It's been a strange season in the garden. Unusually cool temperatures have resulted in a glut of cucumbers, thriving greens and herbs, and not a single summer squash. A year without an onslaught of zucchini just feels unnatural! The tomatoes have been a mixed bag: lots of Green Zebras and Brandywines, other varieties decimated by blight, and many falling off the vine green. I see green tomato-lemon marmalade in my future, not to mention green tomato chutney and plenty of fried green tomatoes. But with what's left of the ripe ones, I envision perhaps one more gazpacho, one last tomato sandwich and definitely some fresh tomato juice. Nothing else comes close to capturing the essence of the season. (Except perhaps a perfect peach. Or buttered corn. Or blackberries.) I make it with my Hurom juicer that has become a staple of my kitchen. It's a slow-masticating design that first crushes food and then presses it to extract maximum yield with minimum oxidation, meaning you get the most nutrition from juice produced this way. The smell and taste of fresh tomato juice is one of the great pleasures of late summer.
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Can't you just see her, proudly leading the parade down Main Street, all rosy cheeks, healthy curves and shiny Breck-girl hair? (Sort of like Hilary Rhoda if she ate more.) Actually, "The Tomato Queen" was what they dubbed Tillie Lewis, whose canning factory in Stockton, California, in the 1940s, was the first to market Italian Roma tomatoes to mainstream consumers. But that's neither here nor there. What I'm writing about today is a way to use all those cherry tomatoes that are still flooding in from your garden (or local greenmarket). I posted my recipe for "tomaisins"—my own deeply clever marketing term for dried cherry tomatoes—a couple of years ago, and I'm running a similar one here because I still think it's a great, easy preserving method. I hope I'm preaching to the converted, but if you still haven't tried this, now's your chance. Of course you can add fresh cherry tomatoes to your salads, toss them raw with hot pasta, slice them with cucumbers or just pop them into your mouth for a snack but, if you're like me, you will still have a ton left cluttering up your kitchen counter (never refrigerate tomatoes). This simple recipe for a flavor-intensified condiment is the perfect solution.
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Fall is here—already. It's brought with it beautiful cool sleeping weather and that poignant quality, a tender melancholy. This is my favorite season, bittersweet and poised so precariously between the royal flush of summer and the dark abyss of winter. Time now to squeeze every last drop of warmth and sweetness from the world. In the garden, tomatoes, zucchini, basil and herbs are performing a glorious swan song. It's the perfect moment for one of these verrines, a French bistro staple that I learned about in the October issue of Food & Wine, which is dedicated to the new French classics. You're undoubtedly familiar with parfaits, those gorgeous layers of fruit, cream and frozen delights showcased so perfectly in clear footed glasses. Well, this is sort of a vegetable version of that. A fresh, chunky salad topped with a creamy layer of whipped mascarpone, and garnished with a crispy slice of prosciutto. It's an ideal lunch, or a lovely way to welcome guests for a casual dinner party.
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Are you up to your ears in tomatoes? Is the glorious love apple gracing your table at least once a day? You should be gorging on them now, the one time of year we can actually get the real deal: perfectly ripe, sweetly fragrant tomatoes dripping with juice. None of those pink, mealy things we'll avoid like the plague between October and August. The season for tomatoes is so short! If you don't can, then at least consider freezing. You can take Romas, slice off one end, squeeze out the seeds and, just like that, pop them into a ziploc bag. Or make big batches of sauce and freeze that. You'll love yourself for this come January, trust me. Right now, gazpacho's the thing. This classic cold soup hails from Andalucía and there are various kinds, one made with garlic and grapes, one with fava beans and of course the red tomato version. They all include bread, olive oil and vinegar—three key ingredients that really set this apart from V8. It's almost as if you took the classic Italian bread-&-tomato salad, panzanella, and put it in the blender. Almost.

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More rain. Lots more. Enough that thoughts begin to turn away from corn salsas and tomato salads and toward cozier soups and stews. So the tomatoes and eggplant that have finally started trickling in from our late-producing garden inspired me to make a dish I'd never before eaten, much less cooked: moussaka. This Mediterranean eggplant-based casserole, eaten as far afield as the Balkans and the Middle East, comes in a few different versions, usually with ground lamb and tomato sauce, and sometimes with a topping of béchamel or custard (á la Elizabeth David, the seminal British cook). I've never been the hugest fan of shepherd's pie, but I thought this might be a slightly lighter and tastier variation on that general idea. I found a recipe online at Saveur, but it called for a layer of potatoes, which seemed a bit excessive (plus I didn't have any on hand), so I simply left them out. I also didn't have currants (I used raisins) or bell peppers (ick, in general), but the dish didn't suffer from the lack of either. Although the recipe does look like a lot of steps, it's actually a pretty simple process of making three distinct layers: fried eggplant; a garlicky lamb-&-tomato sauce with piquant spicing; and a rich, creamy topping. With a green salad, it makes a relatively easy and quite delicious weeknight dinner.
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Fall is encroaching on our garden. Though we'll still be getting kale, chard, broccoli and collards for weeks to come (inshallah), the basil suddenly turned punky and the last tomatoes are hanging heavy on the vine. It was a banner year here in Eldred, and G's photos tell the story...

I can't stand the rain. OK, not true, but it did wreak a lot of havoc this summer. It was not the year for tomatoes, as you may have heard. Ahem. As you can see here, we started out with some very promising plants. They produced tons of big, gorgeous heirloom specimens that had us dreaming of fresh salads and BLTs and even an aspic or two. BUT THEN THE BLIGHT HIT. And wiped us out. That's right. All that compost and pampering amounted to a hill of beans when the torrential rains hit and the fungus came to town. (It's a strain of the very thing that wiped out all those potatoes in Ireland causing the famed famine.) From one day to the next, we went from tomato-rich to tomato-destitute. No love apples for us. One plant of yellow cherry tomatoes survived, bless her feisty little heart. If you've been luckier, then this recipe is for you.
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