““The soft pastels and red-wine colors of this garden change in the piercing sun. The deep reds fade to violet and walnut-brown; the pinks, soft oranges and creams crisp like old newspaper. I don't mind, in fact I rather like the faded colors in the glorious heat of late July. I haven't turned the oven on in a week or more. Today burrata, yesterday panzanella and before that rough-and-tumble dinners assembled from the deli. Lunches have been laid out in assorted bowls outside: preserved artichokes in oil, deli-made couscous salads, marinated octopus and tinned sardines. There are lumps of feta scattered with dill and bloomy goat's milk cheeses with rose-petal za'atar. Pudding is offered in jam jars. Makeshift trifles of sponge, lemon curd and apricots. Messes of meringue, loganberries and cream. Another of passion-fruit posset and halved cherries. In the top of each jar a flower: rose petals on the loganberries, a viola with the apricots, marigold petals scattered over the dark-red cherries. Little pots of treasure in which to go digging with your teaspoon.””
