SpiceLines

“One of the singular characteristics of garlic is that it makes you wait.”

Stanley Crawford, A Garlic Testament, 1992

This afternoon, we pulled some garlic. It was ripped so untimely from the cool soil that we could nearly hear it shriek. It certainly wasn’t ready to come up: Though its green shoots were vigorous, the clove from which they sprang was immature, just a little fuller and fatter than when it was planted a few months ago. It hadn’t become a bulb, but already its smell was sharp and strong.

There are six types of garlic and many varieties, some of which have multiple aliases. Last fall, on a cool November afternoon, after clearing away the brown stems of the wine-dark Arabian Nights dahlias, we planted four of them in the herb garden:

Music, a popular, intensely flavored porcelain hardneck, good for baking;

Inchilium Red, an artichoke-type softneck which produces large bulbs with 12 to 20 mild-tasting cloves, recommended for salsa;

Morado Gigante, a Chilean turban-type with deep burgundy “wrappers”and a smooth flavor;

Guatemalan Purple Stripe, a nutty-tasting hardneck from the village of Aguacatan near Hueheutenango, a god-forsaken dusty Guatemalan outpost we actually visited many years ago.

As Stanley Crawford writes in his cult classic, A Garlic Testament, it takes seven to nine months for garlic to mature: “It follows that you ought not to grow garlic unless you are willing to let it make you as patient as it needs for its purposes….It has no other way but the long wash of time to extract the sulfur compounds from the soil and to distill them into its distinctive potion…”

The Music shoots that we pulled are the very earliest form of “green garlic”—immature garlic that hasn’t yet begun to form cloves. We could have sliced and stir fried them with baby bok choy, or mixed them into scrambled eggs, but we decided to be kind.

The little bulblet was tucked back into the soil, to sleep, perchance to dream of bigger things.

Editor’s note: Our seed garlic came from Cornerstone Garlic Farm outside of Greensboro, North Carolina. Natalie Foster and her husband Steve have a website with excellent photos and descriptions of the garlic they grow. Go to www.localharvest.org/listing.jsp?id=6792.

To read what may be the most poetic farming book ever written, see Stanley Crawford, A Garlic Testament: Seasons on a Small New Mexico Farm, University of New Mexico Press, 1992. Crawford is a novelist whose other books include Petroleum Man and Gascoyne.

Curly scapes from Music garlic are just beginning to unfurl.
Sauteed, alone or in stir fries, they have a mild and delicate flavor.

It’s Memorial Day and blistering hot. A bad omen for the summer to come. While watering the tomato plants, I checked the garlic for winners and losers. Incillium and Morado Gigante appear to have snatched defeat from the jaws of victory: Both began with handsome seed cloves that barely sprouted wispy greens before disappearing. Even the original cloves have vanished, prey perhaps to marauding squirrels or voles with a taste for the exotic.

But Music, a porcelain hardneck grown all over the U.S., and Guatemalan Purple Stripe, a good performer in Southern climes, have both produced vigorous greens and curly scapes. Garlic scapes are flower stalks that shoot rapidly upwards in May to mid June, depending on your climate. As they grow, the slender tips that sport immature flower buds become curly. At this point they should be plucked in order to boost the growth of the bulb down in the soil. If you leave them in place, the stalks will straighten and toughen, and the flower buds will swell until they become bulbils or miniature above ground bulbs.

Fortunately, scapes plucked while still curly are tender and delicate in flavor. If you see them at your local farmers market, buy as many as you can and run home to cook them. Ana Sortun, chef at Oleana in Cambridge, admires the "beauties of garlic as it goes through its stages. When the scapes appear, I love to sauté them like green beans. They have such a delicate flavor. They're also great in soups." You can also chop them raw into salads or use them in your favorite stir fry.

In his 1989 book, Fragrant Harbor Taste: The New Chinese Cooking of Hong Kong, Ken Hom has a savory recipe for Beef and Garlic Shoots in Oyster Sauce. It uses garlic “shoots” as well as chopped “fresh” garlic. Of the shoots, Hom says, “Harvested in early spring, they add a mild and delicate perfume to food that is highly prized among Hong Kong’s discerning diners…their green tops may also be used as a garnish or flavoring.” We've substituted scapes for the earlier shoots, since they too are mild in flavor.

As for fresh garlic, one might use young garlic pulled about the same time as the scapes are cut. Young garlic has a smallish bulb with partly formed cloves—a sort of halfway stage between green garlic, in which bulb is essentially one large, swollen, barely undifferentiated clove, and mature garlic in which the cloves are distinct and have reached their full size. Like the scapes, young garlic's flavor is delicate; when sauteed, the cloves become almost sweet.

Hom also calls for “young” ginger. Young stem ginger, he says, is “the newest spring growth.” The tender rhizomes are “knobby in shape and moist pink; they look naked.” If you cannot find young ginger in your market, substitute very fresh ginger that is not dried up or wrinkled. Peel it before slicing or chopping.

Garlic scapes add a mildly pungent flavor to beef stir fried with sliced
ginger and oyster sauce.

Beef and Garlic Shoots in Oyster Sauce
(adapted from Ken Hom, Fragrant Harbor Taste)

Ingredients:

1 pound sirloin steak, beef fillet or New York strip

For the marinade:

1 teaspoon light soy sauce
1 teaspoon rice wine
1 teaspoon sugar
1 egg white
2 teaspoons ginger juice (see note)
1 tablespoon cornstarch
2 teaspoons sesame oil

1 cup peanut oil

4 cloves thinly sliced young garlic
6 to 12 garlic shoots (scapes) or whole scallions, cut into 3-inch pieces
6 slices young ginger, or peeled mature ginger, 1/4-inch thick
4 fresh or canned water chestnuts, peeled and sliced

For the sauce:

1/2 cup rich chicken stock, preferably homemade
1-1/2 tablespoons oyster sauce
1 teaspoon light soy sauce
2 teaspoons rice wine
1 teaspoon cornstarch

Method:

1. Put the steak in the freezer for 20 minutes or until it is firm to the touch. Cut it, against the grain, into thin slices. Whisk together the marinade ingredients, add the meat and refrigerate for 20 minutes. Mix the sauce ingredients and set aside.
2. Heat a wok or large skillet until it is hot. Add the oil and when it is quite hot (when a sliver of meat dropped in the oil sizzles madly), quickly stir fry the beef for 2 to 3 minutes. Turn the contents of the wok into a strainer set over a large bowl. Allow to drain, reserving some of the oil.
3. Reheat the wok and add 1 tablespoon of the reserved oil. Add the garlic, garlic shoots and ginger, and stir fry for 1 minute. Add the water chestnuts and continue to stir fry for 30 seconds more. Add the sauce ingredients and bring the mixture to a boil. When the sauce has thickened, return the drained beef and mix well. Serve at once with steamed white rice.

