Happy Fourth of July; Now Get Me Out of Here.

In most places, summer is a time for coming together. It is a time for long weekends, good friends, cold beers, steaks on the grill, slip n’ slides, lazy afternoons, picnics, and dinner parties.

Not so in New York City. In New York, summer is an absentee season. As the temperature climbs into the 90s, the air thickens and the pavement begins to throb in the sun. It’s an unnatural heat, one of humming electrical wires and scantily clad homeless people. The air smells of rancid fat and wet dog. Everywhere people are sweating, weary, impossibly grumpy. In short, all signs point one way: get me the hell out of here.

If you’re lucky enough to have a family with a summer house anywhere near Manhattan, so much the better for you. If not, you must piece together a summer strategy.

Out of town weddings provide some respite. Close friends and significant others may extend invitations to country homes, and you will graciously accept. But things may have to get creative. If necessary, you will share a 1,000 square foot beach house with 15 other people; you will sleep on a wet towel if that's what it comes to.

One of your nodding acquaintances may have a place in the Hamptons. You will become very interested in this person around mid-May, he whom you once referred to as a “sociopath” and now merely as a “real character.” You cling to any possibility of getting out of Manhattan, no matter how awful.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the relative merits of being in the City, and everything to do with not getting left behind. Because when you find yourself in New York on a summer weekend, you should count on being alone. There is no camaraderie in the summer season. For this reason it’s the time of year when I cook the least, entertain the least, and despite the big new terrace and Weber grill, I suspect that this will stay largely unchanged this year. So, we'll need to find things to talk about other than cooking, you and I.

As for my summer plans, I have no grand strategy, no weekend home, but I do have enough trips up my sleeve to keep sanity and civility in tact.



I write this from The Viking's family's (The Viking Family's?) house outside London, which will serve as home base for the next nine days. Yes, it is highly unpatriotic of me to spend Independence Day with the Redcoats, but there you have it.

I can’t promise that I’ll be doing much cooking during that time, but I won’t desert you entirely. The English summer season provides endless opportunities for American amusement -- both intentional, and otherwise...