What a lovely day. I am enjoying the sunshine in a post-lunch reverie that involved someone else’s tomatoes. Good news is that is was so tasty and delightful that I am now back in the good graces of an unintentionally neglected associate, and, as a bonus, recovered in heart and spirit from the dismal duty of ripping out every single tomato plant I had in my garden. To a stem, they all succumbed to black blight, a common peril of this past long and wet season. I am not quite prepared to call it summer.
Tomato growing on the coast is an act of faith and hopeless optimism. I attempt it every year. And every year about this time, as I rip out the black-stemmed stragglers, I get a deeper level of respect for the truly talented farmers on the coast who are more successful at this endeavor than I seem to be. Happily, there are a few dedicated sorts who have found varieties that can thrive here, or ways to coax, cajole or harass the Black Prince Stupice into something resembling compliance with its genetic imperative to go forth and be fruitful.
Tomatoes this year need some help, and/or neglect, depending on how you look at it. The best tomatoes are dry-farmed heirlooms, where the plants are not watered after they have blossomed and set fruit. As the heat rises the tomatoes’ flavors concentrate into a nearly unbearable delish-ess-ness. But, dry-farming tomatoes this year has been a non-starter, and the late rains mean that while they are heavy and pretty, that intense ‘mater-ness is missing. So, I took a pile of fat, baby-bottom sized ones, cut them in half and stuck them in the oven at 250º with the door cracked a bit for the night. In the morning, they were pretty funny looking, I admit, but when I cut them into smaller pieces, sauteed them with some shallots and onions, julienned fennel and dill weed, flashed them off the pan with a shot of James Blond, and piled the whole delightful mess onto a thick chunk of sourdough, they were transformed into a tomatoey bruschetta o’ beauty. Shave a shard or two of Broncha over the top, serve with a side order o’ Dino-tongue salad ( that’s right , Big Steve, its all about the kale) and a bowl full of berries and juicy chunks of peach later, and that’s one lovely lunch that does a heart good.