Seafood parfaits are perfection on a hot summer’s day. I love mine layered with Mexican ceviche, freshly made fruit salsas and crisp shredded lettuce. No stove or grill required because the fish is “cooked” with citrus juice.

Ceviche is popular around the world, especially in the coastal areas of South and Central America, Mexico and the Caribbean Islands. The classic recipe includes firm-fleshed fish such as talipia, shrimp, scallops, sea bass, petrale and mackerel cut into bit-sized pieces and marinated with lime or lemon juice and mixed with chiles. My ceviche calls for ½ pound of fish that when combined with salsa pico de gallo (chopped tomatoes, onion, chili cilantro, salt and pepper) produces enough for four to six seafood parfaits.

Gorgeous, flavorful salsas add depth, color and texture to the parfaits. I use three in mine: salsa pico de gallo, salsa de melon (cantaloupe) and salsa de aguacate (avocado and tomatillos). And no, you won’t be in the kitchen for hours. In fact, they are all ridiculously easy. Basically, chop, chop, chop, mix and spritz or blitz. Done.

The one thing that is absolutely critical to great salsas is fresh, ripe produce preferably from local farms or your garden. I’ll stop short of insisting that you avoid supermarket produce. But know that the hard, flavorless stuff found there will disappoint. Big-time.

Crunch comes from a small amount of shredded lettuce. I prefer Romaine in this particular parfait because the bright green color sets off the orange melon and white fish.

Assembling the parfaits is a breeze. Focus on color, texture and making sure that each bite offers an enticing blend of flavors. I want those at my table wowed from the moment they see their parfait until the very last morsel.

Pick a pretty glass—I love the simple elegance of a long-stemmed martini glass. The first ingredient you place in the glass will serve as the last bite, so I like to make it a delicious surprise: a lightly salted—few grains only—cantaloupe ball. Cool, sweet, salty, divine.

The trick to building the layers is not to overfill; a couple of tablespoons or less is best. That way each layer melds into the next, making each forkful a new taste experience.

How you layer the parfait is up to you. I sprinkle a bit of shredded lettuce over the cantaloupe ball, add some ceviche, the salsa de aguacate, more lettuce, ceviche, the salsa de melon and upward. I sprinkle the melon over the top because it’s pretty and helps those new to ceviche begin with the familiar.

I top my parfaits with homemade corn chips cut in long triangular shapes from tortillas. They a give a good crunch and soaring architectural look. If you live near a Mexican market, check out their chile-flavored purple, green and orange tortillas. They are delicious and fry up easily. If this is more than you can deal with, bagged chips are perfectly acceptable.

Summer won’t last forever. Grab a spoon and dig in!

Print a copy of the recipes for your convenience.

White Fish Parfait

Salsa Pico de Gallo

Salsa de Melón

Salsa de Aguacate (avocado and tomatillo sauce).

You may also enjoy my illustrated, step-by-step instructions for making:

Mexican Salsa de de Aguacate

How To Make Chips

Sun’s out! Temperatures in the 70s predicted for the next 10 days. Summer has finally come to Sausalito after weeks of cold, wind and rain. Wahoo! I’m ready. Sandals on, fans out, kids’ wading pools filled and water toys at the ready. Best of all, I just finished making a huge stash of popsicles.

My absolute favorite is chocolate mocha. These icy treats are rich, dark and creamy; the perfect treat for mommies watching the kids splashing in the pool and running happily through the sprinkler. I always make a double (maybe a triple) batch so there are enough to share with others. I’ve been known to hide them deep in the freezer.

These sweet treats are easy to make and much tastier and more economical than store-bought.

Print a copy of my Chocolate Mocha Popsicles for your convenience.

Summer, are you coming anytime soon? I’m confused. One day, I’m shivering, the next it’s all blue skies, and then I’m back in my sweaters and boots again. No wonder I’m craving a big plate of rustic Tuscan Panzanella (bread) salad. It’s sunshine on a plate!

Just look at that. What’s not to love about plump cherry tomatoes and crisp peppers colored red, orange and yellow; thin slices of onion and cucumber, basil, capers and cubes of crusty day–old bread—all dressed simply with oil and vinegar.

Oh my. Savor the flavor explosions with each bite. Smell the basil! It’s the scent of hope.

Summer, get a move on.

Print a copy of Panzanella Salad for your convenience.

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My alarm clock shatters the early morning quiet at 2:15 a.m., heralding the start of the royal wedding in London.

I slip out of bed and quietly make my way down the stairs to the kitchen. Switching on the lights I startle the sleeping cats, who immediately demand food. Next, for me: strong black coffee and a homemade drunken scone filled with plump, brandy soaked currants. Now the TV is on and my laptop is humming. Hello, world! I’m ready if you are.

Queen Elizabeth arrives looking spiffy in an elegant yellow suit with clean, modern lines. The matching hat is good. A commentator notes that she’s owned over 5,000 in her life. I look stupid in hats and avoid them at all cost.

The camera scans the abbey showing everyone dressed to the nines. Lots of hats. I wonder what they’d do if someone from the San Francisco stage show, Beach Blanket Babylon showed up in one of their outrageous iconic hats. Probably chaos, but then I would love wearing one of those—stupid or not.

