For a girl who has never been much of a fruit eater, it’s a bit shocking to look back at the amount of it I’ve tucked away over the last week. What it boils down to, I suppose, is how much better real, farm-fresh fruit tastes than stuff that has traveled from another continent. Though this salad originally appeared in my Weekend Eats wrap-up, it was such a hit with us that I wanted to post about it here for this week’s edition of Summer Fest 2009.

Since I still prefer savory to sweet, it has been fun to find ways to incorporate gorgeous summer fruit into our meals. Breakfast lately has been a scoop of creamy ricotta with berries or stone fruit or both, and salads have gotten fruity, too, with peach and basil bread salad getting fairly heavy rotation. But my favorite fruit-filled salad has to be the one I made over the weekend, inspired by Suzanne Goin’s Summer Fruit Salad with Arugula and Marcona Almonds from Sunday Suppers at Lucques.

It’s a simple salad, a combination of (not local to us) figs, (definitely local) stone fruit and berries, peppery arugula, and crunchy Marcona almonds, but the dressing was perhaps my favorite part of the dish. It’s a simple vinaigrette, given richness and body with the addition of a bit of muddled fruit. To make it, I took the softest, ripest fig we had purchased, chopped it up and used Mike’s wooden cocktail muddler to pound it to a chunky puree, then I whisked it together with a pinch of salt, some of my quick-pickled shallots (chopped), sherry vinegar and extra virgin olive oil.

The dressing had a great sweet and sour flavor that married extremely well with our juicy plums and peaches, the tart black raspberries and blueberries, and the salt and pepper punch of the almonds and greens – this, to me, is exactly what a fruit salad should be.

There are some things that are just plain sexy to eat – oysters, obviously, or uni, or a perfectly poached egg. And then there’s burrata, with its lush, milky curds nestled inside a tender skin of fresh mozzarella. It’s so fresh and delicate that it’s not terribly easy to come by, unless you’re willing to camp out at your favorite Italian market some morning on a day when they have it available, so when word came out that the Downcity outpost of Farmstead would be getting a small shipment in, I sent Mike out to grab some for us.

While burrata is fabulous to eat on it’s own, with a drizzle of good olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt, I had another plan – a big salad of heirloom tomatoes, basil, torn croutons and burrata, inspired by the one that appears in Sunday Suppers at Lucques. Being me, I didn’t go through all of the steps in the recipe – I made my standard sherry vinaigrette, which I gently tossed with a variety of halved or wedged, salted cherry tomatoes and petite heirlooms, then I scattered the tomatoes around my wedges of burrata, added my homemade croutons, scattered sliced green and opal basil all around, then gave it all another drizzle of vinaigrette and a sprinkle of salt. It was a fabulous interplay of colors, textures and flavors, and the salad was substantial enough that we could have made a meal of it. But there was the issue of the mullet.

I had walked up to Mercato del Mare on my lunch break yesterday to get some fish for tonight’s meal when I spotted this guy and his brother peering at me with those big bright eyes. I just couldn’t resist bringing him home.

Mike stuffed the fish with sliced lemons and thyme, and put it in a simple marinade of olive oil, sea salt and lemon juice while I assembled our salad, then he grilled the fish in a grill basket while we enjoyed our first course and some fizzy rosė on the patio. When the fish was done, I placed it on a bed of red sorrel leaves and drizzled an olive and anchovy vinaigrette over the top. The mullet was delicious, with the meaty texture of an oily fish but without the strong flavor, and we picked the bones clean.

Summer may have taken her sweet old time coming to New England this year, but now that she’s here I’m relishing every minute. Have a great weekend, everyone.

Some people dream of dining at the French Laundry, Chez Panisse, or El Bulli, but honestly, I think my dream restaurant dinner would be at Lucques. I mean, Suzanne Goin just gets it, and every main dish or side or sauce that I’ve made, either direct from her book or inspired by it, has been a major hit.

This Romesco, for instance, almost didn’t make it to our plates because after my first taste of it, I couldn’t stop scooping it out of the food processor by the spoonful. All I could think about this morning was “man, I wish I had some Romesco.” It might have replaced harissa as my latest food crush.

The rest of the meal was simple: crisp roasted potatoes, some green leaves, sautéed Spanish mackerel filets with a squeeze of lemon juice, but the Romesco was the star. I want to put it on everything. I bet you will, too.

Romesco (adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques by Suzanne Goin)

5 Ancho chiles (we were out, so I substituted Guajillos)
2 T raw almonds
2T blanched hazelnuts (forgot to blanch mine – oops)
1 ¼ c extra virgin olive oil (I didn’t measure. Don’t act like you’re surprised.)
1 slice country bread, about 1 inch thick (I used two slices of Seven Stars multigrain)
1/3 cup canned San Marzano tomatoes
1 clove garlic, chopped
1 T chopped flat leaf parsley
½ lemon for juicing (we had more Meyers than regular lemons, so I used one of those)
Kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 375. Soak the chiles in hot water for about 15 minutes, then seed and stem them. Spread the nuts on a baking sheet and toast them for 8-10 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside. Fry the bread in a bit of the olive oil, then let it cool and cut into cubes. Return the pan to the stove, heat the chiles for about 2 minutes, then add the tomatoes. Cook them until they break down and the juices are reduced, then turn off the heat and set aside.

Pulse the nuts, bread and garlic in a food processor, then add the chile and tomato mixture and pulse again to combine. Pour in more olive oil while the machine is running until you have the texture you want. Taste for seasoning, then stir in the lemon juice and parsley.