Yes. Please. Yum.

The warm weather we’ve been having lately has me thinking about friends and food. When I think about summer cookouts, it’s fun to anticipate enjoying once again the signature dishes of the people I love. It’s nice to rely on certain New Englanders, like my sister, Beth, who ceremoniously totes her famous pot of homemade baked beans and a plate stacked high with molasses-y hermits. Succulent fresh or fried oysters, anyone? Personally raked and lovingly scraped and shucked by Howard for the occasion? Who also offers hot and ready-to-slurp clam chowder or salty steamers? Some dishes trade on the ocean for fare, and my sister Lauren often shares greens grown straight from her garden. And how about those greens mixed with grains, goat cheese, sweet potatoes, and cranberries? Yes, please, yum, and may I have some more? 

While forking into all this good food, I want to eat it forever, so typically I ask for the recipe. This practice is funny in two respects. One, I rarely end up making said dish. It always tastes better when they do. And two, I tend not to follow recipes. Take, for example, the dish I always bring to summer cookouts, Sesame Noodles. I remember first experiencing that infamous zip and tang at a co-worker’s party in the early eighties. I’d been raised on traditional meat and potatoes, so this was a threshold moment. I knew instantly I wanted to be able to enjoy this exotic taste for the rest of my life. The recipe she gave me - linguine, soy sauce, and sesame oil- was simple and worked. But every time I make my noodles, they come out differently. Years ago, I began to add peanut butter to the recipe, and I’m always happy when I can throw in freshly grated ginger. A good dose of cayenne ensures an appropriate pinch; snow peas, cilantro, parsley, or green onions add a lovely brightness. And, most recently, I’ve been trying to remember chopped peanuts as a tantalizing way to top them off. 

Every time I go to make them, I freeze up for a minute as I confront questions of quantity, proportions, and ingredients. I ride mini-waves of regret; why don’t I measure things out once and for all? How much peanut butter should I use for this much soy sauce? I wonder if powdered ginger could work, and might I, this time, add a little garlic? My haphazardness does not matter; whether I use lemon juice or rice vinegar, people seem happy to eat them every time. 

I have lived long enough to reach the status of oldster and, sadly, have said goodbye to more than one maven of extraordinary summer dishes. Coincidentally, two are related to Chairman Joe, and, because they are gone, I’m glad I begged their recipes. If you want a dish serving the double duty of both carb and green salad, this one is a crowd pleaser from my dear, sorely missed friend, Mary Beth Keaney.

CJ’s mom, Mary McDonnell’s recipe for chicken wings, is an example of a sure winner that brightens every summer shindig. She’s the one who taught me how to discard the useless tip, then butcher every lowly wing into two succulent pieces for optimum browning. Her marinade recipe calls for equal parts soy sauce and orange juice, and that’s it. I bake them under foil at 375 degrees, and let them finish uncovered for the last ten minutes. You know they are done when each little wing piece appears all golden and sticky. 

Mary is also renowned for her famous Congo Bars. These are golden, chewy, and chocolate-y. It’s a recipe I have had and lost repeatedly over the last fifty-odd years. I looked for it recently and hope Chairman Joe will offer it to us all in the comments for happy summer eating.

Family, friends, and food - all the marvelous fruits of summer.