Burger Nation

People assign hot dogs the title of "America's food," but I beg to differ. For me, it's a burger. It's the first thing I want to eat when I return from a trip out of the country. While burgers are not something I traditionally crave, it seems to be the only thing that can hit the spot when I'm back in the good ole USA. Having just returned from a trip to Europe, I've had burgers on my brain ever since I passed through customs. However, a trip through the McDonald's drive-through is not exactly what I had in mind. I wanted a proper, homemade burger. Not a ladylike one, but one all juicy and messy, requiring a dozen napkins and possibly a shower afterwards.

I'd cleaned out my refrigerator before I left, so there was nothing in it except condiments. Since one cannot live on mustard alone, I made the trek to the Farmers Market yesterday. Of course I was delighted to see a bounty of vibrant vegetables and made sure to pick up a pound of peaches while they're still around. As I walked through row after row, I found myself increasingly distracted. There was this intoxicating aroma seducing me. At Farmers, my olfactory system is usually enticed by fragrant dried lavender, notes of citrus, and earthiness of root vegetables. But this time, there was a note of sweet onions, punctuated by grilled meat and possibly bacon. I mean, Lord have mercy, is there a combination more compelling when you're hungry and feeling grateful to be back home? But this was definitely a very non-Farmer's scent which left me feeling disoriented. I was in Santa Barbara after all, which is not known as the mecca of meat, but it was unmistakeable. A burger. Someone was grilling a burger. I found myself weaving through the rows with increasing speed to find the source of this intoxicating scent.

And just on the outskirts of the market was the Burger Bus. They've created a cult following in Santa Barbara. I had yet to partake in their "simple yet sublime" burgers though.

The scent emanating from the bus (which is literally a refurbished school bus — a short one at that!) has magnetic power. I was like Wimpy from Popeye's cartoons, who was often seen walking like a zombie in pursuit of a burger, the scent leading him like a leash. I literally walked up to place my order and realized in shock and horror that I'd just spent my last dollar on a half-gallon of organic, fresh-squeezed orange juice from Ojai. No diss to the Burger Bus, but they didn't accepted credit cards. There was no way I was going to walk away from that bus without a burger.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Which in my case meant finding the closest ATM. I remembered seeing a temporary one somewhere in the Farmers Market maze, but where? I was getting (admittedly) a bit crazed at this point and knew I'd be carted away — without my burger — if I had to run like a madman in and out of each row until I found the elusive ATM. So, like a dog with his tail between his legs, I slowly and reluctantly approached the Farmers Market Association table and asked them where the ATM was. The subsequent dialog was one I knew was coming and was embarrassed to participate in:

"Excuse me, sir. Is there an ATM here in the Market?"

"Well, you can buy a gift card here that any vendor in the market will accept as cash."

"Umm, yeah. But I would actually prefer the cash."

"Oh, don't worry. Each vendor will happily accept this card. It's just like cash for them."

"Well, you see, err, I, umm, I'm not planning to use the money in the Market. I don't want to buy any organic, homegrown, nutritious vegetables. I actually want to walk across the street and buy a big, fattening, mouth-watering burger that's been teasing me for the past 30 minutes and has lead me to wonder how anyone can ever be a vegetarian."

The poor guy was obviously taken aback but did kindly point me in the direction of the ATM, after which I was finally able to place my order at the Burger Bus. The burger was delectable and definitely worth the wait. This post is long enough already so I'll spare you the details of the burger, but it did get me thinking about how awesome burgers can be.

Burgers are my mom's favorite meal. It's what she wants my dad to cook for her on her birthday. I have to agree: It's hard to beat a homemade burger. But sometimes we have to substitute the "homemade" part for a purchased one. No offense to my dad's barbecuing, because he's a master, but some of the other options are downright good. Case in point, the Burger Bus. I have never thought to put a burger on a ciabatta roll [right now I know my Southern friends are cracking up over that detail], but let me just say you shouldn't knock it unless you've tried it, especially if it's homemade from Our Daily Bread and completely light and pillowy. [Having just said that, you'll never catch me eating a burger on an English muffin. That's just wrong.] I've also never thought to put jalapeño jelly on it, but will do so again because it's so dang tasty.

