Tomato

Fresh from California

/ Sheila / 4 Comments
Biscoff spread. Has 5g of sugar so it's out of...

Biscoff spread. (Photo credit: programwitch)

So here I am, back in Ketchikan on Labor Day Monday, ready to work the rest of the week. My end-of-August flirtation with California sun and big beach hats is done, and I’m moving into work mode.

I got home today to find that summer is still here. That was a surprise. I haven’t seen the weather forecast for Ketchikan the past ten days, and I figured we’d used up all the available sunny days we’d be allotted for the season. But not true, there are several more on tap this week. I rode across on the airport ferry standing outside the cabin…that doesn’t happen often. My car was delicious, the warmth causing it to release its lingering new car smell (after 4 1/2 years…that should tell you how much this vehicle is used!) My house was roasty and welcoming in the afternoon light streaming in the big front windows.

And to add to the summer temps lingering a little longer, I imported seasonal flavors to enjoy the next few days. We took frozen salmon down with us to grill while we were camping, and I made use of my emptied fish box to bring back tomatoes, corn, squash, peaches, and a jar or two of Biscoff Spread. (No, no, that’s not produce…just an item I can’t find in the local market.)Would you believe the last time I bought a jar of this delight and tried to bring it back with me in my carry-on luggage, TSA took it from me?!  This stuff is definitely not a liquid. I was assured that the staff can’t consume anything they confiscate, they’re required to dispose of food. That’s almost worse than thinking of some stranger eating my Biscoff. Seems like a waste all around!

Of course I can buy all the fresh produce in Ketchikan. But the charming thing was that I bought it yesterday at a farm stand in California. Whenever I have the option of buying produce from a roadside stand, I’m drawn like a moth to flame. What is it about the farming heritage that makes produce at a farm stand more alluring than neatly stacked fruits and vegetables in a lovely market setting? I always think it’s my grandmothers’ farming blood singing in my veins. Although I’ve grown little beyond tomatoes and rhubarb and flowers, I like the idea of farm fresh. Never mind that I have seen enough of the work side of gardening to know that it’s not the glamorous occupation it’s cracked up to be!

So, when it occurred to me that I could dine on home-grown tomato sandwiches all this week, I couldn’t resist the temptation to bring up just a few things. A couple of guys at the airport this morning saw my fish box and wondered aloud why I was taking fish to Alaska. You see these iconic cardboard boxes all summer as tourists and fishermen take home their catch, flash frozen and ready for travel. Well hey, I figured if the styrofoam-lined box can keep fish frozen on a trip down to the lower 48, it could keep veggies in good condition to travel back up. And I’m happy to report that I was right. All produce survived amateur transportation. My sandwich was delicious! I know I’ve waxed eloquent about my favorite summer feast before…just can’t help myself. A sign that I’ve had almost enough tomatoes is that I begin to get mouth ulcers from all the acidity after overindulging. But I’m not even close yet. Maybe after this week. It’s a painful condition for a day or two, and I’ve never been successful at timing…I only know I’ve had too many tomatoes when the little ulcers begin to appear. But this is my dedication: I’m willing to suffer for the mayonnaise-and-tomato-on-soft-white-bread symphony. Especially when the best flavor is only a summer treat.

We went to a huge flea market last week. Found a beautiful straw hat, very Audrey Hepburn style. I loved the hat so much I wanted to bring it home. But that seems a waste as it’s likely to get more wear when we’re RVing. Not really much occasion for Audrey big hats in Alaska.  Well, this is not exactly how my hat looks. But it is lovely, take my word for it, and big enough I could have sailed a small vessel with it. Very useful for shading small countries that are lounging at the pool and have forgotten sunscreen.

15 apr 1963

15 apr 1963 (Photo credit: fred baby)

I also found a couple of elegant glass bottles for holding sparkling water or juice…whatever…really the contents don’t matter. My clear glass fetish kicked in and I was compelled to buy these two lovelies. Rob just looks at me like I’ve grown a third eye or something equally hideous. He cannot understand my need for clear glass objects. Most of the time I control it very well. But let’s just say one day I’ll have a thing or two to leave some like-minded clear glass aficionado. You know who you are. I think I raised one of those people, so that will probably work out to be my son-in-law’s storage issue eventually.

