With gardening season winding down, we’re at the point where it’s time to purge. There are only so many tomatoes a fella can eat, you know?
Actually, our true bumper crop has been peppers. We have about a billion bells, scads of serranos, plenty of poblanos, a shitload of shishitos, and an amazing array of Anaheims. Knowing full well we’d never be able to use them all before they shriveled up and died, as peppers (and people) do, I offered to bring some into work.
“I bet my coworkers will be thrilled to find free peppers!” I said to Tara. “They’ll probably bend over backwards to thank me!”
Well. Not so much. Because when I brought the peppers into CheeseGov on Wednesday, I found someone had already beaten me to the punch. Must’ve been Peter freakin’ Piper, ’cause my skimpy handful paled in comparison to the overflowing box that was already there.
Needless to say, there were no contortionists bending over backwards.
Luckily, we didn’t bother growing any zucchini this year. We never know what to do with it, other than to make bread…and judging by the number of footlong zucchini that have popped up around the office this summer, next to sheets of copy paper in which the word FREE has been scribbled in black Sharpie, neither does anyone else. Better than stepping out onto your front porch and finding a bag of ’em orphaned on your doorstep, as urban legend would have us believe happens often in the suburbs.
Zucchini really are the Rodney Dangerfield of produce, aren’t they?
We’ve had better luck actually eating our tomatoes. First off, I’m a big salad guy, and without tomatoes you’re just staring at a bowl of lettuce. I also like sliced tomatoes on sandwiches. In fact, here’s a breakfast hack I discovered last year: adding a sliced tomato to a homemade breakfast sandwich takes it to the next level. I’m partial to an English muffin, freshly cracked and steamed McMuffin-style egg, and either Canadian bacon or turkey sausage. Slapping a tomato on that bad boy adds a fresh acidic vibrancy that truly elevates it.
Eat your heart out, McDonald’s!
Last night, Tara made a tomato cobbler for supper. This was a new recipe that was, quite frankly, the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in a very long time. I wish I’d taken a photo but I was too busy Hoovering it up. Basically, she grabbed a bunch of fresh tomatoes from the garden, sautéed them with peppers, onions, and garlic, threw in some diced pancetta, added a bunch of spices, topped the whole thing with homemade cheddar buttermilk biscuits, and baked for 35 minutes. I’m not typically a drooler–that’s a habit I gave up when I was two–but g-damn, I’m slobbering now just thinking about it.
Welcome to Augtober
Apparently, this is a food post. Groovy. But it’s also going to be a weather post, because the type of food I’m really craving–soup–is entirely dependent upon the weather…and the weather is being a bitch. October feels like August, so I’m a-gonna just call it Augtober.
Judging by this temperature map, we’re not the only ones suffering through an endless summer:
It’s going to be pushing 90° the next couple of days. That does not make me want to cook up a big ol’ batch of Italian Wedding soup, even though I want to cook up a big ol’ batch of Italian Wedding soup.
Hopefully that makes sense.
And please don’t tell me I could make Gazpacho. There are certain immutable beliefs to which I subscribe:
- The Lord loves a working man
- Don’t trust whitey
- See a doctor and get rid of it
- Soup should be hot
So clearly, Gazpacho is not an option for me. Neither is Ajoblanco, Naengguk, Salmorejo, Vichyssoise, Okroshka, Tarator, or cold Borscht.
(Neither is hot Borscht for that matter, but that’s got more to do with taste than temperature.)
Not only is it hot, but it’s dry. We’re in danger of slipping into a drought again, which is kinda crazy because we just had 8″ of rain in August. Weather sure can be infuriating when it doesn’t go your way, huh? At least it doesn’t look like I’m doing donuts in my yard anymore.
It does look like it’s going to cool down next week, and we might even get a little rain, so I’ll keep that soup pot on standby.
Have you ever found zucchini on your doorstep? Do you like cold soup? What’s an immutable belief of yours?
Mark My Words 
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