Both of the responses to this seem to assume that my love of tomatoes comes from Italy or Italian culture. It comes from the American deep south, much closer to where tomatoes actually come from. Adding oil or extra ingredients takes away from the moist, cooling nature of a tomato on a hot summer day. A tomato is bursting with refreshment. All you gotta do is let it out.
I’m not going to get into details, and it wouldn’t be a fun story. It’s just one of my many sad, quiet stories about families paying lip service to the idea of love.
No favorite. All tomatoes are good tomatoes. Raw, sliced, lightly salted, maybe a a little pepper or paprika.
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Both of the responses to this seem to assume that my love of tomatoes comes from Italy or Italian culture. It comes from the American deep south, much closer to where tomatoes actually come from. Adding oil or extra ingredients takes away from the moist, cooling nature of a tomato on a hot summer day. A tomato is bursting with refreshment. All you gotta do is let it out.
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My one encounter with gazpacho was… stressful. I haven’t gone back to it since. I have bad memories of gazpacho.
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I’m not going to get into details, and it wouldn’t be a fun story. It’s just one of my many sad, quiet stories about families paying lip service to the idea of love.
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Sliced tomato, slice of bocconcini, pepper, basil and a bit of olive oil
🤤
All of these but on a good slice of focaccia