pre-frost panzanella

I was not a good sport through the end of both my pregnancies. I was an okay pregnant woman for most of the most of those months, but the last one? Echhh. I've known women who sat placidly in their 42nd week. "The baby will come when it's ready. I'm good. I'm reading novels, I'm going to movies, I'm making the most of it!"
That wasn't me. Maybe I had a few things stacked against me, but I'm willing to admit that my misery was due to a deep sense of impatience which continues to plague me. To be fair, I did have two very large babies who stretched out and created a massive watermelon shaped belly in front of me. Rosie had a fascination in utero with punching me in the groin (crotch? I don't even know where her fist was banging) which explained why you could find me doubled over at most moments in that last month with her. I also had four-week labors with both of the girls, and the contractions would start and stop with such ferocity that the midwife (yup, I'm a homebirther), finally just left all of her supplies in my bedroom. But really, I spent that last month or two of each of the pregnancies absolutely and completely ready for the next step. On the days that I finally gave birth to my children, I can tell you that I woke up on those mornings with the cry and utterance through gritted teeth..."I am having this damn baby today."
Although yes, although there are those women who love every moment of their pregnancies and would prefer that they stay pregnant forever, I think that the angst and woe I felt as I turned into a ripe and bursting fruit is more common. Pregnancy is not so long, but talk to most women rounding out their 41st week and they'll tell you they are ready. Yes, after months of pregnancy, they'll tell you they are ready to give birth, that they are ready to be done with all of this pregnancy stuff so that they can enter into an indeterminate time and amount of extreme pain so they can actually have the baby already.
And yes, I'm making a generalization here, but I'll bet that you talk to most women in their fifth month and will admit to you that they are scared of birth, that they're not sure how they're going to pull it off. What changes?
The truth is, I think it's helpful to hate the end of pregnancy in order to embrace the challenge of birth and the beginning of parenthood. Yes, birth is difficult, but it's better than being pregnant forever. Nature helps us to prepare for birth by making the end of pregnancy that intolerable.


And in the same way, we prepare for winter by being done with all this summer produce already.
Sure, sure- I'm stretching the metaphor (as usual!) But think about it. In July, did the tomatoes even make it to the kitchen? How many tomato seeds did you wash off the inside of your windshield from eating all the cherry tomatoes before you even got home? Did a pepper actually get through the first day without being cooked into some exciting and refreshing summer nourishment? No!

But look on your counter. Is there a bowl of tomatoes tempting the fruit flies? Is there a pepper or two in the fridge, about to be too wither-y to eat? Are you ready for the frost?

I am. I've got pattypan squash- I think their falling in love in the garden and having babies. I want it to get cold so that I can rip out those plants and make beef stew already. I'm ready. I'm ready for the summer to end.

It's been a good one. Let's have one more panzanella.



Pre-Frost Panzanella
loosely adapted from Jeff Crump and Bettina Schormann, Earth to Table

serves 6

4 sweet peppers
2 pounds mixed tomatoes, chopped into 2-inch bites
1 pound stale French or rustic Italian bread
4 scallions, whites and bottom section of green, chopped
1/4 cup capers, drained
7 anchovy fillets, minced
1 cup, arugula, baby spinach, or lettuce leaves
salt and pepper

for the dressing:
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
1 cup olive oil

Preheat your broiler and line a baking sheet with parchment or aluminum foil. Put the peppers on the baking sheet and broil until blackened and bubbling, about 7 minutes on each side. Put the peppers in a heat proof bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let them sit for 15 minutes, then slide them right out of their skins and remove as many seeds as possible. Cut into one inch pieces.
Make the dressing: In a bowl or large measuring cup, combine the red wine vinegar, garlic, mustard, salt and pepper. Whisk to combine and let sit for a few minutes. Then add the olive oil in a steady stream while whisking. Adjust seasonings if needed. There will be lots of extra dressing--store in a jar in the fridge for up to two weeks.
In a large bowl, combine the roasted peppers, bread, tomatoes, anchovies, scallion and capers. Toss with 2-3 tablespoons of the dressing. Add more if you like. Add the arugula, spinach or lettuce and toss to combine. Top with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

roasted tomatoes for the freezer

I know, another post about roasted tomatoes?
I mean, there was that salsa earlier in the week, and I've certainly written about roasted tomatoes before, and isn't everyone writing about roasted tomatoes these days?

But hear me out for a minute--I've got a story for you. Because we're not just talking about roasted tomatoes here (although they are certainly worth talking about over and over). We're talking about a journey- a perilous and tomato seed filled trek towards the preservation of the tomato.