So, home, treasures unpacked, and a few eaten, and on to next. September and pumpkins and all things fall. I had a maple latte at the airport this morning. Aaahhh, it begins!

Just couldn’t help myself

/ Sheila / 5 Comments

So it’s summer. It’s summer! Time for dinner on the deck, homemade ice cream, and if I’m lucky, good tomatoes. I stopped by the grocery on my way home tonight to pick up a few things and saw heirloom tomatoes were in stock. And like a magnet, pricey though they are, they drew me in. I put three luscious ones in my cart, and immediately, almost without conscious thought, my feet headed toward the bread aisle. When tomatoes are in season…and only home-grown or heirloom specimens are truly worthy…no anemic, plastic-looking hot-house varieties need apply…my favorite thing is a tomato sandwich. And that sandwich must be made with white bread. Can’t do wheat or oat bran or whole grain for this combo. I like hearty breads and brown breads and seeded breads. But as soon as tomatoes are in season, my tastes revert to childhood. And in my childhood, at least in my mother’s house, deep in the heart of Mississippi, the bread was always white.

I’m a purist when it comes to fresh tomatoes. A perfect summer tomato needs a sprinkle of sea salt. And that’s it. Pair with soft white bread and a generous slather of real mayonnaise and you have a taste of heaven. Some people toast the bread or add lettuce. Not me. Nope. All I want is the simplicity of summer flavor combined with the texture from childhood memory. And the bonus? No heating up the kitchen in the middle of our SE Alaska heat wave, and dinner is on the table in five. Perfect!

End of Summer Tomatoes

End of Summer Tomatoes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Food done right

/ Sheila / Leave a comment
Tomato plants in the garden.
Home grown tomatoes

There is a growing awareness in the US today of the value of eating locally grown organic and sustainable foods. This isn’t a new concept, but there are more and more restaurants creating menus from locally sourced produce, dairy, and meats. The menus reflect what is in season at the moment…what is available at the time of year. The reality is that this is simply a return to a much older way of eating…long before pesticides, mass production, and vast distribution systems became the norm in the food industry.

Small and privately owned farms are leading this movement. There is a renewed appreciation for the art, the craft, the science, of food production done well, from the farm to the table. Farmers inspire chefs, and chefs support farmers. It’s a healthy and nutritious approach to life.

One of the goals I have in choosing “next” is to have access to farmers’ markets and to a wider array of food choices. At the local markets in Ketchikan, there is a good selection of ethnic and imported foods. But it would be oh so fun to have even more options. I remember my mom going to Indian food stores to buy authentic curry spice mixtures and other items that were not available at the local grocery. Things have come a long way. But I’m intrigued by the challenge of eating locally, and I want to explore the choices that come with living in a region of the country that has a rich agricultural tradition and more ethnic diversity of restaurants and resources.

Long ago, when Rob and I were first married, we planted a few tomato plants outside our apartment building. My grandmother, one of the greenest thumbs of all time, recommended a healthy spread of chicken manure as fertilizer for the plants. Those tomato vines produced an amazing harvest, and I must say, the only tomato harvest I’ve ever personally produced.

I don’t want to become a farmer. I don’t think my thumb is green enough. But I would love to have access to farmers’ bounty, and to have the opportunity to try my hand at growing tomatoes again. I don’t know if or when that ambition may become a reality. It is one of the things I’m thinking about as I sit dreaming, looking out at the Tongass Narrows. Living “as if, ” thinking, “not at once, but at last.”As  I said to a friend a few days ago, if all my dreams come true, I could spend the rest of my life living in an RV. I highly doubt that will be the case! But I think some adventuring is in order before I think about planting tomatoes or new roots. I’m good with that. I don’t need either of those things at the moment. But some day, maybe I’ll be a proud tomato grower again. And I’ll have a favorite farm stand to visit.