Summer Tomato Sandwiches
There is nothing quite like a ripe, juicy, red homegrown tomato. This is a fact long known in France and Spain where our son Hayden tells me they are called pan con tomate, as well as across southern regions of the United States. Friends of mine who hail from Mississippi and Tennessee tell me they grew up eating tomato sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise—the only food on the planet that makes me queasy. But for the sake of trying to make the real deal this week, I dipped a spreader into a jar of Hellman’s olive oil mayo and am now a total convert.
My friends Barbara and Handy Williamson will tell you they both grew up eating Tomato Sandwiches. It’s a southern thing. The earliest reference of the tomato Sandwich came from the Virginia Chronicle in 1911 where a man described his lunch as a tomato sandwich, a slice of watermelon, iced tea, and a slice of coconut cream pie. On her blog, “It’s a Southern Thing,” Kelly Kazek says the rules or making a tomato sandwich are serious business so “don’t mess them up.” Here are her Tomato Sandwich Rules.
1. Don’t use tomatoes that grow in petite, fancy pants shapes like cherries or pears. It’s a waste of perfectly good mayo. You want ol’ round tomatoes for slicing, like Beefsteaks—the ones grown right outside your back door.
2. Before slicing, you have an important decision to make: to peel or not to peel. In this case, always ask WWGD? (What would Grandma do?)
3. Always-always-always-times a gabillion use white bread. You’ll only embarrass yourself by trotting out fancy breads.
4. Mayo matters. And because it matters, the brand is a constant source of debate. On one thing we can agree: Miracle Whip is NOT mayo. (She adds, some swear by Duke’s (origins in Greenville, South Carolina), others choose Blue Plate (born in Gretna, LA), Hellman’s (New York City origins) or Bama (I’m guessing Alabama).
5. Do not toast the bread. That’s for BLTs & those designer sandwiches that are a bit too big for their britches.
6. Don’t overthink it, y’all. It’s as important as rocket science. But it’s not.
7. Finally remember: The beauty of a tomato sandwich lies in its inherent messiness.
New York Times food writer Melissa Clark feels you don’t really need a recipe for a tomato sandwich. All it involves is “rubbing the guts of a ripe tomato all over garlicy toasted bread.” Then you add slices of tomato, onion, a little salt and pepper, and a slathering of mayonnaise. While she uses sourdough bread and toasts it, she too believes that messiness is part of its nature. You can’t wear long sleeves. She eats hers standing over the kitchen sink so the juice can run down your arms and drip from your elbows into the drain.
In Italy, this sandwich is inspired by the classic Caprese salad. It features ripe red tomatoes, sliced fresh mozzarella, and creamy basil sauce. For extra flavor, you can drizzle balsamic vinegar and add a small handful of arugula.
So how did I prepare my first Tomato Sandwich given all these rules, my love of garlic, my penchant for Mediterranean fare, and my lifelong aversion to the slimy nature of mayonnaise? In the end, I went with Melissa Clark’s recipe. I toasted two slices of locally made Truckee Sourdough Bread. Rubbed the slices with garlic. Smashed a really, really, almost over-ripe-and-wrinkling tomato into the bread until all that was left was the skin. Added slices of a beautiful red tomato from our generous neighbors’ garden (thanks Carol and Jim) and a couple slices of a white onion. Sprinkled the tomato slices with cracked black pepper and a pinch of salt. And then entering territory where I’ve never ever gone, I spread one of the slices of bread with Hellman’s Olive oil mayonnaise.
Leaning over our plates with aprons on and a roll of paper towels in reach, Kit and I took bites from our newest favorite summer sandwich. Juice dripped onto our plates and fingers. We both declared that the “maters” and garlicy bread with mayo were about as good as a summer sandwich gets. Boy howdy!