SpiceLines

All the ingredients for a homemade lobster feast with saffron beurre blanc: sea salt, white wine, shallots, butter and dark red Greek Kozani saffron--and the lobster of course. See the recipe at the end of this post.

You would be forgiven for thinking that B and I ate nothing but lobster in Maine.

That’s not exactly the truth.

Twice we downed bowls of buttery chowder, thick with luscious clams. I loved the spicy cuttlefish at Primo, seared on a plancha and served with harissa, roasted peppers and salty black chickpeas. And one night Serendipity cooked the perfect summer supper of sole in brown butter with capers, boiled Maine new potatoes and the last local strawberries with fresh ricotta.

But as to the lobster, well, we ate it every which way—and we never tired of it.

What's the secret of a perfect lobster roll? Freshly boiled lobster, homemade lemon mayonnaise and a well-toasted bun. Nothing more--or less.

Recipe for a perfect lobster roll:

Generosity and restraint, in equal parts. Assemble with a light hand and serve at once.

After a week of serious research into the lobster roll—I can’t tell you how many we ate—B and I agree on one thing. The ultimate roll is…

…generous with the lobster…

….which is dressed with a little homemade lemon mayo…

….and served on a well toasted bun.

It’s simple—and that’s the secret.

A few weeks ago I was happier than I’d been in ages.

I’d eaten lobster for a week, luxuriated in Maine’s chilly nights and tropical thunder storms, and now….

I was sitting on the floor at Rabelais, leafing through a tantalizing stack of new and old cookbooks. A scruffy dog named Raleigh drowsed in a patch of warm sunlight, lulled by the hum of intelligent conversation about beekeeping, MFK Fisher and recipes for wild blueberry ice cream.

Life was good.

Honey infused with anise-scented Thai basil brings out the sweet fruity flavor of blueberries, blackberries and ripe nectarines--and it is delicious with tangy chevre.

This morning I looked out the back windows to see deer drifting silently as ghosts through the trees. A young buck, muscles rippling under his tawny coat, a velvet-faced doe and their two tiny fawns sampled the dogwood’s tender leaves, then dipped their heads to see if anything was left of the hostas I planted a few years ago.

It breaks my heart.

I hope there’s special place in hell for the developers whose rampant, ugly building has decimated the wide swathes of woodland where the deer normally roam. Add to that a summer drought that has shriveled what’s left of the shoots and leaves they normally eat, and it’s clear that hunger has driven them to our garden in daylight.

B left by the front door so as not to disturb them and I watched until they disappeared wraith-like into the underbrush.

Of course I haven’t always been as generous. In fact, last month I was furious.

Torn mint leaves and blossoms add a cool, refreshing bite to this summer salad of Bhutanese red rice with colorful cherry tomatoes, toasted walnut halves and sweet raisins.

Our local tomato fest—touted as the high point of the tomato season—has come and gone.

But someone forgot to tell the tomatoes.

Heavy paper sacks of luscious Pink Girls and Big Beefs roll in every Wednesday, along with enough Sun Gold cherry tomatoes to fill a wide bowl to the brim. And since I can’t help myself when I cruise through our Farmers Markets on Saturdays, every flat surface in the kitchen is covered with Green Zebras, Brandywines, Black Russians and Lemon Boys, and a rainbow of little Juliets, Yellow Pears, Red Currants and Sweet 100s.

The Lantern's Hibiscus Petal gets its crimson hue from vodka infused with dried hibiscus flowers. Thai Basil adds an assertive shot of anise to the Petal's lush flavors.

You’ve noticed, haven’t you?

Mixologists are traipsing through the garden, gathering seasonal flowers and herbs to lend flavor to simple syrups, vodkas and other liquors. In “How to Sip A Flower Garden,” (The New York Times, Wednesday, August 19, 2009, pp. D1 and D7), Laura M. Holson describes a few creative forays: “Red sunflower petals and cucumbers are bathed in gin. Syrup made from dried lavender blossoms is muddled with mint leaves to lend mojitos a Provencal air. And the fizz of Champagne is quieted with elder flower liqueur.”

This "deconstructed" gazpacho is composed of chopped vegetables and herbs stirred into a delicious fresh tomato puree. Rosemary flowers, chives and sliced pear tomatoes garnish the soup.

If you don’t have any tomatoes this August, you won’t like this post.

Around here we’re suffering from a positive embarrassment of Pink Girls, Razzleberries, and Japanese Black Trifeles. Not to mention Lemon Boys, Brandywines, and Cherokee Purples.

Every time I turn around, another delectable variety beckons, and I saunter home from the market with groaning paper bags, splitting at the seams.

Note to myself: Let’s amend that to “reveling” in an embarrassment of tomatoes.

The scent of the Wildflower Meadow in New York's Central Park--"toasted oats, honey, wood.." reminds author/illustrator Jason Logan of "my childhood." Photo credit: www.centralpark2000.com.

Summer in New York conjures up all sorts of fragrances. Sizzling garlic wafting from an open restaurant kitchen door. The baked, almost metallic smell of hot pavement. And my favorite, eau de fermenting garbage—especially pronounced during the garbage strike one interminable August.

In “Scents and the City” (The New York Times, Sunday, August 30, 2009, The Week in Review, p. 10), illustrator and author Jason Logan offers a whimsically odiferous map of the city, created after he trawled its streets and subways one sweltering weekend, sniffing his way from Fort George and the Cloisters—“subtle, incense-like burning cloves mixed with a dash of patchouli”—all the way down to White Hall: “Energy drink evaporating on sidewalk; waffles; sweat, nectarines…”

Logan has an amazing nose, not just for following “a delicate trail of flowers mingling with Indian curry around 34th street,” but also for pinpointing aromas that suggest the spirit of a place: Gallery smell: “Ceiling paint (matte), cardboard, air conditioning, and nothing else.” The subway: “smells like the Industrial Revolution,” money is “tangy, metallic-dusty, [like] Play-Doh.”