Au revoir to the spring lamb.

Au revoir to the spring lamb, to the fresh peas and wild salmon, to the lovely little fava beans asleep in their velveteen stocking. July is upon us and pregnant with sweet moisture are those plump meaty beasts, the heirloom tomatoes...also upon the tables are clumps of basil the size of pampas grass, and the last ripple of Brunswick figs. This very evening at the farmer's market I tucked two mummyknock loaves of seeded, wood-fired Pugliese into the burlap, along with a splendid assortment of the above-mentioned and the usual aromatics. It is my full intention to spend the weekend in appreciation of all players atop golden, oiled, grilled bread, an insouciant zinfandel in the Picardie.