Posted by This came out of nowhere, or rather an unexpected somewhere, or rather the muted, but then not so muted craving of a dear friend for red tomatoes. Her message crossed the Atlantic and arrived in northeastern Attica, Greece, in the middle of the dark night, one night, may be the night before.
Here she is, taking her bath, in one of her previous lifes in the year 1963, when she gave Roy Lichtenstein the opportunity to immortalize her.
When I started decyphering the “tomato” message, if I may call it that, I realized that it was referring to a tomato festival, without giving specifics.
Festivals
Could it be the Pittston Tomato Festival, one of the best festivals in Northeastern Pennsylvania?
Or was it La Tomatina, a festival that is held in the Valencian town of Buñol, a town located in the East of Spain 30km from the Mediterranean?
It does not matter, in the grand scheme of things this will remain an irrelevant detail, some sort of trigger of memory, of recalling events from the past. In any case, this is what it did to me. I was immersed in a wave of tomato memories.
Growing and drying tomatoes
I used to grow tomatoes in a small garden by my home in Kaletzi, and this was one of the plants. I must confess to have a taste for fried green tomatoes, as well as the ripe red ones.
When I was a tomato grower, I would prepare sun dried tomatoes. I used plum tomatoes, and followed a very simple recipe. Slice them in half, lay them face down on a mesh so that the liquid would drain, sprinkle coarse sea salt over them, cover will with a fine cloth and let it dry.
There is another way to prepare dried tomatoes, I saw it in the village of Pyrgi on the island of Chios.
The designs on the houses draw attention away from the tomatoes, but they are truly delicious.
A summer day tomato meal
A nice light meal for a summer day in Greece would start with a cold dish. Sliced veal tongue with fresh red tomatoes and caper leaves, sprinkled with olive oil and sea salt.
The mail dish I would prepare is tomatoes and peppers “stuffed” with rice and meat.
A poem
A self respecting article on tomatoes could not end without a poem. In this case I have a poem written by the Chielan Nobel Laureate Pablo Neruda. It comes from his ‘Elementary Odes’ volumes published between 1954-1959 in which, among other things, he pays tribute to Artichokes, Wine, Lemons and Salt.
ODE TO THE TOMATO
Oda al Tomate
A poem by Pablo Neruda,
Translated by A.S. Kline
The roadway
is full of tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
the light
splits itself
in two
halves
of tomato,
runs
down the roads
as juice.
In December
it goes wild
the tomato,
invades
kitchens,
infiltrates lunches,
settles itself
quietly
on sideboards,
among glasses,
butter-dishes,
blue salt-shakers.
It has
its own light,
gentle authority.
Sadly we have to
murder it:
sinking,
the knife
in its living pulp,
it is a red
heart,
a fresh
sun,
deep,
inexhaustible,
filling the salads
of Chile,
is happily wedded
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate
oil
lets itself
pour,
essential
child of the olive,
over its half-open hemispheres,
the peppers
add
their fragrance,
salt its magnetism:
it’s a stylish
wedding,
parsley
lifts
little flags,
the potatoes
boil with vigour,
the roast
knocks
on the door
with its aroma,
it’s time!
come on!
and on to
the table, in the middle
of summer,
the tomato,
earth-star,
star
repeated
and fecund,
shows us
its convolutions,
its channels,
the famous fullness
and plenty
delivers up
without stone
without rind
without scales or spines
the gift
of its fiery colour
and the whole of its freshness.
A picture
Epilogue
There is a farm near my home, where I go and buy fruits and vegetables. They present their tomatoes as they come out of the field, without any screening.
And this is the image I would like to send to my dear tomato friend. Real Marathon Tomatoes! Quite possibly the best in the world!