Do you remember the summers when you were young when a hot summer afternoon could be spent slowly consuming a Good Humor ice cream treat? I usually bought mine with the dusty coins I had fished out from under the sofa cushions, from deep within the abyss of the dangerous sofa bed mechanism. Finding enough coins for ice cream could occupy a whole precious summer vacation morning so that the afternoon heat would be countered by a cool, icy, super-sweet diversion.

Those were languid afternoons, spent idly glider swinging on the shady front porch, reading library books, watching the neighbors, and napping. The postprandial arrival of the Good Humor man, with silver bells tinkling on his shiny white truck, brought all the neighborhood out to the sidewalk to consider the array of treats that called for considered decision making. If you were feeling flush, you could splurge on a Chocolate Eclair or Toasted Almond bar. I tended to order the less expensive and longer-lasting BonJoy ice, a plastic cup with a purple and white swirl of grape and lemon ice. It lasted the longest, I decided, after analyzing my several summers of scientific research and testing.

Today we have air conditioning, a cashless society, a pile of library books on our Kindle, a box of Klondike double dark chocolate ice cream bars in the freezer, no more Good Humor trucks, and the hottest summer ever recorded. It is time to respond with home remedies.

Luckily, there are many summer fruits available at the farmers’ markets and the grocery store for our new grown-up research. I found an abundance of velvety peaches recently, and while I cannot hope to recreate the summers of my youth, maybe I can do something constructive during all these afternoon rain storms instead of whining about the weather. And luckily, Amazon is just a few keystrokes away. How easy it is to order popsicle molds! Popsicle Molds

How to make popsicles.

Back in those screen-free days, when our mother was at her wits’ end trying to keep us amused, she would assign ice cream making duties to my brother and me. We would sit on the back steps, turning the handle on the Sears version of a modern ice cream churn. There is nothing more enjoyable for a kid on a summer evening than to be left in charge of ice, a box of rock salt, a mixture of cream and sugar, and a mechanical device that could mangle tiny hands and fingers.

My brother and I were locked in a constant power struggle then. (Being older and more worldly, he had introduced me to the painful Indian Rope Burn trick, yet he never tackled me when we played football.) We took turns. He would let me turn the handle initially, when it was easy, and boring. As the icy mixture gradually thickened, it became more difficult to move the churn handle. I would insist upon having my fair share of time at the controls, only to find that I couldn’t budge the handle any more; I just wasn’t strong enough. He would muscle in, and take over, leaving me bereft and weepy. Luckily, blood was never spilled, and eventually, after the churning and the sniping, the ice cream was always cold and delicious. We’d sit in companionable silence, spooning up our creation, watching the stars pop out in the western sky, sometimes wondering aloud if the planes flying in the distance were really UFOs. We only ever made vanilla, with crunchy sugar crystals. I have never tasted that sweet nectar again.

Go make some summertime memories. Something sweet and good has to come out of all this summer heat. Remember the farmers who toil all year long for the bounties we enjoy daily. Peach popsicles are the best. Or kiwi. Or blueberry. And strawberry.

Homemade Peach Popsicles

Roasted Peach Popsicles

“Sometimes life is just what it is, and the best you can hope for is ice cream.”
― Abbi Waxman

Mr. Sanders, Luke the wonder dog and I are off for a little holiday respite in the mountains of North Carolina for the Fourth of July holidays this week. We are planning to grill some hot dogs in honor of our national holiday. Enjoy a column from last year, when we had moseyed up to New England for a change of scene!

Sometimes I forget that we live in a country that is so vast and diverse that a New England hot dog is so different from a Chicago-style hot dog, and neither of them is like a hot dog from Texas, or from California. And this is one of the great American qualities – we are true blue and we love our regional delicacies.

In Boston, a Fenway Frank is boiled first, and then lightly grilled. (It is served in a split-top roll, which is also used for the best sort of lobster rolls: Split-top Roll ) The Puritans among us prefer garnishing a Fenway Frank with just a thick wiggly trail of spicy mustard. But since this is America, feel free to pile on your own favorites.

