Summer Food



Summer Food


Scrock, ping, scrock, ping...

The tails of the green beans snap as I cut into them with my thumbnail, flipping the tiny chunks into a bowl. Ping, ping, ping.

Suddenly, I look up and see the trees from the back porch of the house where I grew up. I am no longer in the cramped kitchen in the tropical paradise where I live, but back in my own backyard. Well, the yard that comes to mind when I think of home. I am separated from the outside by some screens. The sun meets the green and softens it, dappling spots on the ground.

I am sitting at the table, letting my hands pop the beans as I observe outside. It is a long, stretched out summer evening, just like the one in my island home. I always associate preparing green beans with summer–not as a chore, but as an accompaniment for the sunset, the rhythm of my hands adding to the rosy rays of the retreating sun as it starts to give way to the coolness of the evening.

But then my mind flips to corn on the cob, the chrysalis shaped pods piled on farm stands. There was always work to do there, too: husking the cobs and trying to get rid of the "beards" inside. We would boil them and then chomp into the steaming, sweet curds. Ah, but let's not forget the butter: rolling the rods 'round and 'round in the butter dish until the butter was a funnel. Even if there was a string or two left from its beard, nothing could beat a piece of rich, buttery corn on the cob on an August evening.

And, of course, what would summer be without the classic ice cream cone. The image that immediately comes to mind is a flashback from years later, strolling with an ice cream cone in Italy (they actually refer to it as "cono da passeggio", which describes that exact scene.) Gelato was refreshing and light, a perfect ending to the hot spell that sweltered the days. At night, we could walk around the corner to the gelateria, then stroll around the streets to look at lit window displays to shops already closed. Or sometimes we would sit on the church steps, talking until midnight or whenever the yawns became too wide to hide.

But my first ice cream love was Dairy Queen. Definitely soft serve, definitely a treat: it wasn't such a common event like in Italy. Maybe that's why I remember it so fondly...a swirl of vanilla to sweeten up the bitter half of chocolate, twisting and twisting to give the best of both sides. Perfect harmony. And the occasional splurge pf sprinkles made it heavenly.



Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/_alicja_-5975425/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4452196">Alicja</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4452196">Pixabay</a>


Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

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