The Rickey, a mixed drink featuring lime and not much sugar, was originally created in the 1880s with bourbon by Washington, D.C. bartender George A. Williamson, purportedly in collaboration with Democratic lobbyist Colonel Joe Rickey. Thus the name. Years later, mixed with gin, it became something of a worldwide sensation. Change that to rum, add a little mint and it’s basically a mojito. I first came to know it in the delis and little corner “spas” that dotted the East Village in the 1980s. (Remember those days? I was making $250 cash a week and living in a 3-bedroom-2-bath apartment on Avenue A that cost $1,550 a month. Total. And I had really big hair.) There, it was a huge glass stuffed with halved, squeezed-out limes, plenty of sugar and lots of ice, then topped off with seltzer. Not necessarily the soul of sophistication, but damned refreshing on a sweltering New York City afternoon. I've brought it to a slightly different place with the addition of a ginger-infused honey syrup (you can sub simple syrup, or even superfine sugar) and a splash of bitters, but it remains a thirst-quencher of the first order. Spike it with gin, and it's the perfect summer cocktail.
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You're sitting in your screened in porch, or on your tiny terrace, front lawn or tar roof. The sun is high in the sky. Maybe you've worked up a sweat gardening or playing badminton or thinking about your in-laws' visit. What you need is a nice cool glass of something. Not a soda, for crying out loud. Those eat the enamel off your teeth and cause osteoporosis. Not lemonade which is, frankly, too much work on a day like this, what with all that squeezing. Need some new ideas? Pick up Fany Gerson's latest book, Paletas: Authentic Recipes for Mexican Ice Pops, Shaved Ice and Aguas Frescas, recently published by Ten Speed Press. You may remember I referenced her book on Mexican sweets, here and here. Not only does this popsicle queen of the Hester Street Market have loads of great recipes for cooling ice pops—like pineapple-chile; fresh coconut; and sour cream, cherry and tequila—but you can also learn how to make raspados, Mexico's answer to Italy's granità, and some wonderful traditional drinks called aguas frescas. These are essentially fruit or herbal infusions in water; not too sweet and very refreshing. This one, called agua de jamaica, is made from dried hibiscus flowers, also known as Jamaican sorrel.
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Summer is officially here! As the inimitable Bob Marley says, "Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move your dancing feet." In honor of its much-awaited arrival—and the long, hot days and balmy nights it brings with it—my next few posts will be dedicated to the kinds of cooling drinks you'll be craving. Today, it's the taste of summer in a glass. Icy cold strawberries pureed with basil and lemon juice into a refreshing slushie I call the Ruby Sipper. As with so many summer classics, you can simply add a little tequila, gin or rum for an R-rated version. I'll teach you a couple of neat little tricks that you can apply to all sorts of fruity drinks. All you need is a blender and a song in your heart.

I've been so busy with my hands in the dirt, I haven't had a chance to share with you everything that's coming to life in the garden. After a ton of rain, a couple of sweltering days and lots more rain, we've had a few temperate days with a decent amount of sun that have finally given the plants just what they need to flourish. G is still crabbing around the yard with lightning speed and a ferocious determination to do more than his fair share. He is a sight to behold. And so is the garden. Without further ado, my friends, here are a few highlights of what's busting out in June. (Above is an incredibly happy tangle of sage and lavender, both of them highly fragrant and sprouting little purple flowers.)
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My father died more than 20 years ago, long before his time. The moment of his death is still very clear in my mind. Later I sat with my mother in the upstairs hall, both of us in our nightgowns, averting our eyes as they brought him out in a dark green body bag. I can't say those images have faded, but they are often crowded out by happier thoughts of him as he was in life: the consummate prankster, a sly grin twisting his mouth, a deeply compassionate man, a generous spirit, a scholar. As Father's Day approaches, I long to tell him what has become of me, to seek his approval. Some things never change. He was most often at his desk, talking on the phone with colleagues, proofing manuscripts, scribbling away with the tiny pencil stubs he favored. Intrusions were not wholly unwelcome, especially if you came bearing a small snack. He loved nuts. His favorites were cashews, pistachios, peanuts and Spanish almonds; also hard licorice, chicharrones and chicken liver. In his honor, I post again my recipe for Tuscan chicken liver paté—a shout-out to both his humble Jewish roots and his later-acquired European sophistication.