Note: To make ginger juice, grate a 1 to 1-1/2 inch piece of peeled ginger into a bowl. You should have about 1 tablespoon. Wrap the ginger in a small piece of cheesecloth, or in the corner of a clean dishtowel, and squeeze it over a bowl. This will yield 2 teaspoons or more of ginger juice.

Delirious bumblebees cling to Dutch lavender in full bloom at Sunshine
Lavender Farm in Schley, North Carolina.

Is there anything more sensuous than a field of lavender in bloom? At the moment gentle waves of icy blue, mauve, and deep violet are billowing all around me and I’m half-drunk on the flower’s warm, camphorous scent. The air is vibrating with the hum of delirious bumblebees clinging to bobbling purple spikes. A dragonfly zooms by, slows, then hovers, wings a blur. Like the rest of us, he’s in a lavender daze.

This is the peak moment for lavender in central North Carolina. It’s no coincidence that Sunshine Lavender Farm, located in the tiny town of Schley, is also holding its 3rd annual harvest festival this weekend. About a hundred sun-struck lavender worshippers have come to drink in the vision of a thousand plants in glorious but fleeting bloom. Artists have set up easels in the sea of purple, families are clipping armloads of fragrant stems, camera-toting gardeners have come to find out how to keep their own plants from rotting in the South’s humidity. Me, well, I’ve come to drink lavender lemonade and find out if you really can cook with lavender.

Sunshine Farm’s lavender grower-in-chief, Annie Baggett, wearing dark glasses and summer straw hat, is mingling happily with the crowd. Every 30 seconds, she is button-holed by someone who wants to know what kind of lavender will survive here (sturdy French lavandins like “Grosso” and “Provence” because they resist fungal rot better than the beloved English L. angustifolia) and why her plants are mulched with gleaming white oyster shells (to reflect sunlight, keeping plants dry and disease-free). With her 100-watt smile, she may be the most blissed out farmer I’ve ever met—and why not, since she spends her life inhaling a fragrance renowned for stress relief.

The word lavender is said to come from the Latin lavare, to wash. In the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, laundry women were called “lavenders” for their custom of placing sprigs of the fragrant herb in piles of freshly washed linens. A mainstay of the perfume industry, lavender also has a long history of medicinal use, from relieving chest congestion to healing insect bites. In The Complete Book of Herbs and Spices, Sarah Garland notes that “All the old herbalists describe the refreshing effect of lavender for ‘a light migraine’ and ‘swimming of the braine’.” Hospitals in Europe waft the scent into surgical waiting rooms, and modern aromatherapists tout the soothing effects of scented bath oils, candles, and room sprays on the frazzled psyche.

All this is a plus for Baggett, who never intended to grow the herb. The first year on her farm, she optimistically planted a community vegetable garden, but found that deer were her most avid consumers. “They ran through the fields, laughing, with spaghetti squash in their mouths,” she tells me. The next year, intent on finding deer-resistant plants, she installed a test plot of 5 lavender bushes. The deer went elsewhere, so she collected as many varieties as she could find. Today, she has 1,500 well-manicured lavender bushes in a field of less than one acre. Most of them are either “Grosso” or “Provence”—75 percent of the French lavandin oil crop comes from the robustly aromatic “Grosso”—but she has squeezed in other favorites such as “Hidcote,” “Jean Davis” and “Dilly Dilly.” “There are hundreds of varieties!” she says.

I pondered this while sipping a refreshing glass of lavender-infused lemonade. Americans have never taken to cooking with lavender, but the French, especially in Provence where there are vast fields, do use it in the kitchen. Lavender is sometimes mixed into herbes de provence, a blend of thyme, basil, rosemary and marjoram that is traditionally used to season beef, lamb and pork stews, soups, and as a rub for grilled fish. Locals make lavender infused liquers, and in Patricia Wells at Home in Provence, the American writer gives a recipe for Lavender Honey Ice Cream. But although one suspects that French lavender farmers must occasionally grill a whole lamb over dried stems, or infuse a creme anglaise with a few stray flowers, written recipes are hard to come by.

In The Lavender Garden, Robert Kourik suggests that lavender foliage can be substituted for rosemary in almost any dish. Both are members of the enormous mint family, and both have a powerfully aromatic flavor with resinous, slightly bitter undertones. His recipes include one for lamb chops cooked over lavender sprigs and garlic and another for boneless chicken breasts laid on top of fresh lavender stalks and cooked on a cast iron griddle over an open fire. Another idea is to use Grosso’s tough square stems to skewer shrimp marinated in lemon and olive oil; grilled over charcoal, the shellfish are imbued with just a mysterious hint of lavender.

And then there are desserts. Used in moderation, lavender blends well with lemon and other citrus flavors, makes a lovely summery ice cream, and adds a floral aroma to baked goods such as shortbread and pound cake. The Celebrate Lavender Festival Cookbook from the Sequim, Washington Lavender Growers Association takes this idea to another level with recipes for Lavender Crème Caramel Tart and Baked Figs with Ricotta and Lavender Honey Walnuts. Wherever your culinary experiments take you, the real secret is to use lavender with the greatest restraint, particularly if you are substituting the dried flowers for fresh blooms: A good rule of thumb is to use half as much dried lavender as you would fresh. And If you buy lavender, be sure that it is culinary—unsprayed—quality.

Culinary lavender can be ordered from www.adrianascaravan.com or from www.sunshinelavenderfarm.com, which also has bundles of organically grown dried lavender stems for grilling. Robert Kourik’s book, The Lavender Garden and the Celebrate Lavender Festival Cookbook may be ordered from www.lavenderfestival.com, which also provides information about the 10th Annual Sequim Lavender Festival, which will be held July 14-16, 2006.

The flowers of Lavender "Provence" have a sweet, mildly fruity aroma
that makes iced lemonade especially refreshing on a hot summer day.

Right now, the lavender is blooming madly outside the front door. Furry bumblebees are buzzing lazily amongst the rich violet spikes of “Provence”and the bluer ones of “Munstead". The flowers are so profuse that the bees don’t really mind if I steal a few from under their noses. (In the insect world, that would be “from under their probosces…”)

If you don’t have lavender in your garden, this is the moment to look for freshly harvested stalks at your local farmers market—but be sure that it’s organic, or at least unsprayed. One of the simplest and most refreshing ways to experiment with lavender is to use it as a flavoring for lemonade. Pick a few blossoms, make a simple syrup, add water and steep until the sugar mixture has a light floral taste. Then add freshly squeezed lemon juice to taste and chill until very cold.

Fresh lavender imparts a subtle flavor to the lemonade. If you are using dried culinary lavender, cut the amount in half since its stronger taste can quickly become overpowering. At Sunshine Lavender Farm, Annie Baggett makes lemonade by putting dried lavender in a tea ball and letting it steep in hot water until the desired flavor is reached.

