Tomatoland

The end of the summer finds gardens in a hurry, as if our basil and squash know this month is their last on earth. Some of them return as volunteers next year—surprises that, unmaintained, will yield a fistful of grape tomatoes sometimes even before your planned crop has set fruit.

My tomatoes are ecstatic. The ground below them hosts my daughter's favorite dog, a couple of birds, and a long-lived goldfish—a recent addition. I'd swear those well-loved souls tend our plants better than I do, though my husband helps them along with his Man Facing Northwest, a long daily meditation with hose.

I recently brought in a bowlful of a grape variety called Juliet, which are far too big for salads; they are smaller than a Roma but bigger than a cherry, and they're just not as sweet as I like my grapes. I had decided to make the quick version of sundried tomatoes (slice them in half lengthwise, lay them on a cooling rack, salt them, and place them in a low oven (180°) for about eight to twelve hours), but my husband talked me out of that idea. Sundried tomatoes may be expensive, but the energy to bake them is probably moreso. (Truth is I haven't had eight hours at home without him, or I'd have done it by now.)

A few of the Better Boys (they're big and beefy and sweet) have escaped my notice in the forest of tomato greenery, and they've plopped to the ground below, heavy with overripeness. But we salvaged a few of them today, many of them with deep splits and gashes but without the bugs usually attracted to them.

It's always to our delight that we revisit Tomatoland. In the coming weeks, we'll have homemade chili, spaghetti sauce, and/or Kitchen Shack-atoré (our daughter's baby pronunciation of Chicken Cacciatoré). And there will be thick sourdough sandwiches of sliced tomato, a thin smear of mayo, and three strips of just-done bacon (I hate it dry, but wet doesn't work on BLTs).

But tonight, it's our favorite of them all: pizza bread. Always trying to keep my carb count low, I put mine on a low-carb wrap. So many grocers are carrying them in so many different brands, and they get better all the time. (They get soggy, though, so you have to toast them in a pan.) The rest of the clan uses sourdough bread, which we usually have on hand.

Ingredients

a loaf bread
butter or olive oil
some ripe tomatoes
sprinkle of salt and pepper
handful of grated Parmesan cheese
pinch of garlic powder
pinch of oregano
pinch of basil

Instructions

There's no way to write a recipe this casual using exact measurements. This is fun in the kitchen. Make it your way.

1. Preheat the oven to 180°.
2. Slice the tomatoes and the bread thin.
3. Drizzle some olive oil or smear butter (my husband's preference) on the sliced bread.
4. Lay the tomatoes on top. Cover the bread, but don't overlap tomatoes.
5. Salt and pepper the tomatoes to taste. (I don't do pepper.)
6. Throw on some cheese.
7. Toss a pinch of garlic powder, oregano, and basil (more basil than oregano, and forget about the fresh; you're not cooking this stuff long enough).
8. Bake in the oven about 10 minutes, or until the cheese is melted.

Of course, there are many ways to make pizza bread. You can even put your tomatoes on a store-bought pizza crust, toss on mozzarella and Jack cheeses, add some pepperoni. But why? Your garden is here to make your life easier, not send you shopping for extras. You have bread. You have olive oil. You have the basic spices. Live like a happy peasant.