In a week’s time, I’ll be flying home to Canada to attend the wedding of a very dear friend. I’ve known Margaux since we were 14 years old, and not only is she talented, sweet and beautiful, but she’s extremely organized, and I’ve no doubts that she’ll throw a damned good party. For obvious reasons, I’m incredibly excited about this trip- I get to see my friends from high school, watch one of them get hitched, hang out with my parents and generally soak up the hometown love. Usually these trips home offer me  a brief respite from cooking, but not this one. At least, not entirely.

When she heard that Margaux was planning to have a dessert table at her wedding, and planning on doing the entire thing herself, my Mum (bless her) suggested that I offer up my culinary skills to my friend. I figured that the gesture would be gently but firmly rebuffed by a woman hell-bent on controlling every last detail of her special day. But Margaux, to her immense credit, isn’t a Bridezilla, and my offer was warmly accepted. She requested I bring some bars or cookies with me on the day.

Immediately, the exhibitionist baker in me took over. Should I do my Homemade Oreos for some retro charm? What about those New York Times chocolate chip cookies, they always go down well. Maybe I’ll attempt macarons? Eventually, I returned to Earth and faced the facts. First of all- it’s a wedding. After a delicious meal, plentiful alcohol and wedding cake, not everyone is going to want (or notice) a confectionary masterpiece. Secondly, I’m only flying in the evening before; is late at night in a jet-lagged stupor really the time to be messing about with beating egg whites, chilling doughs or assembling icings? And finally- calm yourself Ele, people will be looking at the gorgeous girl in the wedding dress, not your stupid cookies.

Enter these biscuits, otherwise known as The Easiest Cookies Anyone Has Ever Made, Ever. From Nigella Lawson‘s How to be a Domestic Goddess, they only contain four ingredients: butter, sugar, self-raising flour and cocoa. That might sound like a recipe for bland and boring, but trust me, these are almost unbelievably good. Crumbly and dry like a proper shortbread, they’re neither too sweet nor too rich, but instead have wonderfully grown-up smokiness, which then melts on your tongue in a pool of awesome. Still, I felt they needed to be tweaked for this occasion. I knew the addition of peppermint extract would take these to another level, turning them into a fancy After Eight of sorts. How exactly to do that is where the battle comes in.

I figured there were two options: add the mint flavour directly to the dough, or create a mint chocolate ganache and use it to fill some simple “thumbprint cookies”. I couldn’t decide which of these options sounded best, so I got mixin’ and dough dividin’ and made both. The victor? Perhaps surprisingly, the simple minted cookie won my heart here. Despite the extreme deliciousness of the mint ganache, I could foresee too many worries about what transport, stacking and rearranging would do to their lovely smooth tops. I’m including both recipe versions below, but if I was baking these for a crowd (as I might be), I’d go for the plain one.

While the Battle of the Biscuits might be over, but the war is just beginning. I’m not quite done with my recipe testing, and have a few more quick-yet-tasty cookie recipes up my sleeve. Hopefully we’ll have a winner by this time next week, with enough time to spare for me to actually make them.

• Mint Chocolate Cookies with Optional Ganache
• adapted from How to be a Domestic Goddess by Nigella Lawson
• makes 36 cookies
• For the dough:
  300g self-raising flour
  40g cocoa
  250g unsalted butter, softened
  125g sugar
  3/4 tsp. peppermint extract (if making the plain cookies)
  
  For the ganache (if making the filled cookies):
  100g dark chocolate, chopped
  1/4 cup double cream
  1/2 tsp. peppermint extract.
• 1. Preheat the oven to 170°C/340°F and prepare 2 large baking trays with parchment or silicone paper. Sift together the flour and cocoa in a small bowl and set aside.
  
  2. Using a stand mixer or electric beaters, cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. If making a plain minted cookie, add the peppermint extract and beat until just combined. Finally, add the  flour/cocoa mixture and continue beating until the mixture comes together into a heavy dough.
  
  3. Break off pieces of the dough and roll into walnut-sized balls between your palms. Place 1 1/2 inches apart on the baking sheets. For plain cookies, press down lightly on each cookie with the tines of a wet fork; for filled ones, use the knuckle of your thumb or index finger to make a deep indent in each ball of dough.
  