Lavender Lemonade

Makes a generous quart

Ingredients:

3-1/2 cups water
1 cup sugar
5 fresh lavender flower heads, or 1-1/2 teaspoons dried culinary lavender (see note)
2/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained
4 springs fresh lavender, for garnish

1. Combine 1 cup of water with the sugar in a medium saucepan over a hot flame and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Add the remaining 2-1/2 cups water and the fresh or dried lavender and bring the mixture to a gentle simmer. (If using dried lavender, put it in a tea ball.) Remove from the heat and let the mixture steep for 20 minutes, or until it has a light lavender taste.
2. Strain the mixture into a pitcher or jar, and stir in the lemon juice. Refrigerate until it is cold.
3. To serve, pour the lemonade over a glass of ice and garnish with a sprig of fresh lavender.

Note: Dried culinary lavender can be ordered from www.adrianascaravan.com or from www.sunshinelavenderfarm.com.

One of the pleasures of having an embarrassment of lavender in the summer garden is thinking up new ways to use it. The sturdy, square stems of Lavender “Grosso,” for instance, make perfect skewers for grilled shrimp. Marinated in lemon juice, olive oil and garlic and briefly charred over a hardwood charcoal fire, the shrimp come to the table tasting of smoke, the salty tang of the ocean and just a hint of sweet, faintly camphorous lavender flavor. You could also substitute boneless chicken thighs or chunks of lamb for the shrimp.

To serve 4

Ingredients:

1 pound large shrimp in their shells
Juice of 1 or 2 lemons
Olive oil
2 large cloves of garlic, finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
A pinch of fresh or dried culinary lavender flowers

6 sturdy stems of fresh or dried lavender, about 10 inches long (see note)

Method:

1. Devein the shrimp by cutting down the backs of their shells with a sharp paring knife. Rinse and pat dry. Do not remove the shells or the legs.
2. In a large bowl, combine the lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper and lavender flowers. Add the shrimp, mix well and set aside to marinate.
3. Soak the fresh or dried lavender stems in water for 5 minutes. Remove and pat dry.
4. In your grill, build a fire of hardwood charcoal. When the coals are hot but no longer flaming, thread the shrimp onto the lavender skewers and place them on the grill. Cover and cook for 2 minutes, turn and cook for 2 to 3 minutes more, or until the shrimp are opaque and the shells are just slightly charred.
5. Serve each person a skewer of shrimp, along with 2 or 3 more shrimp that have been removed from the remaining lavender stems. Accompany the shrimp with a simple salad of mixed lettuces in a vinaigrette and ears of sweet corn grilled in their husks.

Note: Dried culinary lavender and bundles of dried lavender stems may be ordered from www.sunshinelavenderfarm.com.

Lots of lavender in the garden and the spirit of invention has led to some late night ice cream making marathons. But, like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, I couldn’t come up with a lavender-scented ice cream that was quite right. Several batches were so flowery that no one could eat them, others—especially those with custard bases—were simply strange when combined with lavender’s camphorous edge. Gallons of milk, quarts of cream, lots of sugar and eggs, and handfuls of lavender—all went down the drain, usually around 2 A.M.

Then Alexandra, just back from France, said, “Mom, I really don’t want to eat lavender ice cream. Mix it with some citrus.” Out of the mouths of babes, especially 20-year-olds, breezing through the kitchen…

She was thinking grapefruit, but I was thinking lemon. Lemon and lavender are a lovely blend of flavors, especially in the dog days of summer. When making ice cream, the secret is to keep all these ingredients in balance—milk with not too much cream, grated lemon zest, a modest amount of lavender, and less sugar than you might imagine. If an ice cream can be described as “sunny,” this is it: bright, sweet, tart and then, that mysterious taste of the flower.

Merci, Alexandra…next we’ll try the grapefruit. Perhaps an ice?

Lemon and Lavender Ice Cream

To make one quart

Ingredients:

3 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
8 fresh lavender blossoms, organic (unsprayed)
Grated zest of 1 lemon, or to taste

Method:

1. In a large saucepan, gently heat the milk, cream and sugar, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Add the lavender blossoms and continue to heat until the mixture is very hot. (Do not boil.) Remove from the flame and stir in the grated zest of 1 lemon. Let the mixture steep for 30 to 60 minutes, tasting occasionally to be sure that the lavender flavor does not become overpowering. If desired, add more lemon zest.
2. Strain the mixture into a large bowl, cover with aluminum foil and refrigerate until very cold, at least three to four hours.
3. Freeze in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s directions. This ice cream is best if served immediately after freezing.

A vodka martini is garnished with pickled cherry tomatoes, plucked
green from the garden at summer's end.

It’s the tail of August and though we can look forward to a few more weeks of lusciously ripe tomatoes, the end is in sight. Squadrons of Canadian geese are flying overhead in V-shaped formations, honking loudly as they touch down in the pasture behind us. It’s a rest stop on their flight path to the Outer Banks and points south. The air is soupy, but the sun feels gentler on the skin.

Soon the tomato vines will begin to wither, leaving behind clusters of hard green fruit that will never blush even the faintest pink. This miserable state of affairs is enough to drive a tomato lover to despair. But Rick Field of Rick’s Picks, a Brooklyn-based pickle maker, has a solution.

I met Rick at the New York Fancy Food Show last month. He was wooing gourmet food buyers with jazzy jars of Windy City Wasabeans, green beans in a wasabi-spiked brine, and Bee n’ Buzz, a nouvelle bread and butter pickle with coconut, dried cherries and ginger. A former PBS producer for Bill Moyers and a Yale-Andover grad, Rick has re-invented himself as an upscale pickle maestro whose artisanal spears can be found at New York’s Union Square Greenmarket and on the shelves of fancy food shops across the country.

The urge to pickle started at the family home in Vermont, where Rick’s parents “spend most of their time from snow melt to the frost tending flower beds and looking after the garden.” His mother, Holly Field, traditionally put up dill pickles —and it was her simple recipe—Kirby cucumbers, dill heads, black peppercorns and garlic—that launched Rick on his new path.

His father, Dan Field, professor emeritus of Russian History at Syracuse University, created his own pickles at summer’s end when the cherry tomato vines were laden with fruit that would never ripen. “My Dad’s pickle evolved out of a desire to capture the late-bloomers whose very existence is threatened by early frost,” says Rick. “Pull them off the vine and pop them in the jar while they still have a brick hard exterior.”

Dan Field’s recipe calls for 6 pints of cherry tomatoes. My own garden is not quite so bountiful, so I called Elise at Elysian Field Farm, our favorite local CSA. Every Wednesday, Elise trucks in boxes of the most delectable organically grown vegetables: heirloom tomatoes, pale purple Asian eggplant, tiny red new potatoes (some the size of my thumbnail), freshly cured garlic, red, yellow and green peppers, slender leeks, a handful of fresh basil…and that’s just last week’s allotment. Luckily Elise had unripe cherry tomatoes—heirloom Black Cherries and Juliets--to spare and brought me a few pints.

