Life is changing a lot–unlike my friends in Texas, who have endured nearly three months of 100+ temperatures, I can feel the fall moving into North Country. It starts with a subtle gust of cooler wind, whirling at my feet. I hear a few more crows cry, and the smell in the air changes a little. It’s not electric yet, but that’s coming. We still have warm, golden afternoons. The wildflowers and hay are high, the leathery day lilies just beginning to wrinkle. The next few months are my favorite time of year, especially in this part of the world. Home.

Moving is difficult. I haven’t written about it: there were so many emotions, and I didn’t know what to say. Christopher and I spent four years making a home, building our own village, and then suddenly–albeit at our own discretion–the place and the people faded in the rearview mirror. We packed up our books, our rugs, our bed. Our belongings were skillfully arranged on the truck like Tetris bricks, set to be carried along thousands of miles of highway.

We drove through Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia, Pennsylvania then up to New York and Connecticut. The moving van lagged behind, picking up other homes en route. I lay in bed at night in motels with florescent lights shining through grey curtains, itching from stiff sheets. My belly ached and my head spun from too many sweets at Cracker Barrel. I thought about our home… where we lived after we got married, where we collected books and made meals and memories. It unnerved me to think of our things in boxes, rumbling along some unknown highway. We couldn’t get more than an estimate on what day the movers would arrive. They said, “We’ll call when we’re close.”

My parents live in Connecticut, and we stayed with them, waiting for the call. In the meantime, I grounded myself in the kitchen. I love what the land offers in late-summer. Eggplants, squash, tomatoes, maize and fruits became ratatouille, corn salad, blueberry crumbles, peach pies. Still, there were monarchs in my stomach. For over a week, my whole life was up in the air, (or out on the road) and I had no idea what it would be like where I landed.

Well, it’s quite nice here. Our house is small and cozy. Right now I want to stay forever, although that, too could evolve. I’ll miss these summer squash as the September breezes blow in and clear the fields for something new. But I can’t wait for the apples.

Raw Zucchini and Sun Gold Salad

Serves 2 as a side-dish or stater

Slice 1 medium zucchini and 1 medium summer squash into matchsticks.

Cut 1 c Sun Gold or cherry tomatoes into halves.

Make a vinaigrette (reserve extra) and coat zucchini, squash and tomaotes generously, letting them marinate at least 15 minutes.

Toast 1/3 c pine nuts.

Pit and chop 1/2 c black olives.

Chop 2 oz feta into small blocks or crumbles.

Chop 1 large bunch of herbs (I like parsley or basil).

Wash, dry and chop 6 c of greens (optional).

Just before serving, toss greens in enough vinaigrette to coat. Lay zucchini and tomato mixture on top.

Add cheese and olives and sprinkle herbs to garnish.

Add pine nuts last, preserving their crunch.

I am enamored with raw zucchini. I love the stuff, why hide it? Some people bake it into bread, (which is one of my favorite things to eat, no doubt) some into cookies. I haven’t seen a zucchini ice cream, but I have seen it crystalized as a cake topper. If you are sick of summer squash, there are limitless ways of serving it secretly… tucking it neatly into something else and feeding it to folks without saying so. Or candying it and brandishing it as ribbons and bows on a frosting-wrapped cake.

I find that the secret to eating it unabashedly uncooked is slicing it thin. If you get it with a mandoline, or cut it into tiny matchsticks, zucchini absorbs the flavor of what you put with it and isn’t overpowering. In my case, it most often becomes a delightfully crunchy vehicle for Parrano cheese and toasted pine nuts. If you haven’t tried Parrano cheese, brace yourself: it is the slickest baby Parmesan and Gouda could have—smooth, sweet, salty, slightly sharp. Yes, it really is all of those things.

This can be served with lettuce or without, although I find that a bed of greens acts as a nice cradle for drippy vinaigrette. Lettuce helps in preventing a plate from puddle-ing up. I could see this sliced zucchini served on top of cold quinoa or wild rice, in which case the leaves would be unnecessary.

Also- somewhere during my summer squash romance, Christopher and I packed up our entire house and moved it from Texas to Vermont. (The zucchini is equally good in both places, although I feel like I’ve cheated the seasons: summer squash, tomatoes, corn and other hot-weather wonders started appearing in May down south, while they’re just cresting here.) This picture was taken as one of our last lonestar meals, and the camera is at large, so please use your imagination to picture how beautiful this salad can be. Now that I’m settled, there’s more zucchini to come.

