Purslane Salad with Cantaloupe and Feta

Purslane is in season here, and if you've had the chance to buy it straight from a grower, you know that it's far more active of a plant than it might look on the shelf of Whole Foods. Purslane is no wimpy pile of leaves; it's a big, flowery, almost overgrown plant, with thick stems the size of garlic scapes and row after row of firm, round leaves. It announces itself by looks alone, and with its bright, tangy flavor, boy does it pack a punch.

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The stems of purslane, I recently discovered, are quite mucilaginous, not unlike okra. I tried to saute them in a bit of olive oil and I ended up with a stew the texture of gumbo. Next time, I'll leave the stems whole and either grill them, or saute them in a very hot pan with very hot oil, to keep the goo at bay.

But the leaves, that's where the fun is. Purslane is tart, like sorrel, which makes it a perfect pair for summer's sweetest melons.

Last week, when most of what we had in the house consisted of tomatoes in one form or another, I did manage to get my hands on both this purslane and a beautiful cantaloupe. I'd also bought a fresh block of feta, which added the much-needed salty component to this salad. The dressing was an entirely unfussy combination of sherry vinegar and good olive oil (substitute red wine vinegar if you don't have sherry), with a bit of flaky salt and pepper. And because I couldn't resist using some of the beautiful spearmint that I'd bought for the most amazing soup ever (stay tuned), that went in, too. Super simple, really refreshing.

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If you've found purslane and are looking for other things to do with it, here are a few recommendations:

• Use as a bed for steak salad or duck confit
• Add to potato salad; dress with a spicy, mustard-heavy dressing
• Toss with sesame noodles; dress with a thin, soy-based dressing heavy on the sesame oil
• Combine with sauteed tofu, julienned carrots, and some avocado in rice paper rolls; serve with peanut sauce

And if you want even more ideas, Clotilde over at Chocolate and Zucchini wrote a post with more suggestions that you can fit into a single season.

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Happy purslaning!

Purslane Salad with Cantaloupe and Feta serves 2 as a main course, 4 as an appetizer or component of a meal

1 big bunch of purslane 2 cups diced cantaloupe 5 oz. good, briny feta cheese, crumbled or cubed (your choice) 3 sprigs spearmint or peppermint, just leaves 2 tablespoons sherry or red wine vinegar 1/4 cup good olive oil flaky salt and pepper (about 1/4 teaspoon each, less if your salt is fine)

Separate the thin stems and their attached leaves from the thick central branch, and cut them into smallish sprigs.

Toss purslane, cantaloupe, feta, and mint in a large bowl.

Combine sherry, olive oil, salt, and pepper, and whisk until combined. Drizzle over salad and toss to combine. Spoon out onto small plates and serve immediately.

Favorite Corn Chowder

I can only assume that many of you hail from the Northeast, which is why I so hesitate to come down on one side of the chowder vs. chowder debate. There's New England, milky and rich, and then there's Manhattan, with a clear broth and plenty of tomatoes. Think Yankees vs. Red Sox: tensions run high.

But I'm not from New York, and I'm not from Boston, either. And ever since that Yankee kid snatched a ball straight from the hands of my Orioles and cost them the 1996 pennant, well, phooey. But I'm a peacemaker at heart. I don't like these silly rivalries. And so, to celebrate the end of summer and the abundance (12 ears!) of corn in my fridge, I'm sharing my favorite chowder recipe, which -- spoiler alert -- combines the two varieties into one. I know, scandalous.

Here's the deal: cobs become stock. Scallions, butter, and flour cook down into a ridiculous-smelling roux. Yes, we add some milk. But we also add -- bu-dump-ching! -- some sauced tomatoes. (If I'm being honest, I'd probably add some more next time around. I want the soup to be seriously pink.) Also, because I'm me, some hot chiles. That's the broth.

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As for the stuff, we've got corn, potatoes, carrots. Maybe some celery, if you'd like. And while I know some of you will balk at what I say next, there's a secret ingredient in this corn chowder that gives it a deep, rich undercurrent of umami. Skip if it wigs you out, but I wouldn't. It's smoked anchovies. My friends Beth and Jeremy are the ones who taught me about the wonder of smoked anchovies: the first time I had them was when I ate chowder at their home last year. I just stocked up on a batch of my own, and I'm never looking back.

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The result is rich, but not cloying. It's got punch from the tomatoes and chiles, but it still tastes distinctly of corn. And since you're asking, I'm telling: I'll be serving this over the holidays. It's the perfect dish to send summer off and welcome fall.

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Favorite Corn Chowder

Notes: I used the liquid left over from juicing tomatoes before canning them. I liked that there weren't any chunks of tomato, just the flavor. If you'd prefer some chunks, go for it. Either way, I think I'd up the quantity of tomato liquid next time, to make the soup truly pink.

