You say tomato, I say

Ta Mah Tah.

Or not.

Here, depending on how far up the mountains you reside, we say "tamata", or if you are really country, "damater" or just plain, "mater".

Whatever you call it, man alive, it's one good food.

I say this because, as ya'll know, summer is ending and that means the end of the fresh picked, still warm from the sun, tomato.

Makes me shed a tear.

You know, folks originally thought the tomato was poison. Some brave soul decided to eat it anyway.

I picture it thusly: Immediately preceding the first bite of the tomato, a loud, braggadocio voice in mountain man accent hollers: "Hey ya'll, watchis!"

And, I believe, after the crowd took one look at the rapturous countenance that appeared on his unshaven face, they galloped to the nearest loaf bread and Blue Plate and commenced to make the first mater sammiches.

And probably, (though I have no proof) they passed by a cow in the pasture and someone thought what's good for the calf is good with a mater sammich and braved themselves to pour a tall glass of milk to go with their new delicacy.

Man, I love history.

Ask me

Ask me what I had for dinner day before yesterday.

I'll answer, "A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Ask me what I had for supper night before last.

I'll answer, "A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Ask me what I had for dinner yesterday.

I'll answer, " A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Now, I love them both. Truly I do.

But I 'bout kissed husbands feet when he brought supper home last night, which was not a tomato sandwich and green beans.

Having a crick down your back, which meets with the lower back pain one lives with, can put a damper on cooking.

So, ask me what I'm having for dinner today....

A Joyous Post

Gather 'round, Brothers and Sisters for I have a wonderful tale to share.

You've heard of the perfect storm, no? Well, tonight I had the perfect meal.

Details, you say, details!

Here they are:

The bread was fresh. Never opened until that very moment. I carefully removed two pieces. Crusty, fresh, soft in the middle...

I lovingly removed the Blue Plate from the fridge and got a nice, wide knife with which to apply it liberally on both pieces of the bread.

Then I reached for the tomato.

Yes, Brothers and Sisters. It was dark red, almost bursting through its skin. The smell was divine.

I washed it carefully.

Getting a sharp knife, I sliced through the top and laid it aside.

Then I reverently sliced more onto the open, waiting bread.

Cutting the sandwich in half, I gently carried it to the table.

I poured my drink.

The sweet milk was so cold that it felt like I was pouring it on me instead of in me.

Bliss.

Need I say more?