in honor of summer solstice

It's been HOT the last few days, and Robert has a hair trigger when it comes to heat-induced misery. Yesterday, I asked what he wanted me to fix for dinner, and he immediately replied, "gazpacho," probably the coldest thing he could think of.

I make a mean batch of it, too, starting with the Moosewood recipe and then adding my own variations. I also typically serve five to ten bowls of toppings, which once prompted a friend who'd lived in Indonesia to clap her hands and say "Oh! are we having rijstaffel tonight?"

I first tasted gazpacho on July 14, 1971. My mother and step-father took me and my best friend on a quick trip to Europe. We were in Paris on Bastille Day and for some reason decided to dine at a Spanish restaurant that night. When we traveled, my mother was quite inventive about accomodating my vegetarian diet, so I'm sure it was her idea for me to eat gazpacho. I've been loving it and making it ever since.

But on that evening, when my friend and I were all of 13, three very drunken French sailors came into the restaurant, saw us, and immediately made a bee line for us. It hardly mattered that parental figures were chaperoning us. They didn't know much English, and so they sang, "Aye zaw sree sheeps comb sayling een un Kreesmas dey un Kreesmas day." My friend, who had refused to speak a word of French until that moment, finally had had enough. In perfect, though not well-accented, French, she pulled herself up to her full sitting height and haltingly said "Va chercher une autre femme." And with that, they disappeared.

Happy summer, and may you have many nights of "good sleeping weather."