Raw Zucchini Salad with Parrano and Toasted Pine Nuts

Serves 2 as a generous appetizer, 4 as a side-dish

For the Dressing

Combine 2 teaspoons of dijon mustard with 6 tablespoons of champagne or white vinegar.

Add 2 teaspoons of honey, a dash of salt and a crack of pepper.

Add 1 tablespoon of finely chopped parsley.

Stir to combine.

Slowly, drizzle in ¾ c of olive oil until emulsified.

Set aside. (You will likely have enough for tomorrow.)

For the Zucchini

Slice 1 zucchini and 1 summer squash into think strips, preferably with a mandoline. Cut into 3” pieces.

In a medium bowl, pour enough dressing over the zucchini to coat.

Let this marinate in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

Just before serving, thinly slice ½ c Parrano cheese and toast ½ c pine nuts.

If using lettuce, coat greens lightly in dressing in your serving bowl.

In their bowl, toss zucchini and summer squash with cheese.

Place zucchini in a serving dish, (possibly over greens) and garnish with toasted pine nuts.

What can you do with a zucchini to make it appealing seventy-five days in a row? Or really, what can’t you do? I sauté with a variety of sauces and different combinations of onion, shallot, garlic and herb. I grill, I roast. Have you tried Barbara Kingsolver’s chocolate chip cookies with zucchini? The produce is virtually inscrutable except for the telltale strips of bright green skin woven through the crumbs. Grated zucchini baked into bread adds moisture and texture and goes especially well with almond extract and slivered almonds. Trust me.

It will be a sad day for me when summer squash stops appearing. It’s still a month away, here in warm-weather Houston, but with all I’ve said, you can imagine that my diet will change pretty drastically when that time comes.I might also add, however, that sometimes I get a little over-eager. Maybe I don’t need to buy five summer squash and five zucchini at a time. Sometimes I use them all very quickly—especially when I eat at home every night—but sometimes they don’t go so fast, in which case, soup is the best remedy.

This curried zucchini soup came courtesy of one of Martha Stewart’s many publications. I have a friend who gives me hand-me-downs of her magazines, which I peruse over dinner. (Somehow eating always seems like the ideal time to start thinking about eating again.) A few nights ago I came across this recipe, which appealed to me for several reasons. First, I had bought more zucchini than I could comfortably fit inside me in the near-term. Second, I like to make soups that can be served hot or cold. I never know what I’ll be in the mood for at the end of the day.

I’ve garnished this a few ways since making it, including with roasted peppitos, avocado slices and a tablespoon of queso fresco. I’ve also eaten it both hot and cold, strained and chunky. It holds up beautifully any way you serve it, and I have to say, nothing accompanies this soup better than a glass of very cold, very dry white wine. Spicy curry gets cut all the right ways by Sauvignon Blanc, especially the 2007 Cade, which is my favorite, at least while our supply lasts. It may be that wine is the only thing I’ve consumed more of this summer than zucchini. Sad as I am to see this combination go, I look forward to the next iteration… acorn squash and pinot noir.

Curried Zucchini Soup

Serves 4

Adapted from Martha Stewart

1 T olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

2 t Coarse salt (or to taste)

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 t curry powder

4 c vegetable broth

3 medium zucchini (or a combo of zucchini and summer squash) sliced 1” thick

1 baking potato, peeled and cut into 1” pieces

Avocado and cilantro for garnish

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Heat oil in a large saucepan.

Add onion and 1 salt and cook until soft, about 5 minutes over medium heat.

Add garlic and curry powder and cook about a minute more, stirring occasionally.

Add zucchini, potato, and 4 cups vegetable broth.

Bring to a boil; reduce heat, and simmer until vegetables are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.

In batches, puree soup until smooth.

Serve hot, or let cool, and refrigerate in an airtight container until chilled.

Garnish with avocado slices and cilantro.

Perhaps it was served to you. Perhaps you made it. Either way, if you’re looking for some help putting away all of those eggplants, zucchinis and basil bunches popping up in your garden just about now, then welcome. This is all about how to avoid lifeless ratatouille—from a gal who has had (and made) her fair share of both good and bad varieties. Before I launch into the finest recipe for ratatouille I’ve discovered, let me first admit that I hate recipes. The raison d’être of this blog, is in fact, my distaste for recipes—especially where things like ratatouille are concerned.