  4. Bake cookies for 5 minutes before turning down the oven to 150°C/300°F and continuing for another 10-12 minutes. Cookies will feel dry and firm but not hard when ready. Allow to cool completely on a wire rack.
  
  5. To make the mint ganache, simply melt the chocolate and cream together in a small saucepan over very low heat. Stir in the peppermint extract and spoon the mixture, while still warm, into the wells of the cooled thumbprint cookies. Allow ganache to set completely (about 2 hours) before serving.
• Note: I suggest to only include the peppermint extract in the dough of the unfilled cookie, and to include it in the ganache of the filled one too avoid overpowering the cookie. If you prefer a very minty taste, feel free to use the minted dough and the ganache together.

Apologies for the quiet here, and for the lack of a market post this weekend. I’ve just returned from a Bank Holiday weekend (that’s British for “long weekend”) in Wales, visiting Andrew’s parents. As usual, their corner of Britain was the picture of pastoral bliss; we went to the seaside, took in a country fair (complete with show jumping and a sheep shearing contest), took a steam train to the summit of Mount Snowdon and saw a waterfall so pretty you’d swear faeries lived there. In true British fashion, the weather ranged from “so cold I think my fingers are going to fall off” to “maybe I’ll hang out on the patio and top up my tan”.

Of course, in between all this country fun there was country food as well. We ate Welsh leeks, a cobbler based on this one from Smitten Kitchen, and plenty of snacks while out and about. There was homegrown fare, too; Andrew’s Mum has a huge and impressive garden, and she tasked us with harvesting the last of this summer’s onions. Of course, we weren’t allowed to go home without taking several of them with us, which is where this recipe comes in.

I’m not much of a preserver, but I’ve dabbled before. I’ve made simple strawberry jam, and my own ketchup earlier this year. Onion jam is something I’ve been wanting to add to that list for a while, so when faced with a pound of garden-fresh red and yellow onions, I knew just what to do.

Based on a Rachel Allen recipe, this jam is very sweet, yet savoury as well. She calls for red onions only, but I think a mix gives a more interesting flavour, topped up with lots of brown sugar, balsamic vinegar and red wine. I’ve already been enjoying it with strong cheese flavours, and for the meat-eaters among you, I bet it would be good with a roast, too. The best thing? All the sugar and alcohol means this jam will last for months and months, long enough to tide me over until our next country adventure.

• Onion Jam
• adapted from Home Cooking by Rachel Allen
• makes about 500g/1 1/2 cups
• 25g butter
  600g red and yellow onions, peeled and sliced
  100g dark brown sugar
  sea salt, to taste
  100ml balsamic vinegar
  200ml red wine
• 1. Melt the butter in a large nonstick saucepan and add the onions, sugar and a good pinch of salt. Cook for 30-35 minutes over a very low heat, stirring occasionally, until onions are very soft but not too browned.
  
  2. Add the vinegar and wine and stir well. Turn up the heat a little and cook for another 30-35 minutes, until mixture has thickened. Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly.
  
  3. When the jam is no longer hot but still warm, transfer to a sterilised jar (rinse it well in boiling water) with an airtight seal. Keep in the fridge for up to six months.

Since coming back from my holiday earlier this month, I’ve been somewhat lacking in culinary inspiration. Other than trying to re-create some memorable meals we enjoyed in Italy, I’ve had few brainwaves for new and exciting dishes to make. When this happens, I have a couple coping mechanisms that I can employ:

1. Go to the kitchen, open the fridge and stare at food until inspiration strikes. Often successful, but hardly energy-efficient.

2. Grab a cookbook (or several), ideally one that hasn’t been opened in a while. Flip until something grabs me.

3. Ask myself “What do I want to eat right now?”, and hope that the answer is something more exciting than peanut butter out of the jar or scrambled eggs.

In this case, it was strategy #3 which won out. Staring into the fridge only served as an opportunity to admire my recent defrosting job, and even walking to the local Waterstones to browse new cookbooks didn’t light my cooking fire. On asking myself what I felt like for lunch, however, there was a clear answer: roast eggplant and cherry tomatoes, please.

