There’s one great thing about summer in the South. Vegetables. And tomatoes and corn top my list. Each summer, I await the season’s harvest with the anticipation of a child at Christmas.
As you read these words, you probably started contemplating your next homegrown tomato sandwich (if you love God, your momma, and SEC football). Notice I said homegrown. It is not grocery store-grown, nor is it in a restaurant.
Nope, homegrown. This means you get these one of three ways: you grow them; your neighbors, family, or friends grow them; or you buy them at a roadside farm stand (hipsters, millennials, and others might say farmers markets, but I am talking about those roadside stands on the side of Hwy. 441 on the way to Athens).
My favorite Southern writer, Lewis Grizzard, once stated, “It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” No one has ever said it better, in my opinion.
My mind will rush to everything beautiful, such as big tarpon, speckled trout, hungry bass, and gobbling turkeys. I can hear the beautiful sounds of Treeing Walkers on the trail and smell the Newport cigarettes my best friend—who is long gone—smoked in the night air. I can see sunrises; they are so incredible that they bring tears to your eyes.
All because of the pleasure of a homegrown tomato sandwich.
Now, what should be on a tomato sandwich is a highly debated and a much-studied subject.
Kale is universally ruled out. Fancy lettuces of any kind should also be left off. The sandwich should be constructed using Sunbeam Giant bread (a better option could be homemade bread if available).
Duke’s mayonnaise.
The flavor of the Deep South right here and the pride of South Carolina … no Miracle Whip should ever come close to a good tomato.
Homegrown tomato.
Now, I love those yellow tomatoes. My wife grew these last year and is growing them again this year. The flavor is fantastic! Also, they’re lower in acidity than red tomatoes. But any good homegrown tomato is acceptable.
Accessories: bacon, salt and pepper, the love of God, and all things Southern. That’s it.
Remember, beauty lies in simplicity.
This creation is best eaten over a kitchen sink or sitting in a rocking chair on a porch with a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead. The juices of the tomato will ooze out, mixing with the Duke’s mayo and the soft, quickly disappearing bread. The sandwich—if made and eaten properly—will end up all over your fingers, on your shirt, and in your beard, leaving you wondering if you can make another.
(Deep down, we all know if no one sees you eat that secret sandwich, it won’t have any calories.)
There is perhaps not another sandwich to which devotion so deeply runs. I know every one of us has a preference here. Honestly, I don’t blame you. Southerners are passionate about arguing the points of a fine tomato sandwich and SEC dominance over the years.
Like the fabled Bear Bryant and Wally Butts, this simple sandwich lives forever in legend.