For many gardeners, Town Meeting is the reminder that it is time to plant tomato seeds. The tender seedlings must wait on windowsills to be transplanted until the threat of a late May frost has passed. And then, with a balance of sun and rain, a presence of pollinators and an absence of blight and hornworms, local tomatoes thrive and come to market at the end of July.

Last weekend, my friend Veronica gave us a basket of tomatoes from her garden, our first Vermont tomatoes of the season. After the tomato blight of last summer, local tomatoes are even more of a treat. An heirloom tomato, still warm from the sun, eaten out of hand with a pinch of salt is one of summer’s great pleasures. I used thin slices of white bread, a thick slather of mayo, two layers of tomatoes and lots of sea salt and freshly ground pepper to make a platter of tomato sandwiches. Longing for the flavor and scent of just picked tomatoes is a desire that never seems to fade.

When we lived in Singapore, our English neighbor, Philip, was on an endless quest for “a proper English tomato”. The tomatoes grown in Singapore were hard and pale orange with green patches. Although they looked like tomatoes, they didn’t have much flavor; the imported tomatoes, called airflown in Singapore, from more temperate regions were perfectly red, perfectly round and perfectly tasteless. Philip decided to grow tomatoes with seeds taken from a very expensive imported tomato. The seeds sprouted quickly and he soon had half a dozen seedlings. He tied each seedling to a stick and waited for tomatoes to appear. In three weeks, all of the seedlings had died but each of the sticks had rooted and was sprouting leaves. For the rest of his time at the university, he longed for tomatoes from England.

Fortunately, here in Vermont, during the late summer, I satisfy my tomato desire with trips to farm stands, markets and friends’ gardens. When Susan and Bob stopped by with tomatoes from their garden, I invited them to stay for dinner. I made fresh tomato sauce for pasta in the time it took for the water in the pasta pot to come to a boil. Here’s how I did it:

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In 1980, our friend Tom went on a trip to China. Tom was an architect who loved adventure, and in those days, going to South America was exotic but a trip China was unimaginable. Tom had a wonderful time and, as an intrepid cook, he brought back exotic recipes and memories of extraordinary meals.

Soon after his return, he invited us to dinner. When we arrived, he was emptying the wood shavings from his pencil sharpener into the wok. We watched as he added the contents of two tea bags to the wood shavings. He explained that he was going to make tea smoked chicken for dinner. He put a bamboo steamer filled with raw chicken over the tea and wood shavings, covered everything with aluminum foil, put it on the stove and turned on the heat. The tea and wood smoldered and I worried about the yellow paint from the pencils, but Tom explained that it wasn’t a problem and that the smoke imparted a wonderful flavor to the chicken.

While we waited for the chicken to smoke, we enjoyed a cucumber salad that Tom had learned to make in China, and he described the all-duck banquet in Beijing that marked the end of his trip. He described, in detail, dishes made from duck innards, head, wings and webs. We neglected the wok and concentrated on the salad that was spicy, loaded with garlic, Szechuan peppers and peanuts. Unfortunately, the bamboo steamer that held the chicken above the smoke caught fire and so did the chicken. Our dinner was a bit meager, steamed rice and cucumber salad, but we laughed a lot and I went home with a great recipe for Szechuan Chinese pickles. We call it Tom’s Chinese Cucumber Salad and the recipe is my souvenir from his trip.

On a steamy evening a couple of weeks ago, I made Szechuan Cucumber salad and sesame noodles for dinner and we drank a toast in memory of our friend Tom and his love of exotic food. Here’s how I made it:

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Ginger is one of the most versatile ingredients in my kitchen. I have ground ginger in the spice drawer, fresh ginger root in a ceramic crock and crystallized ginger in a jar in the pantry. I make ginger tea by simmering slices of fresh ginger in water with a bit of brown sugar. Served cold, it is a caffeine free substitute for iced tea that I enjoy in the evening. I put ginger in everything from to stir-fries to meatloaf, and it is always present in the form of gingersnap cookies. They are a mainstay in Charles’ diet. He can resist chocolate cake, banana splits and candy bars but he has an undeniable gingersnap habit – he ends every lunch with a gingersnap.

So, when he reached into the Chinese cookie jar on Monday and found only a teaspoon of crumbs, something had to be done so I suggested that we make a batch of gingersnaps.

Spiced cookies were popular during the Middle Ages, not only because they tasted good but also because the ginger and the honey used to make them were valued for their health benefits. Ginger flavored cookies are called brunkage in Danish, pepparkakor in Swedish and lebkuchen in German and ginger nuts in the UK, Australia and New Zealand.

It may be the zip of ginger, cinnamon and cloves or the sweetness of molasses and brown sugar that has made them so popular, but I think it’s the childhood memories that this sweet treat triggers that make them the favorite of so many.

Gingersnaps are crisp sugar cookies that are easy for even an inexperienced baker to make. Charles’ gingersnap lesson began by gathering the tools and ingredients we would need. I took the butter out of the fridge so that it could warm to room temperature and he gathered measuring spoons and cups. Our first problem was that there was only half a teaspoon of dry ginger and our second problem was that the molasses jar was nearly empty. Things weren’t looking good. Our neighbors were at the beach so we couldn’t borrow molasses and ginger from them and we wanted to fill the cookie jar without driving to the market. With a bit of improvisation we succeeded. Here’s how we did it: … read more