My favourite flavour of late comes courtesy of the Pioneer Woman’s favourite pizza. Ever since I first tried the recipe, I’ve been enjoying this veg combo on pizzas, tossed with pasta, in omelettes- you name it. You might not realise how surprising this this, but to my family and those who’ve known me for a while, it’s big news. See, until recently I hated eggplant. Detested it. No matter how it was prepared or what it was paired with, I found it (like other members of the summer squash family) to be mushy and flavourless- the kind of food you’d give a sick baby. So the fact that I’m now shoveling crispy roasted eggplant into my mouth at the rate of light is rather an event, I’m sure you’ll agree.

But this is a new love, and I’m careful not to move to fast. Given that I only recently started to like tomatoes (I know, I’m weird), I’m not about to run off to make Eggplant Parmesan or Baba Ghanoush before I’m ready. Who knows how I’d feel about eggplant without its crisp edges and juicy partner-in-crime? So for now, the delicate balance of these two vegetables will be upheld.

Luckily, that isn’t too difficult. This recipe could be used in any number of ways, including (but not limited to): as a pizza or calzone topping, tossed with pasta, in a tart or quiche, in an omelette, tossed with farro or cous cous in a salad, as a dip for wedges of pita bread. This time I made a bruschette/tartine of sorts with some fresh pain de campagne, but there are enough serving possibilities to keep me eating this for weeks to come. Perhaps worrying for future inspiration blocks, but we won’t worry about that just now.

• Roast Eggplant and Cherry Tomatoes
• inspired by The Pioneer Woman
• makes approx. 2 cups
• 300g eggplant
  1 tsp. table salt
  200g cherry tomatoes
  3 Tbs. olive oil, minced
  1 large garlic clove
  sea salt, to taste
  black pepper, to taste
  1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
• 1. Slice the eggplant crossways into 1cm slices and toss with the table salt. Set the salted eggplant in a colander in the sink for 20-30 minutes to sweat.
  
  2. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F. Cut the cherry tomatoes in half (don’t bother if you have very tiny ones) and place into an ovenproof dish. Add one tablespoon of olive oil, the garlic and a pinch of sea salt, and toss well. Roast the tomatoes until just browning and very juicy, about 15-20 minutes.
  
  3. When the tomatoes are just about done, rinse and dry the eggplant slices well. Cut each slice into chunks of about 2cm, toss with another tablespoon of the oil and another pinch of salt, and spread in a single layer on a baking try. Roast the eggplant for 15-20 minutes, tossing once, until browned and crispy on the edges.
  
  4. When the eggplant is done, add to the dish with the tomatoes, which will be cool by now. Add the rest of the olive oil, a good dose of black pepper, a touch more salt if necessary, and the chopped basil. Toss well, and serve immediately in your preferred way.

Well, I’m through the holiday withdrawal and have pretty much re-adapted to my daily life. Back at the freelance photography, setting up work for the next month, and even planning for the next holiday. Food and blogging hasn’t escaped my organizing mood either, so I headed to the market today with big plans for the week ahead.

The broccoli at the market has been looking gorgeous lately, so I bought two heads this week. I’ve got a baking project in mind for one, and with the other am thinking of trying this broccoli salad (minus the bacon, of course).

I’ve recently come around to eggplants/aubergines. Not sure whether it was this pizza recipe or whether it was inevitable, but I’m loving them roasted lately. Andrew isn’t convinced; he saw me arranging this shot and called me a “goddamn aubergine organizer”. I actually like the cute title, and I’m hoping that this Smitten Kitchen recipe will help him to like the veg, too. After all, we do love bruschette.

After a brief time away, leeks are back at the market now. I like summer leeks for their particularly mild taste. Delicious braised with pasta, I might try grilling or roasting these ones. Or who knows- another bruschette recipe, perhaps?

What’s happening in your kitchen this week?

As anyone knows, when you’re on holiday dinner is truly the main event. The meal you fantasize about in the weeks leading up to your trip, budget carefully for and research excessively. After a hotel breakfast and on-the-hoof lunch, this is when you’ll crack open a bottle of wine, help yourself to the bread basket, order a starter (or two), and decide on the most delicious, most indulgent thing on the menu. After all, whether you’re exploring your temporary home at length or just lounging by the pool, holidays have a way of stoking the appetite.

