Fried Green Tomatoes

During my commute I listen to audio books. Right now I am listening to our January Book Club selection, School of Essential Ingredients by Erica Bauermeister. It's a good story and I am enjoying listening to it, I should finish by Monday and it will be with reluctance that I will go on to the next book. Some books, I just can't wait to get it finished, but this is a story that I would like to linger. On the way to work this morning, I heard "This is an heirloom tomato, usually we only get them in July and August but today we are lucky." Immediately my mind conjured up the this memory.
I was home from some place far away for a few weeks before I went someplace else far away. It must have been from Japan to San Francisco because it was September, tomatoes if they were still on the vine were heavy with juices and saturated with color. I was at my aunt's house out in the country. In the backyard near a water line, I spotted a rogue tomato plant. On closer inspection I realized that the tomatoes against all odds were still green. Not quite believing my eyes, I quickly snatched them from the vines before they could either disappear or change into crimson before my very eyes. I took them into my aunt's kitchen. She looked them in disbelief questioning where in the world I came up with green tomatoes at this time of the year. We cooked them up for noon-time meal, called dinner in these parts. I retold the story to my cousin, uncle, and the hired hand as we tucked into this last remnant of summer goodness and my good fortune.
I love friend green tomatoes. There is something about the tangy sweetness that sings to soul and makes me grateful for being born Southern. Mom would always make sure that the first tomatoes in the grocery store of the summer wouldn't be left to ripen but would rather end up being dredged in seasoned flour and cornmeal with a stop over in the frying pan before making their way onto the dinner table.
When I was in Japan living in a seaside city with agricultural land nearby, one of my students who had spent time as a cowboy in Washington state and worked for the local branch of the agricultural ministry surprised me one evening with a bag of green tomatoes. He was visiting a farm earlier that day and noticed that the tomatoes on the farmer's vines hadn't turned yet. He asked if he could pick some for his American teacher. He told me the farmer looked at him like he was a crazy but then muttered something about foreigners being a strange while conceding that he could take some of the green tomatoes.
I was over joyed and cooked them up that Friday night when my boss and I would take turns cooking dinner while we waited for her husband, my other boss, to finish his day. We would watch Iron Chef--it hadn't made its way to America yet--afterward we would re-enact our own version in her kitchen. I don't think that Goji ever really understood our giggles and laughter at the table with our critical commentary as we savored the dishes.
So these were the memories that kept me company on the way to work. I will have to go back a couple of tracks on the audio book this evening because I am afraid that I missed a few chapters. In my mind this is definitely the sign of a good book.