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I like to make this curry in the summer. It’s not super spicy, although one could make it that way, and the flavors of coconut, fresh curry leaves, and tomatoes simply whisper warm weather to me.

I noticed this recipe on the Boston Globe’s “Dishing” blog last year. I could tell it was going to taste great, what with the coconut and Indian spicing, although I think their version doesn’t include the cayenne. The zucchini is my twist. It’s a good way to slip more veggies into my family’s diet.

You can used canned beans for this; I happen to cook dry beans in bulk with my pressure cooker and freeze them in small containers. Also, I’ve used small white northern beans and kidney beans in this recipe, but earthy black-eyed peas taste best, IMO.

Curried Black-Eyed Peas
Adapted from The Boston Globe

2 tsp. canola oil
1 tbsp. black mustard seeds
12 fresh curry leaves
1/2 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. whole cumin seed
1 tsp. ground coriander seed
1/4 tsp. ground cayenne pepper
1 shallot, chopped finely
1 tsp. minced fresh ginger
1 can chopped tomatoes, drained (sometimes I use fresh tomatoes and eyeball the amount, maybe a cup and a half)
1 small zucchini, diced into 1/4″ cubes
1 cup reduced fat coconut milk
1 cup cooked black eyed peas
Salt, to taste

1. In a medium saute pan, heat oil over medium high heat. Add mustard seeds; when they finish popping, about 30 seconds, add curry leaves. They, too, will pop and sizzle. Immediately reduce heat to medium; stir in turmeric, cumin seed, coriander, and cayenne pepper and cook for 30 seconds. Add shallot, stir into spice mixture, and cook for about two minutes until softened. Stir in ginger and cook for another minute.

2. Add tomatoes and zucchini and cook until softened and the tomatoes begin to lose their moisture, about 4 or 5 minutes. Add coconut milk and cook for another five minutes or until sauce has thickened a bit. Stir in black-eyed peas and warm through. Add salt to taste. Serve curry with cooked rice, preferably basmati.

I alluded that we get a lot of greens in our CSA pickup each week, especially at the beginning of the season. And yes, being that I’m in New England, mid-July is still considered early season. Over the next few weeks, the composition of our basket will become less green, and more red and yellow.

And although I love greens, even the bitter ones, it does become tiresome eating them the same old way, which around here is sauteed in either olive oil and garlic, or bacon and onions. So Sunday night I flipped through one of my favorite recent cookbook acquisitions, Alice Waters’ The Art of Simple Food, and settled on a kale and potato soup. It was perfect because it also happened to use up some pantry items. My walk-in pantry and chest freezer are heaving with food and I really must empty both out this summer to make room for the winter.

Have I mentioned how much I love Alice Waters? I know it’s fashionable in some quarters to make fun of her. Like, “Oh, who do you think you are, Miss Fresh, Local & In Season … Alice Waters?” Screw those folks. Alice rocks. Her recipes are simple, and as long as you use fabulous ingredients — not hard to do in the summer — you’ll be rewarded with a dish that’s flavorful, good, nourishing, and totally non-pretentious, so I don’t know where these anti-Alice people get their ideas.

Alice’s kale and potato soup is one of those recipes. It’s so hearty, a meat lover would enjoy it, and although it contains few ingredients, its taste is complex — definitely more than a sum of its parts. I happened to have two quarts of fantastic homemade chicken stock in my freezer, which elevated the soup flavorwise. It would be just as tasty with a homemade vegetable stock — barring homemade, a good quality packaged chicken or vegetable stock would make a decent base. The other winning flavor component is the real Parmesan Reggiano cheese garnishing the soup. It has a nutty, salty flavor that lacks in domestically produced Parmesans. Were I not to have the $15/lb. cheese on hand, I’d probably skip it and garnish with bread chunks fried in garlic oil.

This soup makes the perfect Sunday night supper, even in July.

Kale and Potato Soup
Adapted from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 onions, sliced thin
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 bunch of kale, tough center stem removed and leaves sliced into thin shreds
1 lb. Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced into 1/4″ rounds
2 quarts homemade chicken broth
Kosher salt, to taste
Fresh nutmeg, to taste (optional)
Shaved Parmesan Reggiano cheese, for garnish

1. In a heavy soup pot or enamel cast iron Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onions, stir to coat with oil, and cook for 10 to 12 minutes, until soft and just starting to caramelize. Stir in garlic and cook for another minute. Add kale and potatoes, and stir to coat with oil. Cook for a couple minutes, then add broth. Bring broth to a simmer, reduce heat and cook for 30 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked through.

2. Taste the broth. Does it need salt? I don’t salt my homemade broths, so here I add a teaspoon or two of salt, tasting as I go. Store-bought broths tend to contain lots of salt, so taste first! Serve soup in large bowls, scrape some fresh nutmeg over each dish, and top with shavings of Parmesan cheese.

My standing order at our local Starbucks is a nonfat caramel macchiato. But come July and August, I go on a mocha frappuccino bender. Few things make me happier than walking out to my hot car with an icy cold frozen coffee drink in hand.

