Cucumber

I remember having this condiment someplace in the Balkans, and it has been a summertime staple at my house ever since, especially when small crisp pickling cucumbers are abundant. A couple of hours before we eat, I salt the cuke slices and let them wilt. Just before we sit down, I toss the slices in yogurt with mint from the garden. A spoonful is enough to sauce a portion of fish, but I make it in big batches, because everyone heaps it on their plates as a dinner vegetable. Double the formula here to make a generous side dish serving six.

Sliced cucumbers mixed with salt, lime, and chile are often eaten in Mexico as a snack and are even sold at movie theaters. I was about thirteen when I first tried this combination as a sorbet on a warm day in Cuernavaca. Well, this time the flavor of the cucumber was heightened with a little sugar, and the sorbet was topped with a mixture of chile and lime. I’ve included the chiles in the sorbet itself, by infusing them in the syrup; however, you can always sprinkle some powdered chile on top after it has set.

PAT Gina will mix up a batch of this for me to serve our guests, and if I’m lucky she’ll make enough for me, too. It’s good.

Wood sorrel, with shamrock-shaped leaves and a more mellow and elegant flavor than its cousin, grows wild across the United States. Common sorrel is easier to find, with more of a pronounced sour-lemony taste, and can be used in this recipe if foraging isn’t one of your fortes. This is a refreshing soup, simple to make, with an elusive, unusual flavor due to the herb. Greek yogurt is thicker than other types of yogurt, but draining it still yields a denser base for the soup.

Uni, or sea urchin roe, is at once delicate and incredibly rich. I like this preparation because the chive and radish offer a bit of bite and cut some of that richness, while the lemon and cucumber contribute a breezy freshness. Because the portions are small, make sure you cut the vegetables into a very fine, uniform dice. This would make a very elegant passed appetizer at a cocktail party. You can find fresh uni packaged in trays at Asian markets.

The perfect combination of sweet and tart, thinly sliced bread and butter pickles are the quintessential all-purpose sandwich toppers, delivering lots of big, punchy flavor in a small package. They make such a satisfyingly crunchy snack that—if you’re anything like me—you’ll soon graduate from layering them in sandwiches to munching them straight from the jar.

My dad’s crunchy, garlicky dills accompanied the majority of the sandwiches I ate as a child. They were perfectly crisp every time—that satisfying snapping sound accompanying each bite was one of the best things about them—a feat my dad achieved simply by using small, firm, freshly picked cucumbers. Try to pick cucumbers that are already short enough to fit easily in the jar, about 4 inches long for pint jars. Or, for unexpected shape, taste, and color, make them using round yellow lemon cucumbers cut into wedges.

Many Southerners keep a steady supply of no-fuss cucumber pickles like these in the fridge all through the summer. They’re great because you don’t even have to turn on the stove: just toss everything together, let it all marinate for a few hours, and you’re good to go. Mild and crunchy, they are sort of a cross between cucumber salad and dill pickles, meaning they’re perfect scattered over a simple green salad with Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing (page 284), layered in Pimiento Cheese Burgers (page 187) or Pickled Jalapeño Meatloaf (page 191) sandwiches, or placed in a little dish and added to a relish tray.

A classic of the West Coast, this dressing was created in the 1920s by San Francisco’s Palace Hotel in honor of a play by the same name. With buttermilk standing in for sour cream, my “Southern” version is light, tangy, and chock-full of green herbs. It’s the quintessential spring and summer dressing, and because it’s all about using the freshest herbs—whether dill, chervil, sorrel, or cilantro—I almost never make it the same way twice.

This simple and refreshing salad is what I crave on especially hot summer days in North Carolina, when even the trees begin to droop and I can’t bear the thought of turning on the oven. That’s the only time to make it, since it’s also when the tomatoes and cucumbers are at their peak and growing like weeds. Have fun mixing and matching colors and shapes using the many varieties—both familiar and strange—that you’re apt to find at your local farmer’s market.

My initial exposure to French cuisine was during my first trip to Europe. It was long before I would eat in any three-star restaurants, and that exposure—the best I could have asked for—came from sitting in cafés. I was a wide-eyed twenty-three-year-old (and I was told by a waiter not to practice my high school French on him). I remember beautiful, colorful plates of vegetables going past me. I soon learned it was the classic French presentation of crudités, an assortment of three or four salads served together. It was fresh, affordable, and very appetizing, and it was served all over the city. Once in a while I’ll run this as a special in my restaurant; then I’ll forget about it until I crave it again. Any one of these salads can stand on its own, but if you put them all together they make for an extraordinary meal. Marinated Lentil Salad with Creamy Goat Cheese and Ripe Tomatoes (p. 113) would be a welcome addition to the mix.

The first apartment I rented in New Orleans was a summer sublet with a tiny balcony, just big enough for a hibachi grill. This sandwich, a beloved Greek specialty, was one I loved to make when I had friends over. We’d drink a bottle of chilled retsina and dream of being in a café looking up at the Acropolis. If you don’t feel like firing up a grill, these skewers can be cooked in a grill pan or under the broiler. You can also make skewers of diced chicken (breast or thigh meat). Just grill a few minutes less, so the leaner meat doesn’t dry out.

This refreshing summer salad—a play of sweet and salty flavors—was inspired by some friends of mine reminiscing about the food they ate on a trip to Israel, where the pairing of fresh melon and feta cheese is fairly common. I was never one to sprinkle salt on my watermelon, but somehow with the addition of cucumber and citrus dressing, the contrast is incredibly refreshing.

If you’re making this salad ahead of time, you’ll want to lightly salt the cucumbers, let them sit in a colander to drain for 10 minutes, drain, then pat dry with a paper towel. If you’re going to serve this salad right away, you can skip that step.

Gazpacho is traditionally made by adding olive oil to vegetable purée; in this light version, we left out the oil and used only a small amount to cook the shrimp.