What to Do With Everything That's In Season Right Now

There's a week or two, right about now, when the market gets loud. Not literally. Though there's plenty of that, too, between the music and the dogs and someone's kid negotiating for an ice cream while holding a half-eaten popsicle. It’s loud in the sense that everything is ready at the same time. The tomato table is a wall of red and gold and green-striped, and there's basil by the fistful, blueberries by the pint, and squash in sizes that range from reasonable to faintly alarming.

This is the peak, and the thing about the peak is that it doesn't last. That's not a sad fact. It's the beauty of it all. For a few short weeks, the best food of the year is also the most plentiful, the most local, and often the least expensive it will ever be, because it's everywhere at once, grown close by, picked yesterday. Eating with the season right now isn't a discipline. It's just showing up for the good part. So let's talk about how to enjoy every bit of it.

First, What's Actually Ready

Mid- to late summer is the year's showing-off season, and while the exact lineup shifts depending on where you live, the spirit is the same nearly everywhere: more than you can carry, all at once. This is when the tomatoes are prolific between the slicers, cherries, and the voluminous heirlooms that taste the best. Corn comes in sweet and just-picked. Summer squash and zucchini hit the height of their powers (and their proliferation), cucumbers arrive by the armful, and beans, peppers, and eggplant start coming on strong. Berries are still going, the first stone fruit is showing up, and the tender herbs like basil, dill, cilantro, and parsley are suddenly everywhere.

You don't need all of it. But this is the moment to say yes to more than usual, because more will never be easier than it is right now.

The Market Is Half the Point

There's a reason a Saturday market feels different from a grocery run, and it isn't only the produce. You talk to the person who grew the thing, you taste before you buy, and you notice the beans came in this week and the corn is suddenly cheaper because everyone has it. You wander, you circle back, and you end up with a bunch of flowers you didn't plan on. The whole thing runs at a human pace, which, if you've read this newsletter for a while, you know we think matters more than it seems.

A few small things make it more fun. Go a little earlier or later than you think, since the middle is the crush, and bring more bags than you expect to need, plus a couple of empty containers for berries and eggs. Leave room in your plan to buy the thing that looks best that morning rather than the thing on your list. The list is a suggestion, and the tomato that stops you in your tracks is the actual assignment. And talk to the growers, who will tell you what's best this week, what's coming next, and how they like to cook the strange-looking squash you're eyeing. That conversation is the oldest food information system there is, and it still works better than any app.

Now Use It, Generously

The mistake isn't necessarily buying too much. It's buying beautifully and then letting it sit until it's sad. Produce at its peak wants to be used simply and soon, which makes this the season to cook less, not more. A tomato this good needs little more than salt and maybe olive oil; corn needs about four minutes, and the whole point of food this fresh is that it does most of the work for you.

The easiest way to keep up with a big haul is to let one ingredient lead. Build the week around whatever you bought the most of, so a flat of tomatoes becomes a week of tomatoes; on toast, in salad, halved and roasted, sliced onto everything. Abundance is easier to enjoy when you're not trying to honor all of it equally. The same goes for herbs, which are worth turning loose rather than rationing: a whole bunch of basil isn't a garnish, it's an ingredient, so blitz it into pesto with oil, nuts, cheese, and garlic and skip the recipe, or stir chopped dill into yogurt for an instant sauce, or toss torn herbs into a salad by the handful.

When it starts to pile up, make one big thing. A tray of roasted summer vegetables — squash, peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, garlic — feeds you for days and quietly rescues anything that's starting to turn. (Ratatouille is just this idea with a French name and a little more patience.) And when you're deciding what to eat first, start with the tired-looking ones: the bruised peach, the split tomato, the bendy cucumber all go today, while the pristine ones keep for later in the week.

Then Keep Some for Later

Here's the quietly satisfying part. You can catch a little of this season and hold onto it, and it's far less time-consuming than the word "preserving" makes it sound. You don't need special equipment or a free weekend. You need a freezer and about ten minutes.

Most of it freezes beautifully with almost no effort. Tomatoes go in whole. Wash them, bag them, done. And the skins slip right off when they thaw, which makes them perfect for winter sauce. Corn comes off the cob and into a bag. Freeze berries in a single layer on a tray before going into a container so they don't clump. In January, this is the good stuff.

If you want to go one small step further, quick pickles take no canning and no science: slice cucumbers, beans, or peppers into a jar, cover with equal parts vinegar and water, add a spoonful each of salt and sugar along with whatever herbs and garlic you have, and refrigerate. They're ready by tomorrow and last for weeks. Leftover herbs have an even easier fate. Chop basil, dill, or parsley into an ice cube tray, cover with olive oil, and freeze, then drop a cube into a winter pan and the whole kitchen smells like summer again. And if you'd rather do nothing at all, hang a bunch of herbs upside down in the kitchen and forget about them; in two weeks you'll have your own dried oregano or thyme, and it looked like decor the whole time.

None of this has to be a project. One jar of pickles, one bag of tomatoes, one tray of frozen berries. That's a preserved season. Do a little each week, and by fall you'll have a freezer that tastes like summer, without ever having set aside an entire day for it.

The Good Part Is Short, and That's the Gift

We spend a lot of the year able to buy anything from anywhere: strawberries in December, asparagus in October, tomatoes that traveled further than most people do on vacation. It's convenient, and it's a little strange. When everything is always available, nothing tastes quite like itself. Peak season is the antidote, and it's brief on purpose. The corn is only this sweet for a little while, the tomatoes only taste like this now, and eating with the season means meeting the food where it is: showing up for the peak, using it generously, tucking a bit away, and then letting it go when it's gone, already looking forward to next year.

Go to the market this weekend, buy more than you planned, and talk to the person who grew it. Make something simple that night and freeze a little for later. It's all here right now. And that won't be true for long, which is exactly why it's worth enjoying every bit of it.