Covid Cafe: Salmon, BLTs, and Corn-Eating Styles

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What's cooking, chefs? Send us a photo. We have a decades-long running joke with our friend Gwen and her husband about how when the heat moves into the high 90s she has an irresistible urge to make pot roast. If we believe her, today she lays that notion to rest...

Gwen writes: I thought I'd show you proof, no matter what Jason says, that I don’t always make pot roast on a hot summer day! Tonight we had salmon with red, orange, and yellow peppers, pancetta, basil, parsley, onions, and garlic. Plus couscous and yogurt on the side.

Camping last week at Morrison Rockwood State Park in Illinois, Chris reported this little guy wouldn't leave him alone. "I think he liked the salt on my skin from this heat. Crazy eyes on his wings."

 

Speaking of Chris and Lisa, we had a dozen or so responses to the question of how you eat your corn on the cob. You'll recall Lisa moves in a circular fashion, while the majority--except for one--munches lengthwise. Lisa, your circular corn-eater compadre is Carolina in Mexico City. Maybe one day you'll slather on the butter together.

 

 

Ode To Tomatoes

by Pablo Neruda

The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.

Inspired by all the tomatoes, Rob checked in: Every year I look forward to the first BLT of the season. With the first bite, your mouth says “summer.” It’s the perfect combination of simple ingredients that when combined send me into the stratosphere. I love the slow drip of tomato juices running down my hand with each bite. As a kid in southern Illinois, we had a huge garden and tomatoes took their place of pride. When sent out to pick beans, I secretly carried a salt shaker and would pull a tomato off the vine, shake a little salt, and eat it like an apple (Ed note: we've been know to perform that same ritual over the sink). What a perfect evening meal...

R.E.M. - Losing My Religion