Opinion

The record-breaking heat searing the world this summer has caused terrible suffering. And events such as the wildfire smoke drifting down from Canada into the United States have put some seasonal treats out of reach. But we asked Post columnists and writers to describe the most pleasurable way to keep cool — not necessarily the most effective or efficient, but the one that best combines joy and relief.

Everything seems more pleasant on a porch. Drinks are more refreshing. Reading material is more engaging. And time seems to have its own rhythm as the breeze and the chirp of songbirds counterbalance the list of commitments that march through our brains.

A porch is more than a place. It is a state of mind. This is where they really gained architectural popularity as opposed to overseas alternatives such as loggias, verandas or porticos. Some historians argue that porches in America might owe their origins to enslaved people who built their own simple dwellings with overhanging roofs like those that sheltered entryways in their African homelands. Porches were ubiquitous until air conditioning, suburbanization, television and the automobile ushered in the decline of front porch culture. Front porches became a quaint relic enjoyed when you visited grandparents or the grand Victorian homes in a town’s historic district.

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With climate change pushing temperatures to the stratosphere, the front porch should return as a central feature of American home architecture.

Beyond curbing the urge to crank up the air conditioning, porches can pull us away from TV screens and gaming consoles. And those covered spaces that open to our neighbors can foster stronger community bonds.

Years ago, I heard about an experiment in the Norfolk area in which builders installed front porches in public housing. The porches gave people a chance to display pride of place with flowerpots and wind chimes. They created a communal link for people who could greet kids on their way to school and neighbors heading off to work.

And the porches meant suddenly lots of people had their eyes on the corner where some young folks were making mischief and selling drugs. A battle of wills ensued between the young toughs who didn’t want neighbors in their business and the porch-sitters who wanted to perch on their rockers or folding chairs in peace. The porch-sitters won. It was a small victory in a rough neighborhood that didn’t often post gains against encroaching blight.

This story resonated with me. My grandparents in Birmingham, Ala., had a bustling front porch. Every house along Avenue G did, and those semipublic elevated “living rooms” created a loving and sturdy tether among the families on the block. People could greet each other or visit for a spell without invading personal space.

In a world that is getting hotter, where communities are ever more divided, where kids need more of our attention, and where we sleep with machines that produce the sounds of crickets instead of listening to that night music in real time, front porches deserve a roaring comeback. —Michele L. Norris

Above all, the color. Is there a more beautiful drink than the Aviation, with its mood indigo? We can talk about the history of this drink, and the history of flight, and the many elements that come together to create the refreshing, tangy, summery flavor. But nothing is as important as the purple: the color of grape jelly, or amethyst, or a wee octopus.

Better yet: the color of clouds a little after sunset, as seen from the cockpit of a Prohibition-era flying machine — Amelia Earhart’s Avro-Avian biplane, for instance. July 24, in fact, is Earhart’s birthday — if she were still alive, she’d be 126 years old this week. And so a lovely, thoughtful Aviation cocktail is a way of celebrating not only summer but also all the pioneering aviatrixes who showed that women could have adventures, too.

Aviation cocktail recipe from The Washington Post

The recipe first showed up in a 1916 book called “Recipes for Mixed Drinks,” written by bartender Hugo Ensslin of New York’s Hotel Wallick. There’s no mystery about the name: It was called the Aviation because at the turn of the last century, flying machines were all the rage, the early-20th- century version of the Hula-Hoop or the Segway scooter. The drink called for two ounces of gin, a half-ounce of maraschino liqueur, three-quarters of an ounce of fresh-squeezed lemon juice, and — drumroll, please — the precious quarter-ounce of crème de violette that provides the color.

But when that key ingredient became almost impossible to find after its primary producer shut down in the 1960s, the drink disappeared. In time, the Aviation become as obscure as — well, say, early aviation pioneers such as Bessie Coleman or Harriet Quimby.

Then, in the 2000s, as craft cocktails came back in fashion, a new importer brought crème de violette back to the United States. Nowadays, you can find Aviations on lots of menus. Most of them are the proper color, although you still have to be careful. I’ve been served more than a couple of gray ones. Those Aviations need to be sent back to the gate for “maintenance.”

For those who dislike the sweetness of the crème de violette, there’s good news: Empress 1908 gin, made with butterfly pea blossoms and other botanicals, has a gorgeous indigo color. You can use that instead, reduce the crème de violette to a splash and still get a nicely balanced drink. Which is also purple.

There is no shortage of things to worry about this summer. Drinking an Aviation won’t make them go away. But for a short moment, you can hold this cocktail in one hand — I recommend a brandied cherry as garnish — and remember a time when soaring above the clouds was new.

“Flying might not be all plain sailing,” Earhart once said, in a phrase that holds true of both aviation and an Aviation, “but the fun of it is worth the price.” — Jennifer Finney Boylan

How do you like to cool off in the summer? Post Opinions want to hear from you.