Two years ago, I set out to answer what seemed to be a simple question. Of all of the foods to be preserved in the late summer, tomatoes might just be one of the most useful and essential. But how? I have taken every suggestion that people have offered. I have canned my tomatoes. I have pureed them raw and frozen them that way. I have made 24 hour perfect sauce and frozen that two. Hell, I froze whole raw tomatoes because someone told me to.

Most of these things have failed. Gross, separated tomato slush. Enough mess to make me want to die in the sea of tomato juice in the kitchen. Bitter filled bags of useless mush.

I think that I'm finally ready to name my favorite tomato preservation method.

You might actually just want to eat them off the tray and have your way with them then and there. But if you can wait, you will thank yourself in a few months. The miracle of all this is that if you roast them with garlic and herbs, it's sauce in a bag. How's that for convenience food?

Okay, so I've done it. How to preserve tomatoes?

Roasted Tomatoes

Preheat the oven to 275 degrees. Line one (or two if you have lots) baking sheets with parchment paper. Don't skip this or you will curse me as you scrub your baking sheets for hours. Core the tomatoes and cut each in half. Lay them out on the tray, cut side up. Scatter about 8 garlic cloves (peeled and whole) on each tray over the tomatoes. Top with several fresh sprigs of whatever herbs you might have available (oregano, thyme, rosemary and basil will do). A quick snow shower of salt and pepper. A tiny glug glug of olive oil. Roast for three hours. Or a little more or a little less. Remove from the oven and let cool completely. Scrape the contents of the entire pan into one or two freezer bags. Label and throw into the freezer.

To make sauce in December, defrost the bag in the refrigerator. Sautee a chopped onion if you like. Throw the contents of the bag into the pot. Cook for a bit and season to taste. If you're picky about tomato skin, pass the sauce through a food mill. This will be the best sauce you've ever had. Unless you've already had mind blowing tomato sauce, in which case it will match it.

tomato and tomatillo panzanella

After we loaded to the innards of our week in Maine into the Subaru, we stopped at Scratch in South Portland to see what of the place we could bring back with us. The sea salt bagels were all sold out, but there was bread, and one of the loaves that somehow survived the drive back home (without me eating it, that is) was a perfect ciabatta.
We've been back not quite 48 hours, and it's been hotter than the L Word around here. The air is so heavy that it's hard to make your way through, and just when you think you can make it outside for a minute, the mosquitos swarm in numbers I have never seen before. And for some reason, when it gets this damp, the house starts smelling like pee. It's really summer now.
I got back home to a garden gone wild, complete with bursting and beautiful tomatillos. Tomatillos suffer from people not being quite sure what to do with them. They are an obvious salsa ingredient, but beyond that, what to do with tomatillos? Honestly, sliced thin in combination with big wedges of tomato- better than a snickers from the freezer.
By last night, we had half of the ciabatta left, and I decided to make a panzanella. This is a great full meal salad, and another good way to use all of the excess produce in danger of going uneaten. I'm going to give you a rough guideline of a recipe, as this one can be played with as much as you like.

Tomato and Tomatillo Panzanella

5 tomatillos, peeled of paper skins and sliced thin
1 large tomato, cut into wedges
1/2 loaf rustic bread, cut into bite sized cubes
10 green beans
1/2 sweet red pepper, cut into matchsticks
olive oil
salt and pepper
red wine vinegar
balsamic vinegar
dijon mustard
a couple handfuls of lettuce, washed and dried

In a large skillet, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil. Add the bread and green beans and fry for a few minutes, stirring so as not to burn the bread. When the bread is golden, turn off the heat. While the bread is cooking, make the vinaigrette. Dissolve some sea salt into a few tablespoons of red wine vinegar, then add about half as much balsamic. Whisk in a few tablespoons of olive oil and the mustard. Taste it and play until you find the taste that you like. In a large bowl, toss the fried bread, tomatoes, pepper, green beans with the vinaigrette, tasting as you go to get the dressing saturation to your liking.
On a platter, lay out the lettuce. Pile the contents of the bowl over the lettuce and top with salt and freshly ground pepper.

roasted tomato soup

I'm in frenzy gathering the family for a week away. Sadie's hitting, Rosie's whining, and I'm just doing my best to make sure that everyone has enough underwear. So I only have a minute, but for the lucky ones who might be coming into tomato season, I wanted to pass along this little soup recipe. The roasting is just fabulous- it gives the soup such a flavor. So hopefully there are tomatoes to be eaten- if so, here's what to make for dinner.

