Last Saturday, I came in to work, and Laura pokes her head in the door and asks, “Would you like a BLT?” No “Hello, how are you, how was your evening?” Just an extremely generous, “Would you like a BLT?”
Have I mentioned I work for great people? Anyway, I accepted with gusto.
Turns out, one of the tomato plants out in the Wine Club garden had finally yielded. And not just any tomato. It gave us three big, luscious, beautiful Cherokee Purples. So this was no wimpy BLT. This was perfection. I’m a firm believer that, as much as I love bacon, the T should be the main ingredient in BLTs, and I was not disappointed here. Thick, juicy slices of tomatoes on toast with lots of lettuce, mayo, and bacon cooker just so (not too crispy, but not so chewy that it all comes off the sandwich with the first bite. Although, honestly, I love mayo almost as much as I love tomatoes (i.e., a lot) , so mayo on toast is still pretty good).
And then, the next day, as I moseyed over to Bergamot Alley to
have a drink before noon watch the EuroCup finals, I was asked by my good friend, Doralice, if I would like them to pick up a BLT for me. Well, yes, I would. It would go beautifully with my giant Allagash Victoria Ale modest glass of Pinot Noir.
Twenty minutes after my arrival, after snacking on bacon-flavored kettle corn (REALLY), in came Andre with a tray of the most beautiful BLTs I have ever seen. They were from Zazu on the River, over by our friends at Davis Family Vineyards (go for the Pinot, stay for the pork). And that means one thing: the best bacon in town. On a fresh ciabatta roll (I think. I didn’t get confirmation, but it looked and tasted like ciabatta, and it was delicious). With some sort of delightfully just-enough-spice aioli. And with forty different kinds of tomatoes planted down there, I can’t wait to have another BLT.
And just when you think I couldn’t come up with more about tomatoes, Foggy River put the first ones into my CSA basket this week. Along with gorgeous Armenian cucumbers and beautiful basil. Throw in fromage blanc from Bellwether Farms and toss with apple balsamic from the Philo Apple Farm, and you know summer’s here.
(Oh, and I got rattled at by a Pacific rattlesnake. That’s the other way I know summer’s here. Ugh.)