It took a while for Summer to decide to step up and do its thang. But finally, in August, it’s hot. The kind of heat that makes the peeps whither and whine, but makes the veggies sit up and take notice. At last. Heat.
As I’ve mentioned before, although probably not in these exact words, I’m a tomato-lovin’ freak. I love planning for them. I love hovering over their fragile seedlings in cold, dark March. I love digging their earthy homes in the Spring. I love the scent of the leaves and stems on my skin. I love seeing those shiny, plump little packages, in all colors of the rainbow, hanging in the greenery.
But most of all, I love to eat them. I can eat tomatoes like apples in a way that I can’t even eat apples (unless they’re Honeycrisps – otherwise, it’s pie or nuthin’). I’m not alone in that. In fact, the Italian word for tomato is “pomodoro” which means “apple of gold” (traced back long ago when yellow tomatoes were the most plentiful cultivar). So, my dreams of walking through a green, grassy field in Tuscany, munching on a juicy, sun-soaked tomato, would not, at least, be considered strange there. (And even if the Italians did think it strange, who cares, I mean, I’d be in Tuscany. “How do you like them pomodoros, Dear Italians?” I’d say, chuckle at myself for the bad pun, brush the tomato seeds off my flowy white sleeveless dress, and then go look for a field of Tuscan sunflowers to wander amongst.)
Anyway, with the last-minute summer heat, all of my tomatoes are ripening at the same time (along with cukes and peppers), and I’m taking in big hauls about every other day. Late though they are, they’re still gorgeous. And yummy. Insalata caprese, you’re in my immediate future.
Oh, and until the Tuscan dream comes true, I have my own sunflower field to wander through while munching juicy tomatoes fresh off the vine. Life is good.