Humble Elegance

      I've not been known for my cheerful disposition in the mornings. This reputation began as I grew up in a climate with cold winters - the ache of the frosty air upon peeling off the warm blankets, the taunting manner in which the cats would stay curled up in their dream worlds, the ages upon ages it took for the shower to get hot; each morning tested my ability to be a good and gracious person. (I'm making it sound like I grew up in a barn. I'm really being quite dramatic; my parents provided exquisitely with nourishment, inspiration and safety from the elements.)

     The discovery of coffee helped enormously. Along with the caffeine jolt, it provided a purpose to move beyond my slumber, allowed space and a reason to be still, and helped to cultivate a journal-keeping practice.

     And then I became obsessed.

     If I didn't get my "morning time" I would become insufferable. I behaved in a manner which should be prohibited in the morning. Marion Cunningham, in The Breakfast Book, has a wonderful list called "Breakfast Table Civility and Deportment". Number 4 reads: "Reading the newspaper at the table is permissible but a pleasant word or salutation must be spoken to all present." Number 7 reads: "Since everyone is defenseless at breakfast, there should be no contentiousness or crossness." Number 13 reads: "Don't answer questions in a saucy manner."

      Let it suffice that I have violated all of these rules.

      I remember the worst morning that My Time was compromised was Christmas Day in Jarez de la Frontera, Spain. Because it's a predominately Catholic country, most places were closed and I couldn't slink in anywhere to get my cafe con leche(s). My poor traveling companion had to suffer through me having a near-fit (nothing hyperbolic here - I recall tears) as we roamed the streets looking for anything open.

     The place we ended up at was a cafe with a marble top bar, copious amounts of cigarette smoke, the smell of espresso wafting through the air and families chattering away in a celebratory mood while nibbling on pieces of toast with a bright orange jam.

    Well, that shut me up and stopped my tears.

     "What is it?" we asked (well, I'm almost certain I didn't do the asking since all I managed to do the whole time was ask for books in English, a plate of anchovies or a glass of red wine).

     "Ahhhh. Pan con tomate?" the man behind the bar bashfully replied.

     "Bread with tomato?" We looked at each other a bit quizzically and then looked at him and nodded. "Una, por favor."

      What followed was one of the most delightful culinary experiences I've had yet. This piece of toast proved to me what I've heard for ages: that the humblest of ingredients, when executed with care and precision, can yield flavors that are beautiful and elegant.

      Tomatoes, garlic, salt and olive oil. On a piece of toast. Pan con tomate.

Pan con Tomate

Ingredients

2 slices of good bread, toasted
1 clove of garlic, sliced lengthwise
1 large ripe tomato, sliced lengthwise
olive oil
salt

Process

      Once the bread is done toasting, rub each side of it with the juicy part of the garlic clove.

      Lie the toast on a plate and vigorously rub the cut side of the tomato onto it so that all of the seeds, pulp and juices go onto the bread. You'll be left with messy hands and some tomato skin (discard it and wash your hands).

      Drizzle at least 2 tablespoons of olive oil onto the bread and finish with at least 1/4 teaspoon of salt per slice of toast.

Serves 2, very modestly.

Prep time: 3 minutes.
Cook time: 2 minutes.

Writing by Adria Lee | Styling and Photography by Amy Pennington