The Sweetest Part of Summer Is the One You Don’t Rush
There are only a few weeks each year when stone fruit tastes exactly the way it’s supposed to.
Peaches drip down your wrist after the first bite. Nectarines are floral and fragrant without needing anything added. Plums are sweet with just enough tartness to keep you reaching for another slice. It’s the kind of fruit that reminds you why eating seasonally is always worth the wait.
This is the season for farmers markets overflowing with baskets of colorful fruit, picnic blankets spread beneath shady trees, and dinners that begin a little later because no one is in a hurry.
Windows stay open. The evenings linger. Dessert often starts with whatever looks best in the fruit bowl.
That’s exactly where this salad was born.
Instead of baking the fruit into a pie or crisp, I wanted to let every juicy slice shine on its own. A handful of ripe peaches, nectarines, and plums become something unexpectedly elegant with just a few fresh ingredients.
Creamy feta adds a salty contrast, mint brings a burst of cool freshness, and toasted hazelnuts provide just enough crunch to make every bite interesting.
A light honey-citrus vinaigrette ties everything together without masking the natural sweetness of the fruit. It’s simple, vibrant, and feels like sunshine on a plate.
This is one of those recipes that works for almost any summer occasion. Serve it alongside grilled chicken or salmon, add it to a brunch spread, bring it to a backyard barbecue, or enjoy it as a light lunch with a crisp glass of rosé or sparkling water infused with citrus.
What I love most is how effortless it feels. No oven. Very little prep. Just beautiful ingredients at their seasonal peak doing what they do best.
Summer has a way of reminding us that the simplest meals are often the most memorable.
A bowl of ripe fruit shared outdoors, conversations that stretch into twilight,
and recipes that don’t ask for much beyond fresh ingredients and good company.
So while the peaches are perfectly ripe and the nectarines are overflowing at the market, savor every bite. Before long, autumn apples will take their place—but for now, this is the flavor of summer.
Summer Stone Fruit Salad with Feta, Mint & Toasted Hazelnuts
Are you reaching for peaches, nectarines, plums, cherries, or something else that’s only perfect for a few fleeting weeks each year? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear about your favorite seasonal traditions.
If you make this recipe…
Tag @ArtfulGourmet on social media so I can see your beautiful creations! Your photos always inspire me, and I love sharing your seasonal dishes with our community.
Happy cooking—and here’s to savoring every delicious bite of summer before the season slips away.
About the Author
Kristen Hess is a food stylist, photographer, recipe developer, and food writer behind The Artful Gourmet. Find more recipes, food stories, and culinary inspiration on her Substack.
One of the things I admire most about Bourdain is that his success story wasn’t neat and tidy.
For years he worked in restaurant kitchens, often struggling, often wondering what was next.
Before he became a bestselling author, television host, and one of the most respected storytellers in the world, he was simply a chef trying to make a living.
Then, at age 44, everything changed.
His bookKitchen Confidentialbecame a phenomenon and launched a second act that nobody could have predicted.
Imagine if he had talked himself out of writing it.
Imagine if he thought it was too late.
Imagine if he never took the chance.
The world would have missed out on one of its greatest voices.
And that’s a lesson worth remembering.
Just because something hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it never will.
Curiosity Is Greater Than Fear
One of Bourdain’s most famous quotes was:
“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts. It even breaks your heart. But that’s okay.”
I think that quote applies to life just as much as travel.
Life isn’t always comfortable.
Building a business isn’t comfortable.
Changing careers isn’t comfortable.
Starting over certainly isn’t comfortable.
But growth rarely happens inside our comfort zone.
The most meaningful things in my life have happened because I was willing to get uncomfortable.
Not because I knew exactly what would happen.
But because I was curious enough to find out.
Bourdain approached the world with curiosity.
He sat down with strangers.
He tried unfamiliar foods.
He visited places most tourists would never go.
He listened.
He learned.
He stayed open.
What if we approached our own lives the same way?
What if instead of focusing on what could go wrong, we focused on what we might discover?
Progress Isn’t Always Visible
One of the hardest things about pursuing a dream is that progress often happens quietly.
You put in the work.
You show up.
You keep creating.
And sometimes it feels like nothing is happening.
I’ve felt that way more times than I can count.
But then I look back and realize something important:
The growth was happening all along.
The connections.
The skills.
The experience.
The confidence.
The opportunities.
They were all building beneath the surface.
Much like a garden in spring.
The seeds don’t bloom overnight.
