Ode to the Garden Tomato . . .

 

About this time of year you know you have hit the mother-lode of deliciousness when someone gifts you with a bag or a basket of fresh home-grown tomatoes.  Most years we have grown our own, but this year we just never got any in. Thankfully our friends did, and they are at that point now where they have so many they don't know what to do with them and are happily gifting them to all and sundry.  I would not be surprised if at church this Sunday there is a bag full of them sitting on the table in the entryway, free for the taking. 

If you ask anyone worth their salt what is one of the best things about late summer, aside from corn on the cob, they will gleefully answer "Fresh Tomatoes!"  I grew up in small towns and if there is one thing small town people appreciate above all else, it is fresh summer tomatoes, home grown, fresh picked, with the warmth of the sun still on their shiny red skins! 

 

I have a thing for summer fresh tomatoes.  They thrill me to no end.  I come by it naturally. In the summer time my mother always had fresh tomatoes sitting on her counter-top in a bowl. all red and shiny. She taught me to never put your tomatoes in the refrigerator and that refrigeration could ruin a good tomato. If you know any different, don't burst my bubble. 

A tomato is one fruit that will continue to ripen after it's picked and I have lived in many a house where the window-sil dressings of August came as line-ups of  garden tomatoes, in shades of red and  green . . .  a cornucopia and representation of the many stages of tomato ripening. 

  

My mother worked as the time-keeper in a male dominated section on the Airforce base that I spent most of my formative years living on.  Most were civilian men who had jobs doing maintenance on the many homes that the base kept to house their married personnel.  Mom was a cutie pie with a great sense of humor, and these were mostly country men who had, dare I say it . . .  light crushes on her.  Men who kept gardens and men who would gift her with bags of tomatoes (and cucumbers) in the late summer.  Mom would bring home a bag or two just about every second or third day.  We had permission to eat them to our hearts content and I learned to love eating tomatoes just like apples. They were always delicious,  with skin that snapped beneath the teeth . . .  the flesh sweet and juicy, shirt destroying.

One of my favourite summer treats however was the humble tomato sandwich  . . .  and we ate plenty of them. 

 

There is an unwritten law about what properly constitutes the perfect fresh garden tomato sandwich.  Longstanding rules which can't and shouldn't be broken  . . .  

First you need soft white bread.  Nothing artisanal, or organic with fifty two grains and seeds. Just plain soft white bread, and the truth is cheap white bread is probably the best.  We used to have Sunny Bee Bread.  Its made with honey, or at least that is what the commercials always told us.

 "Sunny Bee Bread is made with honey, boys and girls might think that funny, but honey makes Sunny Bee Bread so good, tastes the way only good bread should." 

Purists would say then you need mayonnaise, and plenty of it, aschewing Miracle Whip as food from the Devil himself.  Mom always favoured Miracle Whip . . . or Kraft Salad Dressing if she could get it . . .  and in all truth I would too if I could get it over here. Its what I grew up on, but I can't get either one of those and so I choose Hellman's.  

You want lots of it, more than your family Doctor recommends. Just slather it on that cheap bread. Come on, its summer and this is supposed to be a treat. What does that Doctor know about the sanctity of a Summertime Tomato Sandwich, the Holy Grail of the Sandwich Kingdom.   Calories and fat on a this sandwich just don't count, or even merit pondering about.  Just seize the moment. Carpe Diem and all that!

Salt and pepper.  Plenty of pepper  . . . a sprinkle of salt  . . .  nothing fancy.  Just thick slices of  tomato, plenty of mayo, salt and pepper on cheap white bread.  Nectar of the Gods  . . .  and a tasty bite of summer in every mouthful.  Messy to eat, but oh-so-delicious . . . 

Its 7 a.m. and I am wanting a tomato sandwich for breakfast.

And why not.  Indeed . . .  just why not.  

 

We went to Costco the other morning as I needed a few things that I like to have in the house.  Todd loves his morning Instant Quaker Oats with Golden Syrup.  He has a bowl of that every morning, and he squirts even more golden syrup on them before he eats them, or honey if we have a squirty bottle of it in the cupboard. I don't know how he gets away with it.  The boxes of them in the shops cost a couple of quid each and you only get about six packets in them.  It just makes sense to pick it up at Costco where you can get a box of 50 for £7, or less when it is on offer. 

I love the meat in Costco.  I am always eye-balling the Prime Rib and one of these days when I am feeling especially flush I am going to treat us to one.  Maybe when my children are here.  We'll have a nice slap up Roast Beef Dinner with Yorshire Puds and roast potatoes and all the trimmings.  I did buy a package of their Sausages . . . Cumberland Sausage . . .  my favourite kind of sausage out of all the sausages they have over here in the UK.  They are nicely spiced.  Up in Cumbria they are even better than the ones you can get down here.  But they are still good, even here.  

 

I was really naughty and could not resist.    I had told myself I wasn't going to be tempted by anything I shouldn't be tempted by, but this I couldn't pass up.  I love chocolate bark . . .  but with crispies and tiny marshmallows . . .  oh my.  My sister is going to have a fit when she sees this.  I promise I will only eat it in small bite sized portions.  It will last me a year in the freezer.    

  

Normally I pick up two bags of these  . . .  the Rocky Road is to die for, but I didn't  this time.   I thought the chocolate bark was more than enough of a temptation for me.

I do remember seeing in their bakery section, stuffed soft pretzels . . .  they looked like croissant pastries shaped like pretzels, stuffed with lemon curd and sprinkled with sugar crystals  . . .  or maybe it was just a dream.   I better go get that sandwich  . . . 

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

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•。★★ 。* 。
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˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
 *Have more than you show,

Speak less than you know.

~William Shakespeare

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In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Crispy Sheet Pan Chicken Milanese.  Yum!  No fuss, no muss!

Have a great Wednesday. The push will be on for me today to do my last recipe for this month for the knife site I write for. He needs it by tomorrow!  That's my day cut out for me!  Don't forget!

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And I do too!