Tomatoes Again

When my daughters were in the grammar school, I liked reading the books they had to study.   Laurie Lee was new to me.  I loved  'Cider with Rosie' so much that I went on to read 'A Rose for Winter' and 'As I Walked out One Midsummer Morning'.

I thought of Laurie Lee this morning, when I came down to a kitchen warmed by the scent of tomatoes.  For Lee, the smell of peppers meant he was in Spain. He might have said the same about tomatoes, the ones I bought in Fishguard yesterday.

I haven't been to Spain, but I've holidayed in Pollensa, in Northerm Majorca, a few times. The market stalls there are laden with huge, gleaming brutes of tomatoes.

Six years ago, the  last time we went, we stayed in a villa and  the only meal we cooked was breakfast, which included fried tomatoes.

After eating we liked to go out  before it became too hot. There was a laundry room just off one of the outside balconies and my daughters enjoyed washing clothes, shaking them out, carefully pegging them to the washing carousels, knowing they would be dry in a few hours.

One day the cleaner sought me out to say, in no uncertain terms, that she cleaned to the standard the agent required, not to anyone else's standard.  I don't know if she  had been frightened by the girls' laundry standards but we left her to it!

Behind us was the church of Calvari and the shops just a five minute walk away. Mid morning usually found us at a pavement cafe, under sun shades, sampling  the 'caffe and cwchen', (coffee and cake)  offer.  Air Berlin flies regularly to Pollensa and the menus are printed in different languages, including German.  

One evening, the church held a fete and old ladies, dressed in black, sat outside selling cakes. We were too late for the cakes but we went into the church, where there were lurid  paintings of the martyrs covered in blood, which the younger ones studied very carefully.

I went outside and sat on the wall, while the others had a wander.  An elderly couple came and joined me  and, though I could speak little of their language and they spoke no English, I managed to tell them where I was from.

Then the lady mentioned the Spanish Civil War and how she'd come to Pollensa and never gone back to Spain.  She had known a lot of sadness, all a long time ago.

Oliver and Harry appeared then, hot and damp after running up and down the three hundred and fifty steps of Calvari.

Realising they were twins, she cheered up.  They told her their names and we did finger play to show their ages, then the rest of the family came and she wanted to know which daughter was their  mother and then she saw my granddaughters and she liked everyone and we were all happy. 

Her husband was getting restless now, so I bade them 'Buenos Noches'.  With much amusement, she explained it was early evening, so I should have said 'Buenos Tarde'. I repeated it, gave her a hug and off they went.
Once they were out of hearing, my daughter, said. 'Caw, you do your best and then they correct you!'
 
Back in Haverfordwest, I made a stew with chorizo sausage from Ultra Comida in Narberth, tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, white pepper, and chopped lamb.  The chorizo gives a robust  flavour to the stew. Chick peas and  lentils will thicken the stew or you could mash a slice or two of bread into the stew, like the Spanish do.

 A stew requires long, slow cooking, to tenderise the meat and for the flavours to meld together. Broad beans are a good addition, cooked separately and not overcooked.  A sprinkling of chopped parsley on top of each portion makes everything sparkle.

In Pollensa, one of my sons-in-law was impressed when he saw me drink a can of beer before breakfast. Later, he realised it had a very low alcoholic content and I went down in his estimation.  My advice is, don't drink beer just at breakfast. Have it with your stew, too.

I read a book last winter about the Spanish Civil War.  I don't remember the title, but I do remember the images of desperate poverty and food shortages that the war brought.  Most household had very little meat or vegetables, so their stews were flavourless. A man with a ham bone went about dipping it into people's stews for a few minutes, to add flavour.   I thought of the couple I'd met in Pollensa and the shortages they must have faced.  I'd rather forget things like that.

Tomato Treats

  On the way to Fishguard today I stopped to buy tomatoes. Beautiful round tomatoes, in varying stages of ripeness: sulphuric greens, orange greens, Spanish yellows and gutsy, deep reds. 

Back home, I piled them in a white enamel colander.  I like using fruit and vegetables as ornaments in the kitchen, if only for a few hours.

Someone said  that education teaches that a tomato is a fruit, but knowledge stops you from putting it in a fruit salad. Quite. But how about using tomatoes in a jam?

I've had this recipe for years.  Once made into jam, the peppery traces of the tomatoes disappear and the flavour resembles rose hip jelly.

It's a sacrilege to fry or cook a beautifully firm tomato, so first we'll have a tomato salad with  slices of tangy, Havarti cheese from Denmark and toasted rosemary bread.  Later in the week, when the remaining tomatoes ripen, I'll jam them and feel no guilt.

This recipe produces about 4 pounds of jam, or slightly less than 2 kg.

Tomato Jam

Ingredients:
2 pounds or 1 kg of tomatoes
2 pounds or 1 kg preserving sugar
The juice and grated rind of 2 lemons

Method:
Prepare the tomatoes by  plunging them into really hot water. Alternatively, simmer for a few seconds in boiling water.  Skin when cool. Cut into quarters,  remove the centres and the seeds. Chop the flesh  into small pieces.
Using unwaxed, washed lemons, grate the rinds and squeeze out all the juice. (Warming the lemons for a few seconds makes it easier to extract the juice).

I dislike jam that has had the flavour boiled out of it, so to overcome this, the chopped tomatoes can be microwaved until they are soft, to cut down on boiling time. 
3 to 5 minutes minutes should be long enough.
Transfer the tomatoes to a very large saucepan. 
Add the lemon juice, the rind and the sugar.
(The lemon juice and the preserving sugar should ensure a good set, so there will be no need to boil the mixture for as long as many other jams).
Bring slowly to the boil, stirring all the time. (Burnt jam is vile and the saucepan will be devilish to clean).  Boil  for 40 minutes, but not fiercely,  before dropping a globule onto a saucer.  Leave for  a minute or two then prod with your finger.
It should be gooey now, at setting point.  If not, boil for 5 minutes again, but no more.  
Home made jam is runnier than commercial jam and that's part of it's beauty.
(Some people use thermometers to gauge the temperature for setting point, but I don't.)
Skim off the foam on the top and allow to cool to room temeperature, before potting.
The jam will be clear and golden as a boiled sweet.

If you like Spanish membrillo, a jammy paste, you could reduce the jam further by boiling it gently for about 60 minutes in all.  Eat with Cheddar cheese and a bread roll or water biscuit.
A bunch of fresh thyme added to the jam when it is cooling gives it a savour.  (Remove the herbs before the jam has set.)
This jelly is good  eaten with pork. It goes well with almost any meat, though, especially in a Brie and bacon  sandwich.