Skip to main content

Summer Tomato Soup

Leave the couch where you're fighting strep throat. Go to the garden. See the tomato plant fallen over, taking the reinforced cage with it. Sigh.

Instead of fixing the cage, pick all tomatoes you can find which are ripe. Get a rash on your arm from the plant.

Old picture. I'm getting very very lazy. Same variety, though.

Carry the tomatoes inside. Wash them and your arms.

Finely dice an onion. Put it in a pot with an unconscionable amount of butter. Saute on low.

Throw in half of a ripe red pepper, diced. Keep cooking on low.

Core about ten tomatoes, using that cool tool you call "The Claaaaawww" in a sinister voice as you chase the kids around with it.

Roughly chop the tomatoes.

Throw them in the pot with the onions. Walk away.

Hang out on the couch with your spouse. Read a book, knit, talk, whatever. When the youngest child says, "Shouldn't you stir these?" get up and stir them.

After they're all cooked, use an immersion blender to puree them off the heat.

Put a food mill with the tiny-holed disc over the new soup tureen from your mom. Process the puree into it.

Chiffonade a dozen or so basil leaves.

Toss some salt to taste into the soup. Throw the leaves on top.

Toast some walnuts in a dry pan. Chop some garlic finely. Add it to the walnuts. Cook a bit, then remove it all and chop everything up into crumb sized pieces, and put it in a bowl.

Bring the special bottle of olive oil to the table with the tureen and the walnut stuff. Ladle out the soup, top with olive oil and walnut mixture as desired.

 Watch as it gets gobbled up -- very quickly.

Listen to your husband say, "That was great soup, honey. Where's the rest of the meal?"


Popular posts from this blog

I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt

Wingman use to call me many things. Obstinate. Overcritical. Certainly bitchy. I even recall on our wedding day that he called me "beautiful". But that was a one-time happening, and I don't recall him ever crooning Eric Clapton"s "You Look Wonderful Tonight" after that. So it comes as no surprise that he never called me "sexy".

And I get it.  When I went to school in NYC, a couple of my friends were stopped by Eileen Ford and asked to come to her agency to model.  They were cute, and one was even, in an exotic way, sexy even back then.  But not me. I was and always will be, fine with how I look.

There were some things over the years that got me when I stopped dying my hair and grew it out to donate for a wig.  As part of a lecture that I did on The Avon Walk For Breast Cancer, I had my beautician come in and cut my waist-long hair short. The following Sunday at church, I was a Eucharistic Minister, which at a Catholic Mass is a re…

'Cause Baby You're A Firework. Come On Show Them What You're Worth

Five years ago today, I stood in a hospital room strewn with used syringes, rubber gloves and other medical waste, looking at the lifeless body of the man that I shared a life with for over 30 years. I should have been thinking of family, love and loss.  Instead, my first thought was, "Wow, I'm a widow now." Pretty pathetic in retrospect, and when Wingman referred to me just before I left him as "The Bitch", probably not too far off the mark.

But in time-warped speed just a half hour before that, I had already talked to the hospital twice, woken son #3 up to go over to the hospital with me, called Wingman's brother on the way, fought with a gimpy legged night watchman who wouldn't let us in the hospital, and finally took "that meeting" in a small private room where the doctor told my son and I that they did everything possible, but unfortunately (UNFORTUNATELY???) Wingman had passed. My brain was filled with what to do, who to call, …

But She Use To Have A Carefree Mind Of Her Own, With A Devilish Look In Her Eye

The first time I went out with Wingman, he remarked about how much I reminded him of his mother.  When we finally met, I just didn't see it: she was a tall, chain-smoking blonde, with a Lauren Bacall-esque voice, while I considered myself just an average size brunette with no distinguishable qualities.

She and I began our own relationship with stories about our lives, and she won every round of "Can You Top This". At 10 years old, she helped deliver her brother when her mother went into labor at home. Later, her alcoholic mother walked out on the family and was never seen or heard from again, so she dropped out of school to help. At 19, she and her husband eloped, and thought no one knew.  A photographer however, took a picture of them outside City Hall which became the cover of the afternoon edition of the NY World Telegram. (Oops.) A couple of years later, her very pregnant self drove her father and his equally pregnant girlfriend to City Hall in Newark to MAKE them get…