red tide
by bam
oh geez. i slept through the buzzer. i promised you, weeks ago, i would send out a certified letter when the season arrived, when the red tide was upon us. was drowning us. pouncing us. ripe on the vine.
oh geez. were you waiting? were you there at the table twiddling your thumbs? thinking, hmm, sure is getting late here? i could swear i smell that fruity tomato. sure looks like everyone else on the block is feasting. is drowning. where is that certified letter?
well, people, here it is.
it’s official: we are deep in the season we wait for. the one that covers the inside of our cheeks in canker sores.
yes, dang it, i’ve downed so many of those acid-y fruits i have spots all over the tender insides of my mouth. spots that shout, “ouch,” each time i bite in a ’mater. but never mind. never fear. the rest of my mouth shouts much louder. the tomatoes win every time.
i’ve got the whole rest of the year to heal those ridiculous spots. those spots that dare to protest at the volume, the quantity, the unending river of red that seems to run straight toward my mouth.
i eat them for breakfast and lunch and then dinner. i eat them all day in between. i believe you might call this a binge. but far as i know, it’s understandable. it makes seasonal sense.
it’s a binge that’s not secret and furtive at all. oh, heck, i am right out there, on the front stoop, i tell you, shlurping tomatoes. i’d shlurp down the highway, if i could hold onto the wheel and swipe juice from my chin.
that there is a problem. the one seasonal drawback. i’ve got tomatoey spots on most of my clothes now. on my shirts, on my shorts, even my clogs. good thing my skin doesn’t stain. i’d be red-faced, and not from the shame.
no shame about it.
i don’t know about you, but it seems that, like most addictions, i’ve sniffed out some partners in crime. i’ve a friend down the alley, she pops ’em like candy she says. and here’s the best part: she’s become my supplier.
she comes up the walk in the back, maybe so no one is watching. she carries a brown crinkled bag. it is bursting with all of the goods. she says not a word, just ferries the stash from her vines to my mouth.
she is sweet, and so is her produce.
she is near drowning this year. tried a new-fangled trick. laid red plastic–it has to be red, cannot be green or aqua or yellow–onto the soils below. a half dozen tomatoey bushes, each wearing a red shiny skirt. the other half are buck naked. just the soil, the vine, and the leaves. this is science, you know. one half’s control, the other is out into the future.
you’ll not be surprised to hear that the future is now, and it sure beats the past. three to one, by my count. by the most pregnant vines that are gestationally-challenged right now, that are drooping and bending and sagging under all of the weight. sort of like me, six years ago, in the ninth aching month.
yes, indeed, the future of growing tomatoes is spilling all over the alley. there is something about the red of the plastic, the way it reflects onto the vine that makes the little red fruits want to grow in stunning abundance. they cannot seem to contain themselves. it’s like someone flicked on a tomato machine.
the sweet things are poppin’ all over. the squirrels are having a picnic an hour. chipmunks too. and those of us neighbors, apparently, thankfully, who share a thing for Lycopersicon Lycopersicum–hmm, that sounds like tomato tomatoes to me, but that’s what the taxonomists call the fruit of our dreams.
perhaps my lack of imagination will show here. but i’m plumb running out of ways to consume them. i eat them as is, or sprinkled with sweet, syrupy, purple-y balsamic vinegar. (i have one select bottle at the back of the shelf, one lugged back from a friend’s trip to italy; i reserve it for this time of year. you’ll forgive me a bit of elitism, but the grocery-store variety balsamic just doesn’t come up to snuff. it does not cut the tomato.)
need i mention the salt and the pepper? that’s de rigeur. a tomato without salt is a tomato i might rather spit out.
it’s the twang of the salt and the sugar. it does a jiggity-jig on my tongue, down my throat, straight into my tum.
oh, boy, all this talk of tomatoes is making my tumbly quite rumbly, as dear old pooh likes to say. as we say around here.
i might have to run, have to pant to the kitchen. i hear the sweet fruit of september calling my name rather insistently.
here goes another shirt, sacrificed at the holy altar of Lyco whatever that was.
yo, people, i need help. i need ways to eat my tomatoes. i am not much of a canner, juicer, prairie girl. i am lacking those skills. i am more of a slice ‘em, dice ‘em, make a fine sauce. do you cook them with chicken? grill them? sign up here if you too are a card-carrying member of the not-so-secret tomato society. is this not yet another reason to savor september? any other seasonal thing you go quite so mad for? early asparagus maybe….
