MID SUMMER DREAM

July

Summer is sensational. And I don’t mean in the wow context, I mean it in a sensations context.

Of all the seasons, summer—and July in particular—is when every sensation seems to kick in. Taste, smell, touch, sound...they’re all so strikingly present this time every year. That’s what mid summer feels like to me at least.

The sun on your skin, warm air, fruits and vegetables fresh from the garden, the smell of salt in the air or lake water, depending on where you are...everything feels different, is experienced differently, and literally tastes different.

You’ve got to feel the difference too, yes? There’s simply something about summer that arouses your senses. And no matter what your age, from childhood on, these summer memories collect, forming what I can only describe as sort of patchwork quilt of visceral associations. It’s not like we yearn for winter in quite the same way, right?

All I know is that summer isn’t even my favorite season, yet somehow it has the strongest association with memory, feelings...well, warmth.

I’m not sure if this is nostalgia from childhood, although I can’t really say that because many of my strongest summer memories were made as an adult with my own children. I do think childhood—or perhaps childlike abandon—has something to do with it though. Or maybe it’s novelty. Does summer’s slower pace somehow invite new or shared experiences to linger a little longer?

Whatever it is, it’s midsummer, and I just want to take it all in before this sensational season is gone.

WHAT’S YOUR SUMMER STORY?

Mountains, Oceans, Lakes… And Of Course, Food

Where you live, how you were brought up, or of course wherever you are now, has everything to do with your summer story. It’s what shapes your memories, your rituals, and all of those associations that come flooding back every July.

There isn’t just one version of summer. There are dozens. Southern summers and northern summers. Lake summers, ocean summers, mountain summers, town summers, working summers, camp summers, and travel summers. There are all-American summers filled with road trips, baseball, and burgers, and European summers that linger over long lunches, village markets, and very late dinners.

Each one has its own smells. Its own sounds. Its own food. Its own vibe.

I’ve been lucky enough to experience many of them, and when I think about summer now, they all weave together into a mosaic of summers which is really nice.

My story started in the South.

When I was young, my parents were divorced and both worked. It wasn’t an upper-class upbringing, just a basic one. There was no camp, no summer vacations, no European travel.

Summers were spent at one of my grandparents’ houses or on the farm where we fished, piled into the back of my grandfather’s pickup truck to head to the corner market for ice cream bars, and simply played. Days were long. Really long. But they were sensational. I can still remember the smells, the sights, and the tastes as though they were yesterday.

As we got older, our big summer adventures became the lake.

Some years it was ski boats, other years houseboats or renting a lake house. For years my father had a houseboat fittingly named after his best friend Cloudy and his then-girlfriend Wendy: Partly Cloudy & Wendy Too. Wendy didn’t last, so eventually her name was painted over and the boat simply became Partly Cloudy. Either way, I always gave my dad credit for the catchy boat name.

There were some very good times on that boat.

By then I was a teenager and my father had begun enjoying some success after working his way up and buying the local Pepsi-Cola franchise, so there was a lot of entertaining on that houseboat. Looking back, I imagine it was sort of analogous to a country club atmosphere in the seventies and eighties—lots of cocktails, cigarettes in hand, and adults talking for hours. My own parents didn’t drink much, but they definitely smoked. Everyone seemed to. What I remember most, though, was the convivial hospitality, which always meant there was plenty of food. Southern style.

Homemade biscuits and country ham. Sliced peaches. Tomatoes still warm from the garden. Fresh potatoes turned into chilled potato salad. Watermelons and cantaloupe from Ma and Pa Brown’s garden. Homemade ice cream churned every summer by my father, his brother, and all my cousins up at the cabin (don’t ask—my father and his brother’s cockamamie idea of a shared farm...it was not). But there was always plenty of sweet iced tea.

Looking back, I realize so many of my memories are tied to meals. They became the taste of summer.

On my mother’s side, my grandmother Irene always made homemade jam. Mid-summer she’d get busy “putting away,” canning or freezing vegetables from the garden so she’d have them all winter. She turned cucumbers into pickles and relish, tomatoes into sauce, and “creamed” (mashed) and froze the corn.

My mother had her thing too. She loved making a Cool Whip apricot nectar icebox cake. I know that’s one heck of a long name for a cake, but it’s the only way to describe it. I haven’t had it in years, and yes, it was every bit a packaged-type recipe of the sixties and seventies, complete with angel food cake, jars of nectar, and Cool Whip, but it was legitimately good—light, sweet, and somehow tasted exactly like summer.

Even today my favorite ice cream is Häagen-Dazs vanilla, and I’ve often wondered if it’s because it’s the closest thing I’ve ever found to tasting like my father’s homemade ice cream.

Then came Texas.

Summers there were blazing hot. I spent those between-semester months almost permanently submerged in swimming pools if I dared leave the air conditioning. Food shifted too. No matter the season, Texas always seemed to revolve around Mexican food. Fajitas, enchiladas, tortilla chips, ice-cold margaritas or iced sweet tea, again. My love affair with anything south of the border definitely started there.

Then everything changed again.

I graduated, boarded a plane, and experienced my first European summer.

The first time I landed in London it was June. Cold and raining—not exactly the postcard version of summer—but I felt as though I had somehow come home. It was the first time I had ever left the United States, so everything felt wonderfully foreign and, strangely, completely familiar at the same time. I would eventually live there for years, and to this day England still feels like home.