Roasted Tomato Soup
adapted from Gourmet, August 2009

4 lb tomatoes, halved lengthwise
6 garlic cloves, left unpeeled
3 T olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/2 tsp dried oregano or 1 T fresh oregano
2 tsp sugar
2 T unsalted butter
3 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup heavy cream or milk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees with a rack in the middle. Arrange tomatoes, cut side up on a parchment lined baking pan with sides. Add garlic to the pan. Drizzle tomatoes and garlic with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Roast tomatoes and garlic for 1 hour, then cool in pan. Peel the garlic cloves.
Cook onion, oregano, sugar and butter in a 6 to 8 quart heavy bottomed pot over medium low heat, stirring frequently, until onion is softened, about 5 minutes.
Add tomatoes, garlic and stock and simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Puree soup in a blender, then force through a sieve back into the cleaned pot, discarding solids. Stir in cream or milk and salt and pepper to taste and rewarm.

tagliatelle with fresh tomatoes and balsamic vinegar

It's raining again today. We had a few days of summer this week, complete with dark and heavy humidity, but the storms keep coming, and it seems that there are more emergency weather announcements on the radio than anything else that NPR has to offer. That strange radiohead-ish animated voice that comes on gives me a swirly feeling in my stomach, perhaps because the announcements are filled with morbid catch phrases every time- "lightning is a killer!" or "most flash flood deaths occur in cars. Don't drown! Turn Around!"
Yes, I'm particularly stirred by violent weather, but it just seems to be the tone of the week.
I got news the other day that a really wonderful man I know has had his brain overtaken by a tumor. He is such an evolved, wise and kind person, and father to three young boys. The doctors are going in there next week to try to get the tumor out, and the best case scenario will be that he'll lose some sort of brain function. In the same hour, I found out that another mother that I know has breast cancer. Another one. This summer has been especially stormy. Joey's best friend lost his father, the most gentle aging rocker you would ever meet, to cancer earlier in the season. It's hard to take all this in, and to explain it to the girls when we have to. To tell them that we won't go away and that we will stay healthy. Sadie has gotten to the point where she hears the word cancer and starts with her death questions again.
There are good stories too, though. My dear and lovely friend Denise, who kicked cancer's ass this year, and is back in a world that missed her so much while she was sick. She's recovering from this year, and palpably glowing with optimism.
I know that we have a lot less death around us on a daily basis than people on some other parts of the planet. But maybe because illness and premature death are so blessedly rare, it seems that my first reaction is often fear. Narcissistic as it may be, my empathy turns into something else, the lines start to feel blurred, and one friend's mortality is my own as well, or my child's. But there's a strong value to the awareness of mortality in that, cliche as it may sound, life is too damn short to choose unhappiness. And more importantly, best not to take for granted the lovely things that happen every day, don't you think?
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the early tomatoes coming from Al and Elizabeth's miraculous greenhouse. They grow the first tomatoes of the season around here, and those greenhouse tomatoes carry us through, maybe one or two per week, until the tomatoes start to pour out of the farm and our own gardens like water. Whatever my own garden doesn't produce, I buy from the farm in cheap 20 lb. boxes, slaving through the night to make sauce and slow roast those beauties for the freezer. As I spoke of last week, this perfect tomato cycle is one arch of desire that is essential to the experience of August around here.
But last week at the farm, the endless tomato plants in the fields waiting to take over when the greenhouse had finished its turn caught the dreaded late blight. This is the big-box store bred special blight (big surprise). It is the same fungus that caused the great potato famine in Ireland, and tomatoes are dying all over the Northeast. A few days after the blight hit the farm, my tomato plants started to yellow, and Joey and I took every blighted leaf we could see at 9:30 at night and bagged them up. I'm still not sure if my tomatoes have just regular late blight or scary nightmare walmart blight, but I don't have high hopes. But as Elizabeth stoically announced to all of the CSA families that there would be no boxes of tomatoes this year, I thought about all of her work in creating those tomatoes, and how much they depend on that crop, and blight became a dirty, stomach churning word this week.
I know, blight equals cancer? Feel free to rail on me for that. But I'm not creating an equality here, I'm just thinking about how much I appreciated my two greenhouse tomatoes this week. And how truly wonderful and worth their weight in gold they were. Really good food can give such an opportunity for the thought, "I might never eat something this good again." And the last tomato you'll ever eat should be savored, enjoyed, and celebrated, I think.
So I'm hoping to make a few of my favorite tomato recipes with these perfect and rare tomatoes. I think that this one might be at the top of my list.