When I started this site, I wanted to create a place where it would be OK to riff a bit, because, even after years of cooking, I never fail to look at a recipe and wonder what I can change about it. When I open a cookbook, I glance at the ingredients, jot them down, and proceed to modify the steps involved to suit my fancy. Often this happens much later in the game—as in, when things are already simmering, boiling or stewing. There are always, always, at least two or three aspects of a recipe that I don’t appreciate and am not interested in following, and sometimes I change my mind at the last minute.

Because of this particular character trait, (good cooks would likely call it a major character flaw) I’ve made some pretty wilted ratatouilles in summers past. Nothing is worse than overcooked vegetables. Except, perhaps, wasting pounds of good produce. But still, every garden yields different results, every farmer’s market has different colors and shapes to offer. I can’t just follow every detail of a prescribed dish… at times like these, it’s actually impractical. That said, I’ve learned that some rules cannot be broken: when we cook, and especially when we bake, there are processes to abide. The trick is knowing where you can improvise, and where you must honor the author’s wisdom. I really do believe that once you learn some basic techniques—both in cooking and in baking—you can execute something right, but add your own touches as you go. That is the dream, at least.

Alice Water’s advice from “The Art of Simple Food,” was a great jumping off point for my summer stew ambitions in 2006—the year I finally got ratatouille right. Despite what I’ve said about her in the past, Waters does a slightly ingenious thing in the layout of her books: she lists the ingredients of her dishes with the steps in between. That way, you go along, adding things in clearly laid out steps, rather than staring at a long ingredient list separate from an even longer list of directions—which is, unfortunately, the way I write my recipes. Oh dear. Anyway, it was exactly this style of authorship that illustrated the importance of steps in the ratatouille process—even if you vary your ingredients a bit. Sometimes I feel like using different herbs, more onions, fewer peppers, a new type of zucchini, etc. etc.

Waters’ recipe allowed me to experiment while honoring the integrity of the flavor and consistency of fresh vegetables. In other words, she made my dreams come true. No wilted zucchini, no pulverized eggplant, no rubbery tomatoes resulted when I proceeded in a certain way—even if I did make my own substitutions. Ultimately, dear Alice taught me a great lesson: it all boils down to the order of things.

You must cook the eggplant first, then remove it, allowing it to soak up enough olive oil to have flavor and heft, but protecting it from your whirling wooden spoon and from the hard-bodied peppers and squash that might otherwise turn it into mash during the cooking process. Then, you must add onions; garlic and herbs; peppers; zucchini and tomatoes in that order, as it coincides with how long each vegetable will take to cook down to an equivalent consistency. When you’ve done it right, each vegetable will retain its integrity, suspended in a warm, salty and basil-tasting tomato sauce.

Finally, something all good cooks know, but that must be said: make sure that all of the pieces of produce you put in the pot are equal in size. That will ensure even cooking even if your ingredients are varied in consistency.

Le voila, un ratatouille parfait… there are so many possible versions, but a few essential steps.

Classic Ratatouille

Serves 6-8

Adapted from “The Art of Simple Food”

(Do this in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. Cut ALL vegetables into ½ inch pieces.)

3 Italian eggplant, sliced, salted and left to drain 20 minutes
Large can San Marzano tomatoes
2 chopped, red onions
4 tbsp olive oil, divided (plus more if necessary)
6 diced cloves of garlic
20 basil leaves, divided
1 tsp red chili flakes
2 chopped peppers (red, yellow, green or orange)
5 summer squash or zucchini (mix and match as you choose)
Additional herbs of your choice

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Sauté eggplant in 2 tbsp olive oil until tender and golden, about 10 minutes.
Use juice from the canned tomatoes to deglaze pan, scraping brown bits into the eggplant mixture as you cook them—chances are they will start to brown the pan before they are cooked, and you don’t want to burn them or lose the flavor of the brown bits. Once cooked, transfer eggplant to a bowl.

Pour remaining tablespoons of olive oil into the pan to sauté onions. Cook until golden and translucent, about 8 minutes.