But they’re growing.
Even when you can’t see it.
That’s why I think summer is such a beautiful reminder to keep going.
Everything around us is proof that growth takes time.
A Bowl of Soup and a Fresh Start
Whenever the seasons change, I find myself drawn back to simple recipes.
Food has always been my way of slowing down and reconnecting with myself.
This Spring Minestrone Soup is exactly that.
Fresh peas.
Tender zucchini.
Green beans.
Herbs from the garden.
Bright lemon.
A little Parmesan.
Simple ingredients that come together to create something nourishing and comforting.
And honestly?
It feels like a metaphor for life.
A handful of small things can become something beautiful when given enough time.
The same is true for dreams.
Spring Vegetable Soup
Serving Size:
6
Time:
45 mins
Difficulty:
intermediate
2 small carrots, diced
2 celery stalks, diced
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 small zucchini, diced
1 small butternut squash, diced
1 bunch escarole, chopped
½ cup peas, frozen
1 tablespoon basil leaves, chopped
1 tablespoon parsley, chopped ¼ cup Parmigiano Reggiano, grated
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus extra for bread and for drizzling on soup
4 quarts chicken stock
1 small ciabatta bread
Sea salt to taste
Pepper to taste
Directions
Sauté carrots, celery and onions in a large stock pot over medium heat, for approximately 5 minutes, making sure that you stir the vegetables while they cook
Add chicken stock to the pan. Increase the heat to high, cover the pan, bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook for 10-15 minutes.
Slice bread into 1” thick slices. Brush slices with the additional olive oil on both sides and place in a sauté pan over low heat. Turn bread slices once and cook until they are golden brown. Place bread in a tray and lightly sprinkle with sea salt. Set aside.
Add butternut squash to the stockpot and cook for 3 minutes.
Add zucchini and peas to the stockpot and cook for 3 more minutes.
Add escarole, basil, parsley, salt and pepper and cook for 4 additional minutes.
Remove two ladles of soup from the stockpot and puree in a blender, then return the pureed soup to the pot (the puree will thicken the soup). Stir and cook for 1 minute, then turn off the heat.
Add some grated cheese into the soup and stir. Ladle soup in individual bowls, drizzle oil and sprinkle additional cheese.
The same is true for healing.
The same is true for starting over.
Serve it on a warm June evening and make a toast to whatever new chapter you’re stepping into.
So Here’s Your Reminder
If you’ve been waiting for a sign to start something…
This is it.
Apply for the job. Launch the business. Write the article.
Start the podcast. Take the trip. Learn the skill.
Make the call. Send the email. Try.
Dreams take time.
Because as Anthony Bourdain reminded us:
“Your body is not a temple. It’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.”
Life is messy.
The path rarely unfolds exactly as planned.
But the alternative—never trying at all—is far worse.
Summer is here.
A new season is beginning.
And maybe your next chapter is waiting on the other side of one brave decision.
Here’s to fresh starts.
Here’s to curiosity.
Here’s to hope.
And here’s to failing gloriously.
Because sometimes that’s exactly how the best stories begin.
There’s a moment, right before it hits the table, when Chicken French announces itself. It’s the smell that gets you first — bright lemon cutting through rich, golden butter, the faintest whisper of white wine lifting off a hot skillet. Then comes the sound: that gentle, satisfied sizzle as thin, egg-battered cutlets settle back into their velvety pan sauce, soaking up every last drop of flavor. By the time the plate is in front of you — chicken nestled on a pretty tangle of linguine, scattered with fresh parsley, glistening under the light — you’re already sold.
If you grew up in Rochester, New York, you didn’t need to be sold. You already knew. Chicken French — or Chicken Francese, if you want to get Italian about it — is as much a part of Rochester’s identity as Xerox, Kodak, Wegmans, and the famous Nick Tahou’s Garbage Plate. It’s on the menu at white-tablecloth restaurants and neighborhood diners alike. It shows up at weddings, baptisms, and Sunday dinners. It is, without exaggeration, the dish of my hometown.
And a few years ago, it became the dish that brought the New York Times to my door.
A Little Dish With a Big History
To understand why Chicken French matters so much to Rochester, you have to understand where it came from — and how it got its confusingly un-French name.
The story starts in post-World War II New York City, where Italian immigrants brought with them a recipe for vitello francese: thin veal cutlets, dredged in flour, dipped in egg, sautéed in butter, and finished with a bright sauce of lemon and white wine. The name meant “veal in the French style” — a nod to the luxurious, buttery pan sauce that felt decidedly Parisian to Italian-American cooks eager to impress their new country. It became a staple on upscale Italian-American menus across the city, cousin to the piccatas and Marsalas that defined the era.
