Summer is officially gone, but it’s still warm in northern California, and I still have several dozen green heirloom tomatoes on one of my plants. I’m already starting to think about what to plant for fall, because to be honest with you, I’m sick of summer produce. I ate more caprese salads with delicious olive oil, fresh basil, and tart balsamic vinegar than any one individual has any business eating. I popped figs into my mouth like they were going out of season. They are, but still … that was a lot of figs. I made fig puree for cocktails and fig jam for toast. And I’m sure there’s still tomato sauce in my future after all these bad boys ripen.

My little farm (I know, I know, it’s a “garden” but just let me have this one) looked pretty good this year. I bought barrels off a nice man from Craigslist, and put some corn in the ground too. I had a lawn put in, and pretty as it is, I’m strongly considering ripping it out in favor of actual crop rows this year.

I was disproportionately excited about growing corn. I felt like this was a step beyond just plain old vegetable gardening. Corn is some straight up farmer shit, and I was going to grow some badass corn. So I put it in the ground, and discovered a couple months later that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The leaves and silks turned purple due to either too much or too little potassium (internet fail), the plants toppled over, and each stalk produced one harvest, then they were done. I now know that is to be expected, but I had no idea. I wasn’t entirely sure when to harvest them either, and accidentally did so a bit prematurely so the tips were kind of stunted and malformed, but no matter; to me, they were perfect.

I ended up with six smallish ears, which isn’t exactly a bumper crop, and didn’t leave me with a whole lot of wiggle room for cooking, so I only got three meals out of it. The quesadilla was a lovely, indulgent dinner for one … but this steak dish was a complete showstopper. I made it twice. Sweet corn and scallions, sharp garlic, lemon juice, cherry tomatoes and anaheim chiles from PB’s garden all on top of deliciously rare skirt steak. You should probably make this before the fresh corn disappears. Your family/significant other/dog will thank you.

I grew more than just tomatoes and corn; there was eggplant that got salted, drained, and served up in all manners. Cucumbers that actually seemed to accessorize glasses of ice water more than anything else, now that I think of it. And green beans that I blanched and dressed with olive oil and lemon juice once or twice before the slugs claimed that plant as their own. Once I was done obsessing over the things I was growing myself though, I set my sights on sweet, sweet figs.

Last year, my dear friend Melissa made a fig gastrique to mix with bourbon, among other things, and got us all wonderfully wasted for Thanksgiving. That was right around the time PB and I were sniffing around the DIY food scene in general, so thoughts of preserving and canning and jamming and gastrique’ing started floating around in my head. Canning, quite frankly, seems scary. I’m not known for being good at getting things super clean, and that’s kind of a crucial element.

So, I decided to go the jam route. Oh, and to make a puree to mix up with bourbon and whatever else. Not quite as fancy as the gastrique, but you know, baby steps. Half the figs got boiled into a molten state with peppercorns, sugar and balsamic. The other half went into the oven to roast with yet more balsamic.

When all was said and done, I had a sense of accomplishment and a remarkably sugary dinner. For the cocktail, I used this roasted fig cocktail recipe as a guide, and ultimately ended up mixing rye, sutton cellars vermouth, some peychaud’s and the puree. Not too sweet, which is how I like it, but YMMV. The jam – despite cutting the recipe‘s sugar amount by about 1/3 – was still very sweet. Not overly so, but inching its sugary fig butt right up to the line. I had it on crackers with cheese (no, that is not butter), and the next day on a bagel, and the day after that on La Brea toast … then I gave the rest away before I ended up with diabetes.

So, with all that, I say goodbye to summer. I truly am sick of tomatoes. I don’t imagine I’ll be buying any more figs, either. I’m ready for butternut squash and brussels sprouts. I want a goddamn cassoulet.