As for the chile, I used fresh red chile, but next time I might play with some Asian chile paste, which would give the soup a red-orange tint and (hopefully) allow some of that oil to float to the top, the way it does in Asian soups. If you try it this way, definitely post in the comments.

6 ears of corn, cobs and kernels separated 4 tablespoons butter 1/2 cup chopped scallions 4 tablespoons flour 2 cups milk 3 smoked anchovies, chopped 1 cup crushed tomatoes or tomato liquid (I might use up to 2 cups next time, for a really pink soup) 1 Thai red chile or red jalapeno, seeds removed, minced (start with part and add to taste) 3 medium red potatoes, peeled and diced (about 2 cups) 3 carrots, coined (about 1 1/2 cups) 1 stalk celery, chopped, optional chives or parsley for garnish

Prepare the stock: Put the corn cobs in a large pot with add 3 cups of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook for about 30 minutes, until the water smells deeply of corn. Remove the cobs, pour the broth into a big heatsafe bowl, and set aside. Leave the pot on the heat.

Make the broth: Add the butter to the pot, stir until it melts, and add the chopped scallions. Let the scallions cook for a minute or two, until the butter smells fragrant and they have softened slightly. Add the flour, stir until the lumps disappear, and stir frequently until the mixture turns golden and smells toasty.

Add the milk a little at a time, incorporating the roux into the milk until the mixture is entirely smooth. Then add the anchovies, tomatoes, and corn broth, stirring to combine.

Finish the soup: Add the corn kernels, chile, potatoes, carrots, and celery if using. Give the soup a stir. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat back to medium-low, and cook for 15-20 minutes, until everything is cooked and the soup looks creamy.

Taste the soup, and add salt, pepper, and chile to taste. I found my soup to be plenty salty after the anchovies and just a pinch of salt, which is why I don't recommend salting the soup until the end.

Serve in big bowls with chopped chives and plenty of crusty bread or oyster crackers.

Peach-Tomato Salad, a few ways

An unlikely pairing, these two. Tomatoes and peaches, when at their prime, are both so juicy and flavorful that you need something crusty to soak up all those juices. Peaches get tucked under biscuit dough and baked up into cobbler. In this house, tomatoes have no finer place than atop a slice of toasted garlic-rubbed sourdough bread, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with flaky salt. These are noble dishes. They make intuitive sense.

But rules are meant to be broken, especially in summertime, and this is the salad to do it. It is a big, summery bowl full of juice, and there's nothing to sop it up. (Spoiler alert: serve with crusty bread.) But the juice that gathers at the bottom of the salad bowl is the purest extraction of summer. It is elixir, and you will want to hoard it, and spoon it up, and drink it straight.

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Without excellent peaches and tomatoes, this salad isn't worth making. Splurge at the farmers' market. Or, if your local famers' carry discounted "second" fruit with blemishes, this is a great place to use them. Once they're cut and macerated, you won't notice little imperfections in the fruit.

Let's talk about variations:

• Add a big handful of arugula or watercress and a couple chunks of feta cheese
• Toast 1/4 cup of almonds (or slivered almonds) and add them with a pinch of dried red chile
• Add a teaspoon of pomegranate syrup and a pinch or two of sumac
• My personal favorite: add chunks of avocado and a handful of homemade croutons

If you've got other ideas, don't hold back.

As far as how to serve this salad, other than gobble it plain, a big crusty piece of

bread

- I prefer toasted - is good for sopping up juices. You could also cut the fruit up smaller, add a chopped jalapeno and the juice of a lime, and you've got a beautiful

salsa fresca

that would be great served on any grilled white fish or on fish

tacos

. Boom.

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Or, if you literally want to drink your salad, you can make it, and then puree it into a fantastic sweet-tart gazpacho. Chile and lime optional.

Drink up, friends. Enjoy the weekend.

Peach-Tomato Salad serves 2

2 ripe, juicy peaches 2 plump, red beefsteak tomatoes 2 tablespoons good, fruity olive oil 1/2 teaspoon flaky salt freshly ground pepper to taste

Peel the peach using a peeler or a paring knife. Split in half down the dimpled pole of the peach, and pry the two half moons away from the pit. Cut each half into 4 slices, and then cut each slice in half. Transfer to a bowl with all the accumulated juices.

Cut the tomato into similar segments: cut in half, cut each half into 4 slices, and halve each slice. Transfer to the same bowl with juices.

Drizzle the olive oil over the fruit. Add some of the salt, and use a spoon to fold everything together without bruising the fruit too much. Taste, and add more salt and fresh pepper to taste. At this point, the salad is ready. It can rest happily on the counter until you're ready to eat, or you can gobble it all down immediately.

Peach-Tomato Salsa serves 4

2 ripe peaches 2 ripe tomatoes juice of half a lime half a jalapeno or serrano chile salt and pepper to taste

Peel peaches. Cut into full slices, cut each slice into strips, and cut each strip into cubes. Size is your choice - I like itsy bitsy pieces for chips, but chunky hunks for tacos.

