Cheese and Choux

My relationship with food lately has been rocky, at best.  I dealt with a surprising bout of illness this spring; I naturally followed this with a handful of weeks of tentative eating.  Just as I thought I had reached my personal zenith of health again (note that mine differs immensely from, say, Lance Armstrong's), I went to the aquarium. 

It was a good idea, as many terrible ideas are, in theory.  You know, hammerhead sharks.  Glow-in-the-dark fish.  Ancient-looking turtles.  A dolphin show.  Yet somewhere in the midst of the unending masses of munchkins and one questionably stale grilled cheese sandwich, I managed to acquire food poisoning.  The timing was the worst it could have been, as it occurred the evening before a dear friend's wedding.  (Another friend later mentioned that mine was the ONLY unused placard, so the groom was concerned.  How do these things happen?)  As my stomach convulsed on one long highway with an appalling lack of rest stops, I vowed never to eat again.  Apparently, I get fairly melodramatic with food poisoning.

After another week of merry-go-round-style nausea, I managed to default back to two weeks of tentative eating.  Soup.  Bread.  Juice.  Wash and repeat.  In the process, I reached a whole new level of closeness with my husband.  All of that newlywed vanity and courtship trying-to-be-pretty stuff is a thing of the past.  He has now seen me in throes of ugly unlike anything since the bar exam, and he still loves me.  I'm astounded and grateful and beginning to believe him now when he says he'll love me always.  That's what these hardships are, I suppose: tiny affirmations of his commitment to always stay.  As the greenery all around blossoms fully and winter is all too easily forgotten, it would seem that my own marriage fits nicely into summer's easy metaphor.

But not so fast.  I'm not a sarcastic, skeptical, left-leaning blogger for nothing.  I'm still annoyed for the wicked trick that's been played on me in these early summer days.  While I've dutifully read all of your blogs (and you've been eating marvelously, I might add), I've been steaming away with envy.  It feels like a cruel joke to be forced into sacrifice, into tasteless crackers and broth, just as the earth itself offers such a bounty.  It feels like the very definition of irony.  And if I hadn't had such time - what with my stomach rumbling precariously and our most not-funny friends tossing around words like "pregnancy" - I would be incredibly peeved at having missed summer.  Fortunately for me, I'm not pregnant and my stomach has calmed to still water.  Moreover, I sometimes keep a blog where I think about these things.  And right now, all I really feel is grateful.

Having been relegated to the house on dozens of sunny days, I have fervently enjoyed my lazy strolls through the farmer's market.  The strawberries, all dirty and plump, taste like heaven.  Slicing them, and licking the juices that trickle down clumsy fingers, is the ultimate sensory experience.  Fresh-grown basil smells like it's finally come into its own.  Like it's finally ready to really shine.  The cheesemonger is there, too, as he offers tantalizing shards of things that I can't quite pronounce.  I purchase cannolis from a local baker, and lettuce from a kid who looks like he wants to get out of the heat. 

Yet, even with all the bounty at stake, summer really isn't the best time for a foodie blog.  Because people like me, people who like to eat things best when they're in season, don't want to take the time to cook their wares.  We're a little impatient, particularly those of us in the mid-atlantic, because we've been waiting some time for food to taste of summer.  In truth, all of the fresh fruit and vegetables truly could (and maybe should) be left alone.

But there are reasons to find our way back into the kitchen.  There will be rainy days and bellies that gurgle (hopefully, not mine) for something warm.  With that, I'll offer up my own recipe for ratatouille.  My mother made it when we were young, as it was one of the easiest ways to urge us to "eat our colors."  I've spiced it up with some white wine and roasted peppers.  I've tailored it to suit my grown-up tastes.  Yet, I like this dish because those infantile parts of me, those parts that don't care for summer squash and zucchini unless they're cooked, warm to the idea of a meal that will soak up any vegetable that my refrigerator can regurgitate.

And with that last, impeccably wrong (under the circumstances) choice of verb, I'll leave you to your summer.

Lizzie's Ratatouille

Ingredients

Olive oil

1/2 an onion, coarsely chopped

3 gloves of garlic, chopped

2 orange bell peppers, sliced in half (remove seeds)

2 red bell peppers, sliced in half (remove seeds)

1 medium-sized eggplant, sliced

4 Roma tomatoes, chopped

1 zucchini, sliced

1 yellow squash, sliced

Fresh basil

Fresh thyme

Dried oregano

Dried parsely

1/2 cup of dry white wine

Instructions

Heat the oven to 400 degrees.  Place pepper halves on foil with the skin facing upwards.  Roast for 20 minutes.  When the pepper halves have cooled, chop them coarsely.

In a Dutch oven, heat olive oil, garlic, and onion on medium heat for approximately 6 minutes or until softened.  Add the eggplant until coated with oil.  Add the peppers.  Cover and cook for 10 minutes.

Add the sliced tomatoes, zucchini, and herbs.  Add the white wine.  Cover and cook for 15 minutes on medium-low heat.