The only thing bad about it (well, besides the sugar and caffeine), is that these fancy drinks are expensive. My husband loathes the smell of coffee, so we’d agreed I’d always leave the house to score my java, thus why I was visiting Starbucks at least twice a day. A few years ago, we were doing our taxes and I was stunned to see how much money got funneled from my check card into Starbucks’ coffers. We’re talking an embarrassing amount of moolah, a sum that would buy me a business-class ticket to Vienna, plus the pastry and coffee when I landed. At this sobering moment, I pointed out it might be cheaper for me to make my coffee in the garage where he wouldn’t smell it in the a.m. He quickly agreed, and since then, Starbucks has been an occasional treat. (Although I do buy Starbucks beans from our local Costco warehouse.)

But lately, I’ve noticed I’ve been making excuses to run in for a mocha frappuccino. Maybe because it’s so damn hot and I’m not interested in drinking the hot coffee I make at home. A few days ago, I watched the barista make my drink. She measured out a pre-made sweetened coffee-and-milk mixture, added chocolate syrup, then blended it with ice.

The lightbulb went off. “My God,” I thought. “How easy that would be to make at home.” We’ve even got the $600 Vita-Mix blender. What the hell was I thinking paying $4.50 for this drink?

I got the formula right on the first pass. When I tested this on our au pair, she said she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. (A true scientific inquiry hasn’t been completed yet, where we compare my version to an official version.) But I’ll happily drink my version for the next seven weeks — and feel smugly economical to boot. Caveat: I strongly suggest a heavy-duty blender to make the ice smooth and slushy. A half-rate blender just won’t cut it here.

Diana’s Frozen Mocha Coffee
Serves 2

1 cup strong black coffee
3 tbsp. sugar
3/4 cup milk (skim, whole, part skim — your choice)
3 tbsp. chocolate syrup
2 cups ice cubes

Stir the sugar into the coffee and chill. (You can make several cups of coffee at once and chill, then pour a cup when you need it.)

Pour the coffee, milk, and chocolate syrup into a heavy-duty blender. Blend for about 5 seconds. Add ice cubes and blend until drink is thick and slushy, approximately 20 seconds. Serve in chilled glasses with straws.

As I waited the six interminable minutes for my nail polish to dry — sitting still for longer than two minutes makes me antsy; six minutes is excruciating — I glanced over at the cover of the June/July issue of Domino, sitting on my manicurist’s coffee table. One coverline grabbed my attention: “A No-bake Strawberry Pie!”

It was something like 90 degrees that day. Strawberries were abundant at the local farms. I’ve been slaving away on fall and winter recipe assignments in my 100+ degree kitchen. I fell in love with the idea. As soon as the buzzer on my nail dryer went off, what did I do? I ran out of there — without looking at the recipe.

I realized my error later in the afternoon as the temperature in my kitchen crept up to 105 degrees. As luck would have it, Domino had the recipe on their website and last night, I got around to testing it.

It’s a fairly straightforward recipe. I was iffy on the idea of a no-bake graham cracker crust, but it turned out fine. The recipe calls for 2 1/2 cups of graham cracker crusts, so if you buy graham crackers and smash them up yourself, this equals 18 whole crackers, or two packages. (Another tip: rather than using a spoon to pack the crust down, try a 1/4-cup measuring cup, which makes it easier to pack the sides of the pie plate.)

You make the crust while the strawberry filling cools — yes, you do have to use the stovetop — and indeed, your kitchen will be permeated with the smell of strawberries as the recipe promises. The pie must chill overnight (or for 8 hours; you could make it in the a.m. and serve it for tonight’s dessert). Before serving, you top the whole pie with sweetened whipped cream and fresh berries, which I didn’t do. Instead, I garnished each slice with a dollop of cream since I knew the pie wouldn’t be eaten in one session and I didn’t want the pie to get mushy with the weeping cream.

The verdict? The pie tasted wonderful. We all had seconds. As you can see, though, this isn’t a pie you’d want to serve to special guests. The filling didn’t hold its shape well at all and it looked like slop on a plate. I cooked it until it was thick and bubbly, for precisely 7 minutes as the recipe directed, but maybe it wasn’t enough. Whatever. Were I to make this again, I think I’d use a couple sheets of gelatin to give the filling more structure. And while my husband loves graham cracker crusts, I thought this one was too thick for the pie — but I begrudgingly admit it worked without the oven.

Before Ina and Nigella, before Martha or even Julia, there was Elsie.

A former medical secretary, Elsie Masterton and her attorney husband John left New York in the 1940s to cleave a ski area from Vermont’s Green Mountains. While John and his workers felled trees and packed snow (if there was any — this was before the advent of snow guns and grooming machines), Elsie taught herself to cook, a practical necessity since it became her job to feed an army of hungry men every day.

