By Staff
As much as I want to remain in denial, autumn is here.
That's not to say I don't enjoy the fall - I simply miss the warmth and openness of summer.
Soon (but not until I absolutely have to) I will stack the porch furniture and put a tarp over it.
One by one the plants are brought in from the porch and the deck out back.
Some plants winter over at my office; others find windows and corners in the house.
I'll dig up some of the plants that border our pond and bring them in, too - always hoping that they will survive to live another summer season.
The sounds and sights of summer fade.
Porch sitting has finally ended except for those exceptionally warm afternoons.
Flowers and plants are very much a part of the porch and the yard.
This year volunteer tomatoes grew along the edge of our deck.
Where these three plants originated is beyond my comprehension.
Of course the seeds came from somewhere, but where, I'll never know.
The vines are huge and hearty.
Wonderful tomatoes are still growing.
Now that colder temperatures are here, we have been harvesting the green tomatoes that will never have a ghost of a chance to ripen.
Fried green tomatoes! They are wonderful.
I decided to experiment with an imagined recipe and the tomatoes turned out quite well.
Rather than cutting them in slices, I sliced them into wedges, dredged them through an egg batter with salt, garlic and chili powder, then dusted them with Panko (Japanese bread crumbs) and plopped them in the skillet.
I was having a great time with the tomatoes until my wife flew into the kitchen and “threw open the shutters and threw up the sash.”
After some not very flattering words, she pointed out that the entire house was filled with smoke.
Not to worry - I believe that where there's smoke there's creative cooking!
I let her take care of airing the rooms; I returned to the fried green tomatoes. They were delicious (Kathy Bates, eat your heart out)! Not exactly on my diet, but delicious! I'll shed the extra fat later!
The polluted air in the house was well worth the price for what I proudly produced for dinner that evening.
The next morning our Westie, Dickens, was disturbed by something on the front porch.
He sniffed and barked until I joined him at the front door.
Then I heard that woeful crying - both of our cats spent the night, a rather chilly one - on the porch.
They escaped the kitchen fog the evening before by going out when Naomi was airing the house.
Angrier than hops, they let me know in no uncertain terms that they did not appreciate being locked out of the house.
I won't offer them any tomatoes!
We still have more green tomatoes. Next time I'll open the windows and doors before I turn on the stove.
Well, perhaps I'll let my spouse fry the tomatoes.
And I certainly will check to see where the cats are before shutting the door to the porch.