Continuing on the cold noodles post from last week, the hot months are here, and that also means gazpacho. On a hot day, I can eat a gallon of this stuff.

I like to blend my gazpacho (and use V-8), but add reserved chopped ingredients at the end, so there are two textures.

Soup

• 3 or 4 (depending on size) peeled, cored and chopped tomatoes NOTE: if you can’t get ripe tomatoes, use a fine brand of canned tomatoes (28oz)
• 2 cans V-8
• 4 cloves of garlic, chopped
• 1 red jalapeno, chopped
• 1 red pepper, cored, seeded, depithed, and coarsely chopped
• 1 English cucumber, peeled and coarsely chopped
• 2/3 red onion, coarsely chopped
• 1 cup (i.e. 1/2 a 16oz bag of peeled baby carrots) chopped peeled carrots
• 3 green onions, coarsely chopped
• 1/2 bunch flat leaf parsley, leaves only
• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 1 teaspoon or so sugar
• Few dashes of Worchestshire

Combine all the above in a blender. Blend to your liking. I don’t like it frothy. You can live your own life.

Garnish

• 1/3 red onion, finely diced
• 1/2 English cucumber, peeled and finely diced
• 3 chives, finely chopped
• 1/4 bunch chopped cilantro
• 2 tablespoons olive oil

Stir the above ingredients into the blended soup. Chill in the fridge at least a day.

At times, if I’m feeling a bit randy, I’ll top this off with chopped kalamata olives before eating.

When I was in fourth grade, we spent a month in Thailand, including 3 weeks in Bangkok. I distinctly remember the street vendors, sellling grilled meats and soups. My favorite carts, at the time, were the ones that sold green mango with chile salt.

I grew up with chile salt. It was a constant condiment that existed in my kitchen, and even from a young age I enjoyed it regularly. I remember being as young as six, eating fruit with mashed bird chiles and salt, and being derided as a pussy when hyperventilating upon inhaling too much capsicum. You want to stop, but you can’t. My wife also appreciates this fetish-like culinary experience. And she’s totally white.

Chile Salt with Fruit

• 5 thai bird chiles
• Salt

First of all, if you do not have a stone mortar and pestle, stop right here. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear, but you will need a stone mortar and pestle.

Stem the chiles. Throw them in the mortar. Add enough salt to cover them loosely. Pound the living shit out of the salt and chiles. Serve with under-ripe fruits and stone fruits like green mango, granny smith apples, peaches, apricots, nectarines. The peaches, apricots, and nectarines should be hard as possible. It’s hard to find really hard, under-ripe stone fruits at the supermarket — most of fruit is ripe and slight squishy, i.e. ripe, which is how I understand most of the world enjoys their fruit. Bah.

Back when I was in college, for a few years I lived with a couple Mexican-American brothers. Let’s call them…Mark and Matt. Because that’s what were their names were.

Mark and Matt had a very large, extended family in Tucson, and sourced much of their food and methods from their nanas and nonas or whatever they called them. It wasn’t uncommon for them to show up with a half-dozen, huge ziplock bags of roasted and peeled chilies that we would freeze and eat over the course of a few weeks.

On top of the fridge there was usually a stack of fresh tortillas from the local, handmade tortilla purveyor — large as pizzas, made with delicious lard. You could eat these plain.

And there was constantly a crock pot full of seasoned pintos on a low simmer in the kitchen – something I could always count on after the bars closed. Being in college, this was a great way to stretch your food dollar – raw pintos, bought in bulk. I remember Matt, buzzed from cheap domestic beer and a few pulls from the tube, sitting in front of the coffee table, sifting through individual beans for rocks and assorted detritus while listening to the Jerky Boys. Yeoman’s work.

Now that I’m gainfully employed and able to set my sights on more highbrow culinary goals, I still go back to the food of peasants. There’s simply nothing more satisfying than eating how most of the world eats, using cheap, plentiful ingredients, carefully prepared with time and precision. And a pot of slow cooked pinto beans is still a (personal) crowd favorite.

Pinto Beans

• 1 pound of pinto beans

Cover the beans in water, after you’ve picked through them to make sure there isn’t a rock or a hypodermic needle or anything you don’t want to swallow. Soak overnight. I recently bought Rick Bayless’ Mexican Everyday and he says most Mexican cooks do not soak their beans, but rather use lots of water and up the cooking times to 3 to 4 hours. You can do that as well. I’m not a fascist.

After soaking overnight, drain the beans. Put them in a pot big enough to hold them. If you couldn’t figure that part out, stop right here.

Cover the beans with water. The water should be an inch or so over the tops of the beans.

Add the following:

• 1 white onion, quartered
• 1 jalapeno, sliced (not lengthwise. or lengthwise)
• 1 or 2 dried chili (gaujillo, pasilla, anaheim, new mexico, etc.) — depithed and torn into a pieces (some seeds are OK!)
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
• 1 tablespoon coarse ground pepper (I like a lot. Your situation may call for less pepper — I don’t know you.)
• Optional – Few “sprigs” of epazote¹

Mix well, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, and simmer for an hour and a half or two, stirring occasionally (you could use a crockpot if you are so inclined). Once the beans are tender and are starting to lose their individual shape, salt the beans to taste.

Then take out your potato masher, and do a rough mash. The idea here is to sort of mash some of the beans, and the others not so much. The final consistency should just begin to start to resemble a porridge of sorts.

You’re done! Enjoy the beans as a side dish with ribs or meat, in tacos, or, like here, on a delicious, completely vegan tostado, topped with Bufalo Jalapeno sauce, salsa verda, avocado, and shredded lettuce.

