Oh, oh, oh, the bounty of summer! Here in Michigan, at the time of this writing, with school having just started up again, it's the absolute peak time of year for two of the most delightful products of the garden, tomatoes and basil. I hardly need explain to anyone who has enjoyed the incomparable flavor of a truly fresh, delicious, sun-warmed tomato how different they are from those hard things you buy in stores. Even the color of the garden's output shames the pinkish grocery store tomatoes. They're softer, and juicer, and after eating one (or two, or a dozen, some days) storebought tomatoes seem like nothing more than tasteless garnish for hamburgers.
My father has been preparing tomato sauce to freeze for winter over our long Labor Day weekend, and I woke up to the incomparable smell of simmering tomatoes and extravagant quantities of basil. My stomach started its campaign for that perfect late-summer food, a basil, tomato, and mozzarella sandwich. This time of year, you see, one can be profligate with the garden's bounty. In between offering bagfuls of zucchini and peppers to anyone who'll accept it, you can gorge yourself without guilt over the cost, since there's too much to eat anyway.
In that spirit, this is what I eat when the basil and tomatoes are at their best. Basil and tomatoes combine in a magical way - they're such perfect natural compliments, and in their own way a testament to humankind's achievements: the tomato is a New World crop, originating in Central America, while basil started off in tropical Asia and became an integral part of Mediterranean cuisine. But these two flavors from opposite ends of the earth form an unparalleled gustatory harmony. This sandwich aims to capture the delicious natural flavor of these simple ingredients, so it contains nothing but bread, tomatoes, basil, mozzarella, and a light balsamic vinaigrette whose sweetness brings out the sweetness of the tomatoes. This is really just an insalata caprese in sandwich form; check out Tomato, bocconcini and basil salad for sneff's wonderful interpretation of that classic (you can trust me on this - I made it last year and it was delicious.)
For the dressing:
Blend this stuff together; makes about a cup (240ml) and it's quite a nice accompaniment to strong-tasting greens if you'd like to use the rest in a salad.
For the sandwich:
- A third to a half a loaf of nice, fresh, crusty bread - get it from a bakery, or you can even make it yourself, if you swing that way.
- A ripe medium tomato - either grow it yourself, or get it from a friend or neighbor's garden, or visit a farmer's market. Please don't bother with this recipe if you only have access to what the grocery store sells.
- A handful of basil leaves, washed and removed from the stems.
- Two bocconcini or a couple ounces of fresh mozzarella. It must be fresh - it should be packed in its whey. Bocconcini are simply bite-sized balls (literally translated, mouthfuls) of mozzarella, a soft Italian cheese whose unique texture comes from stretching the curd. Traditionally, it's made from the milk of buffalo, but the cows' milk variety that you'll find in the grocery store is just fine, just so long as it's fresh.
- A bit of the above dressing.
Slice the bread in half, crosswise, and layer leaves of basil with thin slices of cheese to cover it. Don't skimp on the basil; use it as generously as you would lettuce on a more prosaic sandwich. Add a drizzle of the vinaigrette and cover with slices of tomato, overlapping to cram as much delicious tomato goodness as you can possibly fit onto an architecturally sound sandwich. Drizzle more of the vinaigrette on top of the tomatoes, assemble the sandwich and slice it in two for easier eating.
Serves two with some soup as a light lunch, or one greedy Excalibre if eaten alone. If the tomatoes are really good, they'll be juicy and drippy and you should expect to make a mess of yourself eating this. So, you know, change out of your wedding dress or whatever first.
Eat, and mop up any dribbles with the last bite of bread. Reflect on the fact that the tomatoes are only this ripe and numerous for a month out of the year - summer's last hurrah before the leaves start turning. The fresh tomato crop is a reminder of our own connection to the earth and her natural cycles - just as our ancestors fattened themselves up on autumn harvests in preparation for winter, so do I in a smaller way gorge on the delights of the harvest.
Albert Herring kindly answered my question about whether there was a difference between mozzarella and bocconcini; molte grazie!