Real Soup

On Picnics

I love picnics. As a serious picnicker, I keep an old wicker basket packed with plates and napkins, a rustic tablecloth and plastic stemware, ready for the moveable feast.

I love the idea of carrying off to the wilds a few simple things, knowing that just leaving the wheel of day-to-day concerns, under the influence of the good fresh air, and in the pocket of a well chosen scene, they will transform into fine and worthy fare.

A picnic is called into being for reasons of joy. It is a noble pursuit.

It acknowledges the value of respite, of lolling about, watching the activities of water skaters as they dart and glide calmly across the surface of water. Of reading a book in broad daylight. Of chatting between long silences with a friend. Of communing with ants. Of falling unexpectedly asleep in a new and quiet place.

Considering the potential for the sublime, the menu for picnics can reasonably indulge aspects of both refreshment and symbolism.

On the other hand, at a picnic years ago, I was astonished to watch my friend pick tuna sandwiches out of the orange plastic bag in which the bread had been packaged. This, I remember thinking, is a very clever idea. It saves time and fuss. My treats and cloth napkins seemed frivolous, quirky, beyond the pale of practicality.

It was only the appearance of her last two sandwiches, squashed and misshapen, unrecognizable--wet, gray things they became, blithely devoured by her children--that saved me from creating a moral dilemma out of my in

clination to celebrate whenever possible.

Life is not easy. When you are happy, it is right and proper to find a spreading bough, dear company, and get carried away.

Fresh, real bread, baked right here by humans, is a good way to start. A deep speckled rye or crusty french will set off bits of cheese you may have taken the trouble to marinate for a few hours ahead of time.

Artichoke hearts, a few Greek olives, shallot mustard, pickled beets, sliced sweet onions and red peppers, a unit of pesto, round out the basics.

A lovely, simple condiment that takes advantage of the upcoming tomato season (the organic varieties have full flavor now) is Tomatoes Lutece, a recipe from my mother.

Peel if you want to, and cut the stem ends and slice int 1/2" rounds:

8 firm, ripe tomatoes

Make the following dressing and pour it over and between the slices, which are re-formed into their tomato shapes and covered tightly.

Combine:

1/4 C. chopped parsley

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp sugar

1/4 tsp. pepper

1/4 C. olive or salad oil

2 Tbsp. tarragon vinegar or cider vinegar

2 tsp prepared mustard

Mix well and dress the tomatoes.

Tomatoes in this glory are best served at room temperature, standing about 20 minutes--just enough time turn your back on routines and pressures, pack up your treasures, and find your spot in the cooling shade