The other amazing burger I've had was at Pirate's Cove in Josephine, AL, not far from my grandmother's. This burger, swabbed in a drippy and delicious gin-mustard sauce, has been named by Garden & Gun as one of the 100 Southern foods you must try before you die. If that isn't a compelling accolade, I don't know what is. Last time I was there was over Thanksgiving. It was "off-season," so definitely mellow there, which was a welcome change of pace from the bustle of the summer boating season.

It's one of those joints where you're gonna drink out of plastic cups, may not find toilet paper in the bathroom, but will most certainly find oodles of drunk wisdom graffitied on every available surface. My recent favorite was, "Why am I so thirsty this morning when I drank so much last night?" Amen to that!

But what if you can't find the Burger Bus or can't make the trek to Josephine, AL? Are there other acceptable substitutes? In California, In-N-Out Burger definitely gets top rating.

Almost as cultish as the Burger Bus, people covet this fast-food burger, which, to their credit, is very un-fast-food-esque. It's the closest thing you'll ever get to a homemade burger from a drive-thru. They keep it simple and focused: Burgers, fries, and shakes from the freshest, highest quality ingredients available.

And did I mention how nice they are there? It's like a little shot of Southern hospitality and always makes me feel closer to home.

There are quality burgers and then there are quality burgers on the fly. For me, no one holds a candle to the South's Krystal Burgers. Their tagline is "Nothin' Like It" and I have to agree.

Is it the best burger I've ever had? No, but it's the one that is associated with more life moments that I cherish and would never trade. Whether that is eating with my dad and his parents at "Crishtals" or grabbing a 12-pack (of burgers, that is) with friends as the early morning sun rises after a late night out on the town (Bill and Terry, you know what I'm talking about). There is something addictive about this tiny slider crafted simply from a steamed bun, French's mustard, grilled onions, crisp pickle, and grilled beef patty. It may seem pedestrian but it does something good to your soul.

I will often fly from Santa Barbara to New Orleans for the holidays and then drive to my grandmother's house in Bay Minette, AL. Even though I land beyond starved after traveling all day and consuming a tiny bag of pretzels, I joyfully hop into my rental car, bypass the Cajun culinary calling (which is not easy to do!), and drive the three hours until I reach Exit 13 on I-65. Granted it's only minutes from my grandmother's house, where delicious food gluttony awaits, yet I find myself unable to resist the pull of Krystals. I simply must stop for at least 2 squares. That's my rationale at least. Two Krystal's can't ruin your appetite, can it?

The truth of the matter is it can, but when you've got Monk's cooking awaiting you, you make room!

Before It's Too Late

I don't know about y'all but I feel like summer's almost over! Even though it seems like it just arrived (thanks to the foggiest summer in the past 52 years in Santa Barbara), kids, parents and teachers alike are already preparing to head back to school. I'm starting to feel a bit of panic set in, like I have to really take advantage of these final weeks. So before it's too late make this interesting summer salad. Interesting. . . . hmmm, maybe not the most compelling adjective I've ever used to entice someone to make a dish, but it seems the most honest.

When I think of summer, I think of shiny, golden corn, as well as dark, darling blueberries which you can't resist popping into your mouth by the handful. Both are excellent representatives of summer's bounty — and both center stage in this salad. It's a weird combination but a definitely good one.

I don't know if I could eat a quart of this, but I do think it makes a refreshing, tasty and somewhat exciting side dish for a picnic, BBQ or beach banquet. Maybe that's why people call such things "side dishes," because although delicious you may not want to make it your entire meal. I mean do you really want to eat a pound of baked beans? They're enjoyable but perhaps offer a diminishing return the more you eat. But seriously, sometimes slaw or potato salad — no matter how much you love them — seem so blah. Some days you need to mix it up a bit. I think this salad qualifies.

I admit it was the unusual combination that piqued my interest and was compelled to give this a try. I found this surprising combination is actually quite stunning when all is said. There is the sweetness from the roasted corn; punctuated by the smokiness of the cumin and subtle heat of the jalepeño; which collectively is then foiled up by the crunchy, cool cucumber; and is finally perfectly balanced by the tartness of blueberries.

You're supposed to let this refrigerate overnight but I made this as a jerk reaction when I got home from farmers market and accessed my purchases. I did make enough to sample the next day (because like I said this is best eaten as a side dish), and I agree that the depth and delight of flavors only intensified with time.

Even though this may sound like a weird combo, do try it before summer runs out. It will surprise you . . . like the beauty of summer can.