Tagliatelle with Fresh Tomatoes and Balsamic Vinegar
adapted from Lynne Rossetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

This recipe is truly perfect when made with fresh pasta, but if you've only got 15 minutes, dried is fine too.

1/4 cup good quality balsamic vinegar
4 cloves garlic, minced (note: right now, if you're lucky, you can get fresh garlic that has just been pulled. Use it here)
1 medium red onion, cut into 1/2 inch dice
2-3 fabulous and wonderful tomatoes, cored and cut into bite-size pieces
2/3 cup tightly packed fresh basil, minced
generous amount of freshly ground pepper
1 recipe fresh tagliatelle, or 1 lb dried (see recipe below)
salt to taste
1 1/4 cups parmesan, shaved with a vegetable peeler
1/4 cup olive oil

Measure the vinegar into a medium-size glass bowl or large measuring cup. Add the garlic and onion. Marinate about 15 minutes. Set a large pot of salted water to boil. Fold the tomatoes, basil, and black pepper into the vinegar mixture and let stand for another 10 or 15 minutes. Cook the pasta to just barely done. If it is fresh, this will take 1-2 minutes, dried will take longer. Drain, toss with the olive oil, then gently toss with the tomato mixture. Top with the shaved cheese and more pepper.

Fresh Pasta

14 oz. flour
4 eggs
pinch of salt

Put the flour directly on the counter in the shape of a volcano. Break the eggs into a bowl, add the salt, and then slowly pour the eggs into the center of the volcano with a bench knife ready in your other hand. As the eggs spill out of the volcano, push them back in with the bench knife, mixing the egg and the flour with a chopping motion. Chaos will ensue, but it's okay. Keep chopping with the bench knife until the eggs are incorporated into the flour. Then knead the dough with the palms of your hands for ten minutes. The dough will be fairly stiff, so this is a good moment to get some aggression out, if you happen to have any. Then cut the dough into 5 equal balls, cover the whole thing with plastic wrap, and let it rest for 20-30 minutes. Then you can put the dough through your pasta maker, or roll it out and cut it if you have all day and no pasta maker. Hang to dry on a drying rack for a few minutes before it goes into the water.

early tomatoes

The farm always has the first tomatoes of the summer. Elizabeth starts them early, and grows them in the ground in the greenhouse. People are so excited to see them at the farmer's market. Tomatoes? This early? You didn't grow them, did you? they ask. What do they think, that she bought them at Big Y and carted them over? Sometimes I feel like I should have a t-shirt that says, yes, grown in the greenhouse, and let that be that. Once they believe us, they pay a hefty price for them, bitching the whole way. But the thing is, tomatoes have it figured out. They inspire a love that never dies, and people will give their first born for a good early tomato. These early July tomatoes are worth their weight in gold, and we eat them one slice at a time, putting the cut side down on a plate on the counter to take another slice when we're ready. In a few weeks, there will be more tomatoes, and then we'll start with dishes that require a whole tomato, or maybe two, and then there will be tomatoes everywhere, and we'll be trying to give them away, and we'll turn them into sauce.
This summer, there is more mystery to the love affair. We seem to have been transplanted to the Northwest, and it is cold and rainy. The peas and the kale are thrilled, but the tomatoes might never come. The other night it was 40 degrees, and the sun just doesn't come out enough to warm the ground. And to top it all off, there's some crazy blight spreading around that came from Walmart. I don't really know what blight is, but it sounds scary, especially when it comes from Walmart.
So I'm trying to enjoy the tomatoes, which is not so hard. The other night I stayed up way too late making pesto out of basil, parsley and garlic scapes, and I almost killed my blender. The next morning I had a bagel with pesto, cream cheese and tomato, which might be the best combination in the world. This week, I'm conquering it all, and a breakfast so beautiful is really helpful. That, and a couple extra cups of coffee.

The Great Tomato Debate: Solved and Resolved!

So, if you've been around here for a little while, you might remember the unbelievable and somewhat exciting mess that I made of many pounds of tomatoes last year. The question at hand was this: How does one successfully freeze a tomato? I'd had some failed attempts in the past that were horrible curdled tomato nastiness when I defrosted them, and I wanted to be one of those impressive people who has a great way of freezing tomatoes. So I choose the two most popular methods, and I decided to make an experiment of it in the interest of making myself a better and more impressive person. Just to recap, these are the two methods that I worked with.

