Cleaning out my recipe trove and watching Wimbledon- a trip through time

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I'm skipping yoga and spending today at home. The boys are at camp, it's hot as get-out outside, I have desperately needed to clean out my recipe files and transfer them into the organizer I bought three years ago, AND Wimbledon is on and Roger is playing.

Growing up, watching Wimbledon every July was one of my family's favorite ways to spend time and time together. We'd make "nests" of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of our TV and tuck in for days of good tennis. Weekends were the best because Dad was usually home. I remember the times he was on call, and his beeper pinged; he'd call in and answer clearly and responsibly, but his eyes never left the TV screen.

Periodically, someone would take one for the team and get up to fetch snacks and drinks. There were stretching and bathroom breaks too, but for the most part, if our favorites were playing, we were enthused fans glued to every point. Lendl, Edberg, Agassi, Graf, Sampras, Navratilova. We could not tolerate Martina Hingis's scream which sounded like Henri! after every whack. I can track my childhood with tennis players and tournaments.

Nanny would often come watch with us although she stuck to  an upright chair rather than the floor. When she couldn't drive anymore or didn't want to go out, she'd watch from her house, and we'd chat via phone periodically. She and I always loved the same players, most notably Pete Sampras; we both called him Petey and loved him even though some said he was cocky and others said he was a dim bulb. That man could play some tennis, y'all.

When Tom and I had been dating just a few months, a friend gave me tickets to the US Open. I called Tom with mad excitement: "Honey, I have tickets to the Sampras-Agassi match. Can you fly up?" Because we were young and unencumbered (and he was still in DC and I in NY) and he has a kazillion frequent flier miles because he was a consultant then, he did come up, and he and I and two friends watched that epic men's singles final: 6–3, 6–4, 5–7, 6–4, Sampras. It was Petey's last pro game.

I called Nanny during it, thankful for my relatively new cell phone. After Sampras retired, Nanny and I took up with Roger Federer, or Rogie. You see a nickname theme here. Until she died, Nanny watched tennis, and I would always call her at least once when our boyfriend played. 

The past few weeks haven't been much slower than those surrounding the end of school. And so today, when I saw my Rogie would be playing Raonic in the quarter-finals, I decided to cancel everything on my schedule, stay home and watch for old time's sakes, and enjoy some quiet stillness. I am a bit stressed because Raonic beat Rogie last year in the Wimbledon semis, and I was heartbroken. Hopefully today will boast a different outcome because let's face it, Rogie isn't getting younger and will surely retire soon.

Going to Wimbledon is on my bucket list, and although I'll probably never seen Roger play, I'll get to see his name listed as the winner for so many years (Petey too) and will just be thrilled to wander around those hallowed grounds, a place that has meant much to me over the years.

While waiting for the match to start, I've started sorting through my recipe files and kept Wimbledon on in the background. Querrey beat Murray (WOOT! I am NOT a fan of Murray, and also America could really use a bit of good news right now), and Cilic and Muller are duking it out in the fifth set now.

I didn't expect to find that as tennis helps me track my life in some ways, so too do my recipe files. 

I've just thrown out a good 90% of the Cooking Light recipes I clipped long ago before Jack was born. Those are from a time of rigidity that I neither wish nor need to return to. I've gingerly transferred old favorites, some from Nanny and others from friends, into plastic sleeves for safer keeping. I love looking back over the notes I've taken on dishes- whether they work as written, what I've changed, what I loved.

<HOLD UP- Rogie and Raonic are into the second set already, and Rogie is on fire. GENIUS playing. And his legs. Meow!>

I found the little yellow pamphlet I got at the Reston, VA, Whole Foods when Jack was a baby. It included a recipe for sweet potato pancakes, little orange silver dollars of health, that I cooked for Jack for years. I'd make stacks and stacks and freeze what he didn't scarf down, hoping they'd last at least a few days before I needed to get out my griddle once more.

I've contemplated my favorite cauliflower recipes and discarded those that don't make the cut. Tom is not a cauliflower fan (unless I curry it, and neither are the kids, so I don't make the veggie as often as I might like. I can tell that I've been through beet, sunchoke, pea, and bulgur phases. I see that I don't make nearly as many soups as I've ever intended and that at the end of the day, I rarely follow recipes which is why so many of these hopefully, lovingly clipped ideas have remained just that.

And I see that over all these years, since first learning to cook by Nanny's side, I've gotten to be a really good cook, one whose roots and preferences remain clear. I like good, clean, real, well-seasoned food, and I like to make it for those I love.

OMG, y'all! ROGER just beat Raonic handily AND Djokovic had to retire because of injury. Lawd a'mercy, maybe Roger will win one more. Go, Rogie, go. Do it for Nanny!

All things PEACH, including a pie

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This is my summer of peach pie perfection. I am getting close! But first, a paean to the humble peach.

A good peach is really hard to beat. For starters, I adore their coloration. Peaches show that pinky-coral, yellow, and green marry winningly. Peaches are in a state of perennial blush, as if they are always in love and happy about it. 

I admire anything that continues to ripen once picked. It gives you a bit of stress-free leeway really. I mean, as much as anyone loves peaches, there are only so many of anything once can eat in a day. And so it's nice to know that a row of peaches sunning on a sill will be able to make you happy for many days on end.

Although I don't like to eat peach skin, I do love the way unpeeled peaches feel, especially if you've just picked them and they're still warm from the sun. They are soft, fuzzy in a lovely teddy-bearish way, firm but yielding (if not you've picked too soon, friend). They are irregularly shaped orbs of promise.

Peaches are great as is but they are also fabulous tossed in with more savory ingredients (see this wonderful salad of mine: Tomato, Peach, Chevre, and Herb Salad with Apple Vinaigrette) and grilled, roasted, stewed, and baked into things like pies and muffins. Two of my favorite ways to enjoy them cooked are in this Arugula Salad with Roasted Peaches, Pistachios, and Mozzarella, and simply grilled and topped with my Mint-Pistachio Pesto. 

Tomato, Peach, Chevre, and Herb Salad with Apple Vinaigrette

Tomato, Peach, Chevre, and Herb Salad with Apple Vinaigrette

Mint-Pistachio Pesto

Mint-Pistachio Pesto

Heck, now that I've gone down the wormhole, I'm remembering how much I love these Ginger Peach Muffins and also my Grilled Peach Crostini. 

Grilled Peach Crostini

Grilled Peach Crostini

And the jam possibilities are endless!

to-be Brandied Peaches

to-be Brandied Peaches

Clearly, I have a thing for peaches. And I am not ashamed.

Back to the pie. I have, over the years, worked on what is, in my opinion, the best representation of a number of pies: blackberry, apple, coconut, pecan. This summer, I set my sights on their peach cousin, and I think I'm nearly there.

It is, like my others, simple. It lets the primary fruit shine bright which is what the best pies do. I use peaches, sugar, lemon, and spices but have upped the ante slightly by including an apricot or two for a marvelous bit of tang and some muscovado sugar for depth (muscovado is a dark, unrefined brown sugar with a high level of molasses {in both content and flavor}. I use cinnamon and ground ginger and am considering using nutmeg, but we'll see. Peach Pie!

Paired with my crust, salty and flaky and perfect, the peaches shine. Which is just how it should be.