how convenient that no one’s weighed in yet. i had wanted to tack on this recipe, for the one thing i do love with too-many tomatoes. but i could not track it down. i remembered it. remember it clear as the day i watched my beautiful new york friend make it right by my side. but i wanted to find it, to give you the nuance, the fine points, just as she gave them to me. couldn’t find any trace in my recipe box. couldn’t find it in silver palate, the original. so i just put in a call to new york. bingo. the friend who i love, one who prefers total and complete anonymity on the web, is a smart one, an organized one. she happpened to know off the top of her head that an update ran just a few weeks ago in the times. she sent me the link, and i will save you that step. here is the recipe, from the times. this says it was first published in 1996. so the one that i’m searching for must pre-date even that. but this is the gestalt of it. like all the best cooking, you take an idea and you vamp. start vamping with this. from the new york times, courtesy of my very fine cooking friend on the upper east side of manhattan…..the name is one i’m giving it now….too-many-tomatoes, a sauce. (uncooked, by the way, which makes it ever so joyful) 5 large cloves garlic, finely chopped1/2 to * cup of your favorite olive oil12 basil leaves7 large ripe tomatoesSalt1 pound dried rigatoni1 pound fresh, lightly salted mozzarellaCountry bread.1. Take out your largest bowl. Add the garlic. Pour in 1/2 cup olive oil. With scissors, snip the basil leaves into shreds over the garlic mixture. Let sit all day.2. About 2 hours before serving, chop the tomatoes and add them to the bowl.3. When you’re ready to eat, bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook until al dente. Meanwhile, cut the mozzarella into small cubes.4. Drain the pasta and pour it on top of the tomato mixture. Do not stir. Spread the mozzarella on top of the pasta and toss only the pasta and cheese; the cheese will soften slightly, and the pasta will get coated with fat. Then stir up from the bottom, incorporating the tomato mixture. Season with salt and add the remaining olive oil, if desired. Serve with bread. Serves 6. oh, my goodness, i’m hungry……
i can recommend ina garten’s oven roasted tomato recipe, they can last longer this way, concentrated in olive oil, salt, pepper and a dash of sugar. also; sliced and laid on a platter, drizzled with olive oil, lemon juice and zest, fleur de sel and choped fresh basil. yum! as bruscetta, in sandwiches, of course, and i made gazpacho last night with the ones i drove home from michigan!
note to self: do not read about roasted tomatoes when you’ve not yet had time for even a mid-morning snack. and, dang, it is 4 something. in the late afternoon. ss, you make me growlingly hungry……
ooh the smell of the sun beating down on a tomato plant is right behind the basil scent. delici-oso.I think heaven smells like that. do you?
Where do I send my dues to belong to this club? I’m a tomato freak from birth.Here’s a quick and yummy way to eat those ‘maters:Toast an Everything Bagel, slather with cream cheese, top with sliced tomato, fresh cilantro, salt & pepper, then a light drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. YUM!
the tomato, the absolute love apple. basil, olive oil, garlic, pasta, crusty bread to soak it all up….mmm, too many tomatoes gives me hives but i have not filled my quota yet, according to my skin. i like to graze in the garden of tomatoes and herbs, pick a small grape size morsel, snag off a piece of a basil, wrap the red orb in the leaf and presto chango- a declaration of summer joy bursts in my mouth! alas, september brings abundant changes-the plants putting forth it’s very lasts efforts to fruit, we gather up so many for market and bring home the rest, zip them through the food processor with basil and green peppers and ziploc four ladles of the sauce and freeze. summer in a bag for a winter stew. blessings.
I’ve been delivering little still life packets of tomatoes from my garden to people this week, as they ripen faster than our family of four can eat them. Today, I gave a pack to the chiropractor, this weekend to my 88-year-old housebound friend who said she was going to make a painting of the tomatoes before she eats them. I garnished my packets with sage, thyme and either a cuke or a zuke from the garden too. My tomatoes come in many colors and shapes–heart-shaped orange, round yellow, three kinds of reds, and my favorite–Green Zebra (use your imagination). Barb, I can’t wait to try your no-cook sauce with my colorful assortment.
Great post on the red tide: here’s a basic sauce I make all the time, for pasta or homemade pizza sauce.olive oilcloves of garlicred oniontomatos, cut as you wisha can of tomato sauce (is that wrong?)a bunch of basil leaves, cut as you wish (I usually use too much basil on purpose)a glass of red winea splash of balsamic vinegarchili pepper to tastea dash of oreganosaltpepperWe eat this for dinner, then lunch, then dinner again, and we never get sick of it.
Yum, all of the above. I just got a bunch of tomatoes at our farmer’s market today, worrying that I would miss this wave. (We have no home-grown suppliers down in my neck of the woods.) My daughter and I walked home from her preschool eating them like apples, juice heedlessly dripping down our fronts. For dinner we ate them Greeky, sliced with feta and olive oil. And for dessert, I suppose, my son grabbed another and ate it in his favorite way: take a bite, stick a straw in, and suck out all the juice, nibbling as you go. Thanks for the reminder, bam, and the recipes, everyone, or I would’ve surely missed the tomato moment. Since we’ve eaten our purchases all in one day I can only hope that next week’s market is as tomato-laden as this week’s.