Go ahead and be patient if you like. But as soon as the tomato plants went into the ground last week I became mighty restless dreaming about the summer's first fresh tomato salad, which is still a good couple months away.
To make matters worse I had just schlepped home the perfect accompaniment to such a salad, these friselle from an Arthur Avenue baker in the Bronx.
And so I headed over to the store, grabbed the best-looking on-the-vine tomatoes that I could find, chopped them up with a little red onion, balsamic, olive oil, basil, salt and pepper, and had at it.
Patience is an overrated virtue.
6 comments:
Yeah but your tomatoes look like tomatoes. I'll buy them from the store when they start resembling a real one.
Drool
Pam
That so-called friselle (what's that, French?) looks a lot like what we New Yorkers call a bagel. Where's the cream cheese and lox?
"We" New Yorkers, Tommy?
Seriously?
"Tommy" (geez, you guys; do I have to worry about you two?), raises an important point IMHO, whether he was joshing or not. Fact is, my understanding of friselle is as a hard biscuit--baked but not toasted--about 2 x 2 by 4 inches that we'd soak in hot water and then laden with spicy calamari or scungilli marinara. Yet, I've seen others refer to these holie thing-a-ma-jigs you're showing as friselle. Who's right? We need a ruling here. But I'm not sure you two characters have appropriate standing. Show me other sources, please.
A ruling?
Fred. Baby.
Please.
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