By The first Cherokee Purple tomato of the season. May in Savannah, and the garden is doing what it does — producing with a generosity that feels personal, like the earth knows I need the tomatoes and is handing them to me one at a time with a "Here, baby, I had extra." The tomato was heavy and warm from the vine, that deep purple-red that no grocery store tomato has ever achieved because grocery store tomatoes have never met the Savannah sun or the Sapelo soil or the hands of Dorothy Henderson.
Tomato sandwich. Immediately. The rules have not changed in ten years of this blog: first Cherokee Purple of the season goes on white bread with Duke's mayonnaise and salt and black pepper and nothing else, eaten standing at the counter with juice running down the wrist, and the wrist does not care because the wrist understands that some foods are worth the mess.
The diabetes complicates things. White bread is a simple carbohydrate. Duke's mayonnaise is not a health food. The tomato itself is fine — the tomato is one of the few things the diabetes has not tried to take from me — but the delivery system is under review. Kayla has suggested whole wheat bread. I have considered Kayla's suggestion. I have rejected Kayla's suggestion. The first tomato sandwich of the season is not a place for whole wheat bread. The first tomato sandwich of the season is sacred. You do not modify the sacred. You accept the blood sugar spike. You eat the sandwich. You move on. Some hills are worth dying on, and this one is made of white bread and mayonnaise.
Michael came Saturday. He is six months old and he watched me eat the tomato sandwich with the focus of someone who knows he's missing something but can't yet articulate what. I let him lick a tiny bit of tomato juice from my finger. His face did the thing — the seven expressions in two seconds — and he opened his mouth for more. I gave him a taste. Not the bread, not the mayo — just the tomato. Just the Cherokee Purple, sun-warm, sweet-acid, the taste of the garden and the summer and the grandmother's hand. He grinned. The tomato-juice grin. The Henderson grin. The future grinning at the past from a high chair in a kitchen that smells like summer.
Now go on and feed somebody.
The first tomato went on white bread, and I have no regrets. But the garden kept giving — the way Savannah gardens do in May, like they’re trying to make up for something — and the second Cherokee Purple deserved its own moment. I wanted something that still let the tomato be the star but gave it a little company: briny olives, creamy chickpeas, a cool dill yogurt dip that tastes like the garden took a breath. Michael can’t have this one yet, but I made it thinking about the day he can, and that made it taste even better.
Tomato, Olive and Chickpea Quesadilla with Dill Yogurt Dip
Prep Time: 12 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 22 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- Dill Yogurt Dip
- 3/4 cup plain Greek yogurt
- 2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (or 2 teaspoons dried)
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- Quesadillas
- 4 large flour tortillas (8-inch)
- 1 cup shredded part-skim mozzarella or crumbled feta cheese
- 1 can (15 oz) chickpeas, drained, rinsed, and patted dry
- 1 large ripe tomato (Cherokee Purple or your best garden tomato), diced
- 1/3 cup pitted kalamata olives, roughly chopped
- 1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 tablespoon olive oil, divided
Instructions
- Make the dip. Stir together Greek yogurt, fresh dill, garlic, lemon juice, and salt in a small bowl. Taste and adjust seasoning. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
- Season the chickpeas. In a medium bowl, toss the drained chickpeas with smoked paprika and black pepper until evenly coated.
- Assemble the quesadillas. Lay two tortillas flat. On one half of each tortilla, distribute the cheese evenly, then layer on the seasoned chickpeas, diced tomato, olives, and red onion. Fold each tortilla over to close.
- Cook the quesadillas. Heat 1/2 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add one quesadilla and cook 3 to 4 minutes per side, pressing gently with a spatula, until golden brown and crispy and the cheese is melted. Transfer to a cutting board and repeat with remaining oil and quesadilla.
- Slice and serve. Cut each quesadilla into 3 or 4 wedges. Serve immediately with the chilled dill yogurt dip alongside.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 340 | Protein: 15g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 41g | Fiber: 6g | Sodium: 620mg