Earlier this month, Martha Rose Shulman wrote a column in The NYT extolling the virtues of this beloved garden vegetable (or fruit-depending on your point of view). Growing up, my father grew tomatoes in the back yard of our home in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, the only plants he purchased, nurtured, and harvested himself. After planting, we would make our weekly inspection of the growing crop and when ripe on the vine- tomato sandwich season began. His choice of assembly was pretty basic, rye bread (a household staple) toasted, topped with a thick slice of tomato fresh from the garden and a liberal dousing of salt and pepper. Completing the menu was a glass of ginger ale combined with the companionship of The NYTimes (long before its online edition) usually enjoyed at our ancient and beloved kitchen table. Dad tended to like the humbler things in life- but I remember his tomato sandwiches as something simply divine.
Oh! Funny thing! My husband and I, just this weekend, were eating tomato sandwiches for the first time in I don't know how long. It just sort of came together: there was this really good bread that I picked up at the supermarket's bakery because it was on special, some vine-ripened tomatoes that I got for something else actually and there we were, coming in at night hungry.
ReplyDeleteAnd that's when my husband told me that the first tomato sandwich he had ever had was the one my father had made him, with tomatoes out of the garden, the first time they had met. Yay,Dad!