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I know I'm always droning on about making your own this and growing your own that. My life must seem like some sort of Laura Ingalls Wilder fever dream. The truth is, between one thing and another, things are pretty hectic here, too. Just 'cause I'm a country gal, it don't mean I got all the time in the world. But I do what I can, and I can when I can. Don't be put off by putting up! (OK, I'll stop now.) Seriously, just because you don't have the time or inclination to be canning pint after pint of jams and pickles, doesn't mean you can't throw together a quick batch just to keep in the fridge. Skip the whole "canning" step entirely! Make one jar of chutney or one pint of pickles. Here, for instance is less than half a pound of garlic scapes I picked up at the farmers market. I decided to pickle them and the whole process took about 15 minutes. You can do this.
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Consider rhubarb: long, ribbed, celery-like stalks and not a seed or rind in sight. This is a vegetable, right? But in 1947, a New York court decided that since it's used as a fruit, it is  to be counted as such for the purposes of regulations and duties. Thus, with one wave of a bureaucrat's hand, does a vegetable become a fruit. Although its leaves are toxic, rhubarb's tart stalks have a long history of medicinal and culinary uses. The stuff grown in hothouses tends to be redder and sweeter than what you find in the gardeny. My big, bushy plants are of the Victoria variety—named for the British queen, whose countrymen tend to love a bit of rhubarb fool—and they are predominantly green. A clear, true, vegetal green with a flavor to match. Rhubarb is often combined with apples or strawberries. Their sweetness helps temper its rather aggressive bite, but can also overwhelm its delicate flavor, described by Alice Waters as "the smell of the earth in the spring." Wanting to showcase that, and armed with rhubarb from the garden and fresh milk from the farm, I decided to make rhubarb ice cream.
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I’ve been working on a suggested list of pantry staples for you. Everything you need to have on hand so you don’t have to run to the store every time you want to cook something. It’s challenging. Because I cook a lot of ethnic foods, what I consider to be a staple can run to things like coconut milk and Mexican oregano. Stocking your pantry is really about knowing how you like to eat. In fact, it’s a great way to control your diet. If what you have on hand is boxed macaroni and cheese and canned soup, most likely that’s what you’ll be eating. If you're tired and the cupboard is bare, that leads to take-out. No judgment here. I get it. But let me help you figure out how to eat just a little better, how to tempt yourself with healthy treats that can sing the siren song from your fridge. Something like garlic confit is great to have around. It’s simple to prepare—just slow-cook cloves of garlic in fat—and lasts quite a while. Its mild and sweet garlic flavor is perfect on toast or whisked into sauce, salad dressing and pasta. And it's très sophisticated.
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Bacon for breakfast is a treat. Not an everyday thing, but especially welcome when there's a day of gardening ahead, or something more strenuous than sitting in front of the computer. Crisp, smoky, salty, sweet and finger-lickin' good, bacon is damn near irresistible. (Especially if you know for a fact that it doesn't come from a pig raised in misery on a feed lot.) And boy does it go well with corn. Corn, bacon and avocado salad. Corn pudding with bacon. Cornbread with crispy pork cracklings. After last week's rather esoteric grits posting that involved draining and drying your grits before eating, I thought it might be a good idea to share a recipe that's a little less involved. I was ordering buckwheat and brown rice flours from Anson Mills to do some gluten-free baking, and I also picked up a bag of their coarse-ground Pencil Cob brits—so-called for the very slim corn cob. I simply boiled them with water, stirred in a little cream, some sharp cheddar and a handful of minced jalapeño and there was breakfast. A couple of slices of bacon fried to perfection and it became a breakfast of champions. So if you were daunted by my purple Forbidden Rice grits, these should send you racing to the stove.
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Call me crazy, but in the midst of this heat wave, when the plants themselves seemed to cry out from thirst beneath their green ultrasuede coats of pollen, I got a craving for clam chowder. I guess it was because I happened across a recipe for it on Tasting Table ("the free daily email for adventurous eaters everywhere"). Also, it's a bit like my own Proustian madeleine, because it takes me right back to my first job as a hostess at Gilda's seafood restaurant on the pier (or the wharf, as it was called) in Santa Cruz. I love the seafood tang against the richness of fresh cream and buttery potatoes, and the hint of salty pork. So there I was yesterday, sweat pouring off me (I had actually closed the kitchen windows in an attempt to keep out the pollen and the dust and noise of the guys working on our roof), temperatures soaring towards 100º, boiling potatoes and steaming clams. And then, you'll never guess—the skies began to darken, the ominous rumble of thunder approached from a great distance, a breeze kicked up and suddenly it was pouring. By evening the air was clean and cool, perfect chowder weather.
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