Cool

Enough about the heat.

But first.

It’s hard to write about food when you have no appetite. Heat, humidity and the lot drive away my desires to eat. A perfect hell. I had a salad for dinner last night, and even the dressing seemed too thick and heavy. Maybe it’s all the water I’m guzzling, sloshing around in my stomach, leaving no room for food.

Years back, in my first apartment, we had a heat wave like this one. Four roomies, no AC, no money for big fans. I went to a lot of movies and slept in the living room where the stuffy air was at least moving around. I used to survive on the fried rice at Kinhdo, but even that seemed too much in the heat.

For some reason, I thought I was being brave and adult with my refusals to run back to the suburban, air-conditioned home of my Mother. But she understood, and instead came into the city and took me to El Meson. It was a gift of a meal, it was gazpacho. Cool and fresh, light and spicy, rejuvenation of the soul. A bowl of the chilled, tomatoey soup seems to extinguish any hint of heat-induced crankiness and self-importance.

As always, the key is uber-fresh ingredients and the foresight that in 6 months you’ll be praying for warmth as you bitch about the cold.