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An
Italian Garden Tomato Salad
(Takes the Long & Winding Road....)
By
Sam Leone
My
dad was a great gardener. I can't grow weeds. But my dad could
drive a broomstick into the earth and it would grow into a tree.
He could do magical things with a hoe and shovel. And I think
he conversed with his plants. He babied them. I have an indelible
image of my dad kneeling on one knee gently caring for a zinfandel
vine damaged by a gust of wind. I swear he was whispering to it.
He
grew wonderful things. I was aware of that even as a kid. I remember
I'd take a salt shaker out to the garden, sit cross-legged in
the tomato patch, select a large ripe red tomato that was warm
in the sun, pluck it, wipe off the dust, sprinkle it with a dash
of salt, and eat it fresh off the vine. I'd have several. The
same with sweet peas. And often my mother would send me out to
the garden to pick 6 ears of corn to have with our dinner. Nothing
was sweeter or more tender than my dad's fresh corn on the cob.
Having
fresh vegetables throughout the summer was bonus enough for the
rest of the family, but for my father it went beyond that. He
was devoted to his garden. At dusk after dinner he'd sit in the
backyard and smoke his pipe and survey with contentment and satisfaction
his beloved garden. Sometimes I would sit with him. But I was
just a kid and I didn't understand the communion my dad had with
his garden. There was too much silence to suit me. I'd get bored
and leave.
When
the tomatoes were ripe my dad would pick a bunch from the garden,
along with a small Italian green pepper, and some fresh basil
& oregano; he'd slice the tomatoes and pepper, tear and add
the basil & oregano, add some minced garlic, and then drizzle
the tomato salad with imported virgin Italian olive oil. Then
he'd toss it. There was always plenty of crusty Italian bread
on hand to sop up the juice. It was indescribable.
My
dad died in 1985 and I haven't had a salad like that since. I
try making a salad like my dad's, using his same recipe, but it
comes out not even close. I can't duplicate the tomatoes and the
pepper and the basil--and the love--from my father's garden.
I
know one thing: the older I get, the closer I come to making my
dad's tomato salad.
Copyright
© Sam Leone, September, 1999
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