A critical decision was reached last night: More tomatoes. More tomatoes every night. More tomatoes until red blots out all the other colors. It makes sense, right? Do any of us eat tomatoes the rest of the year? Hothouse or otherwise? I didn’t think so.
That and corn. I can’t say I have affection for corn on the cob any longer. Here I must agree with my brothers and sisters, far flung, who insist that it’s all a bit feral to put your face onto an ear and chew. No, a better bet might be to take a knife and trim all the kernels off and then place them into a hot pan with some butter and whatever else is handy: ginger, mint, diced squash, fresh Mexican garbanzos, etc. Make a bed of the stuff and put pan seared halibut on top. Or add them to tiny pasta and grate parmigiano over it all.
Where was I? Tomatoes, right, tomatoes. Does anything say summer to you more than tomatoes? A big, fat red one last night sliced with a small, purple onion and doused with olive oil and red wine vinegar.
Now we’re talking.
You’d never guess that we’re in “crisis mode” or having “an emergency.”
I’ll tell what a crisis or emergency is: No tomatoes.
Talk about a first world problem.