Herbed Cherry Tomatoes — The Garden at Its Peak, Captured in a Cup

The garden is at peak and I'm canning with a fury. Marinara: ten pints. Pickled cucumbers: eight jars. Applesauce will come in September. The preserving is aggressive this year — more than we need, more than Paul can eat through a tube, more than I can eat alone. I'm preserving for the sake of preserving, for the act itself, for the filling of jars and the sealing of lids and the stacking of glass on shelves. The pantry is an archive. Each jar is a week. Each lid is a day. The tomatoes from Tuesday. The cucumbers from Thursday. Time, captured in vinegar and glass. Paul's breathing is at sixty-eight percent. The number dropped again at the clinic. The ventilation assistance is running eighteen hours a day now. Eighteen hours of the hiss. Six hours of unassisted breathing — the hours he's sleeping, mostly, when the BiPAP does the work. The waking hours are the machine hours. The eating hours are the non-machine hours. The math of breathing has become the framework of the day. The oral feeding is getting harder. Paul chokes occasionally — a cough, a sputter, the terrifying sound of liquid going the wrong way. I manage it — the nurse in me positions him, clears the obstruction, adjusts the thickener — but each choking episode is a clock ticking toward the day when oral feeding stops. I haven't told Paul this. He knows. He's a researcher. He's read the studies. He understands aspiration pneumonia. He understands the risk. But he still opens his mouth for the soup, still closes his eyes when the taste arrives, still chooses taste over safety with the stubbornness of a man who has been stubborn about everything his entire life. I let him. I manage the risk. I hold the cup carefully. I thicken everything to the consistency of honey. I monitor every swallow. And I let him taste, because taste is the last sensory pleasure and taking it away before the body takes it away is a cruelty I won't inflict. I made tomato soup from the fresh garden tomatoes — roasted, blended, strained, thickened. The deepest tomato flavor possible, concentrated, intense. Paul tasted it and his eyes closed and I thought: this. This five minutes. This is why I garden and can and cook and puree and thicken and hold the cup and watch every swallow. This five minutes of eyes closing. The jars on the shelf. The soup in the cup. The breath in the machine. The garden at peak. We're in August. The highest point. The longest days (getting shorter now, imperceptibly, but shorter). The most abundant food. The fullest garden. From here: the descent. But right now: the peak. The height. The everything.

The tomato soup I made for Paul that Tuesday started here — with tomatoes like these, still warm from the vine, smelling of sun and green stems. I roast and blend and strain and thicken for him, but before all of that, before the soup becomes something safe enough to hold in a cup, the tomatoes are just themselves: whole, bright, impossibly good. This recipe is the version I make for myself, for the moments before the caregiving math begins — a handful of cherry tomatoes from the garden, some fresh herbs, a little olive oil, and five minutes of standing at the counter eating something that tastes exactly like August at its height.

Herbed Cherry Tomatoes

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons fresh basil, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

Instructions

1. Warm the oil. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the minced garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
2. Add the tomatoes. Add the cherry tomatoes to the skillet. Cook, stirring gently, for 3 to 4 minutes until the tomatoes begin to soften and their skins just start to blister. You want them yielding but still holding their shape.
3. Finish with herbs and acid. Remove the pan from heat. Stir in the basil, parsley, thyme, salt, pepper, and red wine vinegar. Toss gently to coat.
4. Serve immediately. Transfer to a serving bowl and serve warm, or let cool to room temperature. The tomatoes will continue to release their juices as they rest — spoon those over the top before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 95 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 240mg