[Cobbler, before the oven, July 2008.]

Well, that was an inauspicious 4th. I baked brownies, zipped up my jacket tight against the chilly breeze, wished for a sun that never made an appearance, and took them to a party where I ate: grilled veggie burgers, cupcakes, and quesadillas (not necessarily in that order). I had one (1) beer (Sierra Nevada) and eventually came home to eat more sweets and tumble into the couch to avidly watch three episodes of ‘Rome’ — I guess I have a thing for period dramas on HBO and elsewhere, because I am now hooked and impatiently awaiting the Netflix delivery of Season 2. During a break in the action we took our glasses of wine up the roof in an attempt to catch the fireworks but alas! It is San Francisco and July nights are foggy and cool. I could hear them thumping along somewhere near the bay, but I certainly couldn’t see them.

As I bemoaned earlier today, weekends seem to pass too quickly. Though I had some work-y type stuff to do, including cooking and photographing some dishes for a story I’m working on, there were also a few days of sleeping in, a few runs in the sunshine, a yoga class, lots of HBO, some socializing, some hours lazing on the couch — enough so, that I feel like I need about 10 more days to really sink into that weekend-feeling. But now it is Monday again, back to work again, back to racing to meet deadlines again. To help sweeten this return to reality, however, I have a nearly-whole cobbler waiting for me at home and rumors of a hot spell set to descend upon the Bay Area, bringing with it a few days of real summer.

I made two cobblers last year for Independence Day (when I lugged a lot of food up to Sebastopol and attempted to grill on a mini barbecue and drank vodka-lemonades with home made basil-infused syrup against the pressing heat); perhaps it’s becoming a July 4th tradition? And since cobblers have their roots both in England and early America (I just learned, thanks to our old friend wikipedia, that cobblers baked in a cast-iron pan are called ‘grunts’ or ’slumps’ which makes my weekend variety more than just mere ‘cobbler’) I think whipping one up around the 4th is mighty appropriate.

My Saturday morning farmers’ market yielded a lot of peaches, nectarines and blueberries, so I decided those would form the base of my cobbler, sweetened with just a bit of turbinado sugar (because my market was out of organic sugar in the bulk bin, darn it) and layered with some slivered almonds for crunch. The biscuits perched atop were thick and tangy with buttermilk (and thankfully not too sweet) and so simple to throw together. This recipe is bit more rich than the one I made last year but I think it’s a worthy option, though I the next time I’d try a teaspoon of vanilla and some lemon zest to perk up the topping and give it a bit more depth. But those biscuits do bake up wonderfully fluffy and light, and the fruit underneath melts into them just so …

At any rate, it’s hard to argue with a warm bowl of fruit and cake topped with ice cream (or whipped cream) — it just might become my (summer) weekend steady.

Summer fruit cobbler
I think any sort of in-season fruit would be delicious here — experiment! I plan to use blackberries later next month when they’re in season.

For the filling:
2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries
2 nectarines, sliced
2 peaches, sliced
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1 cup sugar

For the biscuits:
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 Tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 Tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2 cups buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Slice the fruit and put in a cast iron skillet. Add the cup of sugar and almonds and toss well to combine.

Mix the dried ingredients together in a large bowl. Cut in the butter in pieces, crumbling it in until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the buttermilk, mixing just enough to combine. Drop the dough in an even layer over the fruit and place the pan in the oven. Bake for about 30 to 45 minutes until the fruit is bubbly and the biscuits and lightly browned.

Serves 8, preferably with vanilla ice cream.

[First g&t of the summer, June 2008.]

Aaaaaah. That was nice. I was only out of the city for a few days, but man, it was needed, and wonderful.

