This just in from the Simple Pleasures Department: For summertime eating, you can’t beat a pimento cheese sandwich topped with fresh tomato slices.
The other night, I benefited from a gastronomical perfect storm. It all began when a co-worker of Joanna’s sister Janis gave her a bag of home-grown, vine-ripened tomatoes. It escalated when Jo placed a container of cheddar pimento cheese in the refrigerator before we left for our nephew Brian’s wedding in Michigan. And it reached its apex shortly after I opened the fridge door and simultaneously spied the pimento cheese and those luscious red, ripe tomatoes.
I’ve eaten some fine, fine meals this year. I sat down to the top two during our vacation, when I ate fresh grouper on gouda-cheese grits on Saturday and crab cakes the next Friday at the Red Bar in Grayton Beach, Fla. (I’m not sure why they call it “the Red Bar.” There must be a bar back there somewhere. We always eat in the packed, noisy, gaudy and practically perfect main dining room.)
Due to circumstances I won’t go into here, Joanna and I returned from Michigan on separate flights that arrived back home seven hours apart on Sunday. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I landed Sunday evening, and then I picked her up at the airport early, early Monday morning.
By the time I got home the first time—by myself—I was hot and hungry. I felt hotter than normal because of the contrast. While we were in Michigan, the temperature never got above the low 70s. It was so lovely, we all wanted to move up there. That is, until we realized Michigan is frozen over for significant parts of the year. But for summer, low 70s is distinctly divine.
Of course, the jetway felt like a blast furnace when I walked off the plane at DFW Airport. Then I baked as I waited for the shuttle to take me to the long-term parking lot. And, as if I hadn’t had enough, our car broiled me medium rare on the drive home.
So, I didn’t want anything hot for dinner. I remembered the pimento cheese Jo bought a few days before we left. And when I opened the fridge and spotted the tomato, I knew this was going to be a great meal.
The sweetness of that wet, crimson tomato contrasted perfectly with the sharp cheddar, the tiny twang of the pimento and the succulent spice of the mayonnaise.
Yes, there is a God in heaven, who loves us and wants us to be happy. And as long as we find happiness in the simple pleasures, we can enjoy this life while we wait for the next.
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Speaking of this life and the Almighty, I’m pretty sure God designed Texas summers to put the fear of hell in all our hearts. And just to balance things out, I figure God gave us summer produce—especially garden tomatoes—as a promise of heaven.
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