Welcome to the first edition of How To Eat, a newsletter in which I will write not just about how to make great food, but also how to eat it. I will occasionally post a formal recipe, but my primary aim is to share good food that is simple to make, easy to adapt, and delicious to eat.
Living in San Francisco, I miss the rhythm that seasonal weather adds to the passing of time. During my years on the East Coast in college and after, I came to relish the way that the seasons give shape and definition to each year. They change how we experience time, from blizzardy walks on icy pavement to warm summer evenings that invite bare shoulders (a true novelty for a native San Franciscan).
In the absence of real seasons, my local Sunday farmer’s market is my barometer. Rather than observing the leaves change color, I cheer at the arrival of crisp apples and honeynut squash in the market stalls. The early signs of winter are not snow flurries, but root vegetables and sharp, bright citrus to be eaten in vinegary salads. Eventually, in comes spring, bringing with it delicate stalks of rhubarb and asparagus. The summer bounty encompasses peaches, berries, watermelon, fresh herbs, and tomatoes. And the cycle continues.
The joys of seasonal cooking and eating are legion, and they become even more pronounced when you can look outside your window any day of the year and not know what month it is. Each rotation brings new pleasures and possibilities, and cherishing this seasonality is the best way I know to make 65 degrees and sunny (or foggy) feel somehow distinct.
Especially during this pandemic, during which so much of what we ordinarily look forward to in summer - weddings, barbecues, outdoor concerts, weekends away with friends - is canceled, we need to actively find ways to punctuate time and counteract the blur of passing months. I highly suggest seeking out your local farmer’s market to do just that. It establishes a weekly ritual to look forward to, and if you go regularly you will also pick up on the micro-seasons which situate us even more firmly in a specific - and fleeting - time. (In SF, local cherries are already gone, and figs are on their way in.)
Which brings me to tomato toast, which I could eat every day from July to September, for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. There are countless variations on tomato on toast, from the inordinately delicious Spanish pan con tomate to Italian bruschetta to Indian-ish author Priya Krishna’s chaat masala variety to a classic BLT. They are all highly worthy. My ultimate tomato toast, though - the one I could eat every day of summer - is about as basic as it gets.
Four components are essential: toasted bread, a slick of mayo, sliced heirloom tomatoes, and flaky sea salt. A reliable trick for picking out the best heirloom tomatoes, which I learned from my mom (hi, mom!): the ugly ones taste better. A tomato with lots of dark cracks and crevices should win every time in both texture and flavor. (We’re not talking about a bruised or damaged tomato, just one that probably wouldn’t be chosen for the glossy cover of a magazine.)
The juicy tomatoes merge with the mayo and then soak into the toasty bread, which gets soft on top but stays crunchy on the bottom, evoking that finest texture in food, crispy-gone-soggy. The salt amplifies the tangy, summery sweetness of the tomato, which I prefer to slice thinly and layer onto the toast. I like mine with a generous amount of cracked pepper and a sprinkle of minced chives. Basil can join the party, too. The bread should, of course, be sliced diagonally.
Whether you live in California, Maine, or somewhere in between, I hope you will take at least a few opportunities in the coming months to enjoy this perfect summer meal. Keep it simple, but use the best ingredients. If you or someone in your life hopped on the sourdough bandwagon during the shelter-in-place (like my husband, Derek!), a thick slab as a base will be heaven. Throw on some chopped herbs if you have them lying around and add whatever else you’d like to enhance the situation - shingles of thinly sliced cucumber underneath the tomatoes could be a welcome addition. Just steer clear of anything that will overpower the flavor of tomato. (I love hot sauce, but it has no place here.)
While you eat, stop briefly and savor the fact that what you’re tasting is so thoroughly rooted in this exact moment. What a gift.
Stay tuned for next week, in which I will argue that hot dogs are a seasonal food.
Love this. Tomato toast is one of my favorite foods. I like the tip about the ugly tomatoes. Look forward to hearing more!!!
Thank you - and Mom - for your tip on how to choose the tastiest heirloom tomato. I very much look forward to savoring each article from your newsletter. And I am eager to read your hotdogs-are-a-seasonal-food argument.