There are few foods in the world as delicious as a fresh, homegrown tomato. And when sliced thin and placed between two pieces of white bread, it creates a delight unrivaled in the culinary world.
I had a couple of BLTs at my mother’s house last month, and I had my first tomato sandwich of the season last week. A friend said she had more in her garden than she could eat, so she shared her bounty.
I’m something of a snob when it comes to tomatoes. Store-bought tomatoes can’t compare to homegrown ones, as anyone who has attempted to make a tomato sandwich with a grocery-store tomato can attest.
Tomatoes bought in a store never seem to quite get ripe. And they taste like, well, nothing. Often, store tomatoes have been artificially ripened with chemicals, and they are watery because they were picked too soon.
So slicing them thin and placing them between two pieces of white bread is pointless.
Now, technically, a tomato sandwich isn’t part of the nutrition plan I started some 20 months ago, and I suspect I may get a gentle scolding from Chelsea the trainer. Of course, it’s not the tomato that’s the problem. I can eat all of those I want. It’s the white bread slathered with a healthy coating of Duke’s mayonnaise that’s going to put me in the doghouse.
I don’t care.
I concede my gastrointestinal instincts had been finely honed over the years, mostly by the 18 years I ate my mother’s cooking. I grew up thinking that if something couldn’t be breaded, fried and chewed, then it couldn’t be classified as food.
Being the proud Southerner that I am, I love fried chicken and country fried steak and fried pork chops. Really, I like anything that you can fry. Batter and deep fry a sneaker and I'd probably try to eat it, especially if you cover it in gravy and serve it with mashed potatoes.
But Chelsea the trainer changed all of that, and now I eat a whole lot more fresh fruits and vegetables and a whole lot less mashed potatoes.
My sandwiches today are breadless. I eat a lot of lettuce wraps – turkey or ham, sliced tomatoes, cheese and a few drops of balsamic dressing wrapped by a romaine leaf. They are pretty good, actually.
During a meeting at work several weeks ago, a few of us were talking about the fact that it is tomato sandwich season.
“What is a tomato sandwich?” a young co-worker asked, which immediately led me to question the job her parents had done raising her.
How could anyone – especially someone raised in the South – not know what a tomato sandwich is? She might as well have never heard of grits or Scarlett O’Hara.
So for my ill-informed co-worker, and any Northern Americans who might be reading who likewise have never heard of a tomato sandwich, let me explain how to make one. It really is as simple as I made it sound.
Take a couple of pieces of white bread – it really should be white bread – and slather them with mayonnaise. Add as many slices of homegrown tomatoes as you’d like. Add salt and pepper to taste. And enjoy. Simple, huh?
You won’t find many things in a five-star restaurant that will compare.