One of my favorite summer memories from England has never left me: strawberries. Truly. There are no better strawberries than those eaten in England in June.

Fast forward a few years and life brought me to New York, back to London, and eventually to Sagaponack. Summers became something entirely different again.

The Hamptons summer.

The Northeast has its own language. The ocean feels different here. Colder. Saltier. The air carries that unmistakable mix of salt, sea grass, sunscreen, and weathered cedar shingles. I’ve spent plenty of days in European oceans and seas, but the Northeast feels like nowhere else. Then again, I suppose the same could be said of the south of France or Italy. Every place in the world has its own distinct feeling.

Days in the Hamptons on Long Island can be gloriously hot, but the evenings are often cool. You fall asleep to the sound of waves and wake up to early morning walks on the beach before anyone else is out.

My boys grew up surfing here. There were sandy feet through the house, wetsuits draped over picket fences, surfboards leaning against the garage, and the daily decision between the swimming pool or the Atlantic—warm and familiar versus cold enough to take your breath away. I always chose one, being the lake kid I was. Of course, they, as newly minted ocean kids, chose the other.

The food tells its own story too. Lobster rolls. Burgers and steaks on the grill. Fresh herbs and flowers from my small garden (I’m ambitious, but not that ambitious—after all, we had the most amazing farm stands within a stone’s throw). Jim Pike’s stand (who is sadly no longer around) overflowed with peaches, lettuces, corn, and tomatoes. We’d pick raspberries straight off the bushes in our backyard at Clover Farm. I’d make pancakes and slice up mountains of fresh fruit on slow mornings. S’mores were always on hand for the fire pit and evenings of beach blanket bingo. I can still smell the campfires drifting through the evening air. Lots of bare feet. Sandy towels.

What have been your summer experiences or rituals? Are they usually the same, built around traditions, or do you find yourself creating a different version of summer each year?

FIELD NOTES

Town & Country

Looking back, I’ve realized every place I’ve lived has given me a different version of summer. And I really love that about my life. I feel like I’ve experienced so many kinds of summer.

My guys are grown now, and we no longer have the place at the beach. With Life Architecture, it’s been full-on work mode since last summer, so this summer is a city one. I’ll get away in August, but for the moment work is priority one. I may be the exception, but I have to admit, I like the city in summer. I really do.

The city is quieter. Less busy. Less crowded. It’s like it’s all mine. I pop down to Union Square some days or the farmers’ market up on Columbus and 77th on the weekends, and I’ve managed to sneak in a few concerts and a golf game here and there. I love it. But I also love all the other versions of summer I’ve grown to know.

One of my favorite city summer rituals is an annual trip in July up to the Berkshires for a pottery tour with many of my favorite artisans and potters. In fact, it’s coming up this weekend. It’s such a great time and feels like a slice of Northeast Americana.

Quaint town squares, rolling hills, little farm stands with a dollar jar for self-pay, whatever was just pulled from the garden, homemade jam, local honey...then on to another pottery studio filled with beautiful handmade pieces, pottery-making demo’s, food, music, and wonderful people. You simply drive from one studio to the next. It’s really good fun. At least my sort of fun. I promise to report back.

So whether it’s town or country, I do love July.

I do wonder what summers I’ll adopt next, whether I eventually settle into one particular version somewhere, or whether I’ll become a little more nomadic and keep exploring new ones.

Either way, as long as there’s warm air, relaxation, and good food, I’m set.

SUMMER FOOD

Solid Standards

When I think of summer food, I think simply. There isn’t a lot of thought, and there aren’t too many ingredients in any one dish. It basically looks like this: I go to the farmers’ market or, if I’m at my friends’ place, into the garden (which is extra fun), and whatever I buy or gather, I try to eat as simply—or in its most natural way—as possible. I mean, everything is at its peak. These are literally gems from the garden.

Some ingredients change over the course of the summer, but my core staples are definitely tomatoes, corn, basil, melons...oh, and potatoes. I know they seem more like a winter staple, but Sagaponack is full of potato fields and, for the record, I’d just like to say that when you eat a potato that has just come from the earth, it tastes like no other.

Add really good salted butter, maybe a dollop of sour cream, some chives or rosemary, and Maldon sea salt.

This week I’ve got tons of freshly picked peaches so I’m thinking of using them to make a great summer salad of mozzarella, peaches and fresh basil. I might even turn the combo into a bruschetta with grilled She Wolf sourdough bread. I’ve also got plenty of corn and tomatoes on hand so a nice corn salad will be coming your way. I’ll be sure to post the recipes or create a recipe Substack this week.

Summer. Ahhh, all the great garden food!

PEAK- A-BYE

July In A Blink

I just surprised myself. I set out to write about all the different styles, versions, and ways we experience summer, and how poignant—almost spellbinding—the deep slump of summer can be, and just like that, I’ve poured out tons of summer memories.

I hope, in some small way, this invites you to do the same. Because, in case you’ve ever wondered, there’s actually a reason summer leaves such a lasting impression that we carry for years.

Summer typically involves novelty. It’s especially novel when we’re young. Doing something outside the norm or fun—which often happens during the summer months, whether it’s travel, camp, lakes, oceans, or simply spending more time outdoors—tends to register differently, especially when it’s attached to a happy memory.

So it’s July. Make sure you’re making good memories.