(Full disclaimer: This post is not intended for those who loathe raw tomatoes, the ones that call them names, like “vile fruit.” You know who you are. It is meant for those of us, who pause in the presence of a perfect, raw tomato.)
Today’s delight was a firm, Roma. Deep color. Lovely smell of all kinds of potential recipes locked inside. Oh the possibilities…fresh salsa with red onion, cilantro, jalapeno and lime? Or, homemade pasta cooked with caramelized garlic, shallots, oregano and a splash of red wine. Today was about the profoundly simple or simply profound. I started with a rustic Italian loaf with the perfect crust, sliced thick and toasted lightly. Next, a drizzle of olive oil and sliced cucumber whose smell defines freshness. Then, the perfect, raw, Roma tomato, sliced generously. To finish, a dusting of coarse sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. I smile just looking at it before I dig in and feel a little sorry for those who don’t get it. (You know who you are.)