One of the things I like best about small Italian towns is the traditional quirky layouts. The main piazza and cobbled street are always lovely, but it’s the bewildering network of back alleys, with stone steps that lead up and down and turn back on themselves, that really sets the scene. You’re never quite sure whether the impossibly narrow, twisting alley you’re walking along is in fact a public street, or whether another turn will land you in the middle of someone’s living room. But this unknowable quality is part of the charm, and in my experience, the most rewarding restaurants often lie at the end of these rainbows.

On our first evening in Amalfi, Andrew and I followed one of these mysterious alleys to a wonderful dinner. In a tiny piazza tucked between the Duomo and a smaller church, we dined on bruschette, smoked and grilled local cheese, homemade pasta and fresh seafood. Bakery-fresh bread, charmingly served from a paper bag, was perfect for mopping up sauces and absorbing the wine in our stomachs.

Subsequent dinners were just as rewarding. From the perfectly cooked sea bass at a rooftop restaurant on Amalfi’s main street to the cheese-stuffed, deep-fried anchovies we had as a starter at our hotel, it was gastronomic pleasure at every turn. A single disappointing dinner in a neighbouring town couldn’t dampen our enthusiasm for Amalfitana cuisine, and even that had its rewards. (Dining next to a church while the choir practices inside? Almost worth the dull gnocchi and watered-down wine.)

One of my all-time favourite Italian dishes is handmade pasta with local mixed seafood. On the Amalfi coast, that pasta is more often than not scialatielli, a long, thick-ish noodle similar to fettuccine or linguine. Prepared with cherry tomatoes, fresh herbs and a mix of shrimp, clams, mussels and squid, it’s as close as you’re likely to get to holiday perfection. I only ate that specific dish once this time around, but Andrew enjoyed it four (!) times.

We didn’t once have dessert in a restaurant, but there’s a good reason for that. Andrew and I have a very simple, very straightforward rule when in Italy: you must eat gelato every single day. It can be respite from the afternoon heat or a post-dinner treat, but the rule is finite. Missed a day? Well, I hope you still have room after all that food, because today you’ve got to have two to make up for it.

When on holiday, I tend not to place too much emphasis on lunch. After stuffing myself at breakfast and looking forward to an indulgent dinner, I’m more than likely to keep this meal simple. A slice of takeaway pizza or a slice of focaccia by the beach is all I really need. There are always exceptions, but the important thing is that the middle of the day, when on holiday, is for exploring.

On the second day of our holiday, Andrew and I boarded a boat called Cool (no, I’m not kidding- how funny is that?!) for an all-day exploration of the Costiera Amalfitana. Us and nine other passengers were treated to the sights of picturesque towns, eerie grottoes, dramatic cliffs and charming islands. With the famous island of Capri as our halfway point, we had three hours to kill before sailing back the way we’d come. We’d befriended an American couple on the boat, so the four of us headed off to explore the island together.

Its breathtaking natural beauty aside, Capri wasn’t my favourite place we visited; the throngs of tourists made even moving difficult, let alone shopping, taking photos or enjoying the scenery. Luckily, we were able to find a pizza restaurant with stunning views, friendly service and good prices- a rare combination in such a high-traffic area, I’ll bet. I wasn’t expecting pizza perfection, but my thin-crust pie of buffalo mozzarella and creamed artichokes was utterly delicious. I couldn’t finish the entire thing (so big!), but looking at that photo now, I regret it.

The other most memorable of our lunches happened the next day; after a morning spent soaking up the stunning landscape of Positano, Andrew and I returned to Amalfi set on enjoying some real Italian fast food. We’d stumbled across a hole-in-the-wall seafood place during our explorations around town, and returned, starving, to sample some of the yummiest Frutti di Mare I’ve ever had. You’ve heard of fish and chips served in a paper cone, yes? Well, imagine that fish is a mix of anchovies, calamari, shrimp and squid, all fresh from the Mediterranean, and you get the idea. Chosen, floured and deep-fried right in front of us, this was Italy like I’d never experienced before.

After lunch, it’s time for relaxing: sunbathing on a boat deck, reading by the pool, or just finding a comfy place to sit and watch the world go by. The day’s been delicious so far, but there are more tastes of the coast to sample yet.

Tomorrow: indulgent dinners and sweet treats.

