Beach Days and Brandywine Tomatoes

Years ago, I knew Guillermo. He was from Miami. He was kind, always ready with a smile, and we sometimes talked food. He loved to cook for his boyfriend, and I loved to hear about Cuban food. One day I casually asked for his gazpacho recipe, and the next time I saw him, he handed me this:

From Memories of a Cuban Kitchen

In the world of emailed links, he'd taken the time to transcribe by hand a recipe with lots of ingredients (and I love the added comment: "I substituted cilantro instead, mmm-mmm"), and in such readable handwriting to boot.

Every time I make it I think of him and his easy smile. When I spotted this buxom Brandywine beauty at Kings Market on Edisto Island on Sunday, I knew her highest and best use -- Guillermo's gazpacho.

I counted this as three tomatoes and added a Cherokee Purple one I had left over

I had the rest of the ingredients at home -- really, it's pretty easy to have these on hand this time of year -- and so after a long beach day, I got to chopping.

The best part about this recipe is the smell of summer: cucumbers, onion, tomato, sweet pepper, cumin and garlic. It filled my kitchen with a cool freshness that still lingered the next morning. The tomato's pink flesh did not make as deep red of a finished product, but nevertheless, I think it made the recipe proud. "mmm-mmm."

An Instagram Intervention

Over the weekend, my friends staged an intervention. It wasn't for Cheez-It's, K? I've gone through the 12-step program there ...

It was for Instagram.

Marcus said to stop taking pictures of food. I said, food is all I am taking pictures of right now, unless you count new eye shadow techniques, which I promise I do not post anywhere. He said, well, fine, I'm going to unfollow you on Instagram.

Holly said, I'm not sure all of these pics are in focus. I said, but I put a filter on it. She said, That chorizo picture of it draining on a paper towel cannot be fixed by a filter. Or that picture of kale. I got a little nauseated at looking at it. I liked that picture of kale, I said. It was like an art piece.

My kale art

She just stared at me silently. So this is what it felt like.

Back when I worked at Lowcountry Living, I distinctly remember thinking on a holiday food shoot, Good God, Why is this taking so long? I mean, the food is NOT moving. It's just sitting there. How hard can it be?

Of course, since then, I have come to understand that photographing food is one of the hardest things in the photography biz. I have seen the work of amazing photographers. I bow down to them, not just because it's hard for me to do, but because they have beautiful work. They are artists. It's obvious I don't have it ...

Back to the discussion. Well, Marcus, look at this fish I made recently. It was fresh mahi, and the recipe was from Garden and Gun. It was delicious.

He chuckled, then got serious. OK ... he said, really looking at my phone in the dark. That kind of looks like caveman food. I am not really even sure what that means, but I know this -- whatever it means, he is right.

Cavemen mahi with a buerre blanc

So, while I cry in the corner, read some tutorials, and decide not to post pictures of chorizo in any form, here are some food blogs where the photography will make you swoon:

• Tartelette
• Family Fresh Cooking
• Steamy Kitchen
• Not Quite Nigella

It looks so good; wouldn't it be awesome to cook it?

The temptation of plums and a Wednesday night veggie feast

I love summer. I love it for the heat, the humidity (yep), the sound of tree frogs late in the evening, the smell of vanilla ice cream melting, and of course, the veggies.

On Sunday, I drove to Cottageville for a story. It's going to be a great story, yes, but on the way back, I hit a farmstand -- I simply had to stop. It's in my blood. Okra, plums, fresh corn, oh my. I couldn't help it. The farmer wanted me to taste the plums, and I did and threw a pit into the field of brush beyond the tent. He knew what he was doing, out there on 61 way past Summerville on a Sunday when everyone out there was out to church but me. He knew I could be tempted.

He was right. I bought more plums than one person should buy.

On Monday, Holly called and said she had veggies if I wanted. Boiled peanuts, squash, the sweetest little Persian cukes ever. And suddenly, here we are.

And so it's Wednesday. I am in the middle of a very heavy workweek, and yet, I'm hungry. I need food, although I don't want to take the time. (It's amazing to cook, but even for me, without distraction, sometime it is too much.) But when you really aren't eating processed food, there's not much of a choice. You have to do something.

I did. I threw some potatoes in the oven, sliced some tomatoes, breaded a bit of okra, and can we call that even cooking? Suddenly, I had one of those bounty dinners, those summer bounties, where you know that you gotta eat it up or it's going to go bad.

And here we are, the sound of tree frogs high after the rain, and Summer upon us with its tomatoes and cucumbers and okra that I wait for all year. I am just lucky that my boyfriend Beets didn't decide to join the party; I might not have been able to handle it.