This weekend I: went to the beach; read the New York Times Sunday section, for once; learned to like brussels sprouts; remembered I actually do like peas, especially when they’re not overcooked, and turn up bright green against a plate; drank a lot of tea; baked and ate chocolate cupcakes; had home-grown plums that were the best I’ve had in probably a year; talked about urban gardening (and also hunting for your year’s supply of meat, but that’s another story); entreated an Israeli cat to sit with me; will now consider baking banana-bran muffins; played with a dog until we were both ready to drop with exhaustion, except then another one came along and we played even more (black Labradors and goldens just own me, I swear); laughed a lot; slept deeply and quietly; toasted my toes by a fire in the early morning; forgot for just a little bit that I live in a city.

I do love San Francisco — I was born here, after all, even if I was whisked away to Sonoma County a few days later — but I’m a country girl at heart. I need the still, deep quiet of the woods as I fall asleep and the clamor of birds when I wake up in the morning. I don’t think I’d even mind getting up with the sun (or rather, light, as this is Northern California and we’re often socked in with fog until well near noon) because the air would smell so good (as my friend and I discussed Friday night, it’s all bay leaves and good earth and water with a faint layer of salt off the ocean drifting in) and I’d probably go to bed early enough. I have a dream some day of living in a place where I can access the coast easily, with lots of trees and grass all around me, with stacks of books for reading and stacks of paper for writing on, and a radio tuned to the classical music station for inspiration and calm.

[Hemlock, Olema Marsh, Pt. Reyes National Seashore, June 2008.]

Sunday night, after a dinner that was so good for its simplicity (except for the roast beef, which I didn’t eat, there were mostly vegetables: a dish of steamed brussels sprouts and peas; roasted carrots and parsnips with butter; roasted potatoes; little Yorkshire puddings; leftover cheese tortellini for me; glasses of Ravenswood Zin) we went down the road a ways to pick what my friend called ‘thimbleberries’ and which I like to describe as a cross between a blackberry and a strawberry. Sweet, red, and, yes, somewhat resembling a thimble, they were growing in the wild tangle of trees and brush that hadn’t been cut back yet for the season. I love being in the woods when dusk is coming down; the birds are singing and calling to each other sleepily, and the world turns pale and grey against the trees.

We took the dogs with us and I must confess I was more occupied with talking to and throwing sticks for them rather than picking berries (not to mention, avoiding the poison oak). But luckily enough were procured so that when we walked back up the steep climb to the house we were able to add them to about a cup of mixed berries that had been left out in the kitchen to defrost, and then we made a sort of ersatz crumble (just the berries, no extra sugar, with a bit of granola and butter spread over the top, and then baked for 20 minutes). Along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, a spoonful of those warm berries and oats almost helped me forget I had to go in to work the next day.

So tonight, in the spirit of summer, and with thoughts of vacation in not-too-long, I am making the first corn on the cob of summer, along with a a big green salad, slabs of tofu baked in a peanutty-lemon sauce, and roasted new potatoes with just one carrot sliced in half, and then lengthwise, drizzled all over with olive oil and salt. I like to roast the carrot until its edges get a bit blackened and carmelized; that’s when I know it’s done, and should be eaten in long, dripping slices. This weekend there are plans for a barbecue (brownies; veggie burgers; beer — it is always defined for me by the food I will bring), perhaps a visit to the Legion of Honor for the Women Impressionists exhibit, working on a few things due early (so early!) next week, and also a yoga class, because it’s been too long.

It will be a very city weekend, which will be nice. But you can bet I’m planning on a few nights camped under the stars (or fog, as the case may be) at the end of July, out at my beloved Wildcat Camp. This time I’ll have to up the ante on what things I cook — some vegetable fajitas, perhaps, or a more elaborate breakfast. I’ll stretch out in my sleeping bag and take a deep breath of that sweet, smoky, sea-smelling air and hope the next day will be full of sun (once, it was so hot we were even able to swim, letting the waves tumble and bruise us back onto the beach). I’ll chase skunks and watch deer and read whatever book I’ve decided to lug the 6.5 miles out there, and there will be no place in the world I’d rather be.

I love summer.

[Cake for a barbecue, June 2008.]

