By KAREN MADORIN
Each spring when I tuck tiny green tomato plants into freshly tilled soil, I imagine the delicious bacon/tomato sandwiches we’ll devour in a few months. Most summers that means we start feasting in late July. I don’t know about folks in other towns, but here it is August, and many in WaKeeney have yet to pluck a blast of flavor from our own vines.
Of the four decades we’ve gardened, this is absolutely the worst harvest we’ve ever experienced.
Our corn, melons, cukes, zukes, and okra are no goes. The corn put on microscopic ears that didn’t fill. We had successful asparagus, rhubarb, cabbage, and hot peppers, but so far we’ve harvested eight cherry tomatoes half the size of a small marble. They wouldn’t make a good size pearl, for Pete’s sake. We don’t have an explanation because we had lovely rains in ample quantities to grow outstanding weeds and flowers.
I grew a patio tomato I counted on to produce at least one bacon tomato sammy, but its fruits remain green as Shrek.
I finally gave up and visited the local farmers market in early August. I arrived late but lucked out and bought the last three tomatoes, Romas, by the way, for sale. Each stall owner repeated the same refrain. It’s not a good year for tomatoes. The Romas made a bacon tomato sandwich, but it wasn’t what we’d salivated over.
Last week, I arrived soon after the market opened to improve my tomato picks. If customer numbers were any indication, tomato bins would empty before 10 a.m. This time, I selected three bright red-orange baseball-sized tomatoes to slice and layer with freshly fried bacon for our favorite summer treat. I also treated myself to a pint of savory cherry tomatoes good for a juicy explosion in my mouth every time I walk through the kitchen.
Home by 10 a.m., I put bacon slices in the frying pan and turned on the gas. I washed and dried one tomato before slicing it not too thin and not too thick with my favorite serrated knife. Since I’d planned to eat around noon, I had yet to set out the Duke’s and Miracle Whip or the bread. Apparently, scents wafting from the kitchen were too much for my spouse, and he wandered in about 10:25-ish, asking to make a sandwich right then.
Heck, why not.
I don’t guess there are rules for when a person who’s waited all summer for a baseball-size ripe red tomato dripping juice from his favorite sandwich can make and eat one. Fortunately, I prepared two packages of bacon which permits repeats of this quick brunch/lunch for at least a couple of days.
If you see us wandering around with tomato pulp and bacon grease dripping from our chins, know dreams come true. We’re relishing every bite as long as we can get our hands on homegrown, ripe tomatoes.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.