1. I made really good tomato sauce- I deseeded and deskinned the tomatoes and everything. I did this late at night, cooked the sauce all night, and it was amazing. My recipe is here.
2. I quartered and slow roasted the tomatoes. I sprinkled with salt and pepper, put on a tray, and baked for a long time. I played with the time, but I always roasted the tomatoes at 400 degrees, for at least an hour, but up to 2 1/2 hours. Then I let them cool and put them into ziplocs.

Now as you can imagine, these two methods involve very different levels of work. So I did them both, put them away in the freezer, and waited patiently for the time when I absolutely needed to check the results.

And why would I need to freeze tomatoes? Because in February, the store plays a trick on us. Thinking that you will be too busy with your life to notice, they call this a tomato:

Yuck. Hard. Tasteless. Expensive. Worthless.
I know I'm being hard on them here, but have you bought one of these lately? I think, if anything, I'm being easy on these "tomatoes".

So yes, if we are to eat tomatoes in the winter, we must freeze the tomatoes. Or can, if you like, but that's a whole other blog post, and certainly not one you're getting out of me.

Are you dying with suspense? Ready for the answer? Get ready....

They both work really well! Do both!
The sauce stayed phenomenal, and the roasted tomatoes were so useful, I used them as I wold canned tomatoes.
So my suggestion is this- one day in late August/ early September when you're feeling like outdoing yourself and you have access to 20 or 30 pounds of tomatoes, make sauce. Then freeze it. But then, all through tomato season, roast tomatoes whenever you have a trays worth. Then you'll be totally set.
Of course, as resolved as I am at this moment, and as impressed as I feel with myself, you're always welcome to throw off my pride with a new method to try. Feel free to share.

the great tomato debate

For the second week in a row, as I was picking my farm share, I once again thought that it was a fabulous idea to purchase a box filled with 25 pounds of tomatoes that needed to be dealt with within the next 6 hours. No matter that I have had a rough time of freezing tomatoes. My eyes went all glassy and I probably mumbled something about food for the winter. And that is how I found myself making tomato sauce at 11:00 last night.
People make all sorts of claims on the freezability of tomatoes. All I know is the ways that I have tried have resulted in me defrosting curdled tomatoes with a texture of really old milk. So I'm trying it two ways this year. Last week's tomatoes I treated in the following manner:

Core and quarter the tomatoes. Spread on a parchment lined backing sheet. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and fresh herbs and crushed garlic if you wish. Roast in a 400 degree oven until the tomatoes dry out, about an hour. If you have more time, roast in a 250 degree oven for two to four hours, and this will be a bit more superior. Cool and load into freezer bags. This is the method prescribed by my friend Elizabeth Keen of Indian Line Farm. And she certainly knows how to deal with an excess of tomatoes.

Last night (and nearly into the morning), however, I made sauce. And let it be known here that I have always been lazy with my tomato sauce. I don't tend to take the skins off, and I have never "coaxed the seeds out" as Alice Waters puts it. But last night, I did it all. And oh, the horror.


Yup, I really showed those tomatoes. Here is my recipe...

Ingredients:
25 pounds of tomatoes
4 White onions (I used fresh eating onions), diced
2 heads of garlic, diced
the leaves of 3 large stems of basil, roughly chopped
fresh oregano leaves (to taste)
3/4 cup really good olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Set aside a large work area. Cut a small t in the bottom of each tomato (thank you Molly for this tip). Blanch the tomatoes in boiling water for about a minute, or until the skin starts to separate. Then drop in ice water for a moment. Peel off the skins.
Okay, here's the part where you make a big mess and stop wanting to ever see a tomato again.
Core and seed the skinless tomatoes. I did the majority of this work with my hands, but a knife will come in handy at times. Try to preserve as much of the meat as possible. And save whatever juice you can scoop up from the counter.
Get a very large pot. Heat the olive oil a bit, throw in the onions and then stir them around every so often for about 10 minutes, or until they are nice and shiny. Then add the garlic, then the tomatoes and juice. Gently boil for about 45 minutes, adding the herbs, salt and pepper along the way. Cover, then bring to a full boil. Don't take the lid off! Turn off the stove and finally fall into bed. Your sauce will stay sealed and sterile all night, and the flavors will meld. (Thank you Molly, again) In the morning, cook uncovered for another 30 minutes or so. Then, eith put some of the sauce in the blender for a few seconds, or better yet, use an immersion blender till it's blended but still chunky. Cool and freeze.

So those are the two methods. In a few months, we will revisit this issue, to see how they froze.

I can hardly bear the suspense...