You’re reading Good Grief. We’re glad you’re here.
The tomatoes grow all summer long: heirlooms, san marzanos, romas, sungolds, crimson, eggplant purple, plump & green, sunrise orange, lumpy, bulbous, clinging to the vine. Mom stacks them six high, ushering in the season. . Paper thin slices sprinkled with salt, lain across warm sourdough, diced with lime & jalapeño, layered between fresh mozzarella & basil from the yard, pummeled to a thick sauce, deep ruby & bubbling. August comes, skin glows red. We harvest whatever is left smelling like salt & garlic, mosquito-bitten, overheated, over- growing, trudging through sticky air towards a crimson September, & back again to where I’m known.
Delightful and delicious, what a treat!