Tomatoes are in season and I’ve been enlightened. Let me tell you how.
Yesterday afternoon, I stood in line at San Benito House in Half Moon Bay, waiting to order a sandwich. The list of complimentary fix-ins above the register had a note: Please specify what you don’t want. My whole life I’ve said no tomato, but something in the changing season and the fact that I had just come from a pumpkin patch must’ve triggered some paradigm shift. Suddenly I could see the vibes breakdown of the sandwich I was about to order, and I saw, for the first time, the critical role tomato had to play. A roast beef sandwich with only lettuce, red onion, pickles, and condiments is unbalanced. With roast beef being the lawful evil that it is, and Pickles & Co. being the chaotic good that they are, this party was in need of a true neutral: Tomato, the peacekeeper. I placed my order, and what a perfect fall sandwich it was.
Last week, too, I’d bought a jar of sun-dried tomatoes with no specific intention of how I would use them. They’d simply called to me, so I bought them. A few days later, I was preparing The Stew, which I make all the time, and I was struck with inspiration: I’d deepen the flavors for fall by adding a tomato infusion. I used some of the tomato oil to fry the chickpeas, then minced a few pieces and threw them in with the onions, garlic, and ginger.
Knowing the rest of the sun-dried tomatoes were still in my fridge, last night I planned to make tomato soup from scratch and add them in. The recipe I found from Bon Appétit (I’ve just realized both of recipes I linked are Alison Roman lol) called for canned tomatoes, but vine-ripe tomatoes happen to be in season, so I spent several hours blanching, de-skinning, and stewing three bunches into a creamy, nourishing soup to eat with grilled cheese for dinner. It was so laborious, I don’t totally recommend going the non-canned route, but the result was just what I was looking for. (Tonight, I’ll put the pot back on the stove, grill another sandwich, and eat it by warm lamp light while I watch Over the Garden Wall.)
This morning I sat at the dining table and listened to the rain. Johny placed our breakfast in front of me: Coffee, and scrambled eggs, pancetta, and sweet tomato jam on a baguette. It was restaurant-quality delicious, and in between bites I realized that after 26 years of avoiding tomatoes, I had earnestly come around.
Do I love the tomato flavor? Not really, but with an open heart that only comes with maturity I have come to respect the rustic element that tomatoes bring to a meal. In the way that citrus brings brightness to a dish, tomatoes bring heartiness, coziness, an American, log cabin quality. They’re a thickener and a sweetener in texture, taste, and vibes.
Maybe it’s my tastes changing with age. Maybe it’s something in the air. Maybe it’s the fact that cooking and eating are about more than how things taste: Aesthetics and essence and meeting the moment are factors just as much worth considering. Flavor aside, sometimes things just call for good tomato energy that only a ripe tomato can provide, and so you add it to the menu. If you only use flavors you like, you’re limiting your own experience. Add tomatoes and elevate your consciousness!
…but only while they’re in season. Tomato magic goes with the leaves.
I absolutely love this — I’ve been on a tomato redemption arc myself, seasonality is so important to me, and Over the Garden Wall is an annual must-rewatch! (It’s seriously so cool to find someone else to geek out over this show, like I know it’s not super niche anymore but it *feels* niche, you know?)
When driving from Los Angeles to San Francisco, during the pandemic lockdown, the only vehicles on the 5 Freeway were Amazon trucks and trucks stacked high with tomatoes. Takeaway: people LOVE tomatoes