As summer's end drew closer, so did my need to be ready -- for my senior year of college, for my final season of NCAA soccer (I was the captain of the team), for being someone. For life. These needs seemed like deadlines looming larger by the day. It felt scary. And so Boyfriend and I continued to cash in on our legal age, drinking to dull those deadlines. We kept this up right up until the night before I was to return to campus. That night we drank what could have been called fruit cocktails. They were made, I think, with some sort of fruit juice, mixed with some brand of cheap, clear liquor. We thought they were festive, like something that went perfectly with a grand finale. We partied into the wee hours of the night, until finally, while skinny dipping in a fresh water pond made just a bit too shallow by that dry August, I dove off a dock and felt my head hit its sandy bottom.

I broke my neck.

I would return to campus eventually, but not to play soccer. Doctors would say that I was lucky, that if the crack in my vertebra had been a millimeter longer, I would have been paralyzed. Or worse. I was grateful to have feeling, and I felt lots of things: fortunate, embarrassed and, above all, confused. In trying to find myself, I nearly did myself in.

This month marks the 20th anniversary of my fateful dive and that pivotal summer. My 41-year-old body reminds me often of that warm August evening on the Cape, with persistent little aches and a sound like gravel when I turn my head. I certainly don't indulge in the drink the way I did in 1990. But today, I feel grateful for the aches, and for the burn in my legs, and the wind on my face as I ride my bike the 10 or so hilly miles to the farm, where I'll pick up the makings for tonight's fruit cocktail. I wanted to create something from ingredients that are local and abundant, something more nourishing than intoxicating. Something that tastes authentic and real. I guess I've learned to appreciate those things.

Heirloom tomato bloody marys

Makes two

Southern Succor

Adapted from "American Home Cooking" by Cheryl and Bill Jamison

 

This week, we asked you to booze up your end-of-summer fruit.

THIS WEEK'S WINNER:

Delieite de Dora (the Explorer) -- the new mother's little helper by Mallory S. Langston: What do you do when your adult life has been entirely taken over by your child's? You open up the fridge, find all the juices and fruit snacks you bought for him, stick it in your coffee press, and add some rum!  Even if you don't try this delight for yourself, reading Mallory's story is a vicarious thrill on its own.

THIS WEEK'S CATEGORY WINNERS:

Green Sangria by Linda Shiue: In a lovely tribute to a friend who showed her the traditions and quirks of her Portuguese family, Linda plies us this week with a light sangria, lively with citrus and ginger, made with vinho verde, an irrepressibly refreshing (and unbelievably inexpensive) Portuguese wine.

Beautiful Red Bell (Pepper and Gin) by Gavin Fritton: After an evening, an entire day, a whole summer of blasted heat, make yourself an unusual and unusually refreshing cocktail featuring the clean, sweet flavor of red bell pepper. (And peppers are, of course, technically fruits!)

Peach Old-Fashioned, true Southern succor by Lucy Mercer: When you steep fresh peaches in bourbon, something magical happens, like summer and winter coming together. And when you make Old-Fashioneds out of that peachy bourbon, well, look out.

Black and Blue Scotch Berries by Dollop of Cream: More on the "fruit" side of the cocktail, Dollop says hello this week with a stunning salad of berries dressed with whiskey-infused honey. Why drink when you can eat? 

Heirloom Tomato Bloody Marys by Katrocada: Katrocada once spent the summer reveling in her youth, drinking too many fruit cocktails and making one awful mistake. But now, years later, she enjoys more libations more quietly (though one can hardly call this flavor-packed recipe "quiet"), reveling in her appreciation of life.

PLUS, ALSO, TOO: THE EXCELLENT HONORABLE MENTIONS

Surly-style Sangria by I Am Surly: A can of fruit cocktail, a bottle of cheap wine, and an airplane-size bottle of brandy (I suppose that means the size they serve you on flights, but when Surly's on the go, she may well mean a bottle as big as a plane) will get you the least uppity sangria imaginable. Throw a party with this stuff, and we'll bring the maraschino cherries.

The Most Serious Bloody Mary Ever by Theresa Rice: You may have made bloody marys before, but we're willing to wager that you've never made them like this: cooking down fresh tomatoes with a rack of spices, vegetables, beef broth, jalapeños and cilantro. To those who take their drinking with the utmost seriousness, we salute you!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AND NOW FOR THIS WEEK'S CHALLENGE:

Next weekend, we will celebrate the most socialist of all American holidays -- Labor Day, a day to honor the American worker. (I suppose a number of honorable, Real Americans will intentionally go to work that day.)

And in the spirit of organized labor, there are those dishes that are really best made with a team to help out -- a passel of ravioli or dumplings to fill; a big stew where everyone pitches in to chop; cakes where some bake, some fill, and the one with the steadiest hand frosts. So this week, comrades, share with us your best team-sport recipes. (And dare we hope for an assembly line of fried pies?)

