Printers' Row Tomatoes

Printers' Row Tomatoes

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine died. He was a native of Wisconsin -- Kenosha, to be precise -- and very proud of it. We would every now and again get into mock debates, extolling the virtues of our own native states, and a typical starting point for these debates would be my longing for Jersey tomatoes as summer moved along. My friend, Pat, never was able to convince me that Wisconsin tomatoes could give serious competition to the Garden State's product, much less that I should become a Packers fan (go Giants!), but over the years, having gotten to know Wisconsin a bit, I had to agree with him that it's certainly a fine state.

In the period before he died, I asked Pat a number of times if I could help him out by bringing over some food, since he wasn't getting around too well. For the most part, he refused any help, not wanting to be a bother to anyone and in any event, he often didn't have much of an appetite towards the end. Though not of Italian descent, Pat grew up surrounded by Italian-Americans in Kenosha and was quite fond of pasta of various kinds. One of his favourites were the large ravioli stuffed with meat and, one day this summer, while visiting Conte di Savoia, I took a look to see if they had any frozen ravioli that might be to Pat's liking. I bought a bag of the ones bearing the house label with the intention of cooking them up, dressing them in a simple tomato sauce, and bringing them to Pat as something that he could easily heat up and enjoy in adjustable quantities fitting his unpredictable appetite. Unfortunately, before I got the chance to make them for him, he took a turn for the worse, had to leave home for the hospital, and in a few days was gone.

About a week or ten days after his death, just past mid August, Pat's best friend, who had been looking in on him and helping him out throughout his illness, called me up and told me that the tomato plants Pat had on his balcony overlooking Dearborn Station were bearing some fruit that was just about to reach full ripeness and that if I wanted some, I could have them. I accepted the offer.

The day they were picked was the day I got those tomatoes and that evening I made for dinner the meat ravioli I had intended to take over to Pat. The tomatoes were really extraordinarily beautiful. No blemishes, meaty, juicy, remarkably sweet. I made a simple tomato sauce, just olive oil, a little garlic, the tomatoes, salt, pepper, cooked briefly and finished at the end with some torn leaves of fresh basil. The ravioli from Conte were quite good -- I thought surprisingly good for store bought ravioli -- and the sauce, made with the first ripe local tomatoes I had this summer, was as good as I've ever made or had.

Thanks Pat. We miss you.

Antonius

P.S. Go Packers!

Antonius,

Both Ellen and I found your Printer's Row Tomatoes post quite touching. Thank you for sharing.

Enjoy,
Gary

Antonius,

My condolences on the death of your friend.

Food, death and remembrance. We all want to live forever, which is not possible. We all want to be remembered beyond our time on Earth, which is possible for a while through our family and friends.

When I was a kid, I read Gone with the Wind where one scene stood out vividly. Aunt Pittypat was hosting a Christmas Dinner for her family with Ashley Wilkes home on leave from the Civil War. To mark this occasion, she presented the last bottle of home made wine from a long dead relative. For a moment, the dead returned to life in the cheery conversation welcoming his humble gift.

I'm sure you felt the presence of your friend while eating his tomatoes, which is really quite a lovely feeling.

Thank you.

Gary, Ellen, Cathy:

You're welcome and thanks to you all for making this such a hospitable place in cyberspace.

A