Titty Tomatoes

Yeah, "Titty." 

As in breast, boob, hooter.

Here's what happened:

My son-of-another-mother and his sweet wife came to see me last Saturday evening, bearing a basket of peaches and a basket of tomatoes.  He set them on the counter, and I pawed through them, squeezing and sniffing.  When I got to the tomatoes, I picked one up and asked, "What kind of tomatoes are these?"  Their skins were smoothe and red, and they were shaped like upside-down onion domes. 

"Granddad calls them 'titty tomaters," he replied. 

I could see the resemblance.

Because the peaches were very, very ripe, I dealt with them first.  Sunday morning, I scalded, peeled, and chopped them.  There was enough fruit for 2.5 batches of jam (per the fruit pectin box recipe).  I cooked them in two batches.  To the second batch, I stirred 1/4 cup of dark rum into the jam mixture before I put it in the jars.  Boy, oh boy, was it ever good!

It was Monday before I got to the tomatoes.  There was probably enough of them to make a few jars of salsa, but I had not yet had my fill of fresh sliced garden tomatoes on sandwiches, and I decided to eat them now rather than preserve them for later.  Talk about a slice of heaven....

Last night, I chopped up two of the tomatoes and tossed them in a skillet with squash, zucchini, and onions that I'd already browned in olive oil.  I added a couple of chopped basil leaves and let the mess simmer until the squash was soft, and then I tossed in a few kalamata olives, a handful or two of cooked, peeled shrimp from the freezer, and some cooked bowtie pasta.  Finished it off with a squirt of left-over red wine (I would have preferred white wine) from the fridge, salt, pepper, a pat of butter, and a grating of parmesan cheese.  Truthfully, it was not my best work, but it was quick and filling and tasted like summertime. 

So, thanks, Granddad, for the titty tomatoes.  I'll be sending a jar of jam your way, next time I see our boy.