Be sure to tag your posts: SKC Labor Day (Please note that by participating, you're giving Salon permission to re-post your entry if it's chosen as a winner, and acknowledging that all words and images in your post are your own, unless explicitly stated. Adaptations of existing recipes are fine, but please let us know where the original comes from. And if you'd like to participate but not have your post considered for republication on Salon, please note it in the post itself. Thanks!)

Scoring and winning

Scores will be very scientific, given for appealing photos, interesting stories behind your submissions, creativity, execution and the sweat of the working (wo)man. 

Blackberries and blueberries drizzled with honeyed whisky and topped with a dollop of cream. A cocktail and a snack.

The keys here are to use your freshest and best ingredients, like plump blueberries and blackberries, fireweed honey and good, 12-year-old Scotch whisky.

Slainte!

Black and blue scotch berries

Creates 4 snack cocktails

I was lucky to get a closer taste. My "in" was one of my college suitemates, Diane, who grew up not 20 minutes from campus in neighboring Pawtucket. Despite the geographic proximity, the cultural distance between her world and our dorm was so vast, she could have been in the Azores, where her parents came from. Diane did not comprehend the foreign ways of many students on campus, with their drinking games at frat parties and fleeting casual relationships. As the first member of her family to attend college, Diane studied and worked hard during the week, but made no pretense that her real life was anywhere but in her community. She went home every weekend, to her life of Catholic feasts, Portuguese festas, and home-cooked meals of caldo verde, linguica and homemade pão doce.

"Diane não está," her Grandmother would answer when any one of us reached her on their home phone. Diane's grandmother never learned to speak English, but she would recognize when any of Diane's non-Portuguese-speaking friends would call from school and would automatically tell us that Diane was out.

We'd occasionally get a glimpse into Diane's world, when one of us had a car and could drive to meet her at her family's multigenerational, multilevel home on the weekend. While waiting for Diane, we'd sit across from her grandmother and smile, and she'd smile back. She'd offer us her handcrafted pão doce, and it was lemony and dense -- nothing at all like the fluffy stuff we bought in town, and infinitely better. Her home and family were simple, but their bonds were strong, and traditions even stronger.

Diane was the first of my friends to get married, shortly after college graduation. Her former suitemates were invited to the big event. It was a festive affair with scores of relatives and friends so close they were called family. The tables in the simple catering hall were covered with baskets of Portuguese rolls and bottles of Portuguese wine, including the white wine known as vinho verde, literally "green wine." I thought that the "verde" referred to the color of the wine. What I learned is that vinho verde refers specifically to wine from the Minho region in the far north of Portugal, which is described as a largely rural paradise, lush with greenery. Some say that the verdant scenery gave rise to the name of the local wine. More often, the green in the name is credited to the youth and freshness of the wine, and not its color.

The food at the reception, kilos and kilos of it, included the classic caldo verde (kale and potato soup), bacalhau (salted codfish) and a stew of pork and clams. The food was flavorful, the company warm, and the party festive. Amazingly, Diane's proud father cooked the entire meal, enough for 300, to keep a promise to her. He managed to do this despite his failing health. Sadly, he died shortly after the wedding. 

In honor of my Portuguese friend Diane, and the strong bonds of family she shared with me, I am mixing a sangria with vinho verde. Like other white sangrias, it's the lighter, less intense sibling of the sangria family. Vinho verde makes it special because of its citrus notes and gentle natural effervescence. To play on the "verde" in this wine's name, I've added sprigs of fresh mint. This sangria verde is perfect for warm summer evenings with family and friends. It is the perfect accompaniment to an appetizer of figs and goat cheese (queijo de cabra) drizzled with honey.

Saúde!

Green Sangria

Makes 1 pitcher

But thank god we decided to have a drink at the restaurant before dinner. I ordered a sidecar, my standard cooler (which is not the girl drink my wife suggested I was ordering) and I enjoyed it immensely. As we nursed our cocktails and made small talk with our bartender we learned that he was actually a consultant (apparently of some note, nationally speaking) who had been hired to create an array of drinks that would "belong" to the restaurant. I immediately said that for my next drink I wanted him to make me his best drink and I only asked that it be refreshing.

"I'm going to make you a Beautiful Red Bell," he said, which was really something, because I'd always wanted to be a beautiful red belle, but didn't have the complexion or the legs to pull off the necessary dress. Fortunately, the Beautiful Red Bell is a summer drink that relies on gin and ripe red bell peppers. I know the combination sounds odd, but the sweet summery fragrance of the pepper goes with the gin in a way I never would have predicted. I asked for the recipe for the drink and post it here for your enjoyment. This is best served in a cold martini glass, but I have to think that you could make a whole pitcher of these if you wanted to sip languorously on your veranda while watching the fireflies come out in the still of the evening. This may be the best summer drink I've ever had. Better than limoncello, better than a gin & tonic, better even than an ice cold beer standing by the grill while the steaks are cooking.

God knows I wish I had a pitcher of these available to me when, after our dinner, we went home to find that the compressor on our home air conditioner had spontaneously combusted while we were out of the house. Still, the memory of this drink (and a ceiling fan turned to "warp nine") helped keep me cool until the morning when I could call a repairman.

Beautiful Red Bell