Eventually, the dish migrated north and west, to Rochester’s large, tight-knit Italian-American community. And that’s where things got interesting.
In 1967, a restaurant called the Brown Derby opened on Monroe Avenue in Brighton. Its chef, James Cianciola — known to regulars as Chef Vincenzo — began serving his own version of veal francese, and it quickly became the restaurant’s signature. Watch how they made it at the restaurant back in the day
Then came the 1970s, and with them, a wave of animal-rights protesters who picketed against veal outside restaurants across the country. Cianciola’s solution? Swap the veal for chicken. The result was, if anything, even better — more tender, more accessible, and just as soaked in that irresistible lemony butter sauce.
Chicken French was born. And Rochester claimed it entirely as its own.
No place has embraced chicken francese more warmly than Rochester, N.Y., a city with an illustrious history of great Italian-American cooking
Soon, the Brown Derby added artichoke French, haddock French, cauliflower French. Other restaurants followed. The dish spread through the city like the best kind of rumor, each kitchen adding its own touch — sherry instead of white wine, a handful of grated Romano in the egg wash, a shower of fresh parsley over the top. Today, food historians have half-jokingly suggested the dish should be renamed “Chicken Rochester.” The rest of the world calls it Chicken Francese. We just call it Chicken French.
And we know it’s ours.
The Phone Call I’ll Never Forget
Several years ago, I wrote about Chicken French on my blog — the history, the nostalgia, my recipe, the whole love letter. I adapted my recipe from “ROCgrandma” on AllRecipes and it was absolutely delicious! Seriously one of my favorite dishes ever.
I’m a food stylist, photographer and recipe developer based in New York City (and currently Texas), but I grew up in Rochester, and this dish has always been part of my personal food story. Writing about it felt like writing about home.
The single best use of boneless, skinless chicken breasts? This Italian-American staple, with its lemony, buttery pan sauce.
What I didn’t expect was a phone call from Julia Moskin, staff food writer at the New York Times Food section.
Julia was working on a story about Chicken Francese — what it is, where it came from, and why it had become such a phenomenon. She’d found my post and wanted to talk.
So we did: about the dish, about Rochester’s Italian-American history, about the way Chicken French shows up at every important meal in that city, from casual Tuesday dinners to black-tie wedding receptions. My sister Jenni, who has worked in Rochester’s restaurant industry for over 25 years, joined the conversation — she’d watched the dish evolve from the front of the house, seen every variation imaginable come across the pass.
When the story ran, it was on the front page of the New York Times Food section — both in print and online. My name was in it. My sister’s name was in it. And Julia’s recipe, the one that accompanied the piece, was declared the single best thing you can cook with a chicken breast.
I’ll be honest: I cried a little.
But the story wasn’t finished yet. By December 2018, the New York Times had mined its cooking data for the year’s most popular new recipes. Chicken Francese came in at number one. Number one. Out of every recipe the Times published that year, this buttery, lemony, deeply humble Italian-American dish from my hometown topped the list.
When I read that, I thought about every Rochester kitchen I’d ever stood in. Every Italian grandmother who made this without a recipe. Every chef who’d perfected his or her own version over decades of dinner service. Every Rochesterian who’d ever told an out-of-towner, “You have to try the Chicken French.”
We knew. It just took the rest of the world a little while to catch up.
Why You Need to Make This Recipe
Here’s the thing about Chicken French that surprises people who’ve never made it: it’s genuinely easy. Not “easy for an experienced cook” easy. Actually, truly, weeknight easy. Start to finish, you’re looking at 35 minutes.
The secret is the egg batter. Unlike a traditional flour-only breading, dipping the cutlets in beaten egg first creates a thin, protective coating that keeps the chicken moist and tender even as it browns. It’s the same technique used in Wiener schnitzel and fritto misto — a European tradition that American fried chicken never quite adopted, and honestly, a shame it didn’t.
The other revelation is the pan sauce. Once the chicken is browned, you wipe out the skillet, melt butter, add white wine and lemon juice, let it reduce to a syrupy gloss, then pour in chicken stock and cook it down to something silky and bright and deeply savory. You tuck the cutlets back in, let them warm through in the sauce, and that’s it. That’s the whole dish.
