In a rare moment of horticultural optimism encouraged by my mother–who has green thumbs, toes, and elbows–I’ve purchased pots of lemon verbena, rosemary, and thyme for my sunny-ish office windowsill. At the moment they’re happily hanging out on Mom’s backyard deck, and I’m already worrying about whether I’ll be able to give them the lifestyle they deserve.

If anyone has windowsill herb-gardening advice, I’d love to hear from you. In the meantime, I have big, hopeful plans for these guys, including a dessert inspired by one I had the other night at Babbo.

Another beauty from Piero Polloni, whose tomato sauce and gazpacho recipes I shared with you on Tuesday.

This is rich and bittersweet and textural heaven. I especially love the crust, which starts out very soft, like a butter cookie dough. It’s made with “00″ flour, a finely milled Italian flour typically used for pizza and pasta doughs, which makes for a very tender crust. If you can’t find it, use unbleached all-purpose flour.

Piero’s recipe calls for Abate Fetel pears, a favorite in Italy. They’re tall, yellow and russet, white-fleshed, juicy and sweet, in season late August through early September. I used Forelle pears for mine: they’re firm-fleshed, sweet, excellent for cooking, and have an alluringly scarlet-freckled countenance.
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I’m back in New York, where the mercury’s rising. Everywhere are scantily clad people dining al fresco, sipping tall muddled-fruit drinks, and flip-flopping around with cones of gelato which they probably went to the Upper West Side to get. The first really hot days of summer are usually my cue to call it a holiday and hang up my potholders until the weather breaks, and dinners during this period are usually “cooked” at the cutting board.

But this year I can’t take my eyes off a big pot of tomatoes slowly and continually simmering on the stove, because I’m haunted by an amazing gazpacho that I tasted in the south of France.
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As promised, a week’s worth of adorable butter art aboard the barge Tango.

View my butter dish photo album for more designs and an ingredient list for each.

Angélique, our sweet and gracious hostess aboard the Tango, delighted us day after day with beautiful table settings, fancifully decorated butter dishes (I’ll post a link to photos of those tomorrow) and intricately folded napkins. (And I thought I was brilliant when I made little cardinals’ hats out of my napkins at Christmas.) My favorite was this rose design, which she patiently taught us how to make.

Practice this three times and you’ll have it, even if you’ve been drinking wine, golden as this rose, all afternoon.
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On to the south of France and the beautiful Canal du Midi, where my aunt, cousin, and I have spent six blissful days on the barge Tango. Much more about the Tango and her marvelous crew to come–including recipes!

We embarked in Marseillan on the Étang de Thau, a large salt-water lake rich with sea bream and oyster beds and a habitat for pink flamingos. The town of Marseillan is home to the cellars of Noilly Prat vermouth, which I was thrilled to visit; I’m a big fan of vermouth as an aperitif, especially Noilly Prat, and wish it got a little more love here in the States.
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You may already think I’m overwrought after that panegyric to my schnitzel. Now I’ll tell you that I almost–almost–cried as I ascended to the 6th-floor gourmet food halls at KaDeWe, the landmark Berlin department store currently celebrating its 100th birthday.
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Joseph Roth Diele, pictured above, serves a satisfying slice of Berlin literary culture. Named for Joseph Roth, an Austrian Jewish writer who lived at this address briefly in 1925, the lively café-bar is decorated with bookshelves, quotes from Roth’s work, and other Roth memorabilia (don’t forget to look up at the ceiling, and don’t forget your German dictionary).
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I said I was packing my bags for France, and I did. But for the moment, I’m on a brief working holiday in Berlin, visiting four museums in a day and having cherry cake for lunch, because I can. (The joy of being a grown-up traveller!)

Encountering Berlin’s treasures–the Brandenburg Gate and the green stretch of Unter den Linden, the spectacular Ishtar Gate of Babylon, the famed bust of Nefertiti for which no film or photo could diminish my reverence–has left me breathless and slightly giddy, an emotional state I usually associate with new love and gifts of shoes.
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