As you travel west to Chicago, you will observe that the Chicago-style hot dog is a completely different creation. Chicago-style hot dogs are cooked in butter in a pan, and then served in warm, poppy-seed rolls, with lots of veggies on top. Chicago-style dogs are “dragged through the garden”: topped with sweet pickle relish, chopped onions, pickled peppers, tomato slices and sprinkled with celery salt. Have you been watching The Bear? You’ll know then how popular these dogs are.

Then you’ll mosey down to Texas, to encounter the Hot Texas Wiener , a frank cooked in hot vegetable oil. If you place an order for a “One”, you’ll get a blisteringly hot frank topped with spicy brown mustard, chopped onions, and chili sauce. Yumsters.

As you continue west, and stop in Los Angeles for a some street food, you will encounter an L.A. Danger Dog. This frank is wrapped in bacon! I cannot imagine the state that Gwyneth and Meghan call home would do anything so decadent and audacious as a grilled, bacon-wrapped hot dog. More controversial to a hot dog purist are the toppings: catsup, mustard, mayonnaise, sautéed onions, with peppers, and a poblano chile pepper. Catsup? Mayo? But to be polite, you must eat like a local, and it will be deelish.

Common sense teaches us to not use catsup on our franks after the age of 18. You might as well make bologna sandwiches with Wonder bread, and douse them in catsup.

Have you ever seen the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile on the road? I can remember driving on a Florida highway once, and suddenly, puttering alongside us, was the Weinermobile. What a cheap thrill that was! Sadly, now it is called the Frankmobile. Time marches on. You can follow the Frankmobile on Instagram.

July is National Hot Dog Month, and the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council says that some of the top hot dog consuming cities include: Los Angeles, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, Phoenix, Atlanta, Detroit, Washington, DC, and Tampa. You’ll want to brush up on your hot dog etiquette , I’m sure.

And here are the official rules for Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest , in case you want to try this at home.

NPR 1A – Hot Dogs

Happy Fifth of July!

“A hotdog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz.”
— Humphrey Bogart

Art: Jean Sanders

We are getting ready for our summer vacation here in the Spy Test Kitchens. We are packing up the trusty auto to drive halfway across the state to a large lake, where we hope to do some swimming, hiking, and farm-stand-grazing. This year we bringing Luke the wonder Dog with us, instead of dropping him at the rather pricey dog spa. The three of us are ready for adventure, and we will be in search of intriguing-smelling walks, stands of trees, new bushes, places to toss the Chucker ball, and dog-friendly restaurants that have outdoor tables. I see a lot of ice cream in our future.

Last year for our summer getaway we went to New England, for many sentimental reasons, visiting old friends and far-flung members of the family. One morning in Cambridge, MA, we had a delightfully simple breakfast of a bowl of strawberries and blueberries. The end of June is that golden moment, where for mere days strawberries and blueberries are both in season. You should enjoy the magic yourself. Last weekend was the solstice, Strawberry Moon, which you will discover after a swift Google search, was named for the fleeting period when strawberries were harvested. Thank you, Farmers’ Almanac: “This ‘Strawberry Moon’ name has been used by Native American Algonquian tribes that live in the northeastern United States as well as the Ojibwe, Dakota, and Lakota peoples to mark the ripening of ‘June-bearing’ strawberries that are ready to be gathered.” Strawberry Moon. Just give me a bowl of sweetness, please.