The recipe is simple: Pack six pint jars with green cherry tomatoes (no tinge of pink or yellow allowed) into which you have already put bay leaves, dill heads, pickling spice, garlic and onion. Pour over them a boiling mixture of water, cider vinegar and kosher salt. Seal and let them sit for a couple of weeks. (The tomatoes are so acidic that you can skip the final boiling water bath.)

As we move toward the warm days of Indian Summer, we’ll be having our cocktails in the garden—martinis, extra dry, with a pickled cherry tomato or two instead of an olive. That’s one way to end summer: With a flourish and a grateful nod to the garden which has given us so much pleasure.

Dan Field’s Pickled Green Cherry Tomatoes
(adapted from Rick Field of Ricks Picks)

Eat these cherry tomato pickles as soon as they are ready—2 weeks. Ours were slightly sweet, gently sour, very crunchy and tasted of fresh tomato. They are delicious in a martini—the alcohol brings out the salty side of the pickle—but they are also very good with grilled pork tenderloin.

Makes 6 pints.

For each pint jar:

2 cups (approximately) hard green cherry tomatoes, washed
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon pickling spice (see note)
2 cloves garlic
1 dill head (or 3 sprigs fresh dill and 1 teaspoon dill seed)
1 slice onion
1/8 teaspoon celery seed

For the brine:

4 cups water
2 cups cider vinegar
1/2 cup Kosher salt

Method:

1. Sterilize jars and lids in a large pot of boiling water to cover for10 minutes. Using tongs, lift the jars and lids out of the hot water and place them on clean dishtowels on the kitchen counter.
2. Into each jar, as indicated above, place bay leaves, pickling spice, garlic, dill, onion and celery seed. Firmly pack tomatoes in each jar, to just below the fill line (the extruded line on the jar approximately 1/4-inch below the top of the glass). This can be tricky since the cherry tomatoes are so small. Don’t skimp on the tomatoes and try to wedge them tightly in the jar to prevent shifting.
3. Bring the water, vinegar and salt to a boil. Pour the brine, still boiling, into the jars. The liquid should cover the solids--but only just cover them.
4. Wait 1-2 minutes to allow the brine to settle. If necessary, add a little more liquid to cover the tomatoes. Put on the tops and store for two weeks in the refrigerator or a cool, dark cupboard.

Note: The pickling spice I used came from Whole Foods and included mustard seed, cinnamon chips, allspice, dill seed, celery seed, bay leaf, mild chiles, cloves, caraway seed and ginger.

Tart crab apples, pickled in a sweetened brine and flavored with an aromatic
blend of Chinese five spices, are delicious with grilled pork and venison.

Fall has slipped in without fanfare, brisk nights, almost chilly enough for a fire, trailing warm days with brilliant blue skies. Pumpkins are everywhere. Mostly there are mountains of orange jack o’ lanterns, but then I’ll stumble onto heirloom types roosting like aliens among old friends. One of the most alluring is the French pumpkin, Rouge Vif d’Etampes, a ruddy, flattened orb that looks like Cinderella’s coach before the fairy godmother graced it with her wand. New this year are ghostly white Luminas which might gleam in the dark, and an anonymous, smooth, deeply lobed pumpkin the color of seawater.

A few weeks ago Andrea Reusing, chef and owner of Lantern Restaurant in Chapel Hill (#47 on Gourmet’s list of America’s 50 Best Restaurants) fixed a trio of exotic housemade pickles using seasonal ingredients from our farmers’ market. My favorite was the lightly spiced sweet and sour pickled pumpkin. These toothsome golden half-moon slices are simmered in an Asian-style brine of rice vinegar and mirin infused with white peppercorns and fresh Thai chilies. They are easy to make and can be eaten almost immediately, although they are more flavorful after a few days in the refrigerator.

The next morning as I was looking for a small organic pumpkin to try Andrea’s recipe, I spied a basket of tiny, bright red crab apples and, next to it, a recipe for pickles. My mind flew at once to our own tree, so heavily laden with fruit this year that the groaning boughs are stretched almost to the ground. I could make pickles, I thought, and unburden the branches that have been sagging under the strain of such fecundity. (I’m sure I have the thrifty French housewife gene, for I’m never happier than using up what we have in the larder or garden.)

This is a more complicated pickle. Making it will occupy the better part of an afternoon. If you are plucking your own, choose only ripe apples that have turned completely red (or ones that are at least streaked with yellow rather than green). Look for unblemished fruit without bruises or too many insect spots. Make sure the birds have not already tasted them. This can be a very companionable way to spend an hour or two on a sunny fall day and my husband, who has lately become a pickle connoisseur, was only too happy to take a break from pruning a Japanese flowering plum and pick a few apples.

This is important: Whether you are buying crab apples or using your own, taste them first. A mealy apple is no good for eating or for pickling.

Because even the ripe fruit is quite tart, I made a brine of apple cider and white balsamic vinegars simmered with unrefined demerara sugar. The fun came in picking spices to add a little zing to all that sweetness. I decided to do a riff on Chinese five spice, using aromatic whole spices instead of ground ones. Into the pot went cassia sticks, star anise, fennel seed, cloves and black peppercorns--and for good measure, a knob of fresh ginger.

Although you can treat these as fresh pickles and eat them within a day or two, I’m keeping one jar in the refrigerator for a few weeks to see how the spices will permeate the fruit. Even after 24 hours, the flavors are starting to mellow. If the crab apples are as good as they were with last night’s caramelized pork chops, I know we’ll be enjoying them deep into the fall.

Autumn pickles: Top left, crabapples with star anise; bottom right,
pumpkin slices simmered in rice vinegar with fresh Thai chilies.

Recipe: Pickled Pumpkin with Thai Chiles and White Peppercorns
(from Andrea Reusing, Lantern Restaurant, Chapel Hill)

Ingredients:

3 pounds small, organic edible pumpkins, cut into thin moons or chunks (see note)

For the brine:

5 fresh or dried Thai chilies (or to taste) (see note)
10 white peppercorns
2 quarts unseasoned rice wine vinegar (see note)
1-1/2 cups distilled white vinegar
1-1/2 cups mirin, or Japanese rice wine (see note)
2-1/2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup kosher salt

Method:

Combine brine ingredients in a non-reactive pan and bring to a simmer. When the sugar is dissolved, add pumpkin and simmer until al dente. Cool in liquid and refrigerate. Best after 2 or 3 days.