Repeat with tomatoes, cutting into similarly sized pieces as the peaches. Dice the chile as small as you can.

Combine everything but salt and pepper in a bowl. Add salt and pepper gradually, tasting as you go, until your salsa is balanced to your taste. Serve immediately, or let the juices accumulate for a while.

Zucchini with Basil, Pine Nuts, and Croutons

Well, London may have the edge when it comes to strawberries, but DC is just bursting with amazing fruits and vegetables this time of year. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that eating that summer produce is way, way more fun when your A/C works. Because since May, ours hasn't. And now it does. And cold air, it is wonderful. (In other news: if you've come over to our house in the last couple months and been inexplicably hot, sorry about that.)

Now that we're no longer hot from the moment we wake up in the morning, I can bear a trip down to the Sunday market. This past Sunday, I picked up some bright red, plump sour cherries, two pounds of rhubarb (for recipes I'll be telling you about soon), and some lovely baby zucchini.

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Baby zucchini is so, so pretty, no? All those different shapes and sizes? The little skinny sticks and the bigger, round patty pans? How can you not love them?

And yet, as is the case every year, I bring home a basket of those zucchini, and they sit. In the fridge. For days. Because people, I don't ever know what to do with them. They don't taste different than big zucchini, they just look different. So I feel like I have to leave them whole to preserve their cuteness. Otherwise, why not just buy the regular ones?

A couple years ago, I got hooked on this recipe for zucchini and snap peas dressed very simply with sesame oil. But not all baby zucchini can be left whole. At some point, you gotta cut the things up. Fortunately for me (and you), I've come up with a dish of zucchini sliced small enough that it can be eaten in a civilized fashion without your guests totally missing the fact that you sprang for the little guys.

The dish is inspired by something far more fussy from the legendary Dan Barber, a dish made with, yes, zucchini bread croutons. If you happen to have leftover zucchini bread lying around, this is a great way to put it to use. For the rest of us, say it with me now: summer is unfussy. Then go laugh at the fact that Oprah says this recipe takes 10 minutes. Really? Ba-ha.

Where were we? Yes. You're slicing baby zucs, getting 'em nice and browned, and tossing them with some basil oil, some toasted pine nuts, and some croutons. Simple? Simple.

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If you don't feel like making croutons, simply toast a couple pieces of bread, smear their toasted tops with some ricotta or goat cheese, and pile the zucchini on top. You can also top this with shards of a harder cheese, like parmesan or pecorino. Even a harder goat cheese would work well.

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While we're on the topic of do-what-you-want, if you -- like my beloved -- hate pine nuts (I know, how could she??), swap in almonds, hazelnuts, or no nuts whatsoever. If you don't love basil (again with D...crazy), try dill or mint. And if you don't feel like buying the baby zucs, big ones work just fine. I'm on a mission to make summer recipes flexible and un-fus-sy. I will prevail. And then we'll all not fuss one bit, and eat delicious summer food, and be very happy.

Zucchini with Basil, Pine Nuts, and Croutons Inspired by a recipe from Dan Barber serves 2-3 as a side dish or appetizer

1 pound small zucchini (about 5), trimmed and cut on the bias into 1" slices 4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, separated 1/2 teaspoon flaky salt 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper juice of half a lemon 1/4 cup basil chiffonade 1/4 cup pine nuts 1 cup torn croutons (I like sourdough, but any bread will work) 7 or 8 big shards of a salty, hard cheese like parmesan or pecorino (optional)  

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and spread pine nuts onto a baking sheet in a single layer. Toast pine nuts until evenly golden, about 7 minutes. Set aside.

Add 2 tablespoons olive oil to a large heavy pan (I like cast iron) and set it over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add zucchini slices in a single layer. Season with salt and pepper, then let cook undisturbed for 3-5  minutes, until undersides are shiny and golden-brown. Patience is the virtue here; if you move the zucchini around too much, it will steam and not brown properly.

Flip browned slices onto their second side and cook for 3-5 minutes more. Meanwhile, transfer chiffonade basil (or other herb) to a small mixing bowl, and as the zucchini slices finish cooking, add them to the bowl and stir to wilt the basil. Add any oil that remains in the pan into the bowl, to help the basil wilt and emit its flavor.

Add the remaining olive oil to the same pan, heat on medium, and when it shimmers, add the croutons. Season with salt and pepper, and again, leave undisturbed for about 3 minutes until undersides are golden. Flip to get as many sides of each crouton as possible crisped and slicked with the oil. When croutons are golden and toasty, Remove to a plate.

To serve, arrange zucchini and basil, pine nuts, croutons, and cheese (if using) on a flat platter. Squeeze the lemon overtop and serve warm or at room temperature.