Slacking is what slacking does, or I'm wallowing in green tomatoes

Yikes. I can't believe it's been a month since my last post. I can imagine my four dedicated readers hopelessly anticipating that eggplant meatball recipe. Alas, today is not that day.

Today, I'm talking tomatoes. The garden season is coming to an end. As a matter of fact, by community garden rule, my plants must all be uprooted and composted by the end of October 23. Not a big deal. Most of the plants are done producing anyway and the kale plant I intend on uprooting only so long as it will take me to re-pot it and put it in my living room window. Then, there are the tomatoes.

Last week, Art and I ventured to the garden to check on the damage. All three tomato plants were festooned in tomatoes, all of them bright frickin green. Still. We came to terms with the fact that they aren't going to ripen before garden strip time. Solution: we picked all of the big ones, 30 in all, and discarded the ones that seemed in any way damaged or "diseased." Then, I got on google and I searched for a slow indoor ripening method. I found several, but many that just weren't practical with our apartment-sized living space. The one I settled on is the plastic bag method. You put about four or five tomatoes in a plastic bag with holes pricked in it for proper "breathing." Then, you stick a green banana in the bag and tie it up. Six plastic bags and bananas later, we have a row of tomato-laden Giant Eagle grocery bags dangling from the coat-rod in the hall closet. So far: one tomato has ripened.

Luck seems like it might be in our favor. However, dear reader, I have a favor of you. Should these tomatoes not ripen (and that's not even counting how many new ones will be there when we go for the big dig-up later this week), I need some ideas on what to do with them. I mean, I love my baked fried green tomato recipe (and I hope you do too), but a girl can only stomach so many before she just doesn't ever want to eat another one.

What the heck else can you do with a green tomato?

Anything and chocolate

I'm your standard everyday overachiever. I am one of those people who overschedule, overbook, overkill everything. And as I'm trying to do what good ole Semenza taught me to do in Graduate Study for the 21st Century and work work work harder, longer, and faster than even your professors work, just to prove your chutzpah, I find that I have no time for, well, anything not in some way directly related to schoolwork, including my 20 hour per week internship at the local NPR/PBS station.

The blog has taken a hit and for that I apologize. I still have my index cards. One, in particular, a nice eggplant meatball recipe, I've had Art make again and again for me to take in tupperware and leave in the faculty frig for supper before night class after teaching and doing NPR research all day. It's coming soon and believe me, you're going to love it. In the mean time, Mondays I get home in enough time to eat with my boys. Today, Art made a fun concoction that started out as stir fry before he realized we were out of the usual stir fry veggie standbys.

Instead, he added a bit too much dark chocolate baking cocoa into the rice, adding black beans, a can of tomatoes, a can of mixed veggies, and a can of diced tomatoes (dented and clearanced at Kroger). It was a rather strange color but utterly delicious. I have no photos. I have no recipe. Just my man, a pan, a larder full of canned goods, and a starved, overworked vegetarian in need of both vegetables and protein.

And chocolate, as everyone knows, goes with anything. Magic. Do I have the best guy on the planet or what, ladies? Black beans and chocolate... love if ever I saw it.

Baked stuffed tomatoes and other adventures

A few weeks back, my cousin Kristin came in for a visit. This is how behind I am on blogging. My son was at his dad's for the weekend, so Art and I went online and found a nice fancy restaurant to take her to while she was in town, show her the best that Cleveland has to offer. Originally, I was thinking something in Little Italy. Then, Art found Pier W. It's a seafood place on the West side of town that boasts of a floor-to-ceiling, wall-length window with a view of downtown.

We didn't tell Kristin where we were taking her. Just went, and all of us were blown away. The food was excellent with a wide selection, including an entire vegetarian menu. I had the vegetarian plate, a sample of three popular options of their vegetarian fare. I did not take pictures, as I did not have my camera on me. But if I had, I doubt I'd have stopped eating long enough to snap a photo. Art got the Walleye Tempura, and Kristin ordered some sort of lobster pasta.

