Chimichurri sounds surely like some exotic Spanish-tinged shimmy, not as sexy as the tango, but definitely better than any line dance - I’m looking at you, Macarena - we’ve got up these ways.

At home, this is a sauce we come back to again and again, and we did so last night for supper, given that summer has returned and our beautiful Webber grill is still like a new toy. The classic, rather machismo way of eating it dripped over slices of a broiled, rare steak, and that’s plenty good. But I think it would work splendidly with some charred chicken, too, or just dripped over a plate of ripe tomatoes and mopped up with crusty bread.

I fall hard for anything that’s heavy on cilantro, but I’ve heard the stories. To some people, cilantro tastes like soap. That it’s not just that they dislike it, but they honestly don’t taste the bright, spritly zing that the rest of us crave. How can these be? Rumor has it that there is a genetic reason for this. I can’t fathom the disappointment of imagine biting into a carnitas taco, only to find your mouth full of the taste of Dial or Downy or Dove. Yikes. I am really sorry for you guys. Really. But come on, is an entire website dedicated to eradicating the herb really necessary? Sheesh. I mean, these guys sell t-shirts. Pink ones, even, for the girls.

So if you’re a member of the above group, or now an aspiring one, you may want to skip this next recipe. Oh sure, a quickly seared flank steak rubbed with a handful of cumin and kosher salt and ground coriander (which, truth be told, is actually dried cilantro seed. This topic is apparently one of great debate on the afore-mentioned website.) and black pepper is just divine on its own. But without The Sauce it just won’t, well, dance.

Flank Steak with Chimichurri adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook

Serves 4 to 6, depending on the size of the steak. Leftovers are a worthy goal. With a fistful of spicy arugula, some toasted hazelnuts or pine nuts, and cucumber, you’d have the makings of a terrific salad.

This cut of steak is really best rare to medium rare. And ensure that it is tender, always slice flank steak very thin on the bias and against the grain.

For the steak:
about 1 1/2 pounds trimmed flank steak
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

For chimichurri sauce:
1 large garlic clove
1 1/2 cups loosely packed fresh cilantro leaves
1 1/2 cups loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/4 cup distilled white vinegar
1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Ready the grill or preheat the broiler. Pat steak dry. Stir together salt, cumin, coriander, and pepper in a small bowl and rub on both sides of steak. Broil steak on hot broiler pan about 4 inches from the heat, turning once, for 12 minutes total for medium-rare. Transfer to a cutting board and let stand, loosely covered with foil, for five minutes. If grilling, grill directly over hot coals, about six minutes each side, to medium-rare and let stand covered with foil after taking off heat.

With a motor running, add garlic to a food processor or blender and finely chop. Add cilantro, parsley, vinegar, oil, cayenne, and salt and pulse until herbs are finely chopped.

Slice steak against grain and on the bias (hold the knife at a 45-degree angle). Serve with lots of sauce.

Setting up a business, of course, is a lot of hard work. I planned on the meeting with Important People, such as accountants and small business experts and the like. I planned on Regulations and Rules, a Logo and Marketing, though I’m still no expert on these things and learning as I fumble along. What I hadn’t planned for is all the recipe testing. I know how to cook, I scoffed. That will be the easy part.

Wrong. First, I can safely say that until two week ago I had never had the occasional to sear sea scallops, then stow them in the fridge for a quick dip in the cool air, then gingerly re-heat them in the microwave. I repeat, I have never done that to scallops. Who would? What kind of crazy person does that?

Me. I’ve also further tortured them by searing them, then freezing them. That explains why - like a pregnant mother-to-be obsessed with thought of watermelon in January - I sent my honey running to Whole Foods before they closed to procure a single, lonely sea scallop (at $2.34 no less - yikes!). If I was a sea scallop, sweet and dainty and delicate, I’d stay far, far away.

A side note: Kelly and I don’t usually eat this way, with this planning, storing and freezing, all this stowing things to eat away for the winter, or just a rough day when we both land, with a thud, on the back door at 8 p.m. I want to hire myself now. I’m not just saying that. I’ve heard of personal chefs who end the day doing what they’ve saved the rest of the world from - calling in take out. Oh no. I’m not going into business to end up like that every day.

But you know what? Most things have turned out okay, much to my surprise, even that sea scallop. It turns out you can freeze a lof of things just fine without compromising much. Which is good, because while I am going to be cooking and stowing away food in the freezer and fridge for my clients, I do not want to become a Casserole Queen. It’s too nice to eat sea scallops.

My chef coat came today, crisp and crackling out of its plastic shell, with “The Good Fork” embroidered in cloudy gray script on the left breast pocket (Daniel, my neighbor, asked if I was in school when I came galloping up to his front door to show off…sort of!). My clogs arrived last week. Friday night, I’ll pack my knives and my pans, and Saturday morning I’ll head to the market and then cook for my first client. Gasp! Egads!

In between, there has been a wedding and a float down a lazy, low brown river with cans of cheap beer, rollercoasters and corn on the cob, and roasted pork, and ice cream sandwiches and wheat beers with orange slices and vodka tonics infused with rosemary, and a few trashy movies. Now we’re moving into a season of caramel apples and smarty-pants foreign films on weekday evenings. We are moving into a season of homework, folks.

I like mine, though. I am so excited about cooking for people the way I love to eat. I am so excited to take care of them and feed them well. Hopefully I can keep doing the same for myself.

Luckily, I’m pretty easy to please. Sure, I like purple potatoes and fancy cured meats and zucchini blossoms, fava beans and cornichons and mussels and lots of oysters on the half shell, but at the end of the day, our at home summer supper is sort of an endless variation on a theme.

So here is it is, the September-late August rendition of a tomato salad, inspired and pirated from the witty, wonderful pastry cheftress Dorie Greenspan, which was in turn lifted from Dan Barber, the chef at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. The last of my backyard tomatoes, still sweet and juicy, paired with silky peaches, basil, sea salt, pepper and just a slick of good olive oil. Maybe a slice of proscuitto, if it is on hand, just for some more salty contrast. Lord. We slurped down our third plate of this in the last few weeks this evening, with deep bowls of corn chowder on the side.

I feel silly giving you all a recipe…but protocol requires it, I suppose…

Take one largish tomato, slice thinly and arrange on a plate. Do the same with a ripe peach or two (no excuses this time of year if you live in most of the United States. I just know you can track down a localish peach and have the patience to let it ripen for two or three days on the kitchen counter. The same for Herr Tomato). Chiffonade a few basil leaves. Sprinkle on the peaches and tomato. Drizzle very lightly with good olive oil, dust lightly with sea salt and pepper and a few thin slivers of proscuitto, if it happens to be around. Don’t put too much effort into this salad, even though the calendar says it’s back to school time and all that. We can still hang on for a few weeks.