Corn and Blueberry Salad

From Better Homes and Gardens

Ingredients

5 ears fresh corn, husked

1 cup fresh blueberries

1 small cucumber

1/4 cup sliced red onion

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and finely chopped

2 Tbsp fresh lime juice

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp honey

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1/2 tsp salt

Directions

Cut corn kernels off the cob and sauté in a dry skillet over medium-high heat until soft and slighted roasted. The fresher the corn the less cooking needed. In a serving bowl, combine corn, blueberries, cucumber, red onion, cilantro, and jalapeño. For dressing, in screw-top jar, combine lime juice, oil, honey, cumin and 1/2 tsp salt. Cover, shake well to combine. Add to salad; toss. Cover and refrigerate overnight (up to 24 hours). Yield: 6-8 servings.

In Receipt of Lemons

You've heard the old phrase, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." But what happens when your friend gives you two big ol' grocery sacks full of lemons? While my first instinct was to make an enormous batch of lemon drop martinis, I figured it was better for my liver to find a Plan B. My second thought was to make a lemon meringue pie, but then discovered I only needed about 1/2 cup of lemon juice per pie so that would be a whole lotta pie . . . . So that's how I decided to makes preserved lemons. I know, it's so Martha Stewart of me!

I'd come across a few recipes calling for preserved lemons of late but kept forgetting to look for them at the grocery store. I did a little online research and apparently the learning curve for making preserved lemons is pretty non-existent. While "putting up" vegetables or making jelly is a terrifying prospect to me, this seemed quite manageable.

You basically just jam a ton of salt in between slits in the lemons, pack 'em in a quart jar, pour some fresh lemon juice on top, and then set them in a corner for 6 - 8 weeks. I don't have much of a green thumb when it comes to plants, so it's not unusual to find dead plants around my house. Even cacti don't last long under my watch. Watering them each week just seems like too much effort. I consider myself a very nurturing person but I guess I'm just not the cultivating type. But making preserved lemons is great because you basically have to do nothing to them once they're in the jar, and then *Shazam* two months later you've got these lovely golden gems!

I was all patting myself on the back for all my hard work. Whatever. It was awesome. I highly recommend it the next time someone gives you a bag of lemons.

And make this dish because it's awesome too. It's the moistest, tastiest chicken I've had in a long time.

My friend, Meredith, came over to eat some. I took her cleaned plate as a sign she agreed.

Preserved Lemon Citrus Chicken with Chervil Gremolata

from Serious Eats

Ingredients

1 chicken but into pieces, about 4 - 4 1/2 lbs

3 Tbsp chopped fresh chervil

Salt and pepper

2 Tbsp olive oil

1-2 small preserved lemons, thinly slices, seeded and rinsed (recipe below)

3 cloves garlic, 2 thinly sliced and 1 finely chopped

Zest of 1 orange

Zest of 1 lemon

3/4 dry white wine

1 cup chicken stock

2 Tbsp creme fraiche

2 stems fresh thyme, leaves finely chopped

Directions

When you buy a whole chicken cut into pieces, you should have 2 breasts, 2 thighs, 2 wings and 2 legs. Because the breasts are so much bigger than the other pieces, I cut them each in half, cutting perpendicularly through the bone. Season the chicken pieces liberally with salt and pepper, and sprinkle with 1 Tbsp chopped fresh chervil.

Heat a wide, deep saute pan over medium-high heat and when the pan is hot, add the oil. Place the chicken in the pan and sear until golden brown. Turn over and sear until golden brown on the other side and remove to a plate.

Lower the heat to low and add the preserved lemons, garlic and zest of 1/2 lemon and 1/2 orange. Quickly stir them around and then add the white wine. Raise the heat to high and use a whisk to pick up all the pieces of crisp chicken from the bottom of the pan. Add the stock and season with salt and pepper.

Add the chicken pieces back to the pot and when the liquid comes to a boil reduce the heat to low. Cover the pop and cook for 25 minutes.

Remove the lid and cook uncovered for 5 minutes more. Mix together 1 clove finely chopped garlic, zest of 1/2 orange and 1/2 lemon, thyme, 2 Tbsp chopped fresh chervil and salt and pepper to taste. This is the gremolata. Take the pan off the heat and move the chicken pieces to a serving platter. Whisk 2 Tbsp of creme fraiche into the hot wine and stock. Then pour over chicken and top with gremolata. Serve over couscous or with crusty bread. I actually used Israeli couscous mix from Trader Joes that has lentils and garbanzo beans. It was perfect. Yields: 4 - 6 servings.