The ski area didn’t pan out, but Elsie’s newfound cooking talents saved the enterprise. With the last of their savings, the Mastertons transformed their 19th century farmhouse into the Blueberry Hill Inn, with Elsie presiding in the kitchen. A small ad in the Saturday Review promised visitors “Lucullan food,” and throughout the 1950s and 1960s, guests from around the world sojourned in Brandon, Vermont, to feast on Elsie Masterton’s shrimp tempura, her famous chicken baked in wine, and her homey, bite-sized biscuits. Her fame grew with the publication of the Blueberry Hill Cookbook in 1959, the Blueberry Hill Menu Cookbook in 1963, then the Blueberry Hill Kitchen Notebook in 1964, in addition to two nonfiction books about the Mastertons’ lives as country innkeepers.

Masterton balked when her publisher asked for a cookbook that merely catalogued the inn’s recipes. She convinced them that women wanted and needed a cookbook with spice and personality. In the Blueberry Hill Cookbook she wrote, “I think that I am talking with someone; let’s let it be you. You are a gal in my kitchen, at my elbow. I want you to know what I’m doing, every single thing I’m doing, and as often as this is practical, why I’m doing it.” The headnotes in her recipes share amusing stories about her children, guests, and the local school board, impart practical kitchen wisdom, or guilelessly gush over how delicious the dish is. Masterton’s engaging writing style won over not only American housewives, but earned her accolades from First Lady Bess Truman and poet Ogden Nash. An unattributed endorsement on her last cookbook reads, “I read and devoured [the Blueberry Hill Cookbook] like a novel from cover to cover.”

In a day when convenience food became the norm, Masterton fought the good fight: “I disclaim all knowledge of a way of fixing any canned vegetables other than onions and beets,” she wrote. She preached respect for ingredients, instructed readers to make friends with their butchers, and showed them there was life beyond the canned vegetable aisle when they grew their own vegetables or shopped at roadside stands. And although she quaintly refers to women as gals and chooses margarine (the fat of the day) over butter in her recipes, Masterton’s cookbooks are relevant nearly a half-century later. Today she’d be an enthusiastic supporter of CSAs and farmers’ markets, if not a card-carrying member of Slow Food USA.

When Elsie Masterton died of cancer in 1966, mere months after her husband passed away, so did one of our earliest good food advocates. Masterton’s cookbooks are out of print, but can occasionally be found in used bookshops. Signed copies can fetch $25 or $30, and the boxed set of her cookbooks has gone for as much as $90 on eBay. And she still has her fans: on eGullet, an online community for foodies, Masterton’s books were cited when someone posed the question about what cookbooks members most liked to curl up with and read.

Tony Clark, who bought the Blueberry Hill Inn from the Masterton estate in 1968, says he gets the occasional letter asking if Elsie is still around. In a way, she is. The youngest of her three daughters, Laurey Masterton, has run Laurey’s Catering and Gourmet-to-go in Asheville, North Carolina, for 20 years.

“People are always coming in here, telling me how much they loved my mother’s books,” says Laurey, who was 12 when her parents died. “Then they look at me and tell me how much I look like her. I’m very proud to be her daughter.” Several years ago, she reprinted the Blueberry Hill Cookbook, and in February 2007, she published a memoir, Elsie’s Biscuits: Simple Stories of Me, My Mother, and Food ($19.95). “It’s really about me honoring my mother,” says Laurey. “I wish she could see what she showed me and what I have now.”

Laurey feels closest to her mother when she’s making her biscuits; it was her job as a child to line them up on the baking sheets after her mother cut them out with a makeshift biscuit cutter. Today Laurey uses her mother’s recipe in her shop. When one customer learned there was sour cream in the recipe, he declared, “Them’s Yankee biscuits.” He went on to devour them.

Yankee biscuits they may be, but with Elsie’s touch they transcend time and cultural boundaries.

Elsie’s Biscuits can be purchased from Laurey’s Catering and Gourmet-to-go or Malaprop’s Bookstore/Café in Asheville, NC, phone 828-254-6734.

Elsie’s Biscuits

Adapted from The Blueberry Hill Cookbook by Elise Masterton
Yield: 30 1-inch biscuits or 10 3-inch biscuits

To preserve the soft, flaky architecture that’s the hallmark of a well-executed biscuit, use a light touch when patting out the dough and don’t twist your biscuit cutter – simply push it into the dough and pull it straight up to release the circle. Elsie cut her biscuits into bite-sized 1-inch circles. If you don’t have a 1-inch cutter, cut the dough into 1-inch squares or use a standard 3-inch biscuit cutter. According to Elsie’s daughter Laurey, a handful of chopped ham and Vermont cheddar makes a fine addition.

3 cups flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon sugar
4-oz (1 stick) butter, cut into 8 pieces
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup sour cream
1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract
Flour, for sprinkling

1. Preheat the oven to 500 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

2. Sift the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar into a large bowl.

3. Using a pastry blender or two knives, cut the butter into the flour until the mixture looks like cornmeal. In a small bowl, stir together the milk, buttermilk, sour cream, and vanilla extract. Pour the liquid into the flour mixture and stir until just combined.

4. Place the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Gently pat the dough out until it’s 1/2-inch thick. Press a biscuit cutter firmly into dough without twisting, and place biscuits on baking sheet.

5. Bake 1-inch biscuits for 7 to 8 minutes. If using a standard size biscuit cutter, bake for 11 to 12 minutes. Serve warm.