Raspberry bushes grew near our house when I was little. I remember trailing along behind on the dusty, unpaved country path, stumbling over stones, trailing after my mother and older brother in the heat of a summer morning. I was hot, tired, and frustrated by being the tail end of the procession through the countryside. I was not overwhelmed by the writhing, prickly bushes covered with small red berries. Until I tasted a few. And then I learned to recognize which berries were soft and ripe, and how to pluck them cautiously, mindful of the vicious spiny thorns. Experience is a great teacher. The sun-warmed fruit I ate those summer days has never been equaled by anything store-bought. Over summers I learned the subtleties and variations of the color red as the raspberries ranged from crimson, to alizarin, to ruby, to flame red; to madder, scarlet, and vermillion. The drupelets were covered with tiny hairs (called trichomes, I now know), and the berries were sweet, yielding, and juicy. I don’t think I’ve ever studied food so closely, but they were my first You Pick It experience. Raspberries

That said, my Proustian encounter with raspberries paved the way for my appreciation of more fruits and berries. And I am going to take advantage of all the berries that come my way while we are on vacation. I think Luke deserves an icy treat all for himself, after a day of hiking with Mr. Sanders: Ice Water Bowl

Martha has strong opinions about strawberries, as we would expect. Pay attention: Types of Strawberries

There is nothing like a fancy, summertime Pavlova. And you will feel a great sense of accomplishment adding one to your cooking repertoire: Berry Pavlova

Here is a handy dandy list list of summer fruits. Treat yourself! Do it for Luke.
Summer Fruits:
Blueberries
Strawberries
Raspberries
Blackberries
Cantaloupe
Honeydew melon
Nectarines
Peaches
Plums
Sour cherries
Watermelon
Apricots
Plums

“Taste every fruit of every tree in the garden at least once. It is an insult to creation not to experience it fully. Temperance is wickedness.”
—Stephen Fry

Happy Summer! It looks like it is going to be a long and hot one judging by the past couple of weeks. The cicadas have been warning us, with their constant whine, while drowning out the leaf blowers. The days have been real stinkers, with dangerously high temperatures. Luke the wonder dog is happy to trot off on his morning walk when it is still in the sixties, but he is less ebullient about his late afternoon walkabout once the temperature climbs above 85°. Post-afternoon-walk, you can find Luke stretched out on the wood floor, cooling off by cozying up to an air conditioning vent. A brilliant dog.

The following is a cautionary tale. You know how brilliant some ideas feel, when you first have the “Eureka!” moment, and latch onto an pantry-friendly idea for dinner? I had one of those epiphanies yesterday – Chef’s Salad for dinner. Easy peasy, right? Everything should be there in the fridge. The reality was that it took two trips to the grocery store — once to buy chicken. The second visit to buy bacon, lettuce, green onions, Swiss cheese, Sugar Pop tomatoes, and another pepper. Both trips meant climbing into the compact VW furnace that had been sitting in the driveway, absorbing the heat from the afternoon sun. If you have ever owned a Volkswagen, you will be familiar with the efficiency of the VW heating and cooling system, which never achieves peak operation until you have arrived at your destination. But that was fine; I had an NPR driveway moment, while sweating my brains out.

Back at home, with all my ingredients spread out on the counter, I started preparing our easy, peasy, No-Recipe-Needed dinner: a summery Chef’s Salad, with barely any cooking. First I baked the bacon on a parchment paper—lined cookie sheet at 425°F for 12 minutes. I should have stopped at 11 minutes. Sigh.

Then I halved a wriggly boneless chicken breast, so I would have 2 pieces of chicken to pound thin and flat. I got out some aggressions whacking the pink chicken between two plastic bags, using my fancy French rolling pin. Luke, ever watchful, retreated to a safe observation post under the kitchen table. Then I dredged the tissue-thin chicken in flour, egg and plain Panko bread crumbs, and fried it in olive oil with a pat of butter, for about 3 minutes a side, draining the cooked chicken on paper towels. (This to-ing and fro-ing resulted in about 500 more steps on my pedometer.)

Then I cubed up some day-old Focaccia and fried it in a heart-stopping combo of bacon fat and olive oil. After draining the croutons on more paper towels, I sprinkled them lightly with Lawry’s seasoning salt, garlic powder, onion powder and a cloud of herbs de Provence. Yumsters.

Luckily, Mr. Sanders had been beetling away on the other end of the kitchen island, julienning Swiss cheese, green onions, and uniform strips of red peppers. He was quartering small, sweet tomatoes, and spinning the torn Romaine dry. He plated that Chef’s Salad with artistic care and precision. Then he threw in a magical handful of healthy, anti-oxidant-rich blueberries. Genius.

