Pasta with Dehydrated Tomatoes and Garlic

The thermometer hovered in the high 80s with heavy humidity. It reminded me of being in Managua. I wanted to make some summery tomato basil pasta sauce, but didn't have the ingredients without going to the store and I was too lazy. Sissy pulled her head out of the freezer and saying, "I have some dehydrated tomatoes from last year." What the heck, I thought, let's give it a whirl.

1 quart bag of dehydrated Roma tomatoes. Cover with water and let sit overnight. Simmer for 20 minutes and mash. I added a small can of tomato paste to thicken it a little. (I think 1/2 a can would be better, since I ended up adding water at the end.) I added 2 glugs of olive oil, salt and pepper. While it was simmering away, I threw some dehydrated garlic slices from last year's bounty into a cup with water and popped it in the microwave for 2 minutes. I let it sit to soften then chopped it. I threw it in with a cup of basil leaves fresh from the garden. Simmer to combine the flavors. Serve over pasta of choice. We used basil garlic fettucine, Sissy had hanging around. Simple, easy, delish. You can, of course, use all fresh or canned ingredients. I normally use 1 of those big cans of whole tomatoes.

To dehyrated tomatoes:

Use Romas, slice into 4 half-inch rounds (any thinner and it turns into a fruit (veggie) roll-up and you can't get it off the rack. Just saying.)

Lay them on the racks in a single layer, not touching

Put them in the dehydrator for 24 hours. They have to be stored in the freezer.

To dehydrate garlic:

Slice in 1/8 -1/4 inch pieces

You should do the garlic by itself because the strong aroma may taint the flavor of other vegetables. It also needs to be kept in the freezer.

Set the dehydrator for 135 degrees and walk away. Do not keep checking it. Watch dehydrator never dries. Sorta like the watch pot.

Sissy uses a Nesco American Harvest dehydrator. She likes it because it has a fan on the top and a thermometer. And it's reasonably priced.

Blog Action Day on Poverty

GUEST POST BY KGWALLS

The Rubies of Summer

I have gardened for years and it is a joy planning what to put in the three large gardens. I can provide for four families, but, even at that, what do you do with the extra?

I had decided to downsize.

Every conversation with me somehow turns to the garden and in talking with a family friend who helps with the local food pantry, I found out, “They would gladly take any overflow.”

There was re-planning and a new excitement, what would they like?

Over the growing season with no rain to speak of and abundance of bugs I ended up with mostly tomatoes. Big beautiful Beef Steak tomatoes. I hand picked each one inspecting all for imperfections. I wanted who ever received them to know that they, like the tomatoes, were important. I am a firm believer in giving the best. I can keep the ones that have a bad spot and needs to be eaten soon.

If you are going to give it away make sure it is as nice as possible.

It is hard enough to go to a food pantry, without getting fresh vegetables that aren’t fresh.

I got a call from my son the evening after my first delivery; a neighbor of his had received a large tomato in his box of staples and was showing it off. David took one look and knew where that tomato had come from. “Mom, you donated tomatoes didn’t you? I knew that they were yours!”

Talk to your local food pantry and see if they can handle fresh vegetables and if so next year throw in an extra plant, or three. Next year I will be trying again. Beans, peppers, cabbage, cucumbers and of course Big Red tomatoes, the rubies of summer.

First Harvest

Good thing I am only growing for one.

Yellow Cherry Tomatoes

I spy with my little eye....something yellow.

I love yellow pear tomatoes, so this year when I decided to grow a few vegetables in pots, I scoured the local nurseries for a yellow pear plant. This one had the right picture on the little white plastic stake. But when it started to produce fruit, the small green beginnings looked suspiciously non-pear-like. They had no necks. My sister, the master gardener, confirmed over the phone that I had been misled. Instead, I have yummy ripe yellow cherry tomatoes. Delicious, low-acid, perfect, popped right off the vine. They are not what I wanted, but it's not worth making a fuss.

The one that got away

Azer’s arm ached from steadying the crate on the roof of the car through the open window. He wished he were anywhere but driving down the streets of the city on a hot Sunday afternoon delivering tomatoes with his father. He let go of the steering wheel and reached over to turn down the Mughum music that was blaring from the radio. It was loud and embarrassingly old-fashioned.

Without saying a word, Azer’s father snaked out a gnarled hand and turned the music back to ear-splitting decibels. Azer closed his eyes and prayed for strength. He wished he had not agreed to do this favor for his father.