Note: I used a small Sugar Pie organic pumpkin. To prepare it for pickling, I peeled the rind, cut it in half, scooped out the seeds and pulp, and then sliced each half into very thin half moons. If the pieces seem large, you can cut them in half again on the diagonal. Or simply cut the pumpkin into bite-size chunks.

Rice vinegar, mirin or Japanese rice wine, and Thai chilies can be found at Asian food markets and in the international and produce sections of some supermarkets.

Recipe: Crab Apple Pickles with Star Anise, Cassia and Ginger
(Adapted from a recipe at Whole Foods)

Ingredients:

2 quarts ripe, unblemished crab apples

For the brine:

2 cups white balsamic vinegar
3 cups apple cider vinegar
2 cups demerara, or light brown sugar (see note)
1 5-inch stick cassia (see note)
1 tablespoon star anise, whole or broken bits
1 tablespoon whole cloves
1 tablespoon whole fennel seed
2 tablespoons whole black peppercorns
3-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced

For the jars:

Cassia sticks
Black peppercorns
Star anise

Other equipment:

2 quart jars or 4 pint jars, with lids

Method:

1. Wash the crab apples and discard any that are bruised or blemished. If desired, prick them with the tines of a fork. This will keep them from bursting when they are simmered in the hot brine.

2. Wash the jars and lids, or run them through the dishwasher, and put them in a large pot with water to cover. Bring to a rolling boil. Boil for 10 minutes, then turn off the heat and leave them in the hot water until you are ready to use them.

3. Place the spices in a 6-inch square of cheesecloth and tie up the ends to make a pouch. Put the spice bag in a large non-reactive pot with the vinegars and sugar. Bring to a gentle boil.

4. When the sugar has dissolved, add the crab apples. Simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally until the apples are tender but still hold their shape. If overcooked, they will become mushy and disintegrate.

5. Remove the jars from the hot water and in each one, place a cassia stick, a few peppercorns and a whole star anise. Carefully ladle crab apples into each jar. Pour in the hot brine so that the fruit is completely covered. Put on the tops and let the pickles cool to room temperature.

6. Store either in a very cool dark pantry or in the refrigerator. For most flavorful pickles, wait 3 to 4 weeks before eating.

Note: Demarara sugar is natural unrefined cane sugar. If not available, substitute light brown sugar. In America, cassia sticks are usually sold as cinnamon sticks. Hard and tightly scrolled, they tend to break with a snap and have a vivid “cinnamon” flavor. (True cinnamon from Ceylon consists of crumbly layers of concentrically rolled bark; it has a softer, more nuanced taste.) For more on cinnamon and cassia, see SpiceLines Newsletter.

Mint, red currants and green peppercorns make a spicy pot of summer tea.

I’ve been fooling around with basil, mint and thyme.

It's August and the herbs I planted in the garden a few months ago are exploding. The basils—purple, Thai, Genovese and lemon—are towering over the well-worn brick path, full, lush leafed and with tall flowery spikes that have to be pinched back constantly. The mint has run wild, sending out long runners criss-crossing the soil underneath the cherry tomato vines clambering up the bamboo tutuers. In other beds, the thymes—lime and lemon—have masses of delicate leaves on their wiry stems. The lemon balm looks like a fluffy lime green cloud, and lemon verbena, a touchy herb hard to grow herb, at least for me, is strong and vigorous.

In the midst of this aromatic jungle, I’ve fallen in love with herbal teas. Not just the usual mild tisanes using a single herb, but stronger more flavorful brews, fragrant with spices like saffron and green peppercorns, sweetened with summer fruit like raspberries and peaches.

I love to experiment with different mixtures in my Zen glass teapot, a lovely minimalist thing with a flat top and bamboo handle. It looks exquisitely fragile but is actually made of tough tempered glass. On even the hottest days, the sight of bright green mint, red currants and green peppercorns steeping in this transparent vessel is cooling to the senses.

Here are a few things I’ve discovered:

1. Don’t use boiling water -- it will literally cook the delicate leaves. Instead heat the water in a tea kettle until you see the first wisps of steam escape the spout.
2. Put all the ingredients into the pot, pour in the hot water and walk away. Do something else for at least 20 minutes—paint your toenails a luscious shade of pink, call your mother (good for at least 20 minutes), order that black asymmetrical Armani jacket you saw on line. Never mind how you’re going to pay for it. Or where you’ll wear it.
3. When you return, the tea will be fully flavored and still deliciously warm. If you let it continue to steep over the next hour or more, the taste of the tea will evolve as the individual flavors deepen and come to the fore. Saffron, for instance, takes a while to fully show itself.
4. Sweeten, if you like, with honey or sugar. But taste it first—the fruit may add all the sunny sweetness you need.

Here are a few blends that I love:

Garden mint, red currants, green peppercorns

Use lots of fresh peppermint for the strongest, most refreshing flavor—not those paltry stems sold in clamshells, but a really big handful that has to be stuffed into the pot. Red currants not only contribute a sweet, tart flavor but they turn the tea bright pink. Green peppercorns had a touch of spicy heat.

To make four 6-ounce cups

Ingredients:

A large handful of fresh mint
½ cup of red currants
1 teaspoon green peppercorns
24 ounces fresh cold water
Honey or sugar, if desired

Method:

1. Rinse the mint and currants, but don’t bother to strip the leaves or berries off the stems. Put the mint, currants and peppercorns in the teapot.
2. In a tea kettle, heat the water until wisps of steam curl out of the spout. Pour the hot water into the teapot, replace the lid, and allow the ingredients to steep for at least 20 minutes or longer.
3.Strain, if desired, into a glass teacup. Add honey or sugar to taste. To serve cold, allow the tea to steep for 20 minutes more, sweeten if desired, then pour into a glass filled with ice.

Citrusy Herbs with Basil and Red Fruit

Combine all the citrusy herbs from the garden with the sweet fruitiness of raspberries and strawberries. Add a sprig of basil for complexity. Each of the citrus-flavored herbs has a different flavor profile and when combined in a tea, they create a medley of aromatic flavors-- pungent, grassy, earthy—linked by the bright taste of lemon.

To make four 6-ounce cups

Ingredients:

A few sprigs each of at least three citrus flavored herbs (lemon grass, lemon balm, lemon verbena, lemon or lime thyme)
1 small sprig basil
½ cup raspberries
1 or 2 strawberries, stemmed and cut in half
24 ounces of fresh cold water
Honey or sugar, if desired

Method:

As above.

Saffron with Blackberries and Rosewater

This is based on the delicious the au safran from the Paris spice shop, Goumanyat et Son Royaume. The owner, M. Thiercelin, travels twice a year to Khorasan in northeastern Iran to bring back wildly fragrant saffron which he sells in many different forms, including this tea. The base is a blend of green, oolong and black teas to which unnamed epices, fleurs, fruit--spices, flowers and fruit—are added. I won’t pretend that I’ve managed to recreate Goumanyat’s exquisite tea, but I do like this version, flavored with blackberries and rosewater.

