The Heat Makes Us Hungry
In summer, the heat becomes inescapable. It finds its way into the kitchen, into my bones, and into how I think about dinner. Do I really want to cook something that’s going to heat my house? I open the fridge not to grab anything, but just to stand there and cool off.
The hunger that summer brings is different. I don’t want warm, cozy or heavy. I crave crunchiness, saltiness, sweetness and cold. I want food I can eat standing up or that requires paper towels. I dream of meals that make me feel alive again, even if I’m halfway melted into the fabric of my shirt.
When I was a little girl, my family would have picnics out at Palo Duro Canyon, and even though it sounds lovely in theory, my mom despised it. She didn’t like the heat or the flies. Our spreads weren’t exactly Pinterest-worthy. They involved a beat-up cooler, a few folding chairs, and a table that wobbled if we didn’t put a rock under one leg. I loved the aesthetic, but not the heat. Thanks, but no thanks.
As I age, I’m still not interested in sweating through my clothes for a sandwich. But a picnic at dusk when the sun starts to slide down and the light gets soft and golden? That’s a different story. Those moments feel slower. There’s less pressure and noise. It’s not about impressing anyone. It’s about laying out what you’ve got—cold fried chicken, a bright salad, something to drink—and letting the day settle into night. Hopefully, people you love are close enough to pass the salt for the watermelon.
Speaking of that cold fried chicken, it’s always at the top of my list. I don’t want it warm. I like it made the night before, left alone, and pulled from the fridge when the time is right. I soak mine in buttermilk, season it well, dredge it and fry it until it’s golden. Then I let it rest. Cold, it’s tender, seasoned through, and just as satisfying as it was when it came out of the skillet. I don’t bother with reheating. Fried chicken doesn’t need to be fancy to be good. It just needs to be real.
And then there’s the summertime salad I crave: peaches, heirloom tomatoes and mozzarella, tossed with basil and lime juice. It’s sweet and salty and quenches your thirst after a long day in the heat. It works on a paper plate, and it works with your fingers if that’s all you’ve got.
I’ve been thinking about this kind of eating lately. I want meals that feel like rest, comfort and home. I want food that still tastes good and people who don’t mind sitting on a porch. Nobody’s going to care if you made the vinaigrette from scratch. They’re going to remember whether they felt welcomed, whether the food tasted like it had a story behind it, and whether they felt full.
So much of our daily life feels rushed. But something about a gathering, for any reason or no reason at all, slows things down in a way that makes us feel human again. When the food hits the table, no one’s on their phone. Kids are running around barefoot while somebody’s aunt fans herself with last week’s church bulletin from the bottom of her purse. And everyone is full even before the meal ends. That’s the picturesque scene I long for.
The heat strips everything down to what matters:
- Food doesn’t need to be hot to be good. Cold food is a gift, not a compromise.
- Anything eaten outside tastes better. It doesn’t matter if it’s a sandwich, a peach or a sleeve of crackers.
- You don’t have to make everything from scratch. A bag of chips counts. A store-bought cake counts.
- Keep it simple and shareable. Go for finger foods, one-bowl salads and anything that fits in a plastic container.
- Don’t wait for perfection. Invite people over tonight. Make the meal now. Eat on the porch even if it’s a mess. These are the days you’ll remember.
So, this season, I’m doing less impressing and more feeding, preferably somewhere shady. I’m setting out food that can withstand the heat. And when someone says, “We should get together,” I’m saying yes.
Peach, Heirloom Tomato, Mozzarella, and Basil
Picnic Salad
4 to 5 ripe peaches, sliced
3 to 4 large heirloom tomatoes, sliced
Fresh mozzarella, sliced or torn into chunks
A handful of fresh basil, torn
Juice of 1 lime
Salt and pepper to taste
Balsamic glaze for drizzle
Optional: a pinch of red chili flakes
Arrange peaches, tomatoes and mozzarella on a platter. Or toss all the ingredients into a plastic, picnic-worthy bowl. Drizzle with lime juice and a little bit of olive oil and balsamic glaze (optional). Season with salt, pepper and chili flakes, if using. Serve immediately or cover and chill until picnic time. Best eaten with a fork or fingers, preferably on a blanket.
Serves 4 to 6
