Summer

For one week, I had an apartment in south Minneapolis. It was listed on a site that offers vacation rentals by owner. Up to this point, I hadn't spent much time exploring south Minneapolis. It turned out I was in for a real treat. Although I had my bike along (my apartment was just 3 blocks from one of the wonderful Minneapolis trails), several dark, cloudy, soggy rainy days prevented me from spending any time on my pedal-powered two-wheeler. As it turned out, that wasn't such a bad thing. By car, I was available to explore neighborhoods I probably wouldn't have gotten to by bike.

My discovery highlights wound up taking on unexpected themes of bakeries and farmers markets. I had planned to take in the downtown St. Paul farmers market, the oldest in Minnesota. It never disappoints with all of the fresh flowers, herbs to take home to plant, fresh vegetables, honey, meats and this time, even fresh-picked strawberries. The next morning, a Sunday, I paid a visit to the Kingfield farmers market, a relatively new but charming small neighborhood market. I'd read that a person could find plenty for breakfast at this market and it was definitely true. A strawberry-rhubarb turnover from Sun Street Breads was devoured before I could even snap a picture. 

My mom has been pairing prosciutto with cantaloupe and melons from the time when cordless phones were first introduced (you had to pull out the long telescope antenna, and could hear yourself on your radio if you stood too close).

Lately, it seems everyone is touting melons and savory cured meats as the greatest thing since the iPhone 4G. But this combo is still old skool at our house. You really can't go wrong -- melon's inherent sweetness is always deliciously magnified by the salty, savory prosciutto, no matter how much technology has changed.

This simply chic salad is a send-up to my mom's appetizer: spicy wild arugula is paired with the season's juiciest cantaloupe and watermelon for a refreshingly tangy salad that pairs beautifully with grilled fish, meat, or pasta dishes.

Isn’t it great to be blessed with friends who entertain beautifully, who attend to every detail, artistically, with care and flare? Friends who take pleasure in delighting with beauty and richness?

I am one lucky ducky in this department for sure. Most of my friends enjoy setting a pretty table and “doing the flowers” as I call decorating when having guests over for a meal. A couple of my peeps, though, are off the charts in this department which causes me to spend most of my time wandering around their house saying “wow I love that,” like I haven’t read a newspaper in weeks and have nothing else to say for myself, or like a gal from East Podunk, straight off the farm, who’s never seen a formal place setting before let alone matching salt and pepper shakers. Or someone in awe of people who create beauty and inspire me by the things they think of and do. Please say the latter.

One would expect our friends Heidi and Guy to have a great house. She’s been selling prime LA real estate for 25 years, and he is the proprietor of Ligne Roset Los Angeles, the go-to store for architectural furniture. Ten years ago Heidi and Guy combined tastes, talents and 3 young teens and moved into a sprawling and spacious Spanish, Mission- style house in a canyon with a never ending view of LA’s immense valley. Guy is almost apologetic in sharing in his off the cuff, just between us, way that the style of the house, the architecture, is not really him so much, (like any of us who know him and his exquisite design sense need to be told), but the interior and over all vibe of the house is so him and Heidi in all of their beauty, creativity and warmth; the art, furniture and fabrics, the two gorgeous greyhounds, the family photos taking up a whole wall in the kitchen juxtaposed with the Chanel Houndstooth fabric on the family room couch.

Where would I be without California farmers? If it weren't for them, I would never have discovered the sticky, caramel bliss of Medjool dates, the tropical pina colada flavors of cherimoya, or the simple joy of munching on raw summer sweet corn. Yes, raw corn.

At first, I was skeptical. Having grown up in New England, I was accustomed to bright yellow, fat kerneled ears of corn steamed to perfection and doused with melted butter and salt. But the LA farmer insisted I taste the raw corn he was offering: raw, white, small kerneled corn. How could such puny corn possibly be good without butter and salt?

Still, I held out my palm while he filled it with a scoop of raw corn kernels. With one swift swoop of the arm, I popped the entire handful in my mouth. It was crunchy, as in snap! crackle! pop! crunchy and surprisingly juicy. As for the flavor, well, it was natural. Just unadorned, mildly sweet, old-fashioned corn flavor. I was hooked.