Preserved Lemons

Ingredients

10-15 lemons, scrubbed very clean

3/4 cup kosher salt, more if needed

1 Tbsp fennel seeds

1 Tbsp coriander seeds

2 cinnamon sticks

2 bay leaves

Quart jar

Directions

In a bowl mix the spices into the kosher salt. Cover the bottom of an airtight jar with some of the salt mixture. Cut a cross into the lemons — almost to the base, so that the quarters stay together. Push the seasoned salt into the lemon segments and pack the lemons as tightly as possible into the jar. The less space there is between the lemons the better. Squeeze enough fresh lemon juice over the lemons in the jar to fill in any "air holes" and cover the tops. Screw the lid on the jar and put it away for 6 - 8 weeks. To use, remove a lemon from the jar and rinse thoroughly in water to remove salt. Discard seeds before using. Store in the refrigerator. These will last for about 2 years.

Monk's Biscuits

To share or not to share, that is the question. By that I mean, do you share a recipe? I find it flattering when someone asks for a recipe. Chances are I didn't invent it or patent it anyway, so don't really feel it's mine not to share. I'm aligned with Molly's perspective which she mentions in her amazing cooking memoir, "Sharing a recipe is how you pay back fate — in the karmic sense, if you believe such things — for bringing something so tasty to you in the first place." The problem is that you need an actual recipe to share something so tasty.

Unfortunately, my 90-year old grandmother, whom we call "Monk" and is one of the best home cooks there is, doesn't speak the language of recipes. All her dishes have simply been passed down over the generations. If you ask her how to make something, she tosses around vague directions like, "You just add your wet ingredients to the well and pick up enough flour as needed." In her defense, though, I know she has no idea what the actual metrics really are. It literally is a pinch of salt and a dollop of shortening. I don't recall even seeing her hold a recipe. It's seems about as likely as Superman holding onto a chunk of kryptonite. Her cooking power seems to be within her, like some special gift she's been granted to make people happy — if not a bit heavier — through her amazing cooking.

One of the most beloved things I've ever eaten are Monk's buttermilk biscuits. She's famous for them. It's almost holy when Monk brings out a platter of biscuits fresh from the oven. The skies part, the rays of sunlight beam down on them as angels sing hallelujah. Although I've been known to embellish, in this case my description is not far from the truth. Monk's biscuits are flakey, fluffy, and perfectly kissed by the oven. And each person has their own way to eat them, their own sacred ritual. For me it's just dipped in cane syrup. My mom puts figs on top of hers. My brother sops up his over-easy egg with it. My dad wants his smothered in red-eye gravy. It's nothing out of the ordinary for someone to drive 3 hours just to eat them, and then turn around to go home after breakfast, making sure to take an extra sausage and biscuit to eat on the drive back. As kids, my cousins and I used to tell Monk we were going to sell her biscuits and make millions of dollars. I'm quite sure we could have, but then I think we panicked over the thought of having to share her biscuits with others. We wanted to hoard them. Not very Christian, I know.

Monk came out to Santa Barbara for my birthday this year, and a friend who's also a filmmaker came over to try some of her famous biscuits and convinced her to let him capture her technique on camera.

There are times when you hear a song and it transports you back in time. You can remember where you were, who you were with, what you were wearing. Food can do that too. Sometimes it becomes more than food. It's our childhood, a romantic dinner, a family vacation, a snow day. But Monk's biscuits span my entire life.

When I first started this blog, my friend Susan P. asked me if I had a good recipe for buttermilk biscuits. The truth is I had one — Monk's, but I didn't share it with her. I felt for a moment it would be some type of family betrayal. Then I realized my reaction was really just a manifestation of selfishness. Just like when I was 10 and decided I didn't want to sell Monk's biscuits after all. Now that I'm a few years (er, decades) older, I realize that by sharing her recipe I'm really sharing her gift — of love, of coming together to break bread and connect, to pause for a moment in a busy life and appreciate the simple things, to nourish your body, to define your style and respect other's styles, and to have the pleasure of eating something so tasty.