It’s so hot in Texas, I pay to voluntarily put myself in a fridge: specifically, the cold room at King Spa and Waterpark in Dallas’s version of Koreatown.

For a $40 fee, you can spend the whole day into the night at this Korean-style bathhouse and sauna, or jjimjilbang. Attendees can float from various dry sauna rooms, among them an infrared light room, a salt room and a super-heated sudatorium, to hot tubs and plunge pools. You can pay extra to get massages, facials and other beauty treatments. You can also order Korean beef and rice, and drinks from the bar and restaurant.

I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time in the spa’s cold room, which is basically a freezer. I alternate between the cold rooms and the warm baths. When I’m done, I feel refreshed and sleep much better.

But temperature relief isn’t the only renewal the spa offers. Though guests are given pajamas to wear for the pool rooms, you have to strip naked. I’ve actually made some new friends in the baths. There’s something about stripping down that makes it easier to connect. And it’s even better than bonding with sweaty strangers as we leave an air-conditioned safe space for triple-digit heat.

A South Korean bathhouse experience is a chance to escape to another country. Not everyone has this opportunity: The heat is killing Texans and sending them to the hospital. I’m aware that my access to and ability to pay for cooler spaces are privileges. But these spas are a testament to Texas’s rising diversity and the new strategies it gives us to beat the heat. — Karen Attiah

Are there sweeter summer sounds than the bleat of a lifeguard’s whistle announcing the end of adult swim and then the splashes of children wading back into the public pool? There is no happier way to cool down than to teach a kid how to swim.

Helping kids master the water takes attention but not much physical effort. Gliding a baby through the pool at a stately pace takes less effort than rocking one on land. Lack Michael Phelps’s speed? No problem: It’s easy to keep pace as an eager early swimmer churns through the water. Catching a child as she launches herself off the pool deck at least a dozen times is an excellent way to enjoy a reinvigorating spray.

Once kids gain confidence, they’ll make tremendous use of their new bodily freedom: lolling and flipping like seals; bobbing through “Ring Around the Rosie”; ducking underwater and bursting to the surface triumphantly brandishing cheap diving rings like treasure from a wrecked galleon. Everyone, except for the focused lap swimmers, gets to be childlike in the pool. Parents, too, can do underwater somersaults or make goofy breath-holding faces.

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As an added social benefit, teaching a child to swim can prevent pleasure from transforming into tragedy. Drowning is the leading cause of death for children ages 1 to 4 and a major killer of kids 5 to 14. For every child under 18 who dies by drowning, seven more need emergency treatment, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Lifeguards are in such short supply, and those who are working might not be properly trained.

A kid who is strong and competent in the water is a kid who is safe and free to have fun. Let the whistle blare and the cannonballs commence. — Alyssa Rosenberg

The art of keeping cool in sweltering heat and humidity isn’t an art at all. It is a skill best developed when one is too young to register the discomfort of living in a jungle, which best describes Florida in the 1950s.

I was born in Florida, where my first gulp of air was hot and moist. I don’t remember wishing it weren’t so hot because I knew no different. But lately, with heat waves more reminiscent of deserts than lake shorelines, my early adaptations have required some upgrading.

It used to be that few, if any, people had air-conditioned homes. We stayed outdoors during the days and slept with the windows open, the better to appreciate the primal sounds coming from the lake and to imagine the swarms of fish that perfumed the air. (I once described the aroma as a bucket of minnows, which, granted, isn’t something you’d find at a Saks cosmetics counter.) Sheets never touched our bodies. A huge fan at the top of the stairs sucked the hot air out — to make room for more hot air to enter.

Yet no one complained because in those good ol’ days, parents didn’t tolerate whining or much else. And not whining is the best way handle summer heat.

Also air conditioning. This miracle entered our lives when I was about 10. Because I kept my room tidy, I was awarded a window unit, while my brother received what little air made it across the hall. I wouldn’t declare any causative effect, but he became a Marine in 1968 and found Vietnam’s climate reasonably hospitable, while I figured out a way to work indoors.

In lieu of air conditioning, the trick is to stay wet inside and out as much as possible. We spent summer days bobbing in the lake. At night, we took showers and returned to bed with wet heads. I also discovered that I could cool off by running my hands and feet under cold water. A damp kerchief around the neck is helpful. Sucking on ice cubes (I prefer crushed) also helps.

These are old-fashioned, common-sense solutions to an ancient problem. Barring relocation to better climes, keep your head, neck, hands and feet wet — and stop your whining. It’s summer. — Kathleen Parker

Ideally, I would escape the summer’s sweltering heat by plunging into a kettle pond, luxuriating in the glacial melt of a northern river or paddling out on a surfboard to meet a swell. But when a busy, hot day in the city doesn’t present those options, I settle instead for an intimate moment with my ice tray.