This is the view to which we awoke every morning last week in Italy: crystal-clear sky, cerulean sea, sun streaming through the windows. If I’m very quiet, I can recall the sounds of crickets, a soft breeze and the distant shrieks of children already on the beach. While it was heavenly to relax and enjoy the early sights and sounds of Amalfi, Andrew and I never lingered too long in our room of a morning. We had breakfast to attend to.

When you think of a hotel buffet breakfast, different images can come to mind. On the disappointing end of the scale are chafing dishes full of rubbery eggs, toast made with pre-sliced bread and slightly bruised fruit. Friends, this was not that kind of buffet breakfast. Not only was our hotel, a converted 15th century monastery, the singularly most beautiful building I’ve ever slept in, but it was possibly the most delicious.

Breakfast, served from a room off the dining terrace, was a treat for all the senses. From the friendly Buon giorno! of the hotel staff to the smell of freshly-baked bread, to the sight of a table so artfully laid you’d swear Gourmet was back up and running and having a photo shoot. Eggs and roast vegetables were kept gently warmed next to an impressive spread of meats and cheeses. Breads, brioches, croissants and cakes were warm from the oven. Tiny boxes of cereal, tiny jars of jam. Bowls of fresh fruit. Deliciously foreign yogurts in little glass pots.

I started every morning with a cappuccino and a fresh-squeezed juice. Several were on offer, from pineapple to apricot to blood orange to pear. After an initial bout of experimentation, I settled on an orange, lemon and carrot blend as my daily favourite; partially for the pretty colour, partially for the refreshing taste. After that, it was time for my first plate, full of bread, eggs, cheese and jams. Delicious, but somewhat perfunctory. After all, we all know that when it comes to a buffet, it’s your second plate – the dessert plate – that really matters.

I’ve never really been one for sweet breakfasts, and in my regular life will choose cold pizza over pastries any day of the week. But to their credit, holidays aren’t regular life, and the sweet spread at our hotel called my name quite clearly. From pain au chocolat to tiny authentic sfogliatelle, there was always something new to try. There was lemon cake, marble cake, an almond-and-orange tart so moist it fell apart while you ate it. There were teeny-tiny cupcakes and mini croissants with a bewildering range of fillings (I liked the lemon custard). My dessert plate usually contained at least two or three of these treats, as well as some fresh fruit and yogurt.

After this ritual of gluttony was complete we’d sit for a bit, reading, digesting, planning for the day ahead or simply admiring the view. You’d think that such a huge breakfast would put me off eating for the rest of the day, but alas, no.

Tomorrow: lunches in strange and wonderful places.

Ciao, Internet!

I hope you’ll forgive my absence- I’ve just returned from six sun-drenched days and five peaceful nights spent on the Amalfi Coast in Italy. Well, “just” is a little dishonest. I returned on Saturday, but am easing myself back into regular life slowly. A part of me still feels far away; I can no longer smell the ocean or feel the sun on the back of my neck, but my tanned limbs and indolent mood remain. While I couldn’t remain in Italy forever, at least I can close my eyes and let my memories transport me back there.

Organizing these memories into a concise and coherent blog post proves difficult, and the idea of getting back to recipe-posting inconceivable for the time being. Don’t worry, I’m hardly starving, but in my current state of mind even boiling water feels like effort. I hope you can wait a little longer to get back to our regularly scheduled programming, and I’d like to sweeten the deal. Over the next few days, come on a visual and gastronomic journey through Southern Italy with me instead?

Tomorrow: the beauty of the buffet breakfast.

Eeek, Thursday already! How did that happen? I’ve been busy with a freelance photography job this week, and between that and getting ready for my upcoming Italian break, I’ve barely had a moment for blogging. Any second that wasn’t spent taking, uploading or editing photos was automatically bookmarked for restaurant research, laundry and last-minute purchases. Do we think four bottles of sunscreen is enough for five days?

I had hoped to post some more recipes this week; though I might be busy, I’ve still been eating pretty well. But I’m realistic about the likelihood of me finding time to post again before Sunday morning (not likely), so this will be it for another ten days or so. But talk about going out with a bang! This Strawbuckle (get it? Strawberry Buckle?) is one of the yummiest desserts I’ve made in months, and certainly my favourite strawberry dish of the season.