What should have been the easiest of meals took us more than an hour, during which I walked close to 1000 steps. We then wandered out for a glass of wine during the golden sunset moment on the back porch. We watched for early fireflies, and the bunny who leapt through the fence the moment Luke poked his head outside. The birds were coming home, and the family of new wrens in the hydrangeas was eager to chatter away. There were some bats and swallows swooping by, and high above us a pair of turkey vultures swirled balletically in the currents of summery air. Blessedly, the temperature had dropped by 10 degrees. There was a cool breeze. We wandered back in for dinner, and it was good.

Trust me – don’t spend all your time in the kitchen. There is supposed to be a memorable Strawberry Moon this weekend. Take a dip. Read a book. Loll picturesquely in a hammock. Trail your fingers in some water. Turn on the sprinklers, and listen to the hissing summer lawns. Crank up the A/C in your VW and stock up on chips and popsicles.

Instead of eating chips straight out of a bag, be classy and add some celery stalks and Ritz crackers, and make a bowl of Crab Dip.

There is a reason why this is a popular dip – it tastes so good! Classic Lipton’s Onion Soup Dip: I always add a good couple of shakes of garlic powder and some red pepper flakes. Deelish.

Our friends at Food52 always know how to dress us up: Summer Dips

“Summer’s here, I’m for that
I got my rubber sandals, got my straw hat
Drinking cold beer, man, I’m glad that I’m here
It’s my favorite time of the year and I’m glad that it’s here”
—James Taylor

It’s almost June and we are about to dive headlong into summer. I can see the signs: the fireflies are lighting up our backyard, the weeds are growing faster than kudzu, and the hydrangeas are bobbing their blue mopheads in the warm breeze. And there is a sudden proliferation of green cardboard blueberry baskets in the fridge. I can’t find the butter dish because there are three containers of blueberries crowding the bottom shelf; harbingers of summer.

Mr. Sanders starts most mornings with blueberries. Sometimes he just rinses them off in a wire strainer and drops them into a cereal bowl for easy munching. Or he mixes them with other berries and some yogurt. Sometimes he deposits a handful on top of a bowl of leaves and twigs and has a healthy, crunchy granola breakfast. And there is his new favorite breakfast concoction – overnight oats, with chia seeds, whey protein powder, yogurt, and whatever fruit he can summon up. It is a very earnest breakfast, and he is full of antioxidants, chock-a-block with Vitamins C and K and his blood pressure is great. Benefits of Blueberries

On Sundays, when I have time for creative cooking, and am not rushing out to the Y, I like my blueberries as a special component: in piping hot, just-baked blueberry muffins, with oozing schmears of Irish butter, with a side of Sunday papers. Mr. Sanders can have his overnight oats. Give me some blueberry pancakes, with warm blue bursts in each mouthful, the flavonoids enhanced with alternating bites of bacon. Luke the Wonder Dog likes a blueberry treat, or two. He is always vigilant in the kitchen and catches many a spill before they hit the floor. He likes the added thrill of a bouncing blueberry. Not too many, though! Dogs and Blueberries

With a little planning, you can bake a breakfast cake. How perfect is cake for breakfast? A blueberry breakfast cake is the best way to start a day.

Surely the ultimate blueberry moment is the first bite of pie. You might prefer your pie open-face, latticework, crumble, or with a second crust. It’s going to be a long summer, so try every variation. Our friends at Food52 have done lots of research, and lots of baking. I rely on them to guide me through these treacherous blueberry pie waters.

Our children never ate blueberries except in muffins and pancakes until we visited a blueberry farm in Maine, and they got to fill both their buckets and their greedy bellies with blueberries that they hunted and gathered themselves. Now they are confirmed blueberry aficionados. Hit the farmers’ markets near you on Saturday to pick up a nice fresh pint or two of locally grown blueberries. And if it is too early for locals, satisfy your yen with strawberries or blackberries. Yumsters.

