Gazpacho and Tomatoes from the Garden State

Vine ripened August tomatoes make life worth living of course. But here in New Jersey, they have a kind of cult following, almost a religious feeling about them.

We take a lot of abuse in this state for being an industrialized, polluted, overcrowded and overdeveloped mess. So we're especially proud of our beefsteak beauties grown by local farmers. They are pure, honest summer-and famous (I am told) all over the country for being exceptionally sweet, tart, and juicy.

Therefore, I wish I could give our state another boost and say that this month's antique recipe for Gazpacho comes from a long lost cookbook called The New Jersey Housewife.

Alas, I cannot. It comes from the very wonderful The Virginia Housewife, 1824, by Mary Randolph.

This Gaspacha is the kind of recipe that makes the food historian's heart flutter because it's an Adulusian (Spanish) dish that really has no business being here in Virginia in 1824. More about that in a moment. First, let's take a look.

Gaspacha Put some soft biscuit or toasted bread in the bottom of a salad bowl, put in a layer of sliced tomatas with the skin taken off, and one of sliced cucumbers, sprinkled with pepper, salt, and chopped onion; do this until the bowl is full, stew some tomatas quite soft, strain the juice, mix in some mustard and oil, and pour over it; make it two hours before it is eaten. -- Mary Randolph, The Virginia Housewife, 1824

I made this recipe as Mary Randolph wrote it. I put some sliced Italian bread in the bottom of the bowl . . . skinned the tomatoes . . . and then layered everything as instructed. Finally, I stewed "a few" tomatoes at the end (and indeed discovered that tomato juice and mustard are a nice pair), then poured.

It came out like an odd soupy salad that was of course good (what's not to like?) though a bit plain, and undeniably a close relation to the cold tomato soup we call gazpacho.

So how did it get from Spain to Virginia? Food historian Karen Hess says that Mary Randolph's sister lived in Spain and probably passed it on to her. I find this little personal detail interesting. Usually in food history, we hear that the Ottomans brought something, or the Romans, or Napoleon. But rarely do we hear about sisters. I wonder if Mary's sister wrote it out for her or perhaps just described it in a letter. Since the trademark vinegar and garlic are missing, perhaps something got left out in the transmission.

In any case, you could argue that there is a certain poetic justice to finding a gazpacho recipe being published in Virginia because, after all, tomatoes are a New World fruit, and Spain never would have had them anyway if it wasn't for the Americas.

But it's a little trickier than that. As it turns out, gazpacho originally came from the Arabs who occupied Spain between the 8th and 13th centuries, according to food historian Alan Davidson. Back then, the essential ingredients were bread, garlic, olive oil, salt and vinegar--a refreshing combination during the intense heat of Mediterranean summer. All this predates the New World additions of tomatoes, which came relatively recently. And it's interesting to think back further still to the Romans who used vinegar for refreshment in various dishes and drinks.

If you feel moved to actually make gazpacho with your August tomatoes, I probably wouldn't steer you to Mary Randolph's antique recipe. My personal preference is the "contemporary" one from Joyce Goldstein's The Mediterranean Kitchen, 1989, and I share it below. It contains all the essential old world ingredients, plus the additions of the New World.

Of course, when you put the old and new recipes side by side, I can't help but notice how the new recipe is far more codified and specific (and involves refrigeration and blenders). And I also can't help but marvel that this recipe survived by being shared orally over perhaps a thousand years, and by the 20th century comes to us between the covers of gorgeous books written by elite chefs. And now , I contribute to the chain, sharing gazpacho electronically through broadband Internet, passing it to all of you.

Please don't even attempt this soup without perfectly vine ripe tomatoes, ideally purchased directly from a farmer at a roadside stand in New Jersey….or wherever these end-of-summer days take you.

Gazpacho

Cold Spanish Tomato Soup

9 large beefsteak tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and coarsely chopped
1 medium-small sweet yellow or red onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
2 medium cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and coarsely chopped
6 tablespoons (or to taste) red wine vinegar
1 cup tomato juice if needed
1/3 cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil
3 slices French bread, crusts removed
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 clove garlic, coarsely chopped
1 green pepper, finely diced
3 tablespoons finely minced red onion

Cut the core from each tomato and cut a cross in the bottom. Dip each tomato first in boiling water and then ice water and peel immediately. Cut the tomatoes in half and squeeze out the seeds. Puree 3 tomatoes in a blender or food processor. If the tomatoes aren't perfectly wonderful, you will need the tomato juice for flavor. Transfer the tomato puree to a deep mixing bowl.

Puree the chopped onion and minced garlic in the blender or food processor and add to the bowl.

Coarsely mince the cucumbers with a little of the vinegar in the food processor and add to the bowl. Coarsely chop the remaining tomatoes in the food processor and add to the bowl. Add the tomato juice if needed for flavor, 1/3 cup oil and the remaining vinegar. Stir well to combine and season to taste with salt and pepper. Refrigerate the soup until thoroughly chilled, preferably for several hours.

Cut the bread into 1-inch cubes. Heat the butter, remaining 3 tablespoons oil, and chopped garlic in a heavy sauté pan or skillet over medium heat. Add the bread and fry until golden brown.

To serve, ladle the soup into bowls and garnish each serving with diced green pepper, minced red onion, and the garlic croutons.

--The Mediterranean Kitchen
Joyce Goldstein

Next in "Not to Be Forgotten,"… A scoop of ice cream

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