Vodka-Infused Cherry Tomatoes

July storms in the afternoon. The sky turns black at three. Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is. I am holding up.

Drove to Baker Saturday morning. MawMaw Shirley was at the stove already. We made gumbo. Thirty-five minutes of roux. The lesson keeps unfolding. Kayla showed me a graphic design project Tuesday. She's at BRCC. The art is hers.

Fried catfish Friday. Cornmeal coated. Cast iron. Hot grease.

Came home from the clinic and made dinner. The standard.

I texted Kayla about her latest design portfolio Tuesday. She is good. She has Tanya's directness and Daddy's eye for proportion. The design field will know her name eventually.

Tanya's tomatoes were in this week. She brought a sack. I made a sandwich for lunch every day for four days. Heirloom tomato, white bread, mayo, salt. The summer lunch. The simplest pleasure of summer.

Daddy sent me an Amazon receipt accidentally Sunday. He bought a power tool I do not understand. Standard. He texted twenty minutes later, "wrong thread, sorry baby." I told him don't worry about it. He said thank you. The exchange was the exchange.

I drove past the gas station where DeAndre died. I do not stop. I do not avoid it either. The drive past is the drive past. He is twenty-eight in my head. He stays twenty-eight.

MawMaw Shirley's recipe cards in the wooden box on the kitchen counter. I copied another one Saturday morning at her kitchen table. The collection is growing. She watched me copy. She corrected my Cs. She has always corrected my Cs.

The apartment kitchen is small but it cooks. Two burners. One pot. A cutting board balanced on the counter because the counter is too small for both the cutting board and the toaster.

Anatomy lab three days this week. The cadaver work is what they say it is — not gross, not romantic, just human. I went home after Friday lab and made gumbo because the only thing that quiets the body after a day in the lab is the slow stir of a roux.

Daddy called Sunday afternoon. He is sixty-something and his knees are still bad and he still has not gotten the second one replaced. I am working on him. He is working on me to stop working on him. We are at an impasse. The impasse is the love.

Reading something light at night. A novel by a Louisiana writer. The voice was familiar. The voice was home. The book ended on a small kindness. I appreciated that.

Crawfish boil at a friend's place Saturday. Twenty-five pounds. The shells filled three trash bags. Standard Louisiana spring. We sat at the picnic table for four hours. The corn was the best of the boil. The corn always is.

DeAndre's birthday came around again. I made his favorite — andouille and chicken in brown gravy. I ate two bowls. I called Aunt Renee. We did not say much. We did not need to. The food was the saying.

Sunday service at Bethany. The choir sang. The pastor preached on Hannah and Samuel. I sat with Tanya and Marcus. The hymn at the end was the one Mama used to hum. I cried into the bulletin. Standard.

I went to the gym Tuesday and Thursday this week. Twenty minutes on the treadmill. Standard. The body is the only equipment I have for the rest of my life and I am trying to maintain it.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon with iced tea. The neighbor's kids were playing kickball. The Louisiana evening is its own kind of Sabbath. The cicadas were starting up. The light was the gold-going-blue light of the southern dusk.

Tanya’s tomatoes carried me through the whole week on nothing but white bread and mayo, and I was grateful for every single one. But there’s a version of that same summer tomato that you bring to the picnic table — the crawfish boil, the Saturday porch, the neighbor’s yard — and it holds a little ceremony in it, a little acknowledgment that good things deserve to be dressed. These vodka-infused cherry tomatoes are that version. Simple enough that MawMaw Shirley would recognize the instinct behind them, and sharp enough that they’d hold their own on any Louisiana summer table.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 2 hr 10 min (includes marinating) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 pints cherry tomatoes, rinsed and dried
1/2 cup vodka
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
Flaky sea salt, for finishing

Instructions

Pierce the tomatoes. Using a skewer or the tip of a paring knife, pierce each cherry tomato in two or three places. This allows the vodka and seasoning to absorb into the flesh rather than just coat the skin.
Mix the marinade. In a medium bowl, whisk together the vodka, olive oil, lemon juice, kosher salt, black pepper, garlic powder, and red pepper flakes until combined.
Combine and coat. Add the pierced tomatoes to the bowl and toss gently until fully coated. Transfer tomatoes and all marinade into a zip-top bag or a lidded container.
Marinate. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours, turning or shaking the container once halfway through. For deeper flavor, marinate up to 8 hours — no longer, as the tomatoes will begin to break down.
Finish and serve. Remove tomatoes from the marinade and arrange on a serving platter. Sprinkle with fresh parsley and a pinch of flaky sea salt. Serve chilled with toothpicks.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vodka-Infused Cherry Tomatoes — Tanya’s Tomatoes, Dressed Up for Company