Sunday in Brooklyn was horrible. The sky white, the air on the terrace hot and thick. Inside the apartment the air conditioner roared, and we were grateful.
After baking a peach and almond cake in the middle of the night on Saturday (what can I say? I needed cake), I did not really feel like turning the oven on again, and wasn't brave enough to stand outside and cook over coals, either. The answer? Leaf wraps.
Lots of rinsing and chopping later, the loaded smells of fish sauce and fresh lime, the chicken caramelizing with sugar and shallots, and the SE Asian leaf wraps now reside, at long last, next door, at 66 Square Feet (the Food). They are a summer staple, when the mint and basil on the terrace are booming.
Rain came at last, from the west, and the air felt better. We ate outside, feeling tropical, and smelling the sweet Abyssinian gladiolus, blooming only two months too early.