Here’s a genius idea for a breakfast shake. You can still get out of the house quickly in the morning, yet you’ll still get some nutrition – no stopping by Dunkin’: Breakfast Shake

What are you doing for lunch? How about a colorful salad? For a delightfully cool lunch salad, try pairing blueberries with cucumbers and some feta cheese. The weekend promises to be steamy, so plan ahead: Blueberry Cucumber Salad

Cocktail hour! John Derian is as stylish and clever as folks come, and this is his recipe for a Blueberry Smash. Deelightful! Blueberry Smash

Finally, Alexandra Stafford, of Alexandra’s Kitchen, has introduced the Spy Test Kitchens to Lemon-Blueberry Dutch Baby

June is about to be busting out all over. And if you listen carefully you’ll hear the blueberries ripening. Little globules of vitamin-rich blue goodness! ’Tis the season to revel in local blueberries! Summertime adventures are just around the corner. Don’t forget your sunscreen.

“Although it was a blueberrying day, there was no telling what would happen next.”
–Robert McCloskey

“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said at that literary tea party. Alice and her chums enjoyed a tea time that was riddled with puns, good butter and the illogical chaos of Wonderland. More tea was taken, and hurled overboard in Boston in December of 1773, when the Sons of Liberty, in disguise and under cover of night, tired of excessive taxation without representation, tipped a fortune of imported British tea into the wintery water of Boston Harbor.

Wikipedia says the British tax would have “force(d) the colonists to pay a tax of 3 pennies on every pound of tea” about $31.78 in today’s money.

On May 13, 1774, in broad daylight, citizens of Chester Town, Maryland, boarded the brigantine Geddes at the town wharf and dumped its tea cargo into the Chester River. These local Sons of Liberty listed their grievances, which became known as the Chestertown Resolves: it became illegal to buy, sell or drink tea that had been shipped from England. The Revolutionary War came to the Eastern Shore.

The Chestertown Spy’s records don’t go back as far as 1774, so we can’t confirm all the historical details, but we do like a good tale with feats of derring-do. We plan to enjoy the 250th anniversary of the Chestertown Tea Party that is being celebrated this weekend. The Chestertown Tea Festival is an annual gala with a parade, marching bands, tea party re-enactors, art, history, music, crafts and food. Grab your mob cap, don your tricorn, and polish your shoe buckles and let’s march downtown. Let’s wave at the Sultana. Do you hear the fife and drum? It’s tea time.

We don’t have to pay excise taxes on tea these days, so it’s not just the Brits who enjoy tea. Tea can be a sweet, milky, strong and dark, or mild and pale. It can be a bracing brew in a mug, a translucent teacup, or a tall glass with ice and lemons. Tea can be accompanied by hot, buttered crumpets, or fresh scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream (divine), or with cunning little crustless cucumber or watercress sandwiches, or even a light supper. Also perfect: a cup of scalding tea and a plate of buttered toast. Tea is the omnibus term, and this weekend we will embrace it. We might even find time for a Pimm’s Cup.

NPR is happy to explain the different categories of tea: high tea, afternoon tea, cream tea, elevenses. Tea Categories as Explained by NPR

I’m more interested in tiny elaborate layered tea sandwiches that take hours to assemble, and disappear in a flash. Give me cukes!

CUCUMBER SANDWICHES (for a party)
(For yourself, 4 slices of bread should do it.)
1 English cucumber, peeled and sliced
Maldon Salt, for extra crunch
32 slices soft white sandwich bread
¾ cup unsalted butter, softened
Freshly ground black pepper

Stack the slices of bread and cut off the offending crusts. Spread each slice with softened butter, evenly. Put the cucumber rounds on half the slices of bread, overlapping the rounds slightly. Sprinkle salt and pepper and top with the remaining bread slices. Cut into triangles. Devour.

