When we were in Guatemala, our cat ran off (or got run over, no one knows). Ever since we got back, I’ve been wanting to get another cat. Country houses need cats because of this unpleasant situation called Mice.

Cats eat mice.

Cats are good.

The problem was, Charlotte is kinda persistent in the Destroy Other Animals department. Last year, she killed two chickens. She’s great at catching random field rodents (as good as a cat, probably, so, um, maybe cats aren’t as necessary as I think?), and she’s been known to chase Francie down and steal her prey right out of her mouth.

So based on Charlotte’s aggressive nature, we were pretty sure cute kittens wouldn’t stand a chance. But then Charlotte got pregnant and started moving slower. And slower. And s l o w e r. She was so fat she tripped climbing stairs. And I was like, Aha! Now’s the time to get kittens!



And then I learned that the spay and neuter clinic had a discount on fixings this month—twenty bucks per dog or cat. So I put out some queries and found kittens that were at least eight weeks old (the age they have to be for getting fixed). Before picking them up, I scheduled their appointments at the clinic. I wanted to be positively certain we got in on that special.

Last week we picked up the kittens from some down-the-road neighbors. After their initial hissing-and-spitting-at-everything-that-moved phase (the kittens, not the neighbors), the kittens transformed into relaxed, playful, purring bundles of fuzz.

And Charlotte leaves them alone, hallelujah.

This same time, years previous: language study and this particular Friday.

This same time, years previous: street food, this, too, shall pass, a glimpse, when I sat down, Kate’s enchiladas, naps and mowers, quirky, and old-fashioned vanilla ice cream.

I about chucked the lastest Bon Appetit. The first recipe I made—the cover one, no less—was impressively underwhelming (though I did appreciate the holes-in-top-crust method), and the second recipe—a Burmese Coconut Cake—was nothing short of horrific.

The cake called for semolina and coconut milk, and I was all like, Oh yum, this looks unique and potentially delicious so yay. Turned out, it tasted like a piece of beach that someone dropped a coconut on: grayish-brown, sandy-wet, and one hundred percent inedible. The dogs loved it.

I tiptoed into the third recipe with a fair bit of trepidation. Cooked, chopped spinach, green onions, mint, sour cream, hm. It sounded perfect but trust had been broken. I wasn’t sure the magazine had any integrity left.

I’m pleased to report, the dip was fine. Redemptive, even (because it kept me from giving up on the magazine all together). It kind of reminded me of that artichoke dip that shows up at all female gatherings—you know, the one that’s served warm and bubbling under a crunchy cap of buttery bread crumbs?—because women are fools for tangy, creamy, rich. This dip is all those things, but plus mint and minus the artichokes, heat, and crumbs. Perfect for summer.

PS. No one in my immediate family liked it, but all your girlfriends will. Promise.

Spinach Dip
Adapted from the June 2014 issue of Bon Appetit.

I didn’t measure my spinach. I just picked a bowlful from the garden and called it Good Enough.

4 cups fresh spinach, packed (or 6 cups not packed)
1 green onion, thinly sliced
3/4 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint
salt and black pepper
pita chips or crackers, for serving

Boil a pot of salted water. Dump in the spinach and cook for 30 seconds. Remove spinach and plunge into cold water to stop the cooking. Drain well, pressing on the spinach to release all the liquid. Chop the spinach.

Combine the spinach, onion, sour cream, and mint. Season well with the S&P. Let rest for a bit to blend flavors. Serve with pita chips or crackers.

This same time, years previous: the business of belonging, stuff, garbled, Greek cucumber and tomato salad, sourdough waffles, microwave flower press, freezing strawberries, strawberry shortcake, and brown butter noodles with ham and buttered peas.