tomato

Fig and Tomato Salad with Blue Cheeses and Pine Nuts

I have to admit that I when I heard about this recipe I wasn’t completely sure that figs and tomatoes would make a good match.  Usually when I make a salad with figs, it’s on a bed of greens and a very light, fruity vinaigrette.  But hey, it’s tomato and fig season, and so an experiment was in order.  We’ve had a disappointing year as far as tomatoes go in the garden—some kind of blight has taken all but the smallest cherry tomatoes—so we had to buy the tomatoes for this salad, which also made me doubtful, since I’ve gotten used to strolling out the back door to pick them warm when it’s time to make something.

For this salad, we went the extra step and peeled the tomatoes—probably not strictly necessary, but a nice touch.  And we used two kinds of blue cheese—a classic French Roquefort and a local blue.  If you’re not a fan of blue cheeses, any tangy, crumbly cheese will do.  As in usual in our dishes, we aren’t strict about measurements—we were feeding four people, so we cut up what looked like enough tomatoes and figs for four.

The ingredients list went something like this:

Salad:

4 medium ripe tomatoes, peeled and sliced
8 figs fresh figs, tips cut off, quartered
2 varieties blue cheese, crumbled

Handful of toasted pine nuts, cooled

Dressing:

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oi
Pinch salt, freshly ground pepper

A few sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves only, whisked into the dressing at the last minute

And that’s it.  Assemble it on a platter in layers, starting with the tomatoes, then the figs, then adding the crumbled cheeses and pine nuts.  Drizzle the dressing over all just before serving.

I was wrong to doubt the tomato/fig combination.  We licked our plates. Our tomato sadness evaporated.  It tasted just the way summer is supposed to taste.

 

 

The “I Need Help” Sandwich

Not just a sandwich

This is a sandwich, a banh mi sandwich, made by Chip, the dude of chickdudefood. It’s not even the sandwich at the heart of this story, but that one was too delicious to take a picture of.

It started like this: Chip makes an incredible, and I mean out-of-this-world BLT. It’s so amazing, and his process for making it so precise, that I wrote a poem about it…that won’t be shared here. I’ve seen him take 45 minutes to get this sandwich to a place that he deems mouth-ready. It involves getting a lot of things exactly right: the kind of bread and how it’s toasted, the amount of mayo, the seitan bacon layered just so, the peeled tomato sliced a certain way, the placement of the must-be-Boston-or-butter lettuce, the salt, the pepper, the final pinch of a secret ingredient that maybe he’ll write about some day.

Anyway, this sandwich usually gets constructed late at night when Chip gets home from work. The smells that come up from the kitchen will wake me from a sound sleep and propel me downstairs in my pjs, with pillow hair and sleepy eyes, just for the chance of a taste, or just to watch something so beautiful get made and consumed. (I know, I’m a little strange about food.) There’s been deep analysis of what makes this sandwich so great, and he thinks he knows, but again, that’s his recipe to share.

About a month ago, maybe a little more, Chip made this BLT at an actual mealtime. For himself. In every possible way I could think of, I took a sidelong approach—to see if I could get him to make one for me. I tried everything, that is, except simply asking for one. He finally turned to me, while he was peeling the tomato, and asked me if I wanted one. You know the answer.

Here’s how this ties in to the “Life” part of this blog. If I can’t ask for a sandwich, how can I ask for help? And if I can’t ask for help, how can I be fully in recovery? Because the truth is, I can’t do this alone. I do need help.

We talk a lot, my friends and I, about how hard it is to ask for help. For me, whose identity was for so long completely dependent on being perceived as strong, as self-reliant and self-sufficient, as perfect as I could be, it’s nearly impossible. My response to difficult emotions or stress or whatever has, in the past, been to isolate myself, pull the covers over my head, and drink or take something until I felt I could face the world again. Sometimes that took hours—sometimes days or weeks or months—and, by the end, I was pretty much silent, alone, miserable, and desperate.

Asking for help makes you vulnerable. Being vulnerable is insanely painful. If you’ve ever been hurt, and we all have, it takes a leap of faith to put yourself and whatever is going on—shame, guilt, confusion, sadness, anxiety—whatever it is—in front of someone else and say the words “I need help.”

It takes courage and practice—to raise my hand at meetings and at home, to share the sorrows and puzzles of my life along with the joys—stories of gratitude are easier to tell. I’m getting a little better at this, slowly, and with the support of my community. I’m slightly more likely to be able to ask for help as freely as I give it.  (Giving?  That’s simple.) I’m trying to give up the facade of strength and self-sufficiency and perfection, because they are destructive and unattainable.  I’m allowing myself to be a mess, when I’m a mess.  And it turns out that I’m surrounded by people who also struggle to ask for help, but who show me how to do it and that it’s safe and that help will be freely given to me.

So last night when Chip said there was probably one more garden tomato to be turned into an October BLT, I said, “Will you make one for me, too?” Straight out, direct, face to face, with eye contact. And so I will get what I want—my reward for asking—an out-of-this-world BLT that is, for me, more than just a sandwich.

Watermelon and tomato salad with (pine) nuts and (goat) cheese

Watermelon tomato saladSay hi to summer.

ingredients

  • some handfuls of 1-2 inch chunks of seedless watermelon
  • a more or less equal amount of ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into 1-2 inch chunks
  • grey salt, kosher salt, fleur de sel, or salt of your choice, to taste
  • 3-5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons balsamic or other vinegar of your choice
  • 1 cup tablespoons chopped assorted fresh herbs (such as dill, basil, mint, chervil, tarragon, fennel fronds). The important thing is to use only fresh herbs.
  • a bunch of cups fresh tatsoi, arugula, or watercress, or a combination of all three, about 3 cups
  • some crumbled goat cheese or other cheese that you like
  • some pine nuts, very lightly toasted, or other nuts that you like

preparation

  • combine melon and tomatoes in large bowl. Sprinkle with a couple of pinches of salt and toss to blend; let stand 15 minutes.
  • add some oil and vinegar, and herbs to melon mixture. Season to taste with pepper and more salt, if desired.
  • divide the greens and herbs among plates. Top with melon salad, sprinkle with the cheese and toasted nuts, or put some nuts and cheese out so that people can add their own

notes

This is a very forgiving recipe that can be easily modified depending on what you have around. The blend of sweet and tangy in the watermelon/tomato mixture is matched by the fresh and tangy of the greens. This salad is a great way to say hello to summer and to celebrate freshness all summer long. It takes about 10 minutes to pull together.

For this version, we visited our backyard tomato garden for basil, chervil, dill, and parsley. Use whatever you have around that will complement your main dish. This time, we didn’t use cilantro, although we have some, because we had some leftover green romesco sauce for the baked bluefish. (Take some bluefish, spread some olive oil on it with your fingers, sprinkle salt and pepper on it, bake in a 350 oven, skin side down, for about 15 minutes.)

The watermelon/tomato mix will get pretty runny; you can take advantage of this liquid in your dressing and only add enough vinegar to balance the oil. To avoid a watery plate, use a slotted spoon when you add the mix to your greens.

This is a casual salad—don’t get fussy about the sizes of the chunks. If you can fit them into your mouth, and they’re all more or less equal in size, that’s it. You can save the knife skills showoff for something more ambitious, like our veggie chili.

The Urban Garden

The Urban Garden

Winter is officially over! It feels good to have our hands in the soil and faces to the sun. We are experimenting with these cool mobile planters. Tomatoes, peppers, and herbs are the subjects and we will track the progress and (we hope) success.