Well, Susan, this entry is for you. It took quite a bit of understudying to produce an actual recipe, and I regret to inform you that I think it's more art than science. Or at least a lot of practice is required. I've decided the flour can make or break it. Weird, I know, because flour seems so innocuous. I thought it was more functional than flavorful but I really think it drives the outcome. For me, no biscuit tastes even close to Monk's unless it's been made from White Lilly flour. I can't explain it but it's something I would bet a large chunk of money on. That and I think her biscuit pans add some depth of tastiness and authenticity that I just can't replicate.

But I'll keep trying and keep sharing her love. Because nothing is better than seeing someone take their first bite. It makes you feel like you did something good. And you did. It's something people remember for the rest of their lives.

Monk's Buttermilk Biscuits

Ingredients

1 1/4 cup buttermilk (lowfat is fine)

1/4 cup shortening, plus enough to grease pans

Approximately 2 1/2 cups self-rising flour (White Lilly if you can find it)

Directions

Add shortening to 1 1/2 cups flour in a large bowl and mix to combine (will be crumbly).

Add buttermilk and mix until combined. Do not overmix. If you need to add more flour, add a 1/4 cup at a time. You want the dough to be just dry enough to turn out of the bowl and onto some waxed paper or a flat surface with some flour sprinkled on it. The dough will pick up the flour it needs. You don't want the dough to be stiff. It should just kind of spread out over the surface; no need to knead it, roll it, or anything like that. But you may have to turn it over or around slightly so you're able to handle it without it sticking all over your hands. The best recommendation I can give you is to watch the above video.

Pinch off enough dough to form a roundish biscuit (maybe 2 - 2 1/2 inches across and 1/2 inch high) and place into a greased pan. I found it's better to pinch off than roll out and cut with a biscuit cutter.

Add a dab of melted shortening to the top of each biscuit (just heat up a few Tbsp in the microwave and brush on top) and bake in a 450 degree oven until brown, approximately 20 minutes. You may have to lower the heat to 425 depending on the pan (non-stick seems to cook more quickly on the bottom) and your oven calibration. Also, you might start checking on them at around the 15 minute mark.

Seersucker Thursdays

It's summertime and it's a Thursday, which can only mean one thing: Seersucker Thursdays are in effect on Capital Hill! During the Summer session, the U.S. Senate shows up on Thursdays in puckered pastel suits to beat the heat, a tradition which started in the late 1990s. I guess they couldn't find a big enough veranda to sit out on and drink sweet tea, which is another Southern summer survival tactic.

Seersucker is woven with a peculiar combination of tight and slack threads of thin cotton originating from 18th century India. The strange word itself is a mangling of Hindi's "shir shakkar," meaning "milk and sugar," a perfect description of the fabric's smooth and rippled textures. To make the fabric, two kinds of looms are involved; one weaving tightly and one loosely. That shifting creates tiny ridges of bunched threads, so that the fabric is almost held away from the skin. Heat dissipates, sweat evaporates, air circulates, and, one would hope, an idea may penetrate.

Like how Thursdays are also the the perfect day to drink watermelon margaritas, my new summer adult beverage obsession.

The first batch I made was so delicious I felt compelled to go door to door around my neighborhood and hand out samples. It's not everyday someone knocks on your door and hands you lovely libation. I even begged my friend Karen to drive to my house in rush-hour traffic to have one. Even my cat loved it!

I'd like to point out that today is a Thursday, so I'd highly recommend swinging by a fruit stand or market and picking up a watermelon to create this most refreshing cocktail. Donning seersucker is entirely up to you, but this drink would really complete the outfit and I'm sure would pump up the cooling effect.

Cheers, to your first of many watermelon margaritas! Because, trust me, you can't have just one of these beauties.

Watermelon Margarita (from Martha Stewart)

In a small saucepan, bring 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 cup water, along with 3 wide strips of orange zest, to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook until sugar dissolves, 3 minutes. Let cool.

In a blender, puree 2 cups cubed watermelon until smooth. Strain through a sieve, pressing solids, into a pitcher or quart-sized mason jar. You should have approximately 1 cup of juice. Add the sugar syrup, 1/4 cup lime juice (from about 3 limes), and 3/4 cups white or silver tequila. I got closer to 1 1/2 - 1 3/4 cup juice from my watermelon, so you may have to add a bit more lime juice and tequila to even it out. And taste-test it several times (what a burden).