It’s also more forgiving than it looks. The cutlets and sauce can be made a few hours ahead and gently reheated — which makes it ideal for entertaining. Your guests will think you’ve been in the kitchen for hours. You haven’t.
A few things I always do: I add a pinch of grated Parmesan and a little fresh parsley directly to the egg wash — that’s the Rochester way, and it adds depth. I plate it on a nest of linguine so the pasta soaks up the extra sauce. And I always, always add the optional browned lemon slices. They’re beautiful, slightly caramelized, and utterly delicious.
Serve it with something starchy — pasta is traditional — or alongside broccoli or green beans if you want something lighter. Pour a crisp white wine: a Soave, a Chablis, a grüner veltliner. Or Champagne, which, as the Times noted, goes remarkably well with this.
Rochesterians might not agree, but I’ll allow it.
Rochester-Style Chicken French (Francese)
Featured in the New York Times, September 2018. Recipe by Julia Moskin; recipe serving suggestions and styling notes by Kristen Hess.
Yield: 4 servings | Total Time: 35 minutes
Ingredients
2 eggs
2 tablespoons whole milk
1 teaspoon salt, plus more for seasoning
½ teaspoon ground black pepper, plus more for seasoning
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan or Pecorino cheese (Kristen’s addition — the Rochester way)
1 tablespoon freshly minced parsley, plus 3–4 tablespoons for finishing
1 cup all-purpose flour
⅓ cup olive oil
⅓ cup vegetable oil
4 to 6 large boneless, skinless chicken cutlets, thinly sliced
3 to 6 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 lemon, thinly sliced, seeds removed (optional but recommended)
½ cup dry white wine
Freshly squeezed juice of 1 lemon, more to taste
2 cups chicken stock
Instructions
1. Make the batter and prep the flour. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, salt, pepper, Parmesan, and 1 tablespoon parsley until fully combined. Place the flour in a separate bowl. Line a baking sheet with paper towels.
2. Heat the oil. In a wide skillet, heat the olive and vegetable oils over medium heat until shimmering.
3. Bread and fry the chicken. Working in batches, lightly dredge each cutlet in flour and shake off the excess. Dip into the egg batter, let the excess drip back into the bowl, then place in the skillet. Fry, turning once, until golden brown on both sides — about 4 minutes per side. Adjust the heat as needed so the cutlets brown slowly and evenly. Transfer to the paper-towel-lined pan. Repeat with remaining cutlets.
4. Wipe the pan. Remove the pan from the heat and carefully pour off the oil. Wipe it clean with paper towels, then return it to low heat.
5. Brown the lemon slices(optional). Melt 3 tablespoons of butter and scatter the lemon slices across the pan. Cook gently, stirring occasionally, until the slices are golden and beginning to caramelize at the edges, about 3 minutes. Remove and set aside.
6. Make the pan sauce. Add 3 tablespoons of butter to the pan along with the wine and lemon juice. Bring to a boil and cook until the liquid reduces to a syrupy glaze, about 3 to 4 minutes. Pour in the chicken stock, bring back to a boil, and cook until the sauce thickens, about 5 minutes. Taste and adjust with more lemon, salt, and pepper — it should be quite lemony and bright.
7. Finish and serve. Reduce the heat and nestle the cutlets back into the pan. Simmer very gently until the sauce is velvety and the chicken is warmed through, about 4 minutes, turning the cutlets occasionally so they’re coated all over. Lay the browned lemon slices on top. Sprinkle generously with fresh parsley and serve immediately, spooning plenty of sauce over each plate.
Kristen’s Tips
Plate it beautifully: Serve over a nest of linguine tossed with a little olive oil and butter. The pasta soaks up the sauce in the most glorious way.
Make it ahead: Brown the cutlets and make the sauce up to 3 hours in advance. Reheat gently on low heat before serving.
The sherry debate: Rochester restaurants are divided — sherry gives a slightly sweeter, more assertive sauce; dry white wine (I like Chablis or Pinot Grigio) keeps it crisp and clean. Try both and decide for yourself.
Make it your own: Try haddock French, shrimp French, or artichoke French using the same sauce. Once you master the technique, everything tastes better “French’d.”
Come Home to the Table
There’s something I love about a dish that carries a whole city inside it. Chicken French is that for me — every time I make it, I’m back in Rochester, at some long Italian dinner that stretches into the night, with a glass of wine and people I love and the smell of butter and lemon in the air.
