The Fruits of Summer

I cooked this weekend.

That, in itself, isn’t all that unusual. I like to cook. Except when it’s about a thousand degrees out, when just the idea of standing in a room with large windows facing the west and turning on a device designed to generate heat makes me kind of lightheaded.

Then we eat out a lot.

The weather broke on Saturday, though, a client had brought by a bag of goodies from his garden and we’d been to the Farmer’s Market, so the kitchen was overrun with produce that would go to bad if not used and given all the starving children in China – well, something was going to get cooked.

What’s somewhat ironic is that one of the things I cooked was fried green tomatoes.

Now, for those that don’t know, this is a southern delicacy. Unripe tomatoes are breaded and pan fried. They are very good with a bit of pimento cheese on top.

I didn’t always have such a sophisticated palate. If it wasn't beef and potatoes, I wasn't all that interested in it.

Growing up, we had friends who lived up the street who also had 3 little boys, all of us stair-stepped (I was #3) with dark hair (buzzed in the summer) and back and forth to each other’s house. We did vacations and trips together and looked enough alike so that when one set of parents had all the kids while the other parents took an “afternoon nap” the mom of the day frequently got looks of sympathy for being stuck with that team of boys.

There was one major difference between our family and theirs, though. They had a standing rule that, “. . . you will try some of everything on the table and eat everything on your plate.”

As an adult I see the value of this rule. Some foods are an acquired taste and need frequent exposure to get used to them.

Like dark beer, or blended scotch or certain mixed drinks. Nobody can drink their first Manhattan without a bit of a shudder. Persevere, though, and they start to taste pretty good.

This "try everything and clean your plate theory" works fine if you start it off with an infant understanding this is the rule of the house. Trying to impose it on a 10 year old is somewhat more problematic.

Especially a somewhat opinionated 10 year old who was a "good eater" according to grandmothers who were willing to tailor the menu to the child's taste, or a "picky eater" according to a mom who had to deal with the issue on a daily basis and refused to fix multiple dinners to accommodate the varying tastes in the house.

It was at about this age, at one of those joint family dinners, that I was confronted with that most vile of foods, the fried green tomato.

I suppose I should also explain that I wasn’t a fan of any kind of tomato, other than those that had been processed into ketchup.

So green ones, even if fried, were not about to touch my lips.

Mom was determined to stick to the rules though, and one went on my plate.

About 6 hours later I was still sitting at the table facing a then cold and coagulating fried green tomato, swearing that I could sit there until I died but still wouldn't eat it.

I don’t remember how the standoff ended, other than that I didn’t eat it, certain that it would, “. . . make me puke.” I suspect that Mom finally just decided that in all the battles to be faced in life, this one simply wasn't worth it.

I suspect that she wasn't especially a big fan of them, either, because I don't remember ever having them any other time when I was growing up.

So it’s a bit ironic that on the first day that I’ve cooked in a couple of weeks or so that this should be one of the things that I made.

They were pretty good. Enough so that I've saved the recipe and decided that we'll be having them again, despite the mess that comes with pan frying anything in the kitchen.

Oh, and the rule about ". . . try some of everything and eat everything on your plate," -- it ended a few months later when the other family moved away.