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I love stuffed mushrooms. L.o.v.e. But, as I’ve mentioned many times before, Kevin absolutely does not. So, when I come across a new recipe for stuffed mushrooms, I look at it longingly. After a moment of wistfully imagining how delicious they’d be, I sigh and set the recipe aside.

Before Kevin’s parents’ Mother’s Day BBQ last Sunday, to which I was to bring an appetizer, I kept coming back to stuffed mushroom recipes. And the sad little scene I depicted above just kept replaying itself. Until! Until, I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to let a little mushroom aversion get in my way. I decided to pick the most promising of the recipes I’d found and roast and stuff miniature bell peppers rather than mushrooms.

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This is one of those summer recipes that has been burning a hole in my pocket. I’ve been dying to make it and (predictably) I’ve jumped the gun because 60 degrees is so not summer. But I just couldn’t wait. With just one look at its rainbow of produce and festive strands of basil, you can smell the smoky wafts off the grill, feel the warm breeze against your skin and hear the tinkling ice cubes buoyed in your favorite summer cocktail. In other words, even if it’s not yet summer, this salad can help you pretend.

It’s an Ina Garten recipe, but really I consider it my friend Brynn’s recipe because she made it a few years back when she hosted a houseful of our college friends for a Chicago reunion weekend. It was met with rave reviews then (as in, there was an unfortunate episode involving me and Brynn and a few others hovering over the leftovers, forks in hand, after a night on the town—not all that unlike a certain other unfortunate incident I owned up to here). And I’ve been making it ever since.

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So I wasn’t lying about this whole grilling-only thing. And, with this recipe, I’ve even managed to turn Salad Monday into a no-indoor-cooking-necessary event. It was the kind of meal that requires no more than opening the fridge and firing up the grill. I’d like to say it was the kind of meal that signaled summer, but at this point summer cannot merely be signaled. It must be cajoled, urged, exhorted, demanded. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. And I hope this meal did its part.

This meal also dovetailed nicely with the shrimp kick I’ve been on lately. There was this salad, of course. And then there’s last night’s dinner, the glow of which I’m still basking in just a little bit, because it involved a new restaurant, some of the best company around and absolutely perfect, succulent prawns. And we’ll be grilling up some more shrimp on Sunday for a post-graduation BBQ (stay tuned!).

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I mentioned yesterday that the haze of exams (what day is it, again?) has me taking a little leave of absence from the kitchen (and the grocery shopping, and the phone call returning and, oh, the finger nails: those could use some help). But that doesn’t mean we’re not eating. Or even that we’re not eating well. For instance, we had a lovely dinner at one of our favorite neighborhood restaurants over the weekend (asparagus and halibut and morels? I thought I’d died and gone to spring (and examless) heaven). And then we were treated to a delicious Mother’s Day cookout at Kevin’s parents’ house on Sunday night.

And the cooking action right here at home hasn’t ceased altogether, either. It’s just that the hub of the culinary activity has shifted out of the kitchen and up onto our deck and right onto our grill which is typically manned by, um, the man of the house. Lately, if I’m studying around the dinner hour, it’s a safe bet that Kevin is sipping an ice cold 312, surveying the Chicago skyline and grilling up some delicious food.

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I’m in the middle of final exams—one today and my last. one. ever. on Thursday. And I have to admit that during the last week or so, meals as we usually know them have fallen by the wayside. There have been bowls of steamed veggies masquerading as dinner, teacups full of Kashi calling themselves lunch and absurd needs for a bite of mint chip ice cream right this very second. And Kevin has had just about enough of the leftover meatball sandwiches.

Given this set of circumstances, I suppose it’s not shocking that I made this pureed fava bean dip, which is the kind of thing that you can lazily graze on while studying. It’s even worth excavating a clear space on my desk, amid the stacks of books and papers. But given how time consuming (to put it mildly) it is to shell fresh favas, it is a bit surprising that that I’ve made this dip three times in the last 10 days.

