Now that the September issues of Gourmet and Bon Appetit are sitting on my dining room table still wrapped in their cellophane until I'm prepared to admit the existence of fall (I'm happier about it now that the weather's cooled and my windows are open, and my A/C off, for the first time in weeks), I figure I'd better do a quick recap of some of the best August recipes -- the ones I'll cook again before all that lovely produce disappears (or would, anyway, if I weren't spending decent chunks of the next three weeks on the road):

It's all about tomatoes. This garlicky tomato sauce simmers on the stove almost effortlessly and makes a simple, lovely dinner over a bowl of noodles with a green salad on the side. This is one that I'll definitely make once more and freeze immediately for a reminder of juicy fresh tomatoes a month from now, when the farmers' market stands are filled with squash.

These vodka-spiked tomatoes are festive, colorful and easy; a perfect party hors d'ouevre. I have mixed feelings about the tomato-and-corn pie -- yes, its delicious, but wouldn't wouldn't be when it incorporates these ingredients? Bottom line, this would be a lovely dish for lunch for brunch with company, when just steaming corn on the cob, slathering it with butter and salt, and eating it over the sink while the salty butter drips down your chin is inappropriate. Even still, I'm more inclined to chop corn, tomatoes, maybe a pepper or two and some shallot into a quick succotash-type saute, and slather it with a fabulous basil vinaigrette.

On the fancier side, Bon Appetit's celebration of Julia Child's birthday (and the Nora Ephron flick) are a wonderful introduction to her cooking. The ratatouille is a fabulous use of the eggplant and zucchini that will still be plentiful for a few more weeks, and the poulet saute with its creamy, lemony, hollandaise-y sauce is simply exquisite. Mastering it will make you feel truly accomplished, and like you're sitting outside a bistro in Lyon. For more French inspiration, these halibut brochettes with their lavender-infused spice mixture make good use of those cute little multicolored peppers at the market.

What would summer be without ice cream? These lemony ice cream sandwiches, with their chewy, lightly sweet crust and their fresh blueberry compote, are shockingly easy for something that looks so slick. And this fresh strawberry ice cream is unctuously creamy, with just the right amount of fresh-fruit chunkiness and a pleasingly pink color.

The Night My "Sports Night" DVDs worked

Before there was Mad Men, there was Sports Night.

Not as long-lived as some other Sorkin franchises, to me, it was a much realer, rawer encapsulation of the esprit de corps that arises and the quirky pseudo-families that are created in high-pressure, creative work environments than, say, "The West Wing". "Sports Night" is about a nightly sports newscast, and though the show kept its "dramedy" classification to the end, its comedy is of the wry, ironic kind. Its last episodes, in which there are vague attempts to account for everyone's happy end, echo the ends of every campaign (especially the losing ones, which are most of them) I've ever been on -- taking the time to thank and acknowledge the colleagues you've taken for granted, keeping tabs on where people are headed or thinking about heading, thinking about all the things you would have done differently, blaming the people who wield so much power but know too little to make the right decisions -- in the combination of remorse and relief that, seeing it here, makes me weepy.

Watching it more than ten years after its release heightens its pathos. The women with their big shiny hair, elbow sleeves, and Urban Decay Lip Gunk (they don't even make it any more, but I know it when I see it because I wore it to many a bar in those days); the chatter about Torre-led Yankees; talk about broadband being the future; a guy logging into his e-mail account and being greeted with "You've got mail!," as if there was ever a time when one didn't have mail when one logged on to one's account; the gratuitous shots of the Twin Towers -- it makes ten years feel like a really long time ago. The on-again, off-again romances/flirtations of Dana/Casey and Jeremy/Natalie gave me hope that overly articulate people could flirt in geeky ways/geek out in flirtatious ways, that you could have colleagues that you liked to hang out with after work as much as work with, and that there were all-knowing, reliable bosses who would always have your back. In my personal and professional experiences since then, I've been fortunate on a few occasions to work in environments which shared many of these characterists; more often than not, I've felt their conspicuous absence.

"Sports Night," like all Aaron Sorkin shows, appeals to the OCD/workaholics among us who dream of a job that is inseparable from us, and feels ok that way -- feels worthy of the time and passion we can't help but let it consume. Because of Disney Company's uniquely paranoid approach to DVD production, the DVDs from its 2002 release fare haphazardly at best in many players. So imagine my delight on a bored rainy Saturday when, flipping through my catalog, I tried a disc, and it worked. I can only echo Dana Whitaker's line from the last moments of the last episode: "My show is on!"

Cuisine Gone Mad

Besides being great drama, what fascinates me about "Mad Men" is its portrayal of a world of absolutes -- things that you do and do not do, rigid gender roles, rigid dress codes, all all accepted unquestioningly and delivered unapologetically. Of course, the drama results from ambiguity and questions weaseling their way into the absolutes, but for one night only, I thought I'd take an unapologetic, politically incorrect attitude into the kitchen for a little culinary tribute to the show.