As the car crawled up the steep street past the Symphony Hall and the Museum, Azer noticed a blonde woman strolling down the sidewalk toward them. She had on blue-tinted sunglasses that flashed in the sun and wore loose white trousers and a pale blue tunic that fell to her knees. On her feet were brown open-toed sandals.

The car veered toward her as Azer stared. His father’s shout startled him and he spun the wheel hard to the left. Azer let go of the crate and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands to regain control. Looking into the side mirror past the old man’s arm; he was mortified to see the woman waving her hands.

He slammed on the brakes. He looked in the side mirror again to see the crates that had been tied to the roof scattered on the pavement and tomatoes rolling down the street. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and groaned.

His father flung open the door with a curse, surveyed the damage and started to scream about money lost. Oblivious to his father’s snarls, Azer bent over and started to retrieve the tomatoes.

Some of them were smashed but many of them were only bruised. He scuttled down the hill picking up the fallen fruit. As he approached the last few stray pieces, a pair of brown leather sandals with painted red toes came toward him. Above the sandals white trousers billowed in the hot breeze from the Caspian Sea.

“You missed one.”

A hand held a beautiful red ripe tomato, unblemished during the accident. Too embarrassed to even look up, he took it.

“Tesekkür ederim,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

The feet turned and walked away.

Azer finally looked up as the blonde woman turned the corner and slipped into the cool shade of the park. He stumbled back to the car with his arms full. He kept glancing back at the park as he helped his father refill the crates and tie the load again. Finally with the crates secure, he got behind the wheel.

Azer looked in the mirror as they drove away hoping for another glimpse. As they rounded the corner, there it was: just a flash of blue, white and blonde.

THE GRATITUDE FACTOR

murmurings from the circle in the forest

An unexpected cold front has triggered my fall instincts to hunt and gather, and prepare my nest for the coming of winter. Never mind that it is only the latter part of August with several weeks of summer left. The gray squirrels are poking fallen acorns into the ground, and I am packing the freezer with this year’s bounty of corn, peaches, tomatoes and green beans.

I drove to the Farmer’s Market because that is the place to buy the great Garden State vegetables these days: Red tomatoes, creamy-golden corn, fresh garlic and onions and shiny onyx eggplants that we used to buy from the neighbor’s homemade stands, leaving payment in a cardboard cigar box. Since canning is a long and arduous process requiring quart jars, screw-top lids, great boiling kettles with wire racks, not to mention hours of sweating in the kitchen, I chose the quicker (and easier) freezer method. I boiled corn on the cob, and then sliced off the kernals into plastic bags. Peeled pounds of sweet peaches and sliced them into bags, each one holding enough for a pie (to be baked during snow storms).

There is something soul-satisfying about this work. Like kneading bread dough, a little of my life energy is added to the food. Ready-made dinners cannot match this gift. They feed the body only. Nourishment is one-dimensional. We are not involved with our food. We did not plant it, water it, weed it, protect it, pick it or prepare it. Having a relationship with your food affects its taste. I call it the Gratitude Factor.

I have a small backyard garden. When I pour a bag of silky seeds into my hand and push each one into the earth that I have tilled, amended, fertilized and mounded into beds, it seems crazy to expect food to come out of it. It feels senseless to pour water on dirt. It’s not reasonable. But it never disappoints. The seeds sprout from their underground secrets. It thrills me each time a timid yellow-green curl breaks through, sometimes balancing the seed casing on its head like a sport cap. I feel proud, like I’ve just given birth. In a few weeks, their leaves unfurl and their mission becomes clear: Make more of themselves. As they slip into production, I intervene, picking beans, peas, tomatoes, squash in their turn and use them to feed my own kind. Human beings have the same mission as a vegetable, only the green beans have not yet learned how to fight.

The vegetables pile up in my harvesting basket, a bounty from my own back yard. I thank each plant for its miracle. They are often consumed on the same day, so the flavors of green and gratitude leave me with a sense of fulfillment that just doesn’t come from opening a can.

Wordless Wednesday

Shopping

I have been using string bags for several years now. They come in colors and hold as much as, if not more than, the traditional paper bag. The key is to always have them in the car. Some grocery stores even give you 2 cents off for every bag you bring.
Saving the planet and cash back! Win-win.