I’m so proud that this recipe — and this little corner of upstate New York food history — made it to the front page of the New York Times. And I’m even prouder to share it with you here, in this space, where I get to write about food the way it deserves to be written about: as story, as memory, as something worth gathering around.
If you make this — and I hope you will — I’d love to know. Leave a comment below, reply on Substack, or tag me when you share it. Tell me how you served it, what wine you chose, whether you went sherry or white wine. Tell me if it took you somewhere.
For me, it always takes me home. 💛
About Me
Kristen Hess is a food stylist, photographer, recipe developer, and writer behind The Artful Gourmet. Find more recipes, food stories, and culinary inspiration on her Substack.
And then there are recipes we cook because we miss someone.
Beef Stroganoff falls into the second category for me.
Dad in Vietnam, 1969
One year ago, on January 2nd, I lost my dad. And this dish—creamy, comforting Beef Stroganoff—was his favorite. My mom used to make it for our family dinners back in the 1970s, when evenings revolved around the table, music played softly in the background, and everyone was home.
Nothing fancy.
Just food made with love.
Every time I make this casserole now, I’m transported back to that kitchen. The smell of onions cooking in butter. Egg noodles steaming. A familiar song playing—“Ventura Highway” by America—floating through the house like sunshine.
Food has a way of doing that.
It brings people back.
Me, my Sister, & Dad 1977
The Story Behind This Beef Stroganoff
Beef Stroganoff has a long history, but like many classic dishes, it became something entirely its own in American home kitchens—especially during the 1960s and 70s.
In our house, it was practical and comforting. Ground beef instead of expensive cuts of steak. Mushrooms, sour cream, egg noodles. Sometimes served straight from the skillet, sometimes baked into a casserole so it stayed warm while everyone gathered.
It wasn’t just dinner.
It was routine.
It was togetherness.
It was my dad asking for seconds.
And the smiles on our faces as we enjoyed our delicious homemade meal together at the kitchen table.
This version honors those family dinners—the kind where no one rushed, where conversation mattered, and where love showed up night after night in the same familiar dishes.
Me and Dad, 2001
Why I Still Make This Recipe
Grief has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it—sometimes in the quiet moments, sometimes while stirring a pot on the stove.
Making this Beef Stroganoff Casserole doesn’t feel sad to me. It feels grounding. It feels like connection. It feels like my dad is still nearby, leaning against the counter, waiting patiently for dinner. Or out on the patio listening to his favorite music while enjoying a dram of Scotch and a fine cigar.
If you’ve ever cooked a meal to remember someone, you understand.
And if this dish reminds you of someone you love, I hope you’ll make it for them.
Dad’s 80th Birthday
1970s-Style Beef Stroganoff Casserole
A comforting, classic family dinner—perfect for sharing, remembering, and slowing down.
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cook Time: 1 hour
Servings: 6
Ingredients
2 tablespoons butter
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1½ pounds ground beef
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup beef broth
1 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper, to taste
8 ounces egg noodles, cooked and drained
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and garlic, cooking until soft and translucent.
Add the ground beef and mushrooms. Cook until the beef is browned and the mushrooms are tender. Sprinkle the flour evenly over the mixture and stir well to combine.
Slowly pour in the beef broth, stirring constantly to create a smooth sauce. Reduce heat to low and simmer for about 5 minutes, until thickened.
Remove from heat and stir in the sour cream, Dijon mustard, salt, and pepper. Add the cooked egg noodles to a greased casserole dish and pour the beef mixture over the top. Stir gently to combine.
Bake uncovered for 30 minutes, until hot, bubbly, and lightly golden around the edges. Serve warm and enjoy.
– Serve with a simple green salad or buttered peas for a true retro dinner.
– Leftovers taste even better the next day.
– This casserole freezes beautifully for future comfort meals.
A Song to Cook By
While this dish bakes, I always play “Ventura Highway” by America. It’s one of my dad’s favorite songs—and now forever tied to this recipe. Music, like food, has a way of holding memories gently. And transporting us back in time to happy memories of the people we loved and cherished the most in our lives.
(Perfect for your recipe binder or to pass down as a family keepsake)
Food as Comfort
Food doesn’t fix grief—but it can soften it and comfort us when we miss them the most.
If this recipe brings you comfort, or reminds you of someone you love, I’d be honored if you shared your memory in the comments. We carry people forward in so many ways—and sometimes, it’s through the meals we keep making.
This one’s for you, Dad. 🤍
Ventura Highway, America 1975Me and Dad, 1998Dad’s last Christmas, 2024
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