Spinach Topped Tomatoes

The garden is in preparation. Helen has her seed trays going on the south-facing windowsill of the spare room — tomatoes and peppers and basil started indoors, eight weeks before last frost, which in Vermont means May 15 at the earliest and May 31 if you are being sensible. The seedlings are an inch tall, thin and aspirational, leaning toward the window with the faith of things that have not yet been disappointed by a late frost.

I turned the beds over the weekend, which is to say I spent four hours with the broadfork working through the kitchen garden while Frost investigated the fence line for whatever had been visiting since February. The soil is cold and heavy with winter moisture but it moves right. My father used this fork. I have the same fork. The handles have been replaced twice. The tines are original. Good tool.

I have been thinking about what to plant for myself this year — the kitchen garden is Helen's domain, but I maintain a small separate bed in the south corner where I grow the things I specifically want to cook with: shallots, which I use in everything; French radishes, which I eat with butter and salt in June; two rows of pole beans. Every year I think about adding something and every year I do not. The shallots and radishes and beans are what I grow. They are enough. A man who grows exactly what he needs and no more is following Thoreau's advice whether he means to or not.

Sarah and Tom are bringing the children up for Easter weekend — Ben is five now and Lucy two, and this will be the first Easter egg hunt in the yard that Lucy is old enough to participate in meaningfully, which means chasing the brightly colored eggs with the single-minded intensity that two-year-olds bring to anything shiny. Helen has been blowing out eggs and dyeing them since Tuesday. The cellar has a shelf of dye and vinegar that smells exactly like Easter. I leave the dyeing to Helen. Some traditions are hers completely.

Helen’s tomato seedlings are still an inch tall on the windowsill, weeks away from anything useful, but a man can only look at potential for so long before he needs to taste something. This recipe — tomatoes as the main event, spinach piled on top, warm and simple and green — is exactly the kind of thing I make in early April to remind myself why we go through the trouble of the seed trays and the broadfork and the cold soil. It won’t be our tomatoes yet, but come July it will be, and that’s worth cooking toward.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 large ripe tomatoes
3 cups fresh spinach, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup seasoned breadcrumbs
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)

Instructions

Prepare the tomatoes. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Slice the tops off the tomatoes and use a spoon to gently scoop out the seeds and some of the interior pulp, leaving a sturdy shell. Place cut-side up in a baking dish and season lightly with salt and pepper.
Wilt the spinach. Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds until fragrant. Add the chopped spinach and toss until wilted, about 2 minutes. Season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Remove from heat.
Fill the tomatoes. Divide the wilted spinach evenly among the hollowed tomatoes, pressing it gently into place.
Add the topping. In a small bowl, combine the breadcrumbs and Parmesan. Spoon the mixture over the spinach in each tomato, then drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the tops.
Bake. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the tomatoes are just tender and the breadcrumb topping is golden. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach Topped Tomatoes — What the Garden Promises Before It Delivers