The greater diversity of plants we have in our garden, the more creatures we attract. Fewer chimpmunks are roaming around the rock walls that surround our raised beds, and now we know why: the snakes have arrived! I love snakes and am very fascinated by them. I adore their gorgeous skin and have not been above spending close to $1,000 on a python Bottega Veneta bag. But that was in another life. Now I prefer to admire them alive and in my own yard. We have established that there are at least five and are beginning to understand their habits—when they like to take the sun, when they are on the move, when they rest. It's all about being warm, but not too warm. I am slightly relieved that these are just common garter snakes (Thamnophis sirtalis) because they only have a tiny bit of venom which doesn't affect humans.
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David Mamet has written some great plays with plenty of memorable dialogue, but the line of his that sticks with me is a deceptively mundane one from a slightly camp film, The Edge. It stars Alec Baldwin as a smarmy fashion photographer and Anthony Hopkins as an intellectual billionaire thrust together in the Alaskan wilderness. After their plane crashes, the two of them—who mix it up like oil and water—are pitted against a gargantuan Grizzly that's out for their blood. Hopkins is amazingly resourceful and when faced with the seemingly insurmountable task of outrunning the bear, says only, What one man can do, another can do. Meaning survive, in this case, I'm guessing.

It's a reassuring thought, isn't it? A reminder that determination and force of will are sometimes all you need to level the playing field. When confronting fear, this has become a sort of mantra for me. It's handy even in the face of small challenges, like recreating the wonderfully refreshing carbonated Americanos we enjoyed at Clyde Common in Portland. Essentially a ready-to-quaff Italian-style aperitivo—Campari and sweet vermouth with an orange peel twist—these house-made and -bottled cocktails were a real revelation, and G pined for them back in New York. So what's a DIYer to do? It's not like barman extraordinaire Jeffrey Morgenthaler doesn't have the full set of instructions up on his website.
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I am not so different from the beasts of the field and forest. Even in this heat, and with all of summer's bounty making it seem that we will never lack for food, we're thinking ahead to those cold, barren months. The squirrels are stockpiling pinecones, the mice are hiding seeds, and I am preserving fruits, vegetables and herbs in a variety of ways. I buy so much fruit at the local farmers market that I am officially known as a good customer and receive certain perks. This week that meant 10 pints of free raspberries deemed too soft to sell but really in absolutely perfect condition. That very same day I cooked them down and put them up—their sweet essence, garnet hue and soft, floral fragrance stowed away for a wintry delight. I've done the same with yellow plums, apricots, gooseberries and strawberries, so I've got quite the collection going in my basement. And it would be my pleasure to share some of it with one of my readers. Just leave a comment before Sunday the 29th at 6pm, and I'll select a winner at random to be announced next Monday the 30th.
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In an effort to neither waste nor want, I felt the need to devise a recipe for all the chard stems knocking about my kitchen these days. Great green plumes of chard with bright yellow stems are proliferating in our garden, and I love to eat them simply sauteed in lots of good olive oil with garlic and red chile, and maybe a few raisins and pine nuts tossed in. This is so silky in the mouth and tastes like Italian chlorophyll. The stems—crisper and rougher—are usually chucked into the compost pile, though this is sacrilege to the legions of fans who like them stirred into mashed potatoes and buckwheat pancakes, baked in gratins, simply roasted and even pickled. I don't do much baking, as you know, but of late I've had a bee in my bonnet about making a galette—one of those free-form rustic tarts that basically scream farmhouse chic. This simple dough can be wrapped around anything from wild nettles to fresh peaches with a perfectly French insouciance.

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Sour cherries were a blip on the radar this year. Cold nights and then an unseasonal blast of crippling heat made for a small, early yield. And yet I scrounged up enough to make 6 precious jars of preserves and a batch of popsicles. In case you thought to buy up extras and throw them in your freezer, this is a great simple recipe for showcasing their unique tart flavor. It also works with regular cherries—just reduce the amount of honey—or any fruit really. Try it with chopped apricots or plums, with blackberries or raspberries, even with figs. It's hard to go wrong when you're mixing together fruit, honey and yogurt into a frozen confection. Put it on a stick and the child-like delight is instant.
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