The reason I mention this before discussing my tomato-stuffing recipe: Kristin left her leftovers behind when she packed up her cat back in her car and headed for home, and I ate her leftovers on the side, next to these lovely tomatoes. I will say that I'd never had lobster before. I may never have it again, but the pasta was delicious, very rich and very tasty in small portions.

As for the bill, I prefer not to thing about it. Art paid and we're counting it as an early anniversary dinner and celebration over newly gained employment on Art's part, all rolled into one hefty check. Should you go to Pier W, be ready to shell out some cash, but know that the food is superb, the waitstaff is companionable and not at all snobbish, and the atmosphere is one-of-a-kind. Looking out that large window at the twinkling lights of downtown Cleveland was the only time I've ever seen Cleveland look pretty. And that's something.

The following tomato recipe, however, can be made at home with little cost to you, though you will not be able to plate it with Pier W lobster pasta.

Baked Stuffed Tomatoes
(for one- adjusted from Moosewood Simple Suppers)
What you need:
1 large tomato
salt and pepper
1/4 c. grated cheese
1/6 tsp. (eyeball it) dried Italian herbs (oregano, dill, thyme, etc.)

1. Cut the tomato in half and scoop out seeds. This was the part where I got a tad worried. You see, the ripe tomatoes I had on hand from the garden were purple cherokee, which is a rather meaty tomato, not a lot of seeds or seed cavities in which to put the cheese. In an effort to aide this process, I cut a small X in the center of each tomato half.
2. Oil baking dish large enough to hold the tomato halves side by side. (Or just use a tin-foiled cookie sheet). Place halves cut-side up on the tin foil. Sprinkle them with salt and pepper. Admire their dark coloration of red, how it grows lighter in color as it moves its way to the center of the fruit.
3. Put half of the cheese on top of each tomato half. Sprinkle with herbs. Try to get the cheese to fall into the X at the center and the tiny seed pockets at the edges of the extra meaty tomato.
4. Cover with foil and bake for 15 minutes. Uncover and bake until filling is hot and cheese is melted, 5-10 minutes more.

In the end, the baked tomatoes turned out better because they were a meatier tomato. There was more there to bake and thus, to eat. I would recommend you try for the meatiest tomato you can find when undertaking this particular recipe. The results are pleasantly surprising.The tomato itself becomes a bit sweeter from the baking, and the herbs give it that extra kick. Eaten alone, it's a filling, solitary meal. Eaten with Pier W lobster pasta, it's a party.

This one is a definite keeper, though I haven't as yet been able to remake the recipe. The sudden temperature cool-off, followed by a spike in hot weather again has done a number on the tomato plants. They have plenty of fruit on them, but all still green. Perhaps the sudden cool-off again today with help some of those green ones turn red.

Still, for a while there, I was swimming in ripe tomatoes from the purple cherokee plant and the beefsteak plant (Mr. Stripey is still holding out on me.) I started coming up with quick little recipes all my own to use tomatoes up before they spoiled. One such recipe, I remembered to photograph:

Back in the good ole days (two months ago), when IHop sent us weekly buy-1-meal, get-one-free coupons, Art and I often lunched at the International House of Pancakes, east Cleveland branch. Of course, being at the International House of Pancakes, my natural recurring order is none other than... tomato and spinach fake egg omelet. I do so love my pancakes, but I try not to order them from restaurants, as restaurants bring a four-stack of plate-sized pancakes, and I, of course, can't stop myself from stuffed all four down my gullet. Thus, I get omelet.

