Another beautiful bbq yesterday, with Eve doing some excellent cookery. I gathered flowers from the yard; these strange lilac-like beauties, our bereft sunflowers, the lone day lily. Before we played in Laurelhurst park, Eve set to sitting some lovely fresh tomato sauce. Five large, meaty tomatoes from the farmer's market on Saturday, bunches of basil pinched from the garden, garlic, olive oil, sea salt and peppercorns all chopped and left to set in the shade for the afternoon.
The chicken thighs relaxed in a lemon herb bath while I hung laundry, awash in parsley, thyme, and rosemary from the garden. Eve sliced crookneck squash and peeled cucumbers (also garden grown) for a little salt bath, destined to be mixed with a luciously ripe cantalope in a lemon-yogurt dressing, topped with minced garden spearmint.
The guacamole was ritualistically chopped and almost instantly consumed.
More basil was sacrificed, alongside fresh mozzarella and some tomatoes borrowed from the pasta sauce.
Lisa provided a large red pepper for the roasting, and so it was. The fire was lit, the chicken charred, the beer disappeared, and everyone was happy.
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