Spring into summer

One of the sorriest of all the silly slams against Southern California is the one that says we don’t have seasons. That is a lie. If you want proof, go to the farmers market.

Particularly during the spring and summer, the markets’ seasons are in an almost constant state of flux. Every week there is something new showing up. Every week something else disappears. Want a new season? You only have to wait a week or two.

Right now, with spring teetering into summer, the Bing cherries and English peas are in. In a couple of weeks it’ll be Blenheim apricots and Santa Rosa plums. July begins with mulberries and Suncrest nectarines and ends with a rainbow of eggplants and peppers. In August start looking for good tomatoes and grapes. Even a Thompson Seedless can be spectacular if you’re careful to choose the ones that are sugary golden. Then come figs and shelly beans and dripping O’Henry peaches.

Who says the seasons never change?

Certainly there are constants. You are always going to be able to find zucchini (though probably not those gorgeous round Ronde de Nice zucchini that are so wonderful stuffed with rice and a little bit of sausage meat and baked in tomato sauce).

And, yes, we will always have tomatoes too. But not the deeply ribbed Costoluto Genovese, the incredible tangy Brandywine, the true San Marzano plum that, with a little heat, practically melts into a deeply flavored tomato jam.

It’s these special things that give the markets their character. And for Southern California cooks it’s these same special things that give our year its shape. Pity the poor misbegotten souls who have to rely on snow and ice to do the same thing.

Much is made of the practical benefits of shopping to the season — that’s when things are best and when they are cheapest. Not enough is made of the way it reminds us of the constant turning of time.

Market seasons aren’t governed just by the set positions of the Earth in relation to the sun. They are more complex, complicated by the acceleration and slowing brought on by the weather.

This year’s cherries are appearing a full two to three weeks ahead of last year’s: That heat spell in early May pushed the trees into an early harvest. The cool weather that followed may or may not have put everything back on track. We’ll have to see in a month when peaches and nectarines start.

Then add the effect of California’s diverse geography: Melons from the Imperial Valley are already appearing in markets. Some years they are very good, but in general, I prefer the ones that come in July and August from the Central Valley — maybe just because I don’t really feel like slicing up a cool, gorgeously floral cantaloupe until the weather is almost too hot to bear.

Within each of these mini seasons there are even finer divisions. Just because something has become available, that doesn’t mean it’s at its best, or even that it will be this year.

At the market, almost every week brings a new cycle of expectation, followed by either elation or disappointment. Will the Blenheim apricots be in this week? Next week? Will they be good this year? If they’re not, maybe the Santa Rosa plums will be next week, or the week after. Nothing is promised at the farmers market; that is part of the challenge — and the fun.

The funny thing about this whole mini-season business is that different cooks have different calendars, based not on any kind of logic or fact but on pure, hungry emotion.

Whims rule. Definitions are highly personal (and highly idiosyncratic). Speaking strictly for myself, for example, I can’t wait until the best green beans come in — particularly those from Harry’s Berries. But I really don’t give a shuck for sweet corn, which always has other people lined up around the block. Go figure.

But even this is changeable. Ten years ago, I was rabid for the first fava beans. Had to have them. This year it’s sugar snap peas, partly for flavor, partly out of sheer laziness — I just got sick of all that peeling and then peeling again.

In the kitchen, this seasonal parade plays out in several ways. The first, of course, is that by following the season’s highlights, we end up eating very, very well. The corollary is that we also end up cooking very, very simply, which is exactly as it should be.

When the gods (or star farmer Art Lange) give us a perfect Arctic Rose white nectarine later this month, let’s face it, the only thing some fancy preparation will do is mess it up. There are times — and fruits — that demand only a knife and a chilled plate.

That’s not to say that this is just a sweet thing. The same is true for vegetables. Lately, in addition to sugar snaps, I’ve been hunting out English peas. When I find some that are really fresh — sweet and not starchy — I cook them in a way I learned from a friend, cookbook writer Sylvia Thompson.

Put whole peas, in their pod, in a skillet with about an inch of water. Add a little butter and cook until the pods just soften, only 2 to 3 minutes. Sprinkle generously with coarse salt and serve. Eat these by sticking the whole pod in your mouth and pulling it between your teeth, stripping off some of the green covering and popping free all of the peas. It’s addictive.

I’m also digging the new potatoes that are coming in. I like them thumb-sized, so they steam quickly. Stir these around in a bowl with some minced shallots, chopped herbs and softened — not melted — butter. The butter forms a kind of sauce that naps the potatoes. Season with coarse salt, so it has some crunch, and I can’t imagine anything more delicious.

Now is also when we get sweet onions from the Imperial Valley. You sometimes see these at the farmers markets labeled “Maui onions,” but that’s just a case of a geographical inferiority complex. Actually, it’s not all that misleading. Both are the same onion, grown in different places. (This is true of every other sweet onion in America, with the exception of those from Walla Walla, Wash.)

