[I'm in Napa, but I put this post together in advance.  If we can't all sip crisp whites and spicy reds together, I'm hoping this is the next best thing.]

Some recipes just have your number.   Call it destiny, or maybe love at first read.  But, before you’ve even made the recipe, you just know.  This recipe—for sweet cherry compote—was one of them.  It has all the elements of my kind of recipe: a project (cherry pitting); a tranformation (rendering cherries from firm globes to slouching folds); color (a deep, seductive ruby—one that flirts, even, with purple); and a marriage of flavors that is equal parts sweet, salty and sour.  Like I said, it was over before it began.

Speaking of destiny: this compote always had one destiny and one alone—a turkey sandwich.  Which is pretty shocking for a girl who, not so very long ago, simply could not abide the presence of fruit on her sandwich.  Be it banana-topped peanut butter, pear-threaded grilled cheese, or cranberry sauce over thick slices of leftover Thanksgiving turkey, my answer would be, emphatically, no thank you.  Maybe even just a firm “no,” dispensing with the “thank you.”  Heck, I didn’t even much like pb&j as a kid (the jelly, of course, being the problem).

I’ve long taken my sandwiches seriously and fruit, for many years, was seriously out of bounds.  My sandwiches fit a predictable pattern: some sort of brownish bread, maybe studded with whole grains or seeds; super-thin slices of turkey; a good heap of greens; a slick of spicy mustard; a white cheese, maybe cheddar, swiss or gruyere.  It was a formula I developed over time, starting, I think it’s fair to say, as early as my elementary school nights, when I dutifully packed my lunch.  (Don’t forget the pickle.)

But I’ve clearly grown up, clearly let my hair down, clearly gone just a little bit nuts in the sandwich department.  Because, these days, fruit is welcome.

And that’s how this cherry compote—saucy and complex and very ready to stain your best white shirt—came to its final resting place: atop a turkey sandwich, built high upon a bretzel roll.   There’s just no messing with destiny.

Sweet Cherry Compote
Adapted from Martha Stewart’s Body + Soul

2 cups sweet cherries, pitted
1-2 tablespoons sugar (adjust based on the sweetness of your cherries)
1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
1 tablespoon water
fresh-ground black pepper, to taste
sea or kosher salt, to taste

Combine the cherries, sugar, vinegar and water together in a heavy pot and bring to a gentle boil.  Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until cherries are nice and tender and liquid is slightly thickened, 12 to 15 minutes.

Remove from heat and season lightly with salt and liberally with pepper. Let stand at room temperature until cool. Serve or store.

As the late summer has slipped into a very autumnal mid-September, I find myself selecting recipe after recipe that allow me to sit on the fence. I don’t want to give up on summer just yet and the continued appearance of summer produce at the farmers’ markets, the occasional sunshine-soaked day and the fact that I still haven’t started my job at the law firm all combine to convince me that I don’t have to give up—not just yet. But there are other things—the early sun sets, the chilly evenings and my daily desire to pull out my sweaters and scarves—hurtling me toward fall.

As my brain see-saws between the two seasons, my palate does the same. One minute, I am craving a light, tart sorbet and the next minute I am hankering for pumpkin, baked into something sweet and tinged with baking spices that must have been born in the fall: cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, clove, ginger. And, well, it’s all rather confusing.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

So, instead of choosing sides, I’ve found recipes that don’t force me to. For instance, the recipe for my mother’s corn chowder: a steaming bowl of soup serves my need to eat cozily, but lacing the soup with golden niblets of fresh corn satisfies my desire to savor summer produce. Friday’s post—a summer squash gratin—did the exact same thing.

Today’s recipe falls into the same category. It’s a pesto—a sauce made for quick summer meals: pop out onto your fire escape/deck/backyard garden, snip a bundle of fresh herbs, and blitz it up in the food processor along with some toasted nuts, freshly-grated parmesan and a few glugs of olive oil. One can of course make pestos all year long, but the muted flavors and the sticker-shock-inducing price tags of the herbs in the little plastic containers in January make the whole experience rather unhappy. So, to me, it’s a summer sauce.

This pesto recipe trades the traditional basil for sage, a fresh herb that to me tastes like a mouthful of fall—earthy and woodsy. In short, it lets me have my cake (fresh herbs, a summer sauce) and eat it too (a fall flavor, comforting and warm). What about you all: is your cooking still staunchly summery? Or have you let summer drift away, preferring gourds and apples and the like? Or are you, like me, deciding not to decide?

Sage-Walnut Pesto

2/3 cup sage leaves
1/3 cup flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/3 cup walnuts, toasted
1/4 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1/4 teaspoon fresh-cracked black pepper
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons freshly-grated Parmigiano Reggiano

Place the sage, parsley, walnuts, salt and pepper in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse the mixture until a coarse paste forms. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. With the processor running, stream in the olive oil until a sauce forms. Transfer the sauce to a small bowl and stir in the grated cheese.

Up Next: Stay tuned tomorrow for a recipe that puts this pesto to use!