Update: still sickish, though somewhat improving. Thanks for all the well-wishes! Crankiness level is reaching astronomical proportions, however; please send help. And chocolate.

I’m a creature of habit, it’s true. Sometimes, in the interest of creativity, or just plain boredom, I try a new recipe — even if I have one on file I’ve used lots of times before, because I feel like I Should. And, as in the case of last year’s pineapple upside-down cake, I can regret it, and wish I’d stuck with my old familiar. If I get stuck in a rut (and it’s quite clear I do, with all of my cupcake-baking, and simple stirfries of chickpeas and greens, or easy tomato sauces, and and and) perhaps it’s not so bad if the results taste so good.

Case in point: I volunteered to bake a dessert for our work barbecue this week, and so decided, what with all the cheap and delicious stone fruit coming in to the markets, I’d make my classic summer fruit upside down cake which came to me by way of williams-sonoma.com in the original form of a cranberry upside-down cake. There’s just something about this cake that lends itself to all sorts of permutations: it’s simple, buttery, and manages to be airy and rich at the same time, laced liberally with vanilla and lightened with a bit of cake flour. It’s the perfect base for any sort of fruit — I’ve also made it with cherries and last summer used nectarines and plum slices (this time I used white peaches and nectarines). Left to rest overnight, the fruit settles more comfortably into the cake, and the butter-brown-sugar layer binds it all together ever so gently.

Unfortunately, there were no leftovers.

Other things we ate (and yes, this was at work because San Franciscans are, as my coworker said, the wee-est bit food obsessed): grilled pork loin, grilled chicken, Kosher hot dogs (OK, I didn’t eat this), veggie burgers, veggie sausages, grilled corn with garlic-butter, grilled asparagus also with the garlic-butter, fruit salad, green salad, cookies, sangria, various potato and pasta salads, fresh vegetable platter, chips and guacamole.

This pesky cold does not seem to have affected my appetite too much, although with that kind of a spread you really do have to eat lightly out of self preservation.

[Summer fruit cake, June 2008.]

Today in the city the air is slightly smoky, a result of the fires burning up north and possibly even to the south as well. I would like to close my eyes and imagine that I am camping out at Wildcat, or just sitting round a driftwood fire after a good dinner, but all I can really do is hope the firefighters so bravely battling the flames will be OK, and that the fires are out just as soon as possible. Summer in Northern California is so dry, and is often marked by wildfires. I doubt I’ll ever get used to it.

Ironically, the first time I ever went camping, in the Armstrong redwoods, it rained. Nevertheless, my brother and I were so excited to sleep out-of-doors (those backyard nights spent in tents were of course very fun, but it was the backyard) we didn’t care (my parents might tell a different story). That weekend wasn’t just a drizzly one, either; the rain picked up during the night and we woke up to a waterlogged tent, muddy ground — and the most beautiful, ethereal mist drifting through the trees. I’ll never forget that; the sun is lovely, and a dry, crisp morning lovelier still, but there is something magical about being in the woods in the rain. Sounds are quieter, the birds are calmer. The water makes drips slowly off the trees and the sky feels closer.

[Sun through the trees, Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, June 2008.]

Most of my subsequent camping and backpacking trips have occurred during better weather (in truth, the outdoors is a bit less magical when your sleeping bag is sodden and you’re slogging along through the mud), though on one trip to the Yosemite back country we hiked through snow (in early July!) and woke up in the night to the soft patter of rain on the tent. Some summers I have been lucky enough to camp along the coast during a heat wave, which means swimming in the freezing ocean if the surf is not too rough. An afternoon spent on the edge of the Pt. Reyes National Seashore, after a good 6-mile hike in, with a container of freshly filtered water and a book is something I can never get enough of. There are few things that make me happier than to sleep early and wake with the sound of the Pacific thrumming in my ears, that quiet ocean roar against the sand (of course, I’ll also take the wind in the high mountains as an adequate substitute).

