In the spirit of the lovely and poetic reviews of summer that Louisa and Molly wrote, here are a few things I hope to remember.

In April, we prayed and prayed for a house that could fit the three of us near the market, and we were answered with this simple joy. I’m reminded every time I walk home (that’s right, walk home) how we never imagined being given such a solution.

We visited an island with no electricity and only twenty or so houses, where there’s more time

for hammocks

and good hats.

I admired the hard work and genius behind other small businesses

and appreciated their enormous affect on their communities.

And I learned to cook & serve lobster, a big check on the “Someday I want to _____” list.

Mistakes were made. Certain days flew by because I spent them worrying over little things. I rushed through the best stages, only to realize what they were as they closed up. Sometimes it took me a couple days to remember to thank someone.

But: we had one beach cookout, four of us, with only a flashlight to help us find the ketchup, and when I was walking to the beach lugging the bag of groceries, in the dark over the dunes, I was for several moments completely absorbed in what was happening and how totally awesome it was.

If you have summer ruminations (or haikus) I’d love to read them.

update

Birgit, Lauren, and Susie each wrote up lovely summer reviews.

Joy at Oh Joy Eats posted about a Mother’s Day lunch on the beach. Well done.

Today I would like to share one of my favorite recipes that I have ever invented. Though this recipe is printed in a book called Everyday Italian by the well know authoress-cook Giada De Laurentis, I think it’s fair to claim I invented this because Giada thinks it is a pasta sauce. I think it is best incarnated as a dip.

Minor copyright issues aside,  it’s delicious. Lemony, spring green, chock full of artichokes and walnuts. Around this time of year I swear allegiance to this as my favorite pesto because I find the ingredients are much easier to stock than the more famous basil version. Basil is just so…demanding. It has to be summer fresh, or it’s nearly tasteless. If you do want to put this on pasta, Giada suggests choosing something curly that will capture lots of pesto goodness in each bite.

Artichoke Pesto
——————————————————————————–
Ingredients:

Directions:
In food processor, combine artichokes, parsley, walnuts, lemon zest and juice, garlic, salt and pepper. Chop the ingredients fine, stopping the machine a few times to scrape down the sides. With the motor running, drizzle in the olive oil. Transfer mixture to a large bowl and stir in the cheese.

It is a singular and terrifying power that parents hold in creating traditions for their children. No one can predict what will make it through the gauntlet of passing years to end up perched in their child’s adult mind, right next to “facts” about why the sky is blue, and what their hair color is. I think most of us are pleased to claim the traditions we remember and we hold them fiercely, so much so that it is not uncommon to find two best friends (or lovers) outraged to hear the other’s ideas of what a decent and humane Christmas eve should look like.

There are only two Easter traditions that made it through for me, and they are persistent little buggers that won’t be shook off:

1. Wear something new, ideally something that could comfortably be considered the zenith of femininity and spring wrapped into one.
2. Eat many pieces of flaky, almond-scented, Grandma’s-recipe-only Danish Pastry.

I’m sure when I have kids a few more will come out of the woodwork, but for now, this is it. Of course when you move away from home, eat comes with the imperative make.  I also considerately asked my husband about possible traditions he might like to continue. Turns out my mother-in-law would make a lamb shaped cake, which might just have to go down as her signature thing because I wouldn’t know where to start.

It might just be my Easter-tradition-neuron talking here (actually, shouting and shaking its fist) but Danish Pastry seems to be the very best thing to have for the holiday. It goes nicely with brunch food. It could be a post-lamb dessert. It’s easy to make, and contains one delicious teaspoon of almond extract and a unrepeatable amount of butter. You might even have all of the ingredients in your kitchen right now. This is one of those floating, inheritated recipes that probably shouldn’t even be called Danish in the first place, but here it is. In my mind you are all delighted to finally get this because what has your Easter ever been without it?

Danish Pastry

MAKES:  2 long rolls
INGREDIENTS:
CRUST:*
1 cup    flour
1 stick    butter (or margarine)
dash of sugar and salt
2 T.    water
FILLING:
1 cup    water
1 stick    butter (or margarine)
1 cup    flour
3 eggs
1/2 teasp    almond extract
FROSTING:
1/2 stick    (4 T.) butter, softened
1 cup    powdered sugar
1/2 teasp    almond extract
some milk
CRUST:
Mix 4 crust ingredients as a pie crust (I just moosh it together for awhile with my hands). Divide into 2 rolls and put onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Pat to form two strips- each about 5-6″ wide by length of cookie sheet- about 1/4″ thick.
FILLING:
Bring to a boil 1 cup of water and 1 stick butter. Remove from heat and QUICKLY add 1 cup of flour, the 3 eggs- one at a time, beating after each egg (I just beat it with a whisk ), 1/2 t. almond extract. Place by spoonfuls on crust and spread carefully to edges.
Bake at 400 for 25 minutes. When it has cooled, frost with:
FROSTING:
Beat frosting ingredients together adding milk to desired consistency.

*Taster’s Notes: You’ll note that my strips of dough are rather paltry, and I ended up with leftover filling. If I were making it again, I would double the ingredients for the dough to double the fun. Since I haven’t done that before, I’m not changing the official recipe, just suggesting it.

I stayed with a friend over the weekend who made me lattes. I used to have a bialetti, but I gave it away because no one ever really wanted to share a half a cup of straight espresso, and its wasted existence depressed me. Jenny owns a mini bialetti and a mini saucepan. She packs the espresso into the canister and pours the milk into the saucepan, puts them both on the same burner on low for a few minutes and suddenly–while you page through a magazine wondering if you’re going to get the chance to get real coffee at some point today–this milky frothy creature of caffeinated serenity is handed to you.

I find it easier to adapt other people’s habits if I can watch them in practice. Jenny said she learned to make her latte from her aunt, and she carried the tradition to Denver. I may just carry it right back to Boston. Habits learned this way can be delightful, or they can be the strangest part of a person. You might not really know why you even have that habit. If I get a letter in the mail, and I don’t have fifteen minutes to mull it over, I save it until I do–even if that means six hours later. Joe will rip it open as he walks back from the mailbox, and read the first line out loud before he even reads through the whole thing. Same thing with early-to-arrive birthday presents.

There was a scene in a movie, whose title has unjustly faded into the carefully filed but illegibly labeled drawers of my memory, where a woman used her mixing spoon–the little spoon usually provided with coffee, set on the saucer along the cup–to measure out her sugar before she poured it in her cup. I was shocked. I had never thought to use the spoon that way. I dump the sugar in, pretending to be calibrating but really just furiously shaking it out, and then use the spoon to mix it around.

Things I wished this worked for, but no luck so far: hair stylist doing my hair, ballroom dancing, origami master.

photo from Angelo 60 because I wasn’t quite thoughtful enough to take a picture in jenny’s kitchen.