My palate knows no season. I crave soup in the summer and ice cream in the winter.
It sounds crazy but the way I see it, I’m not eating the ice cream while standing in the snow, so why does the temperature matter?
I laughed a bit this summer at a few of my friends who told me that they could not possibly cook in their kitchens for fear of heating them up. They do have central air, so it’s not like that one-skillet meal was going to make their house push the 85-degree mark. I think they just wanted an excuse to eat salads or eat out.
Some people are just set in their ways. Barbecue and potato salad are reserved for summertime cookouts, ham with orange glaze only appears in the spring, and heaven forbid you make a molasses cookie in any month that is not December.