Sunday morning began with my sister Kassandra waking early and a trip to the grocer near my apartment for a few brunch things—some housemade sun-dried tomatoes to go with fresh pear tomatoes, arugula, and buffalo mozzarella (that’s the white) on top of a frittata,

and sugar plums from Red Jacket Orchards that exude a glossy syrup when roasted.

Catching up with my friend Solana over brunch (I’m happy she’s back in Brooklyn) filled my kitchen with laughter, and then she was off into her day, followed by Kassandra, who I see all too infrequently, leaving to drive to Philadelphia for her flight (she was in NJ this week setting a choreography and spontaneously rented a car to drive up for the weekend).

In the quiet kitchen, I turned to making a goat cheese cake for Tricia and Kenyatta‘s afternoon picnic, letting it cool by the open window,

before slicing figs across the top and drizzling it with honey from Brooklyn bees.

Arriving at Fort Greene Park, I found a sprawling group of artists, librarians, researchers, and videographers, everyone new to me and—unsurprisingly for friends of Tricia and Kenyatta—fascinating and creative.

The gracious Tricia poured me a mimosa and smiled with Kenyatta, who was in the center of the group, as I found an unoccupied patch of blanket.

The cake went quickly,

with the beautiful Elle waiting patiently, entranced by squirrels, before neatly nabbing the last slice,

and all too soon, it was time to fold the blankets—like Audrey, I wondered why summer Sundays ever have to end—

but then again, how nice it was to have spent the afternoon reveling with this crew…

More fun images and video in Tricia’s Flickr set—

Leaving Atlanta incredibly early on Saturday a few weeks ago, Karen, Kevin, and I pulled into the incredibly local farmers’ market of Carrboro, North Carolina around noon to meet my sister Kassandra and her boyfriend Sean (here, at left).

(Note: This is the seventh of eight posts from this road trip. You might start at the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth post.)

We found crowder peas and field peas,

beautiful tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers proudly displayed in individual containers from one of the many farmers in the allowed fifty-mile radius of this town within Chapel Hill that set up at the market.

Walking over to the Weaver Street Market food co-op, Kassandra and Sean looked for groceries (they both live in a neighboring area),

and Karen found the Carrboro raw truck to begin neutralizing the roadfood of the past week.

Carrboro is generally good at nurturing health, and Kass and Karen were serious about filling their plates with good food as we sat near happy dogs hoping for dropped food and children learning how to walk,

(this is Karen’s plate) before hugging Kassandra and Sean goodbye and continuing on to an underground Indian dinner in Washington, D.C.

That night, we arrived at an Indian dinner orchestrated by a Jain,

that one of my favorite people, Nina, told us about (I surprised her here with the camera flash),

—and learned that Nina has different spices in her spice box than our host. I actually learned a great deal about making a spice box of one’s own as a way to indicate heritage.

The courses continued, interspersed with commentary on the background on this cooking style, but I was too happy to listen, surrounded by very good friends,

and knowing their friendship, like the bread passed throughout, are what anchors me, wherever I am.

Pausing to remark that sometimes this city surprises us, Karen, Kevin, and I headed back to the quirky Tabard Inn, where we prepared for the final leg of the drive back to Brooklyn…

Shortly before I left for Santa Cruz in May, I invited my friends Sarah and Fil to a grains dinner party at my apartment—and I have missed them during my summer away.

On Wednesday, Sarah, who is an artist as well as a great cook and hostess, invited me over to her apartment for a dinner party that felt summery and full of the best parts of Brooklyn.

Fil and I arrived to find Sarah working on an avocado and tomato salad, while Xavier finished his wonderful garlic chicken (he’s off to the right side above).

It was so nice to sit on Sarah’s floor, open bottles of cava and laugh as we started with Fil’s excellent cheese plate, then filled plates with ripe market tomatoes, buttery avocados, seasoned corn next to the garlic chicken.

All three are talented performers and delightful conversationalists, and we opened bottles of Vinho Verde, lingered over warm brownies Sarah served in pink melamine cups.

You’ll find these friends on kthread again soon; these are just some of the reasons I’m happy to be back in Brooklyn…

These are marionberries, and below are olallieberries. See the difference?

It’s difficult. The olallieberries are slightly longer. (And the family tree of berry cultivars is fascinating, if you’re into that kind of thing.)

I wanted to wait until after the July holidays of American and French independence before posting about my favorite summer dessert that begins white, bleeds red, and sometimes turns bluish-purple, all while being quite British: summer pudding.

Put simply, summer pudding is quality bread soaked in tart berry juice, traditionally currants. At this moment in the summer, the dark berries at farmers’ markets are perfect—go for any in the blackberry family, and red or white currants.

I like to do these as individual summer puddings in ramekins of four or six ounces (or small bowls of that size); you’ll need a pint of berries for each one and a nice large brioche loaf or pain de mie will do for four to six puddings.

To make: Start by lining each ramekin with plastic wrap while simmering all the berries (try to include a few different types) and adding a tablespoon of sugar for each pint in a large saucepan for five minutes, until the berries break down and release liquid.

Spoon a tiny bit of juice at the bottom of each lined ramekin, then fit bread slices (crusts off, sliced into half-inch thick lengths) in a single layer at the bottom.

Cover with fruit and juice, add a layer of bread, add fruit and juice, then a layer of bread, and more fruit and juice on the top.

Cover with plastic wrap and chill overnight with a weight on top of each to smush it properly (large tomato jars work well).

Unmold and serve with whipped cream, if you like, and a little additional syrup (in case you missed spots with juice).

I find people who dislike dessert like these because the puddings are less sweet and somewhat of an acquired taste, harder to love than the ubiquitous desserts of strawberries and blueberries in their customary dousing of sugar, and well worth the effort—

My close friend Karen moved to Brooklyn a little while ago, and she has transformed her apartment into an aerie—and one that hosts frequent dinner parties.

When I was visiting Brooklyn two weekends ago, she threw one of her parties (reason enough to book a flight), and she let me help her prep the food and her beautiful white table that is bathed in sunlight every afternoon.

We spent a fun day zipping to Red Hook’s Fairway in a rented car for groceries, finding wine in long blue bottles in Park Slope, and purchasing baguettes at Brooklyn Larder (some to serve, one to eat during the day). Both of us usually prep for parties by ourselves, so we laughed frequently as we overlapped in our combined forces (isn’t Karen beautiful?)

Fia arrived with her homemade limoncello (Karen had already put the glasses in the freezer) and a beautiful chocolate cake for Arthur’s birthday, and she tested the strawberry-watermelon-vodka blend spun from our friend Francis the Watermelon (we met Francis at Fairway),

and shortly thereafter, friends began to arrive, so we started the two risottos, one with roasted fennel, and the other with shelled spring peas and whole milk ricotta from Salvatore Brooklyn to follow the salad. Karen placed the risottos on the table, and we all served each other, in the style of family, after watching a brilliant sunset.

Much later, the cake was presented and Fia’s wonderful limoncello served (you can see a little glass in Solana’s hand),

and Arthur’s smile as his family looked on was another reminder of how much I miss Brooklyn when I am away, and how much fun it is to celebrate with all the very interesting people of New York, most of whom wouldn’t consider living anywhere else…