The first strawberries. I'll admit, not the sweetest. But nothing that a sprinkling of cane sugar couldn't fix. It draws their juice out, too, and makes them good with poured cream, with bubbly or just like that.
Summer arrived last week, which I thought was rather rude. I told it to sit on the terrace and have been distracting it with gin.
This evening, the first picnic of 2011 in Central Park, Great Lawn. I hope it is like this, when Marlene and I picnicked there and not like when I dragged Ellen and Michael to the lawn after rhapsodizing about the great coolth of the vast green expanse, only to find it partitioned by horrible and utterly unphotogenic metal barriers. As usual, with picnics farther afield and with others to feed, it will be a bit of a mule and donkey show, with Vince (mule) and I (donkey) hee-hawing our way there from Brooklyn on the A and then the C train, carrying bottles of chilling prosecco, and baskets of bread, pâté, cold spring meatballs (mint dill, green garlic, lamb, breadcrumbs, ricotta salata), a walnut and pomegranate moh-lasses dip for the meatballs and...something I have not thought of yet.
Oh. Vichyssoise. The soup 'invented' and christened in New York. Good for hot and bothered tourists from Milwaukee. Should I or shouldn't I? I'll have to have word with the mule.