In my quest to find new and delicious ways to make meals, I sometimes forget a simple old favorite.
One of my simple old favorites is the tomato sandwich. Tsk, tsk, no grimacing while reading my blog, please. If you do find yourself to be grimacing, I must point out that not all tomatoes are created equal. And generally speaking, store-bought tomatoes are just plain yucky.
Assuming you have a good, fresh homegrown tomato, there is little better than a tomato sandwich with the mayo, tomatoes and salt all melding together into unified deliciosity.
Early in our marriage, Sid did not share my appreciation for the garden fresh tomato. But the years have marinated him into a fine man, a kinder and more humble man, a man who now deeply appreciates a good tomato sandwich.
Only a few days ago did I realize that my husband had achieved the pinnacle of tomato appreciation. While I was making lunch for myself and the kiddoes, he asked me to duplicate for him whatever I was making for myself. Knowing his carnivorous preferences, I looked at him doubtfully and asked, “A tomato and alfalfa sprout sandwich?”
He solemnly vowed, “I will eat whatever you make for me.”
So I sliced 4, not 2, slices of whole wheat bread and slathered on real mayonnaise, not low fat or lite or that other stuff that passes for mayonnaise. I prefer Duke’s, for flavor and because it has no sugar. When I say slather, I mean that I am generous with the mayo, but not overzealous. It should not be as thick as, say cake frosting. If you are like me and the thought of mayo usually makes you gag, bite back the gag and try it anyway. Honestly, I’m so anti-mayo, I almost always replace it with sour cream, but even I promise you, the tomato transcends the mayo, glorifies it, make it rock. Often, I even slather both sides of the bread.
Then I sliced the tomatoes onto the bread and I’m not shy with these either. Next comes the generous shaking of salt and freshly ground peppercorns, if you have it. If you don’t, regular ground pepper will do. Sid just loves freshly ground peppercorns, especially the mixed variety. Then I laid on a generous helping of alfalfa sprouts. There is nothing stingy about this sandwich. It is a generously, voluptous sandwich, bursting at the seams with flavor.
I wasn’t sure how Sid would receive this meatless, chlorophyll-rich sandwich. After he ate it, he hunted me down and asked, “What did you put in that sandwich? Just mayo . . .salt . . .tomato . . .sprouts?” He appeared incredulous and seemed to suspect that I had hidden some secret ingredient in it. I don’t know why he would think that. It is not like I secretly make “apple” pies with zucchini instead of apples or anything. I mean the zucchini in that pie was right there where he could see it. It wasn’t hidden.
I knew for sure that Sid was a committed tomato convert today when he asked, “Could you make me another one of those tomato and alfalfa sprout sandwiches?”
Prairie Sings 