peaches in july

It's hard to get more seasonal, produce-wise, than peaches in July. They're everywhere, those improbably fuzzy, delectably-scented red-and-yellow marvels. When I was into Greek myths, in elementary school, I always pictured ambrosia, the food of the gods, as something to do with peaches. They are an ethereal food.

Peaches gave me pause today, however, as I ate my lunch at work. Eating a peach is an earthy, almost rugged experience. The skin is tough and furry, but once you bite through, the insides are incredibly juicy, they drip, your hands get sticky. Peaches should be eaten outdoors in the summer. You've just bought one at a farm stand, bright red and yellow, firm, the size of your palm, and you lean over as your teeth pierce the skin, watching ambrosia-scented juice drip onto the sidewalk, and onto your bare toes.

I bought my peaches this weekend at my co-op, where I paid 89 cents a pound for the local, organic beauties. They seemed very earth-bound at the time - I rummaged through a cardboard box for the best ones as people roamed around me in the sticky Washington summer heat, buying fennel bulbs and large, mysterious, oval melons. When I fished a peach out of my lunch bag this afternoon, though, something seemed incongruous. I was dressed in work clothes, sitting in front of my computer, with goosebumps on my arms from the air conditioning even as a heat wave nudged temperatures outside into the high nineties. When I bit into my lunchtime peach, juice did drip - not, alas, onto hot asphalt and dusty toes but onto my neatly-ironed khaki pants. Peaches, it seems, are not a food for the office. They belong to long, lazy, sweltering summer days - in other words, like I thought when I was nine, to heaven.

This recipe for peach and cherry crisp (from Mollie Katzen's Moosewood Cookbook) is delicious in early- to mid-summer, when both these fruits are in season.

Ingredients:

• 4 cups peeled and sliced peaches, plus 2 cups pitted, halved dark cherries
• 2-3 Tbs lemon juice
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• 1 cup rolled oats
• 1 cup flour
• 2-3 Tbs brown sugar
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp nutmeg
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 5 Tbs melted butter
• optional: 1/2 cup sliced almonds

Procedure:

• Preheat oven to 375
• Combine peaches, cherries, lemon juice, and white sugar in a 9-inch square pan
• Mix together remaining ingredients in a medium-sized bowl. Distribute over the top of the fruit and pat firmly in place.
• Bake uncovered for 35-40 minutes, until the top is crisp and lightly browned and the fruit is bubbling around the edges. Serve hot, warm or at room temperature, plain or à la mode.
  

more introductions, and hummus

The other impetus for this blog, besides the fact that I'm lousy at create-your-own recipe, is that I've been thinking increasingly about where my food comes from, and what its life was like
before it got there.

There are approximately eighty-seven million five thousand and three other people talking about these types of issues at this very moment - some, even, in the Washington Post, so I won't belabor any points right now. Maybe in some future posts.

Suffice it to say that I'm a Mollie Katzen wannabe who loves her tiny, tenacious food co-op as well as the plethora of farmer's markets in DC, with special shout-outs to the Dupont Circle Farmer's Market, which is open year-round, and the Adam's Morgan Farmer's Market, which is cheap and accepts WIC coupons and doesn't have a website.

And so, without further ado, an innaugural recipe (which - gasp! - is a little imprecise, for me. It's also very forgiving. Take a deep breath and just start sprinkling that cumin - it'll be fine.)

Basic Hummus

(Think hummus is a mysterious substance that grows pre-packaged in little plastic Whole Foods containers? Think again...)

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 - 2 cups cooked chickpeas (One small can works fine. You can also buy them dry, soak them overnight, and cook in simmering water until tender)
• 1 heaping tablespoon tahini (aka sesame paste)
• juice of one lemon
• one clove of garlic, minced
• 1/2 - 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• water, as needed
• paprika, for garnish (optional)

Process:

• Drain chickpeas. Pour into a blender or food processor, along with tahini, lemon juice, garlic, and cumin.
• Add a small amount (1/4 cup or so) of water.
• Blend or process until smooth. You may need to turn off the blender/food processer and stir occasionally, to ensure that all chickpeas are crushed. You may also need to add more water, if the hummus isn't getting smooth enough for your liking.
• Scoop into your desired serving or storing container, and garnish with a sprinkle of paprika, if desired.

NOTE: hummus will get both less liquidy and less garlicky over time. If you like your hummus firmer, and your garlic mellower, make hummus at least a day ahead and refrigerate until you're ready to eat it.

Brand new blog

I am not an intuitive cook.

Occasionally I'll try to get the better of my non-intutive self and throw things - cumin, chopped-up basil leaves, dried cranberries, lemon zest, wheat germ - into a skillet and hope for the best. Only it's never the best. Usually it's barely edible.

I have come to terms with my lack of intuition in the kitchen. I have embraced it. I buy cookbooks and get recipes from people who cook and occasionally, in desperation, look up recipes online. And I'm not a bad cook. If you can follow directions, you can cook. There's really not that much creativity involved.

This blog is dedicated to people like me, who wouldn't know "a pinch" or "to taste" if it bit them on the chopping knife.

Happy cooking, with directions. :c)