Panzanella
A summery treat for people who almost like tomatoes.
Yesterday I overcame a severe problem. I ate raw tomatoes without gagging. They say that a person’s tastebuds change every seven years, and all my life I’ve hoped that in the next septennial I’d become a lover of tomatoes.
They are just so beautiful, a perfect vision of summer. They look juicy and fun. Big berries the vibrant colour of poison. I’ve always wanted to eat a caprese salad, but to me, tomatoes tasted of bile and puddle water. Disappointingly bland and sour.
I learned that this is because I live in England and buy my veg from the supermarket. Out of season tomatoes in Britain aren’t worth shit. In Spain, I ate them cut in slices on soft, crusty bread, and wondered why their fresh, gorgeous fragrance isn’t used in every perfume and Glade plug in. I realised that I do, finally, like tomatoes. I’m just picky. They have to taste like pure sunshine, or I’m not interested.
I will never eat the cherry tomato on the side of my pub meal plate. I will probably always take the anaemic slice of beef tom out of my burger. But if it’s hot outside—and it’s hot right now—I at least know that I can treat myself to some deeply ripened tomatoes with stylish pretentions and colourful blotches and that I will enjoy them. What a breakthrough. How brave!
Last night I made panzanella for tea, another dish I’ve always wanted to eat but have never been able to stomach. Until now.
It was the perfect side dish for pesto chicken, and it used up all the leftover rye and wheat loaf I hadn’t made sandwiches with over the weekend (best laid plans etc.) Here’s how I made it. As always, no real measurements were taken or remembered. Just taste as you go. It’s bread and oil and tomatoes. You can’t go far wrong.
Panzanella
Bread, torn or cut into chunks
Olive oil
2 cloves garlic
Juicy, ripe tomatoes
Balsamic vinegar
Smoked salt
Black pepper
Capers
Fresh basil
Dijon mustard
Put the bread chunks into a mixing bowl and toss them well with a glug of olive oil. Add a pinch of salt, and put in the oven at 200°C fan for about 15 mins, or until the bread starts to brown and harden but still has a chew.
Roughly chop your tomatoes into big chunks that would fill your mouth and place them into a colander over the bowl you tossed the bread in. Shake smoked salt over them and let the juice drip into the bowl until the bread is done.
Take the bread out of the oven once it’s done and let it cool a little.
Move the tomato-filled colander to a plate and to the tomato juice add a generous amount of olive oil, a half tsp of Dijon mustard, a glug of balsic vinegar, grated garlic cloves, freshly ground black pepper, capers, and a big pinch of the smoked salt. Mix with a whisk or fork until it becomes a dressing.
Add the baked bread chunks to the bowl with a bunch of torn up basil, and toss until totally combined.
Leave for around 10 mins to get real juicy.
Eat as much of it as you can—you can’t save it for later.
