"Greata"-Tomato-Feta stems tide of tomato deluge

They have us on the run now.

For days we watched for the first green tomatoes to appear on the vines so I could haul them in for Green Gazpacho Soup and other "easy-to-be-green" recipes. Then we eagerly waited for a few to redden so we could slice them and serve them fresh on sandwiches.

Now we're in the typical mid-summer tomato deluge. (Be careful what you pray for.) They're cropping up on the vines faster than we can work them into recipes.

I know, I know. Instantly I could polish a bundle of them off by setting out to put up some of my cousin Jana's Picante Sauce (requiring 5 quarts of tomatoes) or homemade Tomato Sauce (18 tomatoes) that I recommend in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden.

On some other week that might be a great idea. But this is the week of our daughter's baby shower--with deadlines and responsibilities and houseguests in town to observe the impending arrival of that sweet baby boy. Not the week to undertake a leviathan canning effort, although I'd love to do so soon.

That's why I was thrilled to find the recipe for Tomato Feta Pie (spiel off the recipe title fast and you'll sound like a server at an Italian restaurant). It calls for four large beefsteak tomatoes--truthfully, after I sampled the finished product, the recipe just as easily could have called for six tomatoes instead of four. Preparing it and carving into my tomato supply quickly provided some extra space on refrigerator's produce shelf.

The result (some fresh onions from our garden joined the fresh tomato slices in the recipe) produced a quiche-looking dish without the crust. Hubby cut him a slice of the finished "pie" and served it to himself cold. I heated mine in the microwave until it was bubblin' good.

What a clever, wonderful idea for fresh tomato usage!

The recipe, featured below, was one of the two top tomato recipes recommended in my oft-quoted "Celebrating a Healthy Harvest" recipe book. No, it didn't clear out all the tomatoes in my garden, but the summer's still young, relatively speaking, with hopefully more days ahead-- unless little expected grandboy arrives earlier than his August due date--for grinding up bunches of tomatoes into salsa.

If he does, instead of baking this Tomato Pie we just may see if we can find a recipe for Tomato Cake and celebrate.

Tomato Feta Pie

4 beefsteak tomatoes (2 1/2 pounds), cut into 1/4-inch slices

1/4 cup finely chopped onion

1/2 cup (2 ounces) feta cheese

2/3 cup (3 ounces) reduced-fat mozzarella cheese, grated

2 large eggs, beaten (we use egg substitute)

2 teaspoons dried oregano

pepper

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Spray a 9-inch pie plate with nonfat cooking spray. Arrange 1/3 of the tomato slices (overlapping them) to cover the bottom of the pie place. Over the tomatoes sprinkle one-half of the onion. Sprinkle on one-third of the feta and mozzarella cheese. Repeat for a total of three tomato layers. In a bowl combine the eggs and oregano. Pour over the pie. Sprinkle on the remaining feta and mozzarella cheeses. Sprinkle pepper on top of all. Bake for 40-50 minutes or until the egg mixture is set and the cheeses on top are bubbling and deep brown. Let the pie sit 30 minutes; cut into wedges and serve warm.

The cabbage recipe that launched a new cookbook and spawned a significant discovery

My hubby asked whether I knew the whereabouts of his plastic vitamin case.

"It's over there on top of the recipe box," I absently instructed him. Then remembering, and with a chuckle, I teased, "You know, the little brown box that launched a new cookbook."

Very true. This innocuous-looking brown wooden box, devoid of any kitchen decor but strictly practical and utilitarian to suit her purposes all those years, contained the discovery that prompted me, quite unexpectedly, to write my new Way Back in the Country Garden cookbook--the cookbook that prompted this blog, The Newfangled Country Gardener--and that started the dizzying promotion events that now swirl around me and my family.

The recipe box belonged to my Aunt Frances, our family's 102-year-old treasure and the last surviving member of Hubby and my parents' generation. Widowed for decades and childless, she doted on all her nieces and nephews; we, her primary caregivers, doted on her in return.

When she passed from us a year ago in May, the recipe box that for years she had kept fell into my possession. One day late last summer I casually thumbed through it. I was convinced I'd find nothing new. After all, my first book, Way Back in the Country, released in 2002, had mined every family standout family recipe that I could collect from my relatives and from my mother's recipe grouping that I also inherited on her passing.

As I dug into Aunt Frances' brown box, however, the first item that surfaced was the recipe for Cabbage Rolls, with Aunt Frances' notation that she often prepared this for Sunday-school covered-dish luncheons. That's strange, I thought to myself. I don't remember knowing about this one.

Then other new items began to crop up among the familiar. Okra Creole; Brown Sugar Apple Pie; Sauteed Okra, Corn, and Tomatoes. I began to realize that all these newly discovered recipes had a common theme--all were to be prepared with items that are homegrown--just the theme that I'd been contemplating with the rise in interest in home gardening that the Great Recession and other issues have spawned.

Besides my recipe-box find, I had been scribbling down some new stories that had poured off Aunt Frances' lips like rainwater during the last few years of her life. Even when her advancing age impaired her short-term memory slightly, our aunt always could be lightning-sharp about events that happened in days gone by. Vivid details about the legendary Oak Cliff Tornado which passed frighteningly near her Dallas home in 1957 and about Grandma Harris' serving Tomato Preserves when Aunt Frances and her sisters were schoolgirls were part of our aunt's clear recall in those latter days. As fast as she could reel them off, I recorded them--and then realized I had another book of family lore--lore beyond what I'd already captured in Way Back in the Country eight years ago--in the making.

When, recently, our 2010 garden brought forth its first cabbage head, I hauled it in and immediately had to turn it into Cabbage Rolls--admittedly a bit tedious to assemble (I can just imagine meticulous Aunt Frances carefully stuffing each individual cabbage leaf and then fastening each with a toothpick to secure). The actual cooking occurs for an hour in a covered skillet (you also could use a crock pot), with the pungent aroma filling every crevice of my kitchen as the mixture bubbles throughout the day and makes all the effort worthwhile.

When we at last dined on Cabbage Rolls, the delicious meal--combined with the fun I'm having seeing my new cookbook get in others' appreciative hands--made me immensely grateful for Aunt Frances' little brown box that spawned it all. Besides, the box does make a great spot on which Hubby's plastic vitamin case can rest.

Cabbage Rolls

8 cabbage leaves

1/2 cup brown rice

1 cup water

1/2 teaspoon salt (we use salt substitute)

1 pound ground beef (we used ground turkey)

1 tablespoon finely chopped onion

1 (1/2-ounce) envelope spaghetti-sauce mix

1 (1-pound) can whole tomatoes, undrained

1/4 cup evaporated milk, undiluted

Steam cabbage leaves in water for 8 minutes or until they are slightly softened; drain thoroughly. Combine rice, water, and salt; cook covered 20 minutes or until rice is tender. Mix together cooked rice, beef, onion, and 1 tablespoon spaghetti-sauce mix. Fill each leaf with approximately 1/3 cup meat mix. Fold leaf over meat; tuck in ends; fasten with toothpicks. Place rolls with overlapped side down in large skillet that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Mix together tomatoes and remaining contents of sauce-mix envelope; pour over cabbage. Simmer covered for 1 hour. Place rolls on platter; remove toothpicks. To tomato liquid in pan add evaporated milk. Simmer until thick but do not boil. Serve cabbage rolls steaming hot with sauce. Makes 4 servings.