

Sour Cherry Galette

1 ¼ cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar

¼ teaspoon kosher salt

1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter, chilled, cut into cubes

¼ cup cold water

1 quart (about 4 cups) sour cherries, pitted

½ cup sugar

2 tablespoons corn starch

Preheat the oven to 400⁰F

Whisk the flour, sugar, and salt together. Work the cold butter into the flour mixture with a pastry blender, fork, or your fingers, until like small crumbs. Add the ice water and mix until it becomes a soft dough, adding more cold water if needed. Be careful not to overwork the dough. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, toss the pitted cherries in the sugar and cornstarch, let sit for at least 15 minutes. Roll out the pastry dough until about 1/8^th inch thick. Mound the cherries in the center, leaving at least a two inch border. Wrap the pastry edges around the cherries, pleating the dough where needed. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until pastry is golden brown and cherries are cooked through. Let sit for at least 30 minutes before serving.

 

cherry almond clafoutis

I remember as a little girl the cherry tree that hung over the fence in my paternal grandparents backyard. It was the neighbor's tree, but they weren't necessarily the best at keeping it pruned. It draped partially over the garage roof and sometimes hung just low enough over the fence for us to snatch a few as we were playing.

I can't remember what type of cherry they were, but I have a vague recollection of picking them and being very happy to do so. Proud of my dark stained fingers.

I still enjoy cherries, but usually have little of the patience required to pit them. They are indeed delicious though, and their siren call is hard to ignore when they appear at the market each season.

Although I prefer cherries best eaten out of hand, this is a perfect recipe for those moments when you realize you have just too many on hand to eat raw. It's not too sweet, which I enjoy. It goes deliciously with vanilla ice cream.

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how to cut up a gigantic watermelon

Flickr: Martin BradberryIt is hot. Sticky, steamy, stuck to the seat cushion hot. Hair frizzing, makeup ruining, water vapor breathing hot. North Carolina summers are already not for the faint of heart, before the addition of the current East Coast heat wave. To cut a long story short, it's really unpleasant.

The easiest way to stay human, rather than a puddle of melted flesh on the sidewalk, is to stay cool and hydrated. For cool we have air conditioning (I would do unspeakable things to Willis Haviland Carrier in thanks for air conditioning). For hydration there's nothing better than a big thick slice of watermelon to cool you down and keep you moderately sane. It's composed almost entirely of water and loaded with potassium and Vitamins A and C.

You can hand some to the kids to keep them running around in the backyard like banshees. They'll love their sweet, tasty treat and you can continue on with your day guilt-free, unlike those jack-ass parents who feed their kids Sunny D (a drink healthy enough to be considered a level 1 pollutant in the UK).

That being said, have you seen the steroid-injected watermelons at your local mega mart? They're insane. I could barely lift mine out of the giant carton and into my shopping cart and I was going for the mini-seedless ones. If, like me, you've passed up watermelons before because you just didn't want to deal with the hassle of breaking them down - here's a tip:

First, get your behemoth home safely. Make sure to strap that baby in like your first born child because nobody wants a fruit bowling ball flying at their windshield if they get brake checked.

Second, give it a nice bath. Lord only knows what's been crawling around on those things and even if you aren't going to eat the rind you have to cut through it to get to the delicious flesh.

Third, cut off both stem and blossom ends. Stand it up on your newly created flat surface and slice off the rind in a downward motion, working all around the circumference of the melon. Try and get as much of the bland white flesh off without taking too much of the sweet, tasty red - but it's not rocket science, you know?

I didn't think about taking a picture until after I was already half finished, but I'm sure you get the idea.

Finally, lay the nice, naked watermelon back on the cutting board and cut it up as you wish. Now you're biggest problem is finding enough Tupperware to put the thing away. No dealing with the rind and you can cut it up into whatever shapes you like.  The husband and I are particular to cubes, but that's just because we sit down with a big bowl of it in front of the television. Add two forks and an episode of BBC Life and that's our idea of a happy weeknight.

I decided this last time to cut large slices off before I cubed the rest up. Then I used some cookie cutters to cut out star shapes. I really wish I'd thought of this before the 4th of July, too, because how stinkin cute would it be to use star shaped frozen watermelon chunks at a backyard BBQ instead of ice? Or, depending on your demographic, throw them in a jello shot before they firm up - it's like you're half Martha Stewart and half Tila Tequila!

All said and done, it's a really easy process - one of those no-brainer pieces of advice that you wonder why you'd never thought of it before. But it really does make cutting up a huge watermelon manageable and, in my opinion, more useful because you can do more with it in the end. And if you do nothing more with it than soak cute little watermelon stars in Everclear and dance half-naked around a bonfire to celebrate our nation's independence, then good on you! Way to be American!

cream of garden vegetable soup with basil-butter

In my mind there are few greater joys in life than being able to grow your own food. Not only is it envonmentally sustainable and fiscally responsible, it's also supremely delicious. Some of my fondest memories as a child are working with my mother in her gardens.

That is, if working was pestering her non-stop and probably being more of a hassle than I was help.

Nevertheless, she always managed to turn out some seriously amazing food - strawberries, raspberries, fresh herbs, and all sorts of delights. Sadly, since moving out of my parents house I haven't lived in one area long enough to really attempt growing anything myself. When we lived in California I made a valiant effort to get some herbs and tomatoes growing, but a dense fog-cover for nearly the entire growing season isn't exactly conducive to bumper crops. By the time the tomatoes had started producing they were already overtaken by the blight.

Since marrying though, I've had the opportunity to sneak into my husband's grandfather's garden on a few occasions and make off with some tasty treats. Last season I missed the majority of the crops, but still managed snag some sexy green tomatoes for fried green tomatoes.

This season I was just in time for a bevy of beautiful delights - the first tomatoes (devoured in a caprese salad last night), the first zucchini (fried up with chiles along side some shredded pork tacos), and nearly two pounds of gorgeous, snappy string beans.

On a side note, be careful when searing a pot roast in hot oil. You may end up a with an awesome scar like the one on my arm above. The only good thing to come out of it is the contest on what the scar looks like. I say elephant, from my view.

The heat forced us inside while harvesting, but after tasting these beauties I'm thinking I could've risked some heat stroke to get a few more.

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