Fill salt-rimmed glasses with ice, then pour margarita mixture over top. Garnish with a lime wedge and keep the pitcher nearby. You'll definitely be wanting a refill! Yields: 4 servings, so might as well make a double!

Meat-Free Mondays

Mondays are, generally speaking, my least favorite day of the week. It's also the day of the week when I try to eat meat-free — but that isn't why it's my least favorite day. It's the reality check that comes crashing down on you when the alarm goes off and you realize play time is over.

I certainly grew up in a very meat-oriented food culture. I never even knew a vegetarian until I went away to college. I guess if you were a Southerner and a vegetarian, you ate a lot of grits and just the "three" of a "meat and three" (which is a restaurant staple offering the choice of a meat and three kinds of vegetables). In fact, I still chuckle thinking of a wedding I went to in Tallahassee where the bride was a vegetarian. I was behind some good ol' Southern boys in the buffet line and overheard one of them say, "What's this here pole-enta with mushrooms? Where's the meat?!"

Paul McCartney and friends launched Meat Free Monday in the UK in 2006 after a United Nation's report was issued stating that the livestock industry as a whole was responsible for more greenhouse gas emissions than the whole of the transport section put together. His mission was simply to encourage people eat less meat. Eating more vegetables is not only great for your health but is also good for the planet.

I think many people look for little ways to "do their part" for the environment. Some recycle, some drive hybrids, some use compact fluorescent light bulbs. Personally, taking one day in my week to not eat meat is rewarding and a fun challenge. I started with just a meat-free dinner, as that seemed like all I could commit to, but now I really try my best to eat "3-squares" meat free. There are exceptions, like last Monday when I was hungover after the July 4th festivities and ate a big, greasy cheeseburger. But you'll find there really are a lot of alternatives that are "quiet" vegetarian dishes which are so tasty. You don't have to eat tofu. Who doesn't love Italian food, for instance? Lots of vegetarian options there, which are especially delectable during the summer months when the access to fresh, amazing produce is plentiful. Thai, Indian, Chinese food . . . yum! And all with lots of meat-free options. I'm not a purist, so will also eat sustainable seafood.

And while it may take a little mindfulness initially, making just one day a week a meat-free day really is a little thing that can make a big difference. I hope this easy and so, so delicious recipe for an eggplant pasta I made last Monday will inspire you to at least give it a go.

I know what you're thinking. In of itself, the words "eggplant pasta" my not sound very inspiring. I've often been served eggplant that was overcooked and therefore had a weird, mealy texture that wasn't appealing. Maybe you too had the same experience. However with this dish, the Japanese eggplants hold together well and don't get all seedy and mushy. Plus, the marjoram, lemon zest and chiles come together to create this stunning brightness that contrasts with the creamy decadence of the burrata. You certainly won't feel like you're missing anything — except maybe a larger stomach!

Orecchiette with Marinated Eggplant, Burrata and Chiles

from Food and Wine and Best New Chef 2010 Missy Robbins of NYC's A Voce

Ingredients

4 Asian eggplants (1 1/2 lbs total), halved lengthwise

1/4 cup plus 1 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for brushing

Kosher salt

1/3 cup red wine vinegar

2 large garlic cloves, very thinly shaved

3 marjoram sprigs, plus 1 Tbsp marjoram leaves

1/2 tsp crushed red pepper

3/4 lbs orecchiette

1/3 cup freshly grated pecorino

1 Tbsp chopped parsley

1/2 lb burrata cheese, halved, creamy filling scooped out (you can substitute fresh mozarella or even fresh ricotta if fresh burrata is not available)

Coarsely grated zest of 1 lemon

2 oil-packed red chilies, seeded and cut into thin strips (you can substitute pickled cherry peppers)

Directions

Light a grill or preheat a grill pan. Brush the cut side of the halved eggplants with olive oil and season with salt. Grill the eggplants cut side down over moderate heat until lightly charred, about 4 minutes. Turn and continue grilling until just browned and cooked through, about 2 minutes longer. Let cool. Dice the eggplants and transfer to a bowl. Pour the vinegar over the eggplant and toss well.

