Tomato Salad

I don’t know when my home stopped being my home.

It seems as though it just happened yesterday, in a split second, that moment before sleep and awake and suddenly it was gone. But I know that’s not how it was, because if it were, I would be able to say when and why.

For me, home has become something else: the real world, the hungover morning spent piecing together the bad decisions of the night before. Some people say–make that most people–that you have to go home at some point: bars close, clubs kick you to the curb, your coat hastily retrieved from the coat check, and you start passing the early birds on their way to work or decked out in full spandex for a quick morning jog as you contiue your bleary jaunt through the city during that odd time of day that seems normal to most people but that you thought you would never see…

But how lovely a thing–to continue running on fumes, to go without sleep, to allow last night to continue into this morning without a break, to never let the party end. Because once the music stops, when you see it all in the morning through the stark and clear lenses of the daylight and dismal working folk, you start to wonder if what you’re doing is what you should be doing. You start to question, asking yourself how much longer you can continue dancing all night and smoking all day and sharing furtive and illicit kisses with people you barely know… or people you perhaps know just a little too well. Someone pulls the plug at some point, someone brings the house lights up, and you’re left standing with nothing but the clothes on your back and the money you managed not to spend wondering if you’d rather go home or wander the city streets instead.

I’ve been gone a long time. I’m sorry, but then again, I’m not. Paziols took a lot out of me, both with regards to my cooking and to my writing, and going home really does put things into perspective.

I’m back to my regular gallavanting ways, however–I don’t think this party is ever going to end. This time, I’m in San Sebastian-Donostia on the Basque coast of Spain. I’m surfing, tasting tapas and eating tomatoes–back home they were the last of the season, but here, the season seems to continue all the time–and I’m dancing my way home along the coast every night.

Emiglia’s Perfect Tomato Salad

1 kilo tomatoes (I like to use a variety of red, orange and yellow tomatoes on the vine and kumatoes, but use whatever looks good… even cherry or grape tomatoes)
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1-2 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil (use the good stuff here)
2 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 green onion, minced

Cut the tomatoes in eighths and place them in a glass or plastic bowl (no metal). Add the rest of the ingredients, including the washed vines of the vine-on tomatoes if you used them. Toss to combine. Allow to sit, covered, at room temperature for an hour. Remove the vines and toss once more before serving.