I think I might be a tomato snob. I mean, I’m not one of those people who goes to a farmers market and knows the name of every heirloom variety in existence (overheard at the Cold Spring market “They only have Brandywine and Green Zebras left, God I hate this place“).
During most of the year, I’ll pick them out of sandwiches and salads and usually try to sneak them onto Matt’s plate even though he doesn’t love them either (I feel better knowing they’ve gone to a good home). I just really don’t like the taste and texture of out of season tomatoes and would rather wait until the good ones come out. Well, they’re out, and I can finally have the tomato sandwich I’ve been dreaming of all year.
Quick aside; in my real job as a film editor, I recently worked on a movie about farm labor and learned that all commercial tomatoes (the grocery store kind) are picked green because they need to be rock hard to survive the long trip to the store. When they get near the store, they gas them (!) which turns the skins red, but the insides stay un-ripe. That’s why even pretty looking supermarket tomatoes usually taste like wet sneaker. Yum!
Anyway, I dedicate this recipe to my old roommate Paola who introduced me to the glory of the perfect tomato sandwich. When in season, we ate them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hers was simply good bread, ripe tomato and sliced onion but I’m a bougie bastard and can’t resist gilding the lily with mayo, basil, maldon salt and occasionally avocado. Your tomato sandwich may well be different, but wouldn’t life be boring if everyone was the same?
Matt says: I have a confession to make. It’s been weighing me down for some time now.
I love lemon curd – it was a staple in the Clifton household of the 1980s – give me a slice of cheap, white bread slathered with a jar of Robertson’s, and I was in heaven. We only started making our own over the last few years, but the first time I had really good homemade lemon curd was on our honeymoon, in Scotland.
We were on our way to Dunkeld Cathedral, a lovely old 14th-century ruin near Perth. We had written a few postcards to be mailed home, and spotted, along the road, a combined post office and tea room. Perfect! The business was run by a delightful elderly couple and their teenage daughter, and we ordered a round of tea and lemon-curd sandwiches. I tell you, it was curd to die for. Anyway, we finished up, complimented the couple, and remembered that we needed to deal with the postcards. I bought stamps, popped them in the box, and then we waved goodbye to the slightly perplexed-looking couple, thanked them again, and left.
We drove out, very satisfied with ourselves, probably burping little lemon burps, I don’t remember, but it sounds like the sort of thing we’d do. We got about forty minutes out through the mountains, and then a thought struck me. “Em”, I said slowly. “Did you pay them for the tea?” Emily looked at me. “No … I thought you did…”
Oops. We did seriously mean to post some money back to the tea shop, but what with one thing and another, we never got around to it, and at this point we can’t even remember exactly where it was. So, if you run a tea shop in Scotland, and you’ve been about £15 short on the books since 2005, but can’t work out why, it’s us. Sorry about that. It was lovely curd, though, I can tell you that.
So here’s our own homemade lemon curd recipe. It makes us want to commit more curd crimes, hope you feel the same after making it. We use it as the filling in this insanely good Zucchini Cake.
Ok, one more zucchini recipe. I’m not obsessed, I swear, we just have a lot of zucchini growing in the garden. Matt’s sister Hayli made this zucchini cake (AKA courgette cake) for us when we visited her in France (I know you’re feeling SO sorry for us right now) and it was fantastic. Very summery from the lemon curd and the zucchini keeps the cake extremely moist. I adapted it from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess. We usually make it with green zucchini which gives the cake delightful green flecks throughout, but we’re growing yellow zucchini so that’s what I’ve used.
A not-so-fringe benefit to growing squash is having access to the loveliest edible of the summer. Squash blossoms! So dang perty. They are usually stuffed with ricotta cheese and fried in batter which is (of course) delicious but we didn’t have a lot of them and didn’t want to do a whole fried bonanza so we just sautéed them in a bit of olive oil until they were wilty and brown and then frizzled some capers and garlic to go over them. It took about 5 minutes and ended up being really tasty. The fried zucchini blossoms become silky and translucent, almost like stained glass. Of course, they wilt down to nothing so don’t plan on this being dinner but if you grow squash, fried zucchini blossoms is a pretty good way to use the flowers without a lot of fuss.
We used the last of our green garlic (young, hard neck garlic from the farmers market) which is milder than regular grocery-store garlic. Either would work though so don’t sweat it.
I think zucchini get a bad rap. At our local farmers market, the corn and tomatoes are total attention whores and poor little zucchini are waiting in the background for someone to notice that they’re sweet too. If only they’d take their glasses off and let their hair down… Well the good tomatoes aren’t ready yet and a girl can’t live on corn alone, so zucchini, you’re coming home with me.
I had bought several before remembering that, when you grow something, you don’t really have to buy it anymore. So I realized I needed to find a recipe that uses quite a bit of it. The pale squash below are from our garden, and the darker ones are from the market. (If you’re growing your own, or even just picking from the market, it’s best to go for zucchini that are smaller. They tend to have less water and a firmer texture.)