We view summer as a respite, a three-month vacation from the rest of the year that gifts us time to lounge by pools, relax by oceans, meander in forests and savor the long, sun-drenched days. But this is a rather recent development. For as long as humans have been planting crops, summer has been the season for work, and winter, when the land is dormant, the time for rest and repose.
This was before the way we procured what we cooked changed not only the way we eat, but the way we live. By the mid-1930’s, the American public had grown enamoured with a new way of gathering its produce, spices and grains—the supermarket. The Piggly Wiggly is credited as the first supermarket as we know them today, allowing you enter and shop self-serve style. Where before you needed to go to the local butcher, the local fishmonger, the local baker to pick up what you needed, suddenly you could go to one place, and it was all there. Because of that, it was also cheaper. Before supermarkets, what people didn’t buy from their local artisans they made themselves, and it was in summer that the garden grew its bounty, and women spent hours inside the home root-cellar storing, preserving, canning, jarring, drying, pickling, brining and curing in order to be sure the family had enough to eat throughout the year ahead.
Aperol Spritz-ing by the pool these women were not.
As old-world as my tendencies are, I gratefully embrace the modern sense of summer. I love the laconic feel of the season, the roll-down-your-windows, walk-around-barefoot freedom of it. In fact, I also embrace the old-world sensibility of winter as yet another time of ease; freedom manifested in a different way. In winter, we’re free to slow down, live quietly, without the demands placed on us to be out and about and social. The days end sooner, and we turn in sooner, taking care to nurture and catch up on much needed sleep.
Hey, as a modern gal, I can embrace both. We have the luxury of rest that our ancestors did not. Feeding our families no longer hinges on whether the summer harvest is a good one. We go to the grocery store to get what we need, and there it is, somehow all year long—tomatoes in December, blueberries in April, eggplants in May.
Of course, the dirty not-so-little secret is that having that availability year round takes a toll on the earth, on the air we breathe and on our health. These items are grown in far away places, picked before their ripe, refrigerated and shipped across long distances so that by the time they end up on the shelves, their nutritional value is greatly diminished, not to mention so is their taste.
Which is why I remain a big advocate of preserving food when it’s in season and at its peak. Not only will it taste infinitely better than anything store bought, it’ll be healthier, and if you grow it yourself, you’ll likely be continuing an ancestral tradition. Preserving is indeed work, but anything exceptional seems to require work, whether to create it or to earn it.
One of my favorite preserved summer vegetables is the pickled eggplant my mother makes. It isn’t difficult, but it does have a good amount of steps, so it will take some time. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone to date who doesn’t love it, and the jars become gifts given to very happy friends. I thought I’d share our recipe with you, so that you can enjoy some of this summer sunshine with your friends and family.