I’ve been to the redwoods and West Marin (and the Sierras) for camping trips more times than I can count, but each time I go I feel as though I learn something new. A trail may be more rocky, a meadow more smooth, a tide pool laid bare for exploring, a tree tipped over unexpectedly. At home, I may bake a favorite recipe twice in one week, but each time it holds its own surprises (in the case of this particular cake, I’d never used that fruit combination, and it bears repeating).

So this creature of habit can’t complain too much if her little repetitions are so satisfying — also see: summers at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk riding the Giant Dipper over and over (and over) without ever getting sick of it — whether they concern camping, or cakes.

I would like to call a do-over on this weekend. I had plans to sleep in, bake some muffins, go to yoga, go to Pt. Reyes, make some phone calls, enjoy some of the deliciously hot weather … but I was waylaid, unexpectedly, by some sort of cold/flu/unpleasantness that has kept me downing Cold Care tea and alternately reading and napping. Even my appetite has mostly disappeared, which, when that happens, I know I am really under the weather, no fooling. I would like another chance, please.

However, there is always room for a little something, n’est-ce pa? Friday was hot all day and I felt almost as though I was living on the East Coast again; when I walked to catch my bus home at 4 p.m. it was 94 degrees in the Financial District. Yes, that’s 94. I could probably count on one hand the number of afternoons San Francisco reaches such temperatures during the course of the year, so suffice it say, it was a bit, um, warm. So I made for dinner something summery and simple: a quick saute of chopped asparagus and sliced mushrooms, in a good amount of vegetable broth, with ladles of pasta water from the whole wheat spaghetti I was cooking on the other burner. When all was cooked to my liking, I drained the pasta, placed it in a large bowl, dumped the vegetables and some olive oil into it, and mixed well. A bit of black pepper and salt finished it off. I ate mine topped with some fresh mozzarella and parmesan, but last night for leftovers it tasted just fine without any cheese at all.

Yesterday I don’t remember too much of because I was feeling quite not-myself; even the farmers’ market couldn’t cheer me up. I think I had toast, and some noodle soup from a package, and leftover Friday dinner. Oh, woe.

Today was a little better: a hot, brothy, peppery, salty bowl of red quinoa soup filled with chopped green beans, zuccini, corn, garlic, and carrots was my first — and probably will be every — meal. All I ever want when I’m sick is soup, and this one (probably because I didn’t have to make it myself) really hit the spot.

And then because I’m a little bit of a nut, I made vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting because I saw a gorgeous piece of cake on FP Daily and I had to have it, sick or no. I mean, wouldn’t you want cupcakes when you’re feeling weak and tired and icky and like all the tea in the world won’t make you feel better?

I think so.

But now baking has taken all my strength so I must return to my book, and bed, and hope for a bright and early restorative start in the morning.

[Cherries, June 2008.]

I must confess it’s mostly the little things that make up my quiet happinesses: a week of sun, waking up every day except Monday to warmth and light and summer; my near-daily americano, an indulgence at $2/per, with organic milk and sugar; a perfect peach, cut in long juicy slices for my breakfast; a surprise lunch meet-up yesterday (and Out the Door veggie rolls — thanks, mom!); learning something new from the A.P. style guide (it’s Smokey Bear not Smokey the Bear — who knew?); an unexpected new book stumbled over in the library, in this case The Secret River, by Kate Grenville, about settling Australia, and the aboriginal conflict that resulted. I’ll take vacations to exotic locales, but give me a long, lazy afternoon with a bowl of strawberries and a good book and I’ll be just as content.

Or, throw in one of the cherry muffins I made the other morning and a day will be elevated above the ordinary.

I’ve made muffins before — heck, I’ve written about them several times in both their vegan and non-vegan permutations — so I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep on Sunday morning or the residual red wine haze that made my most recent batch just that good, but I’d almost give up sleep on a regular basis if it would make me produce such perfection. Well, almost.