This is like only one of the few times I ever eat vegan!

¹Epazote is a Mexican herb that adds a subtle background noise. Mexican cooks often add it to slow-cooked beans, I’m told, to temper the legendary flatulent side effects of eating beans. But if you’re like me and enjoy ripping one, then this benefit is somewhat marginal.

Well, it’s officially over. Summer, that is.

Here in Portland, the End of Summer happened some 10 days ago, on our last sunny, 70+ day. The sunshine gifted to us mortals over the past four or five consecutive fortnights has been replaced by rain and gloomy petulance. It may be just me, but the collective psyche of the region seems to discard its misbegotten optimism (of course it would not last forever), as we dig in and shruggingly accept the miasma of despair that suffuses the ether for the next half year.

(Really, it’s not that bad. We just don’t want anyone else to move here).

On this autumn solstice, what better way to give summer a 21-gun salute by harvesting some of the bounties from your backyard garden? In Portland, the long days of summer sunshine (precipitated by many a spring shower) lends itself to excellent growing conditions for the DIY green thumb. You don’t even need to possess any considerable growing chops — I certainly don’t — in order to grow and harvest prolific herbs and vegetables.

Here’s a simple and delicious pasta dish using the fruits from my backyard — grape, teardrop and cherry tomatoes from the vine, and fresh basil.

Fusilli Bucati with Grape and Cherry Tomatoes, Capers, Olives and Basil

• 1/4 Pound Fusilli Bucati (or bucatini, radiatore, or another short, squiggly pasta – I like the Colavita brand )
• 1/2 Pound Grape, Teardrop and/or Cherry Tomatoes (I’m estimating the weight – around a couple dozen)
• 10 Basil Leaves
• 2 Minced cloves of garlic.
• 2 Tablespoons Capers
• 12 Pitted Kalamata Olives
• 1 Tablespoon Kosher Salt
• 1 Pinch Crush Red Pepper
• 3 Tablespoons Olive Oil
• Parmigiano Reggiano, Grana Padano or Pecorino Romano

In a large mixing bowl, combine tomatoes, capers, olives, garlic, salt, red pepper, and olive oil. Stack basil leaves and chiffonade, and add to tomato mixture. Using the back of a broad spoon (or a small paring knife), “smash” (or cut) at least 1/4 of your tomatoes to release the acidic juice. Marinate at room temperature for at least an half hour.

Start to boil pasta. Get the largest non-stick frying pan (or wok) you have, and heat over medium heat. Test pasta and make sure it’s a minute “underdone” — if it is barely edibly al dente you’re in good shape. Crank up the heat on your pan to high, and drain pasta.

Throw in the tomato mixture and sear over extremely high heat for 30 seconds. Add pasta, and fry for one minute, flipping and stirring constantly. The skins on the tomatoes should just start to blister from the high heat.

Plate, top with shaved cheese and fresh ground sea salt and pepper. Enjoy the last vestige of summer, and fill your Welbutrin prescription.

A few years ago in Gourmet, I read an article by the great Calvin Trillin about pimientos de padrónes. He recounted his time in Portugal, in a small town during the yearly Padrón festival where he spent days eating fried peppers. Upon his return he sought out these divine chilies, eventually hooking up with a guy in Jersey who grew them in his backyard. The article greatly piqued my interest in discovering for myself the allure of this spicy Iberian jewel.

Fast forward to my birthday last month. My wonderful sister visited the farmer’s market in San Francisco (just down the street from her office) on a Tuesday and bought me 3 batches of these pimientos de padrónes. Two days later, FEDEX dropped off 3 pounds of beautiful peppers from Happy Quail Farms (who are located in Palo Alto) on my doorstep.

I immediately broke out my wok, heated a few tablespoons of olive oil, and blistered close to a half pound of these on the stove. I sprinkled kosher salt about 30 seconds before I thought they were done, and then transferred the beautiful little suckers to cool on a plate lined with paper towels.

The vendor told my sister that the larger peppers promised more Scoville units than the smaller, which flies in the face of most chili pepper conventional wisdom. For the most part, I discovered this axiom to be true, but it was far from absolute. In fact, eating padrónes is like playing Russian roulette — I felt like John Savage in “The Deer Hunter”. The mildness of 5 or 6 straight peppers will lull you into a false sense of comfort, and then the next one will seriously blow your socks off, and suddenly you’re sweating and panting with delirium from simultaneous pain and pleasure. It’s an intoxicating experience I found to be quite enjoyable, with its peaks and valleys of deliciousness and discomfort.

I did end up using these peppers in various prepared dishes. Purists might scoff, but there are only so many straight peppers (and rounds of Russian roulette) one can stomach over an entire weekend. Are pimientos de padrónes delicious in the following?

• Mushroom, Cheddar (and Padrón) Omelette – Check
• Black Bean Chili – Check
• Japanese Shoyu Ramen – Check
• Asian Stir Fry – Check

Here’s THE simple recipe for padrónes, with directions lifted verbatim from the Happy Quail Farms website.

Pimientos de Padrón

• A bunch of Pimientos de Padrón
• Olive oil
• Kosher salt

Take a pan and pour enough oil to generously cover the bottom of the frying pan. Turn the heat up on the burner. When the olive oil starts to sizzle throw the peppers in whole. When the peppers start having small white blisters they are ready. Take the peppers out of the pan, place on plate with a paper towel. Sprinkle with coarse salt. Hold the pepper by the stem and BITE. Enjoy!