Suspect:  The usual suspects.

Due to some rather draconian firearm  laws in my town, I can’t deal with the tomato thieves the way I’d like.  So far, the squirrels have out-consumed the family to a ratio of about 3 to 1.

However, if I lived in the city I’d be dealing with a whole other class of thieves.

Primo and The Principessa made this wonderful tart on Saturday

This tomato was the only one left undamaged and close to ripe.  But it needed at least another day (and probably two) so I left it on the vine.  Came out this morning to find one tiny bite taken out of it. Curses! Foiled!

And so far it’s the heavyweight winner, even with a we bit removed.  2 lbs. 5/8 ounces.

Of course a lot of tilling was involved but since I caved-in and gave up on the old Mantis and bought a new tiller,  everyone wanted to get in on the act.  Primo was dying to till, and till he did.

Seen here, tilling the squash patch.

Fortunately we’ve got an eager 13 year old to help.   But some folks don’t have the help at hand.  Here’s a story Mom sent:

An old maan lived alone in  New Jersey  .  He wanted to plant his annual  tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard.

His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:

Dear Vincent,
I am feeling pretty sad, because it looks like I won’t be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over..  I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.
Love, Papa

A few days later he received a letter from his son.

Dear Pop,
Don’t dig up that garden. That’s where the bodies are buried.
Love,
Vinnie

 At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left.

That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Pop,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love you,
Vinnie

On the bright side, I’ve ordered my seedlings rather than starting seeds this year.  With so many varities available as live plants it seemed like too much trouble to start my own.  But the snow had better melt soon as I asked for a “first half of April” delivery.

What was I thinking?

But then I figured what the hell, I’m not doing anything else.  And besides, since the tomato season has ended a bit early (thank you cool and rainy summer) there’s not much else to write about so here goes with our initial “WWALW”

Firs off, I should point out that due to the crazy schedule I work, I rarely get the chance to do much cooking during the week.  Between driving to football practice, picking up at aftercare and whatever activities the Principessa has going on it’s usually a miracle if anything home cooked gets put on the table that’s not leftovers.  So the weekend is when we let hair down. So to speak.

This past weekend we kicked off with (‘natch) a Bittman recipefor mussels and pasta.  Whenever  Bittman posts something involving seafood be it in Bitten or The Minimalist (or both) there’s a good chance we’re going to cook it on Friday night.  Not that we’re religious fanatics or anything, it just works out that way.  Anyway, killer recipe, will do again.

Saturday was an Indian feast,  Jerzeetomato style.  Steve Raichlen’s “Tandoori Style Beer Can Chicken” but instead of beer we used some wine from the packing crate in the fridge.  The Principessa made raita, some wonderful cauliflower and a pilaf from Julie Sahni’s “Classic Indian Cooking” and we also did some chapatis on the grill from (you guessed it) Bittman.  Lots of work for this meal and lots of clean up, which prompted the Principessa to refer to it as “Fricking Indian Thanksgiving”

Sunday, keeping it simple since it was the kickoff for the NFL season and we wanted to spend quality time with the flat screen, we grilled bison steaks we got at the Montclair farmer’s market and made a version of  “Ass the Potatoes” from Mom’s first book. (someday we’ll share the  story of how that dish was named, but for now, buy the book)  Potatoes were fingerlings from the “organic guy” at the farmer’s market.

And one more Bittman on Monday.  We managed to crank out the Pork Skewers with Peanut Basil Sauce and had them with some leftover pilaf.  Good stuff and we realized that the peanut basil marinade/sauce would be good on just about any kind of skewer.  Or just eaten from the bowl with a spoon for that matter.

Excuse me, I need to go fire up the sprayer.  Again.