You can't really tell when the seasons change by the weather in Los Angeles- the gloomiest weather is in May and June, and some of the most vicious heat is in September (though not, knock wood, this year) and April.

And as I've lived here, I've slowly abandoned almost all of my seasonal dressing rules (especially since I was never good at keeping to them anyway- I have grass is always greener closet disorder, and when there is snow on the ground the only cute things I own seem to be tank tops and strappy sandals, and when it's hot, the only tolerable clothes are my sweaters).

Um, cooking, right? So Saturday I knew that fall had arrived. Not by the weather, and not by my wardrobe (though I did choose a very autumnally colored linen skirt, at least) but by the fact that I was preparing to roast a chicken for the first time since March. It was finally cool enough to turn on the oven- all summer long we have been grilling, and making salads, and grilling.

And boy did I miss that chicken. The potatoes I roasted underneath got extra schmaltzy, too. There's nothing like a combination of potato and fat, really.

Sunday I then kicked the fall cooking into high gear- I baked a country loaf of bread (from Baking with Julia) and made chicken stock and made tomato soup. The soup was great- with homemade stock and tomatoes from the garden, it couldn't really not be. The bread, though, was a little too much like sandwich bread on the inside. I guess you can't really make a good chewy bread without a complicated starter, eh?