Add garlic, about 10 basil leaves and red chili flakes to the onions and stir a few minutes.

Add chopped peppers and cook until just softened, stirring constantly.

Add zucchini, and cook until golden and just softened, stirring constantly.

Add remaining tomato juice and tomatoes.

Season with herbs of your choice (or just salt and pepper) and cook another 3 minutes.

Add eggplant and cook another 10 minutes until vegetables are soft, but not insubstantial. If some remain too al dente, cover pot and simmer a few extra minutes.

As a side note, I like to serve this with a grilled cheese sandwich, preferably one made from Anima goat-cheese Gruyère on a toasted French baguette. For those of us working without a Panini maker, it’s easy enough to flatten out a thick sandwich like this between two piping hot skillets and a couple of pats of butter.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for a Tuesday afternoon at home. There' s really something heavenly about being the only one in the house when the light is just softening—surprising the dog with the turn of a key, not generally heard until well after six.

It really does feel like a vacation, stealing away just past midday. Actually, it felt like I was playing hooky: a combination of guilt and gusto that ended in pure self-satisfaction. The afternoon light is especially remarkable during the weekdays, I think. If I' m ever home on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, I' ll forget to notice how the sun turns from midday to evening. Taking time for granted is part of the luxury of those two days.

But to have a Tuesday, private, quiet, lost in my thoughts and with the soft silver sun on the dining room table—it was enough to make me wonder, “What food shall I use to commemorate this moment?”Well actually, I' d known all along. I' d been thinking of some dense, hearty slices as I rounded the corner from the final intersection home; I' d been imagining some sweet almond flavor as I pulled into the driveway; I' d been envisioning myself biting into a slivered almond as I opened the door and stepped over the threshold. I was thinking of freshly baked zucchini bread, made the night before.

I settled down with my napkin, bread lot and a cup of mint tea. I sipped and stared out the window at the wood fence, enjoying this silent, private thrill. It was absolutely invigorating to be so quiet: until, of course, I felt asleep. Yes sir, I did. Right on the big brown couch in the living room, right in front of the picture window, where tourists on their way to the museum could peep in and see me…another private thrill. And all the while, I drooled on the throw pillows and dreamed of zucchini bread. Yes sir, I did.

I' ve been making a variety of healthy breads for an ice cream shop that will be opening here in Houston. This trial loaf was zucchini almond, and because I can' t help myself, and want everyone to have a piece of late-afternoon delight (with or without the being at home part) I' m sharing the recipe. Remarkably, it' s made with wheat flour—though not entirely—and has very little fat. A good thing, too, because I ate most of the loaf.

Zucchini Almond Bread

2 grated zucchini, or enough for two cups
¾ c white flour
¼ c whole wheat flour
1.5 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp salt
¾ c white sugar
1 tsp almond extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 bananas, mashed completely (or 1 c worth)
2 eggs, beaten
¼ cup slivered almonds, divided

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Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9×5 inch bread pan.

Grate and drain (squeezing by hand over a sink) 2 cups-worth of zucchini.

In a large bowl, mix flour, baking soda, baking powder and cinnamon.

In an even larger bowl, mix salt, vanilla, almond, eggs, sugar and bananas.

Slowly add dry mixture to wet, being careful not to over-blend.

Add zucchini and half of the almonds, stirring until just incorporated.

Pour into baking dish; sprinkle remaining almonds on top and bake for 45 minutes or so.

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Serves 8.

15 minutes active time; 45 minutes to bake.

This bread will be moist and dense. If you find it too wet, leave it in for 50-55 minutes—the bananas tend to slow the cooking time. If you' d prefer a full-fat loaf, replace the bananas with canola oil. You can also use grated apples or carrots in place of zucchini, and substitute whatever spices or nuts you prefer. Use more baking powder when dealing with wet mix-ins like apple and zucchini.

I recommend using both yellow squash and zucchini for added color—I made this as a side dish for a dinner of about 10 and used 4 of each. Adjust the recipe to any sized group.

Caramelize onions. * In the meantime, slice squash and zucchini into diagonal discs, about ½ inch thick. * When onions are finished, add more butter and oil to sauté pan. * Lay squash and zucchini slices down on skillet, without overlapping. * Add salt, pepper or other seasonings you like—a few fresh thyme leaves work well. * Sauté until golden, then flip with a spatula. * Repeat. * When finished with the first batch, lay slices flat on baking sheet in warm oven. * Repeat entire process until finished. * To serve, mix zucchini and squash with onion and lay thin slices of fresh, Parmesan cheese on top.