These sweet onions should not be cooked. The thing that makes them so special is that they are low in the acrid chemicals that give onions their distinctive bite. Since those chemicals go away when they’re heated, you might just as well cook with the cheaper onions. Save the sweets for salads or layering in sandwiches.

It’s just about time for the best avocados too. Smash them roughly and then spread the coarse purée on warm toast. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper. Wow.

For dessert? Bing cherries. Pick the ones that are the darkest red and still very firm. Good Bings crunch when you bite them. If you get tired of eating them out of hand, try warming them briefly in a red wine syrup that’s been scented with a bit of vanilla bean.

And just think. By the time you get done with all of that, maybe the Blenheims will be ready.

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Here are some of my favorite summer things. Note that harvest times are approximate.

Early June: Bing cherries; English and sugar snap peas; new potatoes; sweet onions; Hass avocados.

Late June: Blenheim apricots; Santa Rosa plums; Babcock white peaches; Arctic Rose and Snow Queen nectarines; boysenberries, raspberries and blackberries; green beans.

Early July: Elegant Lady peaches; Suncrest nectarines; Ronde de Nice and Gold Bar zucchini; Elephant Heart plums; mulberries.

Late July: Rosa Bianca and Asian eggplants; red bell peppers; cantaloupe and Galia melons.

Early August: Brandywine, Costoluto Genovese and San Marzano tomatoes; Muscat and Thompson Seedless grapes; Corno del Toro frying peppers.

Late August: Adriatic figs; O’Henry peaches; shelly beans.

— Russ Parsons

Sugar snap peas and shrimp with chive mayonnaise

Total time: 25 minutes

Servings: 4 to 6

1 pound sugar snap peas, strings removed

1 pound shelled large shrimp

1/3 cup mayonnaise

1 teaspoon minced shallots

3 tablespoons minced chives

1 teaspoon lemon juice

Sherry vinegar

Salt, pepper

1. Blanch the sugar snap peas in boiling salted water for 30 seconds. Remove them from the boiling water with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge them into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and pat dry. Bring the water back to a boil for the shrimp.

2. Cook the shrimp in the rapidly boiling water just until firm, about 3 to 4 minutes. Drain and chill in ice water to stop cooking. Pat dry and cut in half. Place in a large bowl.

3. In a small bowl, whip together the mayonnaise, shallots, chives and lemon juice. Beat in a splash of vinegar, then taste and add more if necessary.

4. Spoon two-thirds of the mayonnaise mixture over the shrimp and peas and stir together. The mayonnaise should lightly and uniformly coat both. If necessary, stir in a little more. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Chill before serving.

Grilled cheese sandwiches with sweet onions

Total time: 45 minutes

Servings: 6 to 8

1 loaf firm, fine-grained white bread, such as a

Pullman loaf, unsliced

1 pound semisoft cheese, such as Brie, Taleggio or Teleme

1 ( 3/4-pound) sweet onion

(2 cups sliced)

1 teaspoon Champagne

vinegar

2 teaspoons minced parsley

Salt

Butter

1. Trim the crusts from the loaf of bread, leaving a solid, evenly shaped rectangle. Using a serrated knife, carefully cut the bread in lengthwise slices just as thin as you can, one-fourth- to one-half-inch thick. You should get 6 to 8 slices.

2. Trim the rinds from the cheese and cut it into thin slices. Cut the onion in half and then slice it as thinly as possible, using a mandoline or a very sharp chef’s knife. Put the onion in a bowl and season it with vinegar, parsley and salt to taste.

3. Spread one-fourth to one-third of the cheese over 1 long slice of bread, being careful not to come too close to the edges — you don’t want it oozing into the pan when it melts. Scatter one-fourth to one-third of the onion over that. Cover with another slice of bread and press together firmly. Repeat with remaining bread, cheese and onions.

4. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a large skillet over low heat. Fry 1 sandwich at a time, gently but firmly pressing down with a spatula or a heavy pan. Cook about 5 to 6 minutes on the first side, about 4 on the second. Repeat with remaining sandwiches, adding more butter as necessary.

5. Neatly trim the edges of the cooked sandwiches with a serrated knife and then cut each sandwich into thin crosswise strips, about three-fourths-inch wide. Serve hot.

Seafood stew with peas

Total time: 50 minutes

Servings: 4 to 6

6 ounces pancetta, thickly sliced

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

3/4cup white wine

Pinch saffron

1 pound shelled peas

1 1/2pounds Manila clams

1 pound squid, tubes sliced in rings and tentacles cut in half

1. Chop the pancetta and cook it in the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until the fat is rendered and the pancetta crisps, about 10 minutes.

2. Add the onion and cook until it begins to soften, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the wine and saffron and cook until the wine reduces slightly, about 5 minutes.

3. Add the peas and cook just until they begin to soften and lose their starchy taste, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the clams, raise the heat to high and cook, covered, until they just begin to open, about 3 minutes. Add the squid and cook just until it firms, about 3 minutes. Serve immediately.