On Tomatoes and Burrata: or, Not a Recipe But a Reconciliation

So I could pretend to have a good excuse for not posting in over a year. I don't.

But I do have a good excuse for posting for the first time in over a year, namely, summer: at last.

There are some miserable things about summer in Chicago (these include: bugs, the heat, the humidity, the dust, the heat, the humidity, wanting to eat nothing but iceberg lettuce because of all the heat and humidity) and then there are really wonderful things about summer in Chicago (these include: Miko's, garage sales galore, the greenest boulevards, walking everywhere, it no longer being winter).

And, there is the farmer's market. This summer the market has really, really come into it's own (was it just two summers ago that Lauren bought that handmade goat milk soap that made her smell like a rancid goat?); I'm sort of in love with all the farmers there, and this weekend filled my bags with cantaloupe, raspberries, peaches, eggs (time to make more ice cream), green beans and yellow wax beans, baby broccoli and - my heart catches in my throat - the first tomatoes of the season.

I forget every year. I forget, how could I forget? The swoon-worthiness of a real summer tomato? We've been tossing them with just a touch of olive oil, sea salt and basil, and serving with a melting slice of burrata (which reminds me of one other thing the Chicago summer is good for: quickly bringing cheese to a proper-ish temperature).

This, is not a recipe, I know, but a reconciliation: Chef Yum Yum asking her kind readers, might I not have your eye again? I'll not pretend I haven't neglected you sorely, nor pretend that you still bother to click my page; instead I ask that we all think to the lesson of the gentle burrata, nestled dearly against the smooth, confident curve of her beloved tomatoes. Might not a sweet summer salad do us all a little good?

As for me, September brings a new home with an air-conditioner (I'll be baking bread, all summer long) and a dishwasher (which I hear saves more water than hand washing, anyways), and some new work on green issues with my church. I'm plotting to make the ways that we eat a central part of this (I know, I know, the air-conditioner doesn't really jive with "green," but those of you who are judging me, think for a moment: do you live in Seattle or San Francisco, or some other year-round-breezy-locale? That's what I thought. None of my Durham friends or Atlanta friends are judging.); we're meeting Thursday to talk about incorporating CSAs into hospitality hour, oh my.

So: more recipes on the way. Here's to the tomatoes; here's to the burrata.