For cocktails, Canadian Club on the rocks and gin martinis (Beefeater, per this recent primer). For politically incorrect appetizers I discovered the wonderful treasure trove that is America's Best Lost Recipes. I don't know that I'd be all that inclined to try the Depression-era cakes without butter, sugar, or eggs, but there are some surprising keepers including these spicy (horseradish-y) deviled eggs, cheddar-crusted olive balls, and, most astonishing of all, this delicious and gorgeous (in a truly vintage way) bloody mary tartine -- all the ingredients of a bloody mary (yes, even the vodka), in jell-o form.

What's the only thing can that can credibly follow this orgy of old-school appetizers? Red meat. Lots of it. Plus baked potatoes with sour cream. (And roasted portobellos for the vegetarians, in a nod to progress.) Refreshing, recipe-free cooking -- knowing what you like, doing it, and asserting it as unapologetically right and good.

Toss in a pie made with August peaches to send your guests home and you can't feel anything other than all is right with this Mad world.

My Lemon Has a First Name, It's M-E-Y-E-R

This is well past peak season, but these are worth keeping in mind the next time you run into precious, teeny Meyer lemons at the market, it's worth keeping these in mind.

Delicate and sparkly with sanding sugar, these cupcakes with Meyer lemon curd are baby- or bridal-shower worthy, and just plain delicious.

Olive oil lends moisture and smoothness to this simple, one-bowl, one-pan cake. I added layers of lemon curd, freshly whipped cream, and bountiful summer berries for a dessert that manages to be both rustic and elegant.

Dispatches from Commuter Hell: My Letter to WMATA on the Second Day of Orange Line Meltdown This Week

THIS IS THE SECOND MORNING OF ESSENTIALLY NON-FUNCTIONING ORANGE LINE SERVICE THIS WEEK!I CONTINUE TO BE SHOCKED AND AMAZED BY THE DEPTH, BREADTH AND SCOPE OF METRO'S INCOMPETENCE. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES. BUT FIRST, LEARN HOW TO ACTUALLY DO YOUR JOBS SO THAT THE REST OF US CAN GET TO OURS, MAYBE EVEN ON TIME ONCE IN A WHILE.

I respectfully request a refund of the $1.35 I paid to enter, wait in and exit the Clarendon station, as well as reimbursement for the $20 in cab fare I had to pay when I neither rail nor bus could get me to work in a timely manner.

What's worse is the utter absence of communication from Metro. You managed to send out an update on weekend track work, but failed to give any indication of this morning's trouble on the orange line.

Regards,
Bridget

Feel the frustration of other Metro riders here.

Culinary Daring Aboard Acela

"Are you sure you don't want to take a cookie with you?" asked a new acquaintance as I was leaving a meeting "Microwaved hot dogs await you on the Acela."

This guy is an urban planner who knows all too well the deterrent b ad hot dogs --and high fares--can be to a potential rider of passenger rail.

Fortunately, it ain't always true. Recently, due to an accrual of Amtrak rewards points, if one has them, I was able to upgrade a business class Acela ticket for free.

I don't know that the difference is substantial enough to pay for, but as a thank-you fordealing with the status quo, it was a pretty sweet deal.

The snacks and appetizers are more interesting and better tasting than the entrees, and everything is made better by the zippiness of the train itself and the procision of *exactly* the amount of alcohol--no less, no more--one would expect to be served by the federal government.

My hummus-centered small plate ("for those who would prefer a smaller meal on the train") was comprised of fresh veg (a few crudites--celery,carrot, espc. Cucumber--were not the frshest and a bit off), hummus topped by toasted (i.e. fried) chickpeas accompanied by table water crackers and was surprisingly bright woth the flavors of garlic and lemon. The cheese lasagna entree I had on my second trip was about equivalent to transcontinental airline food; the osso bucco of the passenger next to me looked oily and dreary without the requisite accompaniment of risotto milanese and gremolata. The cocktail snack (pre-meal) of roasted sweet and salty nuts was by far the most satisying component of the meal -- the perfect complement to the mix it yourself tanqueray-and-tonic (two teeny bottles per passenger, no more), distributed as the plebs are boarding; perhaps for that reason alone, highly satisfying. Does Diageo get a kickback, or provide the booze to Amtrack gratis just for the visibility? I don't know, and I don't care. All I can say is, it took the edge off a long-ass day.
Dessert is no more than a mint-filled Ghirardelli square, and depending on the hour and the crew, there may or may not be coffee, hot towels (warm wet-naps, really), and/or a mini bottle of spring water just before the journey ends.

Play your cards right, though--boarding the train tired and hungry at the end of a day where nothing else is required of you--and you will fall into your seat, have your ticket collected by the cabin's waiter so that the pleb conductor will not disturb you, drink your cocktail, get sufficiently lit to fall into a mild doze near Wilmington, and not really give a fuck.

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