This is one tea that must steep awhile for the flavors to come into balance—the taste is much different after 40 minutes than at 20 minutes. The saffron turns the tea golden.

To make four 6-ounce cups

Ingredients:

Large pinch saffron threads
1 tablespoon green tea, such as Gyokuru Pearl Dew
1/2 teaspoon green oolong, such as Green Dragon
½ teaspoon mild flavored black tea, such as Ceylon
½ cup ripe blackberries
24 ounces fresh cold water
Few drops rose water
Honey or sugar if desired

Method:

1. Put the saffron, the teas and blackberries in the teapot.
2. In a tea kettle, heat the water until the first wisps of steam curl out of the spout. Pour the hot water into the teapot, replace the top and steep for at least 30 minutes. Taste and continue to steep for 10 or 15 minutes more, if desired.
3. Now for the tricky part: add rosewater a few drops at a time. Stir into the pot, then taste. The rosewater should not dominate the flavor of the tea. Rather it should just be a mysterious floral essence lurking in the background, mingling with the aroma of the saffron.
4. Add a little honey or sugar if desired and serve warm.

“Wherever my travels may lead, paradise is where I am.”

--Attributed to Voltaire (in an email received today)

I adore this idea, even if Voltaire didn’t say it that way.

The actual quote, which is the last line of Le Mondain (1736), reads: "Le paradis terrestre est ou je suis," or “Earthly paradise is where I am.” No allusion to travel, alas. The poem celebrates worldly pleasures: “luxury,” “softness,” “taste,” “ornament,” “all the arts,” the “gold of the earth” and “the treasures of the waves.” Paradise is right here on earth, said Voltaire, not in some far off afterlife awarded to pious abstainers.

Cheers, Voltaire. I approve: Let’s enjoy life in all its divine abundance.

At the moment, my own worldly paradise can be found right outside the French doors, where a tropical jungle is erupting from a collection of pots, some huge, some not, that crowd the deck. Sublimely perfumed angel trumpets tower over a Chinese water pot filled with tadpoles and papyrus. The passion flower vine extends its wicked, vise-like tendrils in all directions, redeemed by crimson flowers, but not, alas by the luscious fruit I was expecting. There are spices growing here: piper nigrum, the pepper vine, is heavy with aromatic green peppercorns. and around the corner, edible ginger sprouting pointy leaves. Only the hickory nuts that bounce off the roof and the brown squirrels chasing through the luxuriant sweet potato vines remind us that we’re not in Bali—and that fall is in the air.

But at the moment, it’s still hot and the tropical deck is glorious. Just last week, I unfurled a gold-crested Balinese parasol over the green chaise. The umbrella’s checkered black and white poleng pattern is found on sacred objects all over Bali: I once saw it on a sarong draped over a huge stone frog by the lily pond at the Amandari in Ubud. The dark and light pattern represents dualism, the dynamic tension between creation and destruction which holds the universe together. It is a reminder that without one, there can be no other: no woman without man, no day without night, no good without evil. (All this is written about in B.’s weekly letter, “The Lost Art of Luxury,” on The Global Province.)

And, of course, there is no summer without winter. Even on these sweltering days, the mornings are distinctly cooler. In the ate afternoon, I love to lounge on the tropical deck, with a drink in hand and a seductive book, like Carlos Eire’s Cuban memoir, Waiting for Snow in Havana, on my lap. If I’m lucky, I may glimpse a hummingbird whirring over the elegant apricot blossoms of the canna lily. Or maybe just listen, eyes closed, to water trickling from the bamboo fountain. As darkness falls, magic unfolds when the Moroccan lantern is lit.

The drinks served here in the tropical zone are inspired by the garden: a vodka martini enlivened by a pickled green tomato and a few drops of the spicy pickle juice, a classic mojito packed with fresh mint leaves and lime, and a refreshing pomegranate-green tea cooler also spiked with lots and lots of mint. (Recipes coming soon.)

Here’s to le paradis terrestre, Voltaire. My version, anyway.

For a tropical plant list with sources, please go here.

The pale apricot and rose blooms of Canna 'Panache' bring a glimpse of
paradise to the tropical garden. They also attract hummingbirds.

Le paradis terrestre requires a few plants—37 to be exact.

Unlike Voltaire, I’m obsessed with tropicals. But B and I live in a more temperate zone 7, bordering on 8, and many of these potted beauties shrivel and shrink when the temperature drops below freezing. (Maybe that’s why our garage looks like a jungle in January. Only the monkeys are missing.)

Anyway, all is revealed in this list of plants. I’ve included my own sources, even though Singing Springs, the nursery where I found most of my favorites, closed in 2006. In her last letter. owner Pam Baggett, who now spends her time writing about gardens, provided a list of mail order nurseries that sell tropicals. I’ve added it to the end of my own list, in case you simply can’t live without your own 'Hilo Beauty.'

Here are 37 plants for your own private jungle:

2 Brugmansia suaveolens (Angel’s Trumpet), dangling yellow trumpets, fragrant, especially in the evening. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Brugmansia ‘Sunset’ (Angel’s Trumpet), soft apricot flowers, pale green leaves splotched with cream. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Brugmansia, unknown (Angel’s Trumpet), pale pink flowers. Raleigh, N.C. Farmers’ Market.

In the evening, the air is perfumed with the honeyed fragrance of
these exotic Angel's Trumpets. The color of the blossoms may be
white, yellow, apricot or pink, depending upon the variety.

The four brugmansias are in huge pots underplanted with purple ‘Heat Wave’ petunias, cascading Ipomoea batatas ‘Margarita’ (lime green ornamental sweet potato vines) and gold Lysimachia nummularia ‘Aurea’ (Creeping Jenny)

1 Cymbopogon citratus (Lemon grass) Delicious roots and leaves, used in Asian cooking and for tea. Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market.

1 Dahlia, unknown. Hot pink blooms on dark purple stems. Dickinson’s Nursery, Chapel Hill, N.C.

1 pot Agapanthus species ‘Elaine’ (Lily of the Nile), 4’ stems, strappy green leaves, dark blue-violet blooms. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Ficus caprica ‘Violette de Bordeaux’ (Fig) “Purplish black fruit with rich strawberry flavor. Considered by many the finest tasting fig.” Has not, however, borne for me but there’s always next year. Edible Landscaping.

1 Pennisetum ‘Purple Majesty’ (Purple Fountain Grass). Dickinson’s Nursery.

1 Dwarf papyrus. Stems are 2-1/2 to 3 feet tall. Perfect size for Chinese water pot. Raleigh, N.C. Farmer’s Market.

1 Sarraccenia flava (Yellow Trumpet Pitcher Plant). Insect trap, submerged in the other Chinese water pot. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Olive tree ‘Frantoia’, rescued from the sidewalk at Smith & Hawken a few years ago. Hasn’t borne any fruit, but the silvery leaves and willowy branches are lovely.