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Have you heard? It’s Mother’s Day. If you somehow missed the memo, may I direct your attention to the various commercials running incessantly right now? If you’re like me, the sappy music and moving montages have you welling up. And just as you’re about to let a tear spill over, you’ll realize that it’s a commercial for Zales. And it’s reminding you to buy your mother a diamond pendant (starting at $99!). And it totally kills your Mother’s Day spirit. Terrible commercials aside, there are a few ladies that I’m celebrating today.

First, my mom. Really, you’d love her. How do I know, seeing as though I probably don’t know you or anything about you? Just, trust me. Everyone loves her. She’s engaging and generous and warm. She has a knack for finding the most uncomfortable person at a party—maybe someone’s new boyfriend or a last minute add-on or someone slightly out of favor—and befriending them. I’m so happy that there are so many things about her that have woven their way into the fabric of my personality: delighting in throwing parties; making lists about everything under the sun; tearing up at things like “special episodes” of sitcoms (or, um, Zales commercials). And I love to cook with her. I can’t wait to have her here next weekend so we can do just that.

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Well, see, that wasn’t so hard was it? After my first attempt at mint chocolate chip ice cream—which was something of a crushing disappointment—I couldn’t wait to try again. And you kind readers heeded my SOS call and came forth with recipes sure to rescue me. After perusing all of them, I was pretty sure I’d discovered where Recipe #1 went astray.

Martha’s recipe instructed me to blanch mint leaves and then blend them into the milk that forms the base of the ice cream. When I took a gander at the recipes you all suggested, I noticed that a few called for steeping the mint in warm milk and then straining the mint out. Well, I’m no rocket scientist, but this method seemed like a brilliant way to infuse the ice cream with a gentle minty flavor, without allowing an overly strong herbal flavor to eclipse all other flavors.

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I’ve mentioned many times that my sister, Kevin and I have a little weekly tradition that we like to call Family Dinner. But really, we might as well call it “Expanding Ali’s Palate” night. Because somewhere along the line, we went from making crowd pleasers like pizza to subjecting my sister to crazy ideas like salmon, coq au vin and falafel. And, can I tell you something? She loves it. Just last night, I stuck a bowl of fava bean dip (no, I didn’t take photos and yes, I’m sorry) in front of her and she fearlessly dove in and proclaimed it “better than hummus,” which is very high praise indeed.

Not only does she seem to like all these new dishes, but she even requests that we make some of them twice. After Falafel Part I, we took falafel in a new direction with a spring pea falafel recipe (again, no pictures and, again, my apologies). But after we first made these turkey meatballs—about which Ali was way more than a little squeamish, at first—she wanted no variations. She wanted an exact replica. And, knowing me all too well (and thus knowing that repeats are not really my thing), she gently reminded me that I hadn’t even blogged about them the first time around. Well played, Ali.

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Being the week of Mother’s Day, this recipe—for Lemon-Flaxseed Loaf Cake—is very appropriate. Because both my mom and her mom are what one might call flax fiends. They both have seemingly unending supplies of the stuff. My grandma prefers to stir hers into her morning cup of coffee, while my mom takes the OJ route. And they’ve been known to swap sources for the best and the cheapest flax in Minnesota. Hey, when you need your omega-3′s, I guess you have to get them any which way you can.

While I hate to disrespect my maternal elders (oooooh, my mom is not going to like being called an elder), but I will humbly suggest this recipe to them and you as a slightly more delicious way of getting your flax on.

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As law school is drawing to a close, I’m surprised by my lack of nostalgia or my sense of momentousness. Instead, I’m distracted by the 70-degree weather, the plans for my parents’ upcoming visit (graduation) and thoughts of Mother’s Day. And, when I can manage to wrench my thoughts back to, um, final exams, it’s all just a little surreal. I’ve been through this routine five times now and it’s odd for it to be the last and even more weird to finally experience finals without severe bouts of anxiety.

In semesters past, I would be flipping through flashcards (or, more accurately, having Kevin flip through the flashcards, grilling me all the while … which reminds me: he deserves an honorary JD or something) or re-reading cases right now, instead of typing this post. But, these days things are coming a little easier (cruel timing that this laid back spirit is coming exactly when I will never need it again). Maybe I’ve got senioritis or maybe I’ve really got the hang of it. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s this frittata.

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