The fried green tomato, in all his glory.

Let us contemplate the fried green tomato.

Beloved of Paula Deen and meat-and-threes throughout the lower tier of these United States, it’s a ubiquitous piece of summer for many. (I don’t think they fry green tomatos up north. I stand ready to be corrected. Or, actually, if you want to get technical, I sit ready to be corrected.)

Disclaimer. I’m about as Southern as anyone I know, witness the fact I was standing on a ladder picking figs in 100 degree heat this afternoon (more on that later). But, I’m sorry, I’m just not much on fried green tomatos. I mean, they’re OK, but I’d just as soon you let that tomato get ripe and then slice and serve him, y’know what I’m sayin’?

(Aside. I can’t believe I just wrote that. I may go back and edit it out.)

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Ahh, the joys of summer

June 27, 2009

Fried okra. Fresh corn. Fresh tomatos. Purple hulled peas. Fried green tomatos. Fresh fruit, baked up into a clafouti.

It’s Saturday in a Southern town where they have a farmer’s market. And it’s a Fine Thing.

The photo could be better, but the subject matter defies words.

The photo could be better, but the subject matter defies words.

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June 18, 2009

…because it’s 11 p.m. and I need to be packed and leave the house at 6:30 or so in the a.m….

Cooked dinner for my former boss and his wife tonight. Broiled pork chops; broiled squash; green beans and new potatos; fried green tomatos; and a peach-cherry clafouti. I did well, if I do say so myself.

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