A former colleague at the Boston Globe used to joke that I should stick my head in the freezer whenever an irate politician or ornery writer was giving me hell. I can’t remember the exact date or provocation, but on some sultry afternoon during the summer of 2020 — while covering the protests following George Floyd’s murder as covid deaths were soaring and a high-stakes presidential election was barreling toward us — I took her advice literally. I opened the freezer drawer and dove headfirst into the frozen peas.

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The result was miraculous. The icebox not only cooled my temper and my body but was an instant pick-me-up. I expected an ice cream headache, but instead felt as if I was atop a summit in the Italian Alps, sipping crisp mountain air and an espresso. I had discovered my heat-wave ritual, one that I could, if desired, time to the length of the on-theme Motown soundtrack blasted at full volume.

Another bonus is that you can’t take yourself too seriously when you are folded downward-dog-style into the freezer, even if (or especially if) you are also contemplating cryonics.

There’s no need to abandon all rationality, however. Sleep expert and psychologist Aric Prather has published a book in which he prescribes putting your head in the freezer instead of drinking midafternoon coffee — because the cold jolts you awake, and caffeine disrupts your nighttime sleep. Learning this made me feel more virtuous about my practice, though I can’t say it has cooled my craving for cold brew.

With this year’s historic heat waves, the bigger the ice box, the better. So, if you know a butcher with a walk-in freezer, butter him up. — Bina Venkataraman

Ice cream is the creamy, incarnate essence of almost all that is best in childhood memory: the birthday wishes that almost came true; the thrill of an ice cream truck jingling in the distance; the icy-cool perfection dissolving on your tongue as you ran down the boardwalk with a cone in one hand and your best friend’s fingers in the other, occasionally stopping to trade licks.

Nothing is better than ice cream for restoring soul and body when the mercury is pushing 90.

Except, that is, for homemade ice cream.

Yes, there are drawbacks to making your own ice cream. You cannot eat it 15 minutes after you think “I would like some ice cream.” It is messier than reaching into a freezer case or watching a soft-serve machine dispense its delightful ooze. Homemade ice cream requires a certain amount of equipment and a modicum of cooking skill.

So why bother? Ice cream fresh off the churn is far more delicious than even the most super-premium of commercial brands — made even more so by the fact that you can have it just as you like it. Do you like extra vanilla? Toss in another half-bean or teaspoon of extract. Are you craving chocolate-peanut-butter-swirl-with-butterscotch chips? You won’t find that in your grocer’s freezer case. Would you like to try candied bacon ice cream? Crank up the machine.

Modern appliance manufacturers are making it ever-easier to concoct great ice cream. Cuisinart’s acclaimed 1.5-quart ice cream maker will set you back less than $70 — about the cost of one trip to a fancy ice cream parlor with a large family. All you need to make a delicious ice cream base to put in the ice cream maker is a reliable thermometer that costs but a few dollars. And if you’re feeling lazy, there are also recipes for making ice cream in a blender.

Why are you still sitting there reading? Head to the kitchen and make delicious new summer memories for everyone. — Megan McArdle

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The record-breaking “heat dome” might be new, but Texas summers have always been toastier than anyone should have to endure. Union Gen. Philip Henry Sheridan, who served on the Rio Grande frontier in the 1850s, is said to have remarked: “If I owned Texas and hell, I would rent out Texas and live in hell.”

Instead, we native Texans stayed, and started a deep and enduring love affair with air conditioning that made the Sun Belt’s explosive population growth possible.

As far back as 1928, my hometown, San Antonio, boasted the first high-rise office structure in the country with the marvel of “manufactured weather”: the 21-story Milam Building. The following year, San Antonio became the first city in the state to have a fully air-conditioned movie theater, the Majestic.

Nothing, however, matched the temperature-controlled achievement that became known as the “Eighth Wonder of the World.” Houston’s Astrodome opened in 1965 as the largest air-conditioned space ever. Forty-one million cubic feet of summer comfort. Baseball would never be the same.

Now that AC is ubiquitous, Texans do their best never to venture outside its embrace in the summer. It is possible to go days or even weeks moving from air-conditioned home, to air-conditioned car, to air-conditioned office, and back again in reverse, with perhaps a stop at an air-conditioned shopping mall in between. I’ve known people who on milder days drive their convertibles with the top down and the AC cranked up.

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Of course, there have always been some among us who do not have this kind of luxury. They are all around, many of them recent immigrants, working jobs that must be done outdoors. All of them deserve even the tiny pleasures that basic heat protection measures have to offer.

Which made it an act of appalling cruelty and hypocrisy when the Republican-controlled Texas Legislature (whose workplace, the Capitol, got central air-conditioning in 1955) recently passed a law, effective Sept. 1, nullifying, among other local ordinances, those that mandate water and sun-protection breaks for people who work outside.

Former Texas agriculture commissioner Jim Hightower, every Texan’s favorite populist Democrat, proposed in response: “No lawmaker or lobbyist is allowed to oppose heat protections for workers unless they spend July and August with no air conditioning for themselves.” Do I hear a second? — Karen Tumulty