Tomato Tyranny

A couple of weeks ago, my nine (Insanity or greed? You decide.) heirloom tomato plants seemed to take fertility drugs. There are now baskets and baskets of ripening tomatoes all over the kitchen and family room. I shouldn’t complain, I know. I’ll certainly miss them this winter, and to that end I have already slow-roasted tray after tray of them, put them in freezer bags, and stuck them in the freezer to add to soups and stews on rainy January days. But I’ve also been eating them in salads, sauces, ratatouille, and tarts… every day, and thus a bit of tomato fatigue is setting in. In this basket are the following: Brandywine, pineapple, plum, black Krim, Hillbilly, green zebra, and black pineapple. And there’s more where these came from:

The pears were doing it, too, until recently, when I showed them who’s boss by canning them into spiced pear sauce, pear jam with fig and ginger, and a chocolate pear sauce that is to die for. We’re talking dozens of jars here: I’ll never run out even if I gift them to everyone I know for the holidays.

Not nearly as prolific but even more welcome are the figs on the dwarf tree: I’ve had enough to serve them as appetizers with gorgonzola and prosciutto, and to bake them into a dessert with a sauce of honey, butter, and rum. I licked the spoon clean, but the rest of the family wasn’t as appreciative. Just a little too sophisticated – and not sweet enough – for them.

Finally, here’s my loyal office companion, my furry girl Shadow in all her spread-eagled glory:

I’ve been knitting quite a bit as well, but have nothing new to show yet. One baby cardigan needs buttons, one scarf needs another skein of yarn (I know, I know. I can’t believe I ran out, either.), and another adult sized cardigan is not far enough along to show off. Soon, soon…

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