1 Meyer lemon tree. Saved from sure death at Whole Foods during a heat wave this summer. Three lemons ripening now. A predecessor from Edible Landscaping lived five years in a pot and bore 12-18 lemons annually. Skins are especially fragrant and can be grated over pasta and potatoes, into dough for lemon tart, and into lemon pots de crème.

The 'Ruby' passion flower has spectacular blossoms, but does not
produce the luscious tropical fruit of Passiflora 'incarnata.'

1 Passiflora hybrida ‘Lady Margaret’ (‘Ruby’ passion flower) Exquisite crimson blossoms on a twining vine. Grow this and other passion flowers in pots, or they will spread uncontrollably through the garden. Raleigh, N.C. Farmers Market. For fruit, try Passiflora incarnata from Edible Landscaping.

1 Phormium tenax ‘Atropurpureum’ (New Zealand Flax). “Swordlike…chocolate purple leaves 2” wide but 3-5’ long.” Singing Springs Nursery. Looks wonderful in a weathered copper urn underplanted with cascading pink and rose striped petunias found at Home Depot.

1 pot Colocasia antiquorum illustris (Elephant ear), “charcoal black leaves dramatically veined with green.” Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Agave attenuata ‘Huntington Blue’. Pale green leaves with a grayish-blue cast. Tender. Singing Springs Nursery.

1 Plumeria, unknown. (Frangipani) bought last year at the Raleigh, N.C. Farmers Market. Has yet to produce the promised pale yellow, intoxicatingly perfumed blooms, but it did grow 4 feet this year.

1 Wollemi Pine Tree, Jurassic era “living fossil” discovered in Australia. Graceful pine with feathery blue green needles. A gift, via National Geographic.

2 Alocasia ‘Portadora’ (Elephant ear),. Huge, deeply ruffled green leaves that point upwards to the sky. Singing Springs Nursery. Both are underplanted with dark purple Ipomoea batatas “Blackie” (ornamental sweet potato vine)

3 Eucomis ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ (Pineapple Lily). Dark burgundy strap-like foliage with a single long-stemmed blossom of clustered white and purple flowers that looks like a tiny pineapple. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 Canna glauca ‘Panache’ (Canna lily) Gorgeous soft apricot, rose-centered blossoms that draw hummingbirds. Attractive bluish-green foliage. Plant Delights Nursery.

1 pot Polianthes tuberosa ‘Single Mexican’ bulbs. (Tuberoses) Intoxicating white blossoms that exude their fragrance in the evening. An instant trip to the tropics. Brent & Becky’s Bulbs.

1 Citrus hystrix (Thai ‘Kaffir’ Lime) Divine citrus-scented leaves for Asian cooking, especially in soups and broths. Found at Shades of Green Nursery in San Antonio and carried home on the plane.

1 Pineapple sage. Pretty red blossoms on fruit-scented leaves. Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market. Great for tea or as a garnish for summer coolers.

1 Piper nigrum (pepper vine). Heart shaped, deeply veined leaves with small white flowers that produce aromatic spikes of immature green peppercorns. This is the vine that produces black, white and green peppercorns, but grown in a pot in our temperate climate, the peppercorns do not ripen fully. Sometimes I add the immature spikes to Asian stir fries. Yucca Do Nursery.

No self-respecting backyard jungle can do without a banana tree.
This Musa Rojo, now in its second year, is especially lush.

1 Musa Rojo (Banana) Small banana tree with endlessly unfurling burgundy-streaked leaves. Home Depot Garden Center.

2 Colocasia esculenta ‘Black Magic’ (Elephant Ear) Dark, nearly black purple stems and veins on 1’ lightly ruffled leaves. Singing Springs Nursery. Underplanted with cascading Ipomoea batatas ‘Margarita’ (chartreuse sweet potato vine)

2 Alocasia ‘Hilo Beauty’ (Elephant Ear). Lovely dark green leaves splotched with cream and celadon. Tender. Singing Springs Nursery. Underplanted with trailing Ipomoea batatas ‘Blackie’ (dark purple sweet potato vine).

2 Buxus sempervirens ‘Suffruticosa’ (English boxwood). Carrboro, N.C. Farmers Market. Wonderful round exclamation points amongst the lush tropicals.

1 Hibiscus tree, unknown. Stunning triple ruffled dark rose blossoms on a plant that has been limbed up to a small tree. Blooms sporadically all year. Rescued from Whole Foods parking lot.

1 Agave ‘Victoria Regina’ Small agave with grey-green succulent leaves edged in white and tipped with lethal thorns. Yucca Do Nursery.

1 Zingiber officianale (edible ginger). A potted clump of very fresh Hawaiian ginger from Whole Foods. now producing leaves.

Need some of your own? Here is Pam Baggett’s list of mail order nurseries that sell tropicals and other tender plants:

Avant Gardens
Color Farm
Cottage Garden
Fairweather Gardens
Niche Gardens
Plant Delights Nursery
Select Seeds
Stokes Tropicals
Wayside Gardens
White Flower Farm
Yucca Do Nursery

. .

The classic mojito is made with a dozen mint leaves, rum, and lime juice. It can be
sweetened with simple syrup or, more authentically, with sugar cane juice.

Tropical storm Gabrielle is skirting the Outer Banks today, sending us cooling breezes but not a drop of rain.

That makes this evening perfect for drinks in the garden. Also perfect for drinks from the garden. Right now, I’m sipping a classic mojito, packed with just-plucked mint leaves and splashed with the juice of a lime.

According to an article in the Miami Herald, the name of the drink comes from the African “mojo,” which means “to place a spell”—no surprise to the legions who have fallen under the enchantment of this potent drink. Rumor has it that the mojito was “invented” in 1589 when the English navigator and sometime pirate Sir Francis Drake tried but failed to plunder Havana for its gold. To soothe his ire, perhaps, another pirate, Richard Drake, concocted a drink made of aguardiente (“firewater,” probably made from fermented sugar cane juice) mixed with sugar, lime and mint. He named it “El Draque” (“The Dragon”), after Sir Francis Drake’s nom de guerre.

Can this be true? Others claim that the mojito was really invented by African slaves working in the Cuban sugar cane fields during the 19th century. According to The Mojito Company, slaves drank both aguardiente, and guarapo, fresh sugar cane juice, and the stories may have become muddled—in theory, if not in fact. However it evolved, recipes for the mojito were found in bartending manuals by the 1930s. In Cuba, and again Key West, it was a favorite of Ernest Hemingway who first sampled it at La Bodeguita del Medio, a popular bar and restaurant in Havana.

