The beneficiary of other people's tomatoes.

I can't have a proper garden here. It's a constant source of frustration for me from about March until November. It's a long story as to why I cannot even grow a tomato in a pot, but the end amounts to our home having no homegrown tomatoes in August. Clearly, that's an unacceptable situation, and luckily several loving gardeners have seen fit to help me get through this tragedy by gifting me with tomatoes from their own gardens.

I'm like a meth addict for tomatoes too, if someone mentions they have one or more than they're apt to use, I'm sniffing around their windowsills dropping hints about how I can take care of that if they'd like.

So far Cindy and Evan's tomatoes have become a Sunday dinner pasta sauce (and wow was is delish). My Grandfather's tomatoes have been turned into about fifty BLTs (Mr. Holt says thanks, his cholesterol levels do not.) and the Whitaker's tomatoes became salsa, and salad with cucumbers and shallots. (OM NOM NOM.)

And now I'm thinking forward to fall, and I think maybe this year I can't get through the colder months without that sunny, bright deep umami taste of real homegrown tomatoes.

So I got a book:

from Ashley English at Small Measure, and tomorrow I'm getting a giant box of overripe, bruised and split tomatoes from a local garden and I'm going to can my guts out. This could be a big mess.

Have you ever canned your own tomatoes?

Do you have any tips for me?

Dinner time: feast and hunger

It's been so grey and wet outside lately that my mind and palate were craving color and freshness. I'm ready for spring to be here for keeps. So for dinner I roasted corn in the husk and got a box of fresh picked strawberries from the farmer's market. I fried up some fish in garlic and olive oil and then we ate. and ate and ate. The strawberries were so sweet. I had already forgotten how they are supposed to taste, full of the early spring sun and fat spring raindrops. They tasted real. Not at all like the red, fibrous impostors from california I've been snubbing for the last 6 months.

Springtime is for berries.


The corn, even though I'm sure it came from some unknown warmer clime at great expense to the environment, was the perfect antidote for the rain. Roasted in their own husks, each ear had tiny, juicy kernels that tasted smoky and sweet. Like a promise of all the hot, lazy summer evenings on the way.

While I was cooking and eating I felt a little guilty. I can't be totally in the moment when I eat lately because I'm longing for a garden. With the warmer weather and the explosion of green outside, and especially surrounded by the growing fields at the bee-yard, my green thumbs are twitching to dig in the dirt and grow living, edible things to nourish myself and my family. Basil, squash, cucumbers, sunflowers... For now, my family is just myself and Mr. Holt, but when I make meals like this I'm always looking forward to a future family where I'll be wiping strawberry juice off little chins and cutting the corn off the cob for little fingers. I want to grow things, and people. I'm so full and so hungry for more.