It’s no secret I like to throw a party — be it a dinner, a brunch, a late-afternoon tea. When I made my semi-traditional Father’s Day breakfast last weekend I remembered other, earlier breakfasts that were far simpler but no less enthralling for me, the cook. When I hardly knew how to turn on the burner on the stove I’d assemble trays of cereal ( Rice Crispies for mom; granola or Grape Nuts for dad), orange juice, sliced bananas, and, when I got a bit older, coffee. I love getting up early to surprise the recipient with breakfast; one of the first things I learned to make when I started to bake was fruit muffins, usually lightened with egg whites and non-fat milk for my dad’s low-fat diet. Over the years I experimented with versions of lower-fat coffee cakes or wheat-y apple loaves, but I think the most successful — and most delicious — were the muffins.

This weekend, because I’d bought a lot of cherries to make cherry ice cream for the birthday party, I decided to depart from my standard blueberry or raspberry muffins and make them with chopped cherries. Now, I’ve never made cherry muffins before — though I know they taste wonderful as a base for an upside-down cake — but I thought … well, why not? And they did — finer than fine, really. I’ve decided, finally, to invest in a cherry pitter because after pitting at least a pound of cherries by hand to make the ice cream, and then doing even more for the muffins, my fingers were stained and my hands a bit tired. Still, it was worth it for those muffins! We tried to figure out why they were just so good: perhaps because the fruit holds its integrity and doesn’t disintegrate into the batter like berries do? Or perhaps because of the little bit of cinnamon I added at the last minute? Or because I set the oven timer and actually paid attention for once?

I also made a frittata, a riff on the one I made last year, using the egg whites left over from the ice cream (to make the custard I only needed the yolks; yes, I patted myself on the back for not wasting anything) and a bunch of finely chopped vegetables: a portabello mushroom, baby spinach, asparagus, a red pepper. Again I left out the cheese in the interest of health, and again I was surprised at how good it was — it was better, even than last year, though I’m not sure why. That whole breakfast, really, was a bit extraordinary; this could just be my fatigue talking, but I had unprompted validation from my dining companions which, it must be admitted, the home cook cherishes more than almost anything else. Would you agree?

[Breakfast frittata, June 2008.]

A year ago today it was hot, too — I remember it clearly, because I woke up very early to sun out in Inverness and had a carrot-bran muffin for breakfast (again with the muffins!) and set out in the blazing sun (after lots of coffee) along the Tomales Point Trail from Pierce Point Ranch. I love the drive out to the starting point; the road winds through the cow fields and by Abbotts Lagoon and Kehoe Beach, the grasses rippling a bit like the sea over the hills. On that stolen day — I’d taken the day off from work — there was hardly anyone out there except the elk, and they were scattered along the trail in patches of brown and white. And then at the end, looking out over the bay and ocean, both, we saw whales in the distance, and the lighthouse.

What I would give to be out there today! The city today is warm and lovely — I can hear birds calling and chattering to themselves outside, and the breeze coming in through the open window is delicious — but I would like to be Away. My feet are positively itching to set themselves along a dirt path, with wildflowers bursting into profusion to my right and the Pacific winking and churning to my left. On this last day of spring I would like to toast my toes in the sunshine, and take a swim in the cold ocean.

Instead, I shall have to content myself with another cup of coffee, a muffin, and the knowledge that tomorrow is Friday, bringing with it two whole days off to do whatever I choose.

Cherry Muffins, adapted from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook

2 cups flour
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1 egg, slightly beaten
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 cup milk or soy milk
2 cups cherries, pitted and chopped

Preheat oven to 375 F. Grease muffin pan.

Mix the flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and sugar in a large bowl. Add the egg, milk, and oil, stirring only enough to dampen the flour (batter should not be smooth). Add the chopped cherries and mix lightly. Spoon batter into the muffin pan, filling each cup about two-thirds full.

Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until lightly browned.