There are a thousand spins on the mojito, but Bacardi’s classic recipe is a good starting point. I use fresh peppermint leaves from the garden instead of the recommended spearmint, though the latter would also be delicious. The key thing is to “muddle” or crush a dozen leaves gently in the bottom of the glass to release their flavor, before adding the other ingredients. The Mojito Company sells all sorts of muddlers, including one made of Honduran rosewood, but I find that the non-business end of a pestle works very well. (That way you avoid any other flavors that may linger on the pestle.) You could also use the plunger from a juicer, a small wooden mallet, or just about any long-handled implement with a flat end that can be inserted in a glass.

Because I love lime, I use the juice of a whole fruit--or two Key limes, if I can find them--instead of the half that Barcardi suggests. And to balance out the flavors, another tablespoon or two of simple syrup. (To be truly authentic, you should use sugar cane juice.) Oh yes, and I substitute Pellegrino for club soda and use a lot less of it.

But in the end, this really is a classic mojito, one that even El Draque would enjoy.

Spellbinding Mojito with Mint and Lime

(adapted from bacardimojito.com)

To make 1 mojito

Ingredients:

12 fresh mint leaves (peppermint or spearmint)
Ice to fill the glass
1-1/2 ounces rum
3 tablespoons simple syrup, or to taste (see note)
Juice of one lime, or to taste
3 to 4 ounces Pellegrino (or club soda)
Sprig of mint for garnish

Method:

1. Put the mint leaves in the bottom of a tall glass. Gently smash or “muddle” the leaves with a muddler, pestle or other instrument to release their flavor.
2. Fill the glass with ice. Add the rum, simple syrup and lime juice. Stir to mix well.
3. Top off the glass with Pellegrino or club soda. Stir again. Taste and adjust the flavorings, if desired. Serve with a sprig of mint.

Note: To make simple syrup, combine one cup sugar and one cup water in a small saucepan. Stir and bring to a boil. When the sugar has dissolved, remove from the heat and set aside to cool. Refrigerate before adding to a cold drink.

In a nod to summer's waning days, pickled green cherry tomatoes garnish a vodka
martini, which must, of course, be imbibed in the garden.

There’s a wonderful story about Winston Churchill and his martinis.

During World War II, when no French vermouth could be found, Churchill would make martinis with a “{respectful] bow in the direction of France.” According to Pete Wells (“The Gin Crowd,” Food & Wine, August, 1999), Churchill’s gin of choice was Plymouth, an English gin created in 1791, which made “fanastic” martinis. Wells writes: “All the same ingredients--cardamom, coriander, citrus peel, bitter almonds and, of course, juniper--are thrown into the Plymouth stills, but thrown in so carefully that no single flavor dominates. The result is an unusually well-balanced and intensely aromatic drink.”

Somehow this story has been subverted in the retelling. In latter day versions, Churchill merely bowed in the direction of a bottle of vermouth—he may have preferred his martinis very, very dry.

Anyway, this is not Churchill’s martini. In a salute to the waning days of summer, it's garnished with pickled green cherry tomatoes from the garden. It’s made with vodka, not gin, and has a touch of vermouth mixed in. It’s not James Bond’s martini either: It’s both shaken and stirred. I can hear the purists squawking.

At the moment, the vodka in my martini is Tito’s Handmade Vodka, from Austin, Texas and winner of the 2001 Double Gold at the San Francisco World Spirit Competitions. If you’re wobbly about your own tastes, Raymond Sokolov’s recommendations from an August 29, 2003 article in The Wall Street Journal--Grey Goose, Olifant and Jewel of Russia—are a reasonable jumping off point.

Whatever your poison, pickled green cherry tomatoes are a delectable if non-U addition to the martini. If you have a late crop on your own vines, they won’t ripen before frost. Pick them all and spend a pleasant hour or so making Dan Field’s recipe for these addictive little flavor bombs. (Dan was the late father of New York pickle maven, Rick Field, who is probably elbow deep in exotic brines and spices at this very moment. One of Rick’s Picks’ latest, Smokra, is flavored with smoked Spanish paprika.) But it’s OK to cheat and buy your pickled green tomatoes too. You can get Tomolives from Bryant Preserving Company.

Enough talk. Here’s the recipe:

Vodka Martini with Pickled Green Cherry Tomatoes

To make one martini

Ingredients:

2 ounces vodka
Small capful vermouth (cap measuring about 1/2-inch), or to taste
Ice cubes
2 or 3 pickled green cherry tomatoes on a toothpick, for garnish
Few drops pickled cherry tomato brine (optional)

Method:

1. Pour vodka and vermouth into a cocktail shaker. Add ice cubes and stir well. Shake vigorously for one minute.
2. Pour the martini into a glass. Garnish with pickled green cherry tomatoes. Add a few drops of the brine, if desired.
3. Serve at once, bowing in the direction of the garden.

The last of this trio of garden drinks is non-alcoholic.

Before your eyes glaze over, I must tell you that it is divine. The cooler is made with just three ingredients: green tea—such as Green Dragon Oolong-- for backbone, a handful of peppermint leaves for refreshing flavor, and pure pomegranate juice for lusciousness. Oh, and water, so that makes four. Five, if you choose to garnish it with an aromatic sprig from the garden— lemon verbena, purple basil or pineapple sage.

With all the anti-oxidants, flavenoids, polyphenols and catchecins in green tea, you know you’re doing wonderful things for your body. Especially if you’ve been sampling the mojitos or martinis I told you about earlier. And pomegranate juice has been used as a restorative since it was quaffed in ancient Babylon. It too is high in antioxidants that help protect the heart. Come to think of it, in the ancient world it was a symbol of resurrection.

Don’t waste this beautiful elixir by guzzling it while juggling two phones at once, haranguing your accountant or fending off kamikaze drivers on the interstate. No, wait until the late afternoon, when the sun is low and you can lie on the chaise under the Balinese parasol, watching hummingbirds sip the nectar from an Angel’s Trumpet and feeling the breeze from a far off tropical storm stir the air around you.

It’s that kind of drink.

Pomegranate Green Tea Cooler with Mint

(adapted from the West End Cooler at Three Cups)

Ingredients:

30 ounces fresh spring water
1-1/2 tablespoons green tea, such as Green Dragon Oolong
Large handful of fresh mint leaves and stems
Pure pomegranate juice to taste
Ice cubes
Sprig of purple basil, pineapple mint or lemon verbena for garnish

Method:

1. Place the green tea and mint in a teapot. Heat the water in a kettle just until wisps of steam curl out of the spout. Pour the water into the teapot, cover and let steep for 20 to 30 minutes. Strain the tea into a glass container and let cool to room temperature. Refrigerate until cold.
2. To make a cooler, pour four to six ounces of tea over ice in a tall glass. Add pure pomegranate juice to taste. Stir.
3. Garnish with a sprig of purple basil or other herb, if desired. Serve at once.