But IHop has stopped with the freebie coupons for some reason, so we no longer go there. But I can use garden ingredients to make my own, fairly attractive version:

Tomato and Kale Fake-Egg Omelet
What you need
about 1/2 c. fake egg, more or less, depending on the size of omelet you want. 1/2 c equals 2 eggs, roughly.
1 med. beefsteak tomato
about a handful of pre -chopped, -blanched, and -frozen kale
cooking spray

1. Spray small skillet with cooking spray. Measure out 1/2 c. fake egg and add it to the skillet. Set on Med-low heat. When sides stiffen and top begins to set, flip and cook another few minutes. Plate omelet.
2. Spray same skillet. Dice tomato and add it to the skillet, along with the kale. Cook until heated. Transfer to middle of plated omelet.
3. Fold omelet over (with an optional bit of cheese, if desired) and enjoy.

What I learned: Kale tastes even better with a tomato omelet than spinach does.

Open-face Broccoli Melt

I've been hearing a lot of hype about this Cleveland restaurant that's just opened up a branch on the east side. The place is called Melt, and I have never been there. I must admit, I've been intrigued. I've even had people recommend that I go there, but Art put his foot down. I can't help but agree with him. Why pay restaurant prices for grilled cheese?

Instead, having too much broccoli in the frig and not enough time to use it in, I looked to the Moosewood Simple Suppers cookbook for a little hometoasted melt of my own.

Open-face Broccoli Melt
(adjusted from the broccolini cheddar melt)
What you need:
1 large broccoli crown
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp olive oil
salt and pepper
2 slices of whole wheat bread
3 oz. shredded cheese (I used a mix of cheddar-jack)
Dijon or yellow mustard

1. Get out broccoli. Realize half of broccoli is too old to use anymore. Shake your head while tossing an entire large crown into the trash can. It is acceptable to mutter casual obscenities under your breath as you do so. Place remaining broccoli on a cutting board. Chop broccoli into 1/2 in long florets.
2.In skillet on high heat, cook broccoli with garlic in oil for 4-5 minutes. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add 1/4 c. water to pan and steam broccoli until water evaporates. Remove from heat.
3. As broccoli steams, get out your toaster. Look for your whole wheat bread. Fail to find the bread. Rummage around the kitchen muttering about vanishing bread until you remember you put the last open loaf in the refrigerator, because the last one you left out developed mold. Put one slice in the toaster. Be careful to place it at a low enough time setting so as not to burn it.
4. Congratulate yourself on not burning the toast. Spread mustard on the toast and place on a broiler pan. Top toast with broccoli, then cheese. Broil until cheese melts and is bubbly, 3-5 minutes. Serve hot, open faced.

I must say that over the years, I have grown fond of cheese and broccoli, broccoli and cheese. I haven't been to Melt yet, but that's fine by me. I make a mean melt myself.

Kale Spiders

The garden is filled with good insects this time of year, none so much as in my kale bush, where a nest of hunting spiders have taken residence.

They are of a docile variety, who apparently also are camera shy, but every time I harvest the kale, I have to shake them, gently so as not to rip the tips of the leaves, to force off any spiders hiding along the curly edges. I once had three quite frazzled spiders fall haphazard from one large leaf. Uncertain of where they were and what had happened, they ventured for cover, one toward the zucchini, one toward my pant-leg, and one lucky critter headed back to the kale.

The next kale harvest, soon approaching, I will take the camera back to the garden in hopes of capturing a kale spider or two. And though I know that the spiders are keeping my greens safe from vegetarian insects, I can't help it; my skin crawls for an hour after shaking them off, mere inches from where my fingers grasp the stem.

Another carnivorous insect find: a praying mantis in the purple cherokee tomatoes.

Art spotted her while watering. I had missed her, despite the fact that I had plucked a tomato not centimeters from where she was stationed on the plant. She stood nice and still and allowed us to photograph her, begrudgingly putting up with the bright flash, but it wasn't long after that the shrieks and touchy mitts of the six-year-old boy scared her off.

Outside of our little plot, there is is flurry of activity at the sunflower garden:

While honeybees have been dying off at an alarming rate all over the country, there are plenty right by our tomato patch. Bees sometimes dangle from a sunflower, five or six at a time, hording that much-loved nectar on their tiny knees. No fear of stings here. You can walk right by them on the way to get water from the spigot (or stand directly in front of them to take upteen pictures) and they don't so much as flinch.

