It’s tomato time in the Midwest. I do not make this statement idly. I do not treat the oncoming of Illinois’ greatest moment lightly. I come with facts. Allow me to present my meal last Saturday night as the evidence such a bold claim requires. The metaphorical proof that resides in the metaphorical pudding. Saturday night, along with two new excellent friends, I dined at Logan Square standby Longman & Eagle.
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Before I describe the fantastic tomato-forward dish we ate that night, I must dabble in a touch of scene-painting. It was a hot and humid day that led into a hot and humid night. The air draped across my shoulders, a wet electric blanket on a summer night. August in Chicago. Our reservation was for 8:30pm, but being peckish we asked and were given permission to move it to 8, in the process losing whatever pretensions to European sophistication that we had. We sat outside, deciding to luxuriate in the heat, embracing it despite our trepidations. The maître d’ sat us at one of the tables clogging up the sidewalk on Schubert between Kedzie and Troy. Longman & Eagle would most likely consider “maître d’” too sophisticated a term for their “whiskey and upscale bites” aesthetic, but it was a maître d’. We considered the menu and ordered both whiskey and upscale bites.
We ordered three things and split them. Two of them, while quite excellent, paled in comparison to the dish entitled only “Heirloom Tomatoes.” I won’t mention the other dishes, not out of disgust, but because I do not wish to accidentally impugn their names. The heirlooms were simply the star of the show. Recommended to us by the waitress, we were deciding between those and the fried green tomatoes, this dish fell into that most rarified category, the perfect bite.
The dish was simple enough. Six or seven thick mezzelunes – that’s snob for wedges – of red and pink heirlooms served with a soft white farmer’s cheese, thin slices of cured ham, basil, and a few bits of fresh mint. Perhaps some olive oil made its way on to the dish, but I am not enough of a gourmand to be sure about that. While simple, the tastes were complex. The saltiness of the ham, combined with the sun-drenched sweetness of the tomato was a joy to behold. The cheese acted as a sturdy base for the dish, holding everything in place, keeping the ham and tomato from overwhelming anything. The basil and mint added curlicues of herbaceous flavor, welcomed grace notes to a fantastic dish. I that is not enough proof for you that tomato time is here
The beauty of this dish is that if it was served four weeks ago or about three weeks from now, it would have been nowhere as good. The tomatoes would have either been to mealy, too weak, too watery, or exhibited some other negative trait. Without the tomatoes the whole thing would have fallen apart. But because we ate it Saturday night, August 28th, it stood strong. This gustatory monument did not crumble. If you need more proof that Tomato Time is officially here, I cannot help you. That dish should be evidence enough.
So what does tomato time mean? Heirlooms, Romas, even the oft-derided beefsteak have all reached their peak in the last few weeks. Now is the time to empty the savings account, head to your local farmer’s market and purchase bushel loads of red gold. And green, yellow, white, purple, striped, and various other shades of tomato. Make marinara, can them, eat them with toast, or just raw with a little salt and pepper. Just as long as you don’t put them in the damn refrigerator. The tomato is a wonderful thing, full of lycopenes and other various vitamins and junk. Look up the Wikipedia page if you want the full nutritional information. I’m not really into tomatoes for the health benefits, I just like the way they taste.
There is one thing about the tomato that bothers me. Everyone thinks they’re from Italy. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I don’t mean literally everyone, of course. Apologies to the thousands of food historians who are reading this newsletter. You all were aware of this fact. Tomatoes originated in Central and South America and were brought back to Europe by the Spanish. Tomatoes didn’t even really catch on as a food dish in Italy, or the rest of Europe for that matter, until much later for a wide variety of reasons.
Now, of course, tomato sauce is considered the Italian dish par excellence, San Marzano tomatoes are considered the best in the world, and most people have forgotten the origins of this humble fruit. There are many reasons for this, San Marzano tomatoes are good as hell, but colonialism is namely to blame. Colonial powers flattened and rewrote history, and the cultural hegemony of western powers tended to take things from far off lands and claim them for themselves. History classes, at all levels, sometimes talk about this as “The Colombian Exchange.” That phrase refers to the trading of products and goods that happened when the “Old World” “discovered” the “New World.” Yes, all those quotation marks are on purpose. The Colombian Exchange is just a nicer way of saying colonialism. It’s a very odd term. The things included in this specific trade include chattel slavery, corn, horses, various infectious diseases, rye, potatoes, more corn, guns. An odd mélange of things to include in a list. Especially when pretty much all of the negative things were brought over by the nascent colonial powers. No, I’m not talking about rye.
I don’t want to make out the rewriting of tomatoes as being the worst sin of colonialism. Far far worse things happened, are still happening, and will continue happening because of colonialism. I’d venture to say that for most people Italians claiming the tomato as their own is far down on the list of things to correct. Nevertheless, it’s an important thing to remember during tomato time.
I don’t want to end this on such a downer note. Tomato time is supposed to be a happy time. But the history of food is an important part of history that is often overlooked in favor of things like economic, and political history. Food is important though. We eat it every day. Maybe we should know a little more about what we eat.
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