I’m very late to board the Jerusalem bandwagon, but as they always say: No one’s more devoted than a convert. I always loved the concept, how Muslims and Jews have so much in common in the kitchen in that ancient city. But since getting a signed copy for my birthday half a year ago, I kept picking it up and putting it down, the pages unspattered. Maybe because my consort has been traveling so much lately while I only take guilt trips, I finally decided to put his gift to good use last Friday, Greenmarket Day in our neighborhood, when a vegetarian was among the friends coming for dinner. And the two salads I made to take advantage of the early-summer overload were sensational. One comprised warm spiced chickpeas with cold chopped vegetables in vinaigrette; the other was mostly very spicy carrots. They were perfect for this time of year, when you expect to generate enough trimmings to fill a compost pit (the chickpea salad alone called for tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, peppers, red onion, cilantro and parsley). Yesterday, emboldened, I made the Swiss chard fritters with feta, which were not just quick and easy for lunch but stellar (even The Cat ate half of one before I caught him). A friend whose cookbook judgment is impeccable sent me a review she did noting that while the food always tastes great, the recipes can be potholed [didn’t want to say minefields] and the editing is catch as catch can [dictionary says no hyphens in that phrase]. She’s very right, of course: Measurements are odd (herbs are too often in ounces), and directions often induce head-scratching. Still, if you’re reasonably adept with a knife and stove, you’ll eat well. This morning another friend and I were commiserating at the market because there is suddenly so much to buy when you can’t possibly use all you schlep home. But I just flipped open the book again, to a great-sounding kohlrabi salad, and am now regretting not indulging in a big bunch.