July, Finally

It is well known that July 5th is the official start of summer in the PNW. Everything before that is just a tease.

It also happens to be my favorite month to cook minimally. What I mean is that everything hitting the farm stands needs very little help. Corn, briefly boiled until it is sweet and juicy, then salt, pepper, butter, done. Tomatoes with salt. Maybe a sandwich with lots of mayo.

And yes, I am a mayo girl. I have mayo opinions.

Miracle Whip is not mayo. Some store-bought mayo is better than homemade. There, I said it. Vegenaise actually does not suck, and somehow eating it makes me feel like I am holding myself accountable. Yes, I do see the irony.

Best Foods, Hellmann’s, Duke’s, all delicious. Kewpie, be still my heart. Literally. But also, delicious.

Whew. Went down a little path there, didn’t I?

Back to produce.

This is the time of year when food does not need much to shine. It is already doing the work. Corn, tomatoes, peaches, nectarines, plums, berries, herbs, all of it. Some summer foods should only be eaten in the company of people who know you and still love you when juice is dribbling down your chin and onto your arms.

Those are my people.

The ones who really get into food and eat like no one else is in the room. I see you, juicy peaches. Tangy nectarines. Too many plums. Cherries staining fingertips. Raspberries collapsing if you look at them too hard. Green beans just starting to pop off. Popsicles and dinners of pickled things.

And you, with the sticky fingers.

I see all of you.

My favorite corn recipe, and really the only other way we eat it, is grilled. Let the corn get a little char, because that is where the character is. Then I drizzle it with good olive oil, flaky salt, and a mountain of finely grated Parmigiano Reggiano. I snip a pile of fresh basil and thyme and rain it down over the top.

Try eating that politely.

Exactly.

In the garden, I have pulled up all the garlic and planted my winter squash. That word makes me sad, but there we are. I also found rabbit dens again, which has made Olive absolutely wild. She is ever ready to give rabbit chase. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, leaves, whispers, all fair game.

The shorts come out of storage and we all try not to blind people with our gams.

The sounds and smells of summer are pretty wonderful too. Kids playing. Birds. Honeysuckle on the breeze. Music drifting out of open windows. The sound of the ice cream truck getting closer, and kids frantically yelling for their parents to empty their pockets like they are losing their damn minds.

Everyone is outside on summer nights. The new neighbors you haven’t met yet. The old neighbors who stop to chat about whatever project you are working on at the house. The neighbors with terrible taste in music. Oops, judgey.

People say the Seattle Freeze is a thing. I don’t see it. I think we are all just inside, sweaters on, Kirby still in shorts at least until late October, taking our vitamin D supplements.

Not frozen. Just not roaming the streets like feral summer people.

But in July, we come out. A little lighter, a little warmer, a little more unserious.

I like this version of us.

Here in West Seattle, we are just down the way from Easy Street Records, so summer concerts can be heard from the front porch. For our anniversary years and years ago, Kirby and I bought red wooden rocking chairs, and now they have that rhythmic creak that is its own kind of music.

We are officially at the age where rocking on the porch is a whole-ass activity on warm summer nights.

It is the worst-kept secret that Seattle is wonderful in the summer, especially July. This is Seattle summer food at its best: farm stands, sticky fingers, porch music, and plenty of napkins. It is just getting started here, and we are ready for it.

Napkins and all.