Summer

Choose any or all of the toppers for your chili.

Pickled watermelon rind is a classic summer condiment when the melons are in abundance. Here we’ve added our twist by using Japanese yuzu juice and rice wine vinegar to give the pickles a kick.

In the movie Ratatouille, the rat made a tian of eggplant and other vegetables, set vertically in a baking dish. A similar dish came down in the family of Gérard Monteux, whose ancestors have made this dish since tomatoes came to Provence. The keys to the recipe are to make sure that the tomatoes and onions are of the same diameter as the eggplant, and to use a square or rectangular baking dish. I have made it in a French tian, but you can use any pan about 9 inches square. Good any time of year, it is spectacular in the summer, when tomatoes are at their best.

Nothing tastes so good to me as the intense flavor of a fresh tomato, picked at the height of summer, cooked down and seasoned with fresh parsley, garlic, and olive oil. This recipe exemplifies southern-French vegetable cooking at its best. I have served these tomatoes as an accompaniment to roast lamb (see page 234) or, in the summer, as a scrumptious first course. They are also great with lox, bagels, and cream cheese to break the fast of Yom Kippur.

There were many salad-like dishes made with seasonal fruit that my mother served with our lunches. If guavas were in season, they were pressed into service; it could also be star fruit, bananas, peaches, green mangoes, whatever was available in abundance. The seasonings in these salads did not vary much—salt, pepper, ground roasted cumin, Indian chili powders, made from red chilies and sometimes yellow chilies as well, sugar as needed, and lime juice. My mother made the salads herself, not in the kitchen but in the pantry and at the very last minute, just as we sat down to eat, so the fruit would not start “weeping” and get all watery. The seasoning amounts given in this recipe are approximate, since the taste of fruit can vary so much. Keep tasting as you go, adding more or less of the seasonings, as desired.

Known as a vegetable kurma in the Tamil Nadu region, there are hundreds of versions of this dish throughout southeastern India. Its basic premise is very simple: you parboil diced vegetables—two vegetables or ten, whatever is in season—drain them, and then dress them with a coconut-yogurt mixture seasoned with spices such as mustard seeds and whole dried chilies. All vegetables are fair game—eggplants, zucchini, squashes, peas, carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, pumpkins.… The motto of this dish seems to be “What have you got? I can use it.” It is also quite delicious. Grated fresh coconut is now sold in a frozen form at most South and Southeast Asian stores. If you wish to use unsweetened, desiccated coconut instead, soak 2 1/2 tablespoons in warm water to barely cover, let that sit for an hour, and then proceed with the recipe. In the South it is generally eaten at room temperature—balmy—with rice and legumes, but I often serve it in the summer, when my garden is at its most productive, as a salad/ vegetable dish that accompanies Indian or Western meats.

Here is an everyday carrot dish. In India it is served hot, but I often serve it cold in the summer, almost like a carrot salad.

I love to make this soup in the summer, when my garden (or the local farmers market) is bursting with cucumbers and tomatoes and the weather is balmy. The first time I had this soup, or a version of it, was in the Maldives, at the Cocoa Island resort on the South Male Atoll, just southwest of India. For the soup, the chef, Stana Johnson, had combined South Indian seasonings and the notion of North India’s favorite cucumber raita, a yogurt relish, to fashion a light summery, cooling soup. I remember sitting in an airy pavilion, the calm blue sea on two sides of me, balmy breezes blowing past, sipping the soup a tablespoon at a time, and thinking, “This is what heaven must be like.” While the flavors were easy on the tongue, the soup was complicated to make. I have spent two years simplifying it, trying to retain its essence while cutting down on all the steps a large-staffed restaurant can do with ease. I like to serve the soup with a dollop of Yogurt Rice, page 26 or 217, right in its center. This is not essential. Just a light sprinkling of diced cucumbers and diced cherry tomatoes will do. But do try it once with the Yogurt Rice as well as the sprinkling of cucumbers and tomatoes. (You do not actually have to make the full Yogurt Rice recipe. A very quick version, made with leftover rice, follows.)

This is a family dish we all loved. My mother accompanied it with yogurt. The fried onions and large amount of sharp cheese lift the usually somewhat insipid taste of zucchini.

This is as good cold, when it is served as an appetizer with bread, as it is hot as a side dish. It is the kind of thing people make with the leftover insides of hollowed-out zucchini when they stuff them.

Some people like to dip the zucchini slices in flour, which is supposed to seal them so that they absorb less oil, but it makes little difference. One popular way of serving them is accompanied with yogurt, or with a tomato sauce (page 464).

Compotes of dried or fresh fruits in syrup are popular desserts. At parties in Turkey, they are the last thing to be served, signaling that there is nothing more to follow. This sharp-tasting compote with fresh apricots is especially delicious. I add pistachios for their color as well as for their taste, and they should be peeled for this dish. To do this most easily, poach them in water for 1 to 2 minutes and drain; when they are cool enough to handle, pull off or squeeze away the skins.

This is a dish of Georgian origin. Georgia, which borders on northwest Turkey, is famous for its plum trees and plum sauces. Our slightly sour, dark red plums will do well.