FINALLY

 See?  {Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge}.

 

We have tomatoes! My plants are HUGE and have been full of large green tomatoes for what seems like months but they're finally FINALLY ripening.

And some of them suck.

SADNESS.

Because I am an erratic record-keeper when it comes to my gardening (and, okay, my life), I can't remember two of the tomatoes I planted.  I mean I remember planting them, but I have no idea what kind they are.  They are both "heirloom" and therefore, supposedly tastier.  Supposedly is the key word here because the red ones taste exactly like nothing.  A wet nothing.  The other one, which is a beautiful yellow (and HUGE) are delicious.  So it would be helpful if I remembered their names because there is no way in hell I would buy the first one again and the second one is a Must Plant for next year.  Oh well.

I do remember the name of the third plant for some reason.  It's called a {Green Zebra} and they are a small tomato--not cherry-size but small. They are gorgeous and delicious when fully-ripened or not.  I got {rully rully} excited and thought they were ripe because they were this awesome bright yellow with the green stripes and were delicious like that but then I just found some that had turned red (wow!  a red tomato!  ...this is the kind of gardener I am) and they too were delish.   But holy crap, I just checked the link I just sent you to and they're supposed to be yellow so now I'm totally confused.

See the stripes?  Cute and delicious!  Like Robert Pattinson! And my husband!

 Again: organized.  That's me.

So anyway, I picked all these ripe tomatoes and then wondered what the hell to do with them because 3/4 of them tasted like the aforementioned nothing.  I pondered the crazy amount of tomatoes that taste like nothing that I have coupled with the impressive amounts of tomatoes that taste fantastic that I have and had my yearly "Why do I plant so many tomatoes when I'm the only one in the house that really really likes them?" conversation with myself.  


So I made some {roasted tomatoes}.  And HALLELUJA they are phenomenal.  Unbelievably delish.  EVEN THE NOTHING ONES. Now I've had roasted tomatoes before and loved them but assumed they had to be made from tomatoes that tasted like tomatoes to be good.  But ALL OF THEM were delicious.  Scrumptious even.  They were so good that after I peeled off all the skins in preparation to freeze said tomatoes, I ate the skins.  They were that good.

 This looks awful.  It is glorious.

You can't tell this pan is clean (because it's old and seen a lot of action) but it is.

Because I licked it.

I wish I were kidding.

With the other yellow tomato that tastes good all on its own without embellishment, I made an old standby from {Farmgirl}.  You absolutely must click on {this} or {this} or {this} because you need to make this: 

Behold, a thing of biscuity beauty.

It's made out of biscuit dough, people, so how could it be bad?  My kids even like it even though they are ridiculous and pick out the tomatoes but still. (So technically I guess that means they like pesto, biscuit and cheese but whatever.)  I sacrifice myself and eat their scraped-out tomatoes that still have some pesto on them because I am above all, selfless.

Farmgirl's Savory Tomato Pesto Pie
Makes One 9-Inch Pie
Pesto (homemade or store-bought)

For The Crust:
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick/ 4 ounces) cold butter
1 cup (about 2-1/2 ounces) finely grated pecorino romano (or other hard cheese)
3/4 cup milk

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Mix in the butter using a pastry blender, fork, or your fingers until the largest pieces are pea-size. Stir in the pecorino romano. Pour in the milk and use a fork to gently form a soft dough. Do not overmix. Divide the dough in two pieces, making one slightly larger than the other.

On a generously floured surface, use a rolling pin to gently roll out the larger piece of dough into a circle about 12 inches across, rolling from the center outward. Sprinkle dough with flour if sticky. Gently fold the dough in half and transfer into a 9-inch pie pan. If the dough tears, simply press it back together with your fingers. Roll out the remaining piece of dough into a slightly smaller circle and set aside (or wait until you have the filling in the pan and then roll it out).

Assembling The Pie:
1 cup pesto, divided
2-1/2 pounds of the best plum tomatoes you can find, sliced lengthwise into 4 or 5 slices each
8 ounces mozzarella, grated or thinly sliced (I used fresh which can't be grated)
1/2 cup (about 1-1/4 ounces) finely grated pecorino romano (or other hard cheese)

Using a spoon, spread 1/2 cup of pesto over the bottom layer of dough in the pie pan. Layer about half of the tomatoes over the pesto. Cover the tomatoes with about 2/3 of the mozzarella. Layer on the rest of the tomatoes (you may not need them all to fill the pan). Carefully spread the remaining 1/2 cup of pesto over the tomatoes. Cover with the remaining mozzarella and the pecorino romano.

Roll out the second piece of dough if you haven't already, and carefully place it over the pie. Fold the edge of the bottom piece over the top piece and press together to seal. Use your fingers to make a crimped design around the edge. If any dough falls apart, simply press it back together with your fingers. Don't worry if it isn't perfect. The handmade look has much more charm. Cut four slits in the top of the pie for steam to escape. Bake at 375 degrees F in the center of the oven until the crust is golden brown, about 40 minutes. Cover the edge with foil if it starts to brown too quickly.

It freezes beautifully.