The Weekly Fare . . . August 26, 2004

Summers Perfect Gift

The door to the refrigerator opens slowly. Are all the ingredients there?

Taking inventory, the eye moves purposefully over the shelves . . .

"Hmm, lets see, large jar of Dukes mayonnaise - yes, right behind last nights lima beans . . . And now we need to find the - oh, there it is, an unopened pack of Oscar Meyer center cut bacon. In date? Hallelujah - Mom knows what season it is . . . Now for some crisp cool lettuce from inside the crisper - please Lord don't let it be brown . . . Ah Ha! Green and leafy . . . and now for the piece de resist . . ."

It beckons from the window sill like the forbidden fruit it was in our youth - not because we desired it, but rather due to our inexperienced taste buds we had not yet the yearning . . . The yearning for perfect truth from the vine, the yearning for sweetness beautiful in its lack of excess, the yearning for glory manifested in taste, the yearning for summer's perfect gift . . .

The Tomato.

There are, of course, a wide variety of tomatoes and their names are from an era when people knew how to affix a proper moniker to things - "Better Boy," "Jet Star," "Early Girl," "Tigerella," "Sweet Million," "Heat Master," "Beef Steak," "Heirloom" "Brandywine," "Tumbler," "Sun Gold," and my two personal favorites "Mr. Stripey and the "Mortgage Lifter."

"Mortgage Lifter!" - Now the man or women that came up with that one was on top of their game. You can just see the young farmer in his 1930's depression-era work clothes planting that thing and standing back satisfied that he has something in the ground that, if possibly incapable of living up to it's name, would in the very least provide a simple summer celebration bordering on sheer ecstasy. "Oh that August were now!" he most surely lamented.

"Glory to God that it has arrived!" my heart sings in eager anticipation. The high paid chefs of Europe have nothing on me as I spread the carefully selected ingredients on the counter. I immediately get the bacon going in the pan. I am tempted first by the microwave, but alas as expedient as it is, it cannot produce the texture and feel of pan-fried bacon. I whip out the bacon press that I gave the wife for Christmas some years back. I can still remember the look on her face as I blurted out, "Isn't it just what you ALWAYS wanted?!"

To which she replied, "The very best gifts are the ones we give ourselves, now aren't they?"

I think I saw her use it once. I'm not sure.

Next we withdraw from safe keeping the all-important bread. Shall we be sustained in life by white or whole wheat? Matters not to some, but to the aficionado, only white will do. Usually, I'm in such a frenzy at this point that I simply grab the first available loaf, but when able to remain calm I dig for the "Mary Jane White." I'm convinced tree bark and mayonnaise would taste good on Mary Jane White. If it's not there, there is disappointment to be sure, but I press on towards the goal. Patton may have not beaten Monty to Messina, but like the shining capital of Palermo, the tomato, she inevitably awaits.

I check the bacon, flipping it early before it appears ready to avoid the rookie mistake of overcooking. Next I sift through the variety of knives available. Regardless of the kitchen one finds oneself in, there is always only ONE knife suitable to cut a tomato, and if it's not in its appointed place, it can be construed as reason enough to panic. No worries today. It's Saturday afternoon. Dad has "cooked" breakfast (Cereal). All is in place.

I withdraw it with the reverence of a Samurai. Firmly grasping the subject Better Boy upon the wooden cutting board, I began by coring the top end. All ex-deli sandwich makers know that the speed at which one cores a tomato is in direct proportion to how well it will taste. Miraculously my fingers are still there. Next I lay the Tomato on its side and with little less formality than one might use at Thanksgiving, carve it into perfect slivers of heavenly bliss.

It lays there like a picture. It is good.

Bacon out of pan - mayonnaise to Mary Jane - lettuce to top - bacon to lettuce - tomato slices laid in fragile glory upon bottom - salt and pepper added - folded to become one - sliced (diagonally) - garnished with chips - milk poured - pickles added for measure - favorite chair chosen - ball game coming up . . . Family happily playing in den . . . Ahhhhhhh . . .

Thank You Lord!!

(Forget those carbs! Summer's too short! Make one tonight!)