These are totally adorable sandwiches, and what a genius move to use cookie cutters! Tea Sandwiches

These scones are extremely popular at Claridge’s in London. They are equally tasty if baked at home: Scones

Tea doesn’t have to be a fusty or class-conscious ritual. It does require a little planning, a little shopping, a little ahead-of-time-prep. You don’t need to stick your pinky out – we are proud Americans. No pretense is necessary or tolerated. This is the perfect weekend to celebrate the American Revolutionary spirit. Nothing says radical, anti-monarchist thinking more than a tray crowded with a platter of beautiful, crustless sandwiches and tiny cakes, some delicate bone china, and gleaming, well-polished, ancestral silver!

“If you are ever passing my way, don’t wait to knock! Tea is at four, but any of you are welcome at any time!”
– Bilbo Baggins

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day chock-a-block with adventure potential. Who wants to sleep late when the farmers’ markets are open and the fresh produce is gleaming? Or because Luke the wonder dog is wriggling and curvetting at the first sign of the rosy-fingered dawn? It’s not even six o’clock, and we are stumbling through the house, making coffee, making plans.

Our local farmers’ market is downtown, about a ten-minute drive away. Some of you might be lucky enough to live just a stroll or a bike ride away from the market. We bid a fond adieu to Mr. Wiggles, who is suddenly overcome with the need for a morning nap. We climb into the car, clutching our souvenir Trader Joe’s tote bags, and head out to hunt and gather fruit and vegetables for the week ahead.

After parking, we walk around a couple of dozen stalls of tempting seasonal fruits, vegetables, flowers, crafts, organic eggs, jewelry, seafood, soaps, and coffees. The people were just as varied: yoga pants people, plump; madras shorts-wearing folks; a young pastel-y Lilly Pulitzer family; some earnest old folks striding around in their Hokas and athleisure-wear, fresh from the Y. Poor Luke. Don’t tell him what he missed. There were all sorts of foods that he would have enjoyed: kettle corn, sausage biscuits, a fallen scoop of ice cream…

We stood in one line for some ears of local blueberries – it’s blueberry season here. Then we found another line for some new potatoes. The farmer told us as he manipulated the digital scale that he had dug the potatoes on Thursday afternoon. We love a good backstory. And then we got in the car, hoping that it was time for Wait Wait…Don’t Tell Me!, as we turned towards Luke and home. We could have saved time and just buzzed over to the grocery store to make our produce purchases, but it was a worthwhile adventure to get out and meet the folks who raise, grow, and dig our food. It is a sunny beginning to summer.

Now it’s your turn. Go out to your farmers’ market tomorrow and buy some kettle corn, and eat an ice cream cone. Buy some jewel-like radishes and a pint or two of blueberries. Pat some dogs. And maybe you’ll bake some Blueberry Breakfast Cake for tomorrow morning.

The Preakness is being run this weekend at Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore. Do you have all the makings for The Black-Eyed Susan at home? It is a heady mix of vodka and bourbon, shaken with peach schnapps, orange juice, and sour mix.

Cambridge Farmers Market
May – October – Thursdays, 3:00 PM – 6:00 PM
Farmers’ Market at Long Wharf

Chestertown Farmers’ Market

Saturdays, 8:00 AM to Noon
High & Cross Streets & Fountain Park

St. Michaels Farmers’ Market

Saturdays, 8:30 AM-11:30 AM
206 S. Talbot St., St. Michaels, MD, 21663
The St. Michaels Farmers’ Market is closed this week, due to the annual Running Festival, but you should go next week.

Easton Farm Market

Saturdays, 8:00 AM-1:00 PM, Rain or Shine
100 Block of North Harrison Street, in the municipal parking lot

Kent Island Farmers’ Market

Thursdays, 3:30 PM-6:30 PM, year-round
Cult Classic Brewery, 1169 Shopping Center Rd. in Stevensville

Centreville Farmers’ Market
Sundays, 9 AM – 1 PM
Town Hall, 101 Lawyer’s Row, Centreville, MD 21617

“We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it.”
― Shirley Jackson