Barbecue: What summer is all about. It is what I look forward to the most, when I am huddled up in blankets in the dark of winter. I don’t fantasize about warm beaches, or denim cutoffs, or chilly cocktails. No, I dream about the grillmarks that stripe a piece of steak, the smoky air that tangles in my hair, and fresh rosemary thrown on the coals. Here, a simple grilled meal, done in almost total darkness, so admittedly was mostly guesswork: a side of trout, cooked until tender, oily, delicate, and flaky. Two gigantic shrimp, slightly butterflied and brushed with spicy olive oil and squirts of lemon. Slender spears of local asparagus, charred until nutty and sweet. And a creamy, lemony sorrel sauce, perfect for spooning over hefty forkfuls of fish. Oh, summer. So happy you’re here.

[Also, please read this great piece in the Paris Review, on a pair of actors discussing food. A nice bit: “The one really great thing I ate was at Kiplin Hall, in Yorkshire, this forced rhurbarb dessert. It’s grown in the dark, so it’s very pink—it’s kind of the veal of vegetables. If you can have vegetable cruelty, this is it. But it was so good. I ate three of those, and I want to go back for more. I think of it at night, when I’m lonely.”]


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