be still, my watering mouth.

Tonight, as I walked around our good smelling, earthy garden, (seriously, IS there a better smell than freshly hoed dirt?) I got an insatiable craving for fried green tomatoes. Now, for you sad little beings who have never tasted fried green tomatoes, don't knock 'em till you try 'em. Because, wow, they are a-maz-ing. So crisp, so greasy, (the good tasting kind of grease, not the stale, old tasting kind of grease,) with a perky flavor that will leave you on your knees, begging for more. And more.

The only thing that will stand between you and more and more and more fried green tomato happiness is that frying them is pure torture. It's hot, it's time consuming, it's greasy, it's dangerous. (If you're a klutz like I am, it's simply fraught with peril.)

Last summer, I went and visited a wonderful friend who has a large family, and in a moment of insanity, I offered to fry green tomatoes for the whole family. Like, as the main dish.

By the time I emptied that large basket of green tomatoes, I was coated with grease and cornmeal, (okay, maybe not coated, but it sure felt like it,) dripping with sweat, and honestly believing that if I never, ever saw a fried green tomato again, I would be perfectly content.

But thankfully the long winter has apparently coaxed my fried green tomato love back into existence, and now I'm eagerly counting the days until a few tomatoes get large enough for something besides a fairy's soccer ball.

Namely, large enough to be sliced, rolled in cornmeal, sprinkled with a little salt, plopped into a big ol' skillet full of oil, and eaten. By me.