after diligently trying to invent dishes all week long (and miserably failing) i took an old standby from my own imaginary whistle stop cafe book shelf. of course there are a zillion recipes for green tomatoes, let alone for the fried alabama versions. and unlike the movie with jessica tandy and kathy bates i am happy in real life with my wife and the way things go, excepting my nouvelle food notions, which i got thoroughly fed up with. as always, the secret of life is in the sauce, so here goes the sauce:
four green tomatoes, mine happened to be zebras, making every attempt at ripening on the window shelf. failing, they became the base of my sauce. sliced, adding two small quartered onions to a lump of sweet butter, i wilted the zebras and once wilted pampered them with a dollop of grandma’s red tomato jam. stephanie came in from the garden with a handful of tarragon, which added a lickerish liquorice to the greens. there were minor adjustments, like a quarter-root of grated wasabi, diligent amounts of ground black pepper and grey scrubby sea salt. this happened while a chicken breast roasted on hot charcoal embers. turned and basted with butter the coals flamed and, turned again, sweet-crusted the meat in that way only white-glowing charcoal can. basing the sauce we ate orzo, a rice look alike pasta, done up softly in chicken stock. and for desert there were dark, juicy mission figs, delighting again in the way oliver reed devoured a fig in the movie ‘woman in love’.