Nobody ever believes me when I tell them the rain doesn’t start until my birthday (October 7th). Summer ends at Labor Day, they insist. Nope, it’s not true. As the center of the universe–or, my universe, anyway–summer doesn’t end until I turn another year older. So until that happens, I will continue to make the kind of simple summer suppers that are easily eaten outdoors, even if it’s getting dark at before dinner time. I’ll let the green in my vegetables, the yellow in my egg yolks, the bright flavors in my olive oil, light up the night....
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