Friends from NC delivered two beautiful, fat, shiny, green tomatoes a few weeks ago when they visited. What promise these tomatoes held as I sat them on the counter waiting, just waiting for them to turn from their bright firm green, to a less firm pink, and finally yesterday to bright red sandwich ready spheres.
After each child was tucked safely into bed, I made my move. I tiptoed to the kitchen, grabbed a serrated knife, and began cutting fat slices of tomato as juice and seeds streamed down my forearms. Surveying my bread selection, I decided with a sigh that store bought bread would be better than none at all, and slid two slices from the bag. Making a quick decision, I plucked the "full-tilt" mayonnaise from the fridge--no low fat stuff tonight, I reasoned, this sandwich deserves the best. Assembled and seasoned, my creation was complete and I, with gusto, partook. I was thrilled to discover that this summer's tomato sandwich was every bit as satisfying as last summer's. Giving the remaining tomato a parting gaze that held plans for morning, I set off to bed.
As I attempted to repeat the whole sneaky sandwich assembly and consumption drill this morning, however, I was busted! Just as I was polishing off the first half of my pre-lunchtime creation, in walked Kate.
"Mom! What is that?"
"A tomato sandwich." I answered, pulling it closer to me.
"It must be very good. Is it?" she queried, eyebrows raised.
Sighing, I offered her a bite.
Taking the proffered bite, "Oh...mmmmm...can I have one just like yours?"
Today I learned that a yummy summer tomato sandwich, much like a good cup of coffee, is even better when shared with someone special.