Like I said on Sunday, I was a little down about the impending end of strawberry season, so I wanted one last strawberry shebang (incidentally, another awesome dessert name) before I went away. My galettes had been somewhat of a disappointment, and nothing this summer had come close to the levels of deliciousness reached by last year’s Strawberry Mascarpone Tart.

I had my work cut out for me, but luckily inspiration was close at hand. Deb had recently posted a nectarine buckle, both the name and description of which piqued my interest. This American take on cobbler has three components: cake batter, fruit and a streusel topping. On baking, the batter puffs up around the sinking fruit, causing the cake to “buckle”. And since I love any opportunity for wordplay, my Strawbuckle was born. (Seriously, not kidding about the wordplay. My best friend will confirm- my favourite one during university was “Can I borrow your awl? I’ve looked all over for mine.” Perhaps something I shouldn’t admit on the internet.)

I changed Deb’s recipe up a bit, cutting down on the sugar (though it’s still a very sweet cake, be warned) and replacing some of the white sugar with brown. The combination of brown sugar and strawberries is one that isn’t celebrated enough, I always feel. The obvious summer-ness of the fruit is strangely complemented by that molasses sweetness, usually associated with winter baking. Adding the tartness of sour cream into the mix takes things to another level, so I did that, too.

I certainly won’t be eating like this next week in Italy- gelato and prosecco are the indulgences I have in mind for then. But since I also won’t likely be enjoying British strawberries for another year, I figure what’s the harm of indulging now? So, until we meet again…

• Strawbuckle
• adapted from Smitten Kitchen
• makes one 8″ x 8″ square cake
• For the cake:
  1 1/2 cup plain flour
  2 tsp. baking powder
  1/2 tsp. salt
  113g (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
  1/2 cup sugar
  1/4 cup brown sugar
  2 eggs
  1 tsp. vanilla extract
  1/2 cup sour cream
  1/4 cup milk
  380g strawberries, washed and hulled
  
  For the streusel:
  57g (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, very soft
  1/4 cup brown sugar
  1/4 cup plain flour
  pinch mixed spice (or cinnamon)
• 1. Preheat the oven to 175°C/350°F. Prepare an 8 x 8″ cake pan by greasing and flouring. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt and set aside.
  
  2. With an electric beater or in a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time and the vanilla, and beat until incorporated. Next, beat in the sour cream and milk- the mixture may curdle at this stage, but don’t worry. Add the dry ingredients in three additions and mix well, scraping down the sides of the bowl. The mixture will come together into a smooth cake batter.
  
  3. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan, and dot the strawberries over the surface.
  
  4. To make the streusel, mix together all ingredients using an electric mixer, a spoon, or even your fingers. It should reach a breadcrumb-like consistency. Sprinkle the streusel over the top of the cake, in between all the strawberries.
  
  5. Bake the buckle for 40 minutes- the strawberries will sink and be barely visible, while the streusel-topped cake will puff up brown and golden. Allow to cool completely before serving, as the fruit layer makes this cake delicate.

I was determined to make today’s trip to the market count, since I’ll be missing next Sunday because of my holiday (can I get a WOO HOO! please?). So no rushing, and no scrimping today. But neither was I going to go crazy- leaving behind a fridge full of unused veg when you go away is hardly a good thing. So this morning I spent a bit of time meal-planning, then headed off to the market to see what I could come up with.

The first thing that caught my eye? Corn! It’s early in the season for it, so seeing a box full of this favourite treat was a surprise. I was very strict with myself and only bought two, which Andrew and I will have for a roasted, buttery lunch later today.

See that eggplant/aubergine at bottom right? That’s a big deal for me. I’ve never been a fan of the summer squash family, which I regard as little more than mush that grows on plants. But this pizza recipe from The Pioneer Woman has me thinking that if anything will change my tune, it will. The beautiful little tomatoes are for the same dish.

I’m a bit worried that strawberry season will be gone when I return to the market in two weeks (hmm, could I possibly be related to my mother?), so I bought a punnet for one last dessert. I’ve actually got it in the oven right now, a mash-up of Smitten Kitchen’s brown butter buckle and Martha Stewart’s raspberry buckle. Unless the results are an unmitigated disaster, I’ll post the result on Tuesday.

What are you cooking this week? Any exciting summer food plans?