On Tomato Pie
And cooking from memory.
Last weekend was the kickoff of the farmers’ market here in Evanston, and I could not have been more excited to walk amidst the vegetables. It still felt early — there weren’t as many tents around as there will be, and the primary vegetables on offering were mostly leafy greens — but it was a farmers’ market after a long winter without one, and that felt like a victory in and of itself.
After buying more than my share of green stuff (which, don’t get me wrong, I love), I found a table with a few greenhouse-grown heirloom tomatoes. Call me crazy, tell me I’m delusional after such a long winter, but I bought those beauties as fast as I could. When I got home, I sliced one up, sprinkled it with salt, and closed my eyes as I took a juicy bite.
There’s nothing like an heirloom tomato at the height of its freshness. It’s sweet and sumptuous and, dare I say, fleshy, but at the slightest hint of salt, it turns into something sharp and acidic that wakes your tongue up faster than a five-horn alarm. The way that an heirloom tomato tastes is one of my strongest sensory memories — right up there with homemade chocolate fudge on cheap vanilla ice cream, chilled strawberry vinegar soup, and fresh blueberry muffins.
Tomatoes make me think of summer, and summer makes me think of tomato pie. A classic summer bake from my maternal grandmother, the tomato pie isn’t necessarily representative of the way I cook now. For one, it heavily features mayonnaise, an ingredient we simply don’t use in my house (we’re snobs — we use aioli!). For another, it calls for a pie crust, which I really just suck at making (more on this soon). But I’m telling you — one bite of a halfway decent tomato and my entire being is screaming for a tangy, cheesy slab of tomato pie like we grew up eating on the porch at the lake.
I finally caved last year and adapted the recipe. I made it in September for a collaboration between Crate & Barrel and Tomato Bliss, with heirloom tomatoes so fresh they could have been served on their own, but this recipe will play a lovely supporting role for the slightly less exciting heirloom tomatoes that are in stores now (no shade).
What tastes do you crave? What memories do you associate with certain foods? I love getting into the wilderness of senses and memories, so throw me some good ones.
Tomato Pie
1 pie crust, frozen (If you simply must make a pie crust from scratch, you can.)
2 heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced
1 TBSP of olive oil
1 onion, sliced thinly
1 1/2 cups of Greek yogurt
1/2 cup of basil, chopped finely
1/2 cup of dill, chopped finely
2 TBSP of lemon juice
2 TBSP of aioli (Use store bought! It’s fine!)
1 cup of sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
chives, finely chopped, for garnish
1. Preheat the oven to 400. Blind bake the frozen crust for 30 minutes, poking with a fork to ensure even cooking.
2. Spread the sliced heirloom tomato slices on a sheet tray and sprinkle with salt. Bake with pie crust for 15-20 minutes, until dehydrated but not burned. Set aside.
3. In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil and saute the onion until slightly browned, about five minutes. Set aside to cool.
4. Make the filling: mix the Greek yogurt, herbs, lemon juice, aioli, and cheddar cheese together.
5. When the pie crust is blind-baked, spread the onions and half of the tomato slices on the bottom. Top with yogurt mixture, and spread evenly over the top.
6. Top with heirloom tomato slices, then lower oven to 375 and bake pie for 30 minutes, until just browned.
7. Garnish with chives and let cool slightly before serving.
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