In a small saucepan, combine the 1/4 cup plus 1 Tbsp of olive oil with the garlic, marjoram sprigs, crushed red pepper and 2 Tsp kosher salt. Bring the oil to a simmer , then pour it over the eggplant and toss. Let stand for 1 hour. Discard the marjoram sprigs. [Note: The eggplant can be made a day ahead and kept covered in the refrigerator. ]

In a pot of boiling water, cook the orechhiette until al dente. Drain the pasta, reserving 3/4 cups of the cooking water.

Add the eggplant to the pot and cook over moderate heat, stirring lightly, until hot, about 30 seconds. Add the pasta and 1/2 the reserved cooking liquid and cook, tossing for about 30 seconds. Remove from the pot and stir in the pecorino and parsley. If too sticky and dry, then add a bit more of the reserved cooking liquid.

Spoon the pasta into bowls. Dot the pasta with the creamy burrata filling. Garnish with the lemon zest, chile strips and marjoram leaves and serve. Make sure each dish gets a good share of the "garnishing" because that is what really creates a "wow" dish. Yields: 4 Servings.

Ode to a Peach

"From Blossoms" by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes

this brown bag of peaches

we bought from the boy

at the bend in the road where we turned toward

signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,

from sweet fellowship in the bins,

comes nectar at the roadside, succulent

peaces we devour, dusty skin and all,

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into

the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live

as if death were nowhere

in the background; from joy

to joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom to

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

That pretty much sums it up for me. Is there a more divine fruit than the peach? It's a personal mission to eat them as often as possible while they're in season. I make a beeline for the peach stand at the Farmers Market each Saturday. I don't even feel badly when I bump into an old man or step on the foot of a small child in my quest (but I do shout my apologies over my shoulder as I run by). It's serious business.

I found a beautifully simple and tasty recipe for a dessert I served last weekend. Let me remind you I'll only take on baked goods if there is no icing, no ingredients listed in ounces, and preferably no electric mixer involved. This fit all the criteria, plus made a delicious canvas for my beloved peaches.

It comes from the amazing Lee Brothers' most recent cookbook Simple Fresh Southern that my mom gave me. This book is filled with all the good parts of Southern cooking. Fancy enough to serve to company, but with down-home flavor and the simplicity you crave for everyday meals. For me, I always feel like I'm eating a bit of home in each bite. It's comfort food — elevated.

And I'm not the only peach fan around here. . . .

Buttermilk Pudding Cakes with Bourbon Peaches

Ingredients

3/4 cup sifted all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

2 large eggs

3/4 cup buttermilk (you can use low-fat)

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/3 cup sugar

4 Tbsp (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled to room temperature

2 lbs ripe peaches (about 8 medium)

2 cups bourbon

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 tsp kosher salt

Vanilla ice cream or whipped cream

Directions

Heat oven to 425 degrees with a rack positioned in the top third of the oven.

Sift the flour with the baking powder in a large bowl. In a second large bowl, beat the eggs with a whisk until creamy and yellow, and then whisk in the buttermilk, vanilla extract, sugar and butter. The mixture will look curdy and broken; that is fine. Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture and whisk until the batter is combined and smooth.

Divide the batter among 9 standard-size nonstick muffin-pan cups, filling them 2/3-full. Bake for 9 minutes. Check the cakes by inserting a knife tip between the rim of the cake and the muffin cup and pulling gently to expose the side of the cake. If the side of the cake appears evenly browned, the cakes will hold together when inverted and are ready. If not, continue baking for another minute and then check again. When the cakes are done, invert them onto a cooling rack until ready to eat.

Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, bring enough water to cover the peaches to a boil. Cut an X into each peach at the pointed end (opposite the stem end). Drop the peaches into the boiling water and cook until the skin loosens, 1 - 2 minutes (depending on the ripeness of the peaches). [Note: This technique can be used to peel tomatoes too.] Remove the peaches from the water and set aside until cool enough to handle. Gently peel off the skins, cut into wedges, and pack the peaches in a quart jar or arrange them in a medium bowl.

In a large saucepan, bring the bourbon to a gentle simmer over medium-low heat, and add the sugar and salt. Continue to simmer until the mixture is syrupy, about 6 minutes. [Note: this took more like 15 for me.]

Pour the syrup over the fruit, seal the jar or cover the bowl, and let cool. Then chill in the refrigerator for at least a few hours before serving on top of the buttermilk cakes with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. [Note: The peaches will keep in the refrigerator for about 3 days.] Yields: 9 servings.