Insects aside, the plants themselves are really starting to produce. The cucumbers, long-dead, have been torn up in favor of a fall crop of red-leaf lettuce. But the soybeans are coming in.

There are copious amounts of eggplant.

The peppers are finally putting out.

And the Mr. Stripey tomato plant is actually developing good-sized green tomatoes, hopefully soon to turn pink-and-yellow-striped. This particular bush has been a wild one, flopping its many tentacles all over regardless of where it belongs. There was no reigning it in, but through all of June, July,and early August, not so much as a single tiny bud-like tomato. Suddenly, Mr. Stripey is beginning to show his feminine side with large and abundant offspring. 

All I can say is: it's about time.

Now don't think that just because I've spent a blog on nothing but gardening that I have gotten behind on the recipe testing. On the contrary, I have about five recipe cards sitting next to me with pictures already loaded of various attempts, usually involving one of more of the vegetables obtained from my garden. The problem is I've been working so hard making sure I have all my lesson planning ready for the start of classes at CSU in the morning that I haven't had time to post my blogs. Consider this a promise for many, many tasty dishes to come.

That, and I am so excited by my first garden and the many new insights it provides, the many ways it helps me see this city and its nonhuman occupants in a clearer light.

Using up my fresh garden veggies

The garden explosion is on. The zucchini have hit a lull, though any minute now, they look like they could just burst forth another brood of offspring. Eggplant are weighing down the eggplant vine to the dirty ground. Tomatoes abound. And the Kale...

My frig is stockpiled and all I can think is: I need some new recipes stat. On google, I typed "tomato and eggplant recipes" into the engine. Lo and behold, I happen upon a bounty of recipes, but one it particular seemed the order of the day.

Whole Wheat Penne w/ Eggplant, Zucchini, Kale, and Tomatoes. It seemed the recipe created specifically for my August garden. 

What you need:

2 T olive oil

onion

2 med eggplants, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tsp. red pepper flakes

1 med. zucchini, diced

1 c. Kale

1 c. tomato (about one large one)

3T parmesan

salt and pepper

2 portions whole wheat penne

1. Boil the pasta.That's easy enough...

2. Heat large skillet over med. heat. Add oil and onion and saute 2 minutes. Not having 2 medium eggplants, dice up an assortment of mini fairytales and another non-globe variety. Realize you didn't cut up enough eggplant. Worry that you are running out of time and the oil is still sizzling. Enlist a kitchen helper (by way of handy cooking pseudo house husband) to help in the dicing. Manage to get all necessary eggplant. Add eggplant, garlic, red pepper flakes, salt. This will make for an oddly pretty mix of light brown with edges of purple ranging from lavender to aubergine and spots of red and dark brown. Cook until eggplant is browned, stirring, 6-8 minutes.

3. Realize you only have a tiny zucchini left from the garden's first zucchini onslaught. Dice it up anyway, aware that your meal will be light on the zucchini. Add zucchini and cook another 2 minutes. Add kale and cook one minute more. Add tomato, freshly plucked.

4. Stir and simmer about 1 to 2 more minutes. Add pasta water as needed so that the pan doesn't get too dry and the vegetables don't stick to the bottom of the pan. Add pasta to skillet. Add parmesan (The recipe originally calls for goat cheese. Who just keeps goat cheese lying around the refrigerator anyway?). Toss. Serve in bowls with an extra sprinkle of shredded cheese if desired.

The end result was very picture worthy, but very bland. I'm sure a few more spices could give it that needed pick-me-up. In my case, I hadn't had a lot of protein that day anyway, so I cooked up some fake sausage, cut it up, and added it to my bowl. Then there was plenty of spice to go around.

 

Even with the additions, I'm not sure I'd make this one again. There are so many great recipes out there to waste a re-do on mediocrity. Even so, I suppose it is a handy way to use the fresh veggies from the garden and that stockpile of pasta noodles we have in the pantry. I might just Kate-ify this one yet. I'll keep you posted.

