One of my greatest regrets of my short blogging career is that I blew through many of my favorite recipes right off the bat—before I learned to snap a decent photo or even really use WordPress. As I’ve mentioned before, patience really isn’t my strong suit. And while I kick myself for squandering quite a few recipes on bad lighting and poor formatting, I regret one recipe more than the rest: our banana bread.

I could write dozens more posts about it—about my continued experimentations with it (I recently cut the sugar in half … and liked it); about how we’ve taken to traveling with it, stashing a loaf deep in one of our suitcases (coughKevin’ssuitcasecough); about how my friend Emily, thanks to the recipe, has now contracted what she calls “a bit of a banana bread problem” that might actually rival my own (to put it briefly: it involves more than one loaf per week; enough said). But noooo, I can’t write about any of this because I already posted on the banana bread way back when.

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

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If you had asked me, right after after I made this panzanella, if there was anything more summery than this colorful salad, I would’ve confidently answered no. After cubing the baguette, quartering the tomatoes, dicing the mozzarella, and julienning the basil; after tossing it all together and letting it relax for a while, so the bread could soften up and the flavors could marry; after testing the balsamic-infused and caper-punctured results, I immediately concluded: this is as summer as it gets.

Since then, though, I keep stumbling upon things that are giving this panzanella a run for its money. The other night for instance, Kevin and I were walking home from dinner, strolling along in a summer-nights-only kind of saunter, purposely ducking down side streets. Halfway through a particularly quaint block—full of old brownstones, low-hanging tree branches and gardens spilling with flowers—we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a fire fly convention. I gasped when I saw the first one light up and by the time I discovered the swarm of his friends—coyly fading in and out of luminescence—I was downright giddy. We stopped and watched the show for a while and I thought: this is as summer as it gets.

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

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As every gal in her 20s or 30s knows, if spring is bridal shower season, summer is bachelorette party season. The season is definitely upon us. Or it’s upon me, at least. As (bad) luck would have it, I was triple booked last Saturday, invited to two bachelorette parties in Chicago and one in Minnesota. I ended up at the party for my friend Brynn (she of the much blogged about engagement party back in January), which was to feature a sail on Lake Michigan and a no-boys-allowed backyard barbecue.

It also included a fair bit of bridal torture, I’m sorry to admit. You see, Brynn is what one might call a “good sport.” She agreed to allow us to surprise her with the plans (something I would surely refuse) and we rewarded her by drumming up a good deal of suspense and sending her a list of things to be sure to bring with her for the big night (which included a four-cup Tupperware container, a stack of singles, a sack of bread crumbs and a pair of shin guards, among other things). Our goal was to throw her off the scent and, needless to say, we had her stumped. She wasn’t sure if we’d be playing a pick-up soccer game in Lincoln Park or feeding ducks at a Humboldt Park lagoon.

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

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I really, really hope that I’m getting this to you in time. Please tell me you haven’t planned a Fourth of July menu yet. Or that, if you have, you’re at least open to being persuaded otherwise. Or that you have the sides all picked out and a bevy of desserts all lined up, but you just don’t know what will anchor the feast that will accompany your fireworks gawking, parade going, sun basking and cold beer sipping. Because have I got the recipe for you.

I try to avoid hyperbole on this site because I know you might grow tired of me and soon you’d just roll your eyes, oh-brothering your way on to the next food blog in your reader. So I try to contain myself most of the time, saving up my over-the-top oohs and ahhs for the really, really special recipes.

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

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Thank goodness. The vegetable party—as delicious as it was—is coming to an end. Kevin’s coming home today and bringing his sweet tooth (which didn’t seem to exist before this blog’s inception) with him. In honor of his return, I made him some cookies: snickerdoodles. They might sound a little run of the mill, but we had them out the other night (they came alongside a selection of (insanely delicious) ice creams) and we both loved them. Also, they’re the perfect homey, simple cookie to say “welcome home.” They’re also tender and comforting and even kind of caramely. The dough is delicious too. Not that I would know.

Now, I’ve got some studying to do before he gets there, so I hope you won’t mind a photo montage of sorts today. Click through to the jump for the play-by-play of this cookie bake (which was quite brief; gotta love a baked good that comes together in the time it take your oven to preheat):

(Click “more” for the photos & recipe.)

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