A bevy of teenage girls will descend on my house this afternoon to celebrate the end of summer. Tonight they’ll make themselves pizza for supper. On it will go the tomato sauce I made and froze two weeks ago, from some of the meatiest, most gorgeous tomatoes I’ve ever tasted. Naturally, they were from my friend and local farmer, Baptiste. Poor guy, after a summer with no tomatoes, he suddenly found himself buried in them, and was doing everything he could to get them off his market table. Lucky me, for the tomato sauce the girls use tonight will make their pizza exceptional. So will the grated Gruyere, the little rounds of sausage, and the slices of mozzarella.
But it’s really the tomatoes that will make the difference. I’ll be sure and tell the teenagers this; they may not be able to hear me over Lady Gaga and One Direction, but I’ll tell them anyway… Don’t you think I should?!