Caprese sandwiches for tomato haters
Jonathan lived on bread alone for the first 12 years of his life. His parents tried to get him to eat other food. He wasn’t interested. Then one day he was on his way to summer camp in a car full of friends. Everyone opened their backpacks to reveal the snacks they’d brought along. Hot Tamales. Cheetos. Twinkies. But Jonathan kept his tightly zipped. “I bet Jonathan’s bag’s full of bread,” joked one of his friends. “It is not,” Jonathan replied. Another friend grabbed the backpack and unzipped it, and bag after bag of plain, white bread spilled out. Caught red-handed, Jonathan decided then and there that he would eat all the camp food to prove he didn’t just eat bread. To prove he wasn’t the odd one out.
And slowly but surely, Jonathan expanded his diet. First came cheese quesadillas, then burritos, and then In-N-Out burgers. He got to the point where he’d try almost anything. He’d even eaten crocodile meat while sick with malaria (before becoming a vegetarian, of course). But tomatoes, well, tomatoes were a bridge too far.
When we got together, Jonathan told me stories of all the people who’d tried to get him to not only eat but like tomatoes. “But look at all the parmesan cheese I put on top. I just know you’ll like them this way.” They’d say. While well-intentioned, the attempts pushed him further from tomatoes’ glory. So I knew better than to try and force it.
Several years later, I brought home ingredients for Caprese sandwiches. Enough for both of us—just in case. I toasted sourdough. Stacked heirloom tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella. Then finished with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, cracked pepper, and Maldon salt. I ever so innocently inquired: “Want to try a bite?” And he indulged me. And he saw that it was good.
I’m not sure what happened. Maybe it was the first time he’d had tomatoes paired with bread. Maybe he just needed agency in the decision. But that day marked a shift. And not just with tomatoes. I’ve experienced the joy of introducing Jonathan to ginger, and olives, and Doritos. To capers, tuna (may they rest in peace), and turmeric. The mix of anticipation and relief when he likes something new is probably part of what makes cooking so fun. And addicting (damn those variable reward structures). And I owe it all to these Caprese sandwiches.
Servings: 4 Time: 25 minutes Via: Apple Tree
2 1/2 pounds heirloom tomatoes, sliced
24 ounces fresh mozzarella (there’s no pretty way to say this: in ball or log form), sliced
1 living basil plant or a 3 ounce container of fresh basil, leaves removed from stem
8 slices sourdough bread
Olive oil for drizzling
Balsamic vinegar for drizzling
Maldon salt to taste
Pepper to taste
Using a serrated knife, slice the tomatoes and mozzarella into roughly 1/4 inch slices.
Tear enough basil leaves from the stem to cover each piece of bread. Never fear. You can always tear more as you go.
Toast the bread. I like to assemble the sandwiches as the toast pops up and serve in waves, so the bread doesn’t get stale or soggy.
Assemble the sandwiches. Place a layer of tomatoes over the toasted bread. Then layer on the basil. And then the mozzarella. (I’ve found this order creates the least amount of slippage and best oil and vinegar absorption.)
Drizzle olive oil and balsamic vinegar over the top.
Add salt and pepper to taste.
Serve and eat immediately. (We generally eat two open-faced sandwiches each.)