summer pasta

 In these, the last days of summer, autumn encroaches clever and lithe.  

I try to ignore the signs, but it's worse than that. 

I see the chlorophyll drain from the leaves and tell myself it's just the sun. I notice the flowers looking dry and wan and say it's because I didn't give them enough water. And… isn't the goldenrod blooming extra early this year? 

I'm in denial.

It's not because I dislike autumn. I don't. But because I will miss summer.

It's not even that it's been a good summer. It hasn't! Losing my father cements it as one that I will poignantly remember forever.

Still… I hate to see it go.

I think what I'll miss most is the bounty at my fingertips.
The joyful sight of fruits on the vine. 
The perfume of herbs baking in the sun. 
The many colors of ripe. 
Nature, in all of her white-hot intensity.

But it's not over yet. 

As the sun arcs lower in the sky and night grows longer and cooler, summer vegetables rush to put out their last flush. It's a well known fact that leafy greens, crucifers, and root vegetables taste sweeter when nipped by cold, but I would swear that late-season tomatoes and corn are the best of all. They are only sweeter in memory.

Colors and flavors, the icons of summer, are arranged atop a swath of emulsified tomato milk like notes on a scale. A seasonal keyboard.

Tucked in between are tubes of parmesan pasta. I'll tell you about those next time.

These are covered by a strip of reduced corn juice, thickened by its inherent starch and bursting with flavor. Its form is controlled by freezing, then tempered to a fluid sauce.

Just for this dish, I ignore my tendency towards minimalism, my carefully managed urge to over garnish. I lay it all out. Let nature play all of her notes at once. A crescendo of flowers and herbs.

This is my tribute. An homage. A celebration.
The swan song of summer.