I pour some more coffee, butter the scone and spoon on a bit of blackberry jam with extended pinky-finger. Very British, you know.

Kate—the bride arrives looking radiant, poised and beautiful. A commoner at this moment, but a born queen. Let’s hope the royal family knows what they have here and treats her well.

The tender moments—the humanity of the wedding shines as Kate’s father, Michael Middleton, joins her. He’s a very successful man from humble beginnings giving his beloved baby girl to the man she truly loves, and to England as their future queen.

Father asks her, “Are you ready?” and she answers, “Yes”. Together they start her historic walk down the aisle to music and camera shots that remind me of the wedding scene from the film, Sound of Music.

The scene is glorious. Westminster Abbey always takes my breath away whether on TV or on site. This is my favorite area with its soaring ceiling, dark aged wood, blue walls and black and white-checked floors. It always looks much larger on television than in actuality. Today everything is set off with crimson red. Exquisite.

With the global family watching and smiling, Prince Harry turns for a quick peek at the bride. (William could not look until she arrived at the alter.) Mischievously, Harry leans in and says something like, “She looks gorgeous. You should see her.” Wicked fellow.

As the ceremony begins, a friend calls via Skype from New Delhi, India. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon there and all the women of the family are sitting around the TV. Other friends come online and others never show. I figure the California group turned off their alarms, rolled over and went back to sleep.

With the “I do’s” over and everything signed and official, William and Catherine—now a royal— walk down the aisle as husband and wife. They stop to visit with the queen and she looks pleased. Maybe she’s relieved that the royal future is looking up, or maybe—like the rest of us—she simply loves a good romance.

As they head out to the fairytale horse-drawn carriage, I head to the kitchen for a second scone and more coffee. I know, I know—two’s too many, but they are so good I can’t resist.

Soon the posh crowd disperses. I chuckle at the thought of them all in constricting ensembles, hats and high heels. I on the other-hand sit comfortably wrapped in a blanket-sized red pashimina shawl with my bare feet propped on the coffee table. No swollen feet or sore tootsies in my immediate future.

Back in London, the people fill the streets in celebration. Wildly waving thousands of red, white and blue Union Jacks, they cheer, laugh, cry and seal a lifetime memory as William and Catherine’s carriage passes by on its way to Buckingham Palace. To some it might look like just another street party, but I like to believe it’s something more. I hope the world still retains some faith in fairytales.

Slept through the wedding? Don’t fret—you’re still in store for a royally good treat. Here’s the recipe for the drunken scones with currants soaked in brandy. They’re light and positively out-of-this-world good. Here, let me warm one up for you. Really. Take it or I’ll eat it—and three are no good for my hips.

Leftovers—who says that they have to be boring? At my house a juicy roasted chicken and rice one night often means a big pot of spicy mulligatawny soup the next. No one is ever disappointed.

If you’ve never heard of this beloved Anglo-Indian soup, you’re in for a treat. Indian cooks all have their favorite versions, but the soup basically combines a fragrant curry broth with cooked chicken pieces and rice, fresh lime juice and cilantro. Rich and deeply flavorful, it at once warms the soul and nourishes the body.

I learned how to make mulligatawny soup from my friend Leela Manilal during one of our marathon cooking sessions. We were into the third day of recipe development and had lots of leftovers. Always frugal, Leela stressed the importance of never wasting food but re-working dishes into new and exciting meals the second day.

Everyone at our table that day called mulligatawny “the soup with the funny name,” so Leela patiently coached us in its correct pronunciation. She told us that the name comes from the Tamil language and means “pepper water.” I thought that a tad strange, as there is no pepper in the base recipe (though there is a bit of chile).

Fast forward to my kitchen last Saturday as I prepared lunch for some friends. I find picking chickens for this recipe boring, but am driven forward by the promise of a kitchen filled with the scent of sautéing onions, garlic and ginger. As I stirred in the coriander, earthy cumin, golden turmeric, red chili powder and Turkish bay leaves, my tummy growled with anticipation.

With the soup pot simmering, I decided to set the table on the deck and take full advantage of a small window of warm sunshine on an otherwise dreary day. I covered the table with some beautifully gauzy orange Indian fabric and got out my favorite Jaipur Blue pottery—all hand carried from India over the years. Their brilliant colors and patterns are the perfect contrast for this reddish soup. In this pretty setting, my humble but inspired pot of leftovers became the high point of the weekend; good friends, good food and time to catch up on everyone’s life.

I ladled the piping hot soup into bowls and encouraged my friends to help themselves to rice. None of the guests had ever added rice to soup this way, or spritzed in fresh lime juice. Some commented on the taste and beauty of the contrasting green cilantro leaves as they sprinkled them on top. We all inhaled the divine scent with each bite, and agreed that mulligatawny soup is sensational.

Could things get any better? Well yes, they did. I brought out a large basket of warm naan, the Indian flatbread, as a special treat. Some guests dipped it into their soup while other simply devoured it. I told them that I found it in the artisan bread section of my local market, but they could also find it in Indian markets and restaurants.

The afternoon flew by as we savored every last drop of soup. One guest looked at me and laughed, “I guess there won’t be any leftovers today, so you’ll have to create something new tomorrow. Can I come for dinner?”

Get a printable Mulligatawny Soup for easy reference.