NB: These photos show grated cheese as well as zucchini and squash that were tossed with onions before cooking.

I went to my standby cookbook for a basic recipe—which calls for your usual dough making staples: all purpose flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, salt, baking powder, etc. I grated 2 cups of zucchini for that batch, set aside my grandmother' s favorite ingredients and then started to think about what I could replace them with.

Here is the original zucchini recipe I used, which Grandma WOULD NOT have deviated from:

*1¼ c all purpose flour*1 tsp baking soda*1 tsp baking powder* ¼ tsp cinnamon, all whisked.* In a separate bowl, 2 large eggs (pre-beaten)* ½ c vegetable oil*1tsp vanilla* ¾ c regular sugar* ½ tsp salt mixed thoroughly together.*2c grated zucchini (juice squeezed out) and 1 ½ c chopped pecans. (The recipe says ground, but I like chunks.)* Mix the dry ingredients into the wet bowl, and once the dough is mixed, blend the zucchini and pecans with a few, quick strokes.* Bake in a greased bread pan, at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes.

It was hard not to eat half of that batter raw. The stuff really is delicious.

But in honor of my Celiac belly and my family' s history with diabetes, I decided to do some tweaking. Here' s how it went:

*1c spelt flour, plus ½ c soy flour*1 tsp baking soda*1 tsp baking powder* ¼ tsp cinnamon, all whisked.*In a separate bowl, 2 large eggs (pre-beaten)* 1 medium banana, mashed with my hands (which equaled ½ c)*1 tsp. vanilla* ½ c unsweetened apple sauce plus ¼ c local honey*1/2 tsp salt mixed thoroughly together. 2c grated zucchini (also juice-less) and 1 ½ c chopped pecans.* Mix wet and dry ingredients, then add the zucchini and nuts with a few quick strokes.*Same pan, same temp, same time.

This dough was not as sweet, and was considerably darker. I wondered if it would rise. Then I wondered, if it rose, would it turn rock hard without the gluten? Neither fear was realized. In fact, my version is moister and, in my opinion, tastes like mother earth and not some industrialized sugar-making factory. But that' s just my opinion.

The short of it is this: replace the white flour with something unrefined; (but not exclusively soy flour, or it won' t rise) replace the sugar with ½ c unsweetened applesauce plus ¼ c local honey; replace the oil with 1 medium banana.

The healthy version of this bread will trick your taste buds. It’s really terrific. I will probably polish off the loaf before lunch. If you yearn for more wholesome baking, have a look at a the “Baking Healthy” section of the Baking Web Guide I wrote a while back. Or, if you just love the standard American zucchini bread recipe, I can vouch for that, too.

For a long time, I refused peaches entirely. I thought the little hairs of their skin got stuck in my chin like fine needles. I was afraid that I would get a rash from the prickly stubble of their thin, tearable skin. (Downed with light brown.) I plucked nectarines from the grocery bins, and avoided their paler neighbors. Now I realize, that is not it at all. That is not what I meant at all.

It was merely the sugar juice, dried on my chin. Not needles or hairs at all. I wonder when the nectarines come back, will they have the same effect? Will they be half as good as these forbidden peaches, that fell from a tree this morning and made their way into the cup of my palm, to the pit of my pit?

I smelled the bag when I got home. I stuffed my face into the brown paper darkness and inhaled until I was dizzy. It smelled like a wide open summertime field, that little corner on my kitchen counter. And when I emerged from the sack, high as a kite on the scent of July, I really did feel glad to be a Texan. I’ll have an extra month (or two or three!) of these young, juicy things. Before autumn comes and I wonder “will it all have been worthwhile?” falling in love with the fruit of the summer–only to face the white haired waves of winter roll over the dormant fields?

Yes. I will be happy with winter squash in lieu of fiddleheads and zephyrs. I will not have an existential crisis, and picture myself an old man, drowned by human voices. These photos are from today’s farmer’s market, where I fondly remembered a high school English teacher’s love of blueberry picking. She also loves Proofrock and peaches. Here’s to you, Beas.