Come summer, there's no shortage of cucumbers. Which, at first, can be very exciting. (See: Smashed cucumbers! Crustless tea sandwiches! Grain bowls topped with quick pickles! Eating them plain with flaky salt!)
Until, suddenly, it's not. Which happens for me every year roughly around August 1, the convergence point of well-meaning friends and colleagues sharing their own cuke hauls, and my own overzealous stockpiling of summer produce. At which point my attitude shifts from "Would you look at all of these cucumbers?" to "Would you look at all of these cucumbers?" It's my personal Midsommar.