Not everybody has time to make a special breakfast every single day. Some of us are running for President. Others are trying to get the kids off to school. Still others don't have access to things like coconut flour and eggs fresh from the farm. I'm aware that I'm writing from a place of privilege, but this is where I am right now. If it's all you can do to rip open a package of instant oatmeal, you'll get no judgment from me. Let's just stand together for breakfast in general, for doing the best we can and for a country in which we are free to make choices. Are you with me? Good. Because I'm with her. 

We saw leaves go to glory,

Then almost migratory

Go part way down the lane,

And then to end the story

Get beaten down and pasted

In one wild day of rain.

So wrote Robert Frost, in his poem "November." And to be sure, we've had those days here. On the heels of a killing frost last week came a smattering of snow that turned into icy rain before ushering in warmer days. A little green still clings on in the garden, as you can see above. I just harvested lots of mint and sage, both of which are drying now and will be used in my big batch of garden tea: lemongrass, lemon verbena, lemon balm, mint, anise hyssop, scented geranium, lavender, sage, chamomile, calendula and rose petals.

Dear friends and supporters, if you have not yet heard, I have relinquished my role in Fish &  Bicycle. The official language is this: 

Laura Silverman is leaving Fish & Bicycle to pursue other projects. She is proud to have helped create the vision and fully endorses Juliette Hermant as she brings this much-needed Catskills venture to life.

It's all true and yet says nothing of my heartache. I fear disappointing you, but I trust you to extend your kindness and compassion when I need it most. I hope whatever other projects I pursue allow me to do the things I love and share them with you.

Nine years ago, I married a wonderful man. I had been married before—not once, not twice, but three times and each time I had walked down the aisle filled with hope. But I had not been ready. I had not learned the true nature of love. I had not yet ripened into the woman I was to become, the one that could open her heart and receive as much as she could give. When we found each other, everything changed. Our wedding was a beautiful nighttime celebration in front of friends and family. It was cocktails, cake and dancing in a loft in New York City. The flowers were extraordinary and Danny Meyer catered the finger food (there was even an ice cream bar). We spent our wedding night in a room overlooking Central Park at the Carlyle Hotel. It was glorious and extravagant and truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I know I'll never get married again. A couple of months later, we went to India for a five-week honeymoon. What a life! It seems an awfully long time ago in some ways, but our love feels very fresh and alive. And that curry? It's a memento of that trip to India—a green version of an incredible tomato curry we ate in Udaipur at this stunning hotel.

My friend Mirena Kim is such a superb creature. We met more than 20 years ago and instantly bonded over our love of food, crafts and wicked giggling. Through life's ups and downs, I have watched her handle whatever came her way with grace and humor. She has always been there for me: totally supportive, never judging. Her aesthetic is flawless; everything she makes and keeps around her is quietly beautiful and highly functional. In the last few years, she has dug deeper into her ceramics practice and the world has taken notice. (You can read more about her here and here, visit her website here, and watch this video my husband made about her.) Her bowls, platters and vases are fully integrated into my home life and will be forever. This summer, Mirena flew in from Los Angeles for a spontaneous visit and spent a few glorious days talking, hiking, swimming in the lake and teaching me to make kimchi straight from the garden. 

July almost got away without a single post from me but here I'm squeaking in under the wire! It's been a busy summer so far and I'm not going to pretend it was exclusively devoted to perfect moments like these (thanks for the reference, Janet), though I have swum in the lake several times, cooked pulled pork for 80 friends, eaten way too many ice cream sandwiches, served drinks at the first Fish & Bicyle pop-up and, thus far, avoided Lyme disease. As in years past, my plan is to take a break from social media—including Facebook, Instagram and my blog—for the entire month of August. It's hard to believe that starts tomorrow. Maybe you'd like to do the same? I can't guarantee it will mean more time in the hammock for me, but it just might. Let me know how you're planning to spend your August. I'm hoping you'll find time to make this ginger-scallion sauce. It comes together quickly and sits in the fridge waiting to be spooned over poached chicken, steamed fish or dumplings; stirred into hot rice; slathered on grilled anything; or smeared on a summer roll.