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A Great Tomato


Kathleen, overtired from weeks of late nights, took yesterday off as an extension of the long weekend, so I canceled my French lesson. When I called the Prof to tell him that we couldn't meet, I learned that he had brought back some tomatoes from his place by the sea. At about five, I went downstairs to pick them up, on my way to chercher le courrier (get the mail). They were beauties.

Two of them still are. I sliced one last night, and sprinkled it with salt and basil. The dinner was not a great success. I had poached some salmon steaks over the weekend, and I thought I'd figure out how to serve them with avocado. I made a buttercream-like sauce by processing the avocado, a bit of mayonnaise, tarragon and the remains of a lime from weekend cocktails. This "went with" the salmon all too well. It emphasized the salmon flavor while remaining utterly untastable itself. And of course it was too rich. I ought to have omitted the mayonnaise and increased the citrus. 

What with the richness of that dish, we couldn't eat the whole tomato, which made me very sad. (I did save it, but who knows what it's like now.) Seeing the platter by the sink, I was reminded of Chardin (by the lemon, probably), and I thought I'd immortalize the last slices of a great tomato.


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It is very Chardin-like.

I swoon when you write about food, RJ. I really do. I go all weak in the knees. And then...the tomato soft porn! It's too much. I need a cold shower.

Thank you, as always, for the eloquent thrills.

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