This past December, D got me an ice cream maker for Hanukkah. "So that you'll have a way to make us ice cream when summer rolls around." That D's pretty smart: ice cream makers are much cheaper in the dead of winter, but summer inevitably returned, and now tubs of ice cream line our freezer. What flavors, you ask? Well, currently we have wild honey, raspberry sorbet, apricot sorbet, and this here plum that I'm getting ready to tell you about. I've had some lovely organic plums in my fridge for a couple weeks. Most of them I took for lunch, but something had to be done with the rest. I'd gone back and forth between stone fruit crisp and plum tart tatin, until I remembered that The Perfect Scoop was sitting on my bookshelf, gathering dust. Sure enough, David Lebovitz had included in it a recipe for plum ice cream; the fate of my plumlings was decided.

Here's the thing about fruit ice creams: they're not chocolate. Now don't you vanilla fans jump on me all at once — I appreciate a good bowl of white. (Scratch that: off-white. If it's vanilla, it has to be custard-based, in my humble-o.) But people, chocolate and I are exclusive. We're in love. And that's just how it is. So you can understand why fruit ice cream has always seemed a little, well, not-quite-right to me — that is, until I made some myself. Plum ice cream is stupendous! Wonderfully creamy, sweet and tart, with all the assets of stone fruit and of ice cream in one. I'm a little obsessed.

With plums at every farmers' market in town, now's the time to try this one out.
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If you're anything like me, your fridge is swimming with zucchini and corn, your counters teeming with beautiful tomatoes. Not that I'm complaining, mind you — I wouldn't dare, with summer produce this close to done — I'm just saying, I've got three bumper crops and I don't even have a garden. What's a girl to do?

Not fret, that's for sure. I've found countless] great sources for ideas to use up the big three. Not to mention the inner-workings of my own crazy imagination…which led to this summer vegetable (and fish) stew. The fish in () because it's optional. (Not that everything in this recipe isn't optional — hell, you could change the stew entirely for all I care — but I've been told by my friends that I need to be more assertive and instructive, less "just do what you want"ish. I'm trying.) You want to know a secret? I didn't plan on making this a fish stew at all. I planned on making braised zucchini-ratatouille dish, then pan-frying some turbot fillets and laying them nicely on top. All went as planned, until I flipped my fillets (which were doing beautifully in a generous helping of browned butter). I'd hoped for them to have a nice, crisp browned crust, but instead the grains had separated and stuck to the bottom of the pan and it didn't look pretty at all. For your sake — so that you wouldn't have to look at a picture of a yummy-ugly dish — I took the ratatouille, tossed it right back in the pan, and started spearing the fillets with my spatula to break them up a bit. As I finished them off in the ratatouille, they started to break down a bit, forming a nice-looking stew. I served the stew (to myself and D) with a slice of good, crusty sourdough, which proved ideal for mopping up the juices at the bottom of my bowl. What started as a mistake ended…quite nicely, if you ask me.
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I rarely title my posts with anything but the name of the recipe I'm posting — but this particular recipe is fabulous, and if I told you what it was called, I might scare you. Let's just say it's not your ordinary gaspacho. First off, it's white. As you might have guessed, cucumbers are definitely at play here, and they lend a wonderful fruity freshness that's key in offsetting…the other ingredients. Also in the mix are almonds that have been blanched, toasted, and ground, as well as rustic bread that's been soaked in water and blended to thicken the soup. And that other ingredient, you ask? Buttermilk. Don't freak out.

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Until two nights ago, I'd never made a portobello burger. Hard to believe, I know. It's, like, the simplest thing to make. Like, ever. And yet I somehow managed to make chocolate pretzels, potato foccacia, even Buche De Noel before getting around to this dead-simple dinner. Well, we've remedied that, folks, yes we have — and it certainly won't be the last time I do it. Some facts about portobello burgers: they're freakin' easy. And tasty. Did I mention easy? Oh, and they're uber-versatile. Like last night, for example, D ate hers as she would a normal burger: pickles, honey mustard, tomato, bbq sauce. I had mine like a true snob: taleggio cheese, avocado, heirloom tomato, pesto, on ciabatta bread. Delicious either way, we'll both assure you. And really, took approximately 8 minutes to cook. I don't have a grill or grill pan, but I used a very hot castiron pan and it did the trick.

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If I may say so myself, tonight was a smashing success. A whole day into my challenge and I'm still thrilled that I took it on! On the menu this evening was kalamata olive sourdough bread from the market, homemade eggplant caponata, and greens with heirloom tomatoes, feta, and red onions that I pickled in fresh-squeezed lime juice till they turned a beautiful shade of purple.

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