Baked "Fried" Green Tomatoes (with accompanying omelet)

So, it happened. Finally, I get those first red tomatoes, those bright, shiny fire-engine beauties I've been waiting for since I shelled out the two-bucks-a-pop for tomato cages this spring. I recall clearly walking briskly back and forth between the tomato tables at the greenhouse (partly from excitement and partly because I had a cup of tea right before I left the apartment and I really had to pee). I read those little cards about each variety of plant, absent-mindedly stroking each tiny leaf. This one has low acidity. That one will be yellow with pink stripes. These over here, they bloom early.

The early-bloomers started to turn a few weeks ago, and I picked one early and watched it turn full-on purple-red on my mother's kitchen window ledge. The rest were a while in coming though. Admittedly, the events that are about to be described happened last week. In my tumult of over-booked activity, I have accrued a large stack of recipes next to the computer, taunting me with their unblogged-about smugness.

We were at the garden, a small plot at the far right corner of an episcopal churchyard. I was weeding. Art was watering. Garet, due to some strange juvenile need to be squirrelly, was planting a pine cone happily into the dirt beside a copse of coniferous trees... or at least, he called it a pine cone. That's when I spotted it: the first red Beefsteak. Eagerly, one-handed, I plucked the tender fruit from its vine and snap, the two adjacent green tomatoes beside it came too. I held them up mournfully to Art, and then, in a sudden spark of genius, I announced, "I could make fried green tomatoes."

Fried Green Tomatoes. It's a movie title I know well. In my youth, I was blessed with very overprotective parents who did not allow the viewing of movies until you had reached the age deemed appropriate for viewing by whatever lunatic organization that rates movies. My siblings and I contented ourselves with the meager movie options by repeatedly watching beloved movies over and over again. When my brother watched Forest Gump three times a day, I must admit, I grew tired of it, but I never lost my love, ever, for Fried Green Tomatoes. Perhaps it was the cultural significance. Perhaps it was the underlying lesbian implications. I like to think it was the food.

I never so much as tasted a fried green tomato before, but watching them sizzling in the diner pans of the Whistle Stop Cafe made me pine for them. Now, I had my chance. I googled, and found this site, run by a follow Michigander Katie, for nonfried green tomatoes. Here, I could fry my tomatoes and bake them too!

Baked Fried Green Tomatoes

What you need:

2/3 c bread crumbs

1 T Grated Parmesan Cheese

1 tsp cayenne pepper

1 T cumin

1/2 tsp salt

2 eggs, beaten (or the egg beaters equivalent)

2 green tomatoes

The logic of this is similar to what you do to bread the eggplant in this recipe.

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Put the bread crumbs, parmesan, cayenne, cumin, and salt in one bowl. Mix. Put the egg in a second bowl.

2. Cut up the green tomatoes into thin, round slices.

3. Submerge a slice of tomato into the egg. Then, press both sides, alternately, into the bread crumb mixture for a light coat. Recoat in egg. Then, recoat both sides of slice in bread crumbs. Place slice on a tin-foiled baking sheet.

4. Cont. the same process for each tomato slice until all are coated and on the cookie sheet. Place the cookie sheet in the oven for 20 minutes. Flip the slices and return them to the oven for another 10-20 minutes. Serve.

As an added bonus, the leftover egg makes a lovely omelet, if cooked in a small skillet on low heat. Add an optional slice of cheese, if desired.

These nonfried beauties have opened my midwestern eyes to the possibilities of southern cooking. Each breaded slice resulted in a taste combination that was both complex and enjoyable. The tomato was tangy with a bittersweet edge to it that was nicely complimented by the earthly taste of cumin and the subtle fiery finish of the cayenne. I'm usually not a fan of a lot of heat in my food but it was just spicy enough. Luckily for me, if my weak taste buds became too overburdened with heat, I had a nice egg and cheese palette-cleanser right there on my plate.