Weekends can’t come quickly enough now that we’ve passed the Rubicon of the Fourth of July. We need them to banish memories of summer commuting and the stick and pull of work clothes at noon, when you get three feet outside your office and already regret going to the bank. Whether you’re in a friend’s backyard or a city apartment with the air-conditioner on high, the next two months are meant for barefoot padding from Friday until Monday dawn. We ought to cook to match.

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Summer is a cooking season in which there is no set menu save what looks good at the store. That was my objective, anyway, when I went to the farmer’s market to prepare for this meal, intended for a small group of friends but easily scaled up to a lot of friends or down to immediate family. I bought nice tomatoes. I got a fat young watermelon, some baby potatoes, fist-size cabbages, ripe avocados, herbs, a couple of chickens, a huge pile of strawberries, a six-pack of beer. As I shopped, a plan formed in my head for a simple, no-fuss, cook-it-anywhere summer feast. There would be salads: tomatoes and watermelon combined with a sharp tang of feta; grilled potatoes in a dressing, bright with acidity and heavy with bacon fat and smoky chipotle; a slaw reminiscent of tropical beaches. The main event: barbecued chicken with a sauce that nods at the tangy white one made famous at Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q in Decatur, Ala. This is beer-can chicken, essentially, in a silken coat. Corn bread might come on the side and, always, hot dogs. An adult will have a hot dog as an appetizer. A child might eat two and ask for dessert. Speaking of: summer calls for strawberries, macerated in sugar and piled over poundcake, with a billow of whipped cream.