Season of the Tomato Sammie

August is in full swing at my house. I've been married to a teacher (now guidance counselor) and football coach for 25 years (in November), so August means a lot of things. Despite my tenure in dealing with back-to-school, back-to-football season, it takes me a few weeks to adjust to the routine. The routine is, after two weeks of trying, giving up on planning anything. Are we free? Maybe, but probably not. Planning meals is a fool's errand - with one kid out of the nest and one in a bunch of activities, dinner consists mostly of what can be heated from the refrigerator or freezer.

The one exception to that is the tomato sandwich. Pat grew up on a farm and he loves puttering around in the garden early in June when the sun is high and the soil is practically begging to be planted. He's an adventurous (read: somewhat impractical) gardener. This year, he grew kale, a successful vine of Marquette grapes (not sure what we're going to do with them), as well as two red peppers (nothing like buying $8 worth of plants to yield two peppers, but it's all in good fun.)

Just in time for "no-one-is-here-for-dinner" season, we almost always achieve a bumper crop of tomatoes. We are not canners, so we got smart a few years ago and limited our varieties to cherry tomatoes for salads and beefsteak tomatoes for tomato sandwiches. Tonight, I had my first tomato sammie - eaten just the way it's supposed to be eaten, which is standing up, over the sink.

I wasn't always a tomato sandwich enthusiast. I turned my nose up at tomatoes when I was younger. I have an acquantance who told me the reason why was my system wasn't mature enough and the acidity of tomatoes was not compatible with it. I have a closer friend who had another explanation, which was, loosely interpreted: Kids can be assholes and wouldn't know good food if they were hit in the head with it.

At any rate, my system learned to love tomatoes and the simplicity of a tomato sandwich is just what I need when life gets complicated.

To make one, all you need is good bread (I recommend Waving Grains Rustic Cracked Whole Wheat, available from the Oneota Food Co-op. Jo Iverson knows her way around a loaf of bread, to say nothing of being a fantastic human being), Hellman's Real Mayonnaise (please spare me the "I like Miracle Whip" discussion. I will not engage), and some salt and pepper. Slice your tomato the same thickness of the bread, load up both sides with Hellman's, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and eat it standing over the sink or while you're walking around the perimeter of your house, watering the plants. It doesn't get any simpler than that.

Ina or Martha will want to teach you how to use foccacia or make basil infused aioli to put on your tomato sammie. Don't you do it. If you feel the need to bring it up a notch, add a slice of crisply cooked bacon. But the uncomplicated taste of a freshly-picked tomato, warmed by the sun, really is a number worthy of an encore all by itself.

August can be exhausting. Summer has made its graduated crescendo through July and into the beginning of the month, leading to the next measure of school and the start of regimented routines. Soon, the Halloween and Christmas crap will be rearing its ugly head at the local big box store and before too long, we'll be hitting the final